#Rabbit finds some mostly naked girl in his bed after he comes back from a shower

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Sex Tape

Pairings: Johnny Depp x Reader

Request: “ If you take requests, would you consider doing johnny reaction to like theirs sex tape getting leaked? Reader may also be a celebrity or not. Whatever you prefer “ - @fanficshitandother 

Warnings: Mentions of sex but no actual smut

Word Count: 1800

A/N: Sorry this one is so short. I was having a harder time writing it than I thought I would. I hope you enjoy!

__________________________________

Shit. 

You knew this was a bad idea when he suggested it but no. He just had to have this video “for when he was away filming.” It always ended like this, though, right? It always started out as fun and games until bam! Celebrity sex tape leaked! 

The gossip talk show video that your best friend had sent you was still playing on your phone and you watched in silent horror as the red haired woman talked about your sex life to her male counterpart as if she had any actual right to have an opinion. In the top corner was a picture of you and Johnny at the red carpet for the premier of the Crimes of Grindelwald, his arm around your waist and both of you smiling for the paparazzi pictures. “Okay, guys. You are going to want to hear this,” She started, clasping her absurdly long acrylic-clad fingers together and holding onto her knees, “So there has been yet another sex tape leaked and I want you to guess who’s it is.” She looked over to her co-host. He had a push broom mustache that was bleached blonde to match his hair. 

The man hummed before waving his hand, which also donned long yellow acrylics, “I swear, Laurel, if this is another Kardashian or Paris Hilton tape, I’m gonna scream. That’s such old news.” 

“Actually, it’s someone that I certainly didn’t expect. Johnny Depp and his wife, Y/N L/N.” She dropped the news and the co-star’s mouth dropped. 

“Are you serious? Like Jack Sparrow, Sweeney Todd, Willy Wonka, Johnny Depp?” He asked in total shock, “I didn’t expect that either! But you know what? I feel like he’d be really good in bed.” 

He and Laurel both laughed, “You’re so bad!” She squealed, hitting him with the paper notes in her hand, “But, between you and me,” She leaned in, as if she was telling an actual secret that wasn’t being broadcast on the internet, “I did see it.” 

“And?” 

“It was pretty hot, I can’t lie. That Y/N is a very lucky girl indeed.” The pair giggled like a pair of school girls. 

You were absolutely mortified. How did this happen? How many people had seen it? Who had seen it? Oh God… all you could imagine was your family stumbling across the video or, debatably worse, Johnny’s kids. This had to be one of the worst moments of your life. 

You turned off the video and quickly dialed your husband. “Hello, love.” He greeted cheerily on the other end. The faint sound of cars passing in the background told you he was probably driving home from the meeting he had been at. 

“Did you see it? Did you hear it?” You asked frantically. 

“What?” He asked, confused.

“The video! The video got leaked!” You ran your fingers through your hair messily, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. 

“What video?” He questioned, not sounding like he fully understood what had happened, but then you could almost feel the weight of realization falling on him, “Wait, our video?” 

“Yes! Our video!” You were yelling at this point, not at him but at the situation and thankfully he understood that. 

“Okay, okay. We’ll- Hang on my manager is calling. Probably to tell me about it. I’ll be home in five minutes. I love you.” He signed off your call quickly before hanging up without giving you the chance to respond. 

While you waited for him to get there, you spiraled down the rabbit hole that was the tabloids and social media. Your phone buzzed off the charts as everyone from your sister to Helena Bonham Carter called you to ask if you were okay. Of course, you weren’t. But it was one phone call from a former college roommate, Sheila, had really gotten your blood boiling. 

“It’s okay! If anything, this is just going to make you more famous! Look at all the other celebs who’ve had their sex tapes leaked. They’re like, super famous.” Sheila sounded more excited than she should have, which certainly made you question her motives behind calling you in the first place. Since marrying Johnny, you’d had the unfortunate displeasure of having to cut a few people off from your past who had randomly called you up after years of little to no contact, asking more favors in the movie industry, money, or even just for the clout of saying they knew you. There really was such a downside to this whole marrying famous person thing that nobody ever really talked about - not that you would take it back, though, of course. You loved Johnny more than anything. 

Still, when the words left her mouth, you felt a flash of anger swell up, “Contrary to what a lot of people might believe, being famous actually kind of sucks,” You spat angrily, “And call me crazy, but I don’t exactly feel thrilled at knowing the whole world as access to a video of my naked ass!” 

“At least it’s a good naked ass, though! Your boobs are looking pretty good too. Did you get them done?” She asked bluntly, still not a care to be heard in her voice. You swore you could almost detect a fake valley girl accent too. 

Your mouth dropped open in disbelief at the words coming from her voice, “I can’t believe you.” Without giving her a chance to respond, you clicked the off button before flipping her off through the screen, though you knew she couldn’t see it. The audacity of some people. 

The front door swung open, drawing your attention as Johnny hurried into the house, setting his bag down by the front door. “How bad is it?” You asked, knowing his manager must have told him the full extent. 

“Do you want the truth?” Johnny saw as panic and humiliation swept across your face, knowing that perhaps that wasn’t the best way to break it to you that it was pretty bad. He stepped forward and wrapped you in his arms, “I told Harrison to take ‘em down. Whenever he found one, he said he’d get it deleted. 

You sighed defeatedly, “That doesn’t stop the fact that a bunch of people already saw it.” Your arms wrapped around Johnny’s torso and you allowed your head to fall against his chest, trying to calm yourself with his scent- exotic spicy cologne and old books. 

His large hand came to stroke through your hair, “That is true,” He conceded with a heavy breath, “But, it also means that fewer and fewer people will continue to see it.” There was a pause in which neither of you said anything, only took a few minutes to hold onto each other while you thought about the future now, “Y’know, I can’t help but feel like this is partly my fault. I shouldn’t have asked to make the video. I’m sorry, Y/N.” 

You shook your head in disagreement, “I agreed to do it too. It’s on both of us. In retrospect, we should have put it on an actual VHS tape or something that would be more difficult to get into the tabloid’s hands.” 

You were tired of this - of this constant running from the vultures that prayed off your every misstep just to turn them against you and create headlining stories. You felt like you couldn’t even breathe without a scandal unless the media allowed it. You were just grateful that you happened to marry one of the most private actors in Hollywood, knowing that whatever pressure you felt, more public figures like Angelina Jolie had it much worse. Still, something inside you stirred, a decision that you’d stop living in fear. 

Johnny pulled back and gave you that infamous cocked eyebrow look of wonder, one that you’d mostly seen him use as Jack Sparrow. Little did everyone know, it was a gesture he’d picked up on doing in real life as well. “Do we even have a VHS player anymore?” 

You chuckled and buried your head back into his white shirt, “I don’t even know. I feel like there must be one laying around somewhere. And if not, I’ll go down to a pawn shop and pick one up just for you to use while filming.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean,” You leaned back, pulling on his shirt to bring him down closer to your level, “That if we’re going to be making you another one of these videos, it’s gonna be on something that stays only between us.” 

Your husband nearly choked on air, “Another one? After what just happened?” 

“Only if you want to and only if it stays on something physical like a CD or VHS that we can mutually agree to burn and destroy if anything happens.” You giggled and Johnny joined in with a low chuckle as well, “But… the video was leaked. We knew that was a risk when we made it. But, y’know what? I’m tired of living in fear of the paparazzi and public. They’ve already seen us fuck. There’s not much else we’ve got to lose.” 

His dark eyes flashed with mischief before he took off in a light jog down the hall without a word. You followed him, “Where are you going?” You giggled, turning the corner to find him digging through your little Harry Potter closet under the stairs. 

When he stood up, he shook his long hair out of his eyes messily and held up an old tape recorder that had to be at least twenty years old. Johnny swayed towards you, jokingly flirtatious as he spoke, “Well, Mrs. Depp, it would seem that you’re in luck because your husband likes to hoard old shit.” 

The grey and black machine seemed to stare at you and some hesitation set in again but then you remembered what you’d said: I’m tired of living in fear… there’s not much else we’ve got to lose. 

Johnny flicked open the side compartment and his eyes opened in surprise to find a tape still in there. He lifted it from the slide and looked it over, shocked to see that it appeared to be an unused blank tape, “Well, well, looks like we’re in luck.” 

Biting your lip, you looked up at him with those eyes before grabbing his hand and running upstairs to your bedroom, dragging him along. “The world thinks they’ve seen us fuck. They only got a preview.” 

“Only a preview? I thought we went pretty hard last time?” He countered with a low challenging laugh.

You turned around at the top of the stairs, one hand on the banister as you turned to face him. His body collided with yours, his hand reaching around the small of your back to steady the two of you and you arched your body into his, being sure to brush your body against his groin, “Oh, Johnny… we’re both throwing our backs out tonight.” 

[evans713]

lullaby / chris evans

warnings: PLEASE READ BEFORE READING angst, mental illness, triggers, self-harm (mentions of it, nothing explicit i think), don't read if you are easily triggered, like me i know some people feel like they are alone, i'm not claiming chris is a saviour, i only wrote this to hang into that bit of hope and for purposes of this fic, it was chris, i'm also not claiming only people you are romantically involved with will understand, be able to help or save, it's up to us, THIS IS MOSTLY FLUFFY BUT STILL READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

author's note: @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ a little different from the others💕

It had been one of those days. It was one of those nights. She couldn't sleep. She had lost hope. But she still smiled at the figure sound asleep next to her. Chris was lightly snoring, his face buried on his pillow but an arm protectively around her middle. Normally, his presence would lull her to sleep but not even him was helping her. She was relaxed, her mind wasn't racing surprisingly.

So why am I feeling like this?

Very carefully, she lifted his arm and slid from under him. Chris started groaning at the movement and she wedged a pillow under his arm. Her man clutched at the pillow and sighed.

Y/N sighed in relief. The last thing she wanted was to wake him up. She knew he'd just get worried over her. And she'd wish she could explain it to him. But she couldn't even explain it to herself. It was an odd feeling. Like seeing herself from afar. Not really connecting with reality. She knew it was part of recovery. Some days were going to be good. Some days were going to be really bad. Some days were just going to be numb. At least it's not a bad day although it could be, she thought and shook her head. She was going to take herself out of the rabbit's hole. This was better in a sense and she hoped later would be normal. Ish.

As silent as she could, she stepped outside the bedroom, taking one last peek to make sure Chris and Dodger hadn't woken up. Relieved that they were snoring away, she walked to the living room and took her cigarettes and lighter. Neither she nor Chris were heavy smoker. They would occasionally do it, mostly when Dodger nor anybody else was around.

Y/N stepped out to the patio and climbed onto the hammock she had begged Chris to install. She weakly chuckled at the memory as she found her comfortable spot. Lighting up one of the sticks, she brought it to her mouth and sucked greedily. Hoping it would distract her enough from the itching. She would not go down that way if she could help it. Please stay strong. 

One rather loud snore from himself made Chris wake up. His eyes dropped tiredly and pulled himself closer to Y/N, her scent lulling him back to sleep like always. He got her scent but the feeling on his hand was definitely not her. He propped his head up and tried making out her silhouette but a roaming of his hand confirmed that she wasn't in bed with him. He tried making out any sound indicating she might be in the bathroom or in the kitchen having a snack. The latter was forgotten as he heard Dodger snoring in his bed. If someone was in the kitchen, the pup could be found there. When he didn't hear the water running, he got up from his bed and walked outside.

Everything was silent in their home. Of course, the wind and crickets could be heard but other than that, no indication of where Y/N could be.

Chris wasn't going to lie to himself, he started getting worried. He knew first-hand what it was like to deal with a mental illness. And Y/N had confided in him of what she was going through and moreso what she had done to herself. He sighed in relief when he couldn't find any traces of blades or worse. But still there wasn't sign of you.

Until he saw you swinging on the hammock. He didn't even know how tense he was until he relaxed as he saw her. The gentle light from the lamp outside coated her naked shoulders and legs.

"Y/N?" She turned around and smiled at Chris. He knew it was genuine but it was a sad, tired one. "How do you feel?"

"How do you know?" His question stunned her but then again, she was awake in the middle of the night and out in the patio. "Did I wake you?" This was exactly what she was trying to avoid, worrying him over nothing.

"My snoring woke me up." He said and was relieved that his admission had lifted the mood. Y/N chuckled and offered her hand. He took it and settled next to her, resting his head on her shoulder. "Have you slept at all?"

"I couldn't." Y/N admitted.

"Bad night?"

"Numb night."

"I know I won't take it away but why didn't you wake me up?" Chris asked.

Y/N shifted so she was sideways, her hand on his chest, tracing small patterns. "You were sleeping peacefully. Not because I can't sleep means you shouldn't." She said in a light voice, her finger playfully booping his nose before going back to his chest. 

"Is there something I can do for you?"

"You already do everything for me." She promised.

"I still wish I could make it go away or even share-"

"No, Chris, don't ever wish for something like that. Not for me, not for anybody. I know you mean well but this is the worst thing that can happen to anybody and I know you already deal with anxiety and it takes a toll on you. I don't want you to suffer any more. You don't deserve it."

"You don't deserve it either. Nobody does." His arm circled her shoulders, bringing her as close as possible.

"I know."

There was a moment of comfortable silence. 

"I have an idea." Chris said and started wiggling off the hammock. "Come." He extended his hand and helped Y/N stand up. She took her pack and lighter and let him lead her back inside. 

Chris walked to where his piano stood and brought Y/N to sit on the couch next to it before going back to sit on the bench. He played a few notes as a warm up and when she heard the first notes of Für Elise, her frame relaxed and she lied on the couch. Her eyes closed on their own accord and the last thing she saw was Chris moving his fingers gracefully along the keys as he played her favorite piece.

As Chris finished playing, he began hearing soft snores coming from the couch and smiled. He walked up to his sleeping girl and laid himself next to her, careful of not disrupting her slumber. Y/N gained a bit of consciousness as she felt her head being moved. She began hearing a steady beat and let herself be lulled back to sleep after a kiss was placed on top of her head.

"We are going to get through this."

[scripted-dalliances]

Rest In Peace: Chapter Eight

Title: Rest In Peace

Chapter: 8

Summary: A part of Faithless Fairy Tale, a more in depth look at how they brought Laura back to life. Appearance of old faces, creation of new ones and if you’re looking for canon, it left a long, long time ago. If you squint you might be able to see some pieces from the book.

“Fear no more, says the heart...” -Virginia Woolf

+

Mad Sweeney pushes himself up off the floor, pissed for several reasons, top three being the fact he has just face fucked the floor, that Laura had ruined what was turning out to be a fan-fucking-tastic dirty dream and worst of all, he was clearly sporting a stiffy.

“Fuck you, dead girl, I was sleeping!”

“Yeah, and now you aren't. Come on, get up and get dressed, ginger bitch. We have a long drive back.”

That gets his attention, “Back where?”

“Back to Indiana. To find Anubis and Ibris. I have questions and I want them to answer them. I mean. Odin is dead now, so even if they had a deal it should be fine to just ask what it was.”

“You sure that's smart? They might take one gander ‘atcha and decide your trial period of second life is over. I might not be able to pluck that coin outta you, but Anubis might.”

“Then I will do a lot more than smack his hand if he tries.”

Sweeney gives out a dry chuckle, he doesn’t deny that he kind of wants to see it. An ancient god of death getting slapped silly by little Laura Moon. It was a painful experience, that he was familiar with but that didn't mean he had sympathy for anyone else who was on the receiving end of it.

(More so if he thought they deserved it)

“Fine, give a man some fucking privacy to get dressed.”

Laura looks down her nose at him, still on the floor, hidden by the bed.

“You got a boner, don't you.”

He feels his fucking ears burn, “Out!”

She leaves, but he is distinctly aware of her smug knowing smile.

He most certainly does not jack off to that same smug smile at all.

+

They decide to take one of Ostar's cars. It's the least fancy and brightly colored of her harem of cars, just a black SUV that has tinted windows and enough space for Sweeney’s long legs, so it's possible she'll never even notice or care. They argue for hours on who gets to drive it before a light bulb bursts right above his head, proving soundly that his luck is still fucking shit and they're more likely to survive if she drives.

Before they leave, Sweeney hunts down one of Ostara's many fluffy friends and picks it up by the scruff of the neck to bring the rabbit to his face.

“Oi, tell your old lady we'll bring the car back after we've paid a little visit to Anubis.”

The rabbit’s black nose twitches and Sweeney rolls his eyes.

“If anything happens to the fuckin' car you can have Shadow fuckin' Moon be the one to fuckin' pay for it. Its his damned dead, asshole wife!”

“Ex- asshole wife.” Laura calls out, climbing into the driver's seat.

Sweeney drops the rabbit, “Whatever, call it alimony then.”

“I had a better paying job than Shadow and owned a house, if anyone is paying alimony it would be me.” She says as he gets into the passenger side and she adjusts the car seat. Bringing it up as close as she can to the wheel. Meanwhile, he rummages through the bag at his feet that he brought, until he finds a stack of air fresheners.

He unwraps three lemon shaped ones and throws them in her lap. Laura looks down at them with a sneer while shoving on a pair of sunglasses.

“Really.”

“Shadow might not care for lemon scented you, but I sure as hell pick it over molding corpse.”

+

The first few hours of their drive isn't bad. Its not like they aren't used to sharing small spaces for impossibly long distances. This time she has the ability to aim all the air conditioners in her direction while he keeps the seat warmer on his side on high.

It also helps that he brought a blanket and a very pink fuzzy hat.

“Not a fuckin’ word outta of you dead girl.” He pulls it on and crosses his arms like a grumpy child. As if she was the one who made him wear it.

Laura keeps her face carefully blank, “I didn't say any thing.”

“You were thinkin' it.”

She struggles to hide the uptick of her lips.

“You do look pretty in pink.”

“Fuck you, dead bitch.”

“Fuck you back, Suibhne.”

+

“I spy with my little eye something that begins with the letter ‘C'.”

“It better be cat.”

“It ain't.” Sweeney says with a delighted smirk.

Laura slams her feet on the brakes and Sweeney hits the dashboard with enough force to warrant a crunch.

“You’re an asshole, dead girl.” He hisses at her. Blood from his busted nose runs down his face and into his beard. She grins and continues their little game.

“I spy with my dead eye, something that begins with the letter D.”

Sweeney sniffs wetly, but then after a beat of silence asks, “Is it dickhead?”

“Bingo.”

+

The drive goes by faster than before. Probably because the SUV is naturally more efficient than an old ice cream truck, it helps too that neither of them need to stop for much. At most it’s a quick bathroom break, but Sweeney isn't the type of man who cares where he pisses so more often than not its just the side of the road.

On one such occasion, Laura gets out too just to stretch her limbs. There is a hint of stiffness in her that makes her worried that rigor mortis is a real possibility if she doesn't keep moving. It makes sense as much as it doesn't, her body moves but her insides don't.

There's no blood, every vein clogged and more than one of her organs stapled shut. Twice in some, while others are completely missing. Making her feel like a doll with no stuffing, nothing keeping her together but a gold coin and thread.

Except when she kissed Shadow and felt her heart beat…

Except when she touched Sweeney and felt her blood race…

Above her, a bird cries out. Laura covers her eyes to better see it fly over head. It circles twice, enough for her to fear it might be a damned vulture before it lands atop the car's hood and she realizes its far too small.

It's a hawk, and it opens its mouth to yell at her.

“What the fuck is this.” Sweeney comes up behind her, smoking and glaring at the bird as it continues it’s angry squawking. “What’d you do to piss it off?”

“Why do you think I did anything?”

“I might have shit luck, but even I’d still bet on those odds, darlin.”

“Go!” A new voice shouts.

“…Did that bird just tell me to go?” Laura questions, mostly at the bird.

“There you have it. Even the local wildlife is telling you to piss off.”

The hawk spreads its wings and lets out a sharp gutted cry; could be anger or indignation, fuck it could be a happy sound. All Laura ever owned was cats, she knows fuck all about birds.

“Go with!”

Laura has been having a really weird after life, all things considering, so stopping to talk to a hawk on the side of the road is just…well it is what it is. Fucking weird, but she does it.

“You…want to come with?”

The bird ruffled its feathers, puffed up and started earnestly bopping it's head. Laura shrugs and opens the passenger door, but quick as a lightning , Sweeney is pushing her hand aside and crawling in.

“I call FUCKIN' shot gun, the talking chicken nugget can sit in the fuckin' back.”

Laura slams the door closed, Hard enough to catch the tall idiot by the elbow and moves to open the back door instead. Gesturing to the bird to get in.

“Sure you want a lift? I mean you've got wings and this idiot never shuts the fuck up. I know which one I'd choose.”

The hawk flies into the back.

“Great.” She closes the door and walks back to the driver side. Mad Sweeney is glued to the radio, the bird is perched on the seat. Every now and then picking at something between it's claws and chewing.

“So, a dead woman, an unlucky leprechaun and a talking bird go on a road trip. Set up for a good joke, right?” She says, strapping herself in.

“And by good joke. You mean fuckin' awful, right?”

A new voice from the back pipes up, “Actually, I'm a God.”

Both of them scream in reply.

+

The bird who is not a bird at all, sits casually and as both Laura and Sweeney spit and sputter out curses in shock.

“Fuckin hell! Give a fella some sort of fuckin' warning you trickster asshole!” Sweeney puts a hand to his chest, where his heart is trying to escape his ribs. He will die of a damn heart attack before the end of this trip. He can feel it in his bones.

“Normally I wouldn't agree with him for anything, but holy shit yeah.” Laura looks at the man. He's handsome, dark skinned and naked. Really, really naked. “Also…maybe clothes? I’d like to at least know your name before I know what your balls look like.”

Sweeney glances back. Regrets it instantly.

“At least cup yourself, lad. This ain't our fuckin' car and I ain't paying to clean your dick sweat from it.” He tells the guy but there is no reaction from him. No shame.

Mad Sweeney looks harder at the man and sighs. He knows that look.

“Oh fuck me…” He glares at the dead woman beside him. “You just had to do it, didn't ya. You just had to let the bird in.”

“He asked!”

“He is fuckin' mad as shit! LOOK INTO HIS FUCKIN' EYES, WOMAN. HE IS BATTY AS A FUCK-” Sweeney glanced back to point, only to find he couldn't, “..he is a fuckin’ bird again. Fuck.” The hawk was back and blinking at them both. “Why the fuck is he a bird again?”

Laura shrugged, “How would I know? Maybe all your stupid yelling scared him.”

The hawk flapped it's wings.

Sweeney glared, “You’ll have a lot more to fear from me than the tone of my voice if you don't fuckin' change back, you mad feathery fuck, and tell us what the fuck you want.”

There is no pop, no dazzle of magic. Just one moment there was a bird, the next the man was back.

“I'm not scared of you.” The man says simply.

Before Sweeney can fling himself into the back and start a fight, Laura catches him by the shoulder.

“Stop trying to fight naked bird boy. I do not have the energy to properly workshop all the insults I could make from it right this second. And I'd really like to give it my all, so maybe hold off?”

“He wouldn't win.” The man says, as if stating a fact and nothing else.

“Wanna fuckin bet, bird brains?”

The man tilts his head, either confused by the insult or Mad Sweeney in general. Either way, Laura clocks the blankness in his eyes and acknowledges that whoever he is, he isn't playing with a full deck.

“Hey, so. Hello. I'm Laura.”

“I know.”

Taken slight aback, she waits for him to continue. When he doesn’t, she pushes on. “Any chance you can tell me your name or perhaps the reason why you suddenly decided to join us?”

The man blinks at her, processing for a long time before answering.

“I am called Horus. I know you are going to my brothers. I wish to come with.”

“…Okay.” Laura accepts this best she can. Horus as far as she can tell, is also an Egyptian god. So that makes sense…at least in the context of where he is traveling to. “Still gotta wonder. Wouldn't flying as bird be quicker?”

Horus doesn't answer, only looks at her with mournful dark eyes. Laura is shocked to see a second later a tear runs down his dark cheek.

“Hey, listen its fine. You can come with.” She awkwardly attempts to back track. She isn’t good with people, and knows it. But so far this God hasn’t done anything to her except ask for a lift and within seconds she has made him cry. That's a record even for her.

“Shit. There is probably some shitty karma coming my way now isn't there? For making some innocent god cry?”

“Ain't you, dead girl.” Sweeney tells her, voice lowered. He hands the weeping god his blanket and even an opened pack of peanuts. Which seems to cheer Horus up considerably. As he quickly stops crying and  starts to pop them into his mouth to chew. “Chances are he has been a bird so long, everything up there is scrambled eggs. Doubt he remembers what his brothers look like let alone what street they live on.”

He knows, after all, just how little it takes to lose your mind. What it's like to be a bird and lose everything that you were and not even notice until its too late. The ability to turn back into a man fades every time you take flight, that's what they don't tell you.

Even now, sometimes he has days he wishes he could spread his wings and take off. Leave everything behind, just to feel the wind and the air hold him again, to be free and light as only a bird can be.

“But he knew who I was. Knew I was headed to them…”

Horus, having finished all his treats, leans towards them.

“The ravens told me.”

Laura glances at Sweeney, who growls and bangs his fist against his knee. “Okay, does that mean something or is that crazy bird code?”

“Huginn and Muninn. Odin's pet ravens. They've been following us for so long, I sort of forgot. Figured with Odin dead they'd fuck off. Either they've gained a sense of self or someone else has given a job to the lil bastards to keep tracking us.”

Horus frowns, “They were always meant to leave him. Even he knew that. If they work for someone new, it was always meant to be.”

Horus holds out his hand. And it takes a second for Sweeney to realize he wants a treat. With a heavy roll of his eyes, he bends to pull out another bag of snacks from his bagged horde. He pops it open and hands it over, watching in disgruntled amazement as the god upends it all into his mouth at once.

Laura starts the car and pulls it back onto the road. She doesn't exactly remember the way to the funeral home, other than a vague general direction she should head to and can only hope there is a sign for their business when they reach the state.

“So, Odin has a few minions still roaming about. Does it matter?”

“Does it matter she asks,” Mad Sweeney repeats, voice mocking. “Of course it fuckin matters. You, dead girl, killed him. In front of a group of holy witnesses at that. Now Shadow and Miss Spring might not say anything, but you can bet Media and Techdick will. I have no doubt they were watching from afar.”

There had been too much going on, afterwards to notice for sure, but Laura didn't doubt it.

“Never mind what feathery dumb and dumber are up to, by now there will probably be a whole new war gearing up. All against the dead girl who decided to go highlander on their big man. Fuck, there's no telling if they're teaming up or not either, old gods and new.” He chuckles, “Ain't nothing brings people together like a common enemy.”

Laura frowns, “I don't know why you're laughing. If they come after me, you're just as fucked.”

“Aye. Not much changed for me then is it?”

Laura stays silent, he's been eerily right for most things and she hates the idea he might be right about this.

>

[vickypoochoices]

Christmas Countdown Part 2.

[Masterlist.]

Days 1-5.

Day 6.

The day seemed to drag, and as soon as she returned home after a long day of classes, she curled up into a ball on the sofa. She sighed loudly, flicking aimlessly through the channels on the TV, feeling well and truly sorry for herself. She could say it was because she'd had a hard day, but apart from being long as hell and just as boring, nothing out of the ordinary had really happened. Maybe it was the weather? Miserable looking and bitterly cold. Deep down, she knew though. It had been almost twenty four hours since she sprawled out on this very sofa, grinning from ear to ear as she enjoyed her favourite Christmas film, thanks to her secret admirer. Today there was nothing. She knew there was no real pattern, but today she was impatient.

"Wow, you look how I feel."

Having been wrapped up in her thoughts, she jumped out of her skin as Chris slumped on the sofa next to her.

"What's eating you Powell?"

"My great auntie just passed away."

She found herself sitting up, back painfully straight, as she heard his words.

"God, I'm sorry Chris. Here I am moping around like a love sick teenager, and you're trying to deal with this." She pressed her hand lightly into his, giving him a quick squeeze.

"It's okay. I can't say we were super close. But it's still sad. I'm off first thing in the morning, see if I can help out the family in any way. Guess you and Kaitlyn will be having a girls night in then."

"I think Zack would have something to say about that.'

Chris frowned at her response.

"Didn't you see the note on the fridge? Zack's off on a date tonight. The note says don't wait up for the next few nights at least. Wonder who this guy is, must be kind of serious if he's taking a toothbrush round. I figured you would have seen the note seeing as it was practically on top of your little love note."

She scrambled upwards, almost tripping over her own feet in her haste to reach the fridge.

"Chris. Zack's note is on top of mine. Did you put it there?"

"Huh. I must have done. They were both there earlier, I must have accidentally covered your's without thinking. My bad." Giving her an apologetic smile, he slowly raised to his feet.

"I'm gonna go pack some things and get some rest. I'll see you in a few days."

After they exchanged a brief goodbye cuddle, she rounded on the fridge, fingers reaching out to grasp the note eagerly.

Day Six - To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world x.

Clutching the note tightly to her chest, she pottered back to the sofa, spending the next hour reading the same words over and over, smile growing broader with every passing minute.

Day 7.

"Hey sleepyhead, wake up."

She blinked repetitively as a familiar voice shook her from her sleep.

"Kaitlyn, what time is it?"

"Way too early. Sorry babe. Look I hate to have to do this to you when everyone else is away, but there's this awesome gig we've just been offered. Last minute thing, another band pulled out and we've been asked to fill the slot. It's kind of a big deal, but we have to leave now. I swear I'll be back first thing tomorrow, I just didn't want you waking up alone and having to find out by text."

She nodded her head in response, barely able to keep up so early in the morning.

Kaitlyn pushed her gently back on the bed, tucking the covers in tightly around her.

"You go back to sleep, I'll see you tomorrow."

***

She found herself curled up under a blanket, in the usual spot on the sofa that evening, feeling a little lost. This place seemed huge when she was all alone. She reached for her phone, hoping a little social media stalking would make her feel less lonely, when she realised she'd missed a text from an unknown number.

Day Seven - You've got five questions. Whatever you ask, I have to answer honestly. Choose wisely! x.

Now this was interesting! But also a little crazy. He must have known the obvious question would be about his identity. She had five questions, no chance was she wasting them. She could do with a little fun tonight.

Why are you doing this?

I wanted to buy you a nice gift, I looked in every shop you can think of. Then I realised that you deserve so much more than a piece of jewelry, or a new handbag. I want you to know just how much you mean to me, and this is the only way I can think how.

Big spoon or little spoon?

Ladies choice! As long as it's you in that bed with me I'll be happy.

What do you wear to bed?

I can't sleep unless I'm completely naked.

Can I text you anytime?

Yes.

And you'll reply?

We'll see about that. For now, you've had the five questions I promised you. Day eight is just around the corner x.

Damn it! She had the perfect opportunity to find out who was behind all this, and she'd thrown it away! Now she wasn't so sure she'd get another chance.

Day 8.

See you in ten mins, hope you know we're ordering food in, I'm in the mood for some serious junk food right now xxx

She smiled as she read the text from Kaitlyn. She was beyond excited for her return. She'd been delayed in traffic on the drive back so it had been yet another dull day with nobody around for company. She'd ventured out to the coffee shop and found Zig drowning in a sea of impatient looking customers that she wasn't brave enough to battle through, so she'd just come home and moped some more.

Suddenly the front door burst open and she found herself being knocked backwards on to the sofa, a small frame awkwardly tackling her side on with surprising force.

"Did ya miss me?" Kaitlyn grinned, chin propped on her shoulder.

"I was, but I'm starting to question why now you've just crushed me half to death."

"Pfftt, you're going soft in your old age!"

"Hey!" She giggled, shoving Kaitlyn playfully.

A swift knock at the door had them both heading towards it, curious as to who it could be.

"You could have waited to order food, how do you know what I want?" She frowned at Kaitlyn.

"I didn't order yet I swear."

Kaitlyn pulled the door back, and they both let out similar forms of confused little mews. On the doorstep was a large tub of ice cream, post it note neatly in place on the lid.

"Looks like I got back at the perfect time! Here, you have this, I'm calling dibs on the first scoop." Kaitlyn pinned the post it note sloppily on her chest as she bounded off in search of a spoon.

Day Eight - On the eighth day of Christmas my true love sent to me eight maids a-milking x.

"Cool. That super old English Christmas rhyme! So I'm guessing he's gone for the cheaper option and cut out the middle maids here. And come to the assumption that a pint of ice cream would go down better than a pint of milk. And he'd be absolutely right of course! Free ice cream always tastes sooo much better than regular ice cream, am I right, or am I right?"

"That free ice cream, I think you'll find, is all for me!"

Day 9.

"I, for one, can not wait to eat everything in sight once we get to Abbie and Tyler's."

"Alright Zack, just because you haven't seen the light of day recently, no need to rub it in."

"Sounds like someone is regretting their choice of questions now. Honestly, how could you mess up like that? If you played your cards right you could have been at it like rabbits too."

She winced, both at his tone and words. Knowing he was probably right was frustrating to admit.

"All right you two, can we promise no more talk of this until after dinner? It's been a while since we all got together like this, and i could do with a nice happy evening now I'm back." Chris piped up from the back seat of her car.

"Fine." They both replied in unison.

***

An hour later they were mostly all sat down waiting to eat when the doorbell rang.

"Here he is."

"At last."

Zig winked, raking a hand through his hair as he entered the doorway.

"Sorry guys. Work was hectic today. This meal is the only thing that kept me going all day!"

"I know the feeling." Zack muttered sarcastically, prompting her to give him a kick under the table.

"I saved you a space over here Zig." She patted the vacant seat next to her, smiling as he slid in next to her, arm draping loosely across the back of her chair.

"What she means is no one else wanted to sit next to her, so you've drawn the short straw tonight my friend." Zack chuckled at his own joke.

She kicked him again, a little harder this time, but instantly regretted it as Zig grunted instead of Zack.

"Crap. Zig I'm so sorry!"

"Don't worry about it." He waved his hand dismissively. Jigging his feet a few times to try and ease the pain.

They fell into a comfortable silence as they all tucked in to the food. Half way through she realised someone was playing footsie with her underneath the table. After the third time, she retaliated. Their feet did a little dance together, and then she rubbed her calf suggestively against the offenders. She glanced around the room coyly, hoping to catch a glimpse of surprise on someone's face, but everyone was busy eating and chatting away, no out of the ordinary facial expressions at all. She realised at some point she must have been smiling like a fool, as her face dropped and her jaw suddenly ached. Her heart raced as she contemplated her actions. Did this mean one of her friends was her mystery lover? And had she really just attempted to flirt with one of them? What the hell was she doing? She was way too caught up in all of this.

Hours later, tummies full to the brim, they all bid farewell to Abbie and Tyler and hobbled out to the cars. Waving to James, and then Zig, as they drove off in their separate cars, she stilled as she spotted something poking out underneath one of her windscreen wipers, flapping lightly in the breeze. Her fingers worked quickly, finding yet another post it note as she freed it from the wipers grip.

Day Nine - A smile is a curve that sets everything straight x.

And just like that, the familiar ache she'd felt earlier on at dinner returned, as she beamed down at the latest note.

Day 10.

She smiled absentmindedly as she took her time strolling through the mall, people surrounding her frantically rushing for no real reason.

She'd decided to make a start on her Christmas shopping before things got too chaotic in the lead up to the big day. So far she'd picked up a scarf for her Mum and some novelty socks for her Dad that she knew were corny as hell and exactly the kind of thing he'd love.

Lacking inspiration, she decided to take a look around a book store. Maybe she'd find something in there for a gift? But she was more interested in finding something for herself. A book she could lose herself in, whilst she was holed up at home for the holidays. She'd already delayed her return home, pushing it back as far as possible before the big day. Nothing felt more like home to her now than right where she was, with her friends, they were the people she relied on more than anything.

As she perused the various different sections, she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. Whirling around, she came face to face with an employee, a book clutched tightly in her hand.

"Sorry to interrupt you. I'd just like to pass this on to you, I was told you'd be expecting it."

Handing the copy over, she returned to the front of the store at a startlingly quick pace.

Her eyes twinkled as she read the back cover. A book she'd read countless times, but one that always cheered her up and had her in stitches. Bridget Jones's Diary. A splash of pink poked out the top, grabbing her attention. As she had suspected, she found a pink heart shaped post it note as she thumbed through.

Day Ten - Thought you could do with something to keep you company when you go back home. I hope this book brings you comfort when I can't x.

Days 11-15.

Tagging: @zigortega4life @emerald-bijou @krsnlove @darley1101

Let me know if you want to be added :)

[disappearingground]

Jenny Lewis Starts Over

Rolling Stone March 5, 2019

After saying goodbye to her mother and a 12-year relationship, an indie-rock icon finds a new clarity in art and life

By Jonah Weiner

There are 19 white stickers arranged across Jenny Lewis’ fridge. Each one carries a stamped date, the logo of Providence Holy Cross Medical Center, the word VISITOR and, in Lewis’ handwriting, a different beguiling little phrase: I taught him how to 2-step; Rosey posey put your snake finger on; You are a sunshine in a fruit. “Every day that I visited my mom in the hospital,” Lewis says, “I’d get one of these and write down something she’d say to me. She got more and more psychedelic as we kept upping the meds, and she’d say the most amazing things.” Lewis points at one — Glue me to the ceiling so you never leave — and sighs. “She had liver cancer. From untreated hepatitis C. She was a lifelong heroin addict and also mentally ill and . . . just a really sad situation.”

It’s a drizzly evening in early January, and Lewis is at her home in Los Angeles, drinking gamay wine and discussing things she’s never discussed publicly before. Some listeners over the years may have noticed scattered allusions in her songs to her mother’s troubles and the painful outlines of their relationship. In 2002, on an early album by her first band, Rilo Kiley, she described a mother who was “insane and high.” In 2006, on her debut solo album, Rabbit Fur Coat, she sang, “Where my ma is now, I don’t know/She was living in her car, I was living on the road/And I hear she’s putting that stuff up her nose.” But Lewis has always been careful to let these lyrics speak mostly for themselves. When people ask about them, she’s frequently emphasized that the line between memoir and fiction in her songwriting is a slippery one. “Sometimes I don’t even remember what actually happened,” she says now, “and the song takes on its own life.”

On Lewis’ new record, On the Line, her mother appears again. This time she is in a hospital bed “under a cold white sheet,” and there’s no fiction at work. The earliest sticker on the fridge is dated August 20th, 2017, and by the end of October, at age 70, Linda Lewis was dead.

“We were estranged for 20 years, so this was the first time we’d hung out in two decades,” the 43-year-old singer-songwriter continues. “She was very sick, but I think she held on so we could have time to reconcile, and it created an opportunity for forgiveness. She didn’t have to say, ‘I’m so sorry’ —she said it by saying, ‘You’re a sunshine in a fruit.’ That was her way of saying ‘I love you.’ ”

Lewis started out as a kid actor, appearing on Eighties-era sitcoms like Life With Lucy, opposite Lucille Ball, and in movies like Troop Beverly Hills and The Wizard, opposite Fred Savage. By her twenties she’d all but quit acting and become a burgeoning indie-rock icon instead, known for her clarion voice, her killer ear for melody and her knack for evocative storytelling in a tweaked Americana style. Whereas Lewis’ last musical project, an ad hoc collaboration from 2016 called Nice as Fuck, was stripped down and upbeat, On the Line contains the most lush and melancholy music she’s ever made. The album has a grand rock sound — stately pianos, swelling strings, fuzzy electric guitar. Lewis cut its 11 songs at the venerable Capitol Studios in L.A. over just a few days last year, but she began writing them in this house in 2014, not long before her 12-year relationship with the Scottish-American musician Johnathan Rice deteriorated. She finished writing them after her bedside reconciliation with her mom.

Lewis gives the fridge a final look before turning out of the kitchen. “I wonder how long I’ll leave these up here,” she says.

Addiction, sobriety and self‑medication are running themes throughout On the Line. There are references to red wine, weed, grenadine, heroin, bourbon, Paxil, Marlboros, cognac, Candy Crush and, on the song “Party Clown,” a hallucinogenic Fuji apple. “Somehow I think the worst one of them all is Candy Crush,” Lewis says with a grin. “My mom started taking heroin when I was two or three, probably. So, growing up like that, there’s a realization that nothing is for free, and everything catches up with you — if you try to numb out, eventually you’re gonna have to face whatever it is you’re running away from.” She pauses. “I don’t have any judgment about it. Even with my mom: She did whatever she had to do, and she wasn’t able to kick it. Most people don’t make it out of heroin addiction. I don’t really blame her for it.”

Wine in hand, wearing a satiny cowgirl shirt and a bandanna tied around her neck that’s nearly the same shade of red as her hair, Lewis shows me around the house. Situated near leafy Laurel Canyon, it was built by a Disney animator in the Forties, and his touch is everywhere — delicate, hand-painted flowers on a wall here, trompe l’oeil flagstones on the floor there. In the living room a projector is playing the X-rated 1968 film The Girl on a Motorcycle, which stars Marianne Faithfull and is alternatively titled Naked Under Leather. Lewis has been on a leather kick recently, she says, showing me a photo-heavy 1977 book called Hard Corps: Studies in Leather and Sadomasochism that she recently scored on eBay. “I keep my whips and chains out in the pool house,” she says with a cackle.

Off the living room is the wood-paneled chamber where Lewis rehearses and writes. There’s a drum kit, a Wurlitzer organ and a little gas stove in the corner. Outside, near the pool, there’s a koi pond and a rose garden, all of it put in by the animator. Down the hall, there’s a roller-derby-themed pinball machine from around 1990 that periodically flashes the words WINNERS DON’T DO DRUGS in LED lights. Opposite the pinball is an enormous old promotional cutout for The Wizard, depicting Savage as an adolescent wearing a Nintendo Power Glove and an adolescent Lewis in acid-washed denim overalls. “This was at the movie theater in Van Nuys where I grew up — my mom made me go in and ask for it,” Lewis says. “My sister had it in storage, then had it framed for me and rented a truck to bring it over here. I wasn’t OK with this for many years, because early on in the history of my band, people would yell video-game references at me from the crowd. Now I just can’t believe that this is part of my weird story.”

She says she loved being on Hollywood sets as a kid, for complicated reasons. “I guess I liked being in that environment because it wasn’t home — it was this pretend-family vibe. My dad wasn’t around, so every time I got a job I kind of fell in love with ‘my father’ on set. I would just want that relationship.” (Her real-life dad, a musician named Eddie Gordon, was absent for most of her life, though he came back into Lewis’ orbit shortly before his own death, playing harmonica on her second solo album, 2008’s Acid Tongue.) Lewis’ off-set life in that era was consistently chaotic: “I think my mother was selling coke in the early Eighties,” she says. “She may have been Ricky Nelson’s dealer. And she was using the money I was making and parlaying it into her business. I’d come home from school and there’d be racks of fur coats, Krugerrands, boxes of Vuarnet sunglasses. All these bulk items in the house, drugs cooking on the stove, people coming in and out. Really interesting characters. I remember we had a Honda Civic, and one day it disappeared. Years later, I learned that someone had torched it as a warning to my mom. There was crazy shit going on.”

Lewis says that her elder sister, Leslie, became something like a proxy mother to her in their actual mother’s stead, and when Jenny co-founded Rilo Kiley with some L.A. buddies in the late Nineties, “that was my first chosen family.” Over the years she’d host jam sessions at home, inviting over members of like-minded acts such as Haim, Dawes and Conor Oberst, here and elsewhere in L.A. “I’ve always brought that jam vibe with me wherever I go,” Lewis says. “I feel compelled to play music, to play with people, or I’ll go crazy.”

In 2015, having split up with Rice for reasons we don’t get into, Lewis went to New York, crashing at the empty apartment of her friend Annie Clark, a.k.a. St. Vincent. “I couldn’t stay in this house,” Lewis says. “Johnathan and I were basically married. When you’re with someone that long, you share consciousness with them. I didn’t finish any of my stories — Johnathan finished every story for me. So part of the reason I went to New York was to find my inner monologue. I wanted to know what that voice was.”

The result, some three years later, is On the Line. Lewis made it with a particularly impressive surrogate family whose members included not only Beck and Ryan Adams, with whom she’d worked before, but also an older generation of studio pros: Rolling Stones producer Don Was, Heartbreakers keyboardist Benmont Tench, session drummer Jim Keltner (sideman for John Lennon, Bob Dylan and Steely Dan) and — to her delight and surprise — Ringo Starr. “He was cool — he just showed up one day with a smoothie and did double-drums with Jim on two songs,” Lewis says, adding that she’s not totally sure why the former Beatle came aboard. “I think Don Was showed him some of the songs, invited him to come down, and he was into it.”

[Editors’ note: This story went to press before the February 13th publication of a New York Times report on accusations of sexual misconduct by Ryan Adams. In a February 15th tweet, Lewis made the following statement: “I am deeply troubled by Ryan Adams’ alleged behavior. Although he and I had a working professional relationship, I stand in solidarity with the women who have come forward.”]

A decade-plus into her solo career, Lewis found herself trying new things in the studio. Keeping things spontaneous was a priority: She recorded all her vocal tracks live while playing her instruments, rather than tracking them in later. When Beck inserted a bit of placeholder Auto-Tune on a song called “Little White Dove,” Lewis decided she loved it and kept it in unchanged. (It reminded her of the Detroit rapper DeJ Loaf, whose single “Try Me” Lewis adores.) When it came to mixing, she says she took inspiration from Kanye West’s Ye — clearing out the midrange, focusing on the low end and the highs.

She sits on an oversize armchair in her living room and looks around the house. These days she splits time between L.A. and Nashville, where she jams with a whole other group of friends, including Karen Elson. Three years since her breakup, Lewis says, “I know how to take care of myself. It’s been really lonely, and really hard at times, and to go through the stuff with my mom alone—”

She starts to cry, untying her neckerchief and using it to blot her tears. “This is why I wear a bandanna,” she jokes. “But that’s the thing: I had to visit her, then come home and be alone and process my life with her.”

On the wall in front of her, Marianne Faithfull is making love to Alain Delon, but Lewis isn’t paying attention. “Life is crazy, but it’s incredible,” she goes on. “How amazing to see someone pass over. It’s magical. It’s the most intimate. It’s like a poem, and you don’t know the last line until you get there. But you show up.”

[emilyplaysotome]

Part 31 - Popped

Down the Voltage Rabbit Hole is an ongoing story about our MC, who could easily be anyone in voltage fandom. She woke up in hospital bed only to discover that she’d somehow been transported Voltage universe.

This story is ongoing, so if you missed a part, or are new to the story, please use the links below to catch yourself up:

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 - Part 17 - Part 18 - Part 19 - Part 20 - Part 21 - Part 22 - Part 23 - Part 24 - Part 25 - Part 26 - Part 27 - Part 28 - Part 29 - Part 30

Part 31 - Popped

I showed up at Revance’s doorstep looking like something that had crawled out of the sewer. Without an umbrella, the rain had soaked to the bone, and my hair was plastered to my forehead while being simultaneously frizzy thanks to the residual humidity.

My eyes were still puffy and swollen, and it’s safe to say that I was still in a fragile emotional state as I rang their intercom.

Ryo buzzed me in, but upon seeing me ushered me towards their bathroom, insisting I take a leisurely soak to warm myself up. 

I suspected that, being an artist he was also perceptive of my emotional state, which was yet another reason as to why he was so insistent that I take my time in the bath. He provided me with a change of clothes that had no doubt been left behind by one of Kyohei’s groupies judging by the amount of animal print in the outfit. 

Ryo and I shared a laugh as I noted that off-the-shoulder leopard print shirts paired with black leggings were not exactly my style. That said, based on his initial reaction to seeing me it was clear that anything was an improvement compared to my current state. 

He effortlessly brushed aside how I looked and instead offered up the washer/dryer in the small room next door. Once I’d bathed and changed, he recommended that I dry my regular clothes so I wouldn’t have to leave their residence in the tacky ensemble he’d loaned me. 

True to the sensitive soul Ryo was, before handing me a fluffy towel and leaving, he quietly noted that no matter what state I was in, it was clear to him that I was beautiful as there was no way an ugly person would be capable of writing such honest and heartfelt lyrics.

Realizing that I’d sent the lyrics to “cry me a river” I began to put the pieces together, and figured that Ryo had tied my emotional state to the lyrics - assuming that my fragility was a result of a cheating partner. 

It didn’t seem to be something worth correcting, so I just thanked him for his hospitality and headed towards the bath.

It took a few minutes in the murky, soapy water to get myself feeling warm again, and I was grateful to Ryo for forcing me to do so. 

The small tub was not very luxurious compared to the bath at the God’s mansion, but considering I had no desire to go back, I was happy to get the chance to freshen up. 

Ryo had been kind enough to offer up his shampoo and soap, but I found myself looking through their large selection of bath products. It made sense that Ryo opted for a somewhat neutral, clean smell whereas Kyohei and Nagi used this world’s equivalent of Axe Body Wash. Takashi’s soap obviously smelled of caramel, and Kota’s name was scrawled on what appeared to be his personal skincare line for men which smelled faintly of strawberries.

Out of all of the products, I chose to indulge myself in Iori’s, which was labeled “springtime freshness” and smelled vaguely of how I pictured it would smell at his summer home.

In the small, silent bathroom I allowed myself to get lost in thought as I contemplated how up and down the past few days had been for me. I’d been acting overly emotional (even for me), and couldn’t quite put my finger on why I was acting so erratically. I chalked it up to how fast and hard this world made me fall, and on Zyglavis for getting my hopes up only to break my heart in such a spectacular fashion.

I felt myself wince a little at the thought of Zyglavis, and wondered what was going through his head the entire time he’d held my hand at the planetarium. At the time it had occurred to me that he might be stringing me along for the sole purpose of preventing me from additional romantic encounters, but after he’d stood up to Leon on my behalf, I just found that doubtful. 

None of it was adding up to me at the moment but I didn’t have time to think much more about him as my thoughts were interrupted by the bathroom’s doorknob which began to jiggle. Before I even had time to realize that I’d left it unlocked, who should barge in but the man I’d been looking for, Iori Enjo.

Unable to fully grasp what was happening Iori squinted at me, trying to figure out what, or rather who he was seeing in front of him. Without the help of his glasses or contacts it was clear he struggled to identify me, but I still instinctively covered my bits.

His hair was all over the place and even though it was almost lunchtime it was fairly obvious he’d just woken up. He had some dark circles under his eyes, and the stubble on his face made him look more manly and less bubblegum pop star. He was naked from the waist up and had the same build that all the men in this world had, slim but muscular, with defined abdominal and pectoral muscles.

Seeing him out of his pop star persona was a bit jarring, but truthfully I found him far more attractive this way. I was slightly star struck but when he rubbed his eyes and started to come closer, I immediately snapped out of it and prevented him from coming any closer by calling out at him.

“Hey - the bathroom’s occupied!” I yelled, sinking further into the murky tub hoping it would obscure my imperfect body.

“O-oh! Sorry!” Iori called out surprised, “Didn’t realize one of the guys brought home a chick last night.”

I started to explain that wasn’t the case, but Iori fled the bathroom before I had the chance. 

Not wanting to repeat this encounter (especially with Nagito who I worried wouldn’t be persuaded to leave as easily as Iori had), I decided to cut my leisurely soak a bit short. I wrapped the towel Ryo had left around me, and locked the door before properly taking the time to towel myself off. Once dry, I changed into the ridiculous outfit that had been left for me which I found to be surprisingly comfortable.

Being the lazy, low maintenance woman I was, I didn’t want to bother with having to blow dry my hair. Instead, I opened the bathroom cabinet hoping to find some product that would allow me to let it dry naturally and luckily enough for me, it turned out that there was a plethora of styling products for me to choose from. All of the bottles were labeled with KYOHEI in bold, black letters and I found myself snickering, without a care in the world as I isolated the product that closest to my set it and forget it leave in conditioner back home.

It was sort of amazing how many different skin and hair products were jammed into the small space and even funnier to me that they were all Kyohei’s. 

Truthfully he had always struck me as a high maintenance kind of character which was why he had never been my favorite member of Revance. As I evenly distributed the product throughout my locks, I wondered if he would noticed that one of his precious bottles of product had been used, and I couldn’t help but giggle at the mental image of him scolding the rest of the band because of it.

With my hair de-frizzed and drying, I opened what appeared to be a makeup bag that was hiding off to the side and behind the rest of the bottles. 

Like everything else in the cabinet, its entire contents was Kyohei’s and I decided to use a bit of his concealer to mask the circles that had cropped up under my eyes from crying. With my complexion now smoothed out, I also decided to borrow a bit of his eyeliner and mascara. Not being very talented with makeup I had no idea what the rest of the products in this bag were for, and left the bulk of the contents untouched, returning what I’d borrowed to its rightful place.

Once I was satisfied with my general appearance I braced myself for what was to come. 

Today would most likely be the day in which I learned if I was stuck in this world or not. 

I prepared myself to speak with Ryo, but mostly, pick Iori’s brain. Even though I was wearing what I considered to be a ridiculous outfit, I found myself feeling surprisingly hopeful, and ready for anything.

I was no longer a pathetic, drenched, sniveling little girl - I was now a confident, clean woman wearing leopard print and a little makeup borrowed from the pop sensation otherwise known as Kyohei Rikudoh.

...and I was okay with that.

I found Ryo and Kyohei sitting in the living room, waiting for me to get out of the bath. Upon seeing my attire Kyohei burst out laughing.

“Oh shit - you gave her Akari’s clothes?”

Ryo didn’t respond, and instead just smiled at me with his usual soft smile and said, “Did you put your things in the dryer?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Kyohei dabbed the corners of his eyes, most likely not wanting to let the tears that had appeared smudge his makeup, and I pretended not to notice that his perfect complexion was in fact far from perfect. 

Taking a seat next to him it was obvious that Kyohei, while incredibly handsome had terrible acne that he was clearly self conscious of. He caked on concealer in an attempt to hide it from the world and had done so successfully seeing as how it was only now as I sat a foot or two away from him on the couch that I realized how bad his skin actually was.

Ryo continued to keep things on track, sliding the “cry me a river” lyrics I’d sent him back to me with minimal comments. It was funny that he had any comments at all on a song that was arguably one of the biggest hits of the 2000s, but I pretended to read over the suggestions Ryo had made.

“About these lyrics...can we buy them from you?”

Ryo spoke exactly the way I imagined he would. His voice was low in register, but quiet and thoughtful. If he had lived in my world, I would have equated it to that of a yoga teacher’s, calmly guiding his students through the poses and various meditations.

“I’d love that,” I said to which Kyohei gave me his signature popstar smile.

“Awesome! And we want you to write more songs for us too!”

“I would need to think about that,” I said.

“What’s there to think about?” he asked, clearly perturbed.

I found Kyohei’s aura similar to Eisuke’s as I noted that both men were unaccustomed to getting pushback from people. As long as you did what they wanted they could affable enough, but the second you challenged their desire their moods shifted, almost as if they were irritated you didn’t realize that you would eventually submit to their wishes.

“Hey Kyo,” Iori said interrupting, “next time you have a chick stay here could you give the rest of us a heads up?”

It was clear that he’d thought I’d left for the morning, as the bulk of his statement was said absentmindedly. He’d entered the room with his full attention on his mobile phone, and it was clear that he was in his “dark prince” mode considering the tone he took with Kyohei.

Not taking kindly to Iori’s attitude, Kyohei aggressively introduced me as Ryo’s friend and potential lyricist to which Iori’s head shot up and for the first time he finally got a good look at me. I watched with baited breath for any signs of recognition, and much to my delight Iori’s jaw literally dropped upon seeing me.

“You…”

“Yes?” I asked, holding my breath. 

This was it. This was where I’d find out if Iori was the man I was looking for.

With a dubious expression he addressed Kyohei and Ryo who appeared to be confused as to what was going through Iori’s head. 

“Are you guys fucking with me?” he asked, rather aggressively.

“Messing with you how?” Kyohei shot back with annoyance.

To that, the dark prince dissipated and his tone turned serious.

“This is the girl I found in the park...the one I brought to Ebisu.”

The amount of relief I felt was indescribable, and before there could be further talk of lyrics or employment I sat with Iori and squeezed out every last detail out of him from that day.

He told me that he’d gone for his usual run in Yoyogi Park, wearing his typical disguise of sunglasses and a hat (which struck me as a piss poor excuse for a disguise). On that particular morning he’d gotten an early start to the day and had enjoyed the solitude of running through a park that was typically crowded. He had just made his way around the inner garden by the Meiji Shrine when he saw me, slumped over on a bench and clearly unconscious.

With no one around he approached me, concerned that I had been a victim of assault. However, upon studying me he didn’t find any obvious evidence of bruising or marks, and thought it best to take my pulse.

He’d noted that my clothes were immaculately clean for someone who appeared to have slept overnight in a park, and even though my pulse was faint I appeared to be breathing. He maintained that there was nothing unusual about the scenery around me (which to me indicated that there hadn’t been any obvious oddities or portals in the area). 

From there he’d attempted to wake me with the hope that I’d been careless the night before, indulging on too much drink with the explanation my presence had simply been a result of stumbling into the park to sleep off my drunkenness. However, when light shake didn’t wake me, he decided to take me to Ebisu general by car. 

He was worried that if he were to call the police, considering his identity as a pop phenomenon, the incident might hit the tabloids which was effectively career suicide. That said, being the decent human being he was, he couldn’t in good conscience leave me in such a vulnerable state. 

So, he carried me to the main road, flagged down a cabbie (who luckily didn’t ask any questions), and drove so fast that the usual 15 minute drive to Ebisu General took only 7.

Still concerned about causing a scene, he said that he’d grabbed the first man who he presumed to be a doctor, and handed me off. The part he’d mentioned on the talk show about needing to get to a concert had been a lie - in actuality he’d had plenty of time but had been so spooked about the possibility of his image being hurt that he’d quickly run off, despite the fact that in actuality he’d been a good samaritan.

He explained that was why he’d refused to give his name, and instead slipped out as Doctor Irie prepped a stretcher to take me to the examination room. 

He bowed low to me in apology and I quickly told him to raise his head, and thanked him for helping me. I asked if it would be possible for him to take me to Yoyogi Park in order to show me the exact bench he’d found me on.

I could tell that Kyohei was losing patience with the situation, but I wasn’t about to agree (or not) to work with Revance until I had all my answers. 

It quickly became evident to him that it was in Revance’s best interest to cooperate, so despite Kyohei’s grumbling he allowed for Iori to skip their dance rehearsal and instead take me to the park. I suspected that Ryo was in a bit of a writing slump considering how persistent Kyohei was being about everything, but with the answers I’d been searching for at my fingertips, I chose not to involve myself further in whatever was going on with Revence.

With that in mind, Iori donned his terrible costume and I changed out of the Akari’s ensemble and back into my clothes which were now dry. Feeling like myself again, I said a silent little prayer I’d finally get the answers I wanted and we were off to the park.

“Over there,” Iori said, casually pointing to a bench that was currently occupied by a young woman with toddler.

The little girl struggled to climb up on the wooden bench that faced a placid lake. Though the park was busy, filled with office workers taking lunch outside, the bench felt serene compared to the open areas where people picnicked.

Not caring that the bench was occupied I marched up to the woman and her child to examine it. When she gave me a cautious look I disarmed her by explaining I thought I’d dropped something earlier in the day, to which she relaxed and let me go about my business.

After much scrutiny of the bench, the bushes, and the surrounding area I was left with...nothing.

There was no portal, no odd ripples in the lake, or strange trees that indicated something unusual was afoot. It was simply a park, and I was clearly out of luck when it came to making my way back home. 

It was all extremely anticlimactic, and as the reality of my situation began to sink in, I could feel my lip start to quiver as I thought about the fact that I’d never see my parents or friends again in this lifetime. 

Not wanting to startle the young woman whose world I was now a permanent resident of, I headed back towards Iori who was waiting for me a few feet away from the bench. Seeing my forlorn expression caused him to look at me with a concerned expression and he reached out to me as I walked by.

“Hey, you okay?”

I shook my head no, adding, “But I will be at some point,” and kept walking, shaking off his outstretched arm which attempted to grab my shoulder.

With nothing left to do or see, and with most of my hope gone for the moment (as far as getting myself home), I walked the streets in an aimless fashion. 

I think Iori tried chasing after me in an attempt to get me to return to the Revance house, but I must have ignored him and kept walking. I was in a zombie-like state, unable to feel or react to what was happening around me and solely occupied with the task of putting one foot in front of the other.

Back home, when things weren’t going well I found myself walking from neighborhood to neighborhood, allowing my brain to shut off as the repetitive motion reset whatever was happening in my head. There were times in the past when I’d walked around central park, or home from my office in lower Manhattan and that day I found myself getting lost in a version of Tokyo that was arguably now my home. 

I walked until I felt nothing other than the soreness of my feet, and until I was incapable of taking another step. My stomach growled, and my feet hurt, but the grief of burying my old life in exchange for accepting that this world was now my reality was finally dawning on me.

I had no idea where I was in the city, and with nothing more than my phone which had a half charge and my close to empty wallet, I looked for a cheap place to grab something to eat. I found an affordable ramen stand a block away, but with no one waiting for me there, and this world not offering a chance encounter like it usually did in my darkest moments, I found myself eating alone. 

It was fitting seeing as how I’d never felt more alone in my life.

Like any runaway would, I pulled out my phone and found a nearby park where I hoped to find a bench, or comfortable spot under a tree and nap undisturbed. Even though I’d walked for a few hours, the time was just approaching 4 PM and since I was now stuck here, I needed to figure out where I was going to spend the night.

The idea of returning the mansion made me feel physically ill, and my options were pretty limited at the moment considering I’d spent the last few days chained to Zyglavis’ side in an attempt to quiet the wishes in Leon’s head. 

I hugged my knees to my chest as I curled up under a big cherry blossom tree whose flowers were not yet in bloom and thought about whose place I could spend the night at. My first thought was to call Shunichiro but quickly thought better of it, considering it looked like I’d soon be signing on to the team at Addison & Rhodes. My other option was to call Jin Namba, and as bold as it was to try and arrange a sleepover with a man I’d barely met, I struggled to find another alternative. 

I had little cash on me, which meant it would be impossible for me to book a hotel room. Hiroshi and I had severed our ties, and even though I could probably get free room and board again at the Tres Spades I was not willing to put myself back in the bidders’ world. Most of my week had been spent with Zyglavis, pretending to be his girlfriend, thus not connecting with anyone new. I was too embarrassed at the moment to return to Revance’s house, and I didn’t feel comfortable hitting up anyone at Conte and asking them for a favor.

The more I thought it all over, the more I decided that if I was going to stay out tonight, Jin Namba would be my best bet in doing so. 

Feeling especially stubborn, I took out my phone and messaged him, asking if I could take him up on his offer to have ramen together. Unlike Hiroshi, he made me wait a bit before answering, and after thirty minutes sent me an address, then a time (1800h), followed by a weird cartoon cat giving me a thumbs up, which I assumed meant he was willing to meet up.

With a distraction on the horizon and a way to avoid returning to the Gods’ mansion, I decided to take a quick nap. I wrapped myself in my jacket, and took the knit hat out of my pocket and pulled it down so it covered my eyes, effectively acting as an eye mask of sorts. I popped in my headphones and set an alarm to go off so I wouldn’t over sleep, and with that I closed my eyes.

After all, if I was going to indulge a bit with Namba, I’d need my rest as it would most likely be a very long night.

To be continued…in Part 32

http://emilyplaysotome.tumblr.com/post/160297574032/part-32-new-beginnings

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[obdurare-archive-blog]

you knew this was going to happen. ship meme. lizzie and hector. ♡¯\_(ツ)_/¯

General:

Rate the Ship -  Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs | They will end me.How long will they last? -  They’re compatible enough to be long term as long as a certain someone doesn’t fuck it up Hector.How quickly did/will they fall in love? -  Since this is the opposite from Hector’s end:  He just turned around and got smacked in the face with it one day.  Oh, there was a lead up but he soldiered on, sure it wasn’t what he thought it was until no, it really is the thing he thought it wasn’t.How was their first kiss? -  Impulsive, because he knew it was a thing that shouldn’t happen.  So awkward because of that.  But here they are.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Hector.  After several not so subtle hints.  Probably just dropped it into casual conversation, too, like, “Hey, we’re out of coffee, and by the way, I was thinking, and if you’re serious about the whole getting married thing, let’s go ahead and do it.”  Not the most flowery romantic thing, really, but genuine.Who is the best man/men? - Jack, who is probably the most smug bastard on the fact of the planet.  With lots of, “Well, it was nice knowing you, mate”s and “Good luck on that boring domesticity”s.  Jack, it should be noted, has a black eye at the wedding.Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - Anamaria.Who did the most planning? -  Elizabeth.  Hector’s not gonna touch any of it, lbr here.  He knows better.  Because he knows she’s playing that this or that game on purpose and he’s not going to take the bait.  The entire thing is really for her, so if she wants eggshell over white or lace over embroidery, he’s not going to pick either one, because whatever he picks will be wrong.Who stressed the most? -  Honestly, on the one hand, Elizabeth.  On the other, Hector, because he definitely has a moment of no really, what the fuck are you doing considering their lifestyles, his age, etc.  He gets over it, though.How fancy was the ceremony? - Small.  Very small.  Think the most private wedding you’ve been to and make it smaller.  Only the most trusted people in their little circle and there aren’t very many of those at all.Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? -  Just about everyone they know?  Because lbr they know some very Not Good People.  Again, super small wedding (and also less people to see Hector make an ass of himself, lbr here).  Hector is, at heart, a paranoid bastard and while, hey, he knows he lucked out in every department because pretty he’s never been, he’s also not exactly eager to make her a target, or himself a target against her.

Sex:

Who is on top? - Usually Hector but lbr.  Even if it’s Lizzie he’ll still try to be more dominate.  He gonna do as he do.Who is the one to instigate things? -  Even split now, Hector at the first.  Like, look, friendo, have you seen Elizabeth?  There’s nothing wrong with his eyesight or anything else, thanks.How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right nowHow kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s headHow long do they normally last? -  Like we’re not talking marathons here, friend, because that’s completely unrealistic but he’s got a little staying power, jfc, give a man some credit.Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - Like, look, okay, he tries.  But he’s an assassin, Jim, not a miracle worker.  I’d say it pretty much probably evens out.How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.Children:

How many children will they have naturally? -  On purpose?  None.  I feel like…A modern Hector at that point?  Probably snipped.How many children will they adopt? - 0.Who gets stuck with the most diapers? -  Hector.  Because any kids they have will 100% be an accident (because really, he doesn’t at all want any and so they’d also be Against All Odds).  But he would, hypothetically, and after an awkward stage, take to being a parent well (without his canon background in the way). Who is the stricter parent? -  Elizabeth.Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - E L I Z A B E T HWho remembers to pack the lunch(es)? -  Definitely Elizabeth.Who is the more loved parent? -  I will debate this and say it’s an even split if anything. Especially when said hypothetical kid was little.Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings?  Elizabeth.  Hector’s not allowed there anymore.  Marcy didn’t appreciate his blunt commentary.Who cried the most at graduation? - Elizabeth.  Hector doesn’t do that crying thing.Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? -  Hector.  Because as scary as he is, Elizabeth’s scarier.Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - Neither one of them, to be honest.  They’re just not really very good at it.  But if an Attempt Is Made, nine times out of ten it’s Elizabeth that makes it.Who is the most picky in their food choice? -  Hector only because he mostly refuses to change his dietary habits at all.  He’s such a baby about it he had to be plied with gummy multivitamins.Who does the grocery shopping? -  “””Grocery shopping.”””  Hector will only do it if forced or dragged along.How often do they bake desserts? -  Hector?  Not at all.  His idea of baking desserts is…Okay, so.  He’s so terrible at it?  Those pizzas you bake that come with the cookies, too?  He’ll just shove those back in the freezer, because he cannot bake at all.Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? -  Elizabeth can keep shoving rabbit food at him all she wants, he’s gonna do as he do.  He’ll do it in front of her to prove a point, because he’s not a cow and he doesn’t want to eat grass.Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? -  Hector.  Like, look, okay, he can be a real asshole, and he has trouble trusting and all of that happy shit.  But at the end of the day he’s a giant sap who just can’t help himself.Who is more likely to suggest going out? -  It’s true.  Hector is very lazy and will suggest this thing over attempting to cook.  Especially between the pair of them they can make things that are edible but not…Very…Good.Who is more likely to burn the house down accidentally while cooking? -  Elizabeth.  Hector is currently 547 days kitchen accident free.Chores:

Who cleans the room? - Probably Elizabeth (because lbr canon Hector’s not what you’d call neat or organized either).  Hector’s the type to drop wet towels in the bathroom floor when he’s done with them (he’s, sadly, also the type to just walk through naked after the fact and not really care - he’s at home, don’t look if you have a problem with it).Who is really against chores? -  Hector.Who cleans up after the pets? -  Hector, because that’s the one thing he won’t bitch too hard about.Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? -  Hector.  Can’t find the dust pan?  Fuck it, no one will know.Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? -  Neither?  Like, if anyone does actually come over it’s probably like Jack, and pfft.  Yeah, it’s just Jack.Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? -  Elizabeth.  And it’s probably Hector’s dollar, too.  That change in the cushions she finds, too?  Yeah, probably all his.Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? -   Elizabeth.  He has no idea what she’s really doing in there but when she finally emerges it’s like a flower shop threw up and there’s glitter everywhere.Who takes the dog out for a walk? -  Cats.  (Hector would totally want a dog, though.)How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? -  Hardly???  Ever???  Decorations are invitations to be bothered, in Hector’s opinion.  What are their goals for the relationship? -  His?  To not murder Elizabeth.  To not get caught murdering someone for Elizabeth.  And to not get murdered.  In that order.Who is most likely to sleep till noon? -  Both?  Probably?  Hector was once upon a time an early riser but then he met his lazy sod of a girl and now he sleeps in entirely too late thanks to her and simply the way The Job works.Who plays the most pranks? -  Hector.  More verbal ones than anything, but it’s how he’s going to get murdered by Elizabeth.

[iridulcentdays]

I keep thinking of the line "Raise your glass to Freedom" from Hamilton's "Story of Tonight". Maybe set during the American Revolution, talking about Russia's involvement (or non-involvement as the case may be). Extra challenge might include England, for whatever reason (maybe?).

Hah! Here we finally go! Again, I am avoiding packing because I’m a terrible procrastinator and don’t be like me kids. Also I had a blizzard today. And, here you go. I wrote a few different versions of this but this is the one I love. Hope you like it dear. You always leave such lovely comments, so this is a thank you as well. :)

[RusAme]  With Love, A

Rated T for violence and historical inaccuracies, 4k 

I,

Today I’m working on finding Arthur. I hope I can come home soon. I miss you so much, it hurts. Winter is coming soon, I can already feel it in the air. I know you would say how thin blooded I am, but it’s hard when you don’t have the right shoes. Supplies are scarce here right now, so I can’t even get the right boots. But hey! Perks of being me. Frostbite isn’t permanent.  Anyway, Orion’s high in the sky, and it always makes me think of your eyes. You’ve got starlight trapped in them.

I guess it’s good you’re never going to read this. This is way too sappy.

I hope you’re okay.

Love,

A

                                                         …***…

Alfred sat at the tavern table, finishing his letter before shutting the journal closed. He took a long sip of his beer, and listened to the chatter of the room. It was dark out. The deep maw of night. Alfred watched the British soldiers in the corner and watched the barkeep’s daughter collect glasses. The officers were mostly quiet, chatting to themselves, but Alfred had caught one of them watching the girl far too closely for his liking.

They went an hour later without a problem. Alfred brought his empty glass over to her. Watched her hands shake. “Are you alright?” he asked.

She nodded, a petulant frown on her lips. “They make me so mad,” she muttered. Her eyes flickered to his sling. “How is your arm?”

Alfred shrugged, ignoring the flare of pain. “Better than the horse,” he said with a wry grin. He’d hurt it being thrown from his horse when the animal had been shot by a British soldier. He’d managed to get away, but now found himself trapped in the city, waiting for any of the redcoats to put it together that he was the spy they were looking for. “I’m going to bed,” he said. “Good night Elise.”“Good Night, Alfred,” she said and busied herself with cleaning.

Alfred walked the rickety tavern staircase before getting to his room. He unlocked the door with a heavy sigh, tossing his journal to the bed and looked out the window. It was a moonless night. Alfred turned to the room, glancing around before he dropped to his knees and tied a floorboard loose. Silently pulling the wood away, he pulled out his iPhone and wallet, staring at the two anachronistic items. The battery was long dead, but Alfred kept the two items. He ran his thumb along the rounded edge of the phone.

Hoofbeats echoed across cobblestone at a frantic speed. Alfred stood up, items at hand and looked out the dark window. British soldiers were coming towards the inn. Alfred cursed and shoved his stuff into his rucksack, grabbed the journal, and bolted out the door. He made his way to the roof, quietly easing out of a window before making his escape on the closely bundled buildings of the city.

                                                        …***…

I,

Do you remember that time we talked about what a modern miracle sanitization and healthcare had become? I really miss it. I don’t think we really remember how awful smallpox is. Also pain killers. Really miss that. No, don’t worry. I’m not sick or injured. Well, not that bad. Okay, so I’m in the hospital. But don’t worry! It’s not bad. I’ll be out soon.

I miss you.

With love,

A

                                                        …***…

Alfred had been shot through the arm during his escape. The musket ball had lodged into his bicep and had to be surgically removed. The whiskey was hot down his throat as he got ready. It took two men to hold him still–and that was with him holding his strength back. The wound of course became infected. How could it not? Alfred had demanded that the needle be sanitized over the fire, but apparently that wasn’t enough. He spent a week in the basement of a church, caught in fever and wanting to die. Every day they took out the dead and buried them in the churchyard adjacent to them.

The fever broke just as the doctor was deciding to amputate his arm or not. Alfred, stuck in the fever’s grip, couldn’t explain properly that that was a dumb idea because he would heal on his own, just give him time. Luckily he didn’t have to fight off the doctor and his saw and was out three days later with a new pair of used boots from an unlucky soldier who had died the day before.

Alfred looked up into the warm blue sky. He was going to kill Arthur.

                                                        …***…

I,

I’m sorry. I never got to tell you that, did I? I let you hang up angry. I don’t know if I’ll ever get to tell you, but I am sorry. You make me so mad, some days, that I can’t even think straight. And it’s over stupid shit! Things that mean nothing.

It’s been five months. I don’t know if time moves the same for you, but I hope not. You must be worried sick. Are my people okay? Are you okay?

It’ll be over soon. I know where Arthur is. I’ll make him fix this.

I’ve taken to carrying a bow and arrow again. It’s silent and has more fatalities than musket shots. Also I can make the arrows for free, since I learned that as a kid. I’ve been staying in the forest. Foraging is easy right now since it’s mid autumn, but I’m worried about winter. The reds know what I’ve been doing and there’s a bounty on me, so I can’t spend time in the city unless it’s free of the Brits. Of course, since Arthur’s staying with his troops, I have to go into enemy territory.

Do you remember that night we took my truck and drove out into the desert? And watched the stars? I think about that a lot. You fell asleep on me and drooled on my sweater. I teased you about it the next day and you kept turning red.

I’ll be fine. I love you,

A

                                                        …***…

Alfred sat in a tree, watching the underbrush haphazardly as he divided his attention between the ground and his arm. The scar of a musket ball was bright red, puckered and shiny in new healing skin. Alfred sighed and brought his sleeve down. He rested his head against the rough bark of the pine tree he sat in, eyes scanning the gray clouds spreading through the sky. He watched two British soldiers walk through the thicket. Alfred took a sip of water from his canteen. He straddled the branch, took his bow and notched his arrow. A breath. Pulled back. Aimed.

                                                        …***…

I,

Good news, I found out where Arthur is. Took a little digging is all. I know I said I knew where he was, but turns out he decided to head towards New York instead. Doesn’t like what Howes is doing I guess. It’s weird, knowing what’s going to happen, but not knowing at the same time. I keep slipping, saying things I shouldn’t. And I know! I can hear the lecture, but sometimes things get stuck in your vocabulary. Like, ‘best thing since sliced bread’. Guess what. I sound like an idiot. There is no sliced bread. Not for a while, at least.

I think I should of gotten rid of the stuff that came with me, but what if future archeologists find it! Actually, that might be pretty funny. Maybe I should bury it and see if anyone finds it. I won’t get rid of my wallet though. You gave that to me a year ago for Christmas. There’s a photo of us, too. I should burn it. Photos don’t exist yet. But I won’t.

Somedays I think I’m forgetting what you sound like. I sound like an idiot, don’t I? It’s only been 8 months. We used to go years without seeing each other. Do you remember how we would send tape recorders of our voices to each other because international phone calls cost too much? I would give you a monologue for an hour, but when I would get your tape, I would go to my bedroom and lay in my bed and just listen to you. Sometimes I would fall asleep to your voice and dream of you.

It’s the dead of winter right now, so I’m glad you taught me how to make fires with snow damp wood. All ten fingers thank you. I caught a rabbit yesterday and have been eating that. I don’t have enough salt to make it into jerky, but I think I can boil the bones with some dried veggies and sop it up with Jonnycake. I stopped at a farmhouse the other day and the daughter let me stay the night with the horses. She’s the one who gave be the extra food. Guess I won’t have to go on that diet after all, huh?

I’m sorry I’m not home just yet. Keep waiting for me, okay?

I love you so goddamn much.

A

                                                        …***…

Alfred watched the British camp from afar. He was holed up against the tree line, curled up in a deep gray coat. A musket sat in his hands. The fires in the distance smudges the sky and Alfred envied their warmth. He waited for dusk.

In the distance Alfred watched a man on horseback ride past the sentry of the encampment. White tents lined the country side in neat rows. The horse stopped at a large tent near the center and the rider climbed off, heading inside.

Alfred turned to the men hiding in the brush behind him. “Tell the General that Lieutenant Colonel  Williams didn’t come back. He’s off to support Howes.” The men nodded, slipping off into the forest. Alfred turned back to the camp, watching the large tent carefully.

England.

Alfred knew the war was still a point of contention between them. He tried to not bring it up, and he didn’t invite England over when it was near July. Which was a shame, because his country was beautiful in July. Usually he had a big party, and recently Russia would come over and spend a week with him. Alfred loved it. They would go fishing and sailing and eat too many burgers and watch the sky explode in color.

Alfred would always kiss him under the stars. Ivan would always hold him through the night, fingers entangling in his hair, lips brushing against naked skin, whispering his name until the world dissolved into the singularity of them.

It was heaven on earth for one great night.

But this year, something had happened between him and Arthur. Arthur had gotten drunk, Alfred was called to go get him before he did something stupid. France was sick and didn’t want to get out of the hotel bed and get him. So Alfred went, ready to carry the moping nation back to his hotel room. Instead, Alfred got spitfire. Words were said. Regret was instant. Alfred had let go of him in an alley, ready to give Arthur a piece of his mind when the world dissolved into crimson fire.

Alfred awoke in a field, surrounded by blue cornflowers, staring at a pale gray sky. In 1777, as he would later find out.

Alfred shifted his musket, crouching low as he melted back into the shadows of the woods.

                                                        …***…

I,

I’m going to do something stupid.

I’m not perfect. I know I do and say bad things. I hurt you. Sometimes I say things even though I know they’ll hurt you. I don’t deserve you.

But I’m glad you were mine, no matter how short the time.

I’ll rip this page out if I make it, but if I don’t…well.

I love you.

(I wish I had one more day with you)

Love always, 
A

                                                        …***…

Alfred’s hands were tied behind his back, rough rope scraping his wrists raw. He glanced to the other soldier caught. A knife wound over his eye bled onto the rugs of the tent. No one had tried to stop the bleeding. He’d loose the eye, but Alfred felt that they wouldn’t be worrying about that in a few hours.

The officer sat in a chair, reading a document he had taken off the other man. Alfred’s journal lay out on the desk as well. Alfred was glad he had buried his phone and wallet in the woods, just in case. He stared at the journal and back to the officer when he cleared his throat. “These documents clearly mark that you have eschewed your country and spies against England. You have been sentenced to death and will be shot at dawn.” Cold eyes stared down and them unforgivingly and he turned to the soldiers guarding Alfred and his compatriot. “Take them to the prison.”

“Wait,” Alfred said. He looked at the Colonel and added, “I know Arthur Kirkland is here. Tell him you have Alfred F. Jones.”

The Colonel frowned. “He will not grant stay of execution.”

“Sure,” Alfred said. “Just tell him, please. A last request.”

He nodded and then turned, a clear dismissal. Alfred and the other man were forced up and marched out. Alfred glanced back, looking at his journal before he walked out of the tent.

                                                        …***…

He was tied to a pole, kneeling in mud as he waited for dawn. He fell asleep, arms screaming against their bonds.

                                                        …***…

Alfred awoke when a boot kicked his leg. The moon cast a pearly hue to the world and he stared into green eyes, confused.

“You are not Alfred Jones,” came the cold hiss.

Alfred blinked, sleep trapping his tongue. He glanced around, and then back to Arthur’s furious face. “Yeah, I am,” he finally said.

“I know Alfred, he’s a lot younger than you,” Arthur muttered. He crossed his arms.

“in ’27 you gave me a silk rabbit for my birthday. I played with it outside and dropped it in a puddle getting it all muddy. I thought you were going to yell at me so I hid in a cabinet until you found me crying. You cleaned up the toy, dried it by the fire and put me to bed without a single chiding. There’s still a water stain on the left side.” Alfred watched Arthur’s eyes sharpen. “Christmas ’02 I gave you a spoon I carved out of horn. It had a flower cut into it. You said you use it for sugar back home.”

“Why do you know this?”

“Because I’m Alfred,” he said slowly. He hesitated and added, “And I need your help.”

Silence. Then, “Bring him to my tent, but make sure he’s thoroughly restrained. I need to speak with him.”

“Sir–”

“That is an order, lieutenant.” Arthur turned and walked away.

Alfred was released from the pole and roughly hauled to Arthur’s tent.

                                                        …***…

Alfred was sure they weren’t trying to insinuate anything, but he was tied to the foot of Arthur’s bed. He shoved as his body got warm again and looked up when the tent flap opened. Arthur pulled off his gloves, not looking at Alfred and walked further into the interior. He sat at a small chair, looking at the papers littering it. Alfred recognized the documents as the same ones the colonel had looked at earlier. His journal sat on the corner of the table.

“Why are you so much older?” England asked. 

America frowned, trying to decide what to say. He settled on as much truth as he could. England  always seemed to know when he was lying. “This isn’t my time. You cast a spell on me and I woke up 240 years in the past.”

“The past?” England glared at him, clearly not believing him. “What do you mean?”

“We got into a fight and you cast a spell on me. Next thing I know it’s 1777 and I’d really like to go back.”

“A fight?” England stood up and walked so he was standing in front of Alfred. Alfred tilted his jaw up defiantly. “What were we fighting about?”

Alfred hesitated and said slowly, “My attempt at independence.” just saying attempt felt rancid on his tongue, but England’s lips curled in pleasure.

“Ah, so that ends up quelled then?” Alfred said nothing. England continued, a faint smile on his lips. “Of course it will be. Your attempt at rallying your people has been pitiful. You are my colony, and always will be.” Alfred bit down on his tongue. Hard. “I do hope it’s over soon though.”

“Afraid not,” Alfred said dryly.

“Hm. Ah well.” England walked back over to the desk and tapped the journal. He picked it up, thumbing through the entries.

“The spell?” Alfred offered.

England sighed. “I am afraid there’s nothing I can do.” He carded his fingers through his hair, a grimace plain on his face.

“Sure you can. Magic me back.”

“No. It’s not possible.”

“Why not?” Alfred growled.

England sat on the bed, pointing at him with the journal. “Because the spell only works for sending back. You can’t go forward.”

His heartbeat quickened and Alfred’s mouth went dry. “What? Just rewrite the spell or whatever.”

“Clearly in 240 years I never explained magic to you,” England said. He curled his fingers and a soft green light appeared. Alfred stared at it. “I can only follow the old laws. These spells have existed longer than spoken word. I can’t just create one out of thin air.” The light disappeared and England crossed his arms.

Alfred stared down at the ground. He listened to paper rustle and said, “Please don’t read that.”

“Why?”

“They’re letters. To someone back home.”

England stared at him and closed the journal after a long pause. Alfred sagged in relief, and in doing so, found himself touching the sharp head of a nail. He stilled.

“Someone back home?” England repeated in confusion. He looked down to the journal again, flipping through the pages.

“Yeah,” Alfred said. He began to rub the rope against the edge, ignoring when the nail cut his palm instead.

England continued to flip through the pages. “I’m going to send you to England, I think. I can figure out what to do with you after the war. And this way you can’t try to change anything. This little rebellion will still fail.” Alfred sawed through the rope. He tensed his arms, ready to snap what threads were left. “And then we are going to set things right.”

Alfred took a breath and broke the ropes, launching himself at Arthur at the same time. They struggled, and Alfred managed to pin him to the ground despite a jab from his bony elbow that broke his nose. Blood streamed down. “Sorry, Arthur, I really am. We’re pretty good friends again, but Christ you’re a dick this era. And you know what? Little rebellion doesn’t fail. And one of the most popular plays of the time is about this little rebellion, okay?”  Alfred huffed, grabbing his journal and placing into his pocket all of two seconds before Arthur flipped him over, fast like an eel.

“You’ll pay for that, boy.” England snarled, fingers circling his neck. Alfred scrabbled for a weapon. He found a canteen and crashed it against England’s face.

“Cheers, mate.” Alfred said, getting to his feet as England lay dazed on the ground. Alfred took a swig of the water and raised it up. “Raise a glass to freedom,” he half sang and tossed the canteen to the floor as he slipped out of the tent.

Alfred dabbed at the blood on his face and chest, walking between the shadows of the tents as he attempted his escape. When he tripped into the lantern light of the patrol, he knew it was over. The alarm was sounded, and he swerved to avoid a gunshot to the arm.

Instead he got one to the chest. Alfred stumbled, listening to the cacophony of the camp. The exit of the camp was in sight. He was so close. Blood bubbled on his lips and he fell to the wet earth. Alfred took a painful breath in, coughing as his chest seized. He didn’t know what would happen to him. He shouldn’t die, but he wasn’t a personification of this nation. That was for the young boy training in Valley Forge. No, his nation was that shining beacon on a hill, far off in the future. The world was closing in, gray clouding his vision, as England shoved his way to the front.

“Christ,” he said.

“Sorry,” Alfred mumbled. His fingers slipped uselessly on the journal, half pulling it out and staining the edges of the pages red. He looked up at England. “Tell Ivan, sorry.”

He shut his eyes.

                                                        …***…

A car screeched loudly and there was a scream. Alfred coughed again, squeezing his eyes shut against bright light. “ What the fuck?!” A woman screamed. “Call 911!”

                                                        …***…

Alfred awoke to soft beeping and the familiar and bitter smell of antiseptic. He blinked, looking about the room. He was in a hospital. Alfred turned his head, groaning at the slight throb in his chest. Fingers curled around his knee and Alfred jolted.

“Sorry,” he heard. “You surprised me.”

“Arthur?” Alfred asked in confusion. He stared at the other nation who had recoiled from his bedside.

They fell silent, staring at each other before Arthur stood. “I should go get a nurse to let them know you’re all right.” He made no move to leave. Alfred let him stand in silence. Arthur cleared his throat. “I– Apologies Alfred. I know…I know this is my fault. I–”

“Do the others know?” Alfred asked.

“What? No.” Arthur paused, shame creeping up his face. “No. Ivan knows. He banned me from seeing you, but he had to go to the hotel and sleep. So, no. He’s the only one.”

“Then let’s keep this between us. I’m not forgiving you,” Alfred elaborated. He was still pissed this happened in the first place. “But I don’t think anyone else needs to know everything.”

England stared at him in surprise and nodded. “Thank you. I– I should go and, uhm, get the nurse.” He walked out slowly and paused at the door. “I gave Ivan your journal, you know.”

“What?” Alfred stared at him. He rubbed at his neck, the movement sore.

“You gave me the journal before you, well, disappeared. I gave it to him when I realized what had happened.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t kill you.”

“I mailed it to him. I’m not daft enough to be within swinging range.” Alfred chuckled and stopped when the pain flared. England tapped his fingers against the door frame. “I couldn’t watch you get shot twice, you know. That day. I saw you die the first time.”

Alfred looked up. England left.

A nurse came in and examined him and by the time she was done, Alfred was exhausted. He laid down on the bed, looking up when a shadow was casted by the dull orange florescent light. Alfred blinked. Watched as Ivan walked in and quietly closed the door behind him. “Babe,” Alfred breathed.

Ivan crossed the room and stood at Alfred’s bedside. Alfred held his hand out, smiling when Ivan’s cool fingers wrapped around his. His thumb swept over the ridges of his knuckles. “You were gone for 8 and a half months.”

“Damn.” He’d hoped time had moved differently.

Ivan pulled out the journal from his coat pocket and waved it slowly. “The letters helped. I read each entry.”

“Yeah?” Alfred asked, blush warming his cheeks.

“You take too many chances,” Ivan murmured, and leaned down to kiss him. Alfred smiled when they parted and Ivan kissed his hand. “Do not do that.”

“I had to get back.” A loopy smile crested Alfred’s face. “I had someone waiting back home for me.”

“I am glad you are back,” Ivan agreed. He kissed Alfred again, this one slower and more intimate. God he missed him “but do not get shot in the chest again.”

“I’ll try. Not my favorite pastime.”

Ivan gave him a wry grin and sat down. He pulled another book out and placed it on the small table next to the bed.

“What’s that?” Alfred asked.

“My journal.” Ivan turned and looked out the window when Alfred gave him a questioning look. “These are my letters to you.”

“Oh my god you big sap,” Alfred said as his cheeks burned. Ivan looked affronted and Alfred chuckled. “I love you so much.”

Ivan huffed. “I love you.”

“Read me them? My eyes hurt.”

“No.”

“Babe!”

“I am not that big a sap.”

“Aw, come on,” Alfred said. He shut his eyes, squeezing Ivan’s fingers. Ivan huffed, and began to talk. He didn’t read the letters, but told Alfred about everything he’d missed. Alfred fell asleep to the sound of his voice.