#Most recent chapter is 'the witching hour' for reference :)

[sprout-fics]

i absolutely love your könig drabbles, i can’t help but keep rereading them over and over- hes just so mysterious 🤤

if you’re feeling in the mood to write for him some more- i’ve got a cute little trope. though i LOVE könig saving the reader every chance he gets, id like to get the chance to see her save his ass for once. maybe while he’s distracted with something/someone else, someone comes up from behind and the reader shoots their ass or sum. idrk how missions in cod work- never played it, but i wouldn’t want the person to be from either of their teams (don’t want to kill her own team + doesn’t make sense for his ally to hurt him)

If you don’t like that idea, any scenario of her saving him and he be like “SO U DO LIKE ME!!!” would make my year honestly

+ no pressure to write it ofc !

Wolverine

König x 'Maus' Reader

(Part 5 of "Little Mouse" Series)

Word Count: 1.5k Rating: Teen and up Tags: Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Dark König, Reluctant allies, Lying to your team on behalf of your enemy boyfriend, Sniper! Reader, Female Reader Warnings: Mentions of human trafficking A/N: Just a small chapter/scene to tide everyone over before a longer next chapter!

You see the AQ fighter before he does.

Price has you on the backburner this mission- relegated to suppressive fire only as the rest of the team infiltrates the AQ warehouse where the cell is supposedly hiding human trafficking victims. It’s a clean house job. Get in, get out, lead the hostages to safety. Out of all the missions the 141 has done together, this is fairly tame. 

So you perch from your spot atop a building 2 blocks away that overlooks the warehouse, exposed arms being baked by the Crimean sun, sweat beading along your neck. Here, high in the sky, you can see every move, every flutter, every step. Your finger taps along your weapon, and with every heartbeat you feel your blood thrum like a familiar staccato in your chest. 

Yet the second you set up your sniper nest you had felt it, a prickle of awareness at the back of your senses. Like eyes watching you from the dark, it had bored along your back, creeping up your spine and setting goosebumps trilling across your flesh. Like a fox in a twilight grove, the wind ripples across your nape, and it carries the scent of something all too familiar, something forbidden, dangerous. You know the sensation well enough by now, know exactly what it means.

You aren’t alone. 

You tell Price as much. You don’t have any evidence to go off of, but you trust your instincts. They’ve yet to fail you, and neither has he. You trust your captain wholeheartedly, his years of leadership and experience weighing down across his scarred shoulders and burdening him with the gravity that comes with duty. 

So you listen when his voice echoes softly in the comms, concealed from the hostiles that lurk just beyond in the courtyard.

“Eyes open.” He tells you sternly, voice muted into his mic. “The second you see anything off you RV with us, clear?”

Clear.

You’re instructed to stay where you are, to not betray your position and be the perfectly little still mouse you are, not moving a single muscle. So you do, tracing the group as they make their way through the back gate of the warehouse single file, weapons ready.

Under his instruction you down the three fighters standing near the entryway, their bodies slumping limply to the ground but caught and dragged off before their comrades are any the wiser. 

You watch as Price and the others rally behind a door leading inside, faces grim and eyes sparking with determination.

Then, movement. 

About a hundred feet away where they can’t see. A flash of gray and green in the dying afternoon sun, his massive form carefully concealed behind a corner. Watching, observing, but not interfering. 

It’s him.

König.

By the time you switch your comms back on though the group has breached the warehouse, and your radio is filled with barked orders and rapid gunfire that drowns out your voice when you attempt to speak. 

“Price? Price, how copy?”

The captain doesn’t respond.

All the while König creeps closer, staying in the slanted shadows of the building. Form coiled, he seems for all the world like a wolverine, muscles rippling and claws outstretched. The metal of his bracers flicker like fangs in the sun, bared and dripping threats. The static of your radio feels for all the world like a grinding growl that echoes deep into your own chest, a warning that’s come far too late.

They don’t know he’s there.

Your voice shakes now as you try to contact the boys, but the radio crackles with echoing gunfire and the static aftershock of a frag grenade. You can hear the screams of the hostages now, rising and pitching high to the wind. Gaz barks rapidly in Arabic, and his voice overlaps your wavering tone that they don’t seem to hear.

So instead you level your scope at him, at this man who is your enemy despite the fact he’s saved your life more times than you care to remember. There, in the crosshairs, you see the details of him, of his hood streaked with bleach tears, the whites of his eyes behind the coal dark stain, the planes of his shoulders as he turns away from you. He’s armed, just with a knife that glints in the dying light. 

You’ve seen it before, seen it drip red onto the cracked, dry earth as one of his comrades gurgled wetly at his feet, dead by his hand. He had tried to hurt you, but it had not been you that had killed him. Even now you can remember that hood, the fabric shifting as he had turned for you- reached out to where your hand hovered over your radio. 

Don’t. 

He hadn’t hurt you, and yet-

It would only take a single shot. 

All this time you’ve been chasing each other. He’s tried to kill the others, nearly succeeded in killing Gaz. He’s pursued you, only to let you go. It’s a dangerous, imbalanced game of cat and mouse where he stalks your nighttime dreams, only to appear in daylight with stunning clarity. He’s taken you, has rescued you, has watched you from the shadows, has touched you, let his hand feel your racing heartbeat. He’s your enemy. He’s your fascination. He could kill you. He’s saved you. 

He could be dead by your hand if you just…

You blink, and there’s movement behind him.

An AQ fighter who limps from a side door, escaping the chaos inside. Smoke trails after him, evidence of one of Soap’s thrown grenades. He turns as he coughs and splutters, clutching a wound on his thigh. Then he spots König, and in his hand you see the flash of a muzzle.

König stops, begins to turn.

The man takes aim with trembling hands.

You fire.

The round forces the air from your lungs, shot as you sucked in a gasp and hissing as it escapes. Like a crack of thunder it rings out against the sky, deafening the world and leaving an unsettled stillness in its wake. Almost instantly the head of the AQ fighter erupts in a grotesque spume of red, and his body tilts backwards, off balance, before he slumps at König’s feet.

He stills.

It takes König a moment to register what just happened. You can see his head tilt down to the fighter’s corpse, entire body drawn taut like a bow as he watches scarlet pool at his boots. Yet faster than you anticipated his eyes flash, turn to seek you like a homing missile, eyes wide and searching. They settle on you, perched one hundred meters away at the top of an empty building, stomach flat against the rooftop where rubble digs into your skin.

You look past your scope to where he stands, hands clenched at his sides, eyes bright, shoulder stiff and coiled. He doesn’t move from where he stands, doesn’t even flinch.

You could kill him. 

He’s wide open.

Yet then König tilts his head at you, blinking slowly like a lazy cat in the sun. It’s as if he realizes exactly where he is, how a single pull of the trigger could end him where he stands. A sensible soldier would dive for cover, would raise his own weapon and fire back to buy time for an escape. 

König does neither.

Instead he raises the hand not holding his blade to his face, lets his fingers graze his chin before lowering his open palm in front of him. It feels like a gesture, an entreaty, one offered to you with something akin to reverence. You recognize the hand signal instantly.

Thank you.

You blink, lips parting in wonder, and all at once the air in your chest feels too warm, too light, unfurling like a delicate, pale thing with soft downy wings.

“Rookie.” Price barks in your ear, and you flinch at his sudden voice. “How are we looking? ready for ex-fil?”

You pause, hand hovering over your comms. König sees the gesture from where he stands, all the way below. Even though he pauses for a moment, he eventually locks eyes with you, nods once-

And vanishes back into the shadows. 

“Rookie, how copy?”

“Clear.” You tell your captain, even if you don’t believe your own voice, shaking as it is. “One straggler on the south side of the building, eliminated. Your route is clear.”

“Copy that.”

Yet then Price pauses, the comms crackling with wordless chatter beyond him as Gaz and the others sort the hostages, until at last his voice resumes. 

“Did you see him?”

The warm air in your chest feels caught, stifled. Yet when you look all you see is shadows, and even the aftereffect seems to have evaporated, as if he was never there at all.

“No.” You reply softly, and the lie tastes sour on your lips. 

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[sweetdreamsjeff]

Jeff Buckley: Grace under fire

Dave Simpson, The Guardian, 1 May 1998

Singer Jeff Buckley lived in the shadow of his father Tim's death. Dave Simpson remembers meeting the visionary of pain and loss, and hears the demo recordings of Buckley's planned second album

WHEN JEFF Buckley walked fully clothed and singing into a Memphis marina on the Mississippi river last year he closed one of the briefest, brightest chapters in rock. Bernard Butler, the former Suede guitarist, recently said: "If it wasn't for Jeff Buckley I wouldn't be doing any of this. Seeing him restored my faith in music." High praise, matched only by Led Zeppelin's high priest, Jimmy Page: "Jeff Buckley was one of the greatest losses of all."

Buckley left just one completed album, Grace, rightly hailed as a masterpiece. But the demos for what would have been his second, planned to be called My Sweetheart The Drunk, are released by Columbia this month.

Demos, because apparently Buckley was dissatisfied with the sessions (with former Television mainman Tom Verlaine) and planned to burn the recordings and start again, beginning with a rehearsal planned for the very night he died. Sketches contains some of the most stunning and intriguing rock performances ever committed to tape. It's impossible to decide which are the more affecting: the staggering soulful beauty of a song like 'Everybody Wants You', or the references to funerals, cemeteries and suicide that shadow the album; the fragile magnificence of 'Opened Once', or the album's pervasive sense of loneliness.

That Buckley could have even contemplated trashing this music is the mark either of an acute perfectionist or of an extremely disturbed mind. And is it just hindsight that gives lines like 'Witches Rave''s "I'll never make it out alive" such an eerie psychological pull?

Equally bizarrely, Buckley's mysterious demise aged 30 on May 29 1997 (he told a friend he was "going for a swim", although many have speculated it was suicide) appeared a curious twist of destiny. His natural father, sixties singer Tim Buckley, had died tragically (from a drug overdose on June 29 1975) at 28, and his son was forever stalked by the Buckley legend. "Eternal life is on my trail," Jeff once sang, knowing full well that he was carving his own myth.

I first met him in 1994, in the first flush of critical fanfare for Grace. I was sent along to get a handful of quotes for a music paper, and we ended up talking for over an hour. This was typical of Jeff. If he liked you, you were in. It didn't concern him that he had other, more important interviews scheduled and that his press officer was frantically trying to get his attention. Just as in his music, Jeff Buckley knew all the rules but routinely bent them to suit his own purposes. In conversation as on stage, he'd play up to the image he'd created — the moody, magnificent James Dean of rock — and shatter it in an instant. Expecting a tortured artist, I was surprised by his mischievous humour.

He was a bag of contradictions, someone who shaped his surroundings (as we talked, he selected Duke Ellington to play in his portable CD), whilst simultaneously claiming to be ill at ease, both with people and daily situations.

He could be remarkably, even suspiciously eloquent. He said of his voice: "I feel it and I wanna go there. Every feeling has an articulation. It's like when you get drunk or you try Ecstasy for the first time and all your secrets come tumbling out, and you say things you've never said before."

His music, he insisted, was equally natural. "Do you think about what you're doing when you're making love?" he asked, using a favourite metaphor. He was the sort of person who would flirt with a bathchair. His entire arsenal of vocal mannerisms seemed to be filched from Dean's simmering vocabulary. But it became obvious that Jeff Buckley was carrying around a set of troubles for which there were no easy answers.

Buckley's early life around California was fairly blissful, even though he was brought up by his Panamanian mother and two successive stepfathers. He picked up his grandmother's guitar aged six and learned about harmonies by singing along with his mom to the radio as it blared out tunes by Stevie Wonder and Sly Stone. His favourite record was Terry Jacks' premature-death anthem 'Seasons In The Sun'.

When Buckley was 12, his stepfather gave him a copy of Led Zeppelin's Physical Graffiti (later influences included Nina Simone, Sex Pistols and the Cocteau Twins), and Jeff began writing songs. His first, he remembered, was "something stupid about a break-up." In his teens at college in Los Angeles he penned 'Eternal Life', which included the lines: "Got my red glitter coffin, man, just need one more nail", about the rock-death myth.

Buckley moved to New York, building up a fearsome reputation as a live performer in and around East Village. By the time a reworked 'Eternal Life' and other equally harrowing but strangely beautiful songs such as 'Dream Brother' appeared in his set, many in the audiences (which often included the likes of Nick Cave) would scream in rapture. Others would find the outpourings of naked emotion so disquieting they'd leave the room.

"I'm used to being hated," he told me. "It's something I've had ever since I was a kid. It hurts, but there's nothing I can do. I'm not lying." Neither did he pull his punches. At almost the exact time as he secured a record deal, Jeff managed the potentially career-threatening feat of being seen to "diss" labelmate Bob Dylan.

"I was at A Hole In the Wall in New York, and I'd seen Dylan the night before," he revealed. "So I did an impression of him singing 'I Want You'. I did an impression of him singing 'Grace'. I talked about how he sailed through some songs and was really brilliant on others. People were shouting 'But he's still got it, right?' And I'm going: 'No. This is not Blonde On Blonde. This is him now. You guys are living in the past'."

In the audience were Bob Dylan's manager, his assistant manager, and his best friend. "Man, the next day I was in Tompkins Square Park, staring at the ground with the snow falling, wishing I was never born. My A&R man saying, 'Well, Bob feels dissed.' But I really didn't... I just... loved him so much I sent him up." Buckley wrote a personal apology — and then when Grace came out, critics hailed the "new Bob Dylan".

Around this time people began making the inevitable, if misleading musical comparisons between Jeff and Tim Buckley. Both were singer-songwriters with distinctive voices. Jeff never knew his father (he vaguely remembered their one meeting "on a beach somewhere"). He wouldn't accept that even his smouldering looks came from his father.

"I look like my mother," he insisted. "I have my own choices, and I have my own life. All I know is that the guy's dead. I had a very musical environment growing up, that didn't involve him. Maybe I was imbued with the same things, the same parts. But it ain't his voice, and it ain't my voice, and it wasn't his father's voice or his father's father before. It's just the voice that's passed down. My grandfather sang, apparently. And my grandfather on my mother's side sang! I come from a line of singers. But my choices are my choices."

Buckley's resentment was palpable. Was he angry because his father abandoned him? "It's private," he mumbled, "but I went through, and am still going through a period of trying to figure out... why? The main question you wanna answer is did he love you or not, and if so, why didn't he love you enough to..."

Stick around. He didn't need to finish the sentence. The force driving Jeff Buckley was that he never recovered from the rejection.

He clung on to other people. "All I want to do is love everyone," he sang. There was a scarcely publicised affair with Cocteau Twin Elizabeth Fraser (who once recorded his father's 'Song To The Siren'), even curious rumours concerning Marianne Faithfull. His idealism was mirrored by a profound hatred of everything he deemed false, from colonialism to MTV and supermodels. But his chief obsession was that he would somehow "fail the music".

But what if Jeff wasn't involved in music? His answer came in instalments. "I think... that I... would be... a corpse."

We met again, but the last time I saw him he seemed exhausted by the road, itching to get back into the studio. There were narcotic rumours, but his body was found clean. When the news of his death came through it seemed like a dark joke, the kind of macabre prank Buckley would have dreamt up. It wasn't.

During his life, people talked of "Tim Buckley's son", but from now on it could easily be "Jeff Buckley's father". Jeff would have laughed at that. But his powerful musical legacy will be his final vengeance.

[morningstargirl666]

Fanfic ask game! 10, 18, 21, 23!

10.  Is there a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

Into Eternity was much more well liked than I expected it to be, like other than TBBW, that's my most popular work. But I think that was because I was still new to writing in the fandom, and at time of writing I was struggling with anxiety, so I just had insecurities around the fic as a whole. I've read it again since, and I feel prouder of it now. It's a good fic. Not perfect, nothing ever is, but I'm happy with it and enjoy reading it now.

18. What’s one of your favourite lines you’ve written in a fic?

God there's quite a few - can I say more than one? Heheh I'm gonna share more than one, cause they're from different fics and I can't choose. They're the kind of lines that just make you stop writing because you can't really believe you came up with that, it just stops you in your tracks.

There's my favourite line from The Red Wedding, "Yellow eyes glittered, as if made from the stones decorating Death's crown." that describes Caroline's wolf form, and then there's a line from TBBW, in chapter...20? Referring to Lycaon & Esther's affair: "A witch wandered into the wolf's home, and in the end, his love ate her whole."

21. Have you ever deleted an entire scene after spending hours laboring over it? If so, why?

Yes! In fact for TBBW I probably do it all the time. There's a lot of stuff I delete or rewrite while writing, it's constantly changing. The first thing that comes to mind is a scene at the beginning of chapter 22 which I took out before posting because I felt it didn't work with the flow, but I've recently put it back in.

23. How do you choose where to end a chapter (if you have multi-chapter works)?

I always end it at the point which is most dramatic and leaves the best cliffhanger. Because I like watching my readers suffer HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Lol no I'm kidding (only partly). There's other things that factor in too, like feeling it's the right place to end it? It's hard to explain, with multichaps you develop this flow with the plot, and start to recognise where it can be cut up. But yeah, it is also because I like being dramatic heheh.

[nattspencer]

In case of boredom - Part 1

Missy x reader

Part 1 (you’re here) / Part 2 / Part 3 - Complete 

Summary: The reader was always intrigued by the Time Lady. When she jumps into the TARDIS, the readers decided to write a little novel to take her out of boredom, putting little annoying riddles as a password to each file.

A/N: English is not my first language, I’m really sorry for any mistakes. Also, this is my first fanfic here, so please be kind. I already have a part two in mind for this, let me know if you want it.

Warnings: None

Word count: 1.9k

The GIF is not mine

      Sometimes you think your major problem is having too much empathy and caring so much for other people. You can’t just see someone feeling miserable and not try to do anything to cheer them up, even if this means just standing beside them, however, despite your best intentions, it often ends up hurting yourself, since you always internalize some of their issues. This wasn’t any different when a intergalactic murder time lady started traveling with you, Bill, Nardole and The Doctor.

       You had analyzed Missy since the first time you entered the vault with Mr. Eyebrows - you definitely adore calling him that way, the eyebrows always grows frowny proving your point right - primarily, it was just part of your hobby, you loved study people’s personalities - it always helped to create amazing characters for your tales - but there was something about her, something that scary and attractive at the same time and you never were so intrigued. Slowly, piece by piece, observing from a distance every single detail about her, you started to finally understand bits of what's going on under those pale blue eyes.

      The memory of Nardole’s panicked face when he saw Missy sitting comfortably on the TARDIS after your meet with the ninth legion flashed in your brain and it still makes you giggle, it wasn’t supposed to be funny, you were kinda scared in the moment as well, but his reaction and protests were really hilarious. Bill also tried to complain when she found out that the Time Lady would become a regular in the police box, but The Doctor promised that Missy wouldn’t kill any of you, and also the ship needed maintenance.

      As time passed by, you couldn’t agree more with the Time Lady’s words, she was as much a prisoner here as she was on the vault, and defitinaly as lonely too. Missy spent hours immersed in maintenance work while you all rushed throughout the universe in inimaginable adventures, and when the TARDIS finally fills up again, none of you dare to initiate a friendly conversation with her or even just be alone in her presence, too afraid of her impressibility. Nonetheless, the intriguing mocking smile never left her lips, always ready to toy with any of you, and without a doubt, always ready to annoy the Time Lord. No one would dare to say, but all of you loved to see her messing with Mr. Eyebrows.

      “Head in the clouds?” Bill asked sitting on your side, in the stairs of the console room.

      “Kinda, was it that obvious?” You just hoped not to be a weirdo for too long.

      “Looking at a random spot in the ground for hm… fifteen minutes? Yeah, very obvious, and knowing your eyes, you would probably stay like that for some hours” 

      “Sorry, sometimes I just wonder off, you know” You smiled shyly.

      “I do” She smiled back “I also know that your best histories comes out when you are like this, and believe me, I would let you wander off for hours just to read whatever you would write, but a certain Time Lady was starting to stare at you way too much, so I had to save my beautiful writer from weeks of mocking”

      “Oh, you are really my hero” You gave her an exaggerated hug that made you both lay down on the stairs, laughing.

      “Nothing is for free sweetie, I want a new tale on my table by tomorrow” She teased.

      “As you wish ma’am” You did a floppy continence to her order, and then, an idea crossed your mind.

      “Are you okay?” She asked when you got suddenly serious.

      “I think I just found a solution for something”

      “What something?”

     “You’ll see” You answer simply.

      “Just stay out of trouble little girl” She talked with a warning voice.

      “Considering where we are and who we travel with, I don’t think that would be rather possible”

      “Yeah, I suppose you’re right” She admitted with a little chuckle while she stood up “I'm going to bed, try to go sleep soon as well, it was a tiring day”

      “I’ll do my best, boss” She just showed you her tongue and left the room with a smile still dancing between her lips.

      Books! Missy was always reading something to try free herself from boredom, it wasn’t unusual to find some bloody murder mystery novel around her, so the thought came to your mind, maybe, just maybe, you could try to help her through the characters, encourage her to be good and, with some luck, write something that she would really get excited about. Howbeit, you know it wouldn’t be so easy, the plot needed to be tricky, mysterious, unpredictable, and also, you needed her to wait between chapters while you write them - patience was definitely not among her qualities and because of it, she could get bored really easily - so why not put a password in the each file, leaving a little riddle for her to find out? That could be fun.

      A week or so of planning and plotting has passed away and you started writing, thankfully it didn’t take long before two chapters were brought into life, although, you wanted to make sure that she was into your thread before finishing it all, so you began to ponder how to set the perfect bait. You waited until Missy and the Time Lord started their regular argument about some alien knowledge to sneak into the ship, fully aware that they would be busy for some hours and you wouldn’t get caught, you took one of the library's laptops and place it right in the middle of the central reading table, quickly transferring your files to the computer’s main workspace, aside it, you put a little printed note sticked to the screen with the words: In case of boredom. You knew it would trigger her curiosity, now you just have to wait.

      Hours later, when you came back from another intergalactical adventure, you innocently decided to pick a book from the library just for the sake of bed entertainment, of course, and you glanced a little hand write on your sticked note: Pick harder riddles next time. She definitely was on it, and you almost couldn’t hide a little victorious smile crawling to your lips. You kept feeding her with new chapters almost every day with the same strategy, waiting for her to get distracted before you sneak into the place and every single night, after you write, you stood up for hours in front of the computer trying to come up with an even harder riddle. Were in one of these nights that you suddenly realized, nothing would be more challenging for her than riddles about earth’s history, she probably didn’t bother in researching any of it before since Missy despised the planet. It was perfect, and it actually worked.

      Surely, even a terrestrial would have some problem solving your last one ’when the never setting sun empire had to apologize to the biggest lazio’s last flower’ but you didn’t expect to see one of the last of the Time Lords spend a whole three days in just one riddle. You could see by the little popped vein in her forehead how irritated she was for not finding the answer, however you didn’t dare to tease her about it or even talk about it at all, just allowed yourself to sense the little rewarding feeling taking over your chest. 

      On the fourth night, when you were walking towards your bedroom, after checking the Time Lady’s progress, you suddenly felt two arms smashing your body painfully against the corridor walls, and you didn’t have to look to know who it was, actually you were quite expecting this.

      “What is the answer?” Missy demanded with furious eyes and an arm crushing your chest to the wall.

      “Gave up already?” You don’t know where your courage was coming from.

      “If I were you, I would turn all the mocking down, kitten, I’ve killed for much less than that” She placed a hand in your face roughly rubbing your cheek.

      “You wouldn’t kill me” 

       “Why not? Did you forget? I’m bananas” She said very close to your face singing the last word.

      “You wouldn’t do it because you’re too into the story to let it go, too curious, but also too stubborn to ask for a tip from a insignificant little human, especially a tip from the history of a equally insignificant planet, so all your ego allowed you to do was pin me to a wall and demand for a answer, that was the only way you would get what you want and still be in command” Her grip loosened a little bit, and you could see a hint of shock on her beautiful ice eyes, probably no one has ever read her like that “Or I’m just wrong and you’re bananas, of course” You smiled “Either way, I’m willing to give you a tip: Lazio is a italian region, its name refers to the latins, people from whom the Romans descended. Romans in its turn, had Latin as their official language and the vulgar version of it originated tons of others languages, the most recent creation, as people believe, is Portuguese, witch the largest speaking country is Brazil, also, last lazio’s flower is a metaphor used by a important brazilian writer, Olavo Bilac, in one of his famous poems to refers to his mother tongue”

      “And how the hell I was supposed to know that?” Her teeth were clenched and her fingers were pressing your own jaw, not being gentle at all.

      “You weren’t, that’s rather the point dear, but before you throw all your anger in tiny little me, you were the one who asked for harder riddles, and all the information were on the internet, you just needed to find the right track”

      “That’s not harder, that’s just insignificant knowledge” She growned.

      “I know, but that was the only area that I probably would had a little more knowledge then you, so why not take it as a learning opportunity?” Your heart was pumping on your chest, and the adrenaline was present all over your body. Suddenly, she redrew her hands from you.

      “You’re interesting, pet, I’ll play your little game, but you better keep it high level, I get bored pretty easily you know, and you wouldn’t enjoy to talk with me like this when I’m not captivated, you might get kinda too dead”

      “I do acknowledge your facility in get bored, Mistress, had this in mind since day one”

      “Don’t get too arrogant, puppet, you don’t know so much of little old me as you might think”

      “Or you’re too used to be the attention focus to realize that someone, in the corner, is actually observing and analysing you”

      “Am I this important to you kitty cat? The Doctor might get a bit jealous” She raised a eyebrow teasefully.

      “You’re intriguing, Missy, and as you can see, I love intriguing people, always a good inspiration to my characters”

      “So you might want get a closer look” A smirk was growing in her lips as she got closer.

      “I would, if you hadn’t a research to make, you’re four days late” You said as you placed your forefinger in her lips, pushing her back.

      “You escaped this time baby girl, lets see for how long” the mischief was playing in her eyes.

      “You might be a good flirt, but so am I” You winked at her and started to walk calmly to your previous destination.

     “This will be definitely fun” Soon you heard her heels clicking quickly towards the library.

[partly-cloudyskies]

1, 12, 16, 18 + one I didnt pick but you secretly want to talk about

This has run long so I’m putting it under a break. Some thought about my current writing projects, an old abandoned project and, uh, word counts below!

1) Welp I got three WIPs:

This is How We Grow: My first real attempt to fully commit to the heightened romance and emotion of an idealized pastoral setting but sometimes there are shadow monsters plus this also acts as an excuse to see more of Soup’s weblena art.

The Longest Shadows: A future fic where Lena becomes a badass shadow witch and Webby learns that the McDuck legacy is a complicated thing rather than the unalloyed good that she unthinkingly embraced as a youth (Yeah how you doin season 3).

The Glass Factory: A Maebea NITW AU where Mae and Bea find and cling to each other out of a shared sense of alienation as they bear witness to an economically depressed city in its final moments before the shockwave of gentrification turns it into something unrecognizable and hostile (YES I’m still working on it!!)

12) A dumb line from an old WIP... there are so many abandoned projects that are like, two chapters and then a separate file full of quotes that I thought were cool and then I never looked back on them again. I’m sure those hold up. Let me check my old writings folder...

OH NO. I have it and I hate it but I’m going to post it anyway:

Detta rises over the Blackfuse mercenary as he struggled with the debris crushing him. Short even for a goblin, she looms over him like a Titan contemplating the fleeting life of mortals. She raises one hand, closed in a fist that sparks and howls with the wind.

“I’m gonna put a hurricane in your skull. See what it does to your brain.”

FOR CONTEXT, this is an old WIP from, like, 2016. It was a World of Warcraft fic that I REALLY wanted to write. It took place during the Panderia campaign and was set entirely in Bilgewater Harbor, an island city of goblins that is almost entirely empty in-game but I always liked its chaotic design. It was about Detta, a goblin Shaman who had given up adventuring and became a freelance problem solver in Bilgewater. She had a Storm Elemental she named Dizzy who she used as a secretary. One day Korkron troopers loyal to Hellscream bursts into her office and tells her they want to hire her to track down a criminal. Tozz, one of the troopers, is assigned to stay with her to make sure she stays on task. Eventually they would find the criminal only to learn he’s a Twilight’s Hammer cultist who had been in Orgrimmar instructing Hellscream’s forces on the secrets of Dark Shamanism and Hellscream was hiding this by killing everyone involved. You can take it from me that it was VERY lore compliant while filling in the spaces that the game devs had left CRIMINALLY underdeveloped and was going to be a dramatic story in the vein of film noir, with intrigue and divided loyalties and shifting motivations all on the eve of war and rebellion and WoW DESERVED to have better story than it did and you know what I’ve decided that is actually a brilliant line and I am PROUD of it and --

You get the picture. Next question!

16) Hm... this is a question that I don’t really have an answer for because all worldbuilding is good worldbuilding if you ask me. I think the thing about worldbuilding is that a good 90% of it doesn’t make it to the page and we kind of struggle with that because if you have all this research material then you might feel compelled to splash it all out on the page so you’d have something to show for all the time you spent. But that’s not what it’s for, it’s so that you have something to refer to when you need it. It’s the big part of the iceberg no one else gets to see. So maps? Spreadsheets? Research? None of it is ridiculous. All of it is good.

I guess the most of it I’ve ever done was for the novel that I wrote. I had a lot of material for that. I drew a map and I even tried to keep it to scale by sketching it out using travel route lines in Google Maps. I guess that is a little ridiculous, but I’ve no regrets.

18) I hate title and I don’t really spend much time on them. I certainly don’t keep track of how many titles I come up with before settling on one. I tend to be direct, I think.

Glass Factory is called Glass Factory because there’s a glass factory in NITW and my story takes place in an art studio. There’s an art studio in Alexandria called the Torpedo Factory, and that and its surroundings is what inspired that story, so Glass Factory. ez.

Longest Shadows is about legacy, the shadows cast by Scrooge and Magica and how Webby and Lena fall under those shadows. Plus it’s Lena so there’s almost a 100% chance any story with her has some kind of shadow reference in the title. So that’s that.

This is How We Grow was probably the most agonizing of my recent WIPs in terms of title. I think it’s a little clunky. But it’s about the two main characters growing and it’s... there’s farming. Plants grow. So... uh, that’s it. I might not be a huge fan of the title but I’ve never considered changing it. Never look back, when it comes to titles. That’s my motto.

Now for a question of my choosing...

14) I can knock out 500 words pretty easily on a good day, like on a real good day I can do a 1000 in half an hour. I’ve had times where I got an idea in the morning, wrote 2000 words about it, edited it by lunch and posted it by evening. But good days are few and far between and mostly I just put in a paragraph or two where I can.

I used to be very obsessive about word count. Like, I still look at it today but now it’s just like “oh, that’s how many words are in this file, okay”, but years ago I practically lived by it. I think part of it was me chasing that NaNoWriMo dragon, which was something I used to be pretty focused on. Now that I’m older I wonder if NaNoWriMo actually helps or does more to hurt aspiring writers. I mean, it’s not like there’s any external consequences to falling short but when you’re young and you’re looking to commit yourself to something, it sucks real hard when you inevitably fall short and it can be discouraging.

These days I’m more in a “what’s important is that you’ve written something” frame of mind. It doesn’t matter if it’s four pages or it’s literally a single word. I’ve had single word days. And it’s okay! It’s okay to write a single word. Progress is progress, when it comes to writing. Now, if I look at the word count, it’s because a chapter I’m in is running longer than I would have liked and maybe I should consider splitting it in two or something because I am the kind of person who likes the idea of a uniform amount of words per paragraph thank you very much. Beyond that, I don’t pay word count much mind and I think I’m a happier writer for it.

So yeah!

[fallenflowersfromgrace]

Number 20 for the recent ask game.

Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

Alright so I'll do MMBM

And we'll start with the call backs.

Chapter 1 had this line: She never wanted this. But it was everything she dreamed of, wasn’t it? A chance to work alongside the most powerful witch on the Boiling Isles was right there. All she had to do was take it.   

Chapter 3 ended with this one: Sure, life hadn’t worked out like she thought it would, and while flying with her sister to sell human trash wasn’t where she thought she would be, at least, she was living her dream by working alongside the most powerful witch in the Boiling Isles.

Put side by side it was an easy call back to the first chapter. I always intend for Lilith's dream to stay the same, but shift the focus on who the most powerful witch was to her.

Chapter 1 had this: “Lily?” Eda whispered into the dark room. She could feel something heavy rest on her chest and the tightness of her throat when she realized Lilith wasn’t here. 

What if it got her too? 

(For those who don't remember this scene, this was when Eda ran into Lilith’s room because she was scared to sleep. The "It" Eda is referring to is the dark shadow she sees in the void.)

Chapter 2 mirrored it with this: They [Lilith’s eyes] were black, which easily reminded Eda of the void and the figure that came with the void. It had gotten Lilith too. 

This not only served as a "Lilith is her own worst enemy" moment but also as a call back to Eda’s fear of her sister being hurt by the shadow figure.

Adding a read more cuz this ask is already hella long lol.

One thing I loved writing was the contrast of Lilith’s reactions regarding the first transformation for Eda and herself. Just how she changed from having a fear of losing Eda to being so willing to go.

From Lilith's pov: She wasn’t sure how many hours had passed and fear began to settle in that she may have lost her sister for good.

From Eda’s pov: You're about to run off. About to leave me. You came to say goodbye.

(And quick side note: when Eda transformed into the Owl, the coven members attacked her first. When Lilith turned into the Raven, she attacked the coven first.)

So as for development, I loved being able to work with tearing apart the sibling relationship that they have only to end up rebuilding it. As for individual character development:

Lilith: It was so much fun. I know I caused a lot of pain, but being able to have the guilt eat away, have her fix things asap, just working with this concept of "what if" was definitely one of my favorite things to do. I started her off right where it’s the big "oh, shit, what have I done" moment and the entire chapter is spent with her feeling guilty and when she starts closing off and eventually leads to her confessing to the curse and accepting the idea she is a monster. Chapter 2 was pretty much building up to her self-destruction. There's a lot of self-loathing and guilt and a scene where she has to draw a line of "how far is too far". And I loved writing her in that chapter just because she gets more of a negative development than positive which plays the whole monster concept in a different way. The entire thing for her wasn't so she could fix it, it was so she could accept it and make peace with it and move forward to become a better person. I did end up developing her more positive and healthier mindset in chapter 3 where she's older than the events in chapter 1. Because she's learned from her mistakes. She's accepted responsibility, she's forgiven herself, and is able to grow.

Eda: God. Eda was actually harder to write than Lilith mainly because I'm not writing her as like the infamous Owl Lady. I'm writing an Eda who is a literal child. I think the hardest thing to do was to bring out the younger sister side that looks up to Lilith and sees the world through innocent eyes. Her development in chapter 1 was more about shattering the golden light she saw Lilith in. It was about destroying her innocent view of the world. She's a child who in the span of an entire chapter goes from, traumatic incident, to fear of sleeping, to wanting to find a way to cure the curse and hide it, to finding out her sister cursed her. And getting to work with resentment and anger in chapter 2 was one of my favorite things to do. Because it's about the bitterness of her suddenly having to grow up and demanding independence from Lilith, but the bitterness ends up leading her to embrace the curse and the independence comes back to bite her when Lilith does try to leave her life. In a way this was a sorta "be careful what you wish for". But this entire chapter for Eda was demonstrating how she was able to adapt. How she managed to come to terms with the curse. Where she stands with her sister. And chapter 3 showed how she sorta became the Owl Lady.

Now I think the best scene that demonstrates my favorite development is the scene at the end of chapter 2 where the two of them are talking in Lilith’s room and they just sit there and talk it out.

Like Lilith said this in the beginning of chapter 2 when Eda asks her about the curse: "I wanted to beat you."

I purposely worded it like that so Lilith could be seen as the villain, and so she could see herself as the monster.

Now here it is when they talk in Lilith’s room: "I only meant to curse you so it would take your powers away for a day. So I could beat you ."

The extra information doesn't have Lilith putting herself in a bad light. It's more as a way to explain the mistake.

So a hint for a future scene: “You cut the curse in half. Which means like umm...a pizza. If we cut a pizza in half, each person gets a slice, but they aren’t tied together even if they are the same thing.”

Anyways. Thank you for the ask!

[stevenuniversetanzanite]

Someone Must Get Hurt (Cordelia x Reader (Part 5))

This is set during around and through coven so she’s still Cordelia Foxx technically.

Part 1,  Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 

Sorry for the late update, joined an academy (unfortunately not for witches) and had to wait until I got my glasses also writer’s block.

I re-read the other chapters and I genuinely enjoyed (which is rare for my self-conscious arse). Hope I didn’t screw that up with this addition. Probably did.

Anyway, enjoy :).

Y/N/N= Your nickname

Y/M/N= Your mum’s name. (I didn’t want to pick your characters mum’s name.)

The air was tense in the academy, every student was stressing about who was the next supreme. One student, Nan had drowned in a bathtub. Zoe tried to communicate with her spirit but had no luck, the girl didn’t want to talk. We all had our suspicions of what happened and all of them involved Fiona. Cordelia was the only one who was doubtful, but you all knew she was just hoping her mother wasn’t as bad as you all knew her to be. For Cordelia’s sake, you wished it wasn't her. Who knows, maybe a witch hunter broke in and… drowned her? Nah, that sounds wrong. Why go to all the trouble of breaking in and then drown a girl? Nan was more than powerful enough to fight off a non-magic user. 

Madison’s inflated ego made her believe she was the next supreme. No one directly said it to her, but you all hoped she wasn’t- none of you wanted another Fiona. Madison’s jelousy over the title made her commit attempted murder, smashing Misty in the head with a large rock and burring her six feet under in a resurract man’s casket. 

Fiona was showing Misty with gifts, mainly meeting her favourite singer Stevie Nicks. It was nice to see Misty awe-stricken by the famous singer plus you got to listen to Stevie live for free. After how much of her music you’ve had to listen to since Misty arrived, it was great to relax to some great vocals. The other girls were out doing whatever they wanted. Cordelia was trying to get you closer to the girls (when was she not?) and tasked you with getting along with Misty who you, in Cordelia’s eyes, had the most in common with. 

Your mind kept falling back to the contant theme of the recent days, the next supreme. Everyone was infatuated with knowing, “maybe it's me?”, “I could be the supreme”, you just wanted to go with the flow. Everyone was stressing you out and you didn’t need that at the moment. They were acting like it was a competition, that the goal of these being a witch was to be the supreme. You wondered if the thing was a generational thing, like every 20 or so years there’s a new one is born or is it random. If you knew this, you could use to predict how old the witch would have to be. Was she about your age or like Cordelia’s? Is it even one of us? There could be a witch we don’t know of out there who is the successor. You didn’t vocalize any of this or participated in any of the drama created because of the mystery involved behind who the next one was. You couldn’t care less. 

While the other girls practiced their magic, you tried to make something to heal the burned skin around your eyes. Misty offered you some of her ‘magical’ mud, but you wanted nothing to do with it or her. She was a nice girl but her friendship with Cordelia put you off her. They were too close; you didn’t trust their friendship. Your interest in finding something to fix your burns along with you love of botany lead you to starting your newest distraction from your crush on the headmistress. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your pen hit against the workbench. Music blared through your headphones. You had spent the last three hours in the green house trying to perfect a potion, making notes in a hand bound book. It was a side project to distract yourself from the over growing jealousy you felt. On the other side of the room, the two other green magic enthusiasts insisted on working. You hadn’t been invited to join them, they thought you looked too busy on your book. Cordelia stole glances every so often, you weren’t aware of this.

Stevie Nicks' "Kind Of Woman" played in the background as the two blonde witches worked on their concoction. Cordelia hummed along with the music. She picked some bay leaves, tearing them into smaller pieces as she shoved it in their mud. She was teaching the young swamp witch.

The two spoke in hushed whispers. Cordelia didn’t want to disturb you as you worked. The two almost didn’t come in there, but there being very little to do in the school and you already absorbed in your work you didn’t think their presence would disturb you. You switched your music from the speaker to your phone, to ensure their talking didn’t disturb you. During the breaks of your songs, you could hear their voices as Cordelia taught the young swamp witch like she had taught you months ago.

“I didn't know bay leaves had magic in them.”

“Provide protection. Asafetida banishes evil.”

Misty leant down to smell the concoxion, “Oh, wow, that's some stinky shit.”

You could hear their laughing during the switching of tracks. You groaned. They took that as you were frustrated with your work – they weren’t internally wrong but the cackling from behind you wasn’t helping either. Cordelia frowned, not enjoying watching you stress out you’re your project. She considered offering you to join them to distract you for a bit, but something held her back.

Misty leaned in towards Cordelia, "Zoe told me what you two overheard."

"W-what?" Cordelia stuttered, growing flustered. Cordelia didn’t know what to do with her hands. Instead of waving them about like an idiot, they clenched the workbench, leaning her body weight on them. She couldn’t run from this conversation; it would be too obvious. Why couldn’t it all be easier like how it was before she got blinded. Your first ‘unofficial lesson’. The ease of moving closer to your person, how easily flustered you were (like how she was now). She insisted she needed to know about the student who refused to open herself up to others. She missed the conversations you’d both have as you peeled back the protective layer.

You were too caring; she saw that when you ‘helped’ her. You did what you thought was best, for her, you, and the coven. She felt in those few seconds your hands were on her temples, the love you had for her as well as the pain love has caused you in the past.

She saw the late nights when you stayed up contemplating your decision, the countless hours you thought about others instead of yourself which counted up to years of your life. An underlying need for control, of you, your body as well as your wants and desires. You held yourself back and now she was doing it for you because she was too indissertive and disgusted with everything about the situation she caught herself in. 

She was scared, she only built to that pain. She didn’t have enough time to stop you and, in an attempt to do so, she tossed you across the room when you had already been affected. You couldn’t have foreseen that.

Cordelia liked you back, that’s the problem. She was your teacher. It’s the same as having a crush on your professor. She made you fall for her. Ignoring all that, she was still married. She had no knowledge that her ex had cheated. What if he hadn’t, what if he was a decent person? What if-

“Ms Cordelia.”

“Hmm~”

"That she likes you Ms Cordelia."

"It doesn't mean anything-" All she could do was deny. It wasn’t right, what she did was wrong.

"I know it's not my place, but you've been talking about her for ages and you haven't asked her once."

She looked at Misty, “Your right. This isn’t your place.” Cordelia rushed out of the greenhouse and back into the school.

Misty sighed and looked over to you who was too busy working to pay attention to them. Misty knew she would have to get involved if you too were ever going to get together. She couldn’t do it alone. She had to call in for help. 

Four of the girls were huddled up in the main room, all wanting to fix the dynamic between the two of you. Each one had tried in their own way to help you out. Madison with her constant babbling about person a (usually making at least one sexual reference) to person b as well as getting you to admit your feelings in the worst place. The others worked more in the way of emotional support for Cordelia (you got along with the others but weren’t one to confide in them) and trying to convince her to make a move.

One’s idea was to stage an intervention for Cordelia, as you had stated your love for her in her presence and it was just Cordelia holding back. Another suggested if they got both of you in the same room, you’d talk it out, that wasn’t going to happen. They could set up a date and trick you both into going.

“The date idea doesn’t sound that bad,” Zoe said. “But how would we do it?”

“We’d need to make so neither can leave,” Queenie said.

“Yeah, Ms Cordelia stormed out the other day when I was trying to talk her into it,” Misty said while eating grapes.

“-and Y/N can teleport, so you’d be relying on not to zap away.” You were the type to teleport away if you were uncomfortable, but with Cordelia in the equation no one could know. 

“Okay, what do we need to do to make it the perfect date?” Zoe asked. Retrieving a pen and paper out like it was a middle school project.

“Say no more,” Madison said.

“No one let Madison get the pen.”

“Hey!”

An hour later Cordelia walked in on the girls plotting the date. She raised a brow at all the girls working harmoniously together. The group's laughter was what brought her out of her office originally. She smiled standing in the doorway. Her grin faltered when she noticed you weren’t with the girls. She worried at times like these when she saw the others getting along and you depriving yourself from times like this. 

She brought herself to where she thought you would be, she was your teacher after all, she should be concerned that you were missing out.

She knocked 

“Shit, you scared me.”

“I think you’ve said those words to me before,” she purred. 

“Miss Foxx?” Not Delia or Cordelia. No, she couldn’t stand you saying that. It was too formal and distant. It reminded her too much of her husband, someone she never wanted to think about again. She wanted the closeness you both once had. She craved you to call her a nickname. She will call you a million if she could hear you say one. She’d give anything to hear you say Delia more time.

“You don’t have to call me that.” She kept the same flirtatious tone as before, sending shivers down your spine. She gently nudged you to the side. You scooted over giving her enough room to sit beside you. 

It felt like Déjà vu. Her sitting next to you, working in the greenhouse just like the day you injured your arm. The limb was now healed. The coven’s knowledge of your past didn’t stop you from where clothes not appropriate for the weather. The only time you didn’t cover yourself fully was when you were spending most of your days trapped in your room blind. Cordelia made sure you were never overheating due to your stubbornness as well as self-consciousness. 

“How’s your book going?” It was hard to concentrate. She was so close to you. 

“Alright.” It was killing you but not as much as watching her with Misty. 

“You seemed stressed earlier.”

“I did?”

“You did,” she said. “I think you deserve a break. You’ve been working on this for a while now.” 

“I don’t know-” You didn’t know what game she was playing. 

“Come one sweetheart-”

“No!” You brushed her off you. You jumped off your crate turned seat creating some distance between you and her. “None of this.”

“I thought-”

“No. I don’t like to be toyed with. You can’t play off you didn’t hear what you heard as if nothing happened and then weeks later come up to me all flirtatiously and expect me to be okay with that.” You clenched your fists trying to hold back your anger. “You either like me or you don’t. Tell me now so I can move on with my life.”

“Y/N I-”

“You know what, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Y/N-”

“Please go.” You wouldn’t look at her. Your head faced the exit, your hands crossed. The moment she left they would slide out of position and hug your body as you sobbed. 

“No! I like you Y/N. Hell, I love you more than I ever did with my ex. I’m not letting you toss me aside.”

“Miss Fo-”

“Don’t call me that! Ever!” You shut your mouth quick, eyes widened. She approached you, tearing your arms out of their tightly crossed position. She held your hands in her’s. “I-I didn’t mean to yell, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I didn’t mean to either, I was just-”

“I get it. With the weight of the world resting on our shoulders, it’s hard not to snap sometimes.”

“Everything will get better, yeah? Once we find out who the next supreme is?”

“For our survival, I hope so.” Not the answer you wanted to hear but she wasn’t going to hide the truth from you, not at a time like this. 

You don’t know what caused you to do it but you pulled her into a hug, “I wish you could be the supreme.” Cordelia chuckled. “Your so wise compared to us and you’re the nicest, most caring-”

“It’s nice of you to say that but it’s not me.”

“Still, it would be nice to be dating the most powerful witch in the coven.”

“So you still want to date me?” You hummed resting your head on her shoulder and nuzzling into her neck. “It could be you?”

“Hmm?”

“You could be the supreme.”

“I hope not. Sounds like too much responsibility… and socialising.” Cordelia chuckled once more. 

The woman held you close. Time stood still for the two of you. For once, it was calm. You were content standing their bodies pressed together as the world moved on around you. Nothing mattered. The coven’s problems were for another time. 

***

Everything happened so fast. You were talking to Queenie, trying to convince her to stay, unlike Cordelia, she didn't tell you to get out. She warned you to run, get out before whoever killed the girls to you. One girl dead, another missing, someone was going to be next, it only depended on who. She wasn't sticking around to get killed to find out.

The next you were in the greenhouse being held back. They wouldn't let you see Cordelia. The girls were forced to keep tabs on you, not letting you out of their sight. No one bothered to tell you what happened. You knew that something horrible happened and needed to help. 

"I need to go to the bathroom," you told the girls. They nodded, leading you to the nearest moment. You were told to be quick. You meekly nodded before shutting yourself in. The moment the door was shut you teleported into Cordelia's bedroom. 

"Oh god." She stabbed her eyes out. "No~ why?"

She rested on the bed doped up on painkillers to numb the pain. You could have sworn she looked peacefully asleep. It wasn’t the case. Red, inflamed skin sounding her eye sockets. You put two with two together. Gouging out her eyes wouldn’t solve anything. 

The floorboards creaked from behind you. Myrtle wasn’t sure how you got into the room, she was monitoring it and the girls were watching over you. From what she knew, you couldn’t teleport. It wouldn’t surprise her if you could, all the girls in the coven were picking up magic easier. Power’s develop faster in times of danger.

There wasn’t much you could do for her. You weren’t going to make the same ‘mistake’ as last time, no matter how much you wanted to. If Myrtle didn’t come in, you might not have said the same. The both of you talked, you rarely spoke to her one on one- that does with everyone else in the coven, minus Cordelia and Zoe. Fiona tried to speak to you once, to shove in the same your the next supreme crap you bet. Cordelia saved you before you had to talk to the woman. Fiona did say after you helped that boy find his mother that, “She knows more than she lets on.” She couldn’t have been suggesting you were the next... no. That woman was a trickster and shouldn’t be trusted. 

“I purchased tickets to Epcot for Zoe and Kyle. I watched them together at Nan's funeral. Such a pair. So much in love,” Myrtle said.

“They are quite the pair.” You understood why she was telling you this, it was the same reason as to why Queenie left, no one was safe. If Madison didn’t kill them out of jealousy than Fiona would. “What will happen with me and Madison?” Madison didn’t see you as a threat. You wouldn’t bet your life on it staying that way. 

“Your mother will be picking you up later today.”

“What?”

“It’s only until all of this is sorted out. Think about it as a holiday from school.”

“What about Cordelia?”

“She’d prefer you to be out of harm’s way.”

“It’s only temporary?” Myrtle nodded. 

You wished she was lying. But when you heard your mother’s voice echo upstairs you sighed backing the last of your things. You stood at the top of the stairs with a backpack packed with your essentials. Your mum and Myrtle were deep in a conversation, not noticing you watching them. You didn’t want to leave Cordelia again. This time it wasn’t your choice. You left your details on Cordleia’s desk in case she needed to contact you. The only problem with that was her finding it since she was blind and wouldn’t see it. That wasn’t a problem you could solve this second, you had the schools number, that was good enough for now. 

You checked on Cordelia one last time before you left. She was fast asleep. You didn’t want to be around when Myrtle broke the news to her. Keeping it short, you placed a kiss on her forehead before heading to your mother. 

“I can’t believe she did that, I never would have thought- you were right the whole time,” your mum tried to grasp what Myrtle told her. You missed the change of subject of conversation when you were with Cordelia.

“You were too young at the time.”

“Anna leigh?” Myrtle nodded. You had no idea what the two were talking about, who was Anna Leigh? Your mother was the first to spot you, “Don’t you want to bring more?” 

You shook your head, “I don’t plan on being gone long.” The two older women shared a look of displeasure. They both wanted you away from the school longer than they were letting on. 

“I’ll keep an eye on her until the dangers are dealt with. It’ll be a good chance to catch up.”

“Sounds fun,” you said in an uneathustic voice. 

“Just us two.” You rose your brow. No siblings? What's the catch?

“Yeah, that sounds alright.”

***

You were perched up against the window, peering out into the streets of wherever your mum took you. The journey was long and you fell asleep in the car ride over. Since she arrived at the academy you sensed something was off with her. She viewed you differently. Hidden by her happy exterior masked her unease. She handed you a hot cocoa before planting herself beside. You shuffled to allow her more room. 

She asked you a series of questions about school and how you were enjoying it. You answered vaguely, not wanting to go into the full extent of what was going down. 

“There’s a lot less girls from when I went there,” she commented. She was a witch? She never mentioned this before. If you would have known, you might not have felt so alone. “It was a lot safer too. I guess there’s no safe place for us witches.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a witch?”

“We weren’t going to tell you kids. We didn’t want to put you in danger. I never thought about the complications of not telling you. Myrtle told me what you did- what you have been doing. I allowed myself to be naive.”

“Mum it’s alright-”

“No it's not,. There was more she wanted to say but left it unsaid. “I can’t fix the past but I promise to be better.” You took a long sip of your beverage, making a noise of contentment. “Still good?”

“I missed your cocoa.” You mum acted offended. “I missed you too.” You both laughed before taking another sip of your drinks. “The headmistress of the school makes great cocoa too.”

“Goode’s kid, right?”  She asked. “I heard she was nice.”

“Yeah, she is. She’s taught me a lot about Botany. I’ve been translating a couple of the old books in the greenhouse so they are easier to follow.”

“Those old things. They’ve been there since the beginning of time.” She said. “I’m pretty sure my sister started something similar, it’s probably still there unless one of her roommates moved it.” Your mother rarey spoke of her sister, you didn’t even know your Aunt’s name. She snapped out her train of thought. She asked, “What about the other girls? Are they nice?”

“They’re an interesting bunch to say the least.”

Back at the academy, Cordelia gradually got better. Myrtle informed her of your little get-a-way and that you were safely with a trustworthy family member. Cordelia was doubtful of what she heard but Myrtle assured her that as long as you're here, you weren’t safe. Not only were there the threats of Madison and her mother, Cordelia herself in her blinded state was a risk. 

Queenie decided to stay in the coven. Fiona went so far as to claim Queenie as her successor and was going to make her complete  the seven wonders. This pissed of Cordelia. Fiona wouldn’t explain her reasoning behind her decision, fleeing shortly after. 

All the witches admired the new portrait of Fiona Goode above the piano. The girls listed off empty compliments (“She was so beautiful.”, “She was a great Supreme.”, “A lot to live up to.”, “One of the best.”). Cordelia didn’t follow this trend, instead opting to keep it true, “She was a force to be reckoned with, but she was a horrible Supreme.” Mentioning all the ways she had failed at the rule. She used this time to announce that on the coming Sunday, at dawn the test of Seven Wonders will begin and all would be tested. By next week, they’ll have a new Supreme.

There was a thud at the door. Cordelia smiled. Everyone looked around wondering who that could be. “Is someone gonna let me in or am I gonna have to break in?” All the girls chuckled. Zoe ran over towards the front door, Misty and Queenie not far behind. As soon as the door was opened you were pulled into a suffocating hug. “Y/N!” Zoe was most excited to see you. “Girl, where did you go?” Queenie asked. Clearly none of them were clued into your departure. 

“You weren’t meant to be back until all of this was solved,” Myrtle said. 

“I was called.”

***

There should have been more to do. Your thoughts always feel back to the coven. You held yourself back from calling, they sent you away for a reason. Any contact could bring danger. You curled up on your temporary bed, a classic novel in your hands. It was still the early hours of the morning, your mother asleep in her bedroom. You could hear her snoring through the walls. One of the million things you didn’t miss from home. Even your old roommate snored. You smiled thinking about the few years of freedom you had at hers. Compared to now you wouldn’t call it that. Now you could do whatever you wanted when you wanted to, whether the others were happy about it depended on what you were doing. You still freaked Cordelia out when you leave the school without letting anyone know, or vanish for hours on end in a remote area of the house you don’t usually inhabit. You would do anything to hear her voice right now.

You spoke to your mum about Cordelia, never mentioning that you were a thing, she was still your teacher after all. She would wince when you mentioned the name which always threw you for a loop. You knew it wasn’t about you mentioning Cordelia because when you did without saying the name she was fine. It’s probably nothing to worry about. 

Your phone buzzed. A phone you recognized all too well was calling you. 

***

“I did say everyone participates,” Cordelia said. 

You were passed from person to person, giving the girls hugs. “I hope I didn’t miss it too much.” You pulled away from the last girl and headed over to your girlfriend. 

“Delia.”

“Y/N/N,” Cordelia said. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too.”

“Wow, you two really can’t control yourselves,” Madison said sarcastically. 

“Shut up Madison.”

You had a couple days to kill until the tests. You spent your first day catching up with Cordelia. You shared what happened during the days you were gone. You went into detail about the place you stayed at, the food you ate and your catch up with your mum. 

“You didn’t know your mother was a witch?”

“Yeah, she thought it was dangerous for us to know. I guess she’s right. All the stuff I’ve seen in this past year is-”

“Too much?”

“No~ well yeah but… I never would have dreamt this was going to be my life,” You said. “I’m glad I came here. Met you. Who knows where I would be if I never joined this school?”

“I’m glad you did.” You snuggled closer to Cordelia, her arms wrapped protectively around you.

The second day you spent on working on your book in the greenhouse. Your work was going nowhere so you decided to take a break. ‘I’m pretty sure my sister started something similar, it’s probably still there unless one of her roommates moved it,’ your mother's words popped back into her head. It couldn’t be here, could it? Where would I be if I was a book? 

You scowered the whole school searching for that damn thing. Where do they keep old things? The garage. On your first week at the school they forced you to organise the garage because they were too lazy to hire someone else to do it. It was just as you remembered it minus the fresh layer of dust that coated everything besides the van. A dodgy industrial bookcase filled with ancient books. When you put them there last year, you had flipped through a few of them. Most were photobooks of years prior. There were so many girls back then. If you knew what years your mum attended you could have looked. 

You spent hours filling through the books getting sidetrack from your original goal. 

“Y/N cant be allowed to participate-”

“She has every chance to be the next supreme as the others do. We can’t skip someone in case we are wrong.”

“All the more reason to skip her. There is no way she’s the next-”

“-There is nothing to discuss.” Cordelia stood up and began to leave to check on the girls. 

“Cordelia~”

Cordelia made it all the way to Madison and Zoe’s room, were you were all crowded around your finds. All the girls were cackling and commenting on the photos as you flipped through them. 

“I can’t believe that's what she used to look like. Has that woman ever looked bad a day in her life?” Madison said. 

“I think it’s impossible,” Zoe said. “”Like the world might implode or something.”

“Girls?”

“What do you want Cordy?” Madison said. “Hey Y/N/N, your girlfriends here.” Madison summoned your attention from the conversation you were having with Misty and Queenie.

“Delia!”

“What are you girls doing?” Cordelia chuckled at your excitement. She was glad that you were getting along with the other girls. She was proud at how far you had come.

“Y/N found some old photo albums and there's a bunch of old photos of Fiona and Myrtle. We even found an old album with some of you.”

“Oh god you found those things. For once I’m thankful I’m blind.”

“What are you talking about? You're adorable,” you said.

“You're just saying that because she’s your girlfriend.”

“Shut up.”

“Have you looked for your mother in them yet?” Cordelia asked. 

“Wait your mother went here?”

“Apparently.”

“Okay, I suggest a game. First person to find her mum makes the worst concoction that the rest have to do a shot of.” They all go in on the game. “Y/N, can’t play so you can be the judge.” Sounded good by you. 

They kept guessing people from random albums that visually resembled you. The game got called off by the call for dinner. You were all cracking up all through the meal. Anyone who didn’t know any of you would have guessed nothing was wrong underneath this roof. All of you but aside your differences for one night and managed to prove that you could get along if you tried. 

As you were putting the albums away you found a brown leather bound journal hidden behind a box of assorted junk. You flipped it open to the first page, ‘This book belongs to Cordelia-’ The last name was covered in pen ink. Why would Cordelia leave a notebook hidden all the way back here? It was left with a bunch of old albums, maybe it was an old diary or something. In that case, its better to leave it where you found it. 

You met Cordelia upstairs in her bedroom. You’d been helping her get ready for the night ever since you got back. The night before she came to your room and asked for your help as you were about to get ready for bed. You ended up spending the night in her room. 

***

Myrtle seemed hesitant upon commencing the seven wonders. She kept eyeing you during the ‘last supper’ before the new supreme was crowned. For all you knew it could have been your last, you’d all been warned that one of the spells could lead to death if failed. This made Misty very worried. She didn’t want to participate in the whole sabang. To be fair, neither did you but there weren't many witches to replace Fiona.

Five witches with different specialties all competing for the reigning title of head of the Coven.

The two eldest members barely spoke directly to each other throughout the duration of the meal. Misty spent most of her time talking to Cordelia making you slightly jealous. Knowing you were being irrational, you decided to turn away from them and pay attention to Madison raving on about how much she had got this in the bag.

Cordelia explained that it is unprecedented for five candidates to attempt the Seven Wonders without sponsorship by the outgoing Supreme but desperate times call for desperate measures. 

The tests started out easy. First was telekinesis. Kyle lit five candles for the girls. Why you couldn’t light them yourselves was beyond you, it would have gotten rid of a test. All the girls move the candles towards themselves in turn, Misty had the most difficulty with the task but bubbled with excitement on completion while Zoe barely took a second to move the candle.

Next was Concilium. The girls turned on each other without a second thought. Misty made Queenie slap herself, Queenie makes Misty pull her own hair in retaliation. Madison goes overboard making Kyle do a series of tasks ending up with Kyle choking Zoe. You freak seeing Zoe getting choked. You fought for control over Kyle’s mind, controlling for him to stop. “Why isn’t he- oww” Madison complained before Zoe made her burn herself on her cigarette.

Cordelia declared enough. The girls complained -mostly Madison- you had yet to do something. You didn’t know what to make someone do, your mind was blank. You had some ideas of things you wouldn’t mind making your girlfriend do but not in front of the others. None of them were pg.  You wouldn’t mind a lap dance or watching her strip (the list continues) but that doesn’t solve the problem of people watching.

“I reversed your ass’s control,” You said to Madison. Madison wasn’t buying it. Zoe mouthed thank you to which you simply nodded. 

“Prove you can do it again” "make Cordelia do something."

"She's not a part of the test."

"It's alright, I don't mind."

"I don't want to make you do something, you didn't want to do." Your head darted towards Madison. "But I don't have a problem controlling you."

You made her suffer for all the things she did to all of you over the last couple of weeks. The other girls cheered you on, you were hyperfocus on the task you didn’t stop until a hand was placed on your shoulder snapping out of your concentration. 

For the next challenge, all four girls perform the Descensum wonder with a sun-up deadline. You all laid on the ground and chanted the incarnation, “Spiritu duce, in me est. Deduce me in tenebris vita ad extremum, ut salutaret inferi. Descensum!”

You sat there crumpled on the floor. The air felt cold on your damaged  skin. You sat exactly where you were before you entered your personal hell. Your cardigan laid near the loveseat. You were left puzzled, where was everyone? Had you completed it and woken up. No one told you anything about this task. Did you fail? The school was a lot darker than you recalled it being. The lights were turned off and not a single candle lit. You waved your hand to create some light but nothing. Odd.

You heard footsteps approaching the room you were situated in. A voice echoed around you but you couldn’t see anyone nor make out their words. A sting sensation filled your left cheek forcing your head sideways. 

“Y/n! Are you even listening to me?” An angry cordelia waved her hand in front of your face. “Typical,” she spat. “You couldn’t pay attention in my classes and you can’t now. Maybe if you paid more attention, you could have saved everyone.” ‘Saved everyone’ what was she on about? 

You scrambled up, backing away from the blonde who kept proceeding to get closer. Two strong hands grasp you in place, their grip, bruising. 

“You were always using your power to heal others and the one time we actually needed it your can’t. You're a pathetic little girl. I don’t know why we allowed you to stay at the coven. I should have kicked you out the moment I saw what you are. A damaged mess. There’s no saving you. You're a curse to this coven. My mother won’t be our downfall, you will be.”

You were left speechless. Frozen in fear. You stared into her hate filled eyes. The angry based heat radiating off her body could scourch you alive. Her nails seeped into your flesh drawing blood.

“I was glad when I was blinded. I wouldn’t have to be forced to see your face day in and day out. There is only so much torture you can put up with. You're a monster. a walking death trap. Your powers aren’t like queenies- hers was useful.”

“ENOUGH!” you shouted at her, ripping her tight grip off of you. “I am more than I appear and stronger than you think. You're not real and even if you were, your words are weightless. They won’t hurt me and you want to know why?” She was taken aback. She didn’t expect you to talk back.

“Why?”

“Because I know all of the things you said, I’ve thought them. I have said a million worse things to myself than that.” You said. “If this was a couple months ago, I would believe you. I really would. A part of me may still believe you but you have no right to talk to me like that. I am better than that and deserve more than you belittling me.”

She chuckled. You were done with this, her abuse. This wasn’t real. You were fine. This couldn’t be real. 

“Are we all back?” Zoe asked.

You jolted up, gasping for air. You were the fourth to arrive back. Cordelia treaded carefully as she made her way over to you. 

“Everyone but Misty,” Queenie answered Zoe’s question.

Everyone was staring at you. "What?" You stattered. You scrambled to turn around to see who was awake. Misty lay there stuck in her hell, "Shit." 

“She’s still got some time,” Zoe assured me, staring at the timer. The hourglass to see time was almost over.

“Not much,” you uttered. 

Cordelia felt around for you. The second she was close you teleported away from her touch, appearing next to Zoe. “Sorry,” you apologized, tucking your legs into your chest. Her head darted in the direction of your voice. “I-I didn’t mean to- I’m still shaken up.”

“It’s okay.”

“Misty needs you more than I do right now anyway.” Cordelia only nodded. 

“What was your hell?” Zoe whispered. Queenie leant down to listen.

“All my flaws on display. I’d heard worse. It was who was saying them that kept me there.”

Queenie pointed her head towards your girlfriend, you nodded feeling worse for dashing away the moment she got close to you. 

Misty was taking too long. "We need to help her" you cried out. 

"There's nothing we can do. She has to get back on her own."

"That's bullshit."

Cordelia hunched over the swamp witch’s body, hands on either side of her head, calling out for her to follow her voice. She chanted a spell, anything to wake her friend back up. By dawn, she hadn’t emerged. Her time ran out and with that, her body disintegrates into ash in Cordelia's sobbing arms.

“Her time is up,” Myrtle said. 

“No...No, no! No... No!” Cordelia sobbed, occasionally gasping for air. You shared a saddened look with two of your peers (Madison being to heartless took Misty’s death as an inconvenience). “Go to her,” Zoe mouthed. Hesitantly, you closed the distance, pulling her into a hug. She buried her face into your hoodie as she sobbed. You ran your hand over the top of her head. 

"We'll give the two a minute before continuing the tests." Myrtle said, ushering the other girls out of the room. 

"I killed her, I forced her to do the test when she didn't want to. She wasn't even one of us and I-I"

You shushed her, "It's not your fault sweetheart, no one could have predicted this."

"She didn't deserve to die."

 She was too young and too innocent to be trapped in her own personal hell for all eternity. You had nothing against the girl other than her closeness with your now girlfriend, but you would wish for a hell filled death. You wish you could bring her back. Save her from hell. It was too late. All you could do now was comfort her friend and hope nothing happens to anyone one else. 

“I had a vision, a terrible vision. None of us made it out alive. What if it was a warning that this was going to happen? That fiona will win. Were going to kill ourselves trying to save the coven. What if it's already-”

“Your mother isn’t going to win. None of us are going to allow that to happen. “

"I don't want you to go on with the tests."

"What? Delia~"

"Not you too. I don't want to lose you too."

"We still need to find the next supreme."

She wished to get changed into an outfit more fitting for a time of morning. Myrtle offered to help Cordelia while you recovered and checked on the other girls. You checked with Cordelia making sure she was alright with that before handing her over. 

“You didn’t just want to help me, did you?”

“Not exactly-”

“I don’t want any of the other girls to get hurt.”

“We have no control over this Delia. Your mother refuses to announce her successor.”

“We still have four test’s left. Who do you think it’s going to be?”

“I was so certain about Misty Day.” Myrtle pulled out a black long sleeve dress for Cordelia. “Maybe Zoe. ”

“All the girls are powerful, it could be any one of them. If Madison Montgomery really is all- maybe it is better-'' She didn’t want to finish that thought.

“I'll confess, I've had similar dark thoughts.”

“I know you were admitment on Y/N not competing but why not? She is a very powerful witch. We’ve seen her perform three of the seven wonders and those weren’t the ones in her wheelhouse. She’s a timid girl, it's possible she’s holding out on us.

“Cordelia, there is no way (Y/N) can be the supreme.”

“But why? You're not answering me.”

“The council thought it was better you didn’t know. It’s a story close to home.” Myrtle closed up the dress for Cordelia before leading her to sit on the loveseat in the middle of Cordelia’s bedroom. “I assumed Fiona would have told you-”

“She doesn’t tell me shit.”

“Y/N’s bloodline prevents her from being able to do one of the seven wonders.”

“What are you on about?”

“Y/n’s signature power, to transfer pain, it’s not the first time I’ve seen it. Y/M/N, Y/N’s mother and her sister attended the school.  During one of the lessons, Y/M/N got badly injured. Her sister, much like your dear Y/N, tended to rush to try and heal- at least Y/M/N. She didn’t hear about it until break. Y/M/N died and her sister attempted to bring back the child only cursing her with the same fate.”

“Y/N’s not the same-”

“Ask her if you don’t believe me.”

“Y/N can be brought back. She’s died before and my mother brought her back.”

“Giving your life is different to releasing some of someone else's.”

“I don’t want you to lose the love of your life because of a test that only one person can succeed.” 

“You think she's the love of my life?”

“She was willing to give you her sight twice.” Twice? Cordelia didn’t remember it happening twice. She worried it would happen again, the others must have stopped you. “Very few people are willing to do that for someone even if they care for someone dearly.”

“We should get back to the others,” Cordelia said. “I’ll stop her from going too far.”

Myrtle led Cordelia back to the others. They reluctantly continue the test. Next was transmutation. Zoe started a game of tag to lighten the mood. Much to your dismay, you were held back by Cordelia. You were confused but didn’t question it.  Zoe tagged you. Oh, it's on. You teleported out of Cordelia’s grip and tag Madison. The game of tag progressed on and was moved outside. Cordelia warned you all to be careful. None of you cared. You all needed this. It was a stupid mistake on yours part.

None of you cared until you saw Zoe’s lifeless body dangling from a spike on the cast-iron fence. You helped Kyle ease her body of the spike and transfer her to the greenhouse. Queenie attempted Vitalum Vitalis on Zoe in order to revive her, failing. She was ordered to take the saddened Kyle back to the house. Both Cordelia and Myrtle insist Madison perform Vitalum Vitalis on Zoe next, even though you were more than willing to go next. Madison proves her ability with a fly instead. They don’t accept this and request her to save Zoe or she was not worthy of being the Supreme. She complained, saying why they weren’t trying to get you to have a go since they all knew out of the two, they would prefer you as one. Madison exited angry leaving the three of you alone in the greenhouse with Zoe.

“I’ll clean up her wound a bit for when she gets brought back. It should be easy work assuming she didn’t puncture too many organs,” You said surveying the damage. “I think I have some medical equipment in my bedroom.”

“Can you get her the supplies, I need to talk to Y/N for a moment?” she asked her Auntie. Myrtle agreed as much as she disliked doing mineral work, she knew why she wanted to talk to you.  You didn’t like the sound of this ‘talk’ so you made small talk to prolong the inevitable. 

“I wanted to be a doctor when I was younger. My mum used to laugh and say I was just like her sister. Sadly, she died before I was born.” You filled your bowl of Luke warm water and brought it to the dead girl. "That's besides the point. I never really found a passion in studying anatomy. I ended up doing it so I could fix myself instead. Don't think a hospital would hire me with all these scars on me, they'd probably assume I self-harmed or something."

"You haven't-"

"God no. Well, maybe in a sense. I didn't need to help others. Everything's complicated."

"I think you should do it. Become a doctor, if you still want to."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe I will. Lets see how this goes first." Myrtle arrived back with your gear. No one knew you had a collection of medical equipment. You stole it from the hospital around the same time Zoe brought back her man. "I need full concentration while doing this."

They allowed you your privacy, promising to check up on you every so often to make sure you didn't need anything and to keep you from doing something stupid. You didn't push yourself to do Vitalum Vitalis. If they wanted Madison to try, so be it. As time went on, the idea came up in your head more frequently. Maybe you should try. Your work was done. The only thing you could do now was wait.

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t do it,” Cordelia said. You hadn't noticed there in the room before. Was she always there or did she just enter?

“I think I can bring her back,” you said. 

“I don’t doubt you could." But? you thought. Cordelia made her way towards you. She rested a hand on your shoulder, your free hand that wasn't holding Zoe's found hers. You rested your body against Cordelia’s trying to find comfort in the tough time, "but if you do you’ll die.”

What was she one about? There was no way she could know that. You were getting better and even if it wasn’t, no one dies from trying to bring someone back by Descensum. If it was some frankenstein type work involved you could understand, there would be tons of risks, but this? You would be fine. 

“My magics getting better, I can give the pain back to people now” you reasoned. You prayed she didn’t ask for an example for that. She didn’t care if your magic was getting better that wasn’t the problem. After what happened to Misty and what Myrtle told her about a girl she knew, Cordelia didn’t want to risk the love of her life’s life. It took her too long to find you, she wasn’t going to lose you now. 

"It’s not that you are not strong enough y/n. It’s the fact that if you do it and no one can bring you back if something goes wrong."

"I wouldn’t die-"

"AND IF YOU DO? WHAT THEN?"

"Uh~"

“YOU’RE A WALKING DEATH TRAP. YOUR POWERS AREN’T LIKE QUEENIES WHERE YOU CAN JUST CAUSE SOMEONE PAIN BY THINKING ABOUT THEM AS YOU GET INJURED. YOU’RE’S IS MORE DELICATE. EITHER YOU HURT OR SOMEONE ELSE DOES. YOU DIE OR SOMEONE ELSE DIES. I HATE TO BE THE BEARER OF BAD NEWS BUT THATS HOW YOUR LIFE WORKS.” You froze. You're hell flashed back through your mind. You tried to shake it off but it was glued to your mind.

She stated all the faults in your curse. Her worry made it seem like you shared your burden now. Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. She wanted to protect you from what she can’t control. If you died, she would live with your blood on your hands even if it was your choice. She would live with the knowledge that she couldn’t stop you.

You didn't see what she saw, nor her reasoning. You were too scared of your hell meeting your reality. Love molding into hatred.

Cordelia moved closer to you,causing you to freak out and teleport away at the last minute. She bumped into the workbench. 

Did you really teleport after what just happened?

She listened for any noise that could be you. After a few seconds you break out sobbing. You contained the noise as best as you could, if she could hear you, she wouldn't know.

"I didn't mean-"

"I'm sorry. I'm so~ sorry."

"Y/N?"

"I'm pathetic. You should have gotten rid of me when you had the chance, I'm only going to keep screwing up. I know you're glad you're blind so you aren't forced to see your face every day."

"None of that is true. Why would you think that?" You don't respond. She tried to make her way towards you again to comfort you but you teleported away again. "STOP TELEPORTING AWAY! HASN'T WHAT HAPPENED TO ZOE TAUGHT YOU ANYTHING?" You squeaked and stayed perfectly still. Cordelia saw her error. "Shit- Y/N. I'm sorry. Please talk to me."

You'd been acting strange with her since you got back from hell. The only times you were normal with her was when you were at arms length or when she was distressed about Misty's death. 

You acted the same way when you got back, teleporting away from her, apologising profusely. 

"Whatever happened to you in hell wasn't real."

"It felt so real. It's still hard to dissociate from it." You fidgeted in place. "You said so many vile things, did some- I was- I couldn't-"

"But you got out."

"I stood up for myself, for the first time ever."

"How did it feel?"

"I thought I was going to die. That manifestation of you looked about ready to kill me." Cordelia listened patiently. "Right the question. Uh? Great?"

"You don't sound sure."

"I need time to think."

"Can I come over to you?" You nodded but remembered she can't see so you vocalise your answer. She pulled you in close to her. "I didn't tell you not to do it because of any of the horrible things you thought, it's because I don’t want you to die because I made you compete against the other girls. You may have passed the others but I- two witches has already died today due to my blindsightedness. Not you too. I’m begging you to at least wait, let everyone else go first, as a last resort, if everyone fails then I give you my blessing."

"You’d make a good supreme.” You rubbed your thumb on her hand. You gave her an idea, maybe she should try the tests. “I’ll wait. For you Delia.” Cordelia smiled and moved her body closer to yours, wrapping her arms around your front. “Cordelia?”

 "Yes."

 "Can you take me away from here? I don’t trust myself enough to not do something if I’m alone."

 "Of course dear” She pulled away completely causing you to frown momentally. She stuck out her hand. You took it without a second thought. “But it’s more like you’ll be leading me out of here.”

You lead her through the house, arms hooked together and her other one holding onto the hand you used to hold onto her. She told you she wanted to speak to the others- more specifically Myrtle. You had no clue where they went off to after they brought Zoe to the greenhouse. Cordelia, relying on her powers now more than ever, used her magic to locate the others. 

“Lounge room,” she informed you. Upon arriving and spotting the woman you were impressed. 

“Damn, how did you do that? That’s impressive.” Which made her chuckle.She waved her hand for you to stop. She was a little bit flustered by your compliments not used to receiving them.

“Divination.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?”

“You would have eventually.”

“I wouldn’t have-”

The others turned their attention to the two of you. 

“You’re both back,” Someone said, you were still distracted by Cordelia. 

“I found y/n-” Cordelia cut herself off. “I stopped her.”

“I’m the last resort,” you chimed in knowing what she left out. 

“You're still allowing her to do it.” 

“There’s no talking me out of it.”

“So what's going to happen now?” Queenie asked. 

“I’m going to try the test.”

“You gotta be kidding me,” Madison said. 

“Unless you can bring back Zoe, I don’t see what other choices we have,” Cordelia said.

“You're just ramping up the contention to scare me,” Madison said. 

"She stands a better chance than the rest of us." You said. Everyone looked at you funny."She does~"

"Why doesn't Y/N try? She hasn't been disqualified yet," Madison said.

"You want me to try?" 

"So I can beat you."

"There it is," You chuckled. 

"It could actually be Y/N. She hasn't failed one yet and we know she can do two of the remaining-" Queenie added. 

"It's not impossible that someone manifests almost all the seven wonders, it's just near impossible," Cordelia said. 

"Since I've been put aside for a bit, can I pick the next one?"

"Sure dear."

"Divination." Cordelia chuckled knowing the exact reason why you choose that one.

Cordleia flew through the next few tests. Only one remained.You prayed under her breath that she was able to do it for the safety of the coven. Cordelia’s body plupeted towards the ground. You leapt forward to catch her before she hit the ground. Zoe jolted upright gasping for air. She did it. Your girlfriend did it. You were ecstatic. 

She grabbed onto you for support as you eased her back up into a standing position. You slowly let go of her and stepped back to talk it all in. Her all in. She radiated perfect health. Her eyes healed, no scarring from when they were stabbed. 

Cordelia took the world in, she never thought she was going to see again when she stabbed her eyes out. The world had never looked so bright. The vibrant colours of the floral you were all surrounded with, life anew. The coven lost a powerful witch but gained a new one. No, the power was always there just suppressed by self-doubt. Never again shall a witch under this roof be allowed to doubt themselves. She had a new mission, to make this coven the most powerful it has ever been.

A huge celebration was held that night to celebrate. A celebration among family because that's what you were. The coven had become your second family. You didn’t always get along and a couple members were slightly murderous but it was yours. Madison was out of the picture, she’d run off not long after the next supreme rose.

Cordelia decided to go public about the Witches and their powers in a television interview, inviting new witches to the Academy.  Myrtle reminded Cordelia that she must pay for killing the other Council members and should be burnt at the stake. Cordelia resisted, telling Myrtle that she has been like a true mother for her. She didn’t give Myrtle a response straight away. She seeked help from you. 

“Do we have to burn her?” YOu asked.

“She killed two of our own.”

“But hasn’t there been enough death. We know she won’t do it again. There was no way anything good was going to happen with those two in charge, they basically sided with your mother the entire time. Anyways, it’s my fault she did it, if I hadn’t done what I did she would never have given me the eyes.”

“Then she would have given them to me.”

“Please Delia. She doesn’t need to die, she was wrongly burnt before, can’t that wrongdoing be the price. No one needs to know.”

“She’s adamant that we do it.”

“But no one wants to do it. She’s too nice of a person to be burnt. Denounce her status as a council member as punishment if you have to do something.”

“What if people ask what happened to the last ones?”

“If they have to ask, then that means Fiona never told anyone. We could use that to our advantage, say we don’t know, it was under Fiona’s reign so they can’t blame you for their disappearance. There are ways around this, I’ll help you every step of the way.”

“Y/N~”

“I knew she was going to do it.”

“What?”

“She told me before she did it. She asked me to distract you for long enough so she could do it.”

“Y/n, you should have told me.”

“I know. Doesn’t that make me just as bad?”

“No.”

“In the eyes of the law?”

“Turning a blind side isn’t the best way to start a reign as supreme.”

“Still better than murder.”

Cordelia invited Queenie and Zoe to be her Council, denouncing Myrtle from her role as a council member. The two girls accept the job offer. The three remaining students took on a new role as teachers at Miss Robichaux's. Cordelia convinced you to take up your long dream of becoming a Doctor, enrolling you in a medical course. 

As Miss Robichaux's opened their gates for the new generation of witches, Girls and women were lined up for miles, waiting to take their places as students. Downstairs, the school had a guest, the old Supreme. Once the girls and woman had sorted from those who are and aren’t witches, you went up to Cordelia to inform her of her mother’s presence. She thanked you, placing a kiss on your head before leaving to see the woman. 

Fiona was ill and aged. Cordelia predicted that Fiona would not last the night. The two talked about her mother's impending mortality and that she must die for her daughter to truly live as well as Fiona always was Cordelia’s villain, her monster in every cupboard. Fiona wanted to be taken out the same way she took out her predecessor, but no one could help her move on to the end and that Fiona had to let herself go. As they hug, Fiona died in Cordelia's arms.

Cordelia gently placed her mother down onto the ground. She sat down in the chair to the right of the table, reflecting on the last few moments, the words her mother said to her. Her eyes landed on a wrapped package that wasn’t there this morning. Curiously, she unwrapped the paper revealing some sort of journal and her grandmother’s ring. Fiona must have found the ring since she was given the necklace. Cordelia slipped the ring on her finger, admiring it before drawing her attention back to the book. She didn’t recognise it. She opened it at a random page, the pages were aged, the writing in a legible cursive. The contents detailed the method to make a potion that Cordelia had never heard of before with line art of some of the ingredients. Unlike the ring, this book wasn’t for her. She flipped it back to the front. There was a short message wishing the book owner a happy 16th, criticizing their taste for a gift, so on and so forth. It was signed by Fiona. 

Cordelia closed the book, running her hand over the leather cover. It belonged to your Aunt and therefore was now yours. Once she dealt with Fiona’s body, she approached you with the gift.

“What’s this?” You asked as you unwrapped the book Cordelia rewrapped. 

“I found it after my mother died, I think it’s for you.”

You looked at the book you’ve seen before. You were confused, wasn’t this Cordelia’s? “I don’t understand. I thought this was yours. It has your name in it.”

“I’ve never seen it before today. I think it was your Aunt’s.” 

You opened the book flipping through the pages. It was exactly what you were looking for, not only to satisfy your curiosity of the woman your family refused to talk about (other than the occasional reference) but it was the key to helping you finish your project. You brought the book to your chest, huffing it tightly. Finally a connection to someone like you, the same power. You’d been compared to her too many times, now you get a glimpse at the young woman that left the world too young. She could have been you if you were allowed to finish the test. Maybe, there was no way to know and you didn’t plan on finding out. 

“Thank you Delia. Really thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You’ve done more than you know.”

[ariel2art]

To be loved (Enjoltaire)

Chapter 1 I went too far

TW:  Implied suicide attempt, Alcoholism, Depression, references to dysfunctional families

Grantaire goes too far this time and it's Enjolras who decides to pick up the pieces, even if he's slowly falling apart too.

Will they be able to save each other from the pain?

Note: Hi, this was my first Les Mis fic. I decided to publish it here. I’m currently trying to write chapter 3. I don’t know if I’ll ever finish it tbh, but I hope you like what I got.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23843473/chapters/57300742

 It was all over.

         The fog that covered his mind was getting thicker. He didn't feel anything. There was no more pain, no more resentment, no more bitterness, no more love, no more desire. His body was lost in an unperturbed ocean, the small waves caressing his body. There was no sound beyond their gentle murmur. He realized how gigantic his ocean was, but didn’t feel any fear, it was home.

         He opened his eyes.

Above him, a dark sky watched in return. It was its own ocean, one covered with stars, which formed constellations. Oh, how he wished he could become one of them, be part of some masterful constellation. To be a star that never ran out, something beautiful and eternal. I could live with the others, without having to worry about anything, anything at all. People would look at the stars from  Earth and the stars would listen to the depths of each person.

He didn't know if he was drowning in the very mantle of salt or If he was placed in that starry sky, where chaos faded, where he could be free. He raised his arm, trying to get closer, looking for peace.

         And, content, he decided to sink.

         Suddenly...

         _Grantaire! Grantaire!

         That voice... That voice that called him, it wasn't any voice, it was the most important of them all. It was the voice that took him away from that desired peace and at the same time gave it to him. A voice that didn’t let him sleep, the voice of his desires, the voice of his wishes and fears, the voice that could raise the world from its ashes. It was something powerful, full of an intense passion, a passion that burned and made it a symbol of hope, even if it was only for a beautiful moment. His words were the sword and the voice the handle. When it was calm, however, the voice could be as warm and soft as it wished, like a cabin fireplace after a bitter cold. What would Hans Christian Andersen's sea witch would give for such a graceful voice? And the owner of that great voice was like fire itself. Brilliant and attractive, revolutionary in a way. But the danger, the great disadvantage, was that if you got too close to him you could get burned. And Grantaire had been burned countless times.

         A hand shook him, gently but firmly. That touch was the first tangible sensation he felt in minutes? hours? days? He slowly opened his eyes, which felt charged and exhausted.

         His blurry vision managed to focus, after a few seconds, on an angel, his angel. The angel with the flaming voice. He had blond hair and a marble-white complexion, even a halo covered his head or so it appeared. He also had blue eyes that seemed to have seen everything in this world. Was it from those eyes that his ocean came? Grantaire thought that perhaps he was finally dead, because it could not be that his angel, his Apollo, was looking at him with a frown, but not out of irritation but out of... Concern? Really? No, it was impossible. His angel felt annoyance and pity for him, and only that. No matter how many times Apollo tried to show him it wasn't true, it was hard, excruciating, to believe him. And this was his curse, the cross he carried on his back.

         It was painful, the times when his angel slashed him with his sword. Until one day, inexplicably, the angel took pity on him. He sheathed his sword and observed the young man with an indecipherable expression.

“I don't hate you, Grantaire. I never did. “

         “How can I believe you when you’ve showed me nothing but disdain?”

Then a sigh came from Apollo's mouth, which reached his face, as if with a breath he could bring his pitiful self back to life. But why? Grantaire didn't want to live anymore, he'd had enough.

         _You're awake. That’s good_ breathed out Enjolras, the Apollo of the mortal world, dressed in red, presenting himself to Grantaire in all his glory _. I was afraid for a moment that...

         “That I would have died? Would you really have cared?”

         Grantaire blinked a few times as his senses reappeared and he felt his feet on the ground. His head laid on a wooden table, his body was reclining in a chair, bent uncomfortably. On the table, near his arms, there was something spilled, and judging by the smell it was whiskey. It wasn’t the first time the man had been in such a situation, but he had never faded from this world like that before. It was really as if his soul had left his body. A small fear invaded his mind as he realized the seriousness of the event. Death no longer looked so attractive. For being mortal, no matter what one did, everyone would always fear death, deep down in their souls.

         Grantaire lifted his eyes, meeting those of Enjolras. They were glassed-in, fearful, but not giving up their bravery; he no longer had that halo surrounding his head_. Look, I have to get you out of here. I don't know if you can hear me, but we have to go, okay?

         _ En... jolras?_ whispered the one who was being called. His voice sounded hoarse and foreign to his ears. His throat was sore, as were his muscles.

         _Yes, it's me, I'm here._ Enjolras bent down on one knee to reach Grantaire better and to try to get his attention. With a pale hand he caressed Grantaire’s cheek, granting a bit of warm and light.

“What a sad irony “ Grantaire thought, smirking to himself “Apollo lowering to my height. It's what should never happen.”

         _Can you hear me?

         “I always hear you”

         But out of his mouth only came a pathetic "uh." The blond bit his lower lip and that's when he decided he couldn't waste any more time. Standing up again, Enjolras grabbed Grantaire by the waist, pulling him out of his chair, and placed Grantaire's arm around his neck for support. The alcoholic almost fell to the floor, but Enjolras had more strength than he let on and caught him on time.

         The world was spinning around Grantaire, his legs were shaking, his back and neck were uncomfortable because of the position in which he had been inert. He felt a bit of bile in his throat and scorching eyes. He would have preferred to fall down and not get up again. Oh, how tired he was. Everything hurt.

Enjolras said a few words to the bartender and took out some coins to pay him. If Grantaire had been more conscious he would have felt guilty about it, but all he could do was stare like a fool. And so they both left the bar.

         After that they crossed the cold, dark street in silence, one of those that were uncomfortable and heavy.

         Grantaire still found it hard to believe this was happening. If it weren't for the suffering he was going through physically and mentally at the time, he would have really believed  he was dead and that a spirit disguised as Enjolras had come to pick him up and carry him to the afterlife, hell, purgatory, the Underworld, nothingness, whatever. Or maybe he was already in one of them. After walking a few more steps, Grantaire ventured to look at him. His Enjolras (“you have no right to call him that”) had shadows under his eyes, a tense jaw and looked like trying very hard to maintain his courage, but the illusion was broken, Grantaire was aware of that. And that terrified him more than anything else. The world could tear him apart all it wanted, but not Enjolras! He didn’t need to suffer because of… because of his troubles!

         “And it’s all your fault”

         Trembling knees gave up and made him fall. Enjolras caught him again.

         _Grantaire, come on, hold on_ was he begging? His voice was dripping with fear and worry_. You can't give up. We are getting there, I promise_ as he said this, the young man held his calloused hand, trying to give some kind of support. Determined, they continued.

         “I believe in you, Enjolras.”

The next thing he knew, Grantaire was now laying on a bed and was wrapped in its sheets. Instead of wood on his head a soft pillow was there. Apparently, he had fainted again. But instead of wild hallucinations, his consciousness had completely shut down (well, it was about time). Searching his memories, he tried to remember what had happened last night but for now there were only blurred and dark shapes. He was certain about one thing though, that this time was different, that he almost had had an overdose. His mind had screamed in agony and he only thought of drinking more and more and more to stop those horrible noises. Grantaire was kind of surprised to be alive, in fact. But who had rescued him?

As he moved, he noticed, with a grunt of pain, that his head hurt as if it had been attacked with a hammer. His mouth was dry and he felt like a horse had stepped on his bones. So, the man decided to take a look at the place where he was disposed, which didn't seem so bad. Actually, it could’ve been a lot worse.

He found himself in a modest room. A wooden wardrobe, a shelf and one French flag leaning against a wall. Next to the bed was a night table, occupied by a candle, a few books and a seemingly recent glass of water (Oh, just what I need). At the left of the room was a window, covered by a curtain. And, near it, a wooden desk, with a few papers arranged, an inkwell and a pen, and a few letters in a corner. However, his breath was cut off when he saw who was sitting at that desk, engrossed in the papers.

Grantaire was silent for a few minutes, staring quietly at Enjolras. His heart was pounding strongly. He was expecting Joly's concern or Bossuet's disappointed look or maybe Bahorel trying to lighten the mood, but not Enjolras. What could he do? Go back to sleep? Play dead? No, it was impossible to go back to sleep knowing now that it was Enjolras who had saved him and taken him to the his apartment (I can't believe that I’m in his house, in his room).

Thus Grantaire stretched out his arm to drink the water, his throat could no longer stand the thirst it felt. But, of course, as good luck was never on the alcoholic’s side, what really happened was that he dropped said glass on the floor and it broke to pieces. Enjolras was startled by the noise and turned to Grantaire, his eyes wide open.

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry! _ Grantaire babbled, begging to be swallowed by the bed_. I'll... I'll fix it! For God’s sake, of course I can't fix it, what am I thinking? it's glass and it's broken, but... I'll get you another one! Believe me; I have many glasses, all kinds of glasses...

And what happened next left him mute.

Enjolras was smiling softly at him, dropping his shoulders as if in great relief.

Of all the possible reactions, that was the one he last expected. Somehow, Enjolras’ smile made him even more afraid. He tried, with all his might, to get out of bed and run away from that tiny room, but abruptly was greeted by a puncture in the head that caused him to grunt and hold his forehead.

_ No no! Don't get up yet_ Enjolras had come closer and was pushing him gently onto the pillow_. You were unconscious for quite a while, if you get up like that you will only hurt yourself more.

         Grantaire stammered more and then shut up, resigned. He had a lot of questions and didn't know how to ask them. Enjolras tucked him back to bed.

_ Tell me, how do you feel?

_ I see Combeferre taught you some nursing lessons, huh?_ That's what came out of his mouth instead of the truth.

Enjolras sighed and his expression changed to one of annoyance, to which Grantaire was more accustomed.

_ Uh_ Grantaire looked at the wall that was closest to him_. I suppose I’m better than… yesterday, but my head is killing me. And... I'm really thirsty, so I tried to grab the glass, but... _ and gestured to the floor with a movement of the arm_ we both know how that ended.

Enjolras nodded, thoughtful. He straightened up and decided to leave his room.

“I definitely don't understand what's going on”

After a couple of minutes, in which Grantaire entertained himself by looking at the ceiling and walls, Enjolras returned with a new glass of water and an apparently wet cloth. He positioned the water on the table and placed the wet cloth on the sick man’s head. Grantaire felt his cheeks warm as Enjolras gently pulled his sweaty hair away from his forehead, leaving his fingers between the black curls for a few more seconds.  Between the cloth and Enjolras' calm presence he began to feel better. His features loosened and relaxed.

_I hope this will help you. Water is quite useful in these cases too.

Mmm_ Grantaire muttered, a slight mocking smile on his lips_. And how do you know so much about these things? No offense, but I don't see you as a person who likes to drink beers in a bar full of noisy, scruffy, dull people.

_ You're not the only one who drinks alcohol in our group_ replied Enjolras, with some exasperation_ And you know that well_ Grantaire wanted to add that last night had been very different from the simple drunkenness of someone who drinks only occasionally,  he actually tried to kill himself, but he didn't say anything

Therefore, he sat down and made himself comfortable to drink the water, holding the handkerchief in his unoccupied hand. As soon as the water touched his aching throat he felt refreshed and more energetic. Enjolras just watched him, still pale and with somewhat reddish eyes. He looked sick as well. Grantaire felt a squeeze in his heart. What he wouldn’t give to feel the blonde’s figure in his arms, to calm his anguish. But was it really concern or simply the effects of insomnia? Grantaire really wanted to reach for the first possibility, to embrace it, to feel it, but he was afraid to give himself even a spark of illusion.

_I... Thank you_ started Grantaire, with a hoarse, worn-out voice, effects of excessive alcohol intake_. I mean...

_You don't have to thank me for anything, Grantaire_ said Enjolras, with his characteristic resolution and conviction_. You can stay here until you recover. No, you don't owe me anything_ he replied when the mentioned opened his mouth. And with that he got up to sweep the mess of the floor, and then returned to his desk, with nothing else to say.

Grantaire was astonished at all this, but thought that for now he would just rest. His head was already hurting too badly to continue fiddling the matter. So he lay down on the pillow again and tried to sleep. After a while, he realized that it was impossible. How long had he been sleeping anyway? That's when he remembered the books on the bedside table, so he lay back to grab one of them, to entertain himself for a while, because apparently Enjolras didn't want to talk to him.

“Or maybe he just wants you to rest. Why do you always have to be so negative?”

“Oh, for God's sake, stop assuming things and shut up.”

With a snort, which caused Enjolras to raise his eyes briefly, he took the first book he found, almost annoyed. The cover read: L'Esprit de la Révolution et de la Constitution de France. Saint-Just, huh? It didn't surprise him at all. What's more, He almost expected it. But Grantaire wasn't in the mood to read about politics or philosophy or subjects that required mental capacity and... Oh, yes! Beliefs. So, he seized the following book: Du contrat social- Jean-Jacques Rosseau. With a groan, he held the other books that remained, familiar names fluttering in these: Voltaire, Robespierre, Danton...

_ Can I ask if you possess a simple novel with no trace of politics whatsoever that I could read?

Enjolras left his paper on the table, too tired to be irritated.

_What's wrong with the books I have?

_Well... Do I really have to explain?

Enjolras sighed.

_When I said you could call me when you needed something I didn't expect you to need something like this," grunted Enjolras, with sarcasm pouring out of his voice. People thought the blonde was serious all the time and had no sense of humor, but Grantaire knew better. His humor was simply more... subtle. He knew this because he had observed him a few times during the meetings at the Musain, well, when they weren’t trying to save the world.

_Enjolras! Have you heard the new gossip ringing in town?_ Bahorel had exclaimed one night at the Musain, resting his elbow on the table.

_Bahorel, I don't have time to listen to silly, unfounded rumors," Enjolras had answered, with a calm and tranquil tone, lifting his cup of coffee to his lips.

Bahorel replied, approaching Enjolras_ The friend of a hmmm… let’s say "friend", kept watching you the other day when we were going to college,  she was laughing and blushing like a thirteen year old girl!

_How romantic!_ sighed Jehan dreamily, coming closer to hear the gossip_. I think you should take the opportunity, Enj. I’ve met the girl, and she's beautiful, with dark hair and red lips, and…

_ Like Montparnasse, right? _ smiled Feuilly, who until then had been absorbed in a conversation with Joly and Bossuet. The three of them and Bahorel laughed out loud, as Jehan became as red as his hair.

_Sometimes you assholes can be very cruel," grumbled Jehan, with a sort of pout. Courfeyrac pinched his cheek with mischief and muttered something resembling a “aww, you cutie pie”.

While all this was going on, Grantaire was drinking situated at his usual spot, laughing at the comment about Montparnasse, but deep inside he was feeling some bitterness and jealousy. As long as Enjolras was happy he could bear it, though, or so he told to himself.

Bahorel was trying to appease the others, who after a while became quiet enough to listen to Bahorel. Then, addressing Enjolras, he asked_ Would you dare, then? I can introduce you two. You know, arrange a romantic date with candles, roses, whatever you want.

And Enjolras looked back at him.

_ I'm afraid that's not possible, as my "wife" has a name, and that's France.

That day they were taken out of the cafe for making a fuss. Bossuet even fell of his chair and broke his arm.

“Now that I think about it, maybe he was being serious about the France thing…?”

Back to the present, Enjolras set out to look through the drawers of his bookshelf for some "non-political" books. After pulling out a pile of dusty books, which made him cough, he found what he was looking for. It was a book less thick than most of the ones he had on the floor. It looked about 200 or 300 pages long. Grantaire looked at Enjolras' nostalgic and hurt expression with curiosity. Enjolras stroked the cover of the book for a few seconds and quickly composed himself. With said book in hand, he went to bed and handed it to Grantaire.

_ “Gulliver's Travels" written by Jonathan Swift_ Enjolras nodded, sitting on a space in the bed, which increased Grantaire's pulse_. Okay, I really didn't expect you to like this kind of fantasy books_ hhe said, smiling and looking back at Enjolras.

_ I liked reading it. It was..._ hesitated_ a gift.

Grantaire didn't want to be curious, but he had to admit he was indeed. He took the risk of asking:

_ From whom?

The nostalgic look came back.

_ From my mother.

He didn’t expecting such answer. Grantaire was sure it was  Combeferre’s gift (the doctor had a passion for books), or even Courfeyrac, who was his closest friend. But his mother? Enjolras had never spoken of his family, ever. Les Amis only knew that they were wealthy and that Enjolras had escaped home because of a huge difference in ideals and thoughts. That probably occasioned some big fight.

After a few moments of silence, Grantaire opened the first page of the book. The handwriting was somewhat small and, the truth was, despite having asked for this in the first place, he found it difficult to concentrate on what was written, his vision was a little cloudy.

         Enjolras, noticing this, offered:

         _I can read it to you.

         Grantaire startled.

         _Oh!  There’s no need for it, really. I can handle this. I'm just a little tired, that's all.

         _Grantaire_ Enjolras raised an eyebrow, with the kind of tone he used to scold Feuilly every time he pretended he didn't need a break.  It was a scolding tone but at the same time... an affectionate one? Gods, what did Grantaire do to deserve that Enjolras would address him as he addressed the others?

         _But... what about... _ and with a gesture pointed to the desk, full of half-written papers.

         _ I have time_ and without waiting for an answer he took the book.

         _ My father had a small estate in Nottinghamshire…

         Fascinated, Grantaire listened to every word Enjolras pronounced, with total clarity and perfect pronunciation. We had already spoken of the power of his voice and how comforting it could be when the time was right. Grantaire was in love with that voice, and with Enjolras. Oh, but someone like him could not be his, it would be a waste.

         _Of five children, I was the third. He sent me to the Emanuel School in Cambridge...

         For a moment, the halo of light returned to Enjolras, which disconcerted Grantaire. “What the...?” He rubbed his eyes, thinking he was hallucinating again. At that, his memory took him back to the night before, when he had woken up and hadn’t seen Enjolras, well yes, he was there, but it wasn’t actually him, he looked like an actual angel. Such a strange vision. How far had his idealization for Enjolras had gone? He didn’t know, but it could be dangerous, to allow himself to fall like that would be his ruin.

         Though perhaps he was already ruined.

         Hey_ Grantaire came out of his thoughts_. Are you listening to me or shall I stop?

         _Oh no, don't stop for me, Apollo.

         And Enjolras frowned.

         _I'm asking you to please don't call me that.

         _Hmmm, I don't know, I think it's something that might fit our leader. Apollo, the most revered god in all of Greece_ said in a theatrical voice.

         The aforementioned "Apollo" smiled bitterly.

         _I am not a god, Grantaire_ a dark look crossed Enjolras' eyes, which frightened Grantaire. “Does he know?”_ I hope you don't think that of me.

         Grantaire bit his lips.

         _I don't_ he whispered, clutching the sheets with his hands. To dispel the discomfort, he cleared his throat_ Please continue, dearest leader_. And at this a fond smile crept onto Enjolras' lips.

         As Enjolras continued his reading, Grantaire closed his eyes, losing himself in the narrative. He thought that for once luck was on his side. He could have held this moment for eternity if possible. An atmosphere of peace, warmth, and serenity flooded the room, and both Enjolras and Grantaire forgot about any worries that dwelled in their hearts. Both felt deeply fortunate to have each other.

         It was just that neither of them knew it yet.

[mimzy-writing-online]

Writing Blind and Visually Impaired Characters: Tropes

Hmm, I decided to work on part three before I got to part two. Forgive me.

This is part three of a multi-step series I’m writing on how to write a good visually impaired or blind character. The master post with links is here: https://mimzy-writing-online.tumblr.com/post/185122795699/writing-a-blind-or-visually-impaired-character

The Master Post will include links to all parts. All posts of this multi-step guide and all guides I make in the future about blind characters will be tagged blindcharacter on my blog.

Disclaimer: I am a visually impaired writer and blogger who has written two blind characters thus far. I have been living with vision loss for two years, have had my cane for almost as long, and every day I strive to learn all there is to know about writing and living my life blind.

Part Three: Tropes and Cliches to Avoid, and Other Things You Should Avoid

Blind Character Tropes You Need to Avoid

ALL blind characters wear sunglasses ALL the time. It’s actually not true, especially if that character has some remaining vision and they don’t wish to harder to see by using dark lenses. Sometimes a blind person will wear sunglasses, but you should consider the reason why. 

1) People who are painfully light sensitive (like me) will wear glasses when it’s a bright, sunny day.

2) People who are really into fashion and like to accessorize their outfit with sunglasses will totally do that. 

3) People who aren’t very light sensitive but want to protect their eyes from the sun will use sunglasses.

Notice that those last three apply to sighted people too, there are lots of sighted people who have a little sensitivity to the sun, or like accessorizing their beachy outfit or like protecting their eyes

Additional reasons for wearing sunglasses: sometimes you feel sighted strangers are not taking your blindness seriously enough when you ask for help, so you pull on your sunglasses and approach them a second time with your cane hoping they will take you seriously this time. (sighted people are dumb sometimes)

Disclaimer: I am the cliche, but that’s because I’m so painfully light sensitive I can’t walk outside without sunglasses. Light gives me massive migraines, including headlights, so yes, I am that person who wears sunglasses day and night. But does your character see like me? Do they need sunglasses the way I do?

Blind Child Prodegy. I see this most with musical instruments, especially piano. I’m sure lots of blind people learned an instrument, but I doubt they all became prodegies specifically because of their vision loss. If they are that good, then you probably need to explain all the hours of studious education and how they learned songs (do they have enough vision to read music?) It’s more that it’s a shallow and boring trope that’s the problem.

Daredevil. Your character might have some weird sensitivity issues, but it won’t make them blind ninjas. Sure, maybe your blind character can sense a specific smell out of all the others (I’m very sensitive to cleaning chemicals, they give me headaches) but it’s probably more of a problem than a gift. They may be more tuned into the sounds around them because they have to be, but they don’t hear a conversation happening a block away. Even with the most attuned senses, I don’t think anyone will ever be Daredevil. (Don’t get me wrong, I love the character, but he’s not who you should be writing. You’re not writing Daredevil. Daredevil already exists. Go write someone new.)

The Blind Psychic/Blind Witch: The most recent example I can think of is the new Sabrina show on Netflix with the blind friend losing her vision and then becoming psychic, as if that somehow makes it all better. If you’re going to have a blind character, they need to be blind. There’s no cheaty-cheat-cheats to make them see more than their blindness allows. If you really want your blind character to be psychic and have visions, then I suggest that the visions they have involve the same amount of sight they have in normal life. If they have tunnel vision in their real life, then their psychic visions appear with their usual tunnel vision.

Your blind characters don’t need a magical ability that negates their blindness. If they have it, then why did you make them blind? What was the point? Really ask yourself why you want to give them this ability. If it’s because they can’t do all the things you want to do without it, then should you really have made them blind in the first place? Could you potentially think of other ways for them to accomplish all these cool things?

Super Powered Seeing Eye Dog. This is something I’ve seen in a handful of fanfiction, where the seeing eye dog is somehow super smart and knows everything about their environment and is just super on point about their whole job. Just, not a normal dog. It’s not a good idea and you shouldn’t do it, even in fantasy genres. Your blind character’s guide dog should be a dog who was thoroughly trained by a guide dog foundation, and they should act like a regular dog when they don’t have their harness and are off-duty. Service dogs are still normal dogs when they’re off duty and still love play time with their humans and walks and naps.

For good guide dog examples, check out Molly Burke’s guide dog Gallop. She’s got a whole video playlist about it and it’s amazing.

The Cloudy, Distorted Eye Look- You’ve probably seen a few blind characters where their eyes are cloudy and weird looking. This trope is actually very inaccurate and a little harmful because it alters the way the general public sees blind people. Most people living with vision loss have fairly normal looking eyes. Some even have beautiful eyes. Unless the way your character went blind and their over all condition calls for their eyes to look messed up (chemical burn, severe cataracts, something like that) they will probably have normal looking eyes.

An exception to this is Nystagmus, which is a condition that causes a person’s eyes to continually shake. It’s pretty common in people with eye conditions and vision loss. To the outside perspective the character’s eyes might be shaking from side to side or shaking in circles. From the perspective of someone with this condition, it might be disorientating. Lights and images they see will shake because their eyes are shaking.

Molly Burke has had it all her life and has done a video or two on it. She likes to refer to it by saying that her eyes are dancing. (Molly Burke also has really pretty eyes) Video Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oBB8nIz9FW0&list=PL_Xm8PicNxr3noS93q_K3-fu9WO5ZSnlW&index=16

That’s one of the few conditions that might change the appearance of eyes without you falling into trope territory because it’s very common for people with vision loss to have it.

Specific Writing Cliches to Avoid

Or, in other words, cliches that will make your readers drop what they’re reading the second they see it (especially the blind ones who are dying for some good blind character representation) 

“Sam, will you tell me what color looks like.” I don’t actually know who Sam is, but someone asked someone to describe color. This cliche is just dead. It’s not a super meaningful moment between characters anymore. Maybe it was the first time, but now five thousand different people have done it with virtually the same dialogue, so not it’s just cliche. Think about it like this, you only have so much time in a story to allow your characters to connect to each other, and only so many words in a book to allow your readers to connect to the character. Don’t waste them on something like describing color. Let them have a meaningful moment that’s unique to them..

If you must know how to describe color to someone who’s blind, I did like the video where Molly Burke had Gabby Hanna describe color to her. Gabby Hanna did a very good job.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P2YBkZCRTGA

Still, it’s not a meaningful moment between characters anymore and doing it in your story will make people sigh heavily and walk away. (trust me, I’ve done it to many fanfictions involving blind characters)

“Can I feel your face?” NO! Please don’t ever do this. It’s so bad. It’s so cringey. It’s not real, blind people don’t do that. Some sighted person made that up in Hollywood and the blind community is permanently mad about it. Blind readers will drop your story the second they read that sentence. Don’t. Do. It.

“What do you look like?” This isn’t an absolute -never do it- but I wouldn’t recommend it. I honestly don’t know how you could use this sentence and not have it sound cringey somehow. There are ways to get around it though, and it depends on why your blind character wants to know. Love interest? Get your blind character’s best friend to tell them what the love interest looks like. Curious what your new friend looks like? Get your other friends or even parents who met them to describe the character.

“When I see Amy I see dark storm clouds over choppy waves, I hear lightning cracking and pouring rain, I feel fire and smell...” “When I think of Adam I think of warm sunlit meadows and the feeling of summer, I think of cloudless skies and quiet nights and...” I’m not sure I could do that any more. No, before you get mad, I’m not saying you can’t use this sort of writing style ever. I’m not telling you to cut out beautiful imagery that your characters associate with their loved ones, that’s not it at all. I’m saying this shouldn’t be the way your blind character describes every character they know. The reason this comes up is because in the ONE book I EVER found in stores involving a blind main character, she described all of her family members with imagery like that. And then brought her house pet to school as a fake seeing eye dog in the second chapter. I never read past that, no matter how hard I tried. It’s been years and I’m still super offended and I just get more and more offended by that book as I grow into my adult life and write my own books.

What you should do instead of that thing is show what kind of people your characters are through their actions and their dialogue. The example above is almost a tell instead of show example anyway, because you’re telling me Amy is like dark storm clouds before I get more than two sentences of dialogue from her and I’m not sure if I believe you about this meadow boy either.

I’m trying to remember other cliches that have bothered me before, but it’s eleven at night and I’ve been working on this guide for three or four hours now.

We’ll move on to-

What to Avoid in General

Or, things I never want to see happen to blind characters

Your blind characters should not be bullied in their high school. While I wasn’t blind in high school, there were two girls who were blind at the school I attended for 7-9 grade. As far as I know, nobody gave them any trouble. My sister was actually friends with one of them when I left that school and went into homeschooling.

The bullying you see in TV high schools is not that accurate anyway. The current generation of students is seeing a decrease in bullying compared to older generations. While the bullying situation is not perfect, teenagers usually know better than to bully the blind child. (they will probably bully other children instead, children who aren’t neuro-typical or pretty or thin or white)

What I’m saying is I don’t want to see your blind character getting the shit kicked out of them for being blind. I want to see your character finding their community and enjoying their time with their friends.

Please don’t make your characters suicidal after going blind. Disability is a hard thing to live with. People do go through depression when adjusting to a new disability, and yes, some of them are suicidal because of that disability. But books and stories are a way of escaping, especially for someone who lives with that disability. They want to see someone like them who feels happy and loved, not read someone who’s on the verge of ending their life for half a book or more. 

It’s another one of those “why are you making your character blind?” Is it to make them suffer? Don’t do it. Blind people don’t exist to suffer, they exist to live their lives and hopefully be happy. Are they blind to make their life more dramatic? Blindness causes drama, yes, but that shouldn’t be your only source of plot. 

Please don’t let your blind character’s family treat them badly because they’re blind. Emphasis on the because. Children do grow up in abusive homes, but your character’s family shouldn’t become abusive because your character is blind. Having a character that grew up in an abusive household because they have shitty parents is fine, and if they just happen to be blind and their parents never change, fine, but to be honest?

You shouldn’t victimize your disabled characters. You shouldn’t mistreat them purely because you can.

Follow this blog for more writing advice (for more than just blind characters)

[hannibalecterf]

Chapter 3: How To Destroy A Friendship Group In 10 Seconds Or Less: A Guide!

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

The people are clamouring for My Response™️ to this situation, and by god they’re about to receive one.

I spend well over an hour drafting My Response™️ to be as inoffensive as possible. It’s so blandly polite and milquetoast it could easily land me a job as the PR manager of a particularly controversial company. YouTubers wish they had my writing talents on hand for their apology video scripts.

Of all of the radfem leaning members of our friendship group, I’m the closest to the Inner Circle. They consider me a good friend. They even love me. Erupting Scrote has even been asking for my response to the situation. If anyone’s going to get a reasonable reception to radical ideas, it’s me.

If I have one regret, it’s not sending a message to ES privately before posting publicly. I’m not sure it ultimately would have made any difference, but it would have been less of a shock for him when The Response™️ went up.

11 pm rolls around, and I deem My Response™️ ready for public appraisal. In one fell swoop, i singlehandedly destroy a friendship group, as well as, depending on who tells it, the entire modern trans movement. I make a peach post, which here, I include in full:

The replies we’re shall we say, not understanding:

But this is nothing on the flood of public posts made on the situation, and the messages I and my friends personally receive. All of them make several dramatic peach posts about how betrayed they feel (though I will not be including too many screenshots due to the photo limit).

Milk Pervert doesn’t get in touch with me at all, but posts this on her public twitter:

For reference, Cath is the ex, REDACTED is the “friend with bad vibes,” and I’m the friend who has been indoctrinated. I think that’s the thing that annoys me the most about this tweet. None of those people viewed me as a full human being with autonomy or a mind of my own. I was their cute little pet who smiled and agreed with everything they said and did. Even in committig my ultimate act of Evil, MP denies my agency and puts in on “indoctrination.” The joke’s on her anyway, I’m the one who indoctrinated Cath! (But I will say, we have absolutely started calling ourselves the TERF Trio, the witch vibes are out of this world).

Herb messages me: “this is all i have to say- not that you seem to care about how any of us feel but i want you to know this has been one of the most devastating nights of my life and i am truly hurt. if you don't want to listen to us you don't have to, but you should care about the fact that people who considered you such a close friend feel this hurt and betrayed. all of us do.” — Not to be spicy, but this is incredibly emotionally manipulative? Also, completely out of proportion considering what I actually said. Though I will say, Herb had the decency not to immedately block me, and we actually stayed in contact for several weeks afterwards to have a conversation about the situation, and ultimately parted ways on not terrible terms. (Having said that, over the last week, Herb has made two (2) Facebook posts regarding #MilkGate, both of which fuelled my urge to make this writeup).

While this is all going on, some poor innocent bystanders are dragged forcibly into this mess against their will. Here, I finally introduce Möther, Crystal, Crow, and Jam. On the morning of the 15th of August, ES sent out three identical messages: one to Möther, one to Crystal, one to Crow. This information, I learned secondhand from them. I am not privy to the full message, but from what I’m told the message went something like: “do you henceforth renounce all association with the witches discovered within the good town of Salem, and stand with us goodfolk against evil?” Möther, who had recently suffered a family tragedy and publicly announced that she was taking a break from social media, left the message on read and never responded or talked to those people again. Crow, who read the message at work, replied that she was currently unable to form a proper response and would get back in touch later (this was deemed as too non-commital, and she was quickly tossed onto the burning pyre with the rest of us Evil Transphobes). Crystal, however, went the fuck off. I don’t know exactly what he said, but this mad lad decided that enough was enough and he didn’t want to put up with this shit anymore, so he sent ES a long, angry message expressing his disgust and blocked him.

The real devastation comes from Jam. I’m not so upset that she chose to side with the TRAs, that’s her prerogative. It’s just that, before MilkGate went down, REDACTED and I had begun to form a fairly underground lesbian-only group in our city, and we had invited Jam to join the committee. We wanted a safe and discreet place for fellow lesbians to meet and share our experiences, away from non-lesbians. It was sort of supposed to be a secret. What annoys me is that, according to Crow, who was still in the group chat at this point, Jam TOLD everyone in the chat about it. She described it as a “secret TERF group,” and MP went on to post about it publically on twitter! All of the hard work we put into setting up this safe space lesbians ruined by a bunch of petty children who don’t want to acknowledge that basic fucking biology has an impact on women’s lives!

But the real kicker comes from my interactions with Erupting Scrote. On facebook messenger, he simply messaged me to say: “i just read your post on peach and i want you to know my heart is broken” before promptly blocking me everywhere. Now, Mr. Scrote had been my best friend for four years. I genuinely loved him, would have done anything for him, even by that point, when I was feeling so much unspoken bitterness resentment. For better or worse, I was not going to let that be our last conversation. So, I sent him a message on WhatsApp. (I will summarise the conversation, rather than reposting it word for word, as it is rather long).

On the night of the 15th, I sent a long message basically saying that I would understand if ES didn’t want to see me again, but that I was sorry for hurting him and wanted, if nothing else, to offer a proper goodbye.

He replied the following evening. If Herb’s initial message was emotionally manipulative, Mr. Scrote took it a whole new level of toxicity, to the point that in hindsight, it’s actually deeply funny. He sent several messages over the course of the next five minutes, but I think these are my personal favourite:

Motherfucker had the audacity to give me a time limit! Some deep, hidden, unexplored part of me reared it’s ugly head, and it simply said

Fuck That Noise

Something clicked in me, and I realised, after all this time, that my best friend was a massive fucking dick. This was A Dick Move. More than that, he’d been treating me like crap for years! And so, with every fibre of spite I had in my body, I sent the bitchiest possible reply I could in the 12 minutes so graciously left to me. The possessive behaviour, the infantilisation, the shitty way he treated my friends, the fact that he wouldn’t notice an act of misogyny if it danced the cancan in front of him, all of that bile came pouring out. In that moment, I was Elphaba, and this was my No Good Deed. I was wicked through and through. And then, with four minutes left on the stopwatch, just as he sent that bitching fucking “so I’m going to block you now,” message, I sent my reply, and I blocked the fucker before he could block me. Vindication was mine.

Now, after all this, the days and days of lactation induced drama, a situation which effects even me now, 3 months later, one must wonder, is there anything to be learned from this?

No!

[theeternalspace]

Absent Gods 1

I want to wish a really, really happy birthday to the all wonderful @i-will-physically-fight-you. You have been a really good friend to me ever since I was lucky enough to be paired with you all that time ago during a Big Bang.

Since it’s your birthday, I give you this gift. Logan and Virgil angst. I don’t know how many chapters it will be total, but I hope you will stick with me, one and all. Because Logan has some learnin’ to do!

This will have a happy ending. 

Masterpost

Title: Absent Gods and Silent Tyranny or: How Logan Learned to Stop Over Thinking and Love Everyone

Pairings: None / Platonic LAMP with Logan and Virgil focus.

Characters: Logan, Virgil and The Dragon Witch in this chapter.

Summary: Dr. Logic makes his living working for whichever Super Villain is willing to pay. At the end of the day it is a job where he can put his talents to work.

He certainly isn’t bothered by things like public morality or the definition of good vs evil. He doesn’t have time for things like that, although he accepts that he would be considered a ‘bad guy’. As far as Logan is concerned, it is a small price to pay for the benefits of proper scientific funding. 

But when his latest invention fails and his Boss decides to punish someone else for his mistakes, Logan is forced to reevaluate everything he thought he knew. 

And maybe accidentally make some friends along the way.

Warnings: Morally grey Logan - he doesn’t get it you guys. Threats of torture, angst. General Villainy. Being held captive. If I’ve missed any let me know. 

Previous || Next

~~~

There were many things that Logan didn’t understand about his boss. 

Her almost obsessive need for dramatics was just one of them. Admittedly, right now, it was fairly high up on the list of things he didn’t understand and wished he did. Mostly because right now he was sat in a chair with a ring of fire around it to keep him in place while she prowled backwards and forwards outside. Really, the whole thing was pointless since Logan hadn’t made a single attempt to leave. He saw no need, she had called him in for a meeting and so a meeting they would have. 

There were other things he didn’t understand about her. A lot of them were in some way connected to that dramatic impulse which ran through every action she took. It was as though being a villain intent on overthrowing the current ruling regime and replace it with her own rule wasn’t enough for her. She had to somehow stand out from the rest of the would be dictators and tyrants. Like many of them, she had decided to go dramatic to do so.

Logan was fairly certain that by trying to stand out, she just made herself fade more into the background because it was hard to tell her apart from any other cackling villain giving a monologue about their latest plan. 

Still, as far as super villains went, he had worked for worse. He had spent several particularly unpleasant years stuck as head ‘henchman’ for a particularly inept villain who considered himself a mad scientist even though it had been Logan who had done most of the work. Logan would have quit long ago if it hadn’t been for the awkward fact that he had accidentally agreed to let the man genetically tag him. Logan never made the same mistake twice however and he made doubly sure to read every contract before signing it. 

If it hadn’t been for the heroes eventually shutting him down and one of them wiping the hard drives that contained Logan’s bio-metric passport, he would still be stuck there, more a slave than anything else.

As it was, he had been able to escape in the confusion, quickly getting himself another job with another villain. 

Logan didn’t fool himself. He didn’t consider himself a particularly good person. Then again, he didn’t consider himself a particularly bad one either. He worked for her because the pay was good and because - for the most part - he agreed with her aims should she ever actually manage to take over the world. At this point, he was starting to wonder if she could even manage to take over the city. 

How hard could it be to take over a city? Not that Logan would ever question her on that. He valued his own skin too highly for that and he learnt almost right away that you didn’t insult or question the boss. 

It had led to many bitten cheeks over the years but that was a price Logan was willing to pay rather than being vaporised on the spot. Or worse, agonisingly tortured to death for insolence, like so many of his rather stupid colleagues over the years. 

Sometimes, he wondered why he had never taken the step to become a super villain in his own right. He could probably do a much better job of it that most of his employers. He wouldn’t waste time telling the heroes his plans. He would merely dispose of them and move on.  

Still, if he had done that, then he might never have met - no. Best not to think, to second guess himself in the hypothetical. 

It wouldn’t be death. He wouldn’t kill and that was one of the reasons why he was content to remain as a head scientist or tech in whatever evil organisation he was currently working for. With the aforementioned mad scientist excluded, all his previous evil employers had nothing but positive things to say about him. He had glowing references - in the case of the one from a radioactive villain, quite literally glowing. 

He didn’t particularly want to take over the world. The neat and logical order that would come with him ruling was a tempting prospect but Logan had no desire for all the work that came with it. He would be content with ruling his own little area as promised. 

Right now, however, he was seriously considering handing his notice in. Honestly, he had been considering the concept for a while now, ever since her latest... hire. He didn’t mind working with someone else so long as they either knew their place or could match him in intelligence. They could never do the later but they tended to fall into the former. Or else he convinced her to get rid of them. Logan never really lost much sleep over what ‘got rid of’ could mean in the context of a super villain. It was just part of life and he moved on from it.

But the latest helper had been different. He could almost match Logan in talent. If it wasn’t for the rather unfortunate little fact that he was a prisoner and being held against his will then they would have gotten along splendidly from the start. 

As it stood, it had taken them weeks to get past the rather frosty greetings each shift. The chains and guards probably didn’t help matters but Logan couldn’t understand why he was so opposed to making the best of a bad situation. It didn’t matter that he might not agree with her methods - he was her prisoner and it would be logical to go along with her wishes to save himself further pain.

Virgil hadn’t thought much of that logic. Which had resulted in more beatings that Logan had thought strictly necessary. He needed him intact for their work. 

Eventually, Virgil had settled into some kind of grumpy obedience, enough that they were able to converse - albeit still with a guard present - and make progress on various work orders from the boss. Logan had come to rather admire Virgil’s brain in those weeks and eventually something approaching a friendship had been formed. Enough that Logan could trust Virgil not to stab him in the back. Enough for him to be able to produce some very useful items for his boss. 

Enough to start to give him doubt about if it was... right, to keep Virgil here against his will.

He was safer here. There was little chance of attack because if there was one thing Ms Dragon Witch was good at, it was keeping her secret lairs, well secret. Virgil was the first ‘heroic’ prisoner she had ever brought to her base, and he was never allowed out of the lab or the cell he was kept in next to it. Logan had a horrible suspicion he was sedated whenever she wished to see him so that Virgil couldn’t learn the layout of the base. 

All the better for Virgil. The less he knew, the less danger he was in. The less chance there was that he would think to make an escape attempt - not that Logan thought Virgil was that foolish, he was too smart to risk himself on such a small chance of success. 

There were no fights down here, no chance of being caught in the crossfire. Just food, a roof and the chance to work on his projects. What more could anyone need?

According to Virgil, quite a lot. He wanted to go home, and he didn’t insult Logan’s intelligence by pretending that had changed. He wanted his brother and his other friends, no matter how idiotic he called them. He wanted to not be a prisoner. That last one, at least, Logan could sympathise with. 

But if Logan gave in his notice, there was no way that his Boss, would allow him to take Virgil as a leaving present. He was her prized possession, her trophy and she adored having him brought to her chambers to gloat about whatever recent mission that had gone well. It was all rather inconsiderate of her, since more often than not the two of them had been deep in work when the summons had arrived.

Not to mention how pale and shaken his assistant always was when he was eventually returned to him. Virgil would take hours and sometimes a whole day to recover and get back into the groove of things. He couldn’t help but wonder what exactly she showed him. 

More and more, he felt like there had to be something he could do to aid Virgil, but he had yet to come up with a plan that didn’t get them all killed. If only Virgil could be reconciled to his new life. If only his boss would stop tormenting him so Logan could convince him of the merits. If only his friend wasn’t being hurt every day while Logan simple worked on his projects. 

It was a worry in the back of his mind, nothing more. It wasn’t a distraction and he refused to allow himself to be sidetracked by anything. Logan certainly wasn’t using those thoughts as an excuse for what had happened earlier today when Dragon Witches attempted attack on City Hall had been thwarted by the heroes. Her escape had been a close thing, with Logan’s devices barely functioning. Certainly not as he had intended. 

So his invention had failed. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Not even a genius like Logan could claim to have a one hundred percent success rate as much as he might wish otherwise. He was convinced that it wasn’t malicious but merely creator - or more likely user - error. He would improve on them and the same mistake would never happen again. 

The problem seemed to be his bosses increasingly paranoid view of the world. And how she didn’t seem to believe him that it had been an innocent accident. Instead, she had summoned him for this meeting, threw flame around his chair and then started ranting. Accusing him of either sabotaging the devices himself in the hope she would be captured or turning a blind eye to allow Virgil to do it to his work. 

It was insulting to think that he would betray his own values so lightly. He worked hard for his money, he worked hard for his reputation. He wouldn’t sacrifice it for mere sentiment, no matter how increasingly unstable she was becoming. He would simply quit, as he had considered. He certainly wouldn’t allow Virgil to sabotage his work, no matter how uneasy he felt about their partnership because that would be sabotaging everything Logan held dear. 

A shame, he couldn’t help but feel that she failed to see the beauty in those logical thoughts. Or the truth in them. 

She stood a few paces in front of him, having finally stopped her relentless prowling backwards and forwards. Deceptively delicate looking hands rested on her hips as she stared at him over the flames. As always, she was dripping in jewellery, rings on every finger, multiple bracelets and bangles jangling on her wrists with every little motion. Logan had always wanted to point out the fact that she made noises with her jewellery when she moved probably didn’t help her plans to be stealthy.

Once again, a healthy respect for his own skin staying intact had kept him quiet. Just as he kept quiet about the hideous fashion choice that was her ‘uniform’. A tight fitting gold and silver dress with a slit almost up to her waist might be her idea of seductive but as Virgil had once so rightly described her, she looked almost... tacky, than anything else. Coupled with the high heels she insisted on wearing, it certainly wasn’t a practical outfit but he swallowed down the biting comments he wished to say. 

Working for a super villain could be so exhausting sometimes. 

“So you still refuse to admit your guilt Dr. Logic?” 

“I cannot admit to something I didn’t do Ms Dragon Witch.” There was no point in losing his temper even now. She would have to see reason eventually. All he had to do was explain things in smaller words until she eventually understood. He knew he was in the right and given enough time he was confident that he could convince her of that. All Logan had to do was stay alive long enough for her anger to fade and leave her more open to reason. 

“Fine,” she snapped. “You say you didn’t do it, thus logically you have nothing to be worried about it. In which case, I am sure you won’t mind what is about to happen.” One hand lifted into the air, the various bracelets making an all too familiar jingle jangle as they did. She didn’t say or do anything else but he had no doubt that the movement was a recognised signal for something. 

“Why?” Logan asked. He had to ask, he had to know. “What is about to happen?”

She smiled, something cold and empty. The fire that still raged around him seemed to be the only hot thing left in the room. Logan had thought he wanted her to calm down, to stop ranting and raving at him but now that she had done just that, he found her expression... disconcerting in the extreme. She was up to something. Her devious mind had been one of the attractions to accepting the job in the first place but he had never planned to be on the receiving end of her schemes. 

“I am not convinced of your honesty Dr. Logic. I think that little assistant I gave you has been messing with you. Maybe you don’t even realise what he has been doing hmm? Maybe you’re not as smart as you like to think and he’s been tricking you? Maybe you are falling for his poor little me act?” 

She was talking about Virgil, Logan realised with an unpleasant jolt. She was acting as though Virgil was manipulating him, that he was the victim here. 

Logan didn’t doubt that Virgil would take advantage of a situation like that if the opportunity presented itself to him. Virgil was a survivor and you didn’t become one of those by forever following the rules. He wanted to get out of here and back to the place that he called home. Of course he would leap at any chance. That didn’t mean there had been any chance for him to do that. Logan made sure that he wasn’t faced with any such temptation. 

And how dare she think that Logan would be that foolish as to fall for such a thing? Logan might have some latent sympathy for the predicament that Virgil found himself in but there was no way he would be so foolish as to help him. Not like that. Helping like that would only lead to pain. Logan was keen to keep both of them away from that. 

Also, he was just smarter in general than to be fooled by someone trying to sabotage his work behind his back.

“I can assure you that you are incorrect. My work was not tampered with, either by myself or my assistant. Sometimes projects do not work as well as intended. Surely you can appreciate such a fact?” 

It was cutting perilously close to the bone, to make such a comment. To remind her of all her own failures. Logan however, was starting to become a little desperate. He couldn’t decide if the way she ignored him was a good thing or not. Dragon Witch curled some of her dark brown hair between her fingers, twisting it into a tighter and tighter circle as she carried on speaking. Her voice was light, almost musing but no less deadly because of that. 

“Either way I’m going to have to punish him for your failure.”

It was my failure!” Logan protested. He tried to ignore how his heart leapt into his mouth at the sight of the still form of Virgil being dragged into the room. The purple haired man was held by his arms, hanging limply between two of her guards, head bowed. It didn’t comfort Logan to get confirmation of his theory that she kept him unconscious from room to room. Normally, being proved right was a sure fire way to cheer Logan up. It settled and reassured him. 

Seeing Virgil in such a weakened state didn’t do that this time. 

“Ah the guest of honour,” she purred, turning away from Logan, her attention momentarily lost by the new arrival. It gave Logan a chance to shift a little in his seat, trying to get a better view of Virgil. It was hard to tell over the flames but he was confident that Virgil was at least breathing - it remained to be seen if that would actually be a good thing or not. 

Ms Dragon Witch clicked her fingers, pointing towards another chair, set in perfect symmetry to Logan’s own. There was a circle of dust around it, powder that Logan knew could turn to flame at a moment’s notice. How he had failed to notice it before was beyond him, but then again, his attention had been fixed on the danger in front of him. Not the seating arrangements opposite him. 

Virgil was deposited none too gently in the chair, his head still slumped forward on his chest. 

“Finally, time to play. What do you say Dr. Logic? Shall we test some theories?”

“Theories?” Logan repeated back to her, gaze darting between his boss and his assistant. The flames had to be getting to him at last, because he could feel sweat beads springing up along his forehead. “I am a man of science, you know I am always interested in proving or disproving theories.” 

“Excellent! Let’s find out just what happened shall we? And how long it takes for my little toy to scream this time.” 

Her smile was as unsettling as before, sharp and cutting. She threw back her head and laughed, a super villain finally indulging herself to her limit. Logan had seen her in these moods before, but he had never been on the receiving end of one. He had always known better but now, through no fault of his own it appeared as though he was about to get a taste of her at her worst. 

Or was it, Virgil was about to learn just how evil she could actually be? 

For perhaps the first time in his life, Logan finally found something that he didn’t want to know the answer to. 

[kayteewritessteve]

If Only You Knew - 1/19

Description: You arrive home one day to find a wedding invite for two of your best friends from high school. You knew this day was going to come eventually, but even with that said, you weren’t prepared to return home. At least not after 7 years of avoiding Buckhannon, West Virginia. Or rather, avoiding him; your ex-best friend and the secret love of your life. But maybe it was finally time to face your past, to face him, and everything else that happened on that horrible night. Who would have knew that your prom would end up being a total disaster, and the very last night you’d spend in Buckhannon for the next 7 years? you certainly didn’t. That’s for sure.

Catch up HERE.

Word Count: 6,790 ish. This one is a giant, you’ll get that reference soon! ;)

Pairing: Modern!Steve Rogers x Reader.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Violence. Drinking. Flashbacks to moments of abuse and near rape. Possible triggering thoughts, feelings and emotions. Moments of bullying and harsh name calling. Lots of curse words. And a very sloooow burn.

A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors and this story, so there’s that.

Posting this chapter now, instead of the 14th because I’m weak and impatient! Hahaha.

FYI. I few things to know before you start. This chapter will be the hardest one to get through, IMO. And I have used both the Marvel movie characters and a few from the comics, but I decided to keep the antagonist and friends as OC’s. This story will flip back and forth from readers POV and Steves, each chapter. Oh, and also, this is a total AU, so I have created familys and backgrounds for all the Marvel characters. So just go along with those! Haha. But anywho, I hope you enjoy the ride!

January 2018.

As you began to trudge up the stairs to your third floor Boston apartment, you cram your mail into your over the shoulder bag for safe keeping. The same mail you had just retrieved from your mailbox, located right inside the front doors of your apartment building.

The building itself wasn’t anything special, it had a basic cream stucco exterior, with outdated features. There was minimal decor in the lobby aside from a couple fake floor plants and an ungodly large gold framed mirror, that sat hanging on the ugly ivory coloured walls. The elevator in the lobby was the same metal gold colour as the mirrors frame which also matched the mailboxes, and the frame around the front door. They all looked like they had never been updated in the 30 years since the apartment was built.

Speaking of outdated, the elevator had clearly also never been replaced, the thing was older than you. You’d vowed to never use the damn thing ever again after it had gotten stuck, within a week of you moving in. And yes, it had broken down with you trapped, alone, inside it. Long story short, a few handsome men from the local fire department had to come rescue your ass, but that was after almost 3 hours of you sitting on the floor, of the malfunctioning death trap. 3 hours you spent alone in a damn elevator before anyone even realized you were there. No, you and the elevator were not friends. Stairs were much smarter, much less likely to kill you in a freak accident, and helped keep your butt lookin’ good. Or at least that’s what you told yourself every time you’d find yourself standing at the bottom of them.

You reached your suite’s door, which was located on the left, at the very end of a long hall. You had lucked out and gotten a west facing corner unit, which gave you more windows and glorious sunshine in the afternoon. Though, being that it was mid January, the sunny days were few and far between. You grabbed your keys out of your bag and unlocked the door, as you walked in you pulled your bags strap over your head and set it on the kitchen counter. Your foot gently tapped the door closed, then you toed off your shoes and headed for your bedroom. The apartment wasn’t anything fancy either, the walls were all basic white and the fixtures were older, but you made it your home nonetheless.

You changed into some comfy clothes then headed into the kitchen to grab your bag off the counter, having a few tests to finish grading before you could fully relax for the night. Being a middle school teacher was both challenging and rewarding, but you loved every second of it. You had only been a full time teacher for about 6 months now, but you couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Your students had become such a huge part of your life, feeling almost like having a bunch of nieces and nephews around all day. They were a handful somedays, but you adored them all, and saw the true potential in every one of them.

You plopped down on the couch and opened your bag, pulling out the folder with the tests you needed to grade. As you did the mail you had picked up on your way in, fell out of your bag and onto the floor. You reached down to pick them up then started to sift through them, mostly all bills, as per usual. However, then your eyes landed on a beautiful embossed ivory envelope in the stack. You put the other mail down and turned it over in your hands. It had a ruby red ribbon tied around it, near the end width wise. The envelope was sealed with the initials ‘N&B’ pressed into red wax on the back. You slipped the ribbon off and broke the wax seal, pulling out a gorgeous ivory card with black and red cursive writing. It was clearly a wedding invitation. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t expected this invite to show up one day, they had both basically been made for each other. You’d never known two people who worked better together than they did. Or at least, two people in an actual relationship who worked that well together.

“So Nat and Bucky are finally making it official,” you said out loud to yourself as there was no one else in your apartment, “took them fucking long enough.” You laughed. But then abruptly stopped when the realization hit you. The only way you could attend this wedding was to return home, to Buckhannon.

Your eyes sought out the wedding date, partially hoping it would be an inconvenient time and you could use it as an excuse. But another part of you also hoped you could maybe attend, that this could maybe be your excuse. You counted quickly in your head, it was 6 months from now, so mid July, and by that time it would be damn near 7 years since you’d left. 7 years since you had last stepped foot in that small town. And 7 years since that awful night that drove you away from the town ….and him…

July 2011 - 6 ½ years ago.

You arrived at the outdoor prom after party, on the arm of your date, Brock. He had asked you almost two weeks ago to prom but you had stalled for a week, that is until you heard the news, and finally agreed to go with him. Knowing full well it was your only option now. Well, aside from going alone that is.

As the night continued on, Brock insisted on constantly supplying you with booze, all night. It became like his damn life’s mission to make sure your drink was always full and to your lips. You weren’t a big drinker, so you knew you’d be fall down drunk in no time, at the rate things were going. So whenever he’d turn his back to you, to talk to someone or whatever, you’d dump most of your drink out. Followed by quickly bringing it to your lips to act like you had actually chugged it. Always receiving an amused smirk from Brock, each time he thought you’d polished off half your drink in one go.

Your eyes would often drift over to the other side of the party, off near the tree line, where your so called best friend stood with his date. And each time they did, you’d take an actual chug of your drink then avert your eyes, before anyone noticed you staring. How he could come here with her pissed you off. He knew how she treated you. The hell she put you through. Yet, here he was, with her. Fucking Madeleine. Or ‘Madi’ as only her inner circle called her.

She had single handedly made it her high school mission to make your life a miserable hell. And she had been pretty damn successful at it. You didn’t think you’d have made it through high school if it wasn’t for Wanda, Nat, Hilde, Clint, Sam, Bucky and Steve. Though, if you were being honest, Steve was the true reason you had made it through.

From basically the moment you both had met, he had always been there for you. He’d quickly became your best friend—that is until recently. Your eyes wandered back over to him and Madeleine again, standing near the tree line, talking to Madi’s friends. You couldn’t even begin to describe in words how much you loathed Madeleine. You hadn’t even realized you were glaring at her till something beside her shifted and caught your eye. You flicked them over and they locked instantly on to his. Steves. He was watching you. For how long? Who fucking knows. But he had seen you looking, that much you knew. Shit!

You quickly turned your head to face Brock again, taking a generous gulp of your drink as you did. Brock smirked at that and you gave him a tight lipped smile in return. You had just been caught aggressively shooting daggers at your best— was he even still that? Let’s go with just ‘friend’ for now— at your ‘friends’ prom date. Or as you liked to call her, the She-Witch aka your archenemy. Fucking Madeleine Karlington—

“How you doing?” Brock’s voice cut through your thoughts, and you instantly felt kinda bad for basically ignoring him all night, while you jealously seethed over Steve bringing Madeleine to prom.

“Good,” you said and faked a happy smile.

“I mean, how are you feeling?” He asked as he gestured to the drink in your hand.

“Oh,” you clued in to what he meant, then nodded, “Drunk.” You lied as you realized he currently thought you had actually been drinking all the beverages. You know, the ones he had been supplying you throughout the whole night. Or rather, the whole after party.

“Good,” he nodded, “do you need another?”

You shook your head and lifted up your red solo cup to show him it was still like half full. Then your eyes wandered again, except this time they widened slightly once they reached their targets. Madeleine was now facing Steve, and just as you locked onto their figures, she basically pounced and started aggressively making out with him. You saw him tense up upon impact, you assumed it was just from the shock of her abrupt assault. Your eyes narrowed as you watched, telling yourself to look away but you just couldn’t do it. You couldn’t peal your eyes from them, it was like a car crash and you were watching as it happened. Your morbid curiosity getting the better of you.

After a few seconds Steve pulled away from the kiss, and removed Madi’s arms from around his neck. His eyes then snapped over to you and it instantly broke the weird trance you had been in. You clenched your jaw then turned back to Brock.

If Steve was going to be here and be all over his date, then why shouldn’t you do the same? This was your prom night after all, you had a date just like he did, why shouldn’t you also take advantage of that. And you really shouldn’t be this fucking affected by him kissing someone else, but you were. This 2 year long crush was getting really fucking old. Really fucking fast.

Still feeling Steve’s eyes drilling into you, you decided to give him the show now. It was petty and childish, and you knew that. But in all honesty, you also knew it would never have had the same effect on him, not like him kissing her had had on you. But you hoped it might at least piss him off, even if it was only in a brotherly type of way. That’s basically what your friendship was, you were the lovesick girl, pinning over the boy she could never have. Dreaming about him and the love story that you’d never share. All while he was the boy that saw you like a little fucking sister, and that was it. So you kept your feelings to yourself, buried them down deep, and pretended like they didn’t exist. That is till something would trigger them and force them to bubble to the surface. Much like right fucking now.

You grabbed Brock by the back of the neck and pulled him into a spur of the moment kiss, pulling back a few seconds later as your fingers flew up to touch your lips. In your jealous rage, you had just given away your very first kiss to Brock. Completely forgetting that’s exactly what it would be, your first kiss. It was nothing like you had imagined, and it wasn’t very good at all. Nor was it with the person you’d dreamed it would have been with. Damnit. Way to fucking go.

“What was that for?” Brock asked with a raised brow.

“Nothing,” You shrugged nonchalantly, trying to play it off as less then it actually was to you. “Just felt like it.”

“Wanna go for a walk?” He asked.

You quickly glanced over at Steve, who was now glaring at you, he looked fucking pissed. He also knew that had been your first kiss. But let’s be honest, he knew everything about you. More so than any other person. Well, maybe besides your dad. His fists were balled up tight at his sides and before you could analyze any further, Steve abruptly started to stomp towards you. Your plan had both worked and backfired, all at the same time. And if he reached you, it was not going to be pretty, nor would it be a fun little ‘chat’. No, you had fucked up and he was very much going to tell you exactly how much. Like always. Shit!

You frantically turned and grabbed Brock’s hand, “Yes!” You said a little to loudly. Who are you kidding, you damn near screamed it. “Let’s go for a walk!” Then you started to drag him towards the woods, in an attempt to get as far away from Steve, and the ‘brotherly’ talk he was about to dump on you. That was his way, if you ever stepped out of line in his eyes, he’d fucking tell you. In thee most annoying and dad like way he could. Yes, he acted more like an older brother but when he’d lecture you it was more like a dad. It frustrated the hell out of you, as you already had one awkward, and overbearing father. You didn’t need another. Especially not fucking Steve, not the secret love of your life. No fucking thank you.

You dragged Brock some ways into the woods then stopped abruptly. Feeling like you had gone far enough, you spun around to face him now. He had that stupid amused smirk on his face, again—Okay, that was a little harsh, it wasn’t ‘stupid’, you were just clearly cranky from everything that had just happened.

“So what do we do now?” He asked.

“Ah,” Your brows knitted together, you hadn’t really thought that far ahead. “We could ah, get to know each other a little better? I barely know anything about you.” You paused as you thought it over a bit more then smiled, “Oh! I know! We could play 21 questions!”

He shook his head, “I think we can figure out a better way to ‘get to know each other’.” He smirked and you furrowed your brows in confusion, not really sure what he was implying.

“What did you have in mind?” You asked.

He started to step towards you and in turn you stepped back, trying to keep a bit of distance between you both. But then you backed right up into a tree, with him now only inches away from you. “I’ll show you.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” you waved a hand dismissively, “I don’t think you need to do that—“ But he cut you off as he damn near jumped at you, his lips crashed into yours and his hands started to roam your body, as his hips pinned you to the tree. You had been caught off guard originally but then you landed your palms on his chest and forcefully pushed him. He barely moved though, as he was much bigger than you. But you managed to move him just enough, to gain the space to turn your head away from him. “Please get off of me.” You requested firmly. However, he ignored you and didn’t move away, he just continued his advances on you.

“Brock! Get your hands off me!” You commanded, your voice was rising now. Panic was starting to sink in, he was so much stronger than you, and if you couldn’t get him to stop soon, he may not stop at all.

He finally tilted his head back to look at you, “Oh, so you can put out for every other guy in school, but you won’t put out for the one that takes you to prom?”

You were momentarily taken aback by his comment. What the fuck— “What are you even talking about?!”

“I heard all the stories Y/N, I know what type of girl you actually are. So no need to play coy.” Before you could answer he was back on you, crushing his lips into yours and pulling at your dress. You realized asking him clearly wasn’t working, so you attempted to push him away again. This time as hard as you could, which again was futile. So you started to scream and thrash against him and his advances.

Your screaming instantly caught in your throat when you felt him shift and he forcefully grabbed your upper arm, yanking you away from the tree and throwing you to the ground. And fucking hard at that. Then he stepped over you, “Shut up, would ya? Someone is going to hear you!” He seethed.

“Good!” You defiantly yelled and started to scream again. He raised his hand up and backhanded you across the face, the shock of the hit abruptly shutting you up, as your hand flew up to cover your cheek. The tears started to well in your eyes from the sting of the hit.

Then he started to pull at your dress again and your blood ran cold as you realized where this was all going. “B-brock, please, please don’t do this. Please stop,” you begged, “I don’t know what you heard but I haven’t ever slept with anyone before.” And that was the truth. You hadn’t even so much as dated a guy, let alone slept with one. Hell, tonight had been your first kiss for crying out loud. All through high school no one had ever even so much as paid attention to you, at least not romantically, let alone slept with you. Brock was the first guy to ever even ask you out, granted it was to prom, so not an official date, but still—Shit, not the fucking point right now! No, right now you were wholeheartedly regretting ever accepting his offer. He was clearly not the boy you had thought he was.

“That’s not what I heard—“ he started to say but was cut off when a giant form came out of fucking nowhere and grabbed Brock by the back of his shirt, yanking him away from you and flinging him in the opposite direction.

“She said no!” The giant form yelled and you instantly recognized the voice. It was Steve. He was here now. Thank god.

Brock quickly pulled himself up to his feet, “Are you fucking kidding me? What the fuck’s your problem, Steve?”

“Do I look like I’m fucking kidding? I warned you, Brock. Not once but fucking twice!” Steve growled out. “And my problem is, is that she told you to fucking stop, more than once, yet you continued anyways, you piece of shit!” He spat out.

“Will you just fuck off already, Steve! Your just jealous that I stole your whore for the night!” He spit back.

Steve punched him in the face, and fucking hard at that. “Don’t you fucking call her that!”

Brock stumbled back a few feet from the hit, regaining his balance quickly as his hand wiped the blood from his mouth, “I just call them as I see them. And that’s what she is!” He stepped up into Steve’s face, clearly unaware of Steves track record in fights, he never lost. And he had damn near a foot on Brock. “I heard all the stories about the guys she has slept with, Steve. So obviously your threats didn’t fucking work. And I forked out all this money to bring her ass to prom, the least she could do is fucking put out!” And Brock saying that was clearly the last straw for Steve, as he lunged at him, tackling him to the ground. As they both hit the ground Steve quickly straddled Brock’s waist and started punching him with both fists, alternating.

After a few seconds you realized he wasn’t going to stop, you had only ever seen him this mad once before and he damn near killed the kid. Luckily for the boy, Bucky and Sam had been there to pull Steve off before he could do any fatal damage. “Fuck!” You yelled as you jumped up and scrambled over to them. As much as you felt Brock deserved this beatdown, it wasn’t going to end just a beatdown. No, Steve wouldn’t stop, and you couldn’t let him kill someone. Especially not for of you, or, because of you. “Steve!” You screamed as you tried to pull him off Brock, “Stop!”

You grabbed one of his massive arms, but he abruptly slammed his elbow back into your stomach, clearly trying to break the hold of whoever was currently attempting to stop him. You went flying backwards into the ground, “Steve!” You gasped as you did. It was then that his punches halted completely and his head whipped around to look at you. His face was twisted in anger for a couple seconds, then instantly softened when he realized it was you he had elbowed, you were the one trying to stop him.

“Y/N!” He yelled as he jumped up off the now bloodied Brock and ran over to you. Brock took this opportunity to get up off the ground, “Screw this! That slut isn’t worth it!” He spat then hightailed it back towards the party. But Steve didn’t even take notice of Brocks exit, or his comment towards you, as he was to focused in you now. But you’d heard it.

Once he reached you he crouched down in front of you, “Oh god, I’m so sorry, Y/N. Are you okay?!” He looked you over for a moment then froze, his eyes locked on part of your body. A blush quickly covered his face then he shook his head. “Shit,” he said as he abruptly stood up and turned around. You looked down and saw that Brock had managed to rip part of your dress and snapped one of the straps, so now most of your bra covered chest was exposed. You quickly brought your arms up over your upper body in an attempt to conceal yourself.

Steve still just stood, with his back to you, as he removed his tux jacket and held it out behind himself, towards you. “Here,” he said as he wiggled it at you.

You stood up and took the jacket, putting your arms in the sleeves and wrapping it tightly around your body. It was massive on you and ended damn near at your knees. While the sleeves well surpassed your hands, making you look like you didn’t even have hands at all. Basically you were swimming in it. “Okay. All covered,” you said quietly.

He turned around then stepped closer to you, cautiously, “Are you sure you’re okay? Did he-did he hurt you?” He nervously asked as he went to reach out to you.

You flinched away and waved him off, not really wanting to be touched at the moment, even by him. “I-i’m okay. He ah, he didn’t get the chance to,” you trailed off as your eyes welled up again. You knew you couldn’t finish that sentence, not without bursting into tears at least. Then you cleared your throat and whispered, “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks to you.”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry I didn’t get here sooner,” You could hear the guilt in his voice but then it quickly changed to frustration. “But what were you even thinking coming out here alone, with Brock of all people!?”

Had it been anyone else treating you like this, at a moment like this, you would have snapped on them. But this was just how Steve was with you, and you were entirely used to it. He was the only one you allowed to be this way with you, he had earned this right, a hundred times over. Tonight adding yet another reason as to why he was allowed to. “I just,” you tried to defend your actions but trailed off, as you realized you’d have to admit that seeing Steve and Madeleine kiss had made you so jealous. Jealous enough to stupidly isolate yourself with a guy you barely knew. You shook your head then lowered it. Admitting defeat, “I clearly wasn’t.”

The sound of small branches snapping made you look back up. He had stepped closer to you, now only about a foot away. And his whole demeanour had softened. His eyes dropped from yours, down to your lips then back up to meet yours again. You knew he wanted to bring up you kissing Brock, and probably scold you for foolishly wasting your first kiss on an assclown like him. He opened his mouth to speak, and you prepared yourself for the brotherly scolding he was about to unleash, but then he snapped it closed again. And to your luck, and slight dismay, he didn’t say a word about it. He just turned his head away from you then sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with one of his large hands. “Why did you agree to come to prom with him?” He looked back at you.

You scoffed, “I didn’t really have any other options, Steve. It was either go with Brock or go by myself.” You crossed your arms, you clearly hadn’t managed to avoid all the brotherly scolding. Just some of it.

“Why didn’t you tell me he had asked you again?” He shook his head, “I had to hear it from everyone but you. I thought we were closer than that.”

“Again?” You asked quietly, confused by what he meant by that. Your brows knitted together momentarily, but then the rest of what he had just fucking said started to sink in, and your blood began to boil. Is he being fucking serious right now?! He wants to talk about ‘thought we were closer’?! About ‘why I didn’t tell him’?!—

“You’re fucking kidding, right?” You gaped, wide eyed, “When could I have told you, Steve? Huh? Fucking when?!” Your voice rising with each word. You scoffed again, “And you thought we were closer than that?! How do you think I felt!” You shook your head.

He looked taken aback, his eyes widened at your outburst, you’d never raised your voice at him before. Not once had you ever had a reason to, at least before tonight. His brows furrowed, “What are you talking about, Y/N?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you replied sarcastically, “maybe the fact that you’ve been ignoring me for 2 fucking weeks! Maybe that’s why I didn’t tell you about Brock!” You started to pace, you weren’t thinking about what just happened to you anymore, you were seeing red at how your so-called best friend, the secret love of your life, could just up and drop you like it was nothing. Like you were nothing. “And then you have the audacity to say ‘I thought we’re closer than that’!” you mimicked Steve’s stupid voice as best as you could, “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“It’s not like that Y/N, and you know it.” He sighed and hung his head, quietly adding, “I didn’t ignore you because I wanted to.” But you barely heard the end of what he said, the anger and hurt you were feeling was too distracting.

“Oh?” You abruptly stopped pacing, “It’s not like that?” You stomped passed him to where your clutch was laying on the ground, picking it up and opening it to get your phone out. You turned back to face Steve, who was watching your every move, as you stabbed in your passcode and aggressively tapped the screen till you had opened your text window with him. “That’s funny because you haven’t responded to a single text from me in 13 days. 13 fucking days, Steve!” You turned the phone screen to faced him, then you scrolled up to show all the texts you had sent. A few everyday, yet not a single reply from him. “So please, enlighten me as to ‘what it’s like’ and ‘what I know’!”

He stepped towards you and grabbed your phone from you, “I only ignored you to protect you!” He clicked the lock button then grabbed your clutch and threw your phone back in it, snapping it shut.

“Protect me? HA!” You laughed bitterly as you snatched your clutch back from him. “My best friend, my fucking rock, the only person who got me through fucking high school, drops me like I mean nothing and I’m supposed to believe it was to protect me?!” You flung your arms up in the air, “That’s the stupidest thing I have ever fucking heard!” then you spun around and headed back to the party, or rather, headed back to the exit so you could call your dad to come pick you up.

“Y/N wait!” He yelled as he ran to catch up to you, “Just hear me out—“

You spun around to face him, “No!” You yelled as you pointed a finger in his face. “You don’t get to ignore me for almost 2 weeks, then bring the one girl in school, who made my life fucking hell, to prom and expect me to stand here and listen to you tell me it was all to protect me!”

He glared at you, and you could tell instantly that he was now just as pissed as you were, or at least close to it. You knew him better than anyone, your words had angered him, just like his had angered you. “Oh, so that is what this is all about? Me bringing Madi to prom? You’re only pissed at me right now because of just that?” He scoffed and crossed his arms, turning his face away from you. You glared at him. He was so fucking dense!

“That’s a huge part of it, yes! But not the only fucking reason!”

Then he lowered his arms slowly and turned to look back down at you. When he spoke it was calmer, almost curious. “Why? Why are you so pissed I brought her?”

You opened your mouth then snapped it shit again and furrowed your brows. Because I love you. But you couldn’t tell him that, especially not in a moment like this. So you told him the only thing you could think of, “nope, I lied, that is the only reason, and it’s because she made my life hell, Steve. Fucking hell. And you, more than anyone, knows that. Yet you still took HER, of all fucking people.”

“I had too,” He urged, “I had no fucking choice.”

“Bullshit.” You mumbled and shook your head wildly, you had now reached the ‘fuck it’ stage of being mad, you were no longer yelling. You were done with this conversation and maybe even this friendship. He had basically betrayed you when he picked her over you. “You weren’t forced to bring her, you asked her. Big difference.” You said in a surprisingly calm manor. You turned around again, needing to put as much distance between you and Steve right now as you fucking could.

“Please, Y/N, just hear me out,” he pleaded.

“No, I’m done,” you said over your shoulder as you started to walk away. You went to pull out your phone to call your dad. But before you could you felt a large hand gently, but firmly, grab your elbow, urging you to turn around. You reluctantly did and came face to face with Steve’s stupid blue eyes again. Sadness and fear swimming in them now. You figured it was because you’d never been mad at him before, he clearly wasn’t taking it well.

“Y/N, please—“ he started but was cut off by an irritating sound nearby. The one voice that would always instantly make you tense up and send a chill down your spine. Both things you did in this exact moment, when you heard her speak.

“Y/N, what are you doing with my boyfriend?” Madeleine sneered.

You shut your eyes tightly and took a deep calming breath. Trying to will yourself to not react to her words. Or rather to her straight up claiming Steve as her own.

“We aren’t datin—“ Steve started but this time you cut him off.

“Absolutely nothing, Madeleine,” you replied as you opened your eyes and looked over at her, with an obviously fake smile plastered on your face, then you turned and made eye contact with Steve, “He’s all yours.” And with that you yanked your arm from his hold then spun on your heels. You didn’t miss the hurt in Steve’s eyes at your words though. You knew your last comment had cut him deep, but you were done being second best. Done pinning over a boy you’d never have. Done with this whole fucking town and everyone in it.

You called your dad and the second you got off the phone with him you burst into tears. This had been hands down the worst night of your life to date. You’d been betrayed, attacked, tossed aside and humiliated. And almost all of those things were done to you by your so called ‘best friend’. By your first love. By the one person you never expected that from, the one person who had promised to always have your back. Yet, in the end he didn’t, not truly. He had ignored you for 2 weeks, 2 fucking weeks. You clearly didn’t mean a damn thing to him.

10 minutes later your dad pulled up and you quickly tried to wipe away the tear smudged makeup from your face. Knowing that it was futile as it was probably quite obvious that you’d been crying. That thought was answered when you got in the truck, and he instantly started asking questions as to why you were in a tux jacket, and why you’d been crying. You told him you didn’t want to talk about it, but assured him that you were okay and nothing happened. He didn’t want to drop it at first, but you looked over at him and simply said, “North Korea”. He narrowed his eyes at you, then sighed turning to look out the front window as he put the truck in gear and began to drive home.

You and him had come up with this ‘safe word,’ of sorts, when you were around 14. It was your dad's idea, he had told you that if you ever needed a ride, or to be picked up from somewhere you didn’t feel safe, that he always would. Regardless of if you were drunk, high or whatever. But if you didn’t want to tell him exactly why you needed to be picked up, all you had to do was say ‘North Korea’. And he would never ask about it again. He said it worked as no one ever knows anything about that country, unless they release the information themselves. And no one really ever asks. That was exactly what it stood for. No questions and no talking about it.

Once you both got home, you ran up to your room and slammed your window shut then locked it. You were not interested in Steve sneaking into your room tonight to ‘talk’ it out. That was a regular occurrence throughout the years. He snuck into your room often, it was always completely innocent, and occasionally he’d pass out on your floor, but usually he would just come and talk to you, after a particularly difficult day. He’d normally stay till you got everything out or passed out, whichever came first, then he’d climb back out your window and go home. Or at least most of the time.

The first time your dad had caught him passed out on the floor, he woke you both up and escorted Steve down to the front door. You couldn’t make out everything said but you did hear your dad tell him to not make a habit of this, and if you absolutely needed him to stay over, he was to ‘keep his hands to himself or else’. It was fucking awkward, but nowhere near as awkward as the rambling sex and protection talk he had with you directly after Steve left. Which was hilarious, as Steve was probably the very last guy on earth who would want to sleep with you. Finally you’d had enough of the talk and actually yelled, “I’m still a virgin dad! and probably will be till I’m fucking 80!” Then you stormed off to your room. God, what you wouldn’t give to have mom back for the dreaded ‘birds and the bees’ talk. She was always so much better at this stuff then your dad. He was a bumbling mess most of the time, but he loved you and you loved him. You were all each other had now a days, since she died.

That night you passed out on the couch, surprisingly fast. Probably because you had the TV on, some random infomercial drowning on in the background. That always helped you sleep, it was your plan B option, if your plan A couldn’t come over that night.

You woke up early in the morning to the TV off and a note from your dad saying there was breakfast in the oven, but that he had to run to the shop to deal with a few things but he’d be back shortly. When he got home an hour later, you’d spent the whole time thinking and ignoring your phone. Or rather, the endless calls and texts from your friends and Steve. You ended up blocking Steve’s number shortly after you woke up, just so your phone would shut up.

You’d sat your dad down, and asked if you could go stay with your Aunt Carol, in Boston for the summer. You reasoned that she was closer to Hartford University, which was where you’d been accepted to, and would be starting up classes in the fall. So you’d be able to travel down and check out the campus whenever you’d like. He wasn’t a huge fan of the idea, or maybe it was more the fact that you’d conveniently brought this up, the day after he had picked you up crying, in a ripped prom dress, and obviously Steve’s tux jacket. But North Korea had been called, so he couldn’t ask nor bring that up. He called your Aunt to ask her permission, you heard her excited screaming through the phone, from a totally different room. Clearly that was a yes. Then you ran upstairs and packed your bags, you only packed what you’d need for the summer. As you’d come back and fully pack up for school, closer to classes starting.

Though, unbeknownst to you as you loaded up your bags into your dads truck, so he could drive you to the bus depot, this would be the last time you stepped foot in this town for almost 7 years. Your dad would end up packing up all your belongings and driving the 11 hours to drop them off to you before school started.

But you got on the bus to Boston, waving goodbye to your dad as it pulled away. And watching as the small town of Buckhannon, West Virginia slowly drifted into the horizon. During the 11 hour ride you texted all your friends, explaining that you had left town for the summer, well all except one. They were all pretty butt hurt at first that you didn’t even say goodbye. But they would soon learn the truth of what had happened with both Brock and Steve, as gossip always spread like wildfires in small towns. Especially Buckhannon, with it’s population of just shy of 6,000. And after that they all understood 100% why you left. You kept in touch with them over the years. Well, all except one.

January 2018.

Your fingers ghosted over the words on the wedding invitation, the wedding date being almost 6 months away meant it landed smack dab in the beginning of summer break. You’d be off work and maybe it was finally time to return home. Maybe it was finally time to face everyone. To face him. You had no idea how that was going to play out, but before you could talk yourself out of it, you typed the RSVP link into your phone’s browser. And quickly filled out the small form, selecting just you and no date, then hit send. Whelp, there it is. You had officially RSVP’d and were now obligated to go back. There was no avoiding it now …..Fuuuck. What have I done?!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

If you want to be tagged or removed from this tag list, just leave a comment, send an ask or PM me. I can make that happen for ya!

@hopefulmoonobject @harlequinash @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @tessvillegas @boxofteenageideas @wangdeasang @giggleberts @casuallydarktiger @theonelittleone @agentbadbitch @ratwrites @starrystellars @bandsandanimefreak @rockyroadthepastryarchy @lovvliies @cuffski @icesoccerer @alwaysright4 @lilsthethrills @imdiegohargreeves @dreamywanderersworld

[queer-cosette]

Coco Writes

OK, so I know I’m not always great about summarising my fics on here; I usually just post links. But here is a masterpost of all my fics!

Les Miserables

The Leader And The Cynic

Rated T

1/1 chapter; 1226 words

Summary:

A series of moments from the relationship of Enjolras and Grantaire. Because now my happiness depends on the happiness of fictional revolutionaries. Modern AU

Read on FF.net

Series - On Se Sent Comme Par Magie

The Destiny Of Cosette

Rated T

No Archive Warnings Apply

22/22 chapters; 88,475 words

Summary:

Cosette is an ordinary Parisian teenager - until one day, she stumbles across a powerful Faery being attacked by an ogre! And when she inadvertently uses magic to protect the Faery, Enjolras, she realises that she’s maybe not as normal as she thought. Enjolras invites her to attend Faery school in another dimension with him, where they become friends with three other faeries - Courfeyrac, Jehan and Éponine - and form Les Amis. But all is not well in the Magic Dimension -

What’s the deal with Grantaire, Marius, Bahorel and Combeferre - four cute wizards from another school?

What are Patron-Minette - a trio of witches - planning?

And who is Fantine, the mysterious Nymph who keeps appearing in Cosette’s dreams?

Read on AO3

The Shadow Phoenix

Rated T

No Archive Warnings Apply

26/26 chapters; 165,435 words

Summary:

Les Amis start their second year at Musain College for Faeries, and right off the bat, strange things begin happening in the Magic Dimension. Musichetta, a water Faery, arrives at the school begging for help to rescue her friends, the Piskies, and Patron-Minette have busted out of rehabilitation with the help of a strange skeletal knight - who matches Musichetta’s description of the Piskies’ kidnapper. With the help of Musichetta, Feuilly - a Wizard and new member of Les Amis -, and Professor Mabeuf, the wise new philosophy teacher, this year promises to be as exciting as the last!

Read on AO3

The Warlock Of The Flame

Rated T

Major Character Death

18/25 chapters; 122,516 words

Summary:

Cosette’s life is going great! With Lord Méchant defeated, her final year at Musain College for Faeries is going to be normal (for once); her relationship with Marius is going spectacularly (and it looks like there’s a proposal in the pipeline!); and there’s nothing to suggest that the Magical Dimension is in any danger. But then news of something horrible happening on Musichetta’s home planet reaches the ears of Les Amis - and according to Headmaster Myriel, there’s only one Warlock who could have caused it. As Cosette and her friends face off with the culprit, it becomes more and more apparent that his true nature and past are darker than any of them could have imagined...

Read on AO3

***

Total Drama

Dear Diary

Rated M

Major Character Death, Reference To Eating Disorders and Attempted/Implied Sexual Assault

9/? chapters; 27,617 words

Summary:

"Dear Diary - My teen angst bullshit now has a body count."

Heather Chandler. Gwen Duke. Lindsay McNamara. Courtney Sawyer. Together they make up the most powerful clique at Westerburg High. Most people would die to get into it.

Courtney would kill to get out of it.

Enter Duncan Dean. He has a way with women, a way with words, and a very special way with a gun.

"It's God versus my boyfriend, and God's losing..."

Read on AO3

Read on FF.net

A Little Fall Of Rain

Rated T

Major Character Death

1/1 chapter; 663 words

Summary:

In the midst of the July Uprising, Gwen Thénardier takes a bullet for long time friend Duncan Pontmercy, despite his love for Courtney and his obliviousness towards her feelings for him. Gwen as Éponine, Duncan as Marius. Based off the scene in the musical. I don't own TDI or Les Mis. Warning: Character Death.

Read on FF.net

Freak Out, Let It Go

Rated K+ (G for AO3 users)

1/1 chapter; 271 words

Summary:

Alternatively called ‘What Happens When I listen To Avril Lavigne For Three Hours Straight’. One-shot starring our favourite crazy redhead. Enjoy.

Read on FF.net

Bubblegum Bitch

Rated T

1/1 chapter; 539 words

Summary:

Heather is shiny and perfect on the outside, but on the inside she's a backstabbing user - a mess.

Read on FF.net

I Wish

Rated T

Implied Character Death

1/1 chapter; 357 words

Summary:

When Courtney doesn't show up after TDWT's finale, Duncan does some serious thinking about the past.

Read on FF.net

***

Miraculous Ladybug

mArinette

Rated T

No Archive Warnings Apply

7/8 chapters

Summary:

Marinette tells a lie. A pretty big lie. And soon one lie turns into another, and before she knows it, she's going out of her way to keep the lie going.

When Lila lies, it's sloppy. But Marinette's lie is all too believable.

At least no one else is getting hurt by her lie.

But Marinette's about to find out how hard it is to be known as the school slut.

An Easy A AU.

Read on AO3

Series - A Miraculous Musical

Cute Boys With Short Haircuts

Rated G

No Archive Warnings Apply

1/1 chapter

Summary: 

Marinette sees Adrien and Kagami kissing and jumps to conclusions. Hurt and upset, she heads up to her balcony to do the one thing that cheers her up: singing a really angsty song.

Adrien had nothing to do with the kiss. He just wants to ask Marinette out. He passes her balcony as Chat Noir and hears the most beautiful singing voice... but the song is so sad. And then he sticks around just a little too long, and catches sight of something he shouldn't have...

Read on AO3

Act One: Whalesong

Rated T

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

2/? chapters

Summary:

Marinette's family receives tragic news, and suddenly her cousin becomes her roommate. With her only possessions being a small suitcase of clothes and a bizarre hair-clip, anyone connected to María Sugrue-Dupain begins to become infected with some sort of singing virus - in which they have no choice but to sing about their problems. Ms Bustier, ever resourceful, takes the opportunity to direct the class in a production of the musical 'Heathers', and there is drama on-stage and off it.

But why does the singing virus exist at all? Why is Gabriel Agreste suddenly so interested in Adrien's schoolmates? And seriously, is Nathalie OK? The Gorilla wants to know if he should call someone. Should he call someone?

Read on AO3

Series - Let Me Be Loved

More Adventurous

Rated G

No Archive Warnings Apply

1/1 chapter

Summary:

"And it's only doubts that we're counting On fingers broken long ago. I read with every broken heart We should become more adventurous..."

As Marinette sings at a Kitty Section concert, Adrien starts to notice her in a new light. Unfortunately, he's too late, even if he's not quite sure what he's too late for.

100% inspired by 'More Adventurous' by Rilo Kiley

Read on AO3

***

Equestria Girls

Dazzlings

Rated M

Contains Major Character Death, Reference To Eating Disorders and Attempted/Implied Sexual Assault

13/13 chapters

Summary:

"Well, fuck me gently with a chainsaw! Nancy Drew is onto you, Sunset."

Sunset Shimmer wished she was popular, and she became popular -

And suddenly she wished she wasn’t popular.

When Sunset is faced with a fate seemingly worse than death, mysterious new kid Flash Sentry suggests she take matters into her own hands and use drain cleaner, Ich Lüge bullets, and adult ignorance to make the world a better place.

But is his vision of a world without bullies really worth the cost?

Read on AO3

Read on FF.net

***

Original Work

Our Relationship Was A Rainbow

Rated T

No Archive Warnings Apply

1/1 chapter

Summary:

An original piece following the course of a relationship that in spite of glowing all the colours of the rainbow, ended grey and cloudy.

Read on AO3

An Anthology Of Verse, written by a traumatised (yet certified) idiot

Rated G

No Archive Warnings Apply

2/? chapters

Summary:

I asked my followers on Tumblr if they'd be interested in reading some of my original poetry if I posted it here. Four likes and a comment saying "Yes please!!" is more than good enough for me. I hope you enjoy it!

(Note: A lot of this was initially written a few years ago - or even longer. Some of it has - naturally - been edited since my initial draft, but some of it may have a different style to my more recent writing.)

(Another Note: I will be posting new poems as they come to me, or I rediscover them. I will also update tags as I go.)

Read on Ao3