#I got a raging headache while writing this so the effort continuously went down

[mama-frog]

Session 7 Brainrot

I have so much to say about what happened this session so I'm gonna categorize this by person.

Gem: I find it incredibly interesting that she was the person given this task. A) Because she is the one the only Geminislay, B) Because she is like fresh meat to the watchers, C) Because of the infection she is already going through. The darkness spreading across her body probably made her more susceptible to the curse at first than anyone else on the server. She's such a strong player overall and the fact that she had a whole army behind her is terrifying.

Grian: The fact that he didn't get caught by the zombies says a lot about him. He's very good at running and hiding (especially from watcher stuff). I also want to point out WHERE he hid in the end of the session. The pesky bird went into a comfort nest. Definitely unintentional but definitely fun to think about.

Scott: Scott and Gem are, in my opinion, some of the smartest people on the server, so the fact that he didn't get caught doesn't surprise me and surprises me at the same time. Everytime Scott got boogey in a previous death game he did it in a way that was unsatisfactory for the watchers (Not actually killing and killing as soon as possible so the others weren't brewing up a pot of tasty negative emotions). He felt betrayed when Gem finally started to go after him (Even though she didn't go completely nuts until she turned red) and he has such a strong sense of loyalty to his allies. There's also some juxtaposition of him hiding underground while Grian hid in the air.

Martyn: Even though it was on a technicality, I think it's interesting that he was the only one not allowed to be infected. It's as if the watchers know that his chaos is secured and are trying to get the others in line with what they want to see. Also, he's just so damn good at being a red name, I feel like he's the only person to do it correctly in this series. I also feel like he was cheated out of his revenge plot on everyone else on the server because of the curse which might've been intentional on the Watcher's end.

Cleo: She is an icon and she IS the moment. I just love the irony of her being a zombie and not getting infected by the curse. I feel like her closeness to players like Martyn and Scott helped her in her ability to avoid the curse for so long. She's very smart with her allies this season.

Pearl: I'm terrified of how quick Pearl is to go insane when given the chance. Especially when it comes to her dogs. Tilly is always in her heart. This woman was YELLOW and decided on her own to bring up a warden when there already was one. And her gear is so well enchanted. She has learned a lot from previous seasons but she has also lost a bit of her sanity (Especially from double life). What a woman.

Joel: I don't know why he thought spawning 64 zombies so close to him and not on the others was a good idea, but man was it good comedy. Once he became a boogey he played really well though. He's so perfectly unhinged and after Lizzie dying he has very good reason to go insane on everyone else (The spine bit was cruel and unusual punishment). Underrated POV in my opinion.

Scar: Unhinged

Etho: Ok this part hinges on my theory that endermen are creatures created by the Watchers to interfere with the games. I fully believe that the watchers hated Etho being green so badly that they personally interfered to take him to yellow. The betrayal of your own tool killing you is a tasty snack for the watchers to enjoy. (Definitely not just Etho being washed up). Also the way he is so incredibly loyal to his team members even after being cursed. He's just a stand up guy.

Impulse: I just love the way him and Gem interact. He's like a proud dad whenever she does anything. That's it.

BDubs: I cackled when he got killed by a zombie again. Gem is hilarious for that. He did about as good as I expected under the curse. I do love all his interactions with Etho more than anything else. Those two are such unofficial soulmates (in a non-ship way).

Skizz: A true light on the server. All the better for the Watchers when he gets corrupted by the curse. He deserved to be mean after the heart got burned down.

Tango: This man's rage is so interesting. The way that it gets triggered most when people mess with his base is something I think could be explored (the ranch in double life, the ties base in limited life, and now the heart foundation).

Overall I have a lot of emotions about this last session

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper - Part 13

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem! Reader Warnings: Talk of parent death Length: 2.1k words Notes: Okay bitches here we go. I’ve got 3 kids doing online schooling, a desk chair that just broke while I was halfway through typing this out, a raging headache, and couldn’t be fucked to edit. I love you al, thank you for sticking with me and this little brain baby of mine. My guidance counselor from high school can suck my dick, “You’re not a creative writer, Cher, you should considering taking Home Ec as an elective instead” I digress....

Series Masterlist

"No." You glared at him and squeezed his hand harder, "You're doing that thing again.

Frankie's head whipped over to stare at you, shocked by your assertive tone.

"You're pulling away. You're stressed, out of your depth, don't know how to deal with it and so you're pulling away again-"

"You don't understand," Frankie interrupted you, shaking his head and trying to pull his hands out of your grasp. This only served to strengthen your resolve, and your grip on him.

"No." You declare again, trying to stay calm and have a mature conversation despite the tension and running emotions. "You told me to give you time to get your thoughts straight and vocalized. I can't do that if I'm not here to hear them. I can't understand your predicament if I leave. So," You moved so you're sitting cross-legged in front of him, making eye contact in an effort to show him he had your full attention. "Why don't you tell me what that phone call was about so we can start figuring it out, together."

The situation was more complex than you ever could have imagined. Frankie's ex-wife, Karla, had died. Her car had been hit by a drunk driver. Annie, thank the gods, hadn't been in the car at the time. Before she'd died at the hospital, Karla had managed to say a few words to the paramedics. At the time they didn't make sense, however, the paramedic had taken the time to write the words down and included the scrap of paper with the patient's chart. This evidence, as it turned out, had been monumental during the resulting legal battle for Annie, all of which took place without Frankie even being notified.

Child services, lawyers, extended family, and even doctors had been involved in the court proceedings. All arguing over the future of the six-year-old girl. All believing that they knew what was best for her, most believing that she should live with them, some having the gall to pretend that they weren't aware of the sizable life insurance payout she was about to receive.

Eight words. Eight simple, beautiful words whispered through the broken, bloody lips of a woman who knew she was about to die. A young girl's future was being held in suspense, and as fate would have it, a wise and sentimental judge was overseeing her case. Eight words were all it took to convince him that Annie's mother knew what was best for her own child.

"Francisco Morales. Trust with her, he's ready now."

From the time Frankie had received the phone call from Karla's family lawyer, the two of you had two days to prepare for Annie's arrival. Frankie worked his magic and erected a wall across the bedroom portion of his loft, allowing for the little girl to have some privacy but not feel like she was being closed in. 

He had fretted for a least twenty five minutes over colour swatches at Hank’s Hardware before coming to the conclusion that he should leave it white and have Annie chose her room colours once she had settled in. He bought himself a new couch, as well, that would convert into a bed and serve as his bedroom for the time being.

The conversation you never had a chance to have with him was still in the back of your mind, but you understood that moving in together as a couple was hard enough. Moving in together with a kid neither of you knew, whose life had just been turned upside down against her will, would be catastrophic. Instead, you focused on being as much of a rock for Frankie as you could.

You made a trip to the city and bought girls bedding, some stuffed animals, and a few little decorations to help Annie feel like the new space was special for her. You also thought to pick up comfort food that a kid might crave, knowing that when you were six the best way to your heart was chocolate. Just before you left the city, a sign caught your attention and had you swerving to change lanes, normally you'd feel slightly bad about your obnoxious driving but today you just waved your middle finger at the rear window in a mock salute.

The flower shop had so many bouquets and you had no idea what kind of flowers the little girl might like. You also had the morbid realization that bouquets might remind her of all the flowers she surely saw at Karla's funeral. Just as you began to second guess yourself, a stand near the back caught your eye and made you smile.

The day of her arrival came quicker than you felt prepared for, never mind how Frankie must be feeling. He hadn't had too much time to worry about how having his daughter would change his life, but once the two of you were standing in his driveway doing nothing but waiting, the nerves had finally settled in. You could see deep, calming breaths he was taking as they condensed into little clouds in the freezing air.

Grabbing his clenched fist, you felt his fingers relax enough to allow your gloved ones to slide through them.

"It's going to be weird for everyone, she's probably nervous too." You weren't sure if the words were reassuring or not but nervous talking seemed to be your forte so you ran with it. "I mean, she's probably sad that she's leaving everything and everyone she's always known, excited about moving to a new place, then feeling bad that she's feeling another emotion besides grief. It can be hard to juggle loss and hope. Just show her how much you love her and be honest about why you couldn't be with her before. Kids are smart and are aware of way more than adults give them credit for."

A few moments later a black sedan slowly crept up the driveway. You wanted to stay, to meet the little girl but had the feeling that Annie and Frankie were going to need time to figure out their relationship without another person in the mix. Suddenly having a new parent was going to be hard enough on the little girl, you were afraid that she might see you as trying to replace her mom and push you away.

Rubbing Frankie's back for one last show of reassurance, you kissed his shoulder then took a few steps back. You figured this was the best way to be there to support him but also staying in the background for the time being. Before the car could fully come to a stop, the rear door was flying open and, in a blur of movement, a little body was flying out of it towards Frankie. You know how people will say that there are times in their lives where important moments fly by so fast they barely have time to enjoy them? Well, this wasn't one of them.

As Annie barreled her way towards Frankie, you saw in slow motion how his handsome face went from being creased with worry, to eyebrow raised shock, to breaking out in a teary smile. He had just begun to crouch down and open his arms in anticipation of holding his little girl when instead she ran right past him and locked herself in one of the sheds.

Time continued to move in slow motion, making it all the more heartbreaking watching your boyfriend's face crumple, the tears of joy turn to tears of pain as he recovered from his initial excitement and realized that his child didn't want to see him.

Tiny, muffled sobs broke the moment and brought time, and the horrible situation, back into focus. The Child Protective Services worker who had accompanied Annie from California was calling apologies to Frankie while running after the little girl, trying not to slip in the snow in her hurry.

You wanted to go to him, to lend him some form of comfort, but you were also aware that some types of grief don't appreciate witnesses. Deciding to stick around and be helpful in the background, you made your way into the loft and started making coffee and sandwiches, foreseeing a longer stay for the caseworker than initially thought.

Nearly forty minutes had passed before you emerged again with food and drinks on a tray and the two adults were still talking to Annie through the cracks in the door. She had stubbornly refused to come out, demanding that she be returned to her home at once and that she hated snow.

Once you had set down the tray and cleared the snow off a picnic table, Frankie thanked you with a kiss to your temple and introduced you to Sharon after he convinced her to take a break from the negotiations. Sharon, who had been with Annie since the day of the accident, began filling Frankie in on what had happened to his daughter in the past month between sips of coffee. He was given a folder with notes from child psychologists, doctors, a letter from her maternal grandparents, and a journal Sharon had kept that described the ways Annie had been processing her grief.

While they talked, you decided to walk over and sit next to the door of the shed, laying a wool blanket down to protect your butt from the cold. You had no idea what to say to the girl but you figured she might like to be reassured she wasn't alone. Settling down, you dug into your own sandwich and hummed quietly to yourself.

You nearly choked on your next bite when you heard a soft voice singing along with the tune you'd chosen.

"Lavender blue, dilly dilly. Rosemary Green, if you are king dilly dilly, I'll be your queen."

After you'd repeated the song twice more, you stopped the tune and said softly,

"I've never heard those lyrics before, they're different from how I learned them."

A long pause followed, making you worry that you'd offended the child back into silence.

"How do you sing it?" Came the sweetest little voice, made all the more adorable with the barest hint of a lisp.

"We always sang, 'Lavender green', for one. Which never made any sense to me so I really like how you did it-"

"Yeah, cause lavender is another name for purple," she interrupted you with a matter-of-fact tone, "saying it's green is just weird!"

"Hmmm, it might be different," you conceded, seeing the opportunity for a lesson. "But either way you sing it, it's still a really pretty song, isn't it? Things can be different but it doesn't mean one is only good and one is only bad. Each version just had different good things."

Annie went silent again but this time you didn't worry about it, you knew she was thinking about what you said and needed time to apply it to what was happening right now. You eventually heard the shifting of metal and the creak of wood and had to will yourself to sit still and calm. The way you had let her approach you had worked so far, jumping up out of excitement could possibly erase all the progress you'd made so far.

Your patience was rewarded when Annie stepped out of the shed and lowered herself so that she was sitting on the blanket right next to you. Turning your head just enough to see her in your peripheral, you noticed how dull her eyes looked. Her hair was a mess and her skin looked pale for a kid who had been living under California's sun.

"My mommy is dead."

The way it was stated as a fact, with very little emotion, broke your heart. She was so little, so young, and so unable to fully grasp what kind of future had been ripped away from her.

"I know, I'm sorry that that happened to your mom."

"That man is my daddy." She was pointing at Frankie now, who was still engrossed in his conversation with Sharon.

"He's a pretty lucky guy to have you."

"That's the lady who has been taking care of me, she's been nice."

You were a bit out of your comfort zone with the conversation but there was no way in hell you were going drop it so you cautiously trudged on. Maybe verbalizing relationships and titles was helping her process?

"I'm very happy to hear that you've been staying with someone nice. Your dad is a really nice person, too, ya know? You should see the nice bedroom he's set up for you! I even helped him bake you an apple pie. Do you like apples? Or pie?" Her eyes went wide and a spark of happiness suddenly lit her face, making her appear more childlike than before.

"Is this an apple farm?" She practically squealed. “Like in My Little Pony?!”

Her outburst had finally drawn the attention of the other two adults, who were now only realizing that Annie had exited the shed. Frankie's heart skipped a beat at the sight of his two girls, beaming at each other. The twinge of jealousy from knowing that it had been you to draw her out was quickly squashed by how proud of you he was. He had been a little worried, although he hadn't voiced it, that his kid wouldn't take kindly to having a woman around but those fears were obviously for naught.

Part Fourteen 

[staketheheart]

Noise

Jade was having a damn good dream that was unfairly obliterated when the rhythmic sound chased it away. Her eyes shot open and she tensed, anger quickly clearing away sleep. Not even the comfy warmth Tori gave off next to her calmed her down. She was tired of losing sleep, of the inability to focus on work when her neighbor's creaking bed pierced her peace. She could not fathom why they didn't at least get a new bed if their activities were going to persist at all times of the day. She couldn't count how many times she had to wear earbuds to bed in an effort to drown them out. Or how many times she banged on the wall in a wasted effort to silence them when she couldn't concentrate on her writing. Her creativity greatly suffered, and she lost sleep when it started early in the morning, waking her up hours before her alarm was set to go off. And to make matters worse, Tori was such a heavy sleeper she heard nothing. She was a master at tuning out bothersome sounds, having lived with Trina for so long.

But not Jade. Jade had no tolerance for annoyances. She even 'accidentally' let her stepmother's dog out when it wouldn't stop yapping. The poor animal was found days later down the street by a concerned neighbor who just brought the little beast right back to continue to annoy her. She let out a loud sigh that became a growl, rubbing her eyes. It seemed like she would forever be irritated no matter where she went. She rolled over and slipped her arm around Tori's middle, hugging her close and burying her face in her back. Tori grumbled something in her sleep but continued to snore on, unbothered and leaving Jade to attempt to regain sleep. But she didn't. She stayed awake until her alarm went off, finally waking up Tori. She stretched out, a sleepy smile on her face when she noticed how close Jade held her.

"Well good morning," she mumbled, turning her bright smile on Jade. It slowly fell when she was met with Jade's grumpy scowl, lack of sleep easily recognizable in her eyes.

"Did they bother you again?" Tori asked, resting a hand on Jade's face gently, concern in her frown. Jade only blinked, a brow jumping up incredulously.

"I really don't know how you can sleep through it. Or ignore the chick's obviously fake moaning. I swear, it's like a bad porno is playing on full blast over there. Don't get me started on the headboard shaking the wall because the squeaking bed is enough to drive me nuts as it is. I think I might actually leave a note on their door highlighting just how pissed off I am and demand that they at the least buy a new damn bed," Jade ranted, voice strained with simmering anger. Tori could see it building in the way Jade's jaw muscles flexed, the way her eyes glinted with malicious intent, the way her nostrils flared like a raging bull. She was no stranger to angry Jade. It was turned on her one too many times in high school to not recognize the signs that something bad was about to befall some poor soul. And just as it always has been, it fell to her to try and calm her down.

"Well, you did already key their car and pop their tires. You even scared the crap out of them when you pretended to be attacked and they almost called the police. You're lucky they came over to check on you instead of calling them or you would have been in big trouble," Tori replied, recounting Jade's endeavors to drive away their annoying neighbors.

"And yet, they're still here and still giving me a headache. I mean, I understand. Young couples, newly living together, they can't keep their hands off each other. I've been there. But seriously, if you're going to go at it all day be considerate to other people. These apartment walls aren't soundproof. Seriously, all I ask is a quiet bed and maybe less fake orgasms," Jade continued.

"Jade!" Tori exclaimed, scandalized.

"Tori, you can't disagree, even if you've rarely heard them. We don't even get that obnoxious and you're a freaking tiger in bed," Jade pointed out, causing Tori's blush to get worse. She was currently sitting up against the headboard, gripping the blankets to her chest, eyes wide and face red. She never could get used to the explicit way Jade spoke about things. She was far more conservative concerning private matters.

"Maybe you should say something then?" she suggested, turning to look at Jade. The dark-haired woman turned on her back and glared up at the ceiling.

"If I confront them about it I can't guarantee that I won't hurt them if they refuse to listen," she responded honestly. Tori rolled her eyes. Jade saw it and threw up her hands to let them fall back on either side of her.

"I can't help it. People have this rude habit of annoying me," she said.

"How many times do I have to tell you to be nice? If you just nicely explained the situation, I think they'll be more willing to comply. Threatening them with scissors won't work forever," Tori remarked sagely.

"It's worked so far," Jade responded pointedly. Tori pinched at the bridge of her nose, eyes closed.

"You know being nice is hard for me when people are so stupid or annoying," Jade pressed, propping herself up on an elbow to face Tori who was still frowning.

"Besides, you remember that day I tried to play nice with Moaning Myrtle when we were coming back from our date and she cut us off coming into the gate. I was mad, but I didn't even cuss at her. She apologized and I accepted. Even though I hate pretending to be nice to someone I really just want to throw a brick at," Jade recounted. Tori nodded and shrugged one shoulder, giving her that. It was a better response than allowing a laugh at the nickname she gave the neighbor. That would only encourage her. And Tori didn't want Jade to ruin Harry Potter for her more than she already had.

"The guy is a total dick though. Have you heard his conversations when the bros are invited over and she's gone? I wouldn't mind throwing a brick at him too," Jade added. This time Tori did chuckle. Jade's pout was adorable and her petulant tone added to the affect. Not that she approved of Jade's tantrum. She opened her mouth to offer condolences that would put Jade at ease when the very thing that upset her in the first place started up again. In an instant Jade was up and throwing the blankets off.

"That's it!" she snarled, stomping toward the door. Tori scrambled out of bed to cut her off.

"How about some coffee first? You always say it's a warm and delicious alternative to hating everybody, every morning, forever," Tori hastily reminded her, hands out to stop Jade from advancing. Jade stopped right before she reached the door, staring Tori down. Her expression went from angry to calm and then calculative. Tori didn't like the mischievous smirk that graced her lips seconds later. Like a flip of a switch Jade was eyeing Tori like a panther on the hunt. She fidgeted, her mind racing, trying to come up with a reason for the sudden change.

"I've just thought of a great idea," Jade revealed, stalking closer to reach past Tori to shut the door behind her, while at the same time backing her up until she was then pressed to the closed door.

"Uh, mind letting me in on it?" Tori stammered.

"Gladly, since you're going to help me," Jade answered, resting a warm hand on Tori's waist.

"With what?" Tori asked.

"Revenge," Jade whispered in her ear, body pressed against hers. She shivered.

"That won't solve anything," Tori tried to tell her, biting her lip when Jade's lips pressed to the sensitive spot just under the corner of her jaw.

"You sure about that? It's worth a try," Jade disagreed, moving to bite playfully at Tori's ear. Tori hummed, trying to focus her thoughts, but it devolved into a groan instead. Her thought process struggled. Jade's hands ran up her sides under her shirt then traced back down, making her skin tingle.

"Well, I don't like to call it revenge. Returning the favor sounds nicer," Tori allowed, causing Jade to laugh.

"Whatever you want to call it, Tor," she muttered, pulling her away from the door to relocate against the wall by their bed. The same wall they shared with their annoying neighbors. The squeaking still persisted but Jade planned to make them regret it. She reached up to knock hard on the wall, earning a short pause in the squeaking. As soon as it stopped she turned her attention to Tori.

"I'm sure you know what to do," she murmured, dragging a finger down her front to tug suggestively at her pajama shorts. Tori couldn't help reacting.

"Jade," she gasped. Jade grinned.

"I've never heard a better sound than when you're whimpering my name," Jade purred in her ear, knowing her words would help stoke the fire. Tori groaned and closed her eyes, head falling back and hips pressing into Jade's hands.

"Let's see if we can beat them at their own game," Jade challenged, sealing it with a kiss that quickly escalated into more.

The next morning Jade woke up to peaceful silence. Vaguely she remembered falling asleep to the same silence, Tori wrapped in her arms after another round of blissful revenge. She made sure Tori made her pleasure known and didn't hold back when Tori reciprocated. She wasn't normally rough with Tori, preferring tender passion, but she made sure their own bed complimented their activities. A large, pleased, smile spread across her face. It was the first thing Tori saw when she woke up several minutes later. It remained all through breakfast and grew impossibly bigger when they left their apartment and happened across their annoying neighbors in the parking lot. The couple awkwardly glanced at them and then hastily got in their car. Jade innocently waved at them when they drove by.

She was confident her point was made, but she would gladly improve upon it should they bother her again. Which they did when they got over the first incident. They went right back to it and Jade responded in kind. Until a week later she spotted a delivery man dropping off a rather large box. It looked like the neighbors finally got that new bed. For the first time in over a year Jade could work with focus, get to sleep on time, wake up on time, and enjoy the silence at her leisure. Whether the couple next door picked up on their activities or not remained unknown to Jade. Just as it should be.

"You're ridiculous," Tori told her one night while cuddled into her side, skin pressed against skin. Their own time together had gone back to slow and sweet. Jade chuckled, turning her head to kiss Tori's temple.

"I know," she agreed, proud and unashamed. Tori was just relieved the situation had been resolved without violence this time. To her, that was progress she would be all too happy to encourage.

[cynicalrainbows]

I was reading one of your old relationship hcs, and I was wondering- Would you be able/willing/interested in writing the conversation between Catalina and Cathy when Aragon learns that her goddaughter was almost beheaded and stuff? If not, that's cool, I just love that idea.

Feedback, comments and reviews are always so very welcome!

‘Cathy, mija-’ Catalina knocked on the bedroom door. ‘Can I come in?’

For a moment, there wasn’t any response and Catalina wondered if she’d got it wrong- if Cathy had actually gone out after all, if perhaps everything was all in her head, if maybe there really wasn’t anything wrong and the lightening-fast look of panic she’d noticed on her goddaughters face just before she absented herself from the room (and the conversation) was just in her imagination, a strange trick of the light.

‘Cathy?’

She was sure that it wasn’t though. Her first life may have given her rather extraordinarily impressive skills in deliberately not seeing anything that might cause conflict later, but she didn’t make things up.

Just as she was on the cusp of deciding that perhaps Cathy must have ended up joining Anna and Kitty on their walk (‘Shall we go by the icecream parlour or by the park to pet the dogs?’ ‘How about we go the long way, get ice cream first and then to pet the dogs?’ ‘Kitty, you genius!’), the door opened a crack, just enough to reveal the cuff of a blue hoodie (suspiciously like one that Anne had spent most of the previous week searching for, come to think of it) and a pair of dark eyes.

‘Yes?’

Catalina waited a second for Cathy to open the door properly and let her in but surprisingly, she didn’t, just stood still with her face half hidden by the doorframe.

‘Can I come in?’

‘Why?’

‘I just wanted to talk, if that’s alright with you. Just quickly, it won’t take long.’

 (At least, she hoped it wouldn’t take long, although she felt that the chances of Cathy reassuring her that all was completely fine in a way that she could believe were receding more rapidly with every second more that she was kept hovering the hallway.)

‘I didn’t think you wanted to talk anymore.’

 There was just an edge of petulance in the words that would have made Catalina smile if it wasn’t so obvious that her goddaughter was upset.

 The history books remember Lady Parr for her erudition but they fail to mention her ability to sulk.

‘I’m sorry querida.’ Now for the trickier bit of the conversation. ‘That was actually what I wanted to talk to you about.’

There was a pause- Cathy didn’t welcome her in but she didn’t slam the door either, and Catalina decided that was a good enough invitation to continue as any.

‘Can I come in?’

Silently, Cathy pulled herself away from leaning on the doorframe and returned to her place at her desk, allowing Catalina to follow. 

‘Thank you.’

She sat down on the edge of the bed.

‘I wanted to let you know that I’m sorry I snapped like that mija. It wasn’t fair to you. I should have just told you I wasn’t feeling-’ She stopped, she didn’t want to get too sidetracked with excuses. ‘I should have said something earlier.’

‘That’s ok.’ Cathy, faux casual, half turned back to her laptop as if to go on with her work (or whatever it was she was doing- Catalina had a strong suspicion she had foregone her article for the 30K Buffy the Vampire Slayer fanfiction she was in the middle of) . ‘I should have realised-’

‘There was no way for you to-’

‘It’s fine’ Cathy spun round her chair to face her godmother with sudden and unexpected swiftness. ‘You don’t need to say sorry, I just-’ She took a breath. ‘I know I’m a lot and I know it’s annoying and I- I should have realised I was irritating you and stopped earlier, ok? I’ll try not to do it again.’

Catalina felt momentarily wrong-footed at the turn things had taken.

Why is she apologising to me?

‘Mija, you’re not annoying-’

Cathy smiled bitterly.

‘You don’t have to say that, it’s ok-’ 

‘No!’ Catalina leaned forward, trying to catch her goddaughters eye. ‘Really mija- I’m worried that you think that that’s what I was implying, when it really wasn’t-’

There was a silence. After a moment, she realised that Cathy had tears in her eyes.

‘Oh mija-’

She tried to draw her into her arms but Cathy shrunk away from her. 

‘I’m fine, I’m-’

‘Querida, you’re obviously not-’

She passed over a handful of tissues and waited silently while Cathy dried her eyes.

‘Sorry, sorry, I just-’

‘Mija, there’s no need to keep apologising.’

‘But there is, there’s-’ Cathy took a deep breath. ‘I- I just-’

‘Take your time mija. There’s no rush.’ Catalina kept her voice as gentle as a kiss, with no small amount of effort. ‘Take as long as you need.’ 

Don’t fall over yourself with empty reassurances, let her actually explain what the matter is first.

‘It’s hard to explain….’ Cathy pressed a hand to her forehead. ‘I know you’re probably not angry with me- cognitively, I know that. Just...I can’t help but feel-’

‘Of course I’m not angry with you- Ah’ Catalina had a sudden flash of inspiration. ‘Is this because of something else? Something that’s happened to you before, maybe?’

Cathy gave a tiny, reluctant nod.

‘Someone else….got angry with you for talking to them? Or-’

Who do I need to have stern words with?

‘Yes.’ Cathy opened her mouth- and then closed it. ‘I….I’d explain but I- I don’t think I can. It’s not something I can talk about.’

‘That’s alright mija, take your time.’

‘No, I mean.’ Cathy shook her head slowly. ‘Not just that it’s hard- I can’t.’

She sounded sincere and Catalina’s heart sank. 

How can I help if she can’t talk to me about it? And worse- what is so bad that she knows, right from the off, that she won’t be able to put it into words?

‘You- can read about it though. If you like.’ Sliding from her chair, Cathy went to her bookcase, selected a book from the bottom shelf and flicked through the pages, before settling on a chapter and handing it to her godmother. ‘Here.’

‘Thank you.’ Catalina tried to hide the sense of dread that was working its way up from the pit of her stomach- if this was something that had actually been immortalised by a historian, she could bet it was unlikely that Cathy’s insecurity stemmed from some light teasing or a couple of thoughtless remarks. 

‘I’ll read it and you don’t have to answer any questions about it afterwards unless you’d like to but-’ She settled herself against the head of the bed and stretched out an arm. ‘Will you come and sit with me while I read it? You feel very far away over there and I’d like to be able to hold you-’

For a moment, Cathy didn’t move. Then she slowly joined her godmother on the bed. After a hesitation, she curled up against her side, resting her head against Catalina’s shoulder. Catalina wrapped an arm around her and turned to the book.

‘Henry was annoyed by Catherine….commented himself to Gardiner ‘a good hearing it is when women become clerks’...easily obtained Henry’s consent for her arrest…. Henry continued to dissemble with Catherine, allowing her to debate religion with him as she did before….’ 

Catalina puts down the book with shaking hands.

How had she not known about this before?

She read it again: ‘....intended to arrest Catherine and take her to the Tower’.

Her arm unconsciously tightened around Cathy, pulling her closer.

‘The shock sent her nearly out of her wits…. Recognised it for the trap it was…’

Eventually, she put it down.

‘Oh mija-’

‘Do you see? Cathy’s voice was faint and muffled against Catherine’s shirt.

‘I do.’ The force of what she’d just read hit her and she pulled Cathy fiercely against her chest. ‘Oh mi vida- you must have been so afraid-’

No response but a tiny, stifled sob.

She wanted to say more- to rage against a man long dead, to rage against his selfish cruel games, and against the system that allowed them to be put in place- but she held herself in check. This wasn’t what Cathy needed right now, she knew. Instead, she put up a hand to stroke her hair gently, soothingly.

‘I’m sorry mija, I had no idea.’

‘It’s not your fault.’ Cathy’s peeped up at her, her reddened eyes full of self reproach. ‘I just don’t like to talk about it…..but it’s not your fault. Just...I know it’s ridiculous but thinking that someone- anyone- is annoyed with me. Not with me, I can bear people being annoyed at me, but thinking that everything is ok and then that it isn’t…’ Her words turned into a frantic rush. ‘It makes me, it makes me doubt, it makes me wonder what else I’ve been getting wrong, if secretly they’re just getting more and more annoyed with me and I have no idea and no way to try and fix things until it’s too late…So when I thought we were just talking and then you suddenly stopped and looked annoyed- and I hadn’t been expecting it so-’

She broke off.

Catalina nodded regretfully. ‘And there I was thinking I was doing the right thing by not mentioning that I had a headache until it got too bad-’

Cathy pulled back even more and looked surprised. ‘You had a headache?’

‘Yes, I told you- Oh.’ Catalina could have kicked herself. ‘No, I didn't, did I? I meant to- and then Anna asked if we wanted to come with her and Kitty, she interrupted me-’

‘And then I left-’ Cathy finished. 

Look Cathy can we just leave it now please? I’m tired and I really need to go get some aspirin-

Look Cathy can we just leave it now please? I’m tired. Full stop. And her tone had been a lot sharper than she’d intended.

No wonder Cathy had taken it badly.

‘It just...stirred up some bad memories.’ Cathy turned her head away, and brushed at her eyes again, looking slightly embarrassed. ‘I genuinely thought you were enjoying the debate up until then and….then it made me wonder how I'd managed to miss that you were getting annoyed, I suddenly wondered how many other times you’d been annoyed and I’d missed it-’

‘Oh mija-’ Catalina felt guilt roil in the bottom of her stomach. ‘I’m sorry- I honestly was enjoying it….so much that I didn’t want to leave until the pain got worse and then I couldn’t… I know how it must have looked to you though.’

Cathy nodded. ‘I know it’s stupid though- i just need to get over it, get it into my head that things aren’t the same now…. It’s just hard-’

‘What do you need?’

Cathy shrugged. ‘For my mind to be less stupid and jumping-to-conclusions, I suppose-’

‘No!’ Catalina looked as shocked as she felt. ‘That’s not what I meant at all- I meant, what do you need from me? What would make it easier for you?’

‘You don’t have to do anything, Catty, it’s my issue-’

Catalina just looked at her. ‘I’m waiting Cathy. If you’re not sure, that’s completely fine but if there is anything, you need to tell me.’

Cathy still looked reluctant. ‘But you shouldn’t have to-’

‘Look, if it helps, think of it as something you’re doing for ME.’ Catalina looked at her steadily. ‘Think about how you’d feel if you were accidentally upsetting Anne and she didn’t want to tell you how you could help- imagine how guilty you’d feel…’ Cathy seemed to waver. ‘If it helps, I promise not to do it if I don’t feel like it-’

A reluctant smile played on Cathy’s lips before she nodded and it faded. ‘Alright. Ok. Just maybe…’ Catalina nodded encouragingly. 

‘If you ever…’ Cathy bit her lip. ‘If you do want to stop a conversation….if I am annoying- and don’t say I’m not, we all are sometimes, just….let me know earlier, ok? That’s all I need, just...to know that we’re on the same page, that I’m not unwittingly ruining things….’

‘You could never ruin things mija’ Catalina pressed a kiss to the top of Cathy’s head. ‘You could never ruin things, not with any of us. You’re not getting rid of us that easily. But-’ She added as Cathy opened her mouth. ‘I do understand and I’ll make sure to be more open with you in future. Ok?’

‘Thank you.’ Cathy lent further into Catalina’s touch and closed her eyes.’ Thank you for...not being weird about this. And for not being upset that I didn’t tell you.’

‘Of course mija. Thank you for being honest, I know it wasn’t easy.’

Cath didn’t reply, playing with the cuff of Catalina’s cardigan and tugging at a loose thread.

‘Don’t do that mija, you’ll ravell it.’

‘Sorry.’

Catalina felt like Cathy was on the cusp of saying something and she knew from experience that the worst thing she could do and the best way to make Cathy clam up would be to start asking questions. 

So she waited, and let the slightly awkward silence do her work for her.

Eventually Cathy looked up at her. ‘I nearly didn't, you know.’

‘Didn’t what, mija?’

‘I nearly didn’t tell you.’

‘Oh.’ Catalina kept her tone very neutral.

There was another pause.

‘I don’t like to- to think about it, even. Or to have people know.’

‘I can understand that mija.’

There was a long pause.

‘I’m - so ashamed.’

‘Well, I know we all struggle with shame for things that aren’t in any way our fault-’

‘No’ Cathy interrupted her. ‘Not….that.’

‘Ah.’

‘When i married him….’ Cathy took a deep breath. ‘I wasn’t happy about it.’

Catalina nodded.

‘I wasn’t happy, I would have taken any excuse to get out of it, if I'd been able to find one that might not backfire on me or my family later. And I was scared, but-’ Cathy bit her lip. ‘I wasn’t...I wasn’t terrified.’

‘Ok.’

‘I thought-’ Cathy covered her face with her hands and kept talking through her fingers. ‘I thought I could handle him. I thought if I was just….clever and careful, I could get through it.’

‘Alright.’ Catalina was still slightly confused at her goddaughter's agonies of self reproach and Cathy quickly picked up on it.

‘Don’t you see?’ Cathy turned anguished eyes to her, as if relaying something terrible and shameful. ‘I thought I could manage him where you all failed, I thought I could survive when you didn't-’ 

She flinched, like she was bracing herself for Catalina’s reaction, and Catalina deliberately spoke more slowly, hoping that she could convey reassurance just through tone.

‘And you did, querida. And I’m so glad.’

‘But-’ Cathy was obviously struggling with expressing herself, which was unusual. ‘I- I thought I could manage him! I looked at him- this man who had done everything that he had done…. Kitty was barely cold, they were still unpicking the stitching from the curtains of the barge….I looked at him and I thought...I thought I could be clever, I congratulated myself on being clever! I thought-’  

Cathy was properly crying now, Catalina could tell from the waver in her voice.

‘I thought- well, he won’t live long enough for me to get too old for him, like, like with you… and he knew who I was, so Anna's problem obviously didn’t apply, there was no way he could claim I looked different. And I wasn’t going to have any babies with him- God knows everyone was aware it wasn’t going to happen by then, even if we couldnt acknowledge it. And- and-’ Cathy broke off, with a gasp. ‘And I thought- I- I could be careful and clever, to make sure I didn’t get too close to anyone, so there was no way, no way at all he could be jealous, to make sure he and everyone else could see that all my attention, all of it, was on him-’

Catalina didn’t interrupt but she pulled Cathy gently back into the circle of her arms and started to rub her back as she cried. After a moment, Cathy caught her breath, her face still streaked with tears.

‘But I was wrong, I was- I was so stupid, so thoughtless. I was so sure that I’d thought of everything, I was so sure that I knew how to manage him and get around him that I stopped being careful- I even thought, I even thought it was easy. I actually thought that- that it wasn’t really too hard and- well, I knew partly what made it so easy for me was that I had you all to learn from but still-’ Cathy wrung her hands desperately. ‘I thought I was cleverer, I thought I'd found the way to, to please myself and keep him sweet. And all the time-’

‘And all the time, he was saving up his evidence against you,’ Catalina finished. Gently, she brought Cathy's twisting hands to her lips and kissed them. ‘Mi pobrecita.’ 

Cathy accepted the caress but still eyed her warily, as if waiting for something. When Catalina continued stroking her hair and murmuring sympathetically, she pulled away.

‘Is that it?’

‘What, mi vida?’

‘Aren’t you-’ She appeared to almost brace herself. ‘Aren’t you angry with me?’

Catalain considered asking what for but decided that would be only drawing the whole thing out. Really, she wanted it settled so Cathy could stop torturing herself. 

‘No. Not at all, mija. Not with you. Never with you.’

‘But I-’

Catalina cut her off, something she only allowed herself to do in dire circumstances. 

‘Mija. you did what you had to do to survive. You were forced into a situation that was extremely volatile and you coped as best you could.’

‘But- no…’ Cathy still looked troubled. ‘I don’t think it’s wrong that I survived but….I shouldn’t have thought I could have done better, I shouldn't have been so arrogant-’

‘Were you arrogant?’ Catalina asked gently. ‘Or were you searching for any sense of agency you could, to stop the entire ordeal being unbearably terrifying?’ 

Cathy did not respond. 

‘Do you still think that the rest of us had it easy, that we could have done better?’

‘Of course not-!’ Cathy’s eyes were wide and shocked at the idea and Catalina smiled.

‘Then there is no problem, querida.’

‘But-’

‘Honestly mija, and I speak for the others here too- if thinking you could do better than us gave you the mental strength needed to survive at the time, then I am so, so glad that you did. So pleased. Anything that helped spare you an ounce of pain was worth it, if you ask me.’

Cathy still didn’t look entirely convinced, although she nodded slowly.

‘What is it?’ Catalina prodded, and Cathy looked surprised. ‘You’re still thinking querida….what’s going on in that head if yours, hm?’

Cathy squirmed slightly under her gaze. ‘Nothing.’

Catalina didn’t believe her for a minute. 

‘No. There’s still something troubling you, I can tell.’

‘I’m fine-’

‘Cathy-’

‘Just stop!’ Cathy burst out at last. ‘You’re being so- so nice to me but why? I deserved it, I deserved all of it….!’

Catalina was stunned. ‘Cathy you don’t actually think that do you?’

‘Of course I do!’ Cathy looked at Catalina as if she were mad. ‘Of course I deserved it- it was, it was, I don’t know, fate or something, karma, whatever it’s called- it was what I deserved, to show me I wasn’t any cleverer, to show me how arrogant I was being. I should have noticed, I should have picked up on it- what sort of person doesn't realise their husband is signing their death warrant?’

‘Well, Anne-’

‘Anne knew things were turning against her!’ Cathy interrupted angrily. ‘It wasn't her fault she couldn't stop it, with half of the court plotting against her. And Kitty- there was nothing she could do about it either, she was used and abused and she never had a chance, even without Culpepper, she’d have been ruined if Dereham had come to light! But me-’ Cathy gave a bitter smile. ‘That was all me. Not things I did or people I know….just talking, just all the things I said, being so difficult and frustrating that he wanted to kill me just to silence me….that was all me…’

‘So you see it as being something that you're to blame for-’ Catalina spoke slowly, working it out in her mind. ‘And you don't see yourself as deserving sympathy for it….because it was your fault-?’

Cathy nodded tearfully.

‘And then- if you had died, you wouldn't have been deserving of any sympathy for that either. ..?’

From the look of sudden panic in Cathy’s eyes, Catalina was sure she had it right. ‘You feel like you would have deserved it- and maybe that other people would have thought you deserved it too-?’

‘What sort of person is so awful at conversation- so annoying and argumentative that she incites her husband to want her dead?’ Cathy choked out.

The sincere despair in her face made Catalina's heart squeeze and she quickly bundled Cathy back into her arms, holding her tightly as if she could protect her from the 500 year old hurt.

‘Oh mi vida…. Pobrecita-’ She started to rock back and forth very slowly as Cathy gave up her struggle and sobbed into her shoulder. ‘How can someone as clever as you be so very foolish hm?’

‘But-’

‘No, querida-’ She smoothed Cathy's hair down, and kept on rocking. ‘Now you listen to me ok? It was not your fault. There was nothing you could have done. No-’ She saw Cathy opening her mouth to disagree. ‘If he hadn’t argued with you over religion, he would have decided you were too dull for him. Or he would have looked at your past- perhaps decided that you must have secretly had too much sympathy for the pilgrimage and punished you like that. Or he would have blamed you for there not being a baby. Or he would have found something else- honestly mija-’

 She pulled back so she could look her goddaughter full in the eye. ‘Once he decided to get rid of you, there was nothing you could have done to change it. You were very lucky- and yes, clever too, that you caught him at a good moment and he changed his mind but….trust me, mi vida, if he had wanted you dead, you would have been dead and that would have been entirely on him. Nothing, not a scrap of blame would have been attached to you, and you would have deserved all the sympathy in the world. You do- you still do. You had a dreadful time, you survived and all of us are so proud of you.’

Catalina finished her speech with another kiss to Cathy’s forehead. 

Cathy drew a deep shuddery breath and the very tiniest jerk of the head. It might have been a nod, although Catalina knew that there was every chance she had just run out of energy to argue and was acquising purely out of emotional exhaustion.

‘I’m going to remind you of this querida, every day if I need to, until you start to believe it. And you know how stubborn I can be.’

Cathy just nodded weakly at the threat, clearly too wrung out to be amused. Catalnia hummed in sympathy and continued her soothing ministrations, even though Cathy's hair sprung back into place no matter how much she stroked it.

 After a minute, she adjusted them both into a more comfortable position and tightened her hold.

‘We’ll stay like this until you are ready to move, mija. And then I'm going to make us both a cup of tea.’

‘Why?’ Cathy’s voice was a tiny bit croaky and Catalina made a mental note to put some honey in her goddaughters cup.

‘Because tea is very soothing and you should drink something that isn’t coffee once in a while. And you’re going to sleep in here tonight too, where I can keep an eye on you.’

‘Im ok really, Catty-’ Cathy scrubbed her eyes tiredly but made no move to extricate herself from her godmother’s arms. ‘You don’t need to.’

‘Then you can count it as a favour to me’ Catalina countered unbendingly. ‘It’d be nice to have some company and you have very warm feet.’ She softened. ‘Please mija. Let me take care of you.’

‘Alright.’ Cathy nodded resignedly after a long moment but she didn’t seem unhappy about it.

‘Thank you.’

They sat in silence for a while, neither really wanting to get up but also wanting a way to change the subject to something a little lighter. They'd come back to the issue at hand at a later date, Catalina knew- if she could, she’d try and get Cathy to talk to the others as well, so that they could reassure her in their own ways. 

Having all of them on the same page would be good- she made a mental note to find a way to explain what Cathy needed to the others in terms of honesty and openness, without making it feel too obvious, too patronising.

For now though….she just wanted to find something that could take about that wouldn’t upset Cathy any further.

Eventually, her gaze fell on the book laying face-down on Cathy’s bedside rug.

‘What are you reading now mija?’ It was a safe topic, and she hoped it would help Cathy to put her mind to talking about something she was enthusiastic about.

Wordlessly, Cathy passed the book to her and Catalina glanced at the back cover.

‘It looks interesting- are you very far through?’

Cathy shook her head, without even the energy to try and hold forth on her usual favourite topic of conversation. She suddenly looked very, very small and very very weary- even though Catalina had her tucked into her arms already, she still felt the impulse to scoop her up and carry her somewhere safe. 

Somewhere no one can hurt her, somewhere she can rest.

Catalina decided to try something else. She flicked through the book until she found the folded down page. 

‘Is that where you’ve got to mija?’

There was another faint nod.

 Catalina began to read. ‘Maycomb was an old town but it was a tired old town when I first knew it-’

Cathy sat up a bit. ‘You don’t have to-’

Catalina pressed a kiss to her forehead and gently pressed her back into place.

‘Shhhh mija. Just relax.….In rainy weather, the streets turned to red slop, grass grew on the sidewalk, the courthouse sagged in the square-’

Slowly, she feels Cathy relax against her and go heavy in her arms, sinking into her. Her eyes drifted shut.

And Catalina kept reading. 

Everything was going to be ok.

[yandere-daydreams]

Everyone remember Zacharia, from that NSFW Piece from a while ago (here it is, if you don’t)? Well, a lovely anonymous commissioned funded a continuation, and I’m not proud to say that I too eagerly complied. Hope y’all enjoy, god know’s I had too much fun writing it. 

Word Count: 3k

TW: Non-con, Orgasm Denial, Aphrodisiacs, and Moderate Bondage.

~

Zacharia was many, many things. That, if nothing else, you were sure of.

‘Subtle’, however, was not a trait on his long list of characteristics.

You should’ve known something was wrong when he simply strode up to you, slamming a tea-cup in front of you, only saying you’d like it more than the ever-looming, ever-terrible ‘alternative’. If that hadn’t tipped you off, then the glares your hesitancy received should’ve, Zacharia never the type to be angry, much less show that anger. The chalky, bitter aftertaste to an otherwise sweet-tea didn’t help, nor did the way tension seemed to melt off of your captor, the boy returning to his usual smug attitude after you had finished the glass. In the moment, you tried to write it off, telling yourself he was just a little on-edge after…

After you’d tried to escape. Unsuccessfully, obviously, but that didn’t mean you’d never broken your tether, or the window, or one of your ribs. And it didn’t make Zacharia any less… frustrated, either.

So, you drank whatever he gave you, Zacharia rewarding you with a kiss to the top of your head and one of his ‘combing sessions’, what you’d come to call the hour he spent brushing, dressing, and tying you up every morning before he went off to do whatever he did when he wasn’t looking after one of his captives. You tried not to think about it too much, just making yourself comfortable in the too big, too old wicker-chair he’d left you, ankles tied loosely to the front two legs and your wrists bound to the chair’s arms, a metal collar digging uncomfortably into your neck despite the padding generously distributed along the accessory’s inner layer.

After that, it only took a little over an hour for you to realize why you should’ve put up more of a fight.

It started with the exhaustion, that god-awful, constant fatigue, the kind that made your thoughts swim in your head, forming anything coherent suddenly a struggle, one you were too bored to truely fight against. Normally, you would sleep off whatever he’d slipped into your drink (there was always something, even if Zacharia never admitted to it), but when your arms were tied to the most uncomfortable chair in your captor’s collection, finding a position that wouldn’t leave you sore and exhausted had to be impossible. The idea of calling for him crossed your mind, but you discarded it. You weren’t that desperate.

Well… you weren’t that desperate yet.

The sensitivity was next. You hated being awake for this part, every little stimulus like nails being driven into your skin. You could see why Zacharai had left you like this, now, using his roughest rope knowing it would scratch against your skin as you squirmed and writhed. It reminded you of when you were first captured, your head still bleeding and Zacharia ensuring you knew the rules, riding crop in one hand and a syringe of clear, thick fluid in the other. He’d been so mean, back then, cruel and loud and sadistic. Sometimes, you wondered if he was like this to his animals, his farm-hands, anyone except for his precious little ‘darling’. Any answer would’ve left you unsatisfied or jealous or more frustrated when you already were, so you never bothered coming up with one. If anything,  you simply tried not to think about, a rule you weren’t nearly as firm with as you should’ve been.

There were smaller aspects, too, little stages of twitching and mania, leaving you both struggling to keep your eyes open and kicking at the legs of your chair, just to get some energy out. You never got used to it, the buzzing always deafening and the sunlight always blinding, and the sensation never failed to leave you itching to run a mile or sleep for a week or let Zacharia touch you, for once.

The feeling wasn’t sexual, no… it was everything, really. Brushes of skin on skin left you clenching your thighs together, attempting to recreate the feeling while simultaneously dreading the thought of anything touching you. Every sensation felt like too much and not enough at the same time, the sound of a tractor’s motor in the distance giving you a headache while barely reaching your ears in the first place, every little vibration and shift going straight to somewhere unpleasant. It was never enough to… it was never enough at all, leaving you unsatisfied and whiny and needy, even you’d rather die than admit it out loud.

With an effortful glance around the room, you checked to make sure that you were really alone, that Zacharia hadn’t come in or failed to leave in the first place. But, your vision was already so blurry, it didn’t do much good, nor could you hold in the pathetic whimpers forcing their way past your lips. Voicing your discomfort felt necessary, like it relieved some of the pressure building in your nerves. But, in reality, it only made you feel more flustered, more pathetic, hotter. Like there was something smoldering just underneath your skin. The feeling was unbearable, everything save for the pulse beating your ears seeming to fade from your senses, either growing unimportant compared to your personal suffering or just too dull for your newly-focused brain to pick it up.

Usually, this was the point where Zacharai had come back. If the clock ticking so loudly above the doorway was any indication, a few hours had already passed, even if time was stretching out, speeding by, distorting and melting, all at the same time. The sun hadn’t set yet, which meant he wasn’t done milking cows or harassing chickens or doing whatever he did to occupy himself, but Zacharia normally came to visit you halfway through his workday, even if all he did was pepper your cheeks with kisses while you shoved away his advances. He would laugh, and you would blush, and he would laugh some more.

But he hadn’t visited you, today.

It took you all of three seconds (or three hours, it was getting hard to tell) for you to realize why he hadn’t come home, another weak scan of your bedroom making what should’ve been apparent painfully clear. The broken window near the ceiling was enough to remind you of what you’d done, the wooden planks covering the make-shift opening only driving the point into your skull, making you shut your eyes and whine, if only to distract yourself from the guilt now forming a tight ball in the back of your throat. You’d almost forgotten the tantrum he’d thrown when he found scraps of torn, pink rope, how his screaming alone had been enough to keep you from making a break for it through the door he’d forgotten to close in his rage.

He’d left you alone that night, too, after using one of his spare chains to shackle you to one of the bed’s posts. You didn’t see him until the next morning, and even then, he’d been huffier than he usually was, barely talking as he threw that day’s lingerie in your general direction and leaving the room before you had a chance to ask if he was planning on using the branding iron he’d brought with him. In the moment, you thought there would be no punishment, that just this once, he would let it go, fix the problem and either too mad or too arrogant to bring it up again. Now, you could see that such a hope was stupid, innocently idiotic. But, in defense of your past mindset, you hadn’t realized that this was supposed to be a punishment until you thought back to the lack of one.

Yeah, this was your punishment. You were sure of it.

It fucking hurt enough, anyway.

With a sigh, you let yourself lean back, closing your eyes and allowing your thighs to fall apart, keeping them together a challenge with your feet tied so far from each other. Too focused on the throbbing, just as strong in your head as it was in your hips, you didn’t notice when the basement door open, or the lock sliding out of place. Hell, you didn’t even bother looking up until fingers were embedded in your hair, jerking you away from the chair’s back and pulling you into a messy, one-sided kiss, hot and possessive and forceful on Zacharia’s part, and barely lucid on yours. He didn’t pull away, quickly adding ‘breathless’ to the list of afflictions you were currently fighting against.

Your vision was still hazy as he pulled away, but you could still make out that mop of blonde hair, his denim jacket just worn enough to not hurt your eyes. You couldn’t stop yourself from lulling into his hand (the warmth welcome against your freezing skin) as he pet over your scalp, kneeling in front of you slowly, taking his time as you writhed and panted and pulled against your restraints, if only to slot yourself into a more comfortable position. Zacharia smirked as he pulled away, and you reacted with something between a sigh and a whine, the loudest sound you’d made since downing that concoction hours ago. Still, such a small noise proved to be very capable of hurting your throat, burning at your vocal cords like a fresh mist of acid.

Oh, that was new. At least Zacharia was trying to change things up a little.

He seemed to purr as he spoke, something dark and hungry reverberating from his voice. “Darlin’, why didn’t you call me? You know I would’ve come, as long as you were loud enough,” He paused, taking a moment to kneel, balancing himself on your leg, his head lolling to the side as he rested it on your knee. “You would be loud for me, woncha? Even if you weren’t half as…” Blue eyes fell, trailing over your heaving chest and onto something much lower. “Even if you weren’t half as needy this morning. Did you miss me that much?”

Weakly, you attempted to kick him off of you, the protest stifled by the ropes keeping you tied down. Zacharia kissed the inside of you thigh, putting more of his weight on you, letting one of his hands move to the restraint around your ankle, rubbing over the course material almost lovingly. There was no rush to his movements, no haste to do much of anything besides stare, much to your dismay. After a few seconds of staring, gentle pecks to the closest patch of skin and small adjustments to the bollin-knots around your ankles, you were forced to break the silence, the words barely a mumble. “What do you want?”

“Depends…” He drawls, shifting to sit on his knees. If you’d been a little more aware, you would’ve had a problem with the way he rested on the seat between your thighs, or the toothy, childish smile spread over his lips. But, you were hardly keeping your eyes open, even when you barely had to hold yourself up. “I want you to be nice, and sweet, and as happy as a dead pig in sunshine. I want you to stop trying to run away, and I want you to realize that even if you did get out, you’d just miss me too much to stay away.” The thought was punctuated by Zacharia leaning forward, folded arms soon resting on your legs. Briefly, you attempted to close them, if only to redistribute his weight in a way that wouldn’t leave you with indents, tomorrow. But, he only bared his teeth, and you gave in without an argument. With a sigh, idle fingers brushed past the waist of your panties, white lace he’d picked out himself. God, they must’ve been damn-near translucent, by now. “But, I’ll settle for an apology. Since good boyfriends should be able to compromise, and all.”

“What the fuck? No.” The response was reflexive, something you’d repeated a thousand times, since meeting Zacharia. “You kidnapped me-”

Your voice caught in your throat as a fingertip pushed more insistently against your covered slit, lingering, this time, playing with you. Zacharia perked up at the change, opting to straighten his back, if only to more easily rub his thumb against your over-sensitive clit. He was trying to force something out of you, but there wasn’t much you could do besides strain against the rope around your wrists and lock your jaw into place, even if your mind was growing blurry at the slightest hint of stimulation. Legs twitching, you bucked into his hand, but Zacharia only clicked his tongue, pulling away just long enough to earn a pleading look before he went back to tracing over the wet-spot he seemed so concentrated on. “I thought you didn’t want me touching you, doll face? Or do you just want to act a brat without facing the consequences?”

Without thinking, you shook your head, humming over a whine as he pushed your panties to the side. He didn’t seem like he had any particular goal in mind, to make you cum or otherwise, only to poke and prod and play with his tied-up captive, seeing how far he could push you before growing bored of his favorite toy. Usually, there would be some rhyme or rhythm to how he touched you, but today there just… wasn’t. Two fingers slid into you slowly, despite there being absolutely no need for a reduced pace, and with an equally unbothered stance, his attention traveled higher, Zacharia pushing himself up just enough to be at eye-level with your chest. He was good at undoing buttons with his left hand, oddly enough, only stopping once he was able to push the material to the side.

For someone so talkative, you were almost surprised how… skilled his mouth could be, digits pumping in and out of you at a teasing speed as he bit at anything lower than your collarbone, lips occasionally dropping your nipple, licking and nipping and sucking until you let out the breathiest moan he could’ve pulled from you, fingers stretching your cunt one more time before his mouth pulled away, free hand now on your hip, guiding your sloppy attempts at grinding against him.

He grinned, letting you clench around him before he pulled out and stilled, waiting for another weaker, more cracked whimper, only laughing as he curled his fingers and you shut your eyes. He was aware that anything too sudden could make you climax, and fuck, he was taking advantage of it. “You know I could leave know, doncha? I could tie you back down to your bed, hands in the air, so you can’t do my job, and I’ll only come back when you’re callin’ my name. You’d probably be madder than a hen in the rain, but you’d be as wet as one, too.” His eyes flickered upwards, something mischievous and terrible glinting in his eyes. “Gotta tell me if you don’t want that, baby. Otherwise, I guess we’ll just have to stop.”

At this, you cringe, Zacaria noticing and taking full advantage, beginning to speed up his short thrusts, curling more often, letting your head swirl and pleasure burn in your stomach. Your mouth fell open, half out to moan and half to curse, but you could hardly make a sound beyond squeaks and yelps. “No, Zachy,” You forced, a quick brush against your clit wearing down what was left of your self-control. “I… I don’t want you to leave.”

“Oh, bless your stubborn heart,” He sighed. Thankfully, mercifully, he added another finger, his pace now so close to something that could finish you. “Well, is there anything else you want to say? Something you want to apologize for, maybe?” You didn’t respond immediately, trying to gather yourself, and Zacharia let out a dry chuckle. “She’s a real masochist, ain’t she? Can’t even admit when you need something.”

“I’m sorry I tried to escape!” The exclamation hurt your throat, but your cunt was fucking pounding, pulsing and throbbing and begging for attention, of which you knew Zacharia was more than happy to supply. “Please, please, I’ll never do it again! I… I promise!”

“And…” He hummed, like he was making this up as he went along. God, he probably was. The thought terrified you more than it should’ve. “Tell me I’m pretty. Prettiest boy you’ve ever seen.”

You closed your eyes, groaning, in both exasperation and desperation. “You’re fucking beautiful.”

“Damn right.” With that, his mouth was on your pussy, his tongue seamlessly lacing between his fingers, rubbing against your walls, fingertips reaching deeper, more agonizing parts, all while you bucked and jerked, just trying to get off using whatever he would give you. His mouth was so warm, fingers moving so quickly, scissoring and thrusting and curling... you could feel your slick building-up on his chin, only making it easier for the boy to tongue-fuck the most vulnerable part of you. It was painful, it was perfect, and as quickly as it had started, it was ending, your climax approaching faster and faster and faster-

You came easily, but you came strongly, your legs straining against their restraints as you attempted to clench your thighs around his head, nearly snapping the rope before you went limp, moans and pleads becoming a series of high-picked, primal sounds you could hardly recognize. Zacharia was kind enough to fuck you through your orgasm, only stopping when you were panting, sweating, leaning forward and wordlessly begging him to stop. You weren’t sure when, but you must’ve started crying, Zacharia stretching as he stood, wiping the tears off your cheeks before kissing your lips so softly, you almost didn’t remember he was only taking care of something he’d been the one to start.

“What’re you doing?” You slurred, voice barely audible. He was untying your legs, letting the rope drop to the floor without a care in the world. You slumped against his chest the moment your arms were free, hiding your face in his neck, soft hiccups and sobs racking your chest while he lifted you.

“We’re just gonna take a fast shower, then you can sleep. How does that sound?” His voice was softer than it had been, content, lacking the malicious edge you’d grown so accustomed to. You could feel his hand petting over your hair, brushing it out of your face as lightly as humanly possible, but by now, you could hardly acknowledge much of anything. “Well, sweetheart? You know how I feel about being ignored.”

You could only nod, nuzzling further into his shoulder. “That sounds… that sounds alright, Zachy.”

[mystic-scripture]

#15 for your HARD OTP. The pairing you feel in your soul. Mystic, I'm letting you absolutely indulge!!! (lol can't wait to see what you write)

15. A gentle “i love you” whispered after a soft kiss, followed immediately by a stronger kiss (Couple: Spendy (Wendy Durant x Spencer Reid)

Wendy walked to the elevator, heels in one hand as she rubbed at the back of her neck with the other. The bullpen was dark, meaning she most likely was the last person in, aside from maybe Hotch, but even he disappears upon occasion for food. Her stomach growled reminding her of her own mission for sustenance. The hunger pangs began about an hour ago, but she had reports to finish. 

Today had been one of the good days as much as it had been one of the bad. Three children were finally reunited with their parents while five lived on forever as fertilizer for roses. The former cyber terrorist agent was happy that she and JJ could finally bring closure to the mother of Charlie, a victim of eight years. Wendy smiled to herself, the elevator doors closing after she pushed the button for the lobby. Even the wonder boy of statistical facts was moved, not that he knew he saw her conversation with said mother. 

The ride to her apartment was quicker than she’d anticipated, given her mind couldn’t decide on anything nearby, and a tickling memory of some leftover Alfredo in her fridge. Turning the key, she stepped through the threshold, instantly repeating the process of discarding her footwear. Placing her bag on the table, and hanging her keys, Wendy turned to find an even better ending to the day than she would have hoped for. 

The living room flickered in warm candlelight, apple cinnamon spices wafting toward her. Soft, classical music was playing form the stereo, accompanied by low humming from the kitchen. She was so tired she hadn’t seen the second set of keys hanging next to the door. The kitchen light dimmed as a tall figure walked through the doorway, two bowls in hand, forks tucked under them. There was no surprise at her arrival, and no stop in his efforts until he’d placed the reminisced pasta dish on the coffee table. 

“Hotch mentioned seeing your car on the way out.” Spencer said, clearing his throat as he turned to meet her gaze. “Figured you’d be hungry.” 

She felt herself relax, having tensed at seeing she wasn’t alone in her home. This job got to hall of them a little too much sometimes. Her hand dropped from where it rested on her Glock, sending her boyfriend an easy smile. 

“Don’t tell me you waited for me.” She teased, looking at the second bowl. “I wasn’t even expecting you here tonight.” 

He shrugged, running a hand through his tangled tresses. “Not so much waited for you as god distracted doing other things. Your office is finally back to your standards by the way, sorry for never cleaning that up.” 

Wendy smiled, shaking her head as she pulled her tight ponytail from her hair, letting the slowly forming headache recede slightly. “No worries, I know how you get when you need to find something, case or no case.” 

She made her way over to him, leaning up onto her toes to give him a gentle kiss on the cheek before falling into the couch. The food was still pretty hot, but her stomach lacked a desire to care, and her mouth was used to being burned due to her impatience. Spencer followed her, eating with a little less vigor, and letting her decompress from the day. The two sat in a comfortable silence until Wendy had finished her food, leaning back with a sigh, and thankfully accepting the offered glass of wine. 

“You know, I do have to tease you a little, Sparky.” She started, taking a thoughtful sip before turning the glass in her hand. “I now you have an eidetic memory and all, but sometimes your use of it can be overkill.”

“When did I even use it around you today?” He said, surprisingly not offended. Instead, playful smile stretched across his face as he raised an eyebrow at her. “You were spying on me at work again?”

“It’s not spying if, as you just pointed out, we work in the same place and each happened to have been working in the same hallway.” She countered, pointing at him to emphasis her point. 

“A technicality.” He muttered, placing a hand on her ankles after she stretched her legs over his. 

“A fact.” She insisted. “But that just goes to my point, you are so married to your work that you don’t realize it sometimes.” 

“What makes you say that?” He asked, still unsure of where she was going with this. 

“ 5 years, 7 months, and 19 days? I mean really, Spence? I’m surprised you didn’t count down to the exact time.” Wendy said, sighing as he absently rubbed at the bottom of her feet. “I doubt there is anything else from that office that you keep track of with the same-.”

“4 years, 5 months, 12 days, thirteen hours and six minutes.” He interrupted her, making her eyes widen. “Give or take about 20 seconds or so...black flats, grey dress slacks, and a purple sweater.”

“What are you even talking about?” She said, lost in his warm hands, and pouting when he stopped his massage pull her up towards him. “Hey! That was, oh.”

She stopped herself upon seeing the serious look upon his face. She could barely hear him as he continued to go about their first meeting in embarrassingly intricate detail. He had it all, even down to the transferal paperwork in her hand, along with her credentials for editing. Instead, she watched his face, smiling to herself as she took in the different micro-expressions she’d grown to know and love. When he finished, she almost hadn’t noticed, too lost in the softness of his eyes, and the way his hands tried to draw it in front of him. Then her eyes went to his lips which had stopped moving.

“You’re still talking about work.” She deflected, pulling her legs up so that she was sitting upright next to him, and setting her drink down. She backtracked with a shy smile, admitting, “I didn’t think you noticed me like that then.”

“You say that like it was even possible to.” He said, shrugging. “It wasn’t every day I met a smart, pretty girl, that read and understood what I wrote. I didn’t even know that a girl like you could have existed until-” 

Wendy smiled, at that, pulling at his loosened tie to meet his lips to hers. The kiss was short and soft, more to get him to stop talking than anything else. She could almost hear the unsaid ‘what’ fall from his slightly parted lips. 

“I love you, you know that?” She said, wrapping her arms around his neck as he grinned widely, opening his mouth further to answer. “Don’t answer that with whatever you are thinking.”

He shook his head, choosing not to acknowledge the fact that she was the one that asked in the first place, dipping his head down to meet her in a longer, more meaningful kiss.

Yeah, today was definitely a good day. 

Tagging my Wendy crew! @perfectlystiles @kcnobls @starcrossedjedis @raging-violets @curious-kittens-ocs (Want to be added? HMU)

Send me a Pairing and a Fictional Kiss!

[just-mostly-dead]

“How did you two meet?”

Starring: Arthur L. W. Freeman, Nanette Calhoun Description: What happens when you ask me how and why Nanette Calhoun of all people would get together with Arthur.

@pleasantprefects ((Pleasant Prefects is HPRP server))

Lightning flashed. Thunder cracked. The rain continued to pour, and the game went on. Peeling cries if the crowd roaring above the raging storm, surrounding the players as they flow through the onslaught.

Arthur reared his broom to a short pause, wiping away the rain on his goggles to inspect the field. Picking apart the teams by color. Brilliant, if soggy, uniforms of the Appleby Arrows mixed in with the shocking yellow of his own team: the Wimbourne Wasps.

A smile, despite the rain and cold, was plastered on his face. It was a match for the history books! Two rival teams in a stalemate match. Six hours into the game and they were locked 50-50. Arthur was sure he hadn't seen the Seekers in hours, the two flying circles around one another as they sought the elusive Golden Snitch.

He was about to cheer for his fellow teammate as they made another successful goal when he heard it. A whistling noise just below the wind and crying fans.

That damned Bludger again.

Swiveling his broom with ease he batted the blasted thing away and zipped across the pitch to keep the distance between them. The small moments of respite he'd gotten throughout the game, never able to breathe for but a moment before the Bludger came for him again.

Guilt bubbled in his stomach at the thought. Arthur was more focused on not being knocked from his broom than the game itself. It kept coming. Again and again. Every few moments he would be beating the damned thing away, dashing to an opposite point on the field just so he might keep watch over the team. Only for the cat and mouse game to behind again.

“The wasps have the Quaffle! Are we about to see the tie broken after an hour-long stalemate!?”

The crowd roared as another roll of thunder blazed across the sky. Grinning, Arthur, kicked off again. Aiming to keep close in case the Bludgers decided to aim at the rest of his team.

Beaten by the rain he burst across the field. Flying above his team and the rival Chasers. They were almost at the goal posts when it came again. The whistle of the Bludger. Groaning Arthur span in place to beat it away, almost a half moment too late as he got a good look at the balls texture before it was whizzed off into the distance again.

His happy smile fell a moment later when a gasp erupted from the crowd and the whistle called for a time out. Looking down again he saw his partner Beater not far from their Chaser. A failed goal.

He was the last to land for their quick meeting. A heated conversation, come and exhaustion seeping into the tones of those talking. All Arthur could think of the close call that he'd missed. Before he could remount his broom after the huddle, his coach grabbed his arm, and Arthur could already feel his ears burn.

“Head in the game, rookie.”

With a nervous swallow, he gave a thumbs up and all but jumped into the air. Anything to get away from the knitted brow of his disappointed coach.

He was trying. He was a rookie, though, and just trying didn't matter.

The next hour was just as bad as the last. His goggles fogged often, he chest heaved from the effort. And he was sure he already had bruises.

Head in the game.

Eye on the team. The Bludger was still coming. But he tried to ignore it. Keeping the offending object away moved to the back burner in favor of attempting to play more aggressively. Though, attempts to beat the fighting Bludger at the opposite team were fruitless. Just giving himself less time to maneuver before it curved back towards him.

Time drew on and he could hardly see straight anymore. Arms aching he beat the Bludger away again. Chasing after the team as they raced towards the Appleby goal. They could at least break the tie…

“Look up there! The Seekers have spotted the Snitch! Could this be it! Is the match about to be decided?!”

Arthur craned his neck behind him, spotting the twirling spiral of red and yellow that we're plunging high above the field. The crowd erupted, equal halves screaming for both teams in the volatile match.

Through his gasping breaths, he smiled. His teams Seeker seemed to be reaching higher than the Appleby's they might have a chance, they -

Then he saw it.

A little black spot rising from the darkened pitch towards the Seekers. The other Bludger. Already kicking on the back his broom to spin that direction, he looked for his fellow Beater. The other busy guarding the rest of the team as the goal attempt turned into a fight for the Quaffle.

Biting his cheek he sped after the other Bludger.

“Look at then go. The Appleby Seeker seems to be reaching for it but - No the Wasps Seeker is going for it. It's neck and neck I can't see anything, this is the game of the century for these two rivals!”

Arthur flow through the shadow beneath the Seekers. Unnoticed by all as he chased the Bludger attempting to bite at his Seekers feet. He pulled his bat back, knuckles turning white as he tightened his grip. His body held close against his broom Arthur burst up and released all the energy behind the swing.

Rocketing the Bludger back down away from the Seeker. He cried out in relief to himself as a roll for cheers echoed over the Pitch.

“One of them had it. One of them has the Snitch! Arms up come on who's done it!”

Swiping hair out of his face Arthur look up, unable to distinguish the two Seekers as they sat above the crowd. One's arms out in triumph. The Golden Snitch glistening as a flash if lightning cracked over the field.

And then he heard it - too close and too to stop it.

Arthur turned in time to see the Bludger inches before himself.

“They've done it! The -”

He didn't hear who got the Snitch. All he heard was the sickening crack of his own chest as the Bludger forced him from his broom. Cascading down while the crowd stood, all on the pitch looking to the moment of triumph that he was slowly slipping further away from.

Funny, Arthur thought. He'd never fallen off a broom before. Not once.

Moments before he hit the ground he had a final thought:

There was a first for everything.

Waking up to a splitting headache. Arthur had two thoughts.

It was good to be fucking warm again.

Who won?

That thought almost had him bursting from his bed. Only for hands to push him back down into sheets. A gloved hand.

“Coach! Where are we at? Who won?”

“Calm yourself, rookie. We're at St. Mungo's.”

“Mungo's…? Oh, that blasted bludger. I tried I really did. I couldn't keep an eye on them both, though, but who won?”

“Calm down! You yell too much I'm going to get kicked out. The team has already been banned to the waiting area.”

“Sorry…” he let himself fall against the bed, “but… coach -”

“We lost, rookie”

Arthur's heart sunk. They'd fought so hard. Trained so hard. And they still couldn't pull through. Still. He forced a smile through the pain.

“Next time… right coach?”

The man shook his head, exasperated no doubt, “Yeah… yeah. Next time Freeman.”

They sat for who knows how long before the clicking of heels announced a newcomer. Led by one of the many nurses at the hospital was Elizabeth. Arthur's smile melted into a gentle, almost boyish grin at the sight of his wife. Beautiful as always.

“Looks like Lizzie is here for you Artie, I'll see you soon. You did well today.”

“Bye coach”, he turned to Elizabeth, “hello love.”

“Arthur.”

She was picking through a packet of papers she'd carried in with her.

“Did you listen to the game love? I hope they didn't announce what happened, I would hate for Symphony to hear that.”

“You know I don't let her listen to the games, Arthur.”

“I know… but it was the rival team. Surely you could have -”

“Sign these.”

Apparently, she'd found what she was after in the packet and had thrust the bunch under his nose.

“Oh! Release papers? Great! I'm itching to see how my broom fared after that fall. The team'll want to go out but I'm sure I can convince them to let me split off. Spend some time with -”

He cut himself off. They were not release papers.

“Lizzie, what is this?”

She said nothing. Arthur felt like his heart had stopped. Or like he was falling again. The top of his paper, the paper he'd stupidly signed out of blind trust, did not read ‘St. Mungo's Release Form’.

Though his vision was suddenly not clear enough to read it all he caught the most important word.

‘Divorce’.

“Lizzie?”

“Sign the papers Arthur.”

“Lizzie, what's going on? Is this a joke?”

“It's not a joke. Just sign them.”

“What's wrong? Why do you want this? What about Symphony?”

“It's over Arthur? I'm not dealing with your half-assed career anymore. I will not be the rookie's wife the rest of my life.”

He would have to tell the nurse to close the window, the rain was getting on his face.

“But - Lizzie we've had it so good. Symphony.”

“Symphony constantly begs for a broom. I'm tired of it. Quidditch… ridiculous. Your family had the right idea. I had the right idea. You should have gone into law. But instead, you're here.” She made a gesture at him, face curling in disgust, “I’m not doing this, it was fun once but you're always going to be a damned rookie. And I don't want to be trapped when one of damn Bludgers  beat what little intelligence is left in that meathead of yours.”

“Lizzie-”

“My name is Elizabeth!”

His mouth floundered for words. After a moment he signed the final line on the papers. Elizabeth spared little time to snatch them from his hands. Already turning to leave.

“I'm going home, I'll send for the last of my things next week.”

“What do I tell Symphony?”

“I don't care. Just don't write to me about it.”

“Liz-... Elizabeth. Just tell me what I did wrong? I thought we were in love.”

She groaned two steps from the exit, “Nothing. I just don't love you anymore.”

He really needed that window to be closed. He gasped and hiccupped into his hands. Clutching his chest as every little movement aggravated the bruising there. Arthur wasn't sure how long it was that he sat there. Caught between trying to catch his breath and thinking of what exactly he was supposed to do.

Wishing for nothing more right now than his young girl, though, she was no doubt at home with her nanny. Completely oblivious to what had just transpired.

Maybe an hour later he heard the tapping sound of approaching heels. In shock he snapped his head up biting through the pain that jolted through him at the motions, looking to what he hoped was -

“Lizzie I-”

He stopped. The woman before him was not Elizabeth. She had long, reddish hair and some Ministry badge in hand. The only thing she shared right now with Elizabeth was the stern look on her face.

“I… sorry.”

“Yes… well. I'm Nanette Calhoun with the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. Do you have a few moments for some questions about your game Mr. Freeman?”

“I… of course, what does the Magic Reversal Squad care about our game, though?”

“There is a suspicion that a Bludger at the game was hexed. The Department of Magical Games and Sports asked us to look into it. Now. If we may?”

“Hexed…”

“Mr. Freeman?”

“Yes. Yes of course.”

Arthur would do his best to give answers, but for some reason, he couldn't draw his eyes away from the divorce document sitting on his end table throughout the entire conversation.

As lovely as Nanette was… he already had a suspicion as to what her investigation would lead to.

“Last question Mr. Freeman. Is there anyone you know that would have the motivation to attack you?”

“Well…”

“Anything helps Mr. Freeman.”

He looked to the end table again, the woman's eyes followed after. She already seemed to know what he was implying.

“Alright. That's all for now. We'll be in touch, Mr. Freeman.”

“Thank you…”

All Arthur could think as the woman was leaving was that Elizabeth had always told him he was an idiot.

[becarefuloflove]

The Rescue- Rhys POV

So I saw this post by @azrieldeservedbetter and decided to write a fic of Feyre’s rescue in ACOMAF from Rhys’ POV. I tried to do the scene justice, so I hope you guys like it! 

“That is out of the question”, Lord Kieran yelled, his face going purple with rage. “My ancestors were there High Lord, when your great-great grandfather cut open his chest and bled out on the steps of the temple, sealing the protection spell over Velaris. I will not let you destroy that sacrifice.”

I loosed a sigh and rubbed my eyes. Kieran’s reaction was the same as the other three Lords of the Houses of Velaris. Normally I wouldn’t need permission from anyone to enact laws in my court, but Velaris was ruled just as much by me as it was by the four Lords sitting in front of me. An effort by my ancestors, or so I’d been told, to make sure a small piece of goodness in our court would always be preserved. As the men continued to bicker, I felt my mind drift to Feyre and what she would think of Velaris. I knew in my heart that she would love it, or at least come to love it if she ever got out from the chokehold Tamlin had on her. But I also knew she would ask me why I had let the whole world burn while this city sat untouched. The answer was simple- my family, my inner circle- for whom I would do anything, endure any pain; take any punishment, if it meant they were safe.

“Lord Kieran, respectfully I-”, I started, before the words died in my mouth as a wall of terror slammed into me. It took every ounce of my strength to not fall backwards in my chair as my brain tried to figure out what was going on. Feyre. I was pulled into her head, my own heart hammering away as I struggled to breathe. I’m trapped. I’m trapped. He trapped me in here; he locked me up. I felt her words echo in my brain as I pulled myself back into my body. Everyone was staring at me, but I didn’t say anything as I winnowed out of the room and to the townhouse, yelling out to Azriel, Cassian, Mor, and Amren to get there immediately. As soon as I arrived in the foyer, I heard a clatter and string of curses as three bodies thumped outside the door. The door opened and Mor walked in with the boys, Amren right behind her. Not having time to explain with words, I opened my mind up to all four of them, showing them what was happening thousands of miles away.

“We have to get her. She’s going to die in there”, I managed to get out, my body still going through the terrors that Feyre was feeling in that god-forsaken manor.

“You can’t go anywhere, Rhysand. You step foot on his lands and Tamlin will have every right to call in the other High Lords and march down here with an army.” Amren snapped.

“We’ll go, Rhys. We’ll get her out.” Mor said, giving me a determined look. She was the only one who knew what Feyre really meant to me. My mate. My mate. I pushed down every instinct in my body that raged against the laws, the instincts that demanded I winnow to the Spring Court right now, mist everyone in my sight, and get Feyre out. I could still feel her, the darkness she’d wrapped around herself, bits of ice and flame rippling around her as she ripped herself apart from the inside.

“I’ll winnow us to the border of Summer and Spring, you three can use the tunnels to get in. Amren, stay here and guard Velaris.”

Everyone nodded. Mor stepped outside the house’s wards, winnowing away for a minute before reappearing in her leathers and weapons. Cassian and Azriel’s siphons glazed as they strapped on their leathers and sheathed their swords. I could tell they had questions about why I was so desperate to rescue Feyre. They knew about the bargain, but nothing else. But they didn’t say anything, trusting that I had my reasons. Before anyone could say another word, I grabbed all of their hands as I winnowed us to Summer. When we landed, I pushed the three of them into the tunnels.

Mor looked back at me briefly. I’ll get her, Rhys. We’ll get her free. She said, lowering her mental shields. You can come with me if you’d like. With everything happening, it took me a moment to grasp her offer. Mor never let me inside her head, nor had I ever stepped into her mind except for that day Under the Mountain when Amarantha ripped away my powers and I warned them to protect Velaris. But Mor knew what this moment meant to me, and I sent a Thank You down our minds as I stepped in.

I saw Mor walking in darkness for a few moments before stepping out into an open field. She grabbed Azriel and Cassian’s hands and winnowed them to the manor house in the distance. They stopped just outside the gates, the shield Tamlin erected around the property not letting them pass through. Without a second thought, I winnowed from Summer into Spring, blasting away that shield, and then disappearing again before anyone could notice my presence. The scene inside the gates was chaos. Sentries and servants were scrambling around the door, around the wall of darkness that enveloped part of the manor, screaming Feyre’s name as they tried to reach her. One of the guards noticed the three newcomers by the gates and raised the alarm. Azriel and Cassian took on fighting stances as they drew the men toward the side gardens, leaving the front door relatively unguarded for Mor to walk through. Without a second thought, Mor rendered the two sentries before her unconscious and stepped into the darkness. A small figure, huddled on the ground came to view after a few moments. Feyre. I felt my breath leave my body as I saw her thin frame on the ground, her face ashen and her eyes closed. It looked liked she was dead. I felt panic rising in my veins, the same panic I felt when I heard Feyre’s neck crack Under the Mountain. No No No No No,Not again. I chanted in my head over and over. I couldn’t lose her, not again. As Mor’s hands picked up Feyre’s body and and felt warmth, and as her ears picked up the faint groan Feyre let out as she rested her head against Mor’s chest, I felt my panic subside. She’s alive. I said to myself.

As Mor was getting ready to walk out, a small figure emerged from the shadows. “Please- please take care of her” the woman said, scared enough to keep her distance but not to request Feyre’s protection. Whoever this woman was, I would have to thank her one-day for her compassion.

“Consider yourselves very, very lucky that your High Lord was not here when we arrived. Your guards will have one hell of a headache when they wake up, but they’re alive. Be grateful.” Mor spat.

The woman’s eyes widened, but she nodded and disappeared back into the manor.

Then Mor’s attention turned to the woman in her arms. Feyre was still surrounded by darkness, but her eyes were open now, wide with shock as she took in Mor’s face and opened her mouth to say something. But Mor cut her off, “Did you think his shield would keep us from you? Rhys shattered it with half a thought.”

Feyre’s eyes darted around, looking for something. She was probably afraid Tamlin would come bursting in at any moment.

“You’re free”, Mor said softly to Feyre, gripping her tighter. “You’re free.” Feyre went still at the words, her eyes glazing over as the darkness rippled off her body in thin tendrils. Mor took the silence to glance outside the manor. Azriel and Cassian had rendered the guards unconscious and at Mor’s approach, fell into step beside her. They walked silently, but swiftly, out of the garden, up the hill, and toward the caves. I could see Azriel and Cassian watching the surroundings for any traps or hidden guards. I owed them drinks and an explanation when this was all over.

As Mor stepped into the darkness of the cave, Feyre started thrashing in her arms. Mor pulled Feyre’s face toward her and said into her ear, “You’re out; you’re free”, again and again as she walked through the cave.

I pulled out of Mor’s head seconds before she appeared in front of me, loosing a vicious growl as I saw Feyre’s body in her arms. My mate. My beautiful, wonderful mate. I stepped forward and took Feyre from her arms, releasing my powers to banish the suffocating shadows Feyre had enveloped around herself.

“I did everything by the book.”

“Then we’re done here”, I replied. Mor nodded, before grabbing the boys and winnowing back home.

I looked down at Feyre, still recovering from everything that had happened. I sent a wave of soothing darkness and starlight toward her, urging air into her lungs and lulling her into a sleep. When I felt her breathing steady, I adjusted my grip on her body and winnowed us to my house above the Hewn City.

[marauders70s]

Wow! I didn't know you write Harmione ones! I love them! Title: We Shouldn't, But I Really Want To Summary: Harry announces that he loves Hermione in front of everyone in the great hall by accident, and they kiss.

okay, full disclosure, i’m not a harmione fan, but i will do my best for you @hermione-who​ because a good writer can write a challenge and i think it’s super important for everyone to feel like their otp is welcome and supported 

Sixth Year - Lightning Era

Title: We Shouldn’t, But I Really Want ToPairing: Harry Potter & Hermione GrangerSummary: It hit him like a thunderclap at breakfast while she buttered his toast.

“I just don’t get it,” Harry said as they descended the main staircase to the Great Hall. “They never even talked to each other. They can’t like each other. They’re too different. She doesn’t…I mean she - “

“Harry,” and Hermione said his name in her familiar, exasperated way. “You’ll hear it all from Lupin himself, but he and Tonks really are dating.”

“I don’t understand,” said Harry blankly. “They hardly say five words to each other.”

“When we’re around, Harry. It’s not like you go flirting with girls when you’ve got people watching you.”

Personally, Harry didn’t feel as if he could flirt with girls even without people watching him. Ever since the disastrous single date with Cho Chang - and the slight fact that everyone thought he was cursed or something spending all his time closeted with Dumbledore - 

“And besides,” said Hermione, spooning yogurt into a golden goblet before adding fresh strawberries and cream. “What does it matter to you if he loves her?”

“It doesn’t,” and Harry couldn’t exactly explain his surprise and…malaise about it. He had thought… Remus had been devastated when Sirius had died. He had…

“And you’ve seen how miserable she is. She’s been pining after him for months. He only got up the nerve to ask her because she’s been saying how much she likes him in little ways.”

“What do you mean?” asked Harry, as Hermione pulled a few slices of toast towards her, wheat for her and white for Harry.

“Well, I don’t know,” and she laughed self-consciously. “Like she would always save him a plate after order missions. Or offer to team up with him. Or make him a cup of tea if she was having some.”

“But that’s not loving someone,” said Harry, bewildered, and accepting his toast from Hermione. “That’s just being a good person.”

“And when have you done that for anyone?” and Hermione’s voice had taken on a waspish tone that made Harry flush with embarrassment. She was right. He was crap at relationships, thoughtfulness being his worst quality. 

“But-” and he didn’t know why he felt the need to argue the point. Hermione was almost always right about the feelings and things but he couldn’t help but point out: “You and I do those things. You’ve given me toast.”

“We’re at breakfast,” and Hermione’s voice was still testy. 

“But you always butter my toast,” said Harry, something niggling imperceptibly in the back of his mind. “And you let me look at your homework. You hate when Ron copies your homework.”

“Well at least you make an effort,” said Hermione briskly, scraping her spoon against the sides of the scraped yogurt dish and savoring the last bite. “And speaking of, did you finish that essay for Flitwick due this morning?”

But Harry wasn’t listening. He was continuing tallying Hermione’s small acts of kindness he had never really noticed before, and now was embarrassed that he hadn’t. How she always brought tea over in the cold library, or made sure she brought sweets back from Honeydukes, the kind he especially liked, if he didn’t feel up to braving the gawking crowds. And she had been the one to organize the DA for him, who believed in him…the one who had stayed up all night to practice the summoning charm for the dragon. Ron wouldn’t have done that. Ron might have tried, but he would have fallen asleep over the books around three or so and snored while Harry panicked.

And Hermione did little everyday things too, things Harry had to think about: she carried extra quills in her bag for him, in case his broke. He had gotten a headache from that perfume Ron had bought her for Christmas, and she had never worn it again, at least not around him. She had done things for other people too - Hagrid’s lesson planning, and hunting for Scabbers - but not so much as she did for Harry. Like making sure he had a Christmas gift, though they had only been friends for a few weeks his first year. Getting him a broom kit while Ron - supposedly his best friend - got him sweets. Loaning him books she thought he would like such as Quidditch Through the Ages; whispering directions in potions in years previous; never complaining that he paired up in every class with Ron, and she was always left with Neville.

“Harry,” and Hermione was nudging his arm with hers as she riffled through her bookbag. “I’ve forgotten my Ancient Runes textbook upstairs. I’m running up to get it. Can I grab you anything?”

Harry gaped at her. It had honestly never occurred to him how incredibly self-centered and absent-minded he was. Had he forgotten a book upstairs, he would have nipped off to get it without announcing it to anyone, much less offer to grab something for Hermione. Yet this was just like Hermione, doing small things for him in a way he didn’t even realize. Yet without her his life would be absolutely miserable.

“Harry? Anything?” and her voice was annoyed that he wasn’t answering her. Her bushy hair was stuck under the strap of her bag, and Harry felt it was outstandingly important that he help untangle it for her. He bolted to his feet, shoving back the bench, and grabbed her hair. 

She went stock still as he tried to get it out. “What are you doing?” she asked, astonished. 

“Helping,” said Harry, a little helplessly. “Or, trying.”

Hermione adjusted the strap of her bag, her brown eyes wide and taken aback. “Thank you,” she said finally. 

“I’ve just realized that you do stuff like that all the time,” said Harry, but he could hear his voice as if someone else was using it, and he was on the line, a silent third party listener. 

Hermione looked a little abashed, and blushed, not sure where to look as she extricated herself from the bench. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she said, quickly straightening up their dirty plates to make the house elves’ cleanup easier. 

“You said - “ said Harry’s voice, and his inner self began to sense danger. “That Tonks does all those things for Lupin because she loves him.”

“Yes, of course she does,” said Hermione, still adjusting her skirt where the bag was riding it up through her robes.

“But you do that stuff for me all the time.”

“Well of course I love you, silly,” she said lightly, glancing around at the Hufflepuffs nearest them staring in interest, and the other Gryffindors snickering behind their hands. “We’re like family.”

“We’re not,” and the voice on the line kept speaking, and Harry began to back away from himself in horror. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t say that. He was crossing a line. There was no going back if - 

“Harry-” the familiar two syllable plea for patience.

“I love you too,” and the part of Harry that was still very much awkward, sixteen year old Harry was balling up in rage and anger and humiliation, howling at the stunned looks on the audience’s faces. But his body just stood there, arms stiff at his sides, staring down at Hermione’s face. 

“But I didn’t mean - “ said Hermione, trying to diffuse the tension with a laugh.

“Yes, you did,” said the Harry-automotan. A strange, braver mannequin Harry not at all ruled by his cowardice. “You’ve meant it for years. I was just too blind to see it.”

“Harry,” and his name was a mortified whisper, glancing at all the people around them.

“Tell me it’s a lie,” commanded false-Harry, and for some reason his shame and fleeting rage and embarrassed self crept closer; he felt wholer, more real. 

“Of course I love you, Harry,” said Hermione, still placating, still trying to put him off. “Just like I love Ron and-” she gulped when he walked a measured pace forward. 

He could hear a few girls gasp. “But I love you,” he said steadily. “I think I always have. I was just too stupid to figure it out.”

“You’re not stupid,” and her voice was a thready whisper again. “I never wanted to make it -”

“I know,” said Harry, taking the last step and gripping her shoulder with one hand. “You said it your own way.”

And in a thunderclap, he realized he wanted to kiss her. And the brave Harry that had been on the phone fled into the ether and all that was left was awkward, scared, too-sweaty Harry, staring down - when had he grown taller? - at her familiar face, his hand gripping her trembling arm. All he had to do was - 

Hermione, as was her custom, did most of the work for him. She came forward more than halfway, and then Harry felt himself moving, willing his chicken heart and cold face to bend towards her and they were kissing. And it was easy. It was everything it wasn’t with Cho. It felt like they had always done it. Like it had felt when she had hugged him hard before he went to face Quirrell alone.

You’re a great wizard, Harry, she had told him.

He felt his other arm pressing her back, and he squeezed even tighter as he finally closed his eyes. Because you made me that way, he told her. But he didn’t tell it with words.

Send me a made up AO3 title and i’ll write you a drabble based off of it!

[sandstonesunspear]

You’re Not My Mom, part 2

Here’s the second half of the You’re Not My Mom snippet. 

TW: past-alcoholism, mentioned homophobia

@nerdsbianhokie here you go. I’m now off to write a paper that’s due at 8 AM tomorrow. This and part 1 will go up on AO3 tomorrow, if anyone’s interested in reading it there.

-

“Opie!” Dylan’s panicked voice was the first thing Alex heard when she walked through the door. A second later, 127 pounds of pre-teen boy slammed into her. She grunted. Before she could recover, Dylan’s babble hit her full speed.

“I didn’t mean it! You’re my mom, you and Maggie and Kara, you’re all my moms!” he rushed out. Alex didn’t even get the chance to respond. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

Alex pulled him close. The twelve year old burrowed his face into her shoulder. His body shook with muffled sobs. She ran her hand against his hair.

“I know, ‘Lan,” she assured. “I know.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Lucy and the others leave the room to give the two of them some privacy.

Dylan pulled away. His eyes were red. He had obviously been crying for hours.

“I think you and I need to talk, young man.” There was no anger in her words, only a statement of fact.

His shoulders slumped. He would’ve preferred her words be angry. At least that way he could tell what she was feeling.

Both sat on the couch. Alex took a breath. “Before we talk any further, I need you to listen to me, alright?” Dylan nodded. “I might not’ve given birth to you, but you’re my son in every way that counts. You hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” His confirmation was punctuated by another nod. “I really didn’t mean to say what I did, I just...I just got angry.”

The guilt in his eyes made Alex sigh. Truth be told, Dylan was an amalgamation of all of his parents. He was idealistic like Kara, determined like James, stubborn as hell like Lucy, protective like Maggie, and as impulsive as Alex was. Off all the traits that gave his parents headaches, it was his impulsiveness. It was partially due to his age, but also due to being raised by the Danvers-Olsen-Sawyer-Lane household. He’d seen first hand just how quickly Alex reacted to threats and the half-thought out plans that tended to follow.

“It happens,” Alex conceded. “But we’ve talked about you and your anger before.” Specifically, James and Maggie had. The two knew firsthand that the anger of a person of colour was viewed differently than the anger of a white person. A white individual could get angry and be lauded for expressing it. But if a person of colour got angry, it could end with them in cuffs at best, shot at worst.

Dylan hung his head.

“Hey,” Alex placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not scolding you right now. I’m just reminding you. I want you to be careful because I want you to stay safe.”

At first, Alex hadn’t understood why James and Maggie had warned Dylan to be polite to, but wary of the police. Maggie was a cop, and she and Lucy were federal agents (sort of). Law enforcement ran in his blood, so why should he afraid? Then she saw Maggie’s partner rough up two black teenagers just for wearing hoodies at the wrong place and time. It made her angry and then it clicked, making her painfully aware of her white privilege. It had been years since Rick, but the incident struck a chord of fear in her that she hadn’t felt in some time. From then on, she echoed the message that James and Maggie delivered whenever Dylan left the house.

“Do you think you can tell me what made you so upset earlier?”

Dylan bit his lip. Alex fought back a smile. It was such a Kara move.

“We’re supposed to do a family tree project at school.” Alex was aware. She had seen the paper on the dinner table. “I drew a picture of our family, of us, and I kinda followed Jimmy Parker, you know, the kid with three mom’s because both of his parents got divorced and remarried?”

Alex winced but nodded. Maggie had been called in for a nasty domestic dispute a year back involving the Parker family during the divorce.

“So I drew everyone out and connected everyone like I was supposed to, but Mrs. Harrington got mad at me!” A frown marred his face. “She said that I could only include Mom and Jeju because they were my real moms, but not you or Emem because neither one of you were my real moms!”

Alex’s frown matched his. She, personally, had never been fond of Nina Harrington. The woman always seemed to look upon her and Maggie with disdain whenever one of them went to pick up Dylan. Alex had just chalked it up to her being a woman who held ideals more suited for the 1950s, but now she couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to it.

“I tried to explain it to her, you know, and pointed out that Jimmy Parker had three mom’s but she just ignored me! She told me to do it over again, without you or Emem in it, or she’d give me a zero!”

Now, Alex was seething. She was going to have a word with Nina Harrington as soon as possible. Her hand flexed unconsciously.

Dylan huffed. “I made me upset because Jimmy’s three moms count as his real moms to Mrs. Harrington, but you and Emem don’t. And then I came home and I wanted to go to Anna’s house but…”

“I said no.”

“Yeah.” Dylan worried his lip. “And it was just, she said you weren’t my real mom. And it stuck, so when you said no…”

“You snapped out what was on your mind,” Alex finished.

He looked down guiltily. “Yeah…”

She let out a breath. She counted down from twenty in German, switching half way down to Kryptonese.

“First of all, me, Jeju, Mom, Emem, and Dad are going to have a word with Mrs. Harrington,” she started. “She shouldn’t have said any of that to you.”

“But why did she?”

Alex winced. Looks like we’ll be having that conversation.

“Because…” How best to phrase it? “Because we’re not a typical family, Dylan. Before you were born, your Dad and Mom were together for a little bit before they decided they would be better off as friends. Then Jeju and your Dad started dating with your Mom’s permission--”

“Why did Dad and Jeju need Mom’s permission to date?”

“Because they wanted to make sure that she was okay with the two of them being together and because they didn’t want to hurt her feelings.”

“Oh.”

“So,” she continued. “They started dating. And then Emem and I entered the picture while your Mom was pregnant with you. But the three of us didn’t start dating until after you were born.”

“So...Mrs. Harrington doesn’t said you weren’t my real mom because you and Emem are with Mom, while Dad and Jeju are together with each other?”

“Sort of?” It came out more as a question than Alex wanted it to. “Honestly, at this point, I think she’s just a raging homophobe.”

“A homophone?” Dylan had never been more confused in his life. What did being a word with two different meanings but similar pronunciations have to do with someone being mean?

“No, a homophobe,” Alex corrected. “Despite the latin roots present in the word, it means that she doesn’t like gay people.”

“But why?”

Alex shrugged. “I wish I had an answer for you, buddy.”

An easy silence fell between them. Dylan shifted nervously.

“Mom told me about the bad guy, Rick, she said his name was?” he spoke up.

Alex tensed. This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have right now. Both of them were still raw, despite what the levity in the earlier discussion might have implied.

“Did you really cut the tracker out of your arm using a credit card?” Dylan’s question threw her for a loop. Of all the things she’d been expecting him to ask, that certainly hadn’t been one of them.

“I did.” After I spent the better part of 20 minutes trying to put my fist through the glass.

“Mom said that he took me.”

“He did.” And he kept you just out of reach. Rick had kept Dylan’s car seat in the darkness so that Alex could only hear him, not see him. He wailed his fear for what felt like hours, despite her best efforts to keep him calm. And then he fell silent. Alex had never felt more fear than when Dylan’s cries stopped. Only when he started up again did she feel like she could breathe. The cycle went on forever. The logical part of Alex knew that all he was doing was crying himself to sleep, but the parent in her had been terrified that he was dying every time he stopped wailing.

“You got him, though right? ‘Cause mom said you punched him pretty good!”

Alex laughed. “I did. Broke his nose.” Wanted to break more than that, to be honest.

Dylan looked down and kicked at the carpet. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Alex exhaled and ran her fingers through her hair. “Because at first, you were too young to understand,” she admitted. “And then, as you got older, I thought it would be better if we didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to scare you.”

She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You have to understand, I’ve done a lot of things for my job, not all of them good, all in the name of protecting the people I love.”

“Like Jeju.”

“Like Jeju,” Alex nodded. “So the first time I held you in my arms, I was terrified. You were so small, so fragile. But in that moment, I made a promise to your Mom that I would do anything to keep you safe. After the Rick incident, I promised myself that I would never do anything to put you in a situation like that ever again.”

“But it wasn’t your fault.” From the way Lucy had made it sound, that Rick guy had taken Alex by surprise.

Alex smiled sadly. “You’re right.” It had taken years of therapy and a 12 Step program to get her to see that. “But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t blame myself Dylan. I wanted to do nothing but protect you, to keep you safe, to make it so that you wouldn’t be afraid. I figured that if I did tell you what happened, you’d be frightened.”

“But you beat the bad guy.” How could he be afraid when Alex beat the bad guy? She always beat away the monsters, be they on the streets or under the bed or in the closet.

“There are other bad guys out there, Dylan, some that are much worse than Rick.” Like my father. Ten years later and Jeremiah Danvers was still a sore spot for her.

To Alex’s surprise, Dylan gave her a tight hug.

“You don’t have to be afraid, Opie,” he said seriously. “Because I’m okay. And I’m not afraid, because my moms, my real moms, can beat any guy who tries to mess with our family.”

Tears welled up in Alex’s eyes. She buried her face into his shoulder and chuckled wetly.

“I love you, Opie.”

“I love you too, Dylan.”

[caspinn]

Repeating Apologies - Chapter 2

Summary: Dean is searching for his soulmate to be able to cure himself from The Mark Of Cain. In this chapter, he gets a first impression of who/what he has to deal with, by the help of two psychic nannies... . Jup, you just read that!

Warnings: Violence!

“Poor Charlie, babysitting the witch…” Cas mumbled quietly from his place in the backseat.

“Yeah, well, someone needed to stay with that witch. We can’t leave Rowena locked up without a guard,” Sam answered. “And besides, she’ll manage, she’s badass.” The hunter then took a sip from the fresh smoothie he made himself that morning. They had been on the road for a few hours already, but so far it’s only been quiet. Dean hadn’t said much yet ever since they left, and he had been clenching his jaw from that moment – it’s a wonder it isn’t hurting yet.

To say that he had a rough morning was an understatement.

He was really doing his best not to be angry or irritated by anything Sam and Cas said, which was probably why the other two mostly kept quiet. Not that they usually talked about annoying or boring stuff, of course! Dean just had one of these mornings where only the sound of their voices would drive him mad.

The oldest brother had been biting his tongue for some hours now, and they still were another day’s ride away from the psychics called Rose and Violet. Sam had found their number in one of Uncle Bobby’s old books and he had immediately checked if the two ladies were still alive – one can never be too sure in this sort of life, after all – by calling them up. According to him, the two ladies sounded very glad – though unsurprised – that they could help the Winchesters. Despite better judgement, the two brothers and the angel quickly jumped in the Impala and hit the road.

“This smells fishy,” Dean finally said, staring at the road in front of him. After all these hours of silence, Dean was  a bit surprised that he actually managed to get a sound out of his mouth.

“Oh, I really thought I bought the tacos with chicken this time? These damn fish tacos,” Castiel responded in confusion, looking at his own hands as if they had betrayed him.

“No, no!” Sam quickly countered. “You bought the right ones, Cas! Dean is talking about the psychics.” Sam couldn’t help but smile at Cas’ naivety, though. Dean’s frown only went harder and his knuckles turned white from squeezing the steering wheel.

Dean felt a sort of pain. It wasn’t physical, but rather mental. But, at the same time, it also felt like heartache, because Dean knew that he normally would have laughed with Cas’ bluntness if he didn’t have that stupid piece of scar on his arm.

Without the Mark, he would never have gotten so irritated by the Angel’s confusion. But, no, irritated was even too innocent to describe what Dean was feeling. Instead, his hands were itching to punch someone right in the face. If Cas wouldn’t be careful, Dean’s best friend would become the unnecessary victim.

And thinking about these kinds of things made Dean even more pissed off. No, he had to keep driving. He had to clear his head; thinking too much was already too much of a provocation to him.

When Dean saw the sign of a gas station that was nearby, it took all of his effort to get himself to the building slowly showing up. His jaw was still clenched shut, teeth strongly pressed together to keep himself from raging against his brother and best friend.

Once he pulled over, a short growl escaped from his lips as he aggressively announced that he needed a break. After that, he slammed his door shut, and took wide steps away from the car. He was glad Sam didn’t ask any questions, but it wasn’t like Dean gave him the chance to do that, anyway. After a while, Dean stopped his little, slow walk around the big gas station, and he took a seat on a block of concrete.

They continued their drive about half an hour later. Sam apparently had gotten inside the gas station to get some food for them, but Dean quickly found that he wasn’t hungry.

After driving a grand total of 20 hours, Dean should have been relieved to enter Blackstone. But he didn’t feel it.

“Do you really think this is the right house?” Dean asked, being suspicious as he looked the yellow cottage over, seeing it surrounded with thousands of pink and red flowers and bushes in the front yard.

“Well, uh, the address is right?” Sam responded, though not sounding certain at all. He, too, was looking at the house just like Dean. It definitely was the ‘loudest’ and most ‘notable’ building of the street, maybe even of the entire town. The mailbox was shaped like a cat and on their way to the front door the three men saw a whole collection of very white animal sculptures.

The doorbell looked like a little fairy and it made the sound of a cuckoo bird when Sam pressed the button. The three guys waited a few minutes before they heard someone opening the locks. When the door opened, they saw two old women smiling at them.

Dean stood behind Cas and Sam, trying to keep his annoyed scowl away as much as possible.

“Hi, uhm, Rose and Violet?” Sam asked politely.

“Yes, I’m Rose and-“

“I’m Violet.” The two old ladies didn’t have any differences to identify one or another with. Dean scoffed softly so nobody but Cas heard. He couldn’t help it, especially when the ladies started finishing each other’s sentences.

The two elder ladies signaled that the guys should follow them into their house by waving with their hands… together of course.

“We’re Sam and Dean Winchester and this is our loyal friend, Castiel,” Sam said to introduce themselves while walking through the hallway. Dean wondered if the introduction wasn’t unnecessary.

The wallpaper looked like an explosion of flowers and everywhere Dean looked, he saw all kinds of mirrors. Small ones, big bombastic ones. More of them were just laying on little decorative tables.

“Oh an angel in our midst, how exciting!” one of the two replied. This answer raised a lot of eyebrows, because how could they know? Dean didn’t recall Sam introducing Cas as an Angel?

“That’s smart,” Cas suddenly said from behind Dean, and the hunter and his brother both turned around to see Cas staring at an old photograph hanging against the wall. It seemed like it was one of the first colored pictures that was ever made, and Dean noticed two young ladies on it, one with bright pink hair and the other with purple. “Coloring your hair in the color your names describe.”

Dean snorted, wondering what exactly Cas described as ‘smart’ here. One of the old ladies walked closer and took a quick look at the picture before laughing as well.

“Oh, no silly! Rose had purple hair, I had pink hair! We didn’t want to be too obvious!” the woman – Dean suspected it was Violet – answered. Then she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along to where her sister was. The brothers silently followed behind them.

They led the boys to their living room. This room was less bombastic, but there were still vases with big flowers and mirrors everywhere.

“Take a seat, boys!” the other one – probably Rose – said happily, so the three men sat down in a huge, soft but comfortable sofa.

“Haha, you’re a giant, wow! You almost make our sofa look small!” Rose, Dean guessed, laughed at Sam while the other one, Violet, disappeared in the kitchen. Sam gave them a little smile for the joke he had probably already heard a thousand times.

“Here’s some pie,” Violet said when she came back from the kitchen with a tasty-looking pie with all kinds of fruits on it.

Sam took a piece out of civility. Dean simply shook his head when they offered him one wich made Cas look at him with that annoying sad look. True, pie was sacred no matter what form it came in, but Dean simply didn’t feel hungry at the time.

The two grannies sat down in the sofa in front of the guys. There was a little glass coffee table in between them, and on that were two small mirrors, about the size of a standard sheet of paper.

“So, Winchester brothers, you are looking for a soul mate?” Violet asked. The two ladies sure didn’t mince around. “Will you give us your hand, dear boy?” The women were both reaching out for Dean with their arms hovering over the table.  Dean quickly looked at Sam and Cas when he laid his hands in the palms of the two women.

“Before we begin-“

“-we want you to know how we will proceed.”

“Now we’re adjusting-“

“-to your weird energy. After that we’ll-“

“-start to focus and some things, signs or words we’ll see-“

“-we’ll write down on the mirror.”

So they used there mirrors for their sessions; that explained why the house was filled with them. Dean frowned a bit more, mostly because of the headache he was getting with the two women constantly finishing each other’s sentences.

“But, why mirrors?” Sam asked curiously. The two ladies smiled at the younger brother while still holding on to Dean’s hands. Dean, in turn, was starting to feel uncomfortable with that.

“Because mirrors open possibilities, worlds, dimensions…” Violet answered dreamily. “Hush now, it’s time!” And the two ladies closed their eyes. When Sam looked at Dean, Dean mouthed the word ‘vague’. Sam nodded, seeming just as puzzled as Dean was feeling.

Dean felt really uneasy and hoped his hands wouldn’t start sweating. The two ladies were dead silent. Dean didn’t want to interrupt them, he started counting the flowers in the living room. When he counted 21 tulips, 4 lilies and 17 roses, his headache got even stronger, and it got more and more intense until Dean almost pulled out his hands to press them against his forehead.

The moment the pain seemed to be getting too much, he saw a thick blackness. The whole room disappeared around him. Sam and Cas were no longer there, just gone. Through the blackness he felt… impressions? Very, very negative impressions and emotions.

It was too much at the same time, like Dean had stumbled in a thick black wave. And that was when he started seeing glimpses trough the dark cloud he was currently in. Dean shockingly broke out of this weird and extremely uncomfortable trance by pulling his hands back as quick as like they were being held in fire. Rose and Violet opened their eyes and looked shocked at Dean.

“You saw it as well?” Rose asked in utter surprise and confusion. Dean nodded while he rubbed his eyes. The other woman then hummed next to her sister.  

“It must be a very strong connection then,” Violet clarified to herself. Then she looked at Dean. “We can’t assure that what you will see will be pleasant. Are you sure you still want to do this?”

Well, Dean didn’t come all this way to stop a reading because of a little complication as stupid as the freaking weird and sick vibes and impressions he got from it. Sam looked at Dean and seemed to understand that Dean didn’t like the little experience he just had in his head. It was clear now that he wasn’t going to like the whole experience of the reading at all, mildly said. Still, Dean nodded again and laid his hands back in the ladies’ hands.

For Sam and Cas, it was probably quite nerve-wrecking. They could only watch the three of them turning white, looking shocked, desperate and angry. All they could do was wait until Dean and the two sisters opened their eyes.

At first, they nothing, instead only felt certain emotions, impressions. This wasn’t what usually happened when they start their reading, Dean felt one of the sisters think inside his head. But the two women seemed to know that their profession wasn’t really predictable. They felt like something negative and heavy started running through their veins and they started seeing glimpses through the blackness.

At that moment the negative feeling split in two… no wait, three?  Dean couldn't really do anything but watch as Rose and Violet followed three strains of impressions which seemed extremely hard. He was also aware that his headache was returning. They had to hurry.

One of the strains felt panicked when Rose wanted to focus on it. Dean felt the trouble she had to go through to get to it, and he almost thought she’d get a panic attack. Rose finally saw something, revealing it to Dean as well since Dean saw everything she saw

Before Dean really understood it, Dean found himself looking through somebody else’s eyes, staring at his own hands. Much to his surprise, the person whose head he was currently in seemed to have his hands strongly holding another man by the shoulders. The man’s face was covered with blood, and so were his fingers – which were desperately trying to pull Dean’s hands away from his body. The man seemed to be shivering. The strongest emotion Dean felt was anger, especially when, for a short few seconds, his gaze passes over the lifeless body lying on the floor.

Much to his surprise, he saw one of the steady hands reaching for the other person’s head. It wasn’t anything new to him when his fingers touched the man’s forehead. He had seen Cas do that multiple times before. So he wasn’t surprised when he saw the eyes of the man turning into bright lights. Dean expected the man to fall down, dead. But instead the vision suddenly was shut down with a shock. Dean never saw what happened, did the man die or not? He probably did.

What he hadn’t been expecting was the strong feeling of disgust and fear coming from the psychic woman he was travelling with. Right, she might not have seen anything like this before. It wasn’t too surprising when she lost the connection, and despite trying to get it back, it didn’t seem to work. Right before Rose shut down, she gave Dean a signal. It took a while before he got it. She wanted him to know that the panicked, scared feeling she got came from the person they were looking through. They were the emotions that person was feeling, and they were so intense that Rose couldn’t shake them off.

Suddenly, as Rose shut down, Dean’s mind found Violet’s instead. He felt her inside his head, but both were just moving around more in the darkness. He felt the effort she was making to get a grip on one of the three strains, seemingly avoiding the one Rose had just been connected to.While the first strain had been panicked, this one seemed extremely calm. It was almost sickening, Dean found. When Violet wrapped her mind around the strain, both of them were once again looking through somebody else’s eyes.  

This time they saw a young woman, panicked and exhausted, trying as quickly as possible to put her pants back on. The girls’ make up was completely leaked out by the tears running over cheeks. Dean also saw an aggressive looking man who was suddenly way too close.

Then Dean’s hands – well technically, not his, but okay – grabbed the man and knock him against the wall of the alley they were standing in. The man tried to fight back and his eyes looked furious while he was spitting ugly words. But the person Violet and Dean were looking through stayed calm. It wasn’t a happy calmness, but more a worn calmness. Like this person already went through this again and again it was almost like routine to him or her – Dean didn’t really know if it was a woman or man.

One hand held the man with a painful and tight grasp while the person lifted their other hand and then pressed two fingers on the man’s forehead. The man simply squeaked before falling on the ground.

Well, only his body fell, because Dean saw the man also standing where his hands kept him, but now he was more… glowing? And somehow also kind of fading? Dean had seen enough in his life to know that that was probably the man’s soul the way a psychic would see it. The soul looked like nothing Dean had seen before, nothing alike to the small ball of light he remembers Death holding when he returned Sam’s back to them. At that exact moment a lot of murmur went through Violet’s ears and her perception started fading back to the moving blackness, bringing Dean along with her again.

(In the meantime, Sam and Cas were looking at the ladies who were writing unreadable things on their mirrors with closed eyes. Their facial expressions went from shock to disgust to surprise to incomprehension. It sure didn’t look positive at all and the reading took a suspicious long time.

“Dean really shouldn’t drive after this,” Cas whispered to Sam. Sam nodded in agreement.)

Now there was only one more strain of the impression left. The two ladies, both having recovered from whatever they just saw, wrapped their minds around it, taking Dean along with them without any of them having choice on the matter.

Once they were back inside somebody’s head, Dean suddenly felt cold, emotionless, uncaring. In front of them, there was a little boy, lying in bed. The kid looked pale and ill. Next to him stood a woman who took a little box of pills from the kid’s nightstand. With her other hand, the woman opened the boy’s mouth. At the exact moment the woman wanted to put the pills into the kid’s mouth, the body Dean was currently inside of took action.

The person planted a knife into the woman’s back, surely touching some vital organs there. Dean hadn’t even been aware he was holding the weapon in the first place. The woman screamed and fell on the bed, over the sick boy who didn’t notice and kept his eyes firmly shut. The woman wasn’t dead – not yet – instead moaning angrily and trying to get up.

The person rose his hand and at exactly the same time Dean felt his fingers snap, the woman’s neck broke with a horrifying noise, reminding Dean of Lucifer inside Sam’s body, snapping Bobby’s neck that exact same way.

With a loud gasp, Rose and Violet let go of Deans hands, pulling him all the way back into the real world where everything was suddenly so bright. Dean felt Sam pulling on his arm to get his attention, but Dean just held up his hand to stop him. The two women looked at each other and started mumbling some incoherent words.

“Did you see-?”

“-yes! Have you noticed-?”

“Exactly!”

Right before Dean could get angry at them for being mysterious like that again after everything that just happened, the ladies looked at the three men.

“Sorry, boys, we need to do some research,” they both said at the same time. They took each others hands and closed their eyes again, not paying any more attention to the three guests in their living room.

“How did it go?” Dean heard Sam ask next to him. When his eyes were finally accustomed back to the reality that was their world, Dean simply shrugged.

“I have no clue, but I'm never, ever doing that again!” Dean shuddered for a moment, thinking back of whatever strange vision he had just witnessed.

“Of course it was surely vague,” Cas replied calmly. “The search for a soul mate has never been easy. I heard it’s quite a challenge.”

“And you’re only thinking about telling me that now?” Dean muttered bitterly, shaking his head once more and rubbing his eyes. “The Mark probably didn’t make it easier, you guys should’ve seen it… it was just… strange.” Dean didn’t want to jump to conclusions just yet. He wasn’t a psychic; maybe everything he saw was normal and needed to be decoded some way by Rose and Violet. There was probably just some sort of hidden message in these people randomly murdering other people.

After a what felt like hours but were only a few minutes, Rose and Violet opened their eyes again and faced the guys who were sitting in their ginormous sofa.

“We have weird news,” one of the said. Dean didn’t even care who it was that spoke.

“Great!” he said, not even hiding his sarcasm anymore. Sam gave him a poke in the side, and Dean slapped his arm away.

Violet looked at Rose and Rose started explaining. “So, we’ll lead you through what we saw for Sam and Castiel. And afterwards, Dean, we’ll explain what it all meant.”

The three of them nodded in agreement. Rose then continued.

“We didn’t see one person, we saw three-“

“Persons, Rose?” Violet interrupted. Rose glared at her and waved at her to shut her up.

“I’m trying to explain it here, one thing at a time!” Ah, the way they acted reminded Dean a little bit of Sam. Of course, whatever they were talking about, Dean had no clue.

“Is it normal that you saw three… persons? I thought you could only have one soulmate?” Sam asked when the twins seemed a bit distracted by their bickering.

“Not so quickly, boy, let us explain. This isn’t easy to understand so you  better pay attention,” Violet said.

“So, these three persons punished some bad people: a murderer, a rapist and a lady with a very severe case of the syndrome of Munchausen by Proxy.”

“That’s that thing when people make their kids ill on purpose, right? Like that woman we saw who wanted to give her kid those pills?” Dean asked, just to be sure. The women nodded.

“Well, that’s very simply put, but yes.” Violet answered. “And we are sure that one of these three persons is your soul mate but-“

“- we just couldn’t get a grip on who it is exactly,” Rose finished for her sister. Dean then sighed.

“Okay,” he said while trying to remain calm. ‘Did you get their names at least?”

Rose nodded “Yes, yes, when we checked each other’s visions, we went looking for identity cards and stuff to get their names, but…” Oh, now they were hesitating… What was it now? This sure didn’t feel right.

“What? What is it?” Sam asked impatiently. Violet seemed to think for a second, then replied.

“They aren’t normal people,” she started.

“We think they are an extremely rare species. Well, more like a breed whose existence hasn’t really been proven before,” Rose continued.

“Wait, what? My soul mate isn’t even human?” Dean asked, baffled at this sudden revelation.

“Of course your soul mate is human! He or she just isn’t a normal kind of human. The three handled magic like it was their daily tool.” Rose explained. Great, Dean thought to himself. He was surely stuck with a friggin’ witch or something.

“We think they are a species that were made era’s ago when the humanity started acting like brainless murder machines and evil makers for the first time after God created humanity. We believe they are made to destroy the dark part of humanity. But there exists no lore about them, because there was no proof, they were even too mysterious to become myths. Besides, they only seemed to be born when the world was loaded by the misery that humanity caused. Last time other psychics spotted them was during world war two. These persons didn’t survive, so these were definitely new ones.” Violet continued

“Nobody ever gave a name to this species, until that woman Bernadette came along!” Rose looked furious. “These species were a secret that only real psychics knew about. Hell, we were the only people seeing them, why would we discuss something like that with normal people? They would freak out! But no, Bernadette, a young psychic who hadn’t even seen one of these special persons in her whole life, decided she wanted to research this species together with this innocent, parapsychologist Nancy!”

“Yes, so after a while this Nancy, a smart girl, found some correct characteristics, but of course she never found out about the magic part. So Nancy unknowingly described them as peaceful, filled with empathy, just some real good doers who appear to have psychic abilities like telepathy. And Bernadette stopped helping her because she didn’t know anything about it! She didn’t have her facts straight! There was only one positive result from her craving to become a famous parapsychologist, and that is that we have a name for the species now-“

“The Indigo Children,’ Cas interrupted their continuous rambling. Good, it was driving Dean mad! He wasn’t even able to follow anymore! Who was Bernadette? Who was Nancy? Did that even matter? Still, he threw Cas a questioning glance, and the Angel cleared his throat as he clarified. “They’re creations who are born like normal humans, but they are each in turn gifted with angelic, demonic and human powers. They appear to be very creative with these powers and combine them in ways no other creature can.”

Well, that didn’t sound dangerous. How was it that they had never heard about this before?

“They all have these three power sources, but one Child is more bound with the angelic power, one more with the demonic power and one is more bound with the human power.”

Dean then nodded, and next to him, Sam seemed to follow as well. Despite that they were actually able to understand whatever Cas was saying, it still mostly sounded like nonsense to Dean.

“Okay, but why the name Indigo Children?” Sam asked.

“Because Nancy saw a lot of talented, sensitive, spiritually gifted and empathic children getting born with a bright, indigo aura. She linked this to the powers she was studying,” Rose explained. Dean sighed, why did he see this coming? Couldn’t his soul mate just be a normal bus driver of mailman? Was that so hard?

“So, how do we find them?” Sam asked, he was ready to take action and solve this problem that was haunting them for a long time now.

“Well,” Violet replied, “we saw their names and the countries they live in-“

“-but we didn’t see their exact location. Seeing three people at the same time is… hard and complicated,” Rose filled in. Dean couldn’t blame them, he had seen what they saw and he thought it was a miracle that the two ladies found the identity of these Indigo’s in the first place.

  “I still don’t get why I can’t drive,” Dean grumbled, sitting next to Sam, but this time in the passenger seat. His younger brother was currently driving his baby, which normally Dean did allow, but right now he could have used the distraction of the road. His mood had sunk very deep after Rose and Violet gave them the identity and location from the Indigo Children.

“Why aren’t they all just living in freaking America?!” He grumbled right after complaining about the car.

“The US isn’t the only country in the entire world, Dean,” Sam replied calmly. Of course, both of them knew exactly what was bothering Dean so much right now; international travel. That meant that the three of them surely had to jump into a plane to get there. Oh, where had the time gone when Cas would have just flown them there in only a matter of seconds?

“Cas, can you read their info again, please?” Dean asked. He could probably already mouth the details along with Cas, since it was about the twelfth time he asked for this. Castiel cleared his throat and started reading the little piece of paper the psychic sisters had given them… again.

“Valo Watson from England, male. Eryn Mundis from Greece, female. Liv Reinaerts from Belgium, female.”

[ncfn]

Nothing Comes from Nothing Part 11: Excerpt

Slowly, Regina Mills meandered down the sidewalk, trailing a few steps behind her constant companion. She sighed softly when the sign for Dave’s Fish ‘n’ Chips came into view. Her shoulders tightened as she pursed her lips, fighting the urge to grit her teeth, and she knew if she didn’t relax, she’d end up with a headache in addition to her already souring mood. She hadn’t wanted to come, and it was a small consolation that Emma hadn’t, either. Yet, a deal was a deal, especially since she had already visited with her own mother.

Somehow, the pair was now walking side-by-side. Her eyes cut over to the blonde, and her brow furrowed at the intense expression. Rolling her eyes, she silently cursed herself and her weakness for Indian food. Then, the former mayor glimpsed over her shoulder, spying two Crows Guard, Alma Chavez and Jason Sirtis, trailing far behind them. Monty would not be pleased, she mused with the hint of a raised eyebrow. She glanced across the street to notice two more, Bruce Farmer and Lài Qingzhao, sitting on Granny’s Diner’s front patio, and she frowned. When Emma opened the door to Dave’s, she spotted the last two of her personal guard, Diego Flores and Irene Smith, sharing a table in the front corner by the window. Her eyes narrowed as Diego flashed a warm smile and waved. As she slipped off her coat, she shook her head. The commander had followed through with his threat from the other night, calling the Queen’s Guard into service. She was headed toward their table when Emma’s voice made her pause.

“Aren’t you going to sit with me?” Emma asked from a booth on the other side of the restaurant. As previously discussed with Elmwood, it was in perfect alignment to the guards’ position.

“Must I?” the former mayor quipped a tad sulkily. She tilted her head as the other woman deflated slightly. Without waiting for a reply, she moved to the occupied booth. Yes, she had become unaccountably soft if she didn’t rage at the unwanted presence of her Queen’s Guard or resist the pouty expression of a certain blonde.

Sighing heavily, the sheriff watched her friend. “Come on, don’t leave me on my own,” she whispered, biting her lower lip. Then, as Regina slipped onto the bench next to her, she grinned and happily intoned, “They might win me over, and then where would you be?”

“Very well, but you owe me,” the brunette relented in a low voice laced with amusement. She took a slow, deep breath as her eyes drifted around the fisherman-themed eatery, absently accepting the large, two-sided, laminated menu. Her visit with Cora the other day had left her feeling off-balance and that unnerved her. For the first time in a long time, she was comforted by the guards’ subtle presence.

“Yeah, yeah,” the blonde teased, knowing her friend didn’t want to be there. Heck, she didn’t want to be there, but she had made a deal. “So, what are you going to get?” she prompted, trying to keep things light as she scanned the menu. It had been difficult keeping the other woman’s impending bout of brooding at bay. Hearing the dramatic sigh, her eyes never left the menu as she smirked.

“Good evening, my name’s Jack. I’ll be your server tonight.” A waiter, who wasn’t one of Dave Salter’s sons, stepped up to their table, asking, “May I take your drink order, ladies?”

“Coke!” Emma immediately chirped.

“Guinness, please,” Regina said, passing the menu back to the blonde.

“Short or tall?” Jack questioned, not bothering to write anything down.

“Tall,” the former mayor replied, ignoring Emma’s raised eyebrow. If she was going to suffer through this, by the gods, she was going to drink.

“Do you want to order now, or are you waiting for someone?” the waiter inquired. His gaze drifted to the empty side of the booth. It wasn’t too unusual, just a tiny bit strange for these two to sit next to each other.

Looking at her watch, the sheriff hesitated briefly before saying, “We’ll order now.” She didn’t want to be stuck with her parents any longer than necessary, especially if things went south. “I’ll have Dave’s Fish Basket,” she drawled, deciding against trying the nightly special, suspiciously coined Ocean Meat Tacos. What the hell is ocean meat? she pondered to herself, wondering if anyone had ordered it.

“I’ll have the same, please,” the brunette interjected. She felt resigned to her fate. Hopefully, she’d have at least one beer down before Mary Margaret and David made it through the door.

“Alright, I’ll bring your drinks out shortly,” Jack said, and with that, he was gone.

Fidgeting with the various condiments, Emma casually commented, “A beer? I’m shocked. What about your image?” Her gaze darted to Diego and Irene.

“What about the survival of your parents?” Regina darkly countered. She watched the blonde fiddle with sugar packets and the labels on bottles. Her eyes drifted up to study her companion’s face. By all outward appearances, the other woman appeared calm, if somewhat bored, but the nervous flickering magic slinking against her own told a different story. She took another deep breath, forcing the leeching, anxious energy to settle.

“Good point,” Emma agreed. She returned the bottles to their original places. Then, their drinks arrived. Dropping a straw into her beautiful Coke, she nonchalantly remarked before taking a long drink, “You seem pretty worked up.” When her eyes met the brunette’s, she winced, putting down her cup. “Okay, okay, no more dumb commentary,” she quickly added. There was a long moment of silence as she repeatedly stabbed her straw into her beverage, knocking the ice around in the plastic glass. “So, what do you want to do tomorrow since we have off?” she asked, desperate for conversation.

Enjoying a long, slow swig, the former mayor licked the remnants of the bitter brew from her lips and returned the frosty Guinness glass to the tabletop. “You could always use some more training,” she suggested, relishing the warm feeling in her stomach. Yes, the beer was an excellent idea. She took another, larger, drink, tipping the glass at Irene when she caught her eye.

She was not amused, but Diego was.

“Magic training?” the sheriff prodded hopefully. She shook her head and muttered, “I need a break from Anne.” The fiery, tough-as-nails second-in-command was a force of nature. Absently, she rubbed her right biceps which was still bruised from the other day’s session with staves.

A low, rumbly chuckle emerged as the brunette agreed, “I suppose.” She idly caressed the sweating glass with the fingertips of her right hand. Quietly, she added, “I’m not having much luck with the memory potion.” Of course, she hadn’t attempted, yet, to add her blood to the concoctions, as that peculiar development still needed further investigation and intensive testing. However, she shifted away from her darker thoughts. Tonight was going to be taxing enough on its own. “Maybe a respite would be helpful for me, as well,” she mused, considering her preferred scenario of hiding away in her study. She quietly observed Emma playing with her plastic straw wrapper, tying and tugging on it. After taking another hearty swallow, she stated, “You seem rather tense, Dear.”

“Yeah, well, it hasn’t been all sunshine and lollipops since we got back from Manhattan,” the blonde grumbled, staring at her almost empty cup. She sighed heavily, rolling her head from one shoulder to another. Sheepishly, she glanced at her friend and admitted, “I don’t really want to be here.”

Not surprised by the revelation, Regina nodded before simply asking, “Then, why did you agree to meet them?” She watched her friend closely.

“Because Mary Margaret won’t let up until I at least try to make an effort,” Emma huffed in agitation. She crossed her arms on top of the table, dropping her head on them. “God, she’s relentless,” she exclaimed in frustration, her declaration muffled by her position. Rolling her head to one side so she could see the other woman’s face, she awkwardly continued, “And I figured if I was going to push you to talk to Cora, I couldn’t not talk to my parents.” Fair was fair, right?

Whether it was the goofy look on the blonde’s face or the beer warming her belly, the former mayor wasn’t entirely certain at this point, but she did know she trusted Emma. So, she smiled fondly at the other woman and raised her glass to her. “Company meet misery,” she teased in a serious tone, nearly finishing the remaining half of the beer in a long gulp.

The sheriff laughed. It was loud, and pleasant, and warming. “Yeah,” she agreed, straightening. “I’ll take that over being the pot to your kettle,” she quipped before sucking down the dregs of her Coke. She stabbed at the ice with her straw. “Parents suck,” she huffed. “I thought they’d be great, but reality’s a bitch slap,” she explained her new outlook and was only slightly repentant.

“Hmm,” the brunette agreed, softly chortling as she took another sip of her woefully dwindling beverage. Where was their food? Did they need to raise the fish from eggs?

Honestly surprised, the blonde rested her jaw on her open palm, leaning on her elbow. “You seem pretty calm, considering everything,” she quietly said, eyeing the woman beside her.

“One of us has to be,” Regina quickly retorted, narrowing her eyes at the staff lingering by the counter. While their waiter, Jack, was nowhere to be seen, the two Salter boys working the register had been quite busy with to-go orders.

With a furrowed brow, Emma uneasily demanded, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rolling her eyes before looking at the blonde and tilting her head, the former mayor replied with just a hint of vexation, “What choice do I have? You’re pushing enough nervous energy to make a sloth twitch.” She knew it wasn’t Emma’s fault, necessarily, but the beer did help take the edge off her irascibility. She certainly didn’t want to examine her increased consumption of acholic beverages over the last few months. If she had been tethered to anyone else, to anyone who didn’t care about her, things could have gone terribly wrong for everyone in Storybrooke. Quickly, she finished her beer and faced forward.

“Pushing?” came the confused response.

Hearing the slight tremble in the sheriff’s quiet voice, the brunette’s expression softened. She placed a comforting hand on the blonde’s arm and explained, “Your magic, Dear. It keeps spilling over into me, a side effect of the bond, apparently.” This wasn’t something she wanted to broach in a public place. After all, certain things would be better left unsaid.

Sitting up, the blonde twisted in her seat to face the former mayor. “Okay, Lucy, ‘splain,” she said in a horrible impression of Ricky Ricardo. But if anyone had asked Emma, she would have said that it was fantastic.

Regina rolled her eyes, surprised she hadn’t given herself a headache, yet. She pulled her hand away as she pushed the empty glass toward the edge of the table. “Magic is emotion,” she reiterated for the umpteenth time. It wasn’t a difficult concept, but many non-magical beings had problems with it, regardless. “So, when your magic leaks through the bond, your emotions come through, as well,” she elaborated, hoping the sheriff would connect the dots.

“Why isn’t your magic leaking through?” Emma immediately questioned. Her brow furrowed as she added, “Is it because you have more control?” That was something she still had difficulty with during their training. Her magic tended to go full throttle or not at all, whereas, the brunette’s demonstrations were perfect.

“No, Dear, it’s because you are the control,” the former mayor lightly chided. She kept her tone low and quiet, not wanting to draw any further attention to them. As it was, too many people knew about their unique situation. Her gaze cut to Emma and she frowned.

“Wait, what?” the sheriff prompted. The dots were coming together, and she didn’t like the picture.

Releasing a heavy exhale, the brunette gave her friend a weak smile. “It only goes one way, Emma,” she responded in a soft tone, reassuringly patting the sheriff’s knee. Instantly, she felt the dramatic shift from nervous to sad through the bond and their mingling magic. At seeing the downward cast expression, she was at a loss. They’d already talked about this, but she would give Emma time to process. She rolled her lips, removing her hand, as she was unsure what to say or how to ease to the other woman’s worry.

Then, Jack whisked another round of drinks to their table. “Your food will be right out,” he stated before disappearing with the empties.

“He took my straw,” the blonde muttered, examining the rim of the plastic cup. She smiled when a puff of purple produced another straw. Taking a satisfying sip, she looked at Regina. “I was pissed off at my parents,” she admitted, not like it was a big secret, “and, you took that,” she elaborated, trying to understand this new layer. Of course, it only raised more questions and fostered quite a bit of concern. Her brow furrowed in deep thought, staring unseeing into her Coke.

“Precisely,” Regina praised, smiling. If she treated Emma as an apprentice, it made the darker aspects of their situation easier to swallow, sometimes. “I couldn’t send you calming thoughts like you can for me. I had to tease it out of you,” she gently explained, praying her friend didn’t feel violated.

A part of her feared what the sheriff could do with this power over her, or more accurately, what the sheriff could be forced to make her do. Power was, after all, only an illusion. She had learned that lesson a long time ago. And as demonstrated at the town line, her free will could be bypassed, her magic forcibly restrained, and if Emma honed her position as master, she could effectively wield her as effortlessly as a feather. However, she didn’t believe, at that moment, the savior would ever do that, not without extenuating circumstances, but she’d been betrayed before by those closer to her heart.

“But I can feel when you’re upset or in a good mood,” Emma countered in a small voice. She could tell when the former mayor was withdrawn, angry, irritated, happy, or sad. She searched her friend’s face for something but, exactly what that was, she wasn’t entirely certain. “Your magic gets all jangly and harsh like it’s pushing against me,” she expounded, her throat tightening at the implications. “Or it gets all cuddly and slinky.” It felt like cheating.

“That would be how the bond allows our magic to meet, the push and pull,” the former mayor confirmed. Since the spell, the sensations had developed slowly over time and had become very familiar to her, almost second nature. Clearly, the same was apparently true for Emma. “So, while I cannot push my magic nor my emotions to you, you can sense a vague echo of it on your periphery,” she clarified, tentatively reaching out with her magic to the sheriff, wanting to illustrate her point. She was surprised to feel the savior’s magic recoil from her, but the other woman was unable to mask her distress. However, she couldn’t justify withholding her theories, and so, she explained, “This spell was most likely designed to be used by a non-magic user to control a mage, not to be used between two natural casters.” A dark snigger escaped as she looked forward again and added with a half smirk, “A spell this insidious would not want the slave to have access to the master’s power.” She took a sip from her fresh beer.

Horrified by the mere prospect, the sheriff firmly gripped Regina’s arm and quickly reassured her, “You are not a slave.”

Although she was touched, the brunette didn’t stop the mirthless, breathy chuckle that rumbled low in her throat, and in a deep voice, she intoned, “Of course, I am.” She was a tool, an implement of destruction and terror.

Squeezing the arm ensnared in her grip, the blonde’s eyes watered as she stammered, “I wouldn’t . . . couldn’t…. I can’t…. No one should be used that way.” This all felt so utterly wrong. She shook her head because she had no words. A lone tear escaped the corner of her left eye and rolled down her cheek.

Reaching up and, with a feather-light touch, catching the stray tear on her finger, Regina offered a sad, thankful smile. “I know,” she whispered, lowering her hand. She hoped this beautiful woman never fell into darkness like she had. In that moment, as they held each other’s gaze, she felt their magic coil and caress. The corner of her lips twitched as intense feelings bubbled to the foreground with bright clarity. Maybe Emma’s feelings weren’t so misguided after all, and she was struck speechless with the thought.

FF.net / AO3