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wolfjackle-creates · 1 year

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Carry On Chapter 1

Fandom: Good Omens

AO3 Link (Locked to logged in users. I have a few invites available on a first-come-first-serve basis if anyone needs one.)

It didn't take as long to edit as I expected! Only the beginning really needed a lot of work.

Summary:

After the garden, the First Family has to find their way in the wider, more dangerous world. But Heaven and Hell aren't ready to leave them alone so Crawly and Aziraphale tag along. When Cain has the idea to sacrifice the best of his harvest to God, Abel also wishes to sacrifice the best of his lambs. God chooses Her favorite and the First Family is left to pick up the pieces as best they can.

Warnings: It's a story of Cain and Abel, discussions of family death, funerals, no happy endings in this chapter. It is critical of the Christian God and blasphemy abounds.

Word Count: 5.7k

-----

Crawly trailed his hands along leaves and flowers as he walked through Cain’s meticulously tended fields. Aziraphale followed a step behind, eyes up as he watched the birds and clouds.

“They’re amazing, aren’t they?” commented Crawly. “Kicked out of their home and they figured out how to make a new one.”

“Indeed. I’m glad they’ve been able to build themselves a small haven in this world.”

Crawly hummed and flexed his toes to feel the carefully tilled dirt between them. Movement up ahead caught his eyes and he grinned. “Cain! Plants behaving for you?”

“You’d better not be planning anything that’ll affect the harvest,” warned Aziraphale.

Cain ignored Aziraphale’s threat and just grinned at them. “Hey, Crawly! This might be my best harvest yet. It’s so plentiful that I want to thank God for giving all of this to us so I’m going through choosing the best of everything that’s ripe to give as a sacrifice.”

“Oh that sounds wonderful!” exclaimed Aziraphale. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve gathered so far?”

Crawly watched in shocked silence as Aziraphale and Cain talked excitedly over the chosen sacrifices until he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “But She didn’t give anything to you! She took it all away. What you have is in spite of Her, not because of Her!”

“A demon like you could never understand.” Aziraphale managed to look down on him despite being in a corporation that was shorter than Crawly’s.

“No, you pompous, self-assured angels could never understand!”

Cain moved to stand between them. “Enough. Crawly, She’s God; She gave us the world. Of course She deserves a sacrifice.”

“See, foul demon, despite your attempts at corruption, the humans won’t be swayed from their love to the Almighty.”

Crawly had long experience in ignoring Aziraphale when he got all sanctimonious and continued to address Cain. “She cursed you and Abel for something your parents did!”

“She let us keep the knowledge of good and evil. She may have exiled us from the garden, but She still gave us the plants and crops and beasts and soil. She made all of this. Mama and Papa think it was worth it and Abel and I agree.”

“She didn’t make shit. We did. The angels! She just picked through for what She liked and had us put those on Earth and threw out everything else.” Some of those discarded projects had been near and dear to him. He’d either worked on them or been friends with those who had. But they’d been shoved into storage closets and closed off rooms in the Halls of Creation, never to be seen again. Even talking about them became taboo after a time.

Aziraphale shifted to glare at Crawly around Cain. “And She made all of us! Therefore, everything that exists comes from her.”

“Just because She made me doesn’t mean She gets…”

“Enough!” interrupted Cain. “As interesting as it is to watch the two of you debate, it’s pointless here. Crawly, it doesn’t matter if God made everything herself, or if She only decided what was best to put on Earth. She still gave all of this to us. And I want to thank her for it. You won’t change my mind.”

“Fine, fine. Whatever. Waste your food. No skin off my back.” He could at least send a report to Hell to say he was trying to prevent a sacrifice from making its way to God. He had no idea if it would be enough, but his position on Earth was probationary until Hell decided whether or not it was worth keeping a permanent field agent. And he wanted, more than anything, to stay on Earth.

Aziraphale couldn’t resist getting in one last word and said, “Paying homage to the Almighty could hardly be a waste.”

Crawly rolled his eyes and hissed in frustration before leaving as Cain returned to his fields. Why did God get their undying devotion after She was the one to punish them for learning? And why was learning such a big deal anyway? He sighed and pushed the thoughts from his head. He’d already spent two decades questioning it to no end.

Instead, he decided to check on Abel. Crawly let out one set of wings and launched into the air. Abel would be in the grassy plains tending his herds and it was far quicker to fly there than to walk. He flew until he was past Cain’s fields and grass spread out for leagues. There Abel sat and watched his sheep. Crawly let out a loud whistle to get the boy’s attention.

Abel looked up and waved his staff in greeting. “Crawly! Hi!”

Even after two decades with these humans, Crawly was still surprised by how they legitimately seemed to enjoy his company. No one in Hell liked each other. And while he’d had friends and siblings in Heaven, he’d been so busy that no one stopped him just because they wanted to spend time with him. Yet these humans actually wanted him around. “Abel!” Crawly landed and sprawled on the ground next to the man. “How’re the sheep today? Any of them try and kill themselves yet?” So far, Abel had lost three of the beasts when they did something stupid and died.

“No, praise the Lord—” he tipped his head back and looked to the sky, clasping his hands at the brief prayer— “they’re all doing well. Cain had the idea to give God a sacrifice and I’m going to do the same. I’m just trying to decide which of my lambs are the strongest so I can give Her the best.”

Crawly groaned and rubbed his hand down his face. “Not you, too. I was just talking to your brother. God doesn’t need your sacrifice. Dead lambs won’t help Her in any way. But you could use the wool when they’re older. And the leather. Hell, if you’d finally give in and eat meat, which I’ve told you is fine, you could even get food from them!”

“God gave us the plants for food; we don’t need to eat animals as well. And I know She doesn’t need the sacrifice. That’s why I want to give it to Her. It’s a hardship on my part to show my devotion. Everything we have is because of Her. I can at least acknowledge that.”

“Everything you have is because you worked hard.” Crawly gestured to the animals grazing around them. “You gathered and raised these beasts. You kept them alive all winter and helped them deliver their young come spring. You’ve done that. Not God. No need to give Her more credit than She’s due.”

“I know you’ve your own history with God, but you won’t be able to convince me not to do this. Mama and Papa also think it’s a good idea.”

Before Crawly could respond, Aziraphale landed next to them. “I should’ve known,” he said, glaring at the demon. “After you failed at tempting Cain, you decided to try your luck with Abel.”

Crawly hissed in frustration. “It’s not like that. I just think they need the food and wool and leather more than Her! It’s not like She can eat it or anything!”

“That’s not the point of a sacrifice,” retorted Aziraphale.

“Aziraphale’s right, Crawly,” said Abel. “A sacrifice is us giving up something that we could use in order to acknowledge everything that has been handed to us.”

Crawly sat up in frustration. “Can’t you see? She’s turned her back on you! She doesn’t deserve your devotion or sacrifice after that!” Crawly threw his hands in the air. Why did none of the humans understand it? He hated seeing them chase after Mo- God. Once, before time, he’d been just the same. He just wanted to spare them the pain of learning better the same way he did.

“You know that’s not what happened!” argued Aziraphale.

“Isssn’t it?” hissed Crawly, teeth bared. He wasn’t even sure if he was talking about Adam and Eve or the Fall anymore, but the anger boiled in his chest.

“Stop it! Both of you!” interjected Abel. “That’s enough. You know we like having both of you around, but the rules are that you’re both welcome here so long as you don’t let your enmity get out of hand.”

Aziraphale collected himself first, sure in his own righteousness. “Of course, Abel. I apologize for my part in the disagreement.”

“Disssagreement, right,” said Crawly, not holding back on the sarcasm. “Look, Abel, do what you want. But while I may be a demon, I won’t help you kill any of your lambs. Your sacrifice, your kill.”

“Of course. I’d never have expected differently.”

Crawly nodded once before opening his wings and taking off. Some time alone would help him calm down.

---

Within a few days, the boys’ sacrifices were prepared. Cain spent hours agonizing over his selection until he was finally satisfied he’d selected the absolute best of his harvest. Abel spent just as much time second guessing which lamb he’d send to God.

While they were figuring out the details of their offerings, Crawly and Aziraphale had agreed to a truce. Temporary, as Aziraphale constantly felt the need to add. Their constant bickering about God’s nature and goodness had escalated until Eve was forced to set an ultimatum: get along or they both would be sent away until after the sacrifices had been completed.

Cain and Abel had decided on giving the sacrifices atop a tall hill near their home. Crawly sat on the ground close enough he could see the foolish men, but not near enough to hear them. A quiet cough by his shoulder got his attention and he looked over to see Eve. He nodded in greeting, but didn’t say anything.

“They’re nearly done.”

Crawly stood languidly and cracked his spine. “Then I’ll be gone. Can you make sure I’ve got at least five minutes to get away? I’d like to be far enough that Moth… That She won’t notice my presence. Or at least won’t bother to seek me out.”

Eve grinned. “You’ll have more than that. By almost done, I expect it to take another half hour or so. But you’ve been clear about your plans so I wanted to warn you.”

“Appreciate it.” With a last wave, he released a pair of wings and flew off. He was planning on hiding out in a small corpse of trees somewhat close by. As soon as he set down, he began pacing among the trees. This would be the closest he’d been to Her since before his Fall.

“Pull yourself together, it’ll be fine. The Humans are her favorite, remember.”

He continued to pace, unable to stop moving, until a prickly sensation on the wrong side of painful crawled over his skin—it felt like he was walking through brambles. The boys must’ve finally summoned Her to give their offerings. He grit his teeth against the pain and transformed into his snake form, hoping his scales would offer some protection against the Holiness infusing the air.

It didn’t help and he burrowed under the surrounding vegetation, trying to put as much of a physical barrier between them as he could. The sensation eased up somewhat, but it was still an extremely uncomfortable wait. Finally, after what seemed to be hours, the sensation faded.

He gave himself a minute to catch his breath and make sure She wouldn’t return before moving from his hiding place and transforming back into a human corporation. He brushed off any leaves that dared cling to him and launched into the air to return to the First Family.

When he got to the site of the sacrifice, however, he knew something had gone wrong. Eve was wrapped in Adam’s arms and crying into his chest and Aziraphale was looking on, wringing his hands and trying to offer consolations he clearly didn’t understand or believe.

Crawly landed. “What happened?”

Adam looked over and twitched his lips up in a mirthless smile in greeting. “God accepted Abel’s sacrifice, but refused Cain’s. Then chastised him for being upset. Cain ran off and Abel followed him.”

Crawly let out an angry hiss but didn’t say anything. “What direction did they go? I’ll talk to Cain.”

Adam pointed and Crawly made to follow, but Aziraphale spoke before he could. “I should go with you. Reassure both of them of Heaven’s good will.”

Crawly shook his head. “Absolutely not. That’ll only upset Cain more. As someone She’s already turned her back on, I’ll be the best one to talk to him. He might be more receptive to your messages tomorrow or next week.”

“I suppose you’re right. But you better not use this as an excuse to get him to turn on the Almighty completely!”

“Relax, Angel, I’m just going to make sure he’s okay.” He didn’t wait for any further delays and immediately took back to the skies and flew in the direction Adam indicated.

It wasn’t long before he saw the two. They were standing near the edge of Cain’s fields. It looked like Cain had tried to destroy part of his harvest before Abel got to him, but now he was leaving the plants alone in favor of arguing with his brother. Crawly couldn’t hear more than indistinct shouting. But then Cain shoving Abel who fell backwards Crawly pushed himself faster.

Abel didn’t move and a moment later Cain was kneeling by his side.

“What happened?” Crawly yelled as soon as he was in range.

Cain was too busy crying to his brother to respond. “Abel! Abel, please get up! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

Crawly was finally close enough to see. When Cain had pushed his brother, Abel hit his head on a rock. Blood gushed from the wound. “Back up! Let me look!”

Crawly might have been a fixture in the Halls of Creation, but he’d been made a Healer first and foremost. He’d be able to fix anything so long as Abel wasn’t yet dead. Placing his hands on either side of Abel’s head, he sank his power into the man’s body to see what was wrong: a fractured skull and bleeding in the brain. He muttered a curse and directed his power to repair the blood vessels and bone.

Only for the stench of burning flesh to fill the air. Cain threw up, and Crawly gagged before he managed to turn off his olfactory nerves.

And then he was aware of another near them. Not Aziraphale or any of the humans, but Azrael, the angel of death. Crawly looked up, Azrael was cloaked in their dark robed, hood pulled over their head and face obscured except for burning lights where the eyes would be on a human.

“Please, don’t,” begged Crawly.

Azrael waved one bone-white hand and time slowed to a stop. “You know it’s not my choice, Raph-”

“Don’t call me that! It’s Crawly now.”

“That name doesn’t suit you, brother.” Azrael lowered their hood, revealing pale skin and black eyes, the opposite appearance of their hooded self.

Crawly shrugged. “It’s the only one I have anymore. Please, don’t take Abel. He doesn’t deserve to die. Not yet.”

“Most who have come to me don’t. But we don’t make that choice.”

“What went wrong? Why wasn’t I able to heal him?”

Azrael’s head dipped in their brother’s direction and they laid a hand on his shoulder. Their expression was regretful. “Demons can’t heal.”

Crawly stared at them gaping for a moment. “No. No! That’s not! I can’t…? No. Please…” he begged.

Azrael knelt besides Crawly and pulled him into a hug. Crawly grasped him back and tried not to sob into his sibling’s shoulder. But they could only put off the inevitable for so long. Azrael pulled away. “I’m sorry,” they whispered as they reached beyond Crawly to gather Abel’s soul.

And then both were gone and time restarted around them. Abel was dead.

Crawly pulled away from the body, his wings limp in the dirt, and stared at his blood covered hands. Was it true? Would he truly never be able to heal again? Just because he dared to question Her plans? Because he expected Her to be more just and kind?

Cain was back at his brother’s side, grasping Abel’s hand. “No. Please. Please wake up. Abel. I love you. I’m sorry. Please. Get up. Get up!”

Crawly felt numb but shook himself. Cain was still alive and that took priority. He wiped his hands on his robes and rested one on the man’s shoulder. “Cain. Let go. He can’t hear you. He’s gone.”

“No! No! He can’t be! He’ll wake up! He has to! He has to…” His pleading tapered off into sobbing and Crawly tried to pull him in for a hug when divinity filled the air for the second time that day.

Crawly screamed in pain as he crawled backwards, trying to get away from the overwhelming sense of Holiness.

“Where is your brother Abel?” asked God.

Crawly screamed louder and slammed his hands over his ears at Her voice; blood and black ichor leaked over his fingers and all he could hear was ringing. It seemed an eternity before She withdrew. Crawly had collapsed in the dirt and was gasping for air as the world around him slowly came back into focus. He closed his eyes and tried to figure out if his ears were permanently damaged or not, but already sounds from the world around were starting to filter in. The first thing he could recognize was Cain’s cries.

Crawly ground his teeth and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, still breathing hard. It took a monumental effort, but he managed to get himself upright, wiped his hands clean on his robes again, and stumbled his way over to Cain. “Cain, what did She say? Her voice… It hurt. I couldn’t listen.” He collapsed back to his knees behind the man.

Cain had his knees pulled up and his face hidden in them, though he was clearly still crying. Crawly reached out a hand to touch his shoulder and the man jerked away. Crawly yanked his hand back. Cain tried to catch his breath. “She… I’m banished. C-can never come b-back.”

Crawly hissed, his incisors lengthening somewhat. Banishment. Of course. She was predictable. Banish the bad angels. Banish the humans from the garden. Banish Cain. He took a deep breath and clenched his fists to stop them shaking. “Cain…” he started, but he had no idea how to finish the sentence.

Cain shook his head. “I can’t grow plants anymore. And I have to wander for the rest of my life. No one will be able to kill me.”

Crawly felt his fangs lengthen and scales manifest over his back and down his arms and legs. He hissed again. So She had gotten more creative this time. Cain flinched at his hissing, and Crawly forced himself to stop. He closed his eyes and focused until his incisors shrank to just barely larger than a human’s and his tongue widened and the tip merged. He forced the scales back until none extended past the edges of his robes. “Sorry,” it took every bit of restraint he’d learned in Hell to keep the ‘s’ short. “It’s not right or fair what She’s doing.”

Cain was shaking back and forth. “No, it is. I k- I killed Abel. I’ll never make up for that. I don’t even know how. He’s my brother. Was. Was my brother. Wh-where do I even go from here? What do I do? Mom and dad. How can I face them again?”

Crawly opened his mouth, but then closed it again. He had nothing to say to that. Instead, he reached for the distraught man and pulled him close. Cain fisted his hands in his robes as sobs overtook him once more.

He was just starting to get himself under control when Crawly saw Adam, Eve, and Aziraphale approaching. Cain must have noticed some change in the demon because he looked up. His dark skin took on a yellowish tint and his eyes went wide. He backed away from Crawly and turned around so he wouldn’t have to see his parents.

And that was when Adam and Eve must have noticed Abel, because they started sprinting towards the group and Crawly could hear their distressed cries. Both fell to their knees by their son’s body, and Eve gripped Abel’s hand. “Abel? Abel! Wake up!”

Adam wrapped his hands around his wife, already crying. He closed his eyes and tucked his face into her neck, shoulders shaking. Aziraphale stood behind them, his hands over his mouth and eyes wide.

“What happened?” asked the angel.

Eve stopped begging Abel to wake up and she and Adam looked up at Crawly, silently begging him to make it better.

Haltingly, Crawly explained. “They were arguing when I approached. Cain, he pushed Abel. Not hard or viciously. But when Abel fell, he… He hit his head. I was too late to stop the injury, but I knew I could…” His throat tightened and he couldn’t look at Adam or Eve anymore. He looked at grass by his knees, eyes unfocused. “I should’ve been able to heal him. I tried, but it… I can’t… It didn’t work. I couldn’t save him. Then God came. I couldn’t hear Her voice. It… hurt. Cain said. He said She banished him. And cursed him to wander for the rest of his days. And he’ll never be able to farm again.”

Eve broke down into loud sobs at the end of his story. “No, no! Not my sons. Not both of them! Lord, please!” she begged through her tears. Adam hugged her close to him, crying himself. Their grief left an acrid taste in the back of Crawly’s mouth.

Aziraphale was silently crying as well. “Did you… Did you really try and heal him?” he asked Crawly.

Crawly looked up, confused. He couldn’t make out what Aziraphale’s expression meant. Grief, of course, but something else was there, too. “Yeah, of course. Back before… Well, I used to be good at it.”

“I see…” said Aziraphale.

At that moment, Eve broke free from her husband’s arms and rushed to Cain, hugging him tightly from behind. “Please don’t leave. Don’t go.”

Cain just seemed to curl even further in on himself and didn’t respond to his mother’s pleas. Crawly glared at the sky. This was all Her fault. She didn’t have to do any of this. But he didn’t say anything. Nothing would change and it wouldn’t make any of the humans feel better.

Eve was still talking to her son. “I-I’ll make you a bag. Blankets, food, tools. Everything you could need.” She turned to Crawly. “Will you go with him? Please? I can’t… I can’t lose him, too.”

Crawly was already nodding. “I was planning on it. I’ll stay by his side; I promise.”

Aziraphale startled at his statement at stared at him, mouth open. Crawly ignored him. He had no idea what was going on with the angel and now was not the time to try and figure it out.

Adam, still crying, hugged Crawly. “Thank you.”

Eve looked over to Crawly and Aziraphale, still holding onto her remaining son. “How long before he has to leave?”

Crawly shrugged. “She didn’t say.”

Aziraphale worried at his lip. “Likely by nightfall. That was the order for you and Adam at Eden.”

“If you’ll allow it, I’d like to see Abel’s funeral,” said Cain, voice tight with grief and tears.

“Yes, of course you’ll see it,” said Adam as if the idea of anything different was impossible. “Come, we’ll dig the grave together. I think he’d like to be buried in his pastures among his sheep.”

“I’ll help you,” Aziraphale said as he followed them.

Cain stood, hugged his mother, and started walking in the direction of the pastures without another word. Aziraphale collected the body, turning down any assistance from Adam, and they followed Cain.

Eve looked at Crawly, “Will you help me gather the things he’ll need? I want to give him as much as we can.”

“Of course.”

---

Eve packed and unpacked the bag a dozen times over the next two hours. Crawly tried to help guess what would be most useful for him and Cain. He also made sure the bag would remain light and could hold more than physics should’ve allowed.

At one point, she spotted her bone flute. Adam had carved it for her shortly after they’d left the garden and its music had comforted the First Family for many nights. “Will you take this? And play it for him? So he can remember us and know how much we love him?”

Crawly gently took it from her hands. “I’d be honored to.”

She nodded and returned to packing. It wasn’t until Aziraphale returned to announce the grave was dug and it was time for the funeral for her to admit she’d done all she could.

They started walking towards the designated place and it took a few moments for Crawly to realize Eve wasn’t following. He stopped and looked back to see her frozen to the spot, face pale, and clutching Cain’s bag tightly to her chest.

“I can’t. I can’t go. He’s my son. How can I bury him?”

Aziraphale tried to placate her. “My dear girl, I know it’s hard…”

Crawly, however, just walked over and pulled her into a hug and let her cry into his chest again. “Cain needs you, Eve. Be strong for just another hour or two. Cain needs to know you’ll be okay and once he and I leave, then you can fall apart. Can you do that? Just an hour or two?”

She tried to catch her breath and nodded before loosening her grip and taking a step back. Her face was determined. “Two hours. Yes. I can do that. For Cain.”

Crawly kept his arm around her shoulders as the three made a silent trek to the pasture where Abel was to be buried. Once there, Eve left Crawly’s embrace in favor of her husband and son. Cain stood between his parents as all three cried and leaned on each other.

Aziraphale used a miracle to gently lower Abel’s body into the earth and spoke the eulogy. Neither Adam nor Eve was collected enough to speak and Cain apparently hadn’t spoken a word since asking to be present for the funeral.

In what seemed like no time at all, they were filling the grave back in with dirt. Adam and Eve were telling Abel how much they loved him and would miss him with each handful. Crawly thought he could read apologies on Cain’s lips, but if he spoke aloud, the words were too quiet to be heard. Crawly whispered his own apologies into the grave for his part in the incident. Aziraphale worked in silence.

And then it was all over. As some time still remained before dusk, Crawly and Aziraphale walked a short distance away to give the family some privacy in their last hour together.

“Why did you try to heal him?” asked Aziraphale as they observed the tableau of grief.

“What? I can’t like people just because I’m a demon? I’ve known Abel practically since his birth. I didn’t want him to die.”

“But I can’t imagine Hell would’ve been happy if you’d succeeded.”

Crawly waved a hand in the air. “I would’ve figured something out.”

Aziraphale hummed and Crawly wasn’t sure if he believed him or not. Crawly wasn’t sure if he believed himself either, to be fair. Hell wasn’t big on good deeds.

“Why didn’t She accept Cain’s sacrifice anyway? No one’s said.”

“It seems, as they were presented together, She considered them to be an either-or sacrifice. And Abel’s was more pleasing to Her.”

Crawly’s mouth fell open. “But that makes no sense!”

Aziraphale shrugged. “It is not for us to question the Almighty. I believe you should know that much.”

“She’s a conceited, demanding, mercurial slave-driver who needs to take a step back and think about other people from time to time.”

“How can you say something like that?” demanded Aziraphale, scandalized. “She’s all that is good and just in the universe.”

Crawly scoffed. “Hardly. That’s just a mask she wears to make the angels, and humans now, I guess, do what she says.”

“Well, if that’s how you feel, it’s no wonder She made you Fall.”

Crawly remembered the flash of a sword and the hard shove that preceded an endless Fall and snorted. Her actions may have pushed him away, but She wasn’t responsible for that final push.

Crawly sighed and rested his head in his hands. The scent of burning flesh still clung to the back of his nose and the grief of Abel’s death was too near to want to argue any more. Aziraphale must’ve felt similarly as he made a noise of resignation and settled down with him. The sun made it’s way closer to the horizon. When the shadows were long, the two supernatural beings got up together and made their way to the family.

“It’s time, Cain,” said Crawly, solemnly.

The man let out a sob and hugged his parents tightly before slowly moving away.

“Stay safe,” said Adam.

“Be happy,” added Eve.

Cain said nothing but his gaze lingered on his parents before he turned away and walked into the unknown, Crawly following a step behind.

---

Cain kept walking well past dark. If he tripped or fell, he just pushed himself up and kept walking. He never uttered a single word.

After a few hours, Crawly tried to pass him a waterskin. “Why don’t you have a drink?”

The man ignored it and kept walking.

“Are you hungry? I’ve got plenty of food for you.”

Again, no response.

Crawly could taste the despair wafting off the man and his determined silence was unnerving. Cain was always such a talkative person. Even as a baby, he’d babble at anything that caught his eye. Never had he been silent for more than an hour unless he was sleeping. Even when he was alone working the fields he’d be singing or talking to the plants or something. But now Crawly would be surprised if he’d said more than a few dozen words since God laid down his punishment. “It’s gotten late. We can’t even see where we’re going. Why don’t we settle down here and we can continue in the morning once the sun’s up?”

Cain continued to ignore him, but a few steps later tripped again and fell to his hands and knees. A sob escaped him and suddenly he was crying uncontrollably. Crawly took a blanket out of the bag he was carrying and draped it over the man’s back.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” Crawly said. It was his fault he’d been unable to heal Abel. Cain had barely been around two and a half decades. Lucifer acted more rashly and he’d been the second oldest angel after Azrael.

Cain let out a hysterical laugh. “Whose was it, then?”

“It was an acc—”

“No! I did it! Me! I k… I killed him! My brother! Abel! We’ll nev… Never race or swim in the lake or anything ever again. And its my fault!” He lost his breath in sobs again as he curled up on the ground beneath the blanket.

Crawly really could think of nothing to say to that. Abruptly, he spun on his feet and stomped away from the man. A quick flick of his fingers ensured Cain wouldn’t hear him and he let out a wordless scream and punched a tree. Then he did it again. Over and over until he could feel the blood run down his arms. He collapsed to the ground and held his head in his hands, breathing harshly. He couldn’t fall apart. Cain needed him.

A thump sounded next to him and he looked over to see a stone tablet. A message from Hell. With trembling fingers, he picked it up.

To the demon Crawly, Your efforts to sow discord among the First Family have been noted. Our Lord is very impressed with the results of your labors. We look forward to the day the First Murderer joins our ranks and are already preparing his welcome. Due to your successes in Eden and with Cain, Our Lord has decided to grant your request and has made your position on Earth a permanent one. Continue to promote Hell’s interests or you will be recalled and punished accordingly. Keep up the evil work. Hail Satan, Beelzebub

Crawly stared at the tablet. He scrambled back to his feet, gripping it tightly, and frantically looked around. There! He rushed over to where he could see a boulder sticking up out of the ground and slammed the tablet into the stone. It started to crumble. He repeated the action again and again until he was holding nothing but gravel.

He screamed wordlessly again. “Why did You let this happen?!” he shouted to the sky. “Do You realize how hard Cain worked to get You the best of his harvest? He sacrificed enough food to last them a week! And he did it unprompted! You didn’t ask for it! He did it because he loved You! You could have accepted both offerings. But no, You always have to have Your favorites! Well this time playing those games killed Your favorite! Are You happy now? Cain was upset and pushed his brother. So fucking what?! He wasn’t trying to kill Abel! Anyone could see it was an accident! And if you hadn’t taken my powers away from me I could have fixed him!” His voice broke on the last word. In barely a whisper, he repeated, “I could’ve fixed him.”

Crawly fell to his hands and knees and choked on a sob. Pieces of gravel fell from his hands as he clenched them into fists. His eyes burned, but he bit his tongue and didn’t let a single tear fall.

-----

And that's the end of chapter 1! I'll share chapter 2 in a week. Let me know what you think. This one hit me hard as I wrote it, so I can only hope it holds up as a reader.

#good omens #fanfic #my writing #Crowley #Aziraphale #Cain (good omens)#Adam (good omens)#Eve (good omens)#Abel (good omens)#angst #heavy angst #character death tw

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starkassembled · 4 years

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We have to agree to disagree, what Kurtzman said was diminutive, ignorant. Visual appeal was there definitely since Hannibal is an aesthete, but the goal was to tell the motives of the characters involved. The murders meant something for Will/ Hannibal or other characters, they enhanced the story of the main characters and defined key transformations (becoming) of the characters. Your attempt to dilute it feels insulting but maybe it's not your intention. I shouldn't linger here, it's your blog.

"Clarice emphasizes the victims of the cases over the killers. That’s a fact. Hannibal did not. " This is not what Kurtzman meant, he said the show will illuminate inner struggle of characters, not victims as such. Hannibal was bringing out inner struggle of the characters. "Hannibal’s emphasis was on the killers shocking acts of gore and hunting them down." Incorrect, it was about transformation, love, understanding and internal conflicts, hunt is totally secondary. //end of messages from anon/ - - - I think we’ll agree to disagree on lots of things, anon. I read the interview before the show aired and re-read it after I watched the pilot and I don’t see how Kurtzman was in any way being “diminutive, ignorant, insulting, or shallow” in his statement. It’s pretty obvious to anyone who watched both shows that they hold entirely different approaches to investigation. Hannibal’s investigations focused on the gory murder tableaus and the killer’s, getting into the minds of the twisted serial killers. Vice versa, Clarice’s approach to investigations is solely honed in on the victims, how did they get here, how did these victims correlate to one another, what ties them together? It’s a fairly canonical interpretation, given that Clarice’s own big breaks in The Silence of the Lambs were in investigating the past victims and figuring out those commonalities. Of course there was more to Hannibal than just the murders of the week. You can’t make a show about just snuff. Just like there’s a lot more to Clarice than just the crimes she investigates, a large part of the plot is also in Clarice navigating her career in a male dominated field whilst living with the PTSD stemming from the Buffalo Bill investigation, as well as Catherine Martin’s own severe PTSD. Kurtzman, in that quote, is specifically speaking about the way cases will be presented. The question Kurtzman was asked that lead to this answer was specifically about the cases. “As for just how intense the cases that Agent Starling and the VICAP investigate will get on the broadcast network, Kurtzman says it depends on what the case needs to say about our characters and their world.“

Idk why you think my interpretation comes off as “insulting” to you, I’m not trying to be. I’m just reading the interview.

#CBS Clarice #Clarice Starling #CBS Clarice spoilers #spoilers #ramble #just my opinion #ask #Anonymous

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kayann9 · 5 years

Text

A Knight’s Tale M!Kayden X F!MC The Royal Masquerade

A little re-write of the diamond scene from the POV of my MC.

Pairing - M! Kayden (Trystan) X F!MC

Words- 1,899

Rating - T for just a little bit of angst and fluff

All rights to pixelberry.

I am not at all sure what to think of what I have just seen. My heart is still thundering in my ears so loudly that is almost difficult to hear anything but the rush of my blood.

Through the gates, the both of them limp; Trystan with his shoulder slumped and his left arm resting gingerly across his mid-section and Alexander with a somewhat tight smile and subtle drag of the leg. Still, he waves to his adoring crowd and takes in their applause. Not Trystan though. His head still covered with the heavy battle armour and with a swat of the hand to any stable hands who try to take his horse, he retreats without so much as an upward glance.

Foolish. The both of them.

The whole charade could have ended in a much worse way; perhaps with puncture wounds, broken bones or something far graver.

Ignoring the rapturous praise for the spectacle, I kick up the dry dirt as I walk through the arena, my dress suddenly feeling much weightier than it had, my shoulders feeling even heavier.

Renza is already by the gates checking on her brother; that same unaffected look on her face though I can only imagine the true extent of her worry. Flocks of people surround Alexander: carrying his armour, taking his weaponry, lending him a shoulder to ease his walk. It would be easy to follow them; flow through the gateway and into the throng of people with their excited chatter and obvious glee at witnessing the acting King of Cordonia take on a battle hardened and mysterious ‘noble.’ I would be nought but a liar if I did not say, some part of me is a little bit excited by it all too. Alexander’s attentions have been obvious, flattering even, and some juvenile part of me wants to revel in that just to show those whoever doubted me and my place here.

But, then there is something more.

Across the way, the large, black mass weighted down with injury and armour slides by unnoticed, despite his victory and the larger part of me cannot help but move in that direction.

I know I probably should not. Especially not now I have agreed to a suitor from Theodosia but, my heart aches and swells at the thought of Trystan sitting alone in a stable, wounded and hurt; too proud to ask for help or support.

My feet decide before my mind.

It is most stupid. I know this. I know how silly and selfish I am being: it could damage Trystan’s standing with the crown; damage Alexander’s standing with the alliances; it could damage the future of Cordonia. Trystan would tell me all of that but, I am not honour bound the way he is. I do not have the same will power. Nor do I want to.

He grunts so loudly it echoes through the whole, empty building.

From behind an empty stable, I watch him shrug away armour carelessly, wincing and grimacing with each violent frustration.

“I do wish you would sometimes just ask for help.”

The pause in his movements is so sharp and precise, one may mistake him for a statue.

“When help is needed I shall.”

The buckles underneath his shoulder blade are just a shred out of his reach. I do not know why I bother even suggesting it; he would sooner cut his arm off to get out of that armour. So, I do the very thing that will annoy him the most; help regardless.

As I shoo his hands and unfasten them, he slumps just as a sullen teenager would. The frown on his face almost leaving a mark in his features once he relaxes. “There is no shame in seeking a little support Trystan. Especially after that rather lovely display out there.”

“It was rather thrilling.”

Oh, yes. Thrilling. It is most thrilling watching those you care for throw large pieces of pointed metal at each other. “Perhaps not thrilling enough; perhaps next time we can soak you both in lamb’s blood and set some wild tigers loose in there. You know, put on a real show.” I pat his shoulder once the last of the metal is free.

“I take it the lady is displeased.”

I do not often despair at the rare smiles Trystan passes my way; they are sometimes so at odds with his control that they make me just the slightest bit giddy. Not today though. “And why would you think such a thing; it was a delightful experience watching someone dislocate your shoulder, break your ribs and then hold a broad sword to your throat. Like I said, man-eating tigers will be the only way to top it.”

The smile slides from his face. “I normally enjoy your sarcasm but, this time, perhaps not.”

We sit in silence, the horse stamping its foot for a few moments until there is no sound but the wind through the trees outside. Had it not been for the last thirty minutes, I would have had a pleasant day.

“It would not have escalated much further. It is simply sporting to give a good show.”

I sigh. I know this. Of course, I do. However, it does not make it easier to witness. Still, he is at least here, and they were both able to stand afterwards. Whilst I am not much in the mood for cracking jokes, the atmosphere is calling for it.

“You were maybe giving too much of a good show.” Trystan’s smile is so subtle it is almost not there. “You were enjoying hitting the nobility a little too much?”

A twinkle glimmers in his eye; the same one that I had seen after the commotion at the camp. The mischievous one that sometimes tells me that I am not imagining his fondness for me; the one that I have not seen him use in the presence of others.

“I shan’t lie Eva; I did quite enjoy it. His Regency is a good fighter – not as good as me – but still capable. I found it a challenge.” He pauses. “Kind of.”

He didn’t.

As we stand, he groans and pulls himself up from the hay by the stable doors.

And now I am back to being annoyed at his silliness.

Slowly, the ambles towards the feed before my annoyance gets the better of me and I stop him with a grab of the forearm. He will not accept my help if I ask; there is no point wasting my breath with this obtuse but lovely man and so, I do not. “You’re hurt.”

“I shall be-”

“Take off your shirt.” As the words leave my mouth, I stumble, and heat floods my face. Even whilst his eyes narrow at me, probably at the order, it takes much self-control not to back down and just flee the barn. It is obvious that his jaw has clenched just as my nails are digging into my palms.

I almost gasp when with a glower he does exactly as I say, his eyes not once leaving mine.

Unnerving, wonderful and also making me far more aware of the effect he seems to have on me than usual; the sudden overwhelming urge to both runaway and touch him makes my head swim as though I am an excitable teenager. More than that, the fact I was met with no reproach or sensible, wizened words, makes my resolve crumble in a way it should not.

Remember your agreement, Eva. Do not be selfish. He could get hurt; the Kingdom could get hurt; your sister, your sister needs you.

Responsibility floods through my senses and I curse it so vehemently I would never be able to speak the words aloud unless I were to repent. Responsibility; you are here to serve now.

My torn mind races as it takes in the broad muscles, almost as beautifully carved as a statue, save for the scars - the war wounds – it yields. I had seen men without shirts before, a chest seen once is a chest seen a thousand times but the very thought of now having to put my hands on his flesh without an ounce of enjoyment fills me with dread. I am a silly girl.

Trystan smirks and it is then I know I have been caught. His change in demeanour unsettling me even more. “You so often tease me and yet you have still to blink.” He chuckles and I think it may be the first time I have ever heard it. “You told me to take my shirt off, my lady. I simply obliged.”

A foolish and silly girl indeed.

In spite of his teasing, the large bruise and punctured skin on his ribs brings me back to my senses.

The bandages he’d brought with him seem barely enough, but I resolve to make do.

His skin is rougher than I had thought when I finally get around to actually placing the cotton on his flesh; marred with invisible lines and hidden scars that tell a story of a warrior injured one too many times. A far cry from the soft and gentle hands of the others in our uneasy alliance. Muttering the odd apology as I touch a sore spot, I wrap the bandages around his torso whilst he tries his best to keep still.

“You have a lot of scars.”

“There have been a lot of battles.” His voice reverberates in his back, a deep growl. “Can you see the one on my left?”

The white line is hard to miss, and I wince as my fingers trace it. I should not be doing this; if anyone were to walk through that door right now, we would both have much explaining to do. I am even more surprised by his lack of restraint. His distance so far has kept me from being foolish and now we were both bearing witness just to how weak I truly am. Still, my fingers do not stop tracing the line as if I could magically make it disappear. A sword maybe? Or even an axe wound through the armour?

As if he knows my internal monologue, he laughs. “I slipped on my way to buy some bread and landed on some broken glass. Not quite the war story you were hoping for.”

He leans against me.

I freeze.

I freeze until I do not freeze any longer. My mind, completely devoid of rationality and only filling with the feel of him, blanks out as he turns his face over his shoulder, merely inches from mine. As close as it had been at the masquerade; with just as much promise.

“Thank you for your kindness.”

“You are most welcome.”

“Thank you for you favour.”

“You are most welcome.”

“Thank you for your patience.”

The last gratitude makes me take pause and a pause is all it takes for the spell to break; for him to regain whatever sense of morality he has. The guard flies back onto his face, his spine straightens like an iron rod and with a gentle smile, he leaves me to re-dress.

All I now know is the cold air where warmth once was.

“You are most welcome.” I say as we maintain our safe distance and go about our normal business as if nothing really happened at all.

Tags: @parkerattano @gettingonmykneesfordamiennazario @mightyfangirlofthefandoms @chaotichuman0090 @krishu213 @adrianadmirer

@referencees @just-another-lonely--soul @rexgwapolagi

#choices stories you play #playchoices #choices #pixelberry #the royal masquerade #kayden vescovi #kayden x mc #trm kayden #trm

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all-souls-matinee · 5 years

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1. Les Yeux Sans Visage / Eyes Without A Face (1960)

dir. Georges Franju

Runtime: 90 minutes

Availability: Kanopy, iTunes, Amazon Prime

A very beautiful movie to start us off; even its director couldn’t help waxing philosophical about how it’s ‘more than just a horror film’ (but then again he is French.) Eyes Without A Face tells the story of Christiane Génessier, who’s surgeon father plans to re-graft her face after a car accident leaves her mutilated. Unfortunately, having a mad scientist for a dad means that rather than turn to traditional skin grafts he’s decided that his experiments on animals and kidnapping random women who look like his daughter is the only path to restoring her precious beauty. Trapped under the watchful eye of devoted assistant Louise, Christiane’s only link to the outside world is a fiancée who believes her dead, and her father’s means to a beautiful end are growing more and more drastic...

The French public was NOT into this movie on initial release, especially coming from a fancy filmmaker known for documentaries. They wanted high class nationalist art! They didn’t want to see people sliced up like deli meats in some weird poetry slam of a movie about hubris! (The U.S wasn’t having it either, but we did apparently release it under the title ‘The Horror Chamber of Dr. Faustus’ which fucking owns and also why were the 60s like this.) Then the 80s happened, people were much more into the concept, and by the 2003 U.S re-release we all decided to agree it was valid criterion collection material.

Cinematography and scoring are this movie’s strong points. We don’t even see Christiane’s damaged face until nearly the end of the movie; her head hidden or tuned cleverly in each shot when it’s not shown wide-eyed beneath a placid mannequin mask. Shadows and lighting are played up to wonderful effect, and this is only enhanced by Maurice Jarre’s killer music, which runs from ‘classical’ to ‘demon clown calliope.’ It’s also a neat little story that would feel right at home as a Twilight Zone adaptation, and the movie doesn’t drag out the plot or belabour the point.

Most importantly, Christiane is one of the most compelling characters ever; she rules. A lot of film critics seem to agree that the movie is about her losing her sanity, but I see it as a reclamation of self. I love her and you will too!

Trigger warnings (normally these’ll go under a cut for spoilers, but here they’re self-explanatory): physical assault of women, surgical scenes with gore, and dogs. It’s the 60s so a lot less gnarly than something like silence of the lambs, but if you’re uncomfortable with watching a woman, yes, get her face peeled off, this isn’t going to be the flick for you.

#rt if you love a girl with no skin and killer hair who loves animals and hates her dad!#halloween #eyes without a face

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hisgirlwonder · 6 years

Text

East to West - Part One

Length: 4.1K words Warning: Sadness, angst, Michael being an asshole, etc Synopsis: Palos Verdes called your name from the moment Michael suggested the move there. Would it live up to your expectations or would it be the beginning of the end? You were soon to find out. Notes: Since getting a tug at my heartstrings to write for Duncan and Jim the idea of this popped into my head. Fair warning about this series and that Michael is the antagonist. Jim is a precious little lamb who has graduated from school and he will get the life he deserves. PS. this is going to have a few parts because I have admittedly been struck with a plethora of ideas for the story. // (FYI: The name is more than just a play on the direction they moved in. If you can guess correctly what it’s about then you get a gold star.)

This had been a long time coming. You were growing sick of the concrete jungle you lived in and wanted to be closer to the ocean; the place where you belonged. Michael suggested making Palos Verdes your home and you agreed without hesitation.

“There you are,” you mutter when you spot Michael in the living room; head down, completely immersed in his phone and those slender, ring-adorned fingers sporadically tapping on the screen. You drape arms over his broad shoulders and whine like a child about the fact you’re bored. His attention remains mostly unbroken but he pipes up with a smart ass remark, “Hi bored, I’m Michael.”

He was beginning to impinge on your last nerve but you knew this is how it was going to be; being forced to deal with that constant regression into a state of immaturity. You push yourself off his chair and amble over to the couch, moping as you move, “Wow, what a great help you are.”

You slump down onto the couch and feel an ache bellow in your chest; unhappiness roaring inside, begging to be released. The lack of deliberation over your deep-rooted feelings recently had become too much and you can’t help yourself from complaining, “Ever since we arrived I feel like all I’ve done is watch re-runs of films and read the same handful of books. I’m going crazy, Michael. You’re at work all day, almost every day, and I have nothing but these four walls to keep me company.”

Why am I so unhappy? I thought moving here would make everything better. Closer to his friends, closer to the beach. Why do I feel so empty and unfulfilled?

He queries what you actually want to do but the words are flecked with apathy; sounding as if the care he was trying to convey was non-existent. If you likened Michael’s attention to anything besides himself as of late it would be a tiny drop of water in the ocean.

“Maybe I could take up an art class, make friends, or even get a job.” You suggest, trying to fight through your hurt with optimism. Michael responds with a mouthful of disbelief, “Get a job? Somehow I can’t see you working.”

Shrugging off the doubt you pick up a pillow and throw it in his direction. It hits and bounces weakly off his shins, falling to the floor. “That’s because I haven’t found anything that calls to my soul. Besides, you’ve never let me work.”

Michael doesn’t understand your need or desire to go off and work. He thought because he gave you everything that that should be enough. It was as if he liked to ignore your need for independence because he wanted you to be like the wife of all of the men in his growing company; a trophy to look at. You were wild at heart - longing for a challenge and for something to pour yourself into.

He disregards the last ten minutes that he’s spent putting your feelings down entirely when he breaks the concentration to look up and grin at you, melting your core into a puddle with those blue eyes. When he was like this, it seemed as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

“Sandy and Phil should be back from their holiday any day which means we can have them over for dinner. Maybe you can go with Sandy to the art classes she’s been attending? Phil said she loves them.”

Sandy and Phil Mason are the married couple who partly prompted the shift to Palos Verdes. Phil told Michael to bring his business here because “Palos Verdeans” as he calls them, would eat up what he was creating. Michael, never one to turn down a challenge or offer, accepted and the rest is history. You went along with it because after all it was near the beach and you were a water baby at heart.

Rumbles erupt from your starved belly as a reminder that you haven’t eaten so you stroll to the kitchen and open the fridge. Your hungry eyes peruse over the contents and settle on some fruit; also taking a bottle of water for good measure. You perch yourself on a seat at the counter and pop a few grapes into your mouth to sate your appetite for the moment. Past the sound of your teeth piercing the flesh of the fruit, you overhear Michael talking to someone.

“Hey Phil, it’s Michael. How are you doing? Yeah, I’m good. Getting settled in, you know the drill. Palos is great. Are you two back from holiday?”

There’s a break which you figure is probably Michael listening to Phil rattling off some useless information; a habit which he was all too guilty of apparently.

“Wow, that sounds like that would have been interesting. I was thinking that maybe you two and the kids could come over for dinner tomorrow night? You all can finally meet Y/N. I can show you a few things I’ve been working on.”

Another pause but this time when the silence is broken there’s a change in his tone as if he’s saddened by something Phil said.

“Oh, they can’t come? That’s alright. Y/N has plenty of time to meet them. What time works for you? Ah, That’s perfect. Hey, buddy, don’t bring anything. We’ll see you then.”

The focus drops from Michael and you start to guzzle the water to quench your thirst but are interrupted when he yells out for you to come to him. “God, what is it now?” you mumble under your breath as you’re wandering back over to where he’s sitting.

“What do you want?”

“Can you be a doll and organise something for dinner tomorrow night? Just don’t make anything with olives in it – Sandy hates those.”

Your brows furrow because you can’t believe the way he’s acting; forgetting how you’ve told him many times that olives are the one thing to make you gag. His lack of manners and preoccupation with the Masons were starting to get to you. The annoyance you’re feeling doesn’t stay hidden for long when you subtly drag Michael with a reminder of how long you’ve been together and questioned when you ever cooked with them. He doesn’t flinch and instead smiles, remarking how it will be perfect. You wanted to throttle him but you swallow the distaste and start to walk towards the stairs.

“Y/N?” Michael calls out as he’s headed in your direction. You’re standing at the bottom of the stairs, holding the bannister and you turn back to see that Michael is closer than you imagined.

“You’re going to love them, I promise. Their kids, Jim and Medina, are great. You couldn’t pick a better family.”

“I’m sure I will. But, right now, I have to plan what I’m going to wear tomorrow night.”

You continue as you were, running up the stairs to the bedroom.

A hum of excitement sings through your body while you browse through the dresses in your wardrobe. Nothing seemed to be fitting for the occasion until you got to the very last hanger – it held a plain black, mid-thigh length dress. You didn’t own anything fancier because that wasn’t you. Your style was more boho-chic – you preferred long, flowing skirts matched with bare feet than to shove them inside a pair of heels and wear a tight skirt.

You’d be lying if you said the thought didn’t cross your mind as to why and how you and Michael were still together – he thought with his brain, you with your heart; his style was sophisticated and suave, yours was something else; the music and art you love had soul – Janis and Stevie stole your heart and Michael could never understand that because he preferred classical music; you were a vision of natural beauty with your wavy, untamed hair and your sun-kissed skin with freckles adorning your upper cheeks and nose whereas he was always made up and looked incredible. You’d find yourself looking in the mirror and wonder what Michael saw in you. They say opposites attract, but this was “other ends of the spectrum” opposite.

You’re suddenly hit with a longing for the way things used to be, growing uneasy at the thought. Back when the nights were spent kissing every crevice and curve, plaiting his hair in spring right through the summer, singing to him as you play your guitar every Sunday in bed, after making love first thing in the morning. All of these things were slowly disappearing and becoming distant memories alongside your first kiss, your high school graduation, and learning to drive.

There’s a spike in your sadness when you suddenly remember your guitar was broken in the move and Michael is all too indifferent about it. He knew that it was your life and he did nothing to remedy the situation - you were soon to learn that maybe this was a sign from the universe to prepare for Michael breaking your heart repeatedly from this day forward. You think now or never and place the hanger on the hook on the back of the door before running downstairs to Michael.

Waving hands in front of his face proved pointless because he was locked into whatever was so intriguing on that phone. You wanted to throw it, break it, smash it into a million pieces but you know that wouldn’t do anything to diffuse the tension that had birthed itself in your marriage.

“You’re glued to that thing, I swear.” You nag; usually you’d lighten that with a sarcastic tone but today was not that day.

“Well, some of us need to work, Y/N.”

There was a taunt in his voice. A tinge of resentment, maybe. Michael was never really that vocal and the air of mystery that once drew you to him was becoming an irritation.

“Did I not just tell you earlier I’d go out and get a job?”

“Now, would you want to go and do something silly like that?”

“Because all of this is driving me insane, Michael. If you had bought me a new guitar like I’ve been asking you in the first place, then I wouldn’t be feeling like I want to rip my hair out.”

He doesn’t want to listen to you any longer and gestures in a direction towards the coffee table. “Take one of the cards and go buy it yourself. I just really need to finish what I’m doing for next week.”

Of course you do.

You grab his wallet and pulling one a card out at random then slipping it into the back of your phone. “I’ll do the food shopping for tomorrow as well,” you mention, throwing the wallet back on the table.

“Uh huh, uh huh, sure thing. Whatever you want.”

He’s not even listening.

“Maybe I’ll run away while I’m at it.”

“Sure, have fun, honey.”

Why do I even fucking bother?

“I’ll see you later, Michael.”

You storm off, snatching your keys from the bowl by the front door and slamming it shut on your way out.

Where are the guitars? There are records, there are music DVDs, there are posters.

Out of nowhere, a young man interrupts (probably younger than you) and asks if you need any assistance from him. He called you ma’am to which you laugh; a faint shade of pink painting your cheeks in embarrassment. With your sight on him, you get the feeling that he’s all too familiar but there’s no explanation you can think of as to why.

Your brain ticks over the small list of physical impressions that you notice. Firstly, the two of you both had wavy, brown hair. His seemed virgin and untouched whereas yours had been dyed; you were growing it out and currently were left with bleached tips. Secondly, his eyes are a beautiful blue; they felt from the few moments you looked into them that they could consume you whole with how deep they were. The third and final thing you notice is that, funnily enough, the two of you have the same beauty spot beside your right eye.

“Ah, no need to call me ma’am. Call me Y/N.”

“Okay, Y/N, can I help you?” He asks. His tone is sincere but charming all the same and it seemed like he really meant it when he asked if you needed help. Your eyes drop to his name badge and see that his name is James.

“Actually, you can, James. I’m his looking to buy an electric and an acoustic guitar and I need you to point me in the right direction. Do you have any Les Paul’s?”

“Do we?” he scoffs, “Of course. Follow me.”

The two of you walk across the room until you reach the cash register and he fans his arm across the wall beside; it’s lined with an array of guitars. “Here you are. These are what we have on display but we can order anything you like.”

“Thank you so much. Oh, I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to be taking your time up.”

“It’s fine, honestly. It’s not every day I get a woman in here who seems to know what she’s talking about music-wise.” He admits and becomes flustered, switching abruptly to asking if you liked the look of anything in the shop. You’d been married for what felt like an eternity and had forgotten the simple signs of when a man is interested in you; blind to the fact that this guy before you happened to be visibly giving his attraction away.

You’re pulled towards the mahogany coloured one and figure it’s best to go with your gut. He tells you it’s his favourite and commends you on your excellent taste while pulling it down and explaining that it was a new model with a few modifications for easier playing.

Those blue eyes meet with yours and you become awash with calmness, unlike the all too hot to handle glare that Michael would stare at you with. You fall into a fixation on him until you’re snapped back into reality as a result of noise in the close distance.

“Thanks,” you smile, trying not to blush when you realise what just happened. “Can I also just get a Gibson? I like-“

The sentence is cut short by a phone call from Michael calling to find out what you’re doing. You cover the mouthpiece with a hand, whispering loudly to the assistant that you’ll be one moment and walk off to the side to unwillingly take the call.

A sharp tongue hisses that if he was listening earlier then he would know. He shoots an attempt at a Michael apology (one where he makes it sound like you’re actually in the wrong) but you intervene, reminding him he’s always busy. After a deep exhale you continue, explaining that you’re shopping and you’ll make the vegetarian lasagne he loves so much. There’s a silence followed by a groan because apparently, Michael doesn’t want it.

He rattles off some excuse but you’re not buying it. You stare at the floor and try to massage the tension out from its hiding place in one of your temples. Unaware, he is watching you and feeling the discomfort. “Just send me whatever you prefer and I’ll pick up the ingredients.”

You lift your head back up and draw your phone away from your ear before holding it in front of your face to stare at the screen and flip a middle finger up at the screen. Michael was testing your patience and you didn’t know how long it was before you’d snap completely

As you’re walking back to the counter, you slide the phone into your back pocket and the assistant asks if everything’s okay; not long followed by an apology for listening. Your stomach suddenly feels as if it’s holding butterflies and they’re flying out of your throat when you stumble on the words “you’re so kind” and instead it comes out more like s-s-so kk-k-kind and you want to slap yourself.

You smack the bottom of your palm to your forehead, telling him to excuse your inability to speak. He’s laughing and you can’t help but feel like an idiot. “Smile,” he grins, explaining that you didn’t need to be embarrassed.

“Before you ask, the answer is yes, just be back before closing time.” His tone is half confident and half confused.

How does he know exactly what I’m thinking or how I’m feeling?

You attempt to hide the excitement by gnawing the inside of your bottom lip and hold back the smile but it’s seemingly all too obvious. “Wow, I was right. I knew it,” he clucks his tongue and throws his head in the direction of the supermarket, “Go and shop. I’ll be here, waiting.”

“You’re a lifesaver and who knows, maybe one day it’ll be you I’m cooking for,” you yell out as your feet walk towards the exit. You could have died the moment those words left your mouth. The two of you only just met about half an hour before and here you were almost offering him a meal. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You’re only steps away from the store when your phone begins to vibrate - it’s a message from Michael telling you that to make whatever you want as long as you put meat in it. Suddenly the feeling of fuck it strikes and you rebel; leaving empty-handed and returning to where you’d rather be with an idea.

“That was some quick shopping. Can you teach me how?”

“Change of heart, I guess. Hey, James, do you know anyone who might want guitar lessons? We just moved here and I’m growing bored so I figure one way to entertain myself is by doing what I love; playing the guitar and teaching others.”

“As a matter of fact, I think I may.” He asks, picking a pen and a notepad off the counter and hands them over to you. “How are you liking Palos Verdes?”

“Amazing, beautiful, spectacular. Perfect for where I am in my life.”

“Oh come on, you can’t be much older than me.”

“I’m twenty-five but some days, like today, you need to add a zero onto the end of it.”

“See, you’re barely older than me. I’m nineteen.”

You scribble details on the paper then hand the pad and pen back. His eyes glance down to inspect your handwriting and he jokes about you giving him your number. You playfully tease, telling him only if he wants you to be his teacher. Anyone else would notice how obvious it is that he wants to say something else but he restrains and instead asks when you can start.

“We can start as soon as Saturday if you like?”

“Saturday’s perfect. It’s a date.”

He taps and clicks away on the computer, waving his hand in the direction of the machine to tell you it’s ready. You pull your phone out of your pocket and hold it over the terminal before tapping in the pin number and pressing enter.

Your cheeks heat up from those few words and you hope like hell he’s colour blind. It appears as if it may have the same effect on him when you see him rubbing the back of his neck. He interrupts the moment, providing a distraction from the slip of his tongue and hands you the receipt. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring them to your car.”

“Mikey, where are you? I have some great news!”

Michael knew something was up because you only ever called him Mikey when you were in a good mood. He appears and you thought he’d be happy (how stupid could you be) but his expression is confused, and he asked where the food is; lifting his chin and looking towards the car as if you’d tell him the bags were still inside.

“I figured we could order in.”

Michael stays quiet and crosses his arms, looking at you with a raised eyebrow and a look on his face as if to say order in, really? But you knew this would happen – you knew he’d be sassy because he’d done nothing but shoot you down at every corner when he was actually paying attention. You come fully armed, combatting the passive aggressiveness of his body language with some of your own.

“We could get a mix of different meals from that organic place we were reading about. If your friends are so lovely, then I’m sure they’ll understand.”

He throws down his arms, admitting defeat and begrudgingly claims that he thinks it sounds like a good idea. You try to break the cloud of the toxicity in the air, grabbing at his hands excitedly.

“Mikey! I got my guitars and managed to get my first student. I decided I wanted to give guitar lessons. It’s so exciting!”

You’re like a child again on Christmas who’s staring at the presents underneath the tree in bewilderment. Elation flowed through you and you thought Michael would share the same sentiment but he didn’t – he was like the Grinch; snatching every present away with one look.

“What? What is it now, Michael? What have I done wrong this time?” Tears well up to cause your vision to go glassy and fall from your eyes when you blink, spilling onto your cheeks.

“I just thought if you were that serious about getting a job it would be something a little more productive. Do you really need to spend all of your time playing instruments?”

His words sliced straight through your feelings of sadness and cut you deep. You wipe away the wetness from your face, curling your lip up and spit back at him, “I’m telling you right now I’m starting a business and you don’t seem to understand me.”

There he goes again with the raised eyebrow and crossed arms but this time he added in a cocked hip. You wanted to smack the holier-than-thou attitude out of him as he barks at you, “You call that a business? Strumming guitars for twenty dollars an hour isn’t a business.”

This is when you snap and your mouth explodes; causing you to speak what’s really on your mind. You’re edging closer to him as you say, “What the fuck do you expect me to do for work, Michael? Do you want me to tart myself up into a little skirt, cover my face in a thick coat of paint and call you Sir while I bend over and lick your shoes clean? Tell me because I’m all ears.”

You’re standing in front of him with what feels like nothing left to lose and you poke him in the chest.

“You know the kind of person I am and you can’t fucking stand it,” you mock him, laughing in his face. Your voice changes from mocking to stern as you begin to growl, “I really fucking love you but you’re treating me as if I’m a bug you’re attempting to destroy which makes me really fucking resent you. Don’t shit where you eat, Michael.”

You decide to take a breather and go outside to grab your new guitars before you really lose it. Once you’re outside you feel your phone vibrate again but you know this time it isn’t Michael so you’re slightly more relieved.

It’s me, your knight behind the cash register. The strangest thing is I’ve been talking about finding a guitar tutor and then you come along. Safe to say I’m more than excited for Saturday. – J

The sadness and anger dissipate temporarily as you read over the message again and again; completely unaware that this was going to turn into something bigger than anticipated.

Taglist: @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sensitivethot @sacredlangdon @sammythankyou @taintedaffairs @langdonsdemon @queencocoakimmie @1-800-bitchcraft (PS. if I can’t tag you, I can’t add you to my list so please make sure I’m able to if you’ve asked!!)

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justanoutlawfic · 6 years

Text

Our Girl: Chapt. 2

Story Summary: The Lost Get Found remix. Mary Margaret and David Nolan have been fostering 6-year-old Emma for a year now. They love her and have been working on adopting her. Things get messy, however, when Emma’s aunt re-enters the picture. Will they be able to keep the little girl they love more than life itself? Or lose her forever?

Chapter Summary: David and Mary Margaret meet with Ingrid.

Trigger warnings: Mentions of previous child abuse, molestation and domestic violence.

Also on AO3

Mary Margaret and David held hands as they sat in Helen’s office. Emma sat on the floor with her plush lamb and baby blanket, making up a story as she went along. They tried to listen and tell her how creative she was, but it was hard knowing what was about to happen.

They were going to meet Emma’s aunt.

Emma had mentioned one in the past in some of her stories, mostly surrounding the day her biological mother died, but they had always assumed that she passed on as well since they were told there was no family. In hindsight, maybe they should’ve checked, maybe they should’ve cleared their bases. It wouldn’t have changed how much they loved her and how they treated her, but how could they have gone all this time without knowing?

They didn’t know what this woman would want from them or Emma. They were more than happy to keep her in her life, so long as she was stable and could take care of herself. From what Helen said, she was the complete opposite of Ed and Helga, so that gave them hope.

The door opened and Helen walked in, a tall blonde standing next to them. They immediately stood up, ready to shake her hand. She had a firm grip, but a kind smile.

“My name is Ingrid Fischer,” she said.

“David Nolan, this is my wife, Mary Margaret.” He looked down at Emma, who had stopped playing. “Emma, do you remember your auntie Ingrid?”

Ingrid crouched down at Emma’s level. “Hey there sweetheart, it’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”

Emma frowned, inching closer to Mary Margaret. “Why are you here?”

“To see you, of course.”

“Where have you been?”

“I think that’s a very good question,” David said, softly.

Ingrid flinched a bit, but then nodded. “How about we play for a little while and then I’ll talk to your foster parents about it?”

Emma hesitated, but soon agreed to color with her at a small table in the office. She didn’t talk much, but listened to Ingrid as she reminded her of things they had done together, of the nights she had spent at her place. Emma kept glancing over at Mary Margaret and David, who gave her encouraging smiles the entire time.

Eventually, they sent Emma out of the room to play in the children’s area of the lobby. Once Helen made sure the workers had a handle on her, she returned and settled behind her desk. Ingrid sat next to Mary Margaret, the latter woman feeling a tad uncomfortable as she was sized up. She was trying to be discreet at least when she did it with Ingrid. The woman was dressed nicely and said kind words to Emma, but Mary Margaret still felt a bit protective.

“So…I guess start off of where you’ve been,” she said. “You had no clue that Ed was arrested?”

Ingrid shook her head. “I was always around when Emma was little. I knew my sister and him weren’t the best parents…”

“Were you aware of the abuse?”

“No. I knew they weren’t the most amazing parents and that Ed would beat my sister, but I didn’t think that extended to Emma.”

Mary Margaret wasn’t sure how much she believed that, but she folded her hands in her lap anyway to remain civil. “Okay.”

“After Helga died, Ed wanted me around a lot at first. He’d go off and get drunk, I stayed and cared for Emma. Then one day, he came home, told me that he didn’t need my help anymore and sent me off. Every time I’d try to see Emma, I was told no. Eventually, he cut me out of their lives completely. I got a job transfer, moved to Maine and never heard from them again.”

“You didn’t try to contact them?” David asked.

Ingrid shrugged. “I didn’t have any claim to Emma. She was the last bit of my sister and it killed me to lose her, but there wasn’t much I could do. I had no idea of the abuse that was going on. I only found out that Ed went to prison about a week ago.”

“So,” Helen cut in. “We do have a few options here. As you saw from the file I showed you, Ingrid, Emma is thriving with the Nolans. She did amazing in kindergarten, very smart, picked up on a lot of things. She has lots of friends, a dog, they were all on track to adopt her.”

“I understand that.”

“We don’t want to cut you out of her life,” David said. “We can see how much you care for her.”

“I do, and I also appreciate how well you two have provided for her this past year.”

From her tone, Mary Margaret didn’t feel comfortable with how this conversation was going.

“Emma is all I have left of my sister,” Ingrid bit her lip. “We were always very close, we had a rough childhood, we had to be. We both went through similar abuse that Emma did. The only difference was, I knew better and got out of it. Helga fell into the same trap. I always vowed after she died that I’d protect her little girl. I know she always wanted to, she tried leaving a few times, but she never had the strength.”

“We understand that.” David took his wife’s hand. “And we want you to know that she is safe with us. We love her and care for her, as if we shared blood.”

“With all due respect, David, you don’t, though. Emma is my niece and I need to make sure that she is taken care of.”

“She is. We can show you around our home, our town. We both have very good jobs and Emma hasn’t lacked for anything.”

Ingrid was quiet for a moment, looking over at Helen. She quickly swallowed and blinked a couple of times.

“I’m within my rights to stop this adoption?” She asked.

Helen nodded. “You are.”

“Then I’m sorry, but that’s what I want to do.”

Tears filled Mary Margaret’s eyes. “Ingrid, please. We’ve cared for her for a year. We love her, she’s our baby!”

“Mary Margaret…”

“No, no.” She shook her head. “This can’t be happening. We…we’ve been feeding her and taking care of her!” She looked over at David, who was staring at the ground, tears falling down his own face. “My husband sings to her! It’s the only way she can fall back to sleep after a nightmare, I rock her and he sings. It’s too late, you can’t do this. We’ve already fallen in love with her.”

“Mrs. Nolan,” Helen whispered. “You knew this was a possibility when you signed up to be foster parents.”

“You promised us that we could adopt her! You told her we could tell her that and we did! She’s so excited to be a part of our family! You said she didn’t have anyone else!”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry? You’re sorry?!?” Tears flooded down her face. “What do you expect us to do? Just give her up?”

“Miss Fischer will have to go to court to prove that she is a fit guardian for Emma. In the meantime, you two could contest this, but you’re looking at a lengthy legal battle.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” David said, finally breaking his silence. He looked over at Ingrid. “Please don’t do this. We’ll let you see her, she’ll always know her aunt. Just let us be her parents.”

“It’s not what my sister would’ve wanted,” Ingrid said, though he could see a little bit of guilt in her eyes. “Family needs to stick together.”

“We’re already a family!” Mary Margaret shouted.

David rubbed her back and took her hand once more, helping her up. “If this is what we have to do, we’ll fight.”

Mary Margaret didn’t sleep or eat in the days leading up to the hearing. She was just grateful that they allowed Emma to stay in their care. After consulting Regina, they knew all the odds. There was a huge chance that Emma could end up in the care of Ingrid, but there was a smaller one that they could prove that they were her family. In the meantime, they didn’t tell Emma anything.

David tried to be calm for his wife. She was so upset, someone had to stay level headed about all of it. Yet, deep down, he was freaking out inside. Every time Emma came to him for something, he wondered if it’d be the last time and it reminded him of about a month after she had arrived. She had gotten sick for the very first time and he was the one that had to take care of her…

11 Months Ago

David walked into the bedroom.

“What’s going on? Is it PJ day at school?” He asked with a glimmer of glee in his eye.

Mary Margaret shook her head. “Emma here isn’t feeling too well, she has a fever and threw up. I think she needs to stay home today.” She stood up and frowned. “I would stay home with her, but we have a sub shortage….”

“Don’t worry, it’s my day off,�� David said. “I can take care of her.”

Mary Margaret hesitated. She trusted her husband with Emma, of course she did. She wouldn’t have agreed to foster with him if she didn’t. However, the two hadn’t been left alone before. Emma was still squeamish around grown men and while she clearly liked David, she wasn’t entirely open with him. She tended to go to her foster mother if she needed something. However, Mary Margaret knew she didn’t have much of a choice. She had to go to work and Emma needed to get used to David in time.

She knelt back down in front of Emma. “Sweetheart, I have to go to work, do you think you’ll be okay here with David?”

Emma chewed on her lip. “You’ll come back?”

“Of course. David will take good care of you, I promise.”

She looked over at David, who was smiling. “Okay…”

David understood Emma’s hesitance and would do whatever he could to make Emma feel more comfortable. Mary Margaret kissed the top of Emma’s head and turned back to her husband, rattling off any instructions she could think of, telling him where the medicine was. David put his hands on her shoulders.

“I’ve got this,” he assured her. “I know how to take care of a sick child.” He noticed Nana coming in the room. “Plus, I’ve got Nana for backup.”

Mary Margaret chuckled. “Alright.” She turned back to Emma and kissed the top of her head. “I love you, feel better.” She then pecked her husband’s lips. “And I love you.”

“I love you too, I promise I’ll take great care of her.”

“I know you will.”

Mary Margaret headed out the door and soon her car could be heard pulling out of the driveway. David looked down at the tiny girl and offered his hand out to her. Emma accepted it and followed him downstairs. In her other arm, she had her lamb plushie clutched tightly to her chest, her blankie dragging down behind her. David set up some pillows on the couch and grabbed a quilt, draping it over Emma once she laid down.

“Alright, patient,” he said with a very serious voice. “I am Dr. David and I am going to be taking care of you today.”

A small giggle escaped Emma’s lips. “You’re not a doctor, silly. You’re the sheriff.”

“I wear many hats,” he replied with a wink. “Now, I’m going to make you some breakfast and get you some medicine. In the meantime, I prescribe you watch some Doc McStuffins.”

He turned on the T.V and headed into the kitchen. He decided to make some plain toast and pour out some juice for Emma, mixing in her formula from Whale. He was worried about her losing even more weight from being sick. There was a 24 hour stomach bug going around her class, but he didn’t want it to get worse. He grabbed some Pepto from the medicine cabinet and poured that out as well. When he walked back into the living room, Emma was clearly comfortable and happy as a sick person could be on the couch. He snapped a quick picture and sent it to Mary Margaret to ease her worry. Emma’s eyes lit up when she saw the tray in his hands.

“I can eat in the living room?”

“Yup.” He settled the tray down on top of her. “For your dining pleasure, toast with a bit of applesauce on top, perfect for an upset tummy.”

Emma eyed it suspiciously. “I won’t throw up again?”

“I can’t promise, but you do need to eat. Plus, some orange juice…and medicine.”

She made a face. “Do I have to take it?”

“Afraid so, it’s not too bad.”

Emma slowly picked it up and sipped it, making an even bigger face. She finished it off though and then threw the cup down.

“Yuck.”

David chuckled. “Sorry, but it will help.”

He settled down at her feet as she ate her breakfast. He watched the cartoon on the T.V, commenting every so often on one of the toys being “operated” on. Emma was quiet for the most part, just nibbling on her toast and sipping her orange juice. Soon, she began to look a little green. He hopped into action and grabbed a plastic bag, holding it to her mouth. Emma let the contents of her stomach out into it and he stroked her hair.

“I’m sorry, Princess,” he whispered.

“Yucky,” she mumbled.

“You’ll feel better soon, I promise. How about some more juice?”

Emma nodded and he threw the bag out in the trash. He got another, just in case, and got her some more juice as well. When the episode was over, David put on Finding Nemo, which seemed to cheer Emma up a bit. She drifted off to sleep near the end, having not thrown up again. David smiled and kissed the top of her head as she snoozed.

She was such a beautiful little girl. How anyone could be so cruel astounded him. Even after all his years of being a cop, he didn’t understand it. Children were precious, they didn’t deserve any abuse, let alone the amount that Emma had been through. He wasn’t a big believer in the death penalty, but in Ed’s case, he wanted it more than anything. Then again, death was too good for him. He deserved to be tortured for life, to know the pain that Emma had felt during her short 5 years of life.

About two hours into Emma’s nap, he was still sitting at her feet, watching a family friendly comedy in case she woke up. He heard his phone ring and took it into the other room when he saw Mary Margaret’s face on the screen.

“Hey baby,” he said. “How’s your day going?”

“It’s pretty good. How’s our girl?”

“She threw up again, but only the one time. She’s been fine outside of that, seems to be just as warm, though. I’ll take her temperature when she wakes up and gives her more medicine.”

“And she’s been fine for you?”

“Yup, we’ve just been chilling.”

“I’m glad.”

David smiled. “Me too.”

As they talked in the security of his office, a woke up. She watched the first few minutes of How I Met Your Mother, but quickly got bored. It wasn’t really her cup of tea. Her stomach wasn’t feeling as gross anymore and she was really thirsty, but David was nowhere in sight. Picking up her sippy cup, she hopped off the couch and headed into the kitchen. The orange juice was on the third shelf and she was too short to reach it. She started climbing up the shelves to reach it, soon reaching her desired item.

“Gotchya,” she said, determined.

As she grabbed onto it, her other arm swung and the sippy cup hit a glass container of ice tea. It came crashing down to the floor and shattered all over. Emma froze in place as she was hit by a memory.

It had been a rainy day, so she couldn’t play outside. However, Emma had a lot of energy about her. She was running around the house, playing tag with herself. Helga was out and Ed was in his room, putting needles in his arms. Just as she rounded the table yet again, she knocked into it, causing a 6 pack of beer Ed had just purchased to come careening onto the carpet. It shattered and the overwhelming smell of the alcohol could be smelt all over the room. Ed stormed out of his room and Emma saw his wild eyes.

“What the hell have you done now?” He saw the beer all over the floor. “You stupid piece of shit! Do you have any idea how much that cost?”

“I…I…I’m sorry…”

“You’re always fucking sorry. Jesus Christ, when will you ever learn?”

Emma cowered against the couch, holding her hands up over her face, but it was too late. Ed had gotten his belt off in quick succession. The leather was soon colliding with her lips and she could taste the blood.

Emma hopped down from the shelf, somehow miraculously avoiding the glass and sticky beverage. She raced up the stairs to her room and slammed the door shut. Her eyes darted around the room for a safe spot, soon locating the bed. She dived under it, pulling her legs to her chest and doing her best to not sob loudly. She could hear Nana barking downstairs and David calling her name. She put her hand over her mouth and continued to cry.

The footsteps were getting closer and she was getting even more scared. The sound of door opening made her whimper and she buried her face in her hands.

“Emma,” David’s voice was closer. “Emma, Princess, are you okay?”

The words stilled Emma. No one had ever asked her that after she broke something.

David could obviously hear the sniffling and knelt down by the bed, moving up the blankets so he could see under it. He found Emma there, crying. His heart broke. Before he could say anything reassuring, she moved her hand from her mouth.

“I’m sorry! Please don’t hit me!”

His heart sunk lower in his chest and a frown fell across his face. She thought he was going to hit her? What had happened to her before?

“I just…I just wanted more juice and I couldn’t find you,” she continued. “I accidentally hit the bottle, I didn’t mean to! I can…I can get monies for it and pay you. I know Mary Margaret likes it…I’m really sorry!”

“Oh Emma,” David whispered. “Sweetheart, you’re not in trouble.”

Emma sniffled. “I’m not?”

“No, it was an accident. You didn’t purposefully break it. Even if you had, you would get a timeout or something taken away. I am never going to hit you or do anything to hurt you. I won’t ever touch you in a way that I shouldn’t.”

Emma looked into his eyes and could tell he was being honest. She had spent so long being afraid of men, but she really wanted to trust David. Slowly, she moved out from under the bed, still clinging tight to her comfort items.

“And you don’t have to worry about paying us,” David gave her a soft smile. “You’re just a little girl, you don’t have to buy anything. We’ll buy everything you need. I can get Mary Margaret more tea.”

Emma nodded. “Okay.”

“Did you get hurt from the glass?”

“Nuh uh.”

“Can I check?”

Emma hesitated but then nodded once again, allowing David to check her for any cuts or blood. When he was finished, she slowly wrapped her arms around him. David was still for a moment. Emma had never made the first move to be affectionate with him. He was very careful with her, knowing that anything could trigger her. He just wanted her to trust her and it was clear she was staring to. He hugged her back tighter, cradling the back of her head. He kissed her temple and she buried her head into his shoulder.

“I love you, Emma,” he whispered.

“Love you too,” she mumbled. She wasn’t sure what love really was, she had never said that to anyone before, but she felt something in her heart for David, Mary Margaret too.

That brought tears to David’s eyes and he had to find a way to clear them up before she pulled away from him. He didn’t want her to think there was anything wrong with her saying that. He blinked a few times before she pulled away, rubbing her eyes.

“How about we go back downstairs?” He offered. “You can lay on the couch and I’ll clean up the mess before making us some lunch.”

“I could help clean up,” Emma offered. “I’m good at holding the dustpan.”

David smiled a bit. “If there wasn’t glass involved, I’d say yes. But maybe you could help me clean up some of Nana’s fur when you’re feeling better.”

“Okay,” Emma agreed.

She allowed him to carry her downstairs and tuck her back in on the couch. He didn’t miss her content sigh after he kissed her forehead. They still had ways to go, but slowly, they were making progress.

Present Day

David kept those first I love yous in the back of his mind as they drove to the courthouse that day. It was hard to leave Emma behind, but they knew it’d only be temporary, besides Ruth and Robert loved taking care of her. They had brought Wilby by to play with Nana and Emma was more than happy to chase both of them around.

“Maybe we’ll get another dog,” David suggested. “As an adoption present.”

“David,” Mary Margaret whispered.

“Not a big one, like Nana, of course. It’s just every time she’s around Wilby, she gets so happy. I know it’d be crazy, but maybe we could make it work. I grew up on a farm after all.”

“You do realize where we’re going, don’t you?”

“I do. I’m just also optimistic that everything is going to work out.”

He squeezed her hand and she did the same with his. When they pulled up at the courthouse, they were lead to the judge’s chambers where the hearing would take place. Ingrid sat with her lawyer, they sat with Regina and Helen stood in the back. She passed over the documents from both parties, showing their ability to care for Emma. The judge then gave the lawyers a chance to speak up on their clients’ behalf.

“Emma Swan has been thriving with Mary Margaret and David Nolan,” Regina explained. “She goes to school, she’s happy and healthy. She came to them malnourished and though she’s still on the small side, they do all they can to keep her growing stronger. She’s finally getting completely potty trained. They have a room for her, and a yard. Emma also has made so many friends at school. She has come so far in just a 12 month timespan.”

“While that’s all well and good, my client is equally able to care for Emma,” Ingrid’s lawyer said. “She has a room prepared for Emma and lives in a good school district. While she would be a single parent, she has childcare lined up for when she has to work. She makes a good income, would be able to provide for her on a routine basis.”

The judge nodded, consulting the paperwork in front of him. “However, Miss Fischer hasn’t been in Emma’s life in nearly 2 years.”

“Because she was cut out of it, sir. She had no clue that Edward Swan had been sent to prison.”

“She was around when Emma was receiving bruises and being touched inappropriately,” Regina said.

“My client wasn’t there when those things happened and you cannot prove otherwise.”

“Emma was walking around with bruises and at one point, had several fractures in the course of a year’s time. These were all before her mother’s death because a CPS report was filed, but nothing ever came of it. Are you telling me that Miss Fischer was never suspicious?”

Ingrid gripped down on her chair. “I didn’t know for sure. I filed the CPS report, but as you said, nothing came of it. I assumed everything was fine.”

“And yet your niece…” She saw the look Mary Margaret was giving her, urging her not to go too far. “Fine. Let’s say that you didn’t know. Emma has been with my clients for nearly a year. They are helping her handle the trauma of what she went through before their care, they have her with a therapist. Plus, as a cop, David has the training to help victims.”

“Ingrid is a survivor of abuse herself,” the other lawyer interrupted. “She knows how to help her niece, because she’s been in her shoes.”

Mary Margaret looked over at the judge, trying to get a read on him, but it was hard. Eventually, he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

“This is a complicated case. I recognize that Mr. and Mrs. Nolan have cared for Emma and helped her through this trauma. She is such a lucky little girl, to have so many that care for her. In a normal case, I’d automatically side with the biological relative because of the law. However, I do see that this isn’t normal. And that Miss Fischer, you were not present. I have paperwork saying the state searched for relatives and came up dry.”

David felt a sparkle of hope inside his stomach.

“That being said, these things do happen. Mr. Swan and Miss Fischer were not married, the latter was also dead when Emma entered into the system. As much as we would like to think it’s perfect, it’s often not. Had we known, Emma would’ve been placed with Ingrid Fischer, given her competence and interest. However, she ended up spending a year with two people who have gone above and beyond what most foster parents would in my experience. This is truly a hard case. Removing her from that situation permanently, would not be in her best interest.”

Mary Margaret squeezed her husband’s hand, almost positive about what the judge would say.

If only she was right.

“I am going to recommend that Emma spends 30 days with Miss Fischer. During this time, we’ll see how she handles adapting to the new environment and if it is the right place for her. If Miss Fischer proves that she can care for Emma, then I will award full custody to her.” He turned to Helen. “I want Emma Swan out of the Nolans tonight.”

Mary Margaret’s eyes widened. “Wait, she’s not a piece of furniture. You can’t just send her somewhere to see if she works out on a trial basis!”

“Ms. Mills, please urge your client…”

Mary Margaret cut him off with a calming sigh. “Look, I’m sorry. Please, can’t you just give us more time? We could slowly work her into it…at least give us until tomorrow.”

“Given your passion, Mrs. Nolan, I just do not think that it would be in Emma’s best interest.”

“If you send her there, we’re never going to get her back.”

“There will be other foster children.”

“I don’t want another child, I want Emma!”

Mary Margaret jumped out of her seat and stormed into the hallway. She kicked a trashcan and tore off the stupid blazer she had worn to impress the judge. David came out of the room and pulled her into his arms. She struggled for a bit but soon just began sobbing into his shoulder. He rubbed her back and she could hear him crying too.

“How are we supposed to tell her?” She asked. “We promised her this was forever.”

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I honestly don’t know.”

#our girl verse #snowing #snowing au #charming family #charming family au #mama snow au #mama snow #daddy charming #daddy charming au

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jeminy3 · 7 years

Text

Setbacks

Summary: Ed and friends are delayed from leaving Rush Valley for a day. Ling takes the opportunity to make a strange arrangement, and Ed finds himself roped into it somehow. Things get kinda gay.... but more awkward than anything else, really.

Features: swearing, groaning, underage alcohol consumption, coercion, dubcon (but it's for chaste kissing that never actually happens), some deep thinking about feelings and orientation that goes unsolved and ignored, because Edward is Edward.

Finally... Here's a fic that was originally part of a very long, convoluted edling fic series I've been slowly working and re-working for about 2 years now. This was originally a flashback that an adult Ed had while visiting Emperor Ling's palace, but it got really long and more of its own thing. the drinking section was my first piece of writing that tried to really nail their dynamic when they first met.

this is one of a few fics i have that are slightly canon-divergent like this for the sake of shipping, and probably won't be directly related, but could be interpreted that way.

no drawings for this one, I am… just not feeling it this time, sorry lol

Read on Google Docs

Read on AO3

---

"Delayed???" But it's urgent!"

"So is the need for safety. The repairmen are working as fast as they can, I assure you. But even if they finish within the day, we need the extra time to make sure it's safe. I'm sorry. The train will be up and running at first light tomorrow morning, I promise."

Ed groans dramatically, letting his head fall back. Fucking great. A broken train engine was just what they fucking needed right now, when they needed to get back to Central as soon as possible.

He lets his head fall forwards again as he lets out a long sigh, then stares at the toes of his boots, searching them for ideas. He gets one.

In one swift motion, he tugs on the chain at his belt, pops his engraved pocketwatch out of his pants and into his open hand, flashing it at the train conductor in front of him.

"Edward Elric, State Alchemist. Lemme at the problem and I can fix it in seconds."

He also flashes a glare up at Alphonse, which silences whatever protest he was about to make, as telegraphed by the sound of his armor shifting at Ed's side.

The middle-aged conductor's eyes go wide. "State Alchemist? Oh-"

Then something crosses his countenance, and his brows furrow. "-Wait. I've heard of an Alchemist in town."

Yes. Ed can almost feel himself sparkling. "-You've heard of me? I mean, of course, I'm known through the whole country, I'm The Fullmeta-

The man cuts in suddenly. "-I heard that he tore up most of the market strip near downtown earlier today, part of some crazy battle with some kind of ninja warrior. Even leveled a building or two. The locals are furious."

A long, tired sigh from Alphonse doesn't go unheard.

Ed's jaw's gone slack. He... didn't expect this idea to backfire.

He struggles to get it working again. "I- Uh- Y-yes, that was- I mean, it was an accident! All of it! The ninja- I mean, the guy who hired that ninja's responsible! If that idiot-prince hadn't-"

He's interrupted as the man extends an arm to place his open palm directly in front of Ed's face. "I don't have time for a story, kid. The point is, we're taking care of the problem already, and I doubt you'd be much help. Do you even know anything about how trains work?"

Ed stammers his protests again, still in disbelief that this wasn't working. "I- No- I mean, no I don't, but I can-"

Too late. The man's already crossing his arms in front of his chest and shaking his head. "Didn't think so. Leave this to us. You've done enough."

"-Um. I'm an automail mechanic, if that helps?" The light, airy voice of Winry suddenly chirps up at Ed's other side. He looks over to see her gingerly raising her hand like she's in a fucking school or something.

The man's expression lightens significantly as he addresses her. "That's kind of you Miss, but I'm afraid train mechanics and automail mechanics are two entirely different beasts. You wouldn't be much help either, but I appreciate it."

Winry withdraws her hand to lightly touch her chin, looking dejected. "Oh. Well, okay..."

God, she was too fucking nice for her own good sometimes.

The disapproving, scowling expression returns as the man faces Ed again. "There's an inn down the street you can stay at 'till morning," he says, jabbing a thumb in its direction. "Unless you plan on wrecking more of the town, I'd recommend staying there."

Ed's already turning away and started walking, clearly defeated. "Yeah yeah, thanks. See ya later, or something..."

Then when he's a few paces away, he adds "...fuckin' asshole," under his breath.

"Don't be mean, Ed, he's just doing his job," Winry scolds as she keeps pace with him.

"-And you did cause a pretty big mess earlier. I don't blame him for being distrustful," Alphonse adds, clunking along behind him.

Ed just groans again, caught between an armored rock and hard-headed place who were both right about this, he just didn't want to admit it because he was still very fucking pissed at the person who really started this whole stupid mess, as far as he was concerned.

-And here's the shithead now, he thinks to himself, as Ling comes into view in front of him, sitting on a bench but with his legs crossed like he's still on the ground (fucking why). He's smiling merrily as they approach, the way he apparently always does, as if he's an innocent shit-eating lamb or something.

"So what happened?" he asks.

Ed barely spares him a glance as he walks right by him, curtly saying, "Train's broken. Staying at the inn. Leaving in the morning. Fuck you."

And he's a good several paces down the street as the sounds of Ling's confusion and Al and Winry's collective sighing carry down to him.

---

Ed would've loved to just sit and stew in his room until nightfall, but as usual Winry and Alphonse had to be all sensible and shit and suggest that they at least stock up on extra supplies while they're stuck here. And of fucking course, Ling agreed to it.

So here he was. Edward Elric, renowned State Alchemist, dragged down to a local market to help carry fucking groceries. As if this day could get any worse.

At least it was a smaller, farm-based market in a different part of Rush Valley, so not every townsperson who recognized him was throwing scowls at him because of the fighting earlier that day. And that barely counted as a plus.

Winry was off buying something girly like extra lugnuts or something, while Alphonse was nearby picking up extra food and supplies in preparation for whatever craziness awaited them after they landed back in Central. Ling...

Actually, he didn't know where the fuck Ling was. And he didn't care. He could fuck off for all he-

"Hey! Hey, Alchemist! Look what I've found!"

Speak of the devil. Ed groans, for the third time now, as he turns in the direction of Ling's stupid voice.

Past the thinning crowd in front of him, Ed sees Ling standing in front of a stall selling various wines and spirits, both arms raised above him, his hands clutching two square-ish bottles filled with a clear, light-orange fluid. Their labels are red and gold and peppered with lettering, both in Amestrian and a foreign, symbol-based language that Ed guesses must be Xingese.

Despite himself, Ed decides to approach him and ask, "What're those?"

"Rice wine! Doesn't look as good as the stuff back home, but I think it'll suffice," Ling says, with that stupid grin he seems to make when he's excited about something equally stupid. God, he wished he could punch him. Just knock his stupid teeth right out of his stupid smiling face. Unfortunately he couldn't, not with his hands full with their group's bags, much less within sight of Ling's bodyguards who were always watching from... somewhere. That was really unnerving...

Meanwhile, Ed says nothing in response to Ling's statement besides an uninterested grunt.

He wants to say something like, 'What's so fucking great about Xingese wine? It's all the same, just alcohol and shit,' but keeps his mouth shut, for once - a rare occurrence. He wasn't sure if he was suddenly getting wiser about his temper, or was just exhausted from dealing with Ling for the past several hours. Probably the latter.

No, definitely the latter, he concludes, as Ling proceeds to stuff the bottles of wine between the bags of groceries Ed's holding before running off into the crowd, leaving him with bottle-tops pushing into his face and chin as he awkwardly maneuvers himself to actually pay the stall owner for the drinks. The woman gives him a look that clearly says Sorry you're with dealing with this as she waves him goodbye, and Ed says "Thanks" to her as sincerely as he can for it.

Then he's back to following Ling and the others around the market with his cargo like a fucking pack mule, still quietly fuming.

God, Ling was such an asshole. He said he was a prince, right? Wasn't he rich or something? 'Cause he seemed like just an annoying freeloader more than anything else, expecting Ed to pay for everything, even his fucking meals.

Ed tries to keep his mind preoccupied as he goes through the motions to pay for the rest of their group's purchases and follow them back to the Inn on his already-aching legs. Mainly, by thinking about how he could find a good excuse to punch Ling in the face after they settled down tonight. Because boy, if he could, that'd definitely be something to look forward to.

He imagines, in detail, his clenched automail fist hiking back, shooting out, connecting with Ling's smooth, princely cheek. Distorting it as it kept surging forward, warping and displacing the flesh of his face, his jaw skewing to the point of breakage, his nice white teeth flying loose from his gums in a spray of blood and saliva. Ahh. So satisfying.

But at one point Ed gets so lost in thought about this that he's started staring at Ling's actual face, who was walking at his side and slightly ahead of him. And now he's... staring right back at him.

Well he was, until he looked ahead of him- No, he's glancing back at Ed again and- oh, ugh. Not only is Ling smiling at him in that stupid smiley way he always does, but now he's winking at him too. GOD.

That's more than enough to snap Ed out of his daydreaming in time to very quickly look down at his feet and focus completely on walking on the dirt roads and not on his burning ears. He hears Ling snickering softly, and starts thinking about somehow getting the ground beneath him to open up and swallow him whole.

As if he couldn't hate Ling any more than before. He was definitely getting back at him tonight. The only question was, how...?

---

Once he'd found him and Al's room for the night and set down their supplies, Ed almost had a mind to just flop into bed and try to forget about Ling and everything altogether until the next morning - but alas, fate had decided otherwise.

Because before he'd even finished setting down his things, he was unpleasantly surprised by the sound of Ling's voice coming from the room's doorway.

"Hey, Alchemist!"

His cheery voice aimed at Ed's backside makes him bristle like a porcupine, and Ed almost wishes he could shoot quills out of his ass like one too. He doesn't even turn to face him.

"I have a name, asshole," Ed mutters over his shoulder as he sets down his last bag.

Ling ignores that, as usual. "I have a proposition for you, before you settle in for the night."

Ed decides to turn and face him, bringing the full force of his scowl at him. "The hell do you want? I'm tired."

Ling was sporting another of his stupid grins, and- oh, for fuck's sake- he had those wine bottles again too.

"How about a chat and a few drinks? Just me and you, in my room."

Um. Seriously? A 'chat' with some drinks? That... was the biggest waste of time he's heard yet. Not to mention shady as fuck, coming from this guy.

"No," Ed says tersely.

Ling's smile doesn't falter. "Aw c'mon! Just to talk and loosen up a bit before bed-"

"No."

"We can get to know each other better-"

"No."

"I assure you, I haven't poisoned the-"

"NO."

Ling's smile had finally crumbled into a confused frown. "...Are you always this unpleasant?"

Ed breathes a long sigh through his nose, as if trying to get steam to come out. "Yes, now can you please fuck off so I can go to slee-"

"Hey brother, what's going on?"

Suddenly they're interrupted by Alphonse's large frame clunking into view behind Ling. Ling turns to him, only mildly surprised, then moves aside to let him into the room.

Al bows lightly at him before stepping inside. "Hello, Ling. Thank you."

Once he's inside, he turns to Ed. "Winry's good for tonight. So, what are you yelling at Ling about?"

Ed groans, now the fourth time. "I'm not yelling at him Al, I'm just-" He stops himself, pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand to gather his thoughts. "Ugh. Ling's just being annoying and won't let me go to fucking bed."

Ling feigns a look of hurt. "I am not! I was just extending a friendly invitation for drinks and a chat, that's all!"

Ed musters up a venomous glare at him in response. As usual, it doesn't faze him.

Al looks between the two of them for a moment, noticing the wine bottles in Ling's hands. "Oh, is that all? That sounds nice! Why don't you take him up on it, brother? It's not that late, y'know - you don't fall asleep 'till later anyway."

Ed, disbelieving of what he's hearing from his younger brother right now, reaches whine-levels of complaining now. "But Al, I don't want to-"

But as soon as he starts, Al suddenly leans down by his ear, dropping his voice to a murmur.

"Just play along, ok? See if you can get him to tell us more about Alkehestry."

Ed blinks at him. "But-"

"Just do it, okay? Okay."

Alphonse is... very assertive tonight for some reason.

He turns back to Ling before letting Ed voice any further complaints. "I think Ed's actually pretty open to your idea, Ling. He just needs a bit more encouragement." He accentuates the word with a heavier-than-needed pat on Ed's shoulder with one of his gauntlets.

"Oh- really?" Ling says, looking far too much like a happy little dog finally getting a treat.

"I know my brother can be... well, abrasive, but I think deep down he wants to give it a chance! Don't you, brother?"

Al hasn't relinquished his grip on Ed's shoulder, and presses ever so slightly harder on it as he turns to look at him again, and Ed swears he can see him winking somehow.

"Just as long as you don't overdo it with the wine, of course. You guys need to be sober for our trip tomorrow morning."

Ling nods with annoying enthusiasm. "Oh, of course! I wouldn't dream of inebriating your brother, especially not for something important like that-"

By now, their conversation had faded into background noise as Ed becomes lost in the dawning realization of Holy Fucking Shit I Cannot Believe This is Happening, I Cannot Fucking Believe That My Little Brother, Of ALL People, is Forcing Me to Hang Out and Drink With the Most Annoying Fucking Person in the Entire Goddamn World-

-Wait.

All these mentions of drinking and inebriation suddenly makes something click in Ed's mind. If Ling was trying to get him drunk - and he hadn't believed his words for a solitary second because that was totally what this whole thing was about - maybe he could, instead, get Ling drunk. Drunk enough to do something regrettable, even. Not hugely regrettable, but at least something that could serve as payback for earlier. Maybe... Juuust maybe...

Yeah... yeah, he could do that... Heheheh... Ed feels like grinning wickedly at all the potential outcomes that could come of this (the ones that involved embarrassing Ling, that is), and that seals his decision.

He interrupts Al and Ling's banter with the loudest, most dejected groan he can muster. "Uggghhh, FINE," he says, spreading his arms and putting on his best 'I don't care, just leave me alone already' voice to sell it. "If it'll get you two to shut up until tomorrow, I'll do it."

And it works - Ling breaks out into his stupidest, smiliest smile yet, and Alphonse nods at him energetically.

"Oh, wonderful! I'll go get set up," Ling says, then darts out of view.

Al gives a little chuckle at his enthusiasm. "There he goes... Just remember, brother-

Ed waves a hand dismissively as he trudges out of the room. "Yeah yeah, ask him about the shit, don't overdo it. Whatever. Just one thing-"

He turns to give Al one of his trademark glares, pointing an accusing finger.

"You owe me for this. Big time."

---

Minutes later and here they were, sitting on the floor of Lings' room, with the bottles of rice wine and a pair of shot glasses from... somewhere. Ling probably "borrowed" them from the inn's bar.

They make small talk as they take their shots, Ed acclimating to the taste of the drink. It's... just okay. Not great. Pretty bland overall, but the sting of the alcohol is still there. He tries to not go too hard on it, but still drinks enough to keep pace with Ling, as to not arouse any suspicion from him.

After explaining Amestris' general politics to Ling in the briefest, most watered-down way possible (because Ed didn't particularly care too much for it), Ling suddenly asks, "By the way - what is your heritage, exactly?

Ed squints at him. "My what?" He didn't mishear him, he was just- what? What did that have to do with anything?

"I mean, what are you descended from, exactly? Who are your parents?" Ling says.

Ah... Ed pushes away a memory before it can hurt him.

"None of your business," he says flatly.

"Oh, alright. I was just curious, because you don't really look like the average Amestrian from what I've seen."

It's a strange statement, but not that strange. Ed feels like someone's told him the same thing once or twice before. Still, he asks, "Whaddya mean?"

"Well, it's your hair. And your eyes, too. They're this gold color I've never seen before... It's rather pretty. Beautiful, actually."

Ed was halfway toward blowing him off and saying 'whatever' until that last sentence - that makes him stop his mouth halfway through opening, widen his eyes, feel a distinct surge of heat begin to grow in his cheeks.

Did he- did he actually just say that? Unironically? Beautiful...?

Ed's received weird looks and comments on the color of his eyes and hair before, but they were usually in passing. Casual stuff, like 'oh, that's a cool color.' And that was it. He never really thought much of them - didn't really care, he told himself, though truthfully he just didn't like being reminded of who he inherited them from.

But being called 'beautiful' for them? That was... new. Very new. And he has no idea how to respond to it. But he does know how to be annoyed, so he just does that instead.

"Are- are you already drunk or something?" Ed says, frowning and narrowing his eyes.

Irritatingly, Ling just chuckles at him in response. "Really, by all accounts you're fairly attractive - except maybe for all the scowling and yelling and hitting people but hey, no one's perfect! Haha. You can always work on that, anger management and all."

Ed just sort of boggles at him, because he'd gone back and forth between complimenting and insulting him so quickly that he can't decide what to feel now. But he's most familiar with anger, so he sticks with that.

He puts on his best scowl. "Shut up. I don't need any stupid... m-management," he growls, and pours himself another shot of his wine, grumbling. His whole face is burning by now, and he hates how flushed he must look.

Ling just smiles at him. Idiot.

He pauses to watch Ed take another drink before he starts speaking again.

"...Say, speaking of attractive, do you have someone waiting for you back home? Like a girlfriend? Or ah- a boyfriend, if you're into that sort of thing?"

Ed was about to tell him that was none of his business again but the 'boyfriend' part surprises him so much that he chokes on the shot he's swallowing and starts coughing violently.

A boyfriend? What the fuck?

Between the the sheer lunacy of the question and the burning fluid in his larynx, Ed can't even begin to respond to that. Who fucking asks that, even? This weirdo, apparently.

And now Ling's started laughing awkwardly, as if he's... nervous? Or something?

"Hey it's okay, I won't judge you either way, I'm just wondering. I mean, I know it's not very, uh- popular, but I don't know if it's different here in Ames-"

"No! I don't give a damn about any of that stuff so can you shut up already!?" Ed blurts out, having finally cleared his throat, enough to speak.

"Oh." Ling looks oddly disappointed. "You don't care about dating? Or you don't have anyone, so-"

"I SAID SHUT UP!" Ed yells, raising a fist, threatening to hit him with it.

An image of Winry had flashed across his mind's eye for some reason just now, but he pushes it aside. She was only a childhood friend, but this bastard implying that Ed had no one close to him still boiled his blood. Fuckin' asshole.

Ling waves his hands at him in a shushing motion. "Keep it down, some people are sleeping alrea-"

"I don't care about that either! Can we just drop this already!?" Ed cuts him off, snarling through gritted teeth, using quite a bit of effort to not raise his voice again.

Ling spreads his hands disarmingly. "Fine, fine."

Silence falls. An odd tension has started filling the room by now, and Ed already can't stand it.

He can't believe this. So far, he was the only one being made a fool here, and worst of all, Ling doesn't seem to be getting very drunk at all! He's had several more shots than Ed so far, but he was barely showing anything. Meanwhile, on top of feeling deeply flushed, Ed was already feeling an odd haze in his mind and a strange warmth in the bottom of his gut, and when he wasn't paying attention he'd sway in his seat a little. Apparently he's a lightweight, which was just fucking great.

He tries, and fails, not to stew in it too much as they drink two more shots each. Then Ling starts talking again.

" Hey. You uh, didn't really answer my question."

"Hm." Ed doesn't feel like responding with more than a grunt.

"Y'know, about who you like?"

God, he was so fucking nosy.

"I told you, I don't care. Stop ashking." Ed says, slurring a bit. Shit. The alcohol really was getting to him.

"Hmm." Ling regards him with this look that... Ed can't really identify. Is he studying him, or what? This is... getting way too uncomfortable.

Then Ling shrugs. "Well, okay. If you don't care either way, then you won't mind this."

He scoots closer to Ed's side, props his elbow on his knee and rests his chin on his fist. He smirks, gazing at Ed with a glint of mischief in his eyes that makes him... very nervous.

"Here's a proposition for you: It's late. We're alone. We're drunk. We could do whatever we wanted right now and no one would have to know."

Ed just blinks at him. Is... is this guy even real? Is this even happening? 'Whatever we wanted'...? Oh- oh no-

"Oh don't worry, I don't mean anything serious," Ling says, his expression relaxing and some of that mischief fading from his eyes. Ed lets out a breath he doesn't remember holding.

"I just mean something small, like say..." He lifts his other hand, holding up his index finger. "One kiss."

Ed has to stop himself from choking again, because that would've just been pathetic since he's not even drinking anything right now. A... a kiss? Was he- was he serious?!

"Are-are you crazy?! Wh-What kind of proposition is that?!" Ed blurts out, his voice rising to near-shouting levels again.

Ling frowns at him. "Hey, quiet, remember?"

Then his eyes dart away for a moment, thoughtful. "And it's... an experiment. Just a one-time thing. We won't tell anyone. Not your brother, not even Lan Fan or Fuu. It can be our secret."

Ed sputters, his face burning hotter than ever now."I- Wh- !?"

An experiment? Behind his brother's back? What the hell was going on?! Who the hell did stuff like this?! This idiot-prince did, apparently. Was this another one of those weird-ass customs Xingese people did? He wouldn't be surprised if it was.

Well Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist, would have no part in this, thank you very much. This was beyond simple stupidity. This was idiotic. Foolish. Pointless. Fucking dumb. All of it, all this shit with the wine and the secrecy. And over a kiss? Even worse. Kissing was pretty sappy, but here they were, treating it like it was as bad as-

Wait. Had he actually said anything yet? Shit-

Ed realizes, too late, that he'd blanked out and let his mind wander into colorful protests without actually voicing them. He was still sitting there, tense and bristling, his face still flushed and his mouth still hanging open stupidly. His eyes had relaxed and started wandering into strange places, gazing at Ling's dark eyes, following the slant of his eyelids into the lines of his cheekbones, going down to his thin lips and round chin.

They'd started drifting down to the sliver of Ling's bare chest through his open coat before Ed caught them and refocused them on Ling's face in general, which was starting to tense into an annoyed expression.

By the time Ed composes himself, Ling had started speaking again. "So, will you-"

"NO! Why the hell would I kissh you, you idiot-prince?!" Ed found himself blurting out.

In another part of his mind, Ed wonders why the words came out like that, because he was pretty sure he was gonna say something a bit different from that... but he'd worry about it later. As in never.

Lings eyes widen in shock for a moment - then crinkle up, nearly closing completely as he starts snorting softly, his face twisting up in an especially stupid way as he attempts to suppress his laughter.

He has to take a breath to compose himself. "I didn't say you had to kiss me, but if you want to-"

"NO!" The protest shoots out of Ed's mouth so quickly it's like it has a mind of its own, and Ed's grateful that his mouth is just as opposed to this idea as he was.

Ling just starts snorting harder, breaking down into barely contained laughter. He has to turn away to compose himself again, half hiding his face with one hand as he takes another few breaths.

"Man... you're so funny," he says wistfully after he calms down.

He turns back to Ed, still smiling stupidly, but now he was giving him this incredulous look, as if Ed was being the ridiculous one here. Which was completely wrong, of course.

"It's just one kiss," Ling says. "It doesn't even have to be on the mouth! Just a little one, on the cheek, if you want." He pokes his index finger into his cheek to illustrate, squishing his face in a way that looked so ridiculous it was kind of... cute, or something.

But Ed doesn't have time to think about that, because he was starting to choke again from the... just the sheer gall of all this, of this stupid, embarrassing, idiot prince.

And he thought he was funny? Asshole. Let's see him keep laughing with half his face swollen and bruised from one of Ed's "kisses". From his fist. In his face.

...Bad analogy, but whatever.

The brief thought of violence helps Ed focus, and he finally composes himself enough to properly glare at Ling and say, low and threatening, "Never in a million years, shithead."

Ling just shrugs at him. "Alright."

Ed could've been holding his arm-blade to his throat right now (part of him wishes he was) and Ling would be just as unphased. Fucking bastard.

Still, he takes Ling's nonchalance as a sign of defeat, and Ed tries, unsuccessfully, to breathe a sigh of relief and relax again. Unsuccessful because within the next moment, Ling gets his attention again with a soft chuckle.

When Ed looks at Ling again, he's giving him the most withering, cunning smile yet.

He says, almost like a purr, "I'll kiss you then."

And that breaks him. Ling kissing him. Ling kissing him.

He can't even... he can't even think straight. This can't be happening. This has to be a dream. He'd already gone to bed instead of taking up Ling's stupid offer and he was just dreaming all this, right?

Wait- why would he be dreaming about this? Getting wasted and being dared into kissing Ling? No, this wasn't a dream. This was a goddamn nightmare, and he wants to wake up now. But the pounding in his chest and the heat in his face feels real, terrifyingly real.

His mouth isn't working. He's just staring at Ling, flushed and wide eyed, sputtering like an idiot. "I- wh- I- I-"

He can't focus. His mind was flying apart in a hundred different directions and he can't get any of the pieces to focus on getting his mouth and throat working enough to tell Ling 'Please don't fucking kiss me'. Or just 'no'. why would he say 'please'? Goddammit, his stupid, drunken brain....

And then Ling was still looking at him with that horrible, awful look - that glint in his half-lidded eyes, that curve in his lips, and now that Ed knew what he intended to do with those lips, a hundred images were flashing through his mind with a heat and intensity he'd never felt before, and he can't make sense out of any of it.

Ling kissing him... Ling kissing him... He just...

He can't. He can't do this. He just can't.

Ed realizes that he's still staring at Ling's face, and vaguely realizes that this might be part of his focusing problem right now. He forces his eyes down toward the floor - Yeah, that helps.

Calm down. He needs to calm down. What does he usually do for this- oh, yeah. Breathing. Elements.

Ed starts taking deep, even breaths, slowly reciting his list of elements that made up the human body in his head.

Inhale. Water, thirty-five liters. Carbon, twenty kilograms. Ammonia, four liters.

Exhale. Lime, one-point-five kilograms. Phosphorous, eight-hundred grams. Salt, two-hundred-fifty grams.

Inhale-

"...Are you alright?" he hears Ling say. Fucking hell. If he'd just give him a goddamn second-

Ed looks back up to meet Ling's eyes and tell him off, but stops.

Ling's expression had shifted dramatically within whatever timespan Ed had spent freaking out. He wasn't smiling anymore - it was almost a frown now. His eyebrows were knit together, and his eyes had softened, filled with something like pity.

Despite himself, Ed's caught off-guard - he wasn't expecting Ling to look at him like this, with all this... concern. Did he- was he worried about him? Genuinely? That's... weird. He's never seen Ling like this before...

Then Ed realizes he still needs to say something, and clearly. He takes another breath, and forces his mouth to speak.

"I- uh- y- yeah." Still pretty rough, but not bad.

Ling's soft expression fades back into mischief. "Good. Now, are you ready?"

Dammit. He should've known. Too good to be true. Ling still wants to give him that stupid kiss. And Ed still has to say something so he wouldn't do that, but he's still full of a million different thoughts and feelings, and he's losing focus again.

In the meantime, Ling's just staring at him, his expression unreadable. Then he straightens, taking his hand from under his chin and slowly extending it toward him, leaning forward.

Ed freezes in place, holding his breath.

He watches Ling's hand extend toward his face in slow-motion, his sense of time warping as all he became aware of was Ling, Ling's hand, and his own loud, rapid heartbeat. He realizes that Ling was probably aiming to cup his left cheek, brush aside his bangs there, then lean in and giving him the offered kiss - and just the thought of that scenario, imagining it, was sending so many contradictory thoughts and feelings through Ed's system that he couldn't even hope to process it all, and definitely not within the milliseconds before the hand reached him and made said scenario a reality.

His mind split apart again, even further. He's practically screaming at himself internally to do something at this point, but it's all so overwhelming...

He keeps watching the hand come closer and closer, the situation becoming ever more critical. Confusion began to give way to sheer panic as it closes in, slipping past his bangs.

And then Ling's fingertips were just a hair's breadth away from Ed's cheek, and the prickling of his touch on Ed's skin triggers a rush of anxiety that finally snaps him out of his stupor.

He reaches up and grabs Ling's wrist with his automail hand with blinding speed and firmness, making the prince flinch, freezing in place, eyes widening with genuine shock.

Ed looks into those eyes, giving Ling the most piercing, venomous glare he can muster.

And it works - after a few moments, he sees Ling's throat moving as he gulps deeply, the fear obvious in his expression now. He backs off, leaning back to a seated position.

Ed doesn't let go of his wrist however, staring him down for a few more moments to get his point across - and revel a bit more in the precious moments of control he was having over Ling right now. Feeling Ling squirm under his gaze and strong grip was entirely too satisfying.

But when he feels Ling has been cowed enough, he releases his wrist and relaxes his stare. Then he finally speaks.

"Don't try that again. Ever." And even Ed himself was a bit surprised at the clarity and conviction in his voice there. Good job, self.

Ling wasn't looking at him anymore, his head bowed into his chest. "O-okay," he says quietly.

They sit in silence for a few moments, with Ed still looking at Ling, and Ling just staring down into his lap. It's kind of... uncomfortable, again. Ed couldn't tell if he'd overdone the rebuttal or if Ling was genuinely ashamed of himself but then again, he didn't care. Besides, he'd started it, doing stupid things like saying his eyes and hair were "beautiful" and asking about his dating life. And then daring to offer him a kiss on top of it all! Idiot. He had it coming.

But that odd tension in the room was back and heavier than ever, and growing worse with each passing second, threatening to stifle him. Ed tries to distract himself from it by polishing off another shot from his bottle of wine - the warmth from the drink is nice, but it can't overpower the heat still burning in his face and ears. He resists an urge to look at Ling again, instead gazing at the room window beyond him, noticing the dark blue night sky, dotted with twinkling stars. Going outside for a while feels like a good idea, suddenly.

"I'll be outshide," Ed mumbles as he rises to his feet. He was pretty woozy from the alcohol, but he manages to pull on his jacket and stumble over to the door well enough.

As he steps out of the room and closes the door behind him, he can't remember if Ling had said anything to acknowledge his leaving, but as he'd told himself before, he didn't care. Let him sit there and stew in his idiocy.

---

He thanks himself for the idea to get some fresh air as he steps out of the inn's front door, filling his lungs with the night's chill. It stings a bit, but the briskness of it was refreshing.

He walks - more like shuffles, not completely trusting his feet - along the inn's front side until he comes across a wood-and-iron bench on the side of the road, then slumps into it, letting his head fall back with a long sigh. God. He still couldn't believe that just happened.

His brain was still replaying the events of the past several minutes to him over and over. That goddamn idiot prince, making a fool out of him.

But- wait. As he reassesses everything that'd happened, a thought occurs to him. Actually, his plan had sort of worked, in the end.

Ling had tried to do something embarrassing, and Ed had put him in his place. It was at his own expense, but still. Yeah, he totally got him back for earlier today. He didn't get to punch him in the face, but cowing him into submission was good enough. Yeah. Good enough.

He settles on that, lets himself relax against the back of the bench, closing his eyes.

No longer distracted by the view of the night sky and his slightly blurred vision, a quiet thumping in his ears makes Ed realize that his heart was still beating awfully hard. Actually, all the anxiousness from earlier was still there, still balled up in his chest and stomach. Jeeze, had he been that nervous back there? Or was it even nervousness? He can't figure out what he's feeling, or rather, what he was feeling back there. It's like his head's full of static, and he can't tell if it's from the alcohol or something else.

But the cool night air he's breathing in is already starting to calm him down and help him focus again. Maybe he could try to kind of comprehend what even happened back there.

Let's see. Ling bought that rice wine, then invited Ed to his room to drink with him to... talk about Ed's dating life and dare him into a kiss, apparently. He'd planned all that, hadn't he? Bastard. Trying to get him drunk enough to do stupid shit like that.

That 'boyfriend' part kept bothering him in particular. Why in the goddamn world would Ling just... assume Ed might be into other guys? Because he definitely wasn't. Wasn't that obvious?

In fact, Ed was quite comfortable in saying he wasn't into that kind of thing at all, and preferred...

...uh. Whatever he was... into.

Ed frowns to himself. Er... what was he into? Huh... He's never actually sat down and thought about this before.

All this mushy stuff about dating and romance and - okay fine, sex too - wasn't really something he was normally concerned about. Hadn't been for years, really, with everything that'd happened in his life lately. Right now he just wanted to get his brother's body back, along with his missing limbs, and then- well... Then he'd worry about this. Later. That's what he's been telling himself - he didn't have the time or brainpower to waste on sappy shit right now.

...But now Ling had come along and... did this. Just shoved it all in his face like it was no big deal. And now Ed felt strangely... incompetent, 'cause he totally froze up back there. He had no fucking idea how to react to this sort of thing, even when it was right in front of him. I mean sure, he hasn't had any kind of experience with it, but it still made him feel like an idiot. Goddammit, Ling...

...Okay, he's getting offtrack here. He needs to refocus. What was he thinking about? Oh yeah, what he likes.

Hmm... Truthfully, he doesn't know much about girls. I mean, he... guessed he liked them? Sure? I mean, he was a guy, so it was natural, right?

But then again, the only girl he really knew and kind of liked was Winry, but they were just friends. They'd known each other since they were little. Why would he be mushy with her? I mean sure, he cared about her and all, and... okay, she was kind of pretty sometimes, but- ugh. That'd be so awkward. Being with Winry like... that.

And Ed knew even less about guys - at least in that... way. This was.. actually the first time he's ever considered this, really. He just... doesn't really know anything about it. In all of his and Al's travels, men who dated other men, even gay people in general, were rarely talked about by folks, even in passing. What little he's heard talked them up as either something strange and worthy of ridicule, or harmless, just people like anyone else.

It was confusing, and none of it has helped him form any concrete opinions about it. And they'd yet to actually meet one in-person, to his knowledge.

...But then, they could be just... any guy, right? You can't really assume this kind of thing just from looking at someone, you'd have to actually talk to them and-

Wait. Wait a goddamn second.

Ed's eyes snap open. if Ling had been so interested in his dating life and even tried to kiss him, was he... one of them? Had he just- maybe, possibly, just had the moves put on him by another guy? Who was interested?

He straightens up in his seat, covering his burning-again face with one hand. Oh... Oh, god. That's... That's exactly what happened, isn't it? Aw, shit... that's so embarrassing... and confusing.

Because on one hand, Ed wants to think 'I can't fucking believe this guy tried to flirt with me' but on the other hand, he also wants to think 'I can't fucking believe this guy found me attractive enough to flirt with me.' He even straight up called him beautiful! Like, holy shit. What... what do you even say about that? What do you do?

Like... was this how women felt when regular guys flirted with them? Kind of flattered, but also kind of creeped out and uncomfortable at the same time? Jeeze... he makes a mental note:

Never do that to a girl, or anyone, ever. Not worth it.

...Not that he ever planned to flirt with anyone anyway, but- well, maybe when he was older? If he ever tried to settle down after everything was over- but he still can't really see himself ever doing that...

Ugh... Ed lets his hand drag, his fingers pulling down the skin of his face. None of this is making sense to him, and its driving him nuts because he was a scientist - he was smart. A goddamn prodigy, even. He should be able to make sense out of anything, even stupid shit like dating or kissing or whether he was into guys or girls or whatever.

But he can't. It's too confusing. It's too much. It's too soon. And he's too drunk and too tired to keep thinking about all this, because his head's starting to hurt like hell.

He lets out a long sigh, releasing his face from his hand and slumping forward on the bench.

It's pointless to keep dwelling on this. He's just giving himself a migraine at this point.

Better yet, he should just... forget it. Forget it all. He'd had a stupid, embarrassing night with Ling, but he'd gotten back at him, so that was enough. So he'll just drop it, and pretend this whole night never happened.

Yeah. He'll do that.

Ed sways to one side, laying down along the length of the seat of the bench. He rolls himself onto his back, giving him a full view of the starry night sky above. He relaxes his eyes and lets his mind drift far away from thoughts of wine and dating and Ling.

---

Ed didn't know how long he stayed out there, he might've even dozed off for a while. But either way, at some point Al came out of the inn to look for him, found him lying on that bench, and pleaded with him to come back to their room before the chill made him sick.

Then he chastised him for overdoing it on the alcohol as he watched how woozily Ed got to his feet and tried to walk. Ed just blew him off, saying he'd be fine by morning, but that didn't stop Al from pressing him to at least drink some water to clean out his system. Ugh. No wonder people always mistook him for the older brother.

Now he's pestering him over whether he'd learned anything about Alkehestry from Ling, and Ed, faced with the reality that'd he completely fucking forgotten about that, can only grunt at him as he follows him back inside the inn.

"You...You didn't ask him anything, did you?" Al finally says, turning to him, and would've been staring at him incredulously if his face could do that.

Ed just shrugs at him.

Al was the one to groan loudly this time. "Ugh, brother! This might've been our only chance! He's probably going to ditch us once we reach Central and we'll never be able to ask him again!"

Ed doesn't respond, scratching his ear with a gloved hand. At this point he was so beyond caring about any of this it wasn't even funny. (Not even the Alkehestry stuff. More like Alke-hell-if-I-give-a-shit-anymore.)

"You don't even care, do you? Ugh, Ed, I swear! You can't just let an opportunity slip by just because you hate him. Alkehestry might hold the key to getting our bodies back without using-"

Ed, not feeling like being lectured again, walks past him and up the stairwell without a word.

Al pauses, no doubt staring at him. "...What's with you, anyway? How much did you even drink?"

Ed turns to wave a hand half-heartedly at him, saying, "I'm going to bed, that's what. G'night."

Then he keeps walking upstairs towards their room, ignoring Alphonse's hollow sighs.

When Ed reaches the top of the stairs and faces the upstairs hallway, he's hit with a sudden wave of anxiety when he realizes he'll have to walk by Ling's room to reach his own, but when he peeks into its half-open door, the drinks and cutlery had all been put away and Ling had, apparently, already retired to his bed.

He has the odd thought of checking on the prince, but he quashes the idea as soon as it comes to him, instead focusing on how tired he was and how his head was aching.

He gets to his room, undresses and flops into bed, hoping he won't have a hangover in the morning.

---

Ed did have a hangover the next morning, but thankfully it was pretty mild. Just a more intense headache than usual. He's almost thankful that Ling didn't goad him with anything heavier than rice wine, cuz if he's a... sigh, lightweight, who knows what a few shots of hard liquor would do to him.

But that doesn't stop Alphonse from throwing silent, judging glances his way while he's seated next to him on the train, or Winry from pestering him with questions and concerns from the other side of their booth, like What the hell were you thinking? and You need to drink more water, like, all the time. Because of course Alphonse fucking snitched on him and told her about last night as soon as she woke up.

Whatever. At least they didn't know what actually happened...

Ed looks over at Ling, seated alone in the booth on the other side of the passenger car. He'd expected Ling to still be quiet and somber, or even angry with him for what he did, but true to form, Ling was back to his annoyingly light-hearted, smiling-y self, waving stupidly at them as he notices Ed looking his way.

Ling was doubtlessly eavesdropping on their conversations, but he doesn't say anything about their "encounter" last night, either. Ed was silently thankful for it - but at the same time, it kind of... bothers him.

The whole thing still bothers him, actually. More than he'll ever admit.

Ling's comments, his offer of the kiss, how close he'd been to fulfilling it - it's all stuck somewhere in the back of Ed's mind, prickles there during lulls in the train ride, when Ed finds himself looking over at Ling and noticing things like the shape of Ling's profile silhouetted against the train window he was gazing out of, how his hair fell over his eyes, or his bare chest subtly moving with his breathing (why the hell is he always shirtless anyway?).

But he's quick to snap himself out of it each time. He has way more important things to worry about right now.

Besides, it's probably just the alcohol getting to him. That's all.

END

#edling #fmab #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #edward elric #ling yao #jeminy writes

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javistgs-ficlibrary · 7 years

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Unforgettable Fics

Last year I posted my first Unforgettable Fics List (you can find it HERE). In that list, I included the stories that had left their mark on me as a fangirl, writer, and reader.

Those were the stories that pulled me into fan fiction, the first ones I read, the ones I think back on when I remember my earlier days in the fandom.

The fics in this year’s list are the ones that keep me here; the ones that inspire me, that prove that this fandom is still kicking, alive and well.

Some of the fics you'll find here are very new, others are well-known classics I read (or re-read) this year.

Go ahead, take a look, you might find a new favorite among them.

Happy reading!

All the World Drops Dead by @andthisisthewonder

Peeta’s voice has been inside her head since she turned 14. She doesn’t know why they share a connection, and she doesn’t care. She likes having him with her. They comfort each other. Protect each other. Until he goes where she cannot follow. Until he enters the arena. (Based loosely on the film “In Your Eyes.”)

Peeta is reaped. Katniss stays behind in Twelve and follows his struggles on TV. Sounds a little bit like One Victor, doesn’t it? Well, that part of the premise might be similar, but the rest of the story is completely different. In this fantastic fic, Katniss and Peeta share an extraordinary gift that keeps them connected. Even though they’re miles apart, Katniss guides and comforts him. Spending her days glued to the TV screen, she stops him from eating poisonous berries and keeps him updated on his enemies' whereabouts. I’m really intrigued to see how this story is going to end.

Cadavres Exquis by @andthisisthewonder, @mtk4fun, @finnicko-loves-anniec, @xerxia31, @nancymay, @titaniasfics, @peetabreadgirl, @hutchhitched, @sandyeyes, @burkygirl, @geekymoviemom, @i-roaring-girl, @mega-aulover and @javistg

After six years of radio silence came the call Katniss Everdeen had been dreading for years. Her mother, the last living member of her family, was dead.

Though it had been six years since Katniss had fled her hometown of Panem, she knew she had no choice but to come back and take care of her mother’s possessions, sell her house, get rid of the last vestiges of the life she once knew.

Organised by @loveinpanem. The principle behind this challenge was very simple. Each author was given a very tiny amount of world-building, (that summary you see above) and the last two sentences the previous writer created. From there, the sky was the limit. The resulting story was charming and funny, with unexpected twists and multiple visits to the bank while Everlark tried to solve a riddle they didn’t understand.

An awesome example of what it means to be a member of a creative community. I loved being a part of this!

Camp Mockingjay by @peetabreadgirl, @katnissdoesnotfollowback, @hutchhitched, @javistg, @appleblossomgirl0305, @titaniasfics, @xerxia31 and @burkygirl

When Katniss agrees to spend the summer working with Gale at a summer camp, every choice brings her closer to an opportunity she thought she'd missed forever.

Another collaborative fic. This one was organized by @everlark-your-own-adventure. Following the principle behind the Choose Your Own Adventure books we read as children, readers were asked to choose between two options at the end of each chapter. Writers had to follow the story and adapt to the readers’ demands.

The resulting fic is as sweet as a summer adventure. Each chapter closely follows the storyline while showcasing its author’s personality and writing style. The last installment --an epilogue written by @burkygirl and @xerxia31-- is one of my personal favorites.

Cinders by @ghtlovesthg

Canon-Divergent AU. As rebellion starts sweeping through Panem like wildfire, Katniss quickly learns it will take all she has to keep her loved ones from getting scorched. Submission to PIP. Everlark. WIP

Katniss and Peeta find common ground when Gale and Delly are reaped. Defiant, stubborn, and too consumed by anger to think about the consequences, Gale challenges the Capitol. In a shocking twist of events, his family pays the price. An intriguing fic, full of twists and turns that still has me at the edge of my seat.

Destiny by @xerxia31

“This would have happened anyway." Canon-divergent Everlark.

In the cave scene in THG Peeta implies that being reaped was the best thing that ever happened to him. Well, in the case of this fic, it is. The dread I felt while reading the introduction, quickly turned to excitement when I found the surprise @xerxia31 had in store for us. A must read.

Dominion by @muttpeeta

Killing me would be a waste when you could leverage something much more useful out of me.“ Captain Peeta Mellark strikes a deal with his captor, the Empress Katniss Everdeen.

This intriguing one-shot shows Peeta as Katniss’s prisoner. I love the way their relationship evolves here, how they gradually learn to trust and care for each other despite their circumstances.

Elaborate Lives by @booksrockmyface

Katniss had a normal life, two kids, a husband, and a great job. But it all turned upside down when she shook hands with Peeta and got the literal shock of her life. So how can they handle this delicate situation without destroying their lives in the process?

I’m a sucker for soulmate fics, and this is one of my favorites. Katniss and Peeta meet through their children, who are best friends. She’s married. He’s a widower. They want to be together, but they don’t want to hurt those they care about.

A lovely fic about friendship, love, and the inevitable pull of being with the one person who’s right for you.

Everything But Money by @mtk4fun

Katniss Everdeen learns how the other half lives, and finds love in this Everlark historical set in 1936 during The Great Depression.

@mtk4fun takes us through the toils and struggles of the Great Depression. In her fic, Katniss and Peeta face poverty, hunger, unemployment, and jealousy as they fight to find stability in a world that’s collapsing around them. Haymitch’s role as Katniss’s uncle is definitely worth reading!

First Love by @sothereff

Primrose Everdeen makes a friend in new neighbor Peeta Mellark and looks forward to spending her summer days with him at the creek. But when he finally meets her sister, Katniss, Prim finds she has some competition for Peeta’s time… and affections. Loosely based on the film The Man in the Moon.

I love this version of Prim! She’s sweet and innocent at times, but she’s also as angry and hateful as only a teenage girl can be. And, while we don’t want to see her suffer, we all know this is a battle she just can’t win.

Five kisses that should have been, and one that was by @muttpeeta

Katniss and Peeta keep meeting on New Year’s Eve. Unfortunately, it’s just never the right time.

Everything seems to conspire against Everlark in this fantastic one-shot. They date the wrong people, they wait, they drink, they cry. Somehow, they push through. A wonderful read with a very satisfying ending.

If I Have You by @everlarkeologist

Everlark, months after their divorce. Written for the F4LLS charity drive.

Katniss wants Peeta to be happy. Why is he in so much pain then? A beautiful story of sacrifice and love that shows us how the pressures we put on ourselves can drive us to hurt those we love.

Kindergarten by @heyyouao

Katniss and Peeta meet in kindergarten and develop a relationship that will last a life time. Modern day AU. Rated for teens initially, although the rating will change as the story develops. This work contains depictions of child abuse which may be difficult for some to read.

This incredibly cute story follows Katniss and Peeta as they grow up as best friends. I especially like Peeta’s connection with the rest of the Everdeen clan --who immediately adopts him as one of their own.

Love Letters by maddmaddworld

You are my best friend in the whole world, and I promise you that you will never feel this much pain ever again. You are my heart, and I intend to keep it safe.

Love, Katniss

Sometimes it’s easier to write what we feel than to say it out loud. I love Katniss’s reaction to Peeta’s letters in this fic, and what he says is as beautiful as what he writes.

The Murder Game by @deinde-prandium

College AU fluff.

This fic is a lot of fun. Katniss and Peeta survive a Murder Game by hiding in his room. With great parallels to canon and the cave scenes, this story seamlessly blends the world of Panem with a modern day AU.

Museum Marriage Proposal by @badnovels

This is such a Peeta thing to do.

A sweet drabble that makes me smile every time I read it.

The Percentage of Us by @badnovels

Katniss finally believes Peeta when he says he wants her to stay.

How can something so wrong feel so right? A fic that leaves you reeling; dazed as you try to remind yourself that this particular version of Everlark shouldn’t be together, and still.. how can they be apart?

The Playdate by @awhiskeyriver

When Peeta’s son is having trouble in school, he thinks the last thing they need is to plan a get together with the source of the problem.

Daddy!Peeta faces off against Mommy!Katniss in front of Principal Abernathy as they each try to protect their respective children. Just that scene is well worth a read! But, of course, there’s more. There’s friendship, and love, and loss; the frustration of divorce, and the loneliness that comes with being a single parent. And then, there’s also some smut.

Procreate by Loudmouth Lamb

In a version of Panem where young men and women are bred in an annual ceremony to produce the next generation of manual laborers, Gale and Madge try to make the best out of the worst. AU (no Hunger Games). Mild Everlark.

I haven’t read a lot of Gadge fics, but this one is one of my favourites. Inspired by A Handmaid’s Tale, Madge and Gale are chosen to provide a child for Panem. I love the balance between the two characters’ voices. Madge’s quiet dignity and strength shine though this story as she stares an angry Gale down.

Ruse by @purple-cube

“I should have volunteered to take your place in the first Games,” Gale tells him. “Protected her then.”

“You couldn’t,” says Peeta. “She’d never have forgiven you.”

Friendship and loyalty are tested in this beautiful canon-divergent fic in which Gale and Katniss are crowned as co-victors of the 74th Hunger Games. Forced into marriage, the best friends help each other find love and happiness.

Silver Thaw by @eala-musings

Set during the Dark Days rebellion. A Capitol hunting guide and Panem Games Biathlon champion is enlisted to hunt down and capture a mysterious rebel troublemaker in the snowy mountains of District 13.

Once again, Peeta finds himself acting as a pawn for the Capitol. As the story unfolds, he realises things are not what they seem. Gradually, Katniss’s strength and resolve draw him in, and they become allies and much more. With perfect pacing, beautiful descriptions, and believable interactions between the characters it’s no wonder I consider this an unforgettable fic.

#unforgettable fics #masterlist

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vulva-o-queef · 7 years

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@hestiaq (making a new post because I don’t want to keep reblogging a long threat)

I’m really sorry for what you were put through. I sincerely hope you’re in a better situation now and doing okay. That’s horrific.

I remember the Ted Bundy bit you’re talking about- and she’s…. honestly quite right? If enough men have NPD/ASPD a few of them are going to seem intelligible, I think. I don’t really understand what you’re saying about Ted Bundy- if it’s tongue in cheek or not.

Okay, like I said, I haven’t seen this post she made. necromancerdoll just said that larps said sociopaths/psychopaths “can’t perform well in society/function with others.” I know aspd and being a sociopath are often considered the same thing, and I know a lot of them are pretty transparent assholes. Psychopathy isn’t a formal diagnosis at all, but criminal psychologists do use the term, and there’s a pretty solid consensus on what it means. Some people say psychopaths are a subset of sociopaths, and other people say it’s a similar but distinct thing, but in either case, one of the main characteristics of a psychopath (which a sociopath doesn’t, or doesn’t always have) is that they’re smooth and charming, and they use those traits to manipulate others.

My comment about Ted Bundy was sarcastic (and probably not in very good faith, but also wasn’t really related to the main point of all this), because saying psychopaths “can’t perform well in society/function with others” is the opposite of the truth. Ted Bundy was charming, socially adept, approachable, and likable, which was exactly how he managed to lure in many of his victims. He would put on a fake cast and ask women to help him get things into his car, which is what that scene from silence of the lambs is based on. Larps might be totally aware of all that and just phrased something too broadly. The only way it would be relevant to the rest of what I’m saying is, if she really meant to say that psychopaths are socially inept, it would be another example of how she tries to speak as an authority on mental disorders she doesn’t understand. Mostly I was just poking fun.

Women are over-diagnosed. But I don’t understand how Larps pointing out shitty behavior is the same as “diagnosing everyone”. Also, she’s talked about how borderline personality is over-diagnosed and often ascribed to women who are dealing with trauma. She’s also not talking about it from a “I don’t personally like them” only- “these people” are people who are cruel and vicious and play victim when called out on their cruel vicious behavior.

Clearly, you and I interpret the things she says about bpd and ‘cluster b’ in general very differently. For one, diagnosing anyone over the internet is absurd. In my first response to her, I did agree that she has made some good points, mostly about the link between autogynephilia and narcissism. But that’s about noticing an overarching theme within a specific population, and there’s already a decent amount of academic writing about that link. Case studies done by real psychologists. Actual studies done with controls and statistics and so on. And even with stuff like fucking “trans lesbian” dating profiles that larps points out herself, there is some solid evidence there due to the sheer repetition of entitled attitudes, fetishism, etc, the list goes on. My issue is with the way she thinks she understands BPD when she clearly doesn’t, how she applies “cluster b” or bpd to an awful lot of people, largely young ‘transmen’ or radfems she doesn’t like, and how whenever anyone she’s put down for having BPD tells her to cut it out, or tells her that she’s wrong about them, she dismisses anything they have to say by citing “people with bpd are insane,” or telling them they’re being irrational due to their disorder. Basically she’s using it as a shield to avoid being held accountable for the things she says. “Anyone who’s telling me borderline people aren’t irrational is only saying that because they’re borderline, and therefore they’re irrational!” I’m not saying she’s diagnosing “everyone.” And regarding transmen specifically, there are a lot of psychological factors involved in that situation, and for someone who’s so vocal about the cultlike, exploitative, backwards nature of the trans movement, you’d think she would understand how absurd and frankly just plain egotistical it is to think she can simplify all of those psychological factors and dynamics down to “cluster b.” Again - remember that she’s talking about people she’s never met in her life, usually judging from one blog description, a handful of posts, or sometimes nothing more than a fucking selfie.

Even as a younger girl with supposed “BPD” (who even identified with the label)- I wouldn’t have found this stuff offensive, and if it did (which I might have, and sometimes still do)- it’s really that easy to log off or go outside.

That’s good for you, and I respect your perspective. And you’re right, I could just log off and ignore what larps is saying. You can say that about anything anyone says on the internet, and technically it’s true. But I didn’t. The things she’s saying are ignorant, I find them personally hurtful, and I think she’s spreading misinformation, harmful stereotypes, and regressive thinking. I see that she’s saying dehumanizing and belittling things to women on this site who deserve respect, and probably worst of all, I see that there are a lot of people who look up to her, ask her for advice, sometimes idolize her a bit, and many of them will believe pretty much anything she says. She’s feeding them bullshit and some really vile ideas about mental health stigma, and how people with certain disorders (mainly BPD) deserve to be treated. I don’t think she’s the devil incarnate, and I don’t think she’s out here ruining lives and destroying families. I think she’s an asshole with an inflated sense of her own insight and knowledge, and I decided to say something. I could have logged off, but in this case, I didn’t. That’s all.

...I don’t understand how Larps memeing on a Tumblr blog and often posting insightful ideas about personality disorders is “insulting, ignorant, and dehumanizing”.

Yeah I don’t know what you consider “insightful,” but posting the definition of “insane” and copy-pasting a list of bpd symptoms and saying “see? these people are insane,” and tagging her response to my post with #have u ever noticed how all of these people have personality disorders (callback to “anyone who’s telling me borderline people aren’t irrational is only saying that because they’re borderline, and therefore they’re irrational!”) ...doesn’t quite cut it in my book.

She doesn’t bring up cluster b whenever she “feels” someone is acting unreasonable and dramatic- they… are unreasonable and dramatic- at least in whatever context, and people don’t have to dig deep to see who someone really is to be able to just say “no that’s insane, bye”.

Mmmm... I realize you see the situation differently from me, but am I acting insane? I mean, at worst, I’m making the undeniably blunt way she talks to people into something bigger than it needs to be. And yeah, I know... classic cluster b, amiright? But even if that’s the case, even if I’m misinterpreting her views, surely you can see where I’m coming from. And there are quite a few people who have the same objections that I do (mostly radfems, radfem adjacent women, terves, etc.). When she wrote that tag #have u ever noticed how all of these people have personality disorders, isn’t it clear that she was referring to me, as well as the rest of the radfemmish women who have been speaking against this behavior from her lately? Isn’t she making an assumption that I have a personality disorder (which I do not)?

Do you really think my objection to the way larps talks about bpd is an indication that I have a personality disorder, and that I’m insane? Unreasonable at worst. But yes, she is absolutely using the excuse that those who object to her saying borderline people are irrational are saying so because they’re borderline/irrational. And like I said, I’m hardly the only example of her saying things like this. Someone just reblogged the original post of all of this and said #I just blocked larps bcuz shes been reblogging random old posts from me calling me a cluster b as bait #as far as I know I’m the only quote on quote crazy bihet that doesn’t have a pd? Someone else wrote #I really looked up to larps hence I’m so torn about this #if I didn’t believe she was a smart and decent well meaning person I wouldn’t care. That’s just on that particular post, within the last few hours.

People with personality disorders are diagnosed because they’re anti social and cause harm to those they “love”/interact with and the cluster b community (that I hung around) spend most of their time groveling in misery- despite often constructing their own fantastical narrative of people horrifically abusing them and demanding to be coddled for every emotion.

Some of them, yeah. Not all of them, and not enough to justify making assumptions about people you’ve never met.

What I mean is- the pain that they’re feeling is an offense to ego a LOT of the time. And other’s shouldn’t have to walk around eggshells to make sure that they don’t injure others egos.

Agreed.

Like it’s not real, rudfems don’t enable or contribute to violence against women. None of these women, no matter how mean they are, contributed to the pain I experienced in childhood for being called BPD- actually it was always men and handmaidens.

I didn’t accuse larps, or any other ‘rudefem’ of contributing to violence against women. I know that men were the reason ‘hysteria’ could be diagnosed in the past, and I know that men are the reason bpd is being overdiagnosed in women today. And I’m honestly not even trying to say larps is being misogynistic to the women she says this stuff to (though re-reading, I realize it could easily sound that way). Misogyny or not, dismissing someone’s perfectly measured, reasonable objection as irrational just because they have a bpd diagnosis - which in several cases, dr. larps diagnosed all by herself - is unacceptable, is the same pattern and circular justification used on ‘hysterical’ women in the past, and is particularly bad because, as we agree, bpd is too often being diagnosed as the new version of hysteria. She’s re-enforcing age-old stereotypes about mental illness, and she’s buying into it so completely that she really believes that borderline people are so unreliable that she knows what’s going on in their heads better than they do. Hence saying that borderline people objecting to her backwards stereotyping are doing so out of a kneejerk reaction to a damaged ego, rather than because they know what she’s saying is false.

Also - she isn’t talking about everyone with “diagnosed” BPD.

If that’s what she means, then she’s the one who needs to say it, not you. Again, I respect that you have a different view of this, and I understand your perspective, I can’t believe what others say about her intentions and supposed read-between-the-lines distinctions, when she doesn’t say it herself, and the things she says and the way she acts do not communicate what you’re saying about her.

Meaning, there’s a distinction between people who have been diagnosed and are suffering, and people who have been diagnosed (or not) and are cruel and have a total lack of insight and disregard for other people.

Mental health is complicated. You can’t divide people with bpd into two clean categories like that. That’s not how it works. And you CERTAINLY can’t lump people into the “bad” category simply because they don’t like how you talk about their disorder. You can’t see someone objecting to what you’re saying and assume that YOU know that they’re coming from a “total lack of insight.” People are not psychic. Larps is using the fact that some people with pds have a lack of self-awareness to dodge accountability when it’s convenient for her. It’s complete circular logic - something you would think she would be above, no? “they’re irrational, and when they complain about me calling them irrational, I can shut them down by saying that any complaint they make is irrational.” I know I keep saying this, but it’s true. In my first comment, I pointed out that this is her pattern, and what was her response? hashtag have u ever noticed how all these people have personality disorders. fucking exactly what I said her response would be, because that’s the only excuse she has.

And yes, insight is a qualifying factor that “””exonerates”””” (quite a loaded word in this context????) someone from being “really” BPD. The thing about BPD is that they will not (or cannot) change- like it’s not a fixed part of your personality, and if it is- you deserve to be called out, and if it isn’t and you still behave like that… you deserve to be called out, still.

Again, no. If this is the case, then we need to make a second definition to separate “REALLY bpd” from “sorta bpd,” since currently they both meet the same diagnostic criteria. It’s not up to you, or larps, to create definitive new categories of mental illness.

I went from being told I had “borderline tendencies” to being diagnosed with full BPD, to basically nothing at all, because I became aware of those patterns, learned how to be objective about my thoughts and emotions, and practiced resisting them to the point where they only show up if I’m already in a really bad state. I don’t consider myself to have - or to have had - a personality disorder, because I’ve almost completely gotten rid of those mental reactions. But I know people who do have BPD, who are self aware, who are trying the same things I did, but the difference is that even though they now have the tools to keep them in check, those mental and emotional reactions are still present for them, and likely always will be. To say they don’t REALLY have bpd because they’re able to control it is frankly insulting. “If you’ve been able to improve it through treatment, you never really had it in the first place.” I know that’s not how you meant it, but that’s what it boils down to.

BPD is not defined by a lack of self-awareness. It’s a pattern of ingrained emotional and mental reactions (and, subsequently, behaviors). These often develop as a method of self defense against external abuse. Or sometimes there’s no abuse and it’s there anyways. The cause isn’t always clear. But the criteria calling these symptoms “pervasive” doesn’t mean the individual is unaware of them. People who know they have bpd, and who are working on treating their bpd still have bpd.

“...deserve to be called out”... it’s not larps’ business to “call someone out” for having bpd. She can call someone out for acting like a shithead, but simply having bpd is not a flaw that needs to be criticized. Your phrasing makes it seem like that’s what you’re saying, and although I’m pretty sure that’s not what you meant, that’s what larps seems to think.

Not only are neither you nor larps qualified to determine the “category” of bpd that people on the internet who you’ve never met fall into, but even IF that’s how she sees it, then, again, she needs to say that herself, and she needs to reflect that view in the way she treats people.

But to conclude, she really does make that explicitly clear that she doesn’t think everyone with BPD is a “screeching, manipulative, hysteric”.

Where

You made a bunch of excuses for her and I still have no reason to believe any of it is true

However, I’m mostly speaking for myself here because I’ve been hanging around tungle for too long and I mostly want to say that this all doesn’t really matter. Like, so many feminists on here ramble on about “but what about bpd women who get misdiagnosed?” yeah I didn’t face brutality at the hands of snarky women on the internet. These are not the people that even enabled the violence that me or many other women with trauma face.

Again, I didn’t say that. I don’t think she’s destroying lives either, I was just frustrated, saw that many other women are frustrated about her too, and I felt like saying something, so I did. That is the extent of my motivations here. I do think that she is spreading harmful stereotypes and misinformation, but I’m under no delusion that she is causing damage on a massive scale. She is, however, just one more raindrop in the proverbial ocean of mental health stigma. Insignificant as a single drop may be, surely it’s no less significant than any of those people with bpd whose bad behavior you say should be called out. If it’s larps’ business to call them out, then it’s just as much my business to call her out.

It’s not up to her and other women like her to clarify every single thing they say- people DO generalize and we should be able to communicate without having to specify for everyone.

I’m not asking her to clarify “every single thing” she says, I’m asking her to stop acting like a shithead, labeling people she’s never met, acting like she’s an authority on personality disorders, and using her actually wildly skewed perception of these disorders which is steeped in regressive, harmful, and demeaning stigma and stereotypes about mental illness in order to manipulate her way out of being held accountable for any of it. I’m not telling her to stop generalizing for the purpose of communication, I’m asking her to stop making inaccurate generalizations based on stereotypes, and to stop using “cluster b” as a catch-all for bad behavior. Just because someone is a shithead, or unreasonable, or overdramatic, doesn’t make them borderline, and it’s insulting to the people with bpd who are truly good people, who also have to deal with their disorder being an internet trend for self-dx’ers to milk sympathy and excuse their abusive behavior (sounds just like what larps would diagnose as cluster b, I know, but it turns out that many people who don’t have bpd exhibit these traits as well), deal with shitty treatment from healthcare providers who read the diagnosis and think they know everything about you before you even walk in the door (back when I had the ‘full bpd’ diagnosis, a therapist said to my face that people with bpd were considered ‘used goods,’ and my current psychiatrist treats me with an absurd and totally unjustified level of suspicion), deal with the massively pervasive stereotypes everyone else holds about bpd (ranging from ‘serial killer’ to ‘used goods’ to ‘fake trend on the internet to get attention’), as well as dealing with - oh yeah - the actual fucking disorder, as well as often comorbid cases of PTSD, depression, anxiety, bipolar, etc.

I’m just saying, it would be a lot more effective and hurt a lot less people you supposedly didn’t mean to target if you just called out the actual behavior instead of “calling out” a disorder. Additionally, I’m pretty sure that people with bpd who do lack self awareness are far more likely to respond to direct criticisms of their behavioral patterns than they are to respond to the label of bpd being “called out.” They’d just see the latter as more fuel for self-pity. It’s a little harder to justify being the victim of someone saying “hey stop being abusive.”

And if that’s not enough reasons for you, consider: people who have shitty behaviors who don’t have a cluster b disorder (yes, larps, they exist) are just gonna hear criticisms of a disorder they don’t have and brush it right off. Call out the actual behavior, and there’s a chance they might recognize it in themselves. It’s like a quadruple win.

A hallmark of bpd/npd/aspd/hpd is having no insight into that, that people say shit, and you take what you can and leave it-her, or me, or anyone else mincing that up….. doesn’t help bpd women live in a world where nobody is going to mince anything up ever. It did not help me when people coddled me, and I intuitively knew that and was deeply frustrated with it.

You’re right that it doesn’t help to have people make excuses for you or ‘coddle’ you. But not being unfair and pushing harmful stigma is not the same thing as “coddling.” Nor is “not mincing” words the same thing as saying things that are untrue, unfair, dismissive, and insulting. Much like Trump saying blatantly racist things is NOT “just telling it like it is.” (and no I’m not comparing you or larps to trump or calling anyone racist. except trump)

Many of the women who have ‘spoken up’ about larps on tungle, I’ve seen on other mediums (fb, wordpress) and they’re often just blatantly manipulative

Really? Am I being blatantly manipulative? Or insane? And, to reiterate, is what I’ve said on her post enough for her to assume that I - and anyone else raising these issues with her - ALL have personality disorders? Is it justification for her to say that I’m “glorifying” ASPD/BPD?

and will never have any insight to the fact that all of this is really a non-issue

I gave you several examples above, and here's your treasure trove:

https://larpsandtherealgirl.tumblr.com/search/cluster%20b

Notice how she loves agreeing with everyone saying they’ve been abused by someone with a cluster b disorder, or otherwise says something negative about a person/people with a cluster b disorder, makes sweeping generalizations and basically uses “cluster b” with the same tone that you would call someone an asshole - that is to say, using the same logical standards of “you said some shit I thought was rude, so I think you’re an asshole & I’m going to call you one” when talking about psychological medical diagnoses?

Yeah, occasionally she claims she’s only talking about The Bad Ones, but that’s a pretty thin excuse when 99% of the time you make no attempt to differentiate, and post things like screenshotted symptoms (which - if the “good ones” with that disorder actually have that disorder - would apply to the “good ones” too) with captions like “these people are insane.”

Again, I realize you see the things she says very differently from me, but surely you can see where I’m coming from. And I would hope that you can see that my having this perspective does not justify saying I have a personality disorder, that I am insane, or that I am “glorifying” ASPD and NPD. I would hope that the similar shit she’s said about several other women who said things similar to what I said would also strike you as unjustified. You can make excuses that she wasn’t literally diagnosing me with a personality disorder, but you can’t make that excuse every single time she says something like this.

but instead “leave radical feminism because it’s so full of mean lesbian separatists” and make huge texts about it everywhere else and how rfeminism is a cult.

Okay... this is an entirely separate and irrelevant subject and I’m not sure why you’re bringing it up. I mean it sounds like you’re saying “people who don’t like being told they’re insane are just butthurt kek” which I really hope is not what you’re saying. I’m pretty sure there are plenty of radical women who would object to being called insane and having their opinions dismissed because of a mental health diagnosis, who would raise their objections and still believe in their politics, probably due to the fact that - in this context - those things have virtually nothing to do with one another.

My point is- she’s not just saying ppl who criticize her have bpd- they often do because people with personality disorders come out of the woodwork to be hideously angry at anyone who calls them abusive or “wrong” and “bad” (whatever that means at any given moment).

In summary: I appreciate and respect that you interpret the things larps says in a very different way, and I’m not trying to tell you that you should be hurt or anything like that. But I can’t accept what I see as excuses that you’re making for her, since she doesn’t offer any of those explanations herself, and I don’t see any evidence of the intentions you’re attributing to her, in her own words or behavior.

At the end of the day, larps is the only person who can speak for larps’ intentions (much like the people whose criticisms larps deflects by claiming they’re motivated by irrational emotion and a threatened victim complex SHOULD be the only ones who can speak for their intentions).

And at the end of the day, larps didn’t show anything but disrespect and a total unwillingness to even consider that the way she speaks to, and treats, people with bpd and people who criticize her portrayal and internet-diagnosing of bpd, might not be 100% faultless.

At the end of the day, larps read what I had to say about her dismissive attitude and manipulative, circular justification for avoiding accountability. Her response was to double down on calling people with borderline “insane,” and double down on her own belief that googling a list of symptoms makes her an expert on psychology, as well as an expert on the thoughts in other peoples’ heads. She used the exact circular, dismissive excuse I was calling out, yet again said that the people criticizing her were all doing so because of their - well “our,” I should say, since she diagnosed me - personality disorders, rather than their actual thoughts, opinions, and perfectly reasonable objections. And then she answered a bunch of messages laughing about how crazy and terrible “cluster b”s are. No, she didn’t literally say “EVERY SINGLE PERSON with bpd is like this,” but come on. She’s not the only person who can recognize patterns of behavior.

#long post

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giftofshewbread · 4 years

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Apocalyptic Overtones

By Daymond Duck Published on: December 20, 2020

The word “revelation” comes from the Greek word “apokalupsis,” and it means the unveiling or disclosing.

The Book of Revelation begins with these words: “The Revelation of Jesus Christ, which God gave unto him, to show unto his servants things which must shortly come to pass; and he sent and signified it by his angel unto his servant John” (Rev. 1:1).

This can be taken two ways: 1) As the disclosure of information about Jesus, and 2) As the disclosure of what God intends to do, starting with the Church Age and running through the beginning of the New Heaven and New Earth.

It is my opinion that current events are pointing the world to what the Book of Revelation says, and the Book of Revelation tells us what God said must shortly come to pass.

Put another way, we are no longer in a normal world; we are in a world that is in transition.

We are receiving apocalyptic overtones (or warnings) from God, and as disturbing as this transition and these warnings are, they are child’s play compared to what is coming.

Here are some of the most recent events that caught my attention:

One, on Dec. 11, 2020, the U.S. Supreme Court refused to hear Texas’ lawsuit against Pennsylvania, Michigan, Wisconsin, and Georgia.

The court did not deny that Texas has evidence of widespread voter fraud (Texas had an abundance of evidence, and other groups do too); the Supreme Court just refused to hear the evidence (this is what most courts have done).

The battle is not over, but it will take a miracle for Trump to win, and that is in God’s hands (Sydney Powell still has cases pending in Michigan, Arizona, Wisconsin, and Georgia; Republicans seated delegates in Pennsylvania, Nevada, Georgia and Arizona that voted for Trump in opposition to the Democrat delegates; an evaluation of the Dominion voting system used in Antrim County, Michigan, found an error rate that exceeded 68% by shifting thousands of Trump votes to Biden, and a judge has issued an order for the evaluation data to be released).

As I see it, Trump has been standing in the way of the shadow government’s plan to establish a world government.

There are people (called globalists) that want all the power, all the money, and to tell everyone what to believe and how to live.

This is not a conspiracy theory.

Politicians issuing unscientific job-destroying lockdown orders and social-distancing orders (that they themselves do not obey) to enrich their rich friends and doners, and impoverish the middle class, are evidence, and it will get much worse.

It is a forerunner of the Apocalypse with its Satanic world government and religion.

It is an effort to fundamentally change this world (legalize abortions, LGBTQ rights, drugs, rebellion against the God of the Bible, divide Israel, etc.).

The world’s most powerful people are trying to establish a government that owns everything and leaves ordinary citizens with owning nothing.

Sydney Powell recently said powerful elites have been using the Dominion voting systems to stay in power around the world for 15-20 years to control elections and elect and re-elect themselves and their friends.

Globalists intend to number people, mark people, subdue people, control people, change people’s DNA, control people’s healthcare, replace cash with a digital currency, decide who can buy and sell, lockdown and silence the Church, tell people who to worship, etc.

Trump was a major impediment to their plan from Hell (Biden supports most of it), and it now looks like America’s corrupt election has put the globalists’ “Great Reset” on a fast track.

Many Americans will never accept Biden’s presidency as legitimate; his health and corruption will not let him be president very long. He will be replaced, and America’s leading role in the world will likely be replaced by several leaders (perhaps 10) from a handful of nations.

Here is the good news: This world is not the Christian’s home, and the success of the voter fraud seems to indicate that true Christians will soon be going home.

Dislike their sin if you want, but pray for them because the kings of the earth, and the great men, and the rich men, and the chief captains, and the mighty men, and every bondman, and every free man, will soon hide themselves in the dens and in the rocks of the mountains; And they will say to the mountains and rocks, Fall on us, and hide us from the face of him that sitteth on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb: For the great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand? (Rev. 6:15-16).

Two, it has been reported that Gen. Michael Flynn, former National Security Advisor to Pres. Trump, said in an Op-ed that was published on Dec. 10, 2020, “We do not want a world governed by tyrants whom no one has elected and who want to have power to destroy us. We understand what their plan is: to eliminate dissent, subdue any criticism and outlaw those who do not submit unconditionally to the dictatorship of the ‘new world order.’”

These are apocalyptic overtones from a former advisor to the Pres. of the U.S., or I don’t know what the words mean.

Three, on Dec. 6, 2020, Israel’s Prime Min. Netanyahu displayed a proclamation that will be prominently displayed on the wall of Israel’s Cabinet room to honor Pres. Trump for recognizing Jerusalem as the capital of Israel.

The proclamation will be displayed next to a proclamation recognizing Pres. Truman’s May 14, 1948, recognition of Israel as a nation.

What these two presidents have done is considered two of the greatest events in the history of Israel.

Pres. Trump has also recognized Israel’s sovereignty over the Golan Heights, Israel’s right to large areas of Judea and Samaria, withdrawn from the Iranian Nuclear Deal, and obtained normalization agreements between Israel, Bahrain, and the UAE.

Sudan and Morocco have agreed to sign a normalization agreement.

On Dec. 12, 2020, the Kingdom of Bhutan signed a normalization agreement.

If Jordan and Egypt are included, Israel will soon have agreements with 7 nations (Two more appear to be waiting in the wings: Oman and Indonesia, making it 9).

We are not seeing the covenant with many, but we are seeing many nations moving toward peace with Israel and agreeing to a covenant of peace that will allow all faiths to worship on the Temple Mount (this is opening the door for a rebuilt Temple, and I believe it will be hurriedly rebuilt during the Apocalypse).

Four, I do not know what to think about this next item, but it is so serious, I have decided to pass it on just to make people aware in case something happens.

On Dec. 8, 2020, it was reported that the U.S. has been positioning large numbers of troops, equipment and supplies in the continental U.S. and Aircraft carriers off the east and west coasts of the U.S. in case the U.S. Supreme Court voids the election (see raptureready.com End Times News, Dec. 11, 2020).

According to the report, rumors are circulating that some Democrats are planning to ask the UN to remove Trump from office, if the U.S. Supreme Court voids the election.

This sounds absurd, but absurdity is becoming common in the U.S., and considering everything the Democrats have done to remove Trump in the last 4 years, why would they stop just because the U.S. Supreme Court voids the election?

Five, on Dec. 6, 2020, Pastor John MacArthur told his congregation, the world’s governments “have done something that’s never been done in human history. That is, they have made the issue (of Covid) and the response global. Now we are a global world. And that is a setup that we’ve been waiting for through redemptive history since the Lord promised that there would come, in the future, an Antichrist who would have a global government.”

Six, on Dec. 9, 2020, it was reported that former VP Biden said he will sign an order on day one of his administration (if he has one) to require people in federal buildings, on planes, trains, buses, and wherever possible to wear masks for the next 100 days as a patriotic act, and this is just part of what he intends to do.

The big question here is will citizens be required to be vaccinated as a patriotic act.

Seven, here is a link to Dr. Pierre Kory’s interesting testimony (10 min.; hundreds of thousands of views) before the U.S. Senate Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs Committee about a cure (Ivermectin) for Covid.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tq8SXOBy-4w

It is obvious from the comments that many citizens believe that some government officials are not interested in a cure for Covid because they view Covid as part of a globalist scheme to bring in a world government.

Finally, God loves you, and if you have not done so, sincerely admit that you are a sinner; believe that Jesus is the virgin born, sinless Son of God who died for the sins of the world, was buried, and raised from the dead; ask Him to forgive your sins, cleanse you, come into your heart and be your Saviour; then tell someone that you have done this.

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regaldragonempress · 7 years

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The 1969 Easter Mass Incident

Content Warnings: Religion, food, symbolic cannibalism, symbolic gore, penis mention, Blasphemy, SO MUCH BLASPHEMY, weapons, war mention. Mind the warnings and your health always comes first. Its a HILARIOUS story, I promise.

As always, all the names have been changed to protect people’s identities. This is a long one, so Press J now if you want to skip it.

When my dad was a young man and still a practicing catholic, he participated in a small church communion that nearly got him and six other people excommunicated.

Father Patrick ran a small church outside of California Polytechnical and tended to be… rather more liberal in his interpretations of scripture than most of the church was, which made him something of a hit with the local students and liberally-inclined populace. Pat went to all manner of civil demonstrations, condemned the shit out of the vietnam war and the politics that lead to it and so on. In January of 1969 a series of incidents lead him to start exploring “nontraditional” means of holding Mass as a means of reaching out to his community and exploring his own faith, which ultimately culminated in the 1969 Easter Mass Incident.

For those of you who weren’t raised catholic, Communion is this ritual where you become one with Jesus by eating a really horrible bland wafer cookie and taking a shot of wine (called hosts), which then *literally* become the flesh and blood of jesus in your mouth, allowing him to become one with you. It’s big McFucking deal, and you have the opportunity to take communion at every mass. All this had to be explained to me second-hand because after this and Dad’s 51 days in the army, Dad decided he wouldn’t inflict religion on any children he might have in the future.

“Hey dad,” Six-year old me asked the first time he told me this story after my practicing friends were talking about getting wine at church. “Isn’t that cannibalism?”

“We’re getting to that.” He waved.

The First Incident in January when, due to a serious cock-up by the church, all the hosts Father Pat received were moldering and spoiled and probably would have killed someone if he’d actually fed anyone them. But it was the first mass of the year, when a peak number of people came in after vowing to got to church more for new year’s. He couldn’t NOT have communion.

“I’ll bake.” offered Maria, the parish secretary and probably the best baker in the county. “So we have hosts. Jesus will understand.”

Father Patrick, not one to pass up the chance at Maria’s cooking, immediately agreed.

A Host is supposed to be composed solely of unleavened wheat flour and water, which is why they taste terrible. It’s a theological point of some importance relating to Exodus or something but Maria had an important theological counterpoint: Jesus both divine and loves all his children, ergo, Jesus would neither be a nasty bland cracker nor want his children to suffer as such and so instead, she made Mexican wedding cookies.

They were a SPECTACULAR hit. Many praises were heaped upon father patrick for the Much Better Wafers and that they’d be sure to show up next week as long as Maria kept making them. Father Patrick figuring that hey, anything that gets people in the doors is good and really, if it was turning into Jesus once inside the parishioner, did it really matter what the wafers were made of? So he continued to let Maria bake the Hosts, and encouraged her to try out new flavors, like nutmeg and cinnamon.

This went on swimmingly for a few weeks until The Bishop showed up for a surprise visit the same week Maria decided to experiment with rainbow sprinkles.

Dad remembers hearing the bishop through the windows roaring “THE HOLY BODY OF CHRIST DOES! NOT! CONTAIN! RAINBOW! SPRINKLES!”

The matter went clean up to The Archbishop, who decided that while Pat was probably right to not feed spoiled hosts to his parish, he should attend some remedial classes to remember what Communion was all about, so that if it happened again, he’s come up with a more suitable substitute.

Father Patrick returned in late March, full of spite and some fascinating new ideas.

“Is this where the Cannibalism happens?” Six-year-old me asked, eager to get to the good parts.

At his remedial classes, the teacher had stressed the importance of transubstantiation, aka “That bit where the wafer and wine, Actually, Literally, become the flesh of Jesus Christ and we expect you to swallow.” Also on the syllabus was understanding the importance of Christ’s suffering and sacrifice.

“So, I was thinking about Easter Service.” Said father Patrick one afternoon while dad was doing his computer science homework at the church because his dorm was a barely-standing fire hazard and the library was where you went to have sex.

“Well, we do re-enactments for christmas. Why not on easter? Why not re-enact the crucifixion of Christ right here? Make it real for everyone. Trauma’s great for bonding a community together.”

“Who’s playing Jesus?” asked Maria, always one for a good laugh.

“That’s the thing- A Host, it doesn’t look much like flesh, right? Doesn’t look like much of anything, really. Not great for reinforcing one’s belief.

What if, instead, we- and I mean you, Maria, I can’t cook to save my life- make a man-sized loaf of bread, maybe in the shape of a T, and we have some of the boys dress up as romans and whip the bread and we pour the wine on so it’s bleeding and them- then we make a big wooden cross and actually nail the bread to it with, I don’t know, railroad spikes, more wine all over. And we raise the cross, all while telling the story of the crucifixion.”

He paused to take a drink, Maria slowly crumpling onto the floor in horrified laughter and Dad now thoroughly distracted from his homework.

“Then we lower the cross, and invite everyone who wants to take communion up to tear a hunk of Jesus off. Just descend into his corpse like vultures. I think that’d really be a good bonding experience for the church.” he nodded thoughtfully. “The hard, part, I suppose, will be finding enough romans.”

“I WANNA BE LONGINUS.” bellowed my father, barreling into the room.

And so, the plan was hatched. Dad hit up every other guy in the Church and eventually rounded up four more romans, three of them from the Education Department of Cal Poly, and one guy from Chemistry, who just liked to watch things burn.

This, being a play, naturally meant that there was a rehearsal, and test Bread jesus. Maria had decided that if they were going to start being extra-literal, she needed to make the most lifelike Bread jesus possible, and made a distressingly buff and human-proportioned Jesus by Advanced bread-braiding, complete with plaited hair, quail’s-egg-and-raisin eyes, bready muscle groups, and an eight-pack because why not make the lord completely shredded?* She also made the important theological decision that since Jesus loves everyone and was happy to die in spite of all his suffering, he should be smiling, and had a toothy corn-kernel smile. He was Wonderful and Terrifying all at once.

“Maria,” asked Father Patrick after a few minutes of delighted and horrified cooing over Jesus’ toothy grin and abdominals. “Why is he wearing a tea-towel?

“Well, he’s the Son of God. A Man. With all that entails.” She said, pointedly staring at Father Patrick while everyone stared at the suspiciously lumpy tea-towel. “And he might have… burnt, slightly.”

Everyone nodded and agreed that the tea-towel was the best course of action. The rehearsal goes splendidly and everyone agrees that this is the most delicious Jesus they’ve ever had.

Easter Sunday arrives and the Church is PACKED, from the more lapsed Catholics showing up for a high holiday, parents visiting for spring break and a whole horde of newcomers who had gotten wind that something was up and they ought to come.

Dad is a lanky as hell 21-year old composed mostly of technical jargon and acne but he is STOKED to be playing Longinus, the roman that speared Jesus on the cross, because he gets to do the BEST technical effect in the whole parade. Since he came in at the end me missed a good portion of the sermon, but did hear the “oooh” from the crowd as the massive cross was dragged in by the other Romans, followed by horrified gasps and high screams and a discernible “What the FUCK” as they brought in Bread Jesus 2.0, whipping him enthusiastically, and hammering him into the cross, the sound of wine splashing onto the floor loud in the terrified silence of that Parishioners.

Finally Father Patrick gets to the part about Longinus, and Dad comes sprinting down the aisle as hard as he can, because in order for Bread Jesus to be seen by everyone, his middle had to be about 10 feet off the ground, so Dad had to run, shrieking latin curses, down the length of the church, with a big honking spear and take a flying leap at Jesus in order to spear him in the gut.

Please take moment to imagine you are some normal god-fearing catholic who has decided to visit little bobby or maybe patricia at college and you’re all going to church together like a nice family and this Fucking madman has decided to go all Silence of the Lambs on mass and now there’s some sort of underfed translucently pale man in ill-fitting Roman armor and cape flying at a horrifying glutinous effigy of your lord and savior, with an actual fucking spear, screaming like a madman. Don’t you feel yourself drawing closer to God already? Defensively, perhaps, like an octopus trying to ooze itself into a crevice against the horrors of the ocean.

However, two things happen that were not planned on

1. Dad misses. In his defense, Bread Jesus is close to but not quite the size of a man- more like the size of a doughy teenager, and his middle is a small target 10 feet up in the air and dad is has a computer science minor, not an athletics scholarship. He misses by about 8 inches and instead very solidly stabs Bread Jesus right through the groin, leaving a big hole in Maria’s tea-towel and the spear jutting out at a decidedly… attentive angle, as Bread Jesus’s Bread Dick drops to the floor with a splat. Nobody notices this, however because

2. In rehearsal, Dad had managed to get the spear right in jesus’s navel but neither Father Patrick nor the other romans could get the wine up there to make his middle appropriately bloodied.

Maria come up with the Genius solution that since wine is made of grapes and Jam is made of grapes, she could make a jelly-filled Jesus for Dad to stab. There was a normal-sized test loaf and when dad stabbed it on the table, it had a nicely gooey dribbling effect.

However, this time the loaf was torso-sized, still hot from the oven and upright, so when dad speared the very end of the loaf, all the steam-pressured jam had collected at the bottom and a spray of lukewarm smuckers exploded out from bread jesus, turning the first three pews into a splash zone of symbolic entrails.

There was a hot, sticky minute of complete silence in the church after that.

Then, Father Patrick indicated it was time for the cross to be lowered, and continued on with the normal preparations of the Host, he himself covered in hot smuckers, as though nothing particularly ordinary was occuring, quietly kicking the bread-dick under the altar. At the end of it all, Father Patrick and invited everyone up with the Last Oration:

“Thou, O God, has kindly allowed us to have a part in this Holy Sacrifice; for this we give Thee thanks. Accept it now to Thy glory and be ever mindful of our weakness. Amen.”

…And everybody came up, shuffling like terrified zombies, pinching off tiny bits at first but then the madness took them and they began tearing apart bread jesus by the handful, weeping as they partook, scattered prayers and begging for forgiveness. The whole congregation was kneeling about the altar, tearful and united in their guilt and their need for God.

“IS CHURCH ALWAYS LIKE THAT?” six-year-old me asked, absolutely stoked. I’d convert on the spot if I got a show like that.

“No, it’s normally bland wafers and lots of chanting in latin.”

“Well that’s boring as hell.” I remember muttering and Dad snorting the coffee he was drinking out of his nose.

As people filed silently out of the Church to a gloriously sunny California afternoon, faces wan and smeared with wine and jam, Father patrick turned to Maria and asked “You don’t think that was too much, do you?”

“No.” Said Maria with a sarcastic deadpan so intense it was hard to tell from sincerity.

It was the exact same tone she used when the Archbishop and Six other high clergy showed up, clutching a letter someone had written, Livid and almost foaming at the mouth, demanding to know if such blasphemy had transpired.

“No. That’s crazy.” She said, staring down the archbishop like he was an idiot.

“Such imaginations some people have!” Said Father Patrick, much less convincingly.

“And you- you didn’t… Spear an effigy of our lord and savior?” the archbishop demanded of my father.

“Do I look like I can jump that high?” Dad asked, having in the interim been drafted for 51 days then nearly died of pneumonia from it, and therefore no longer afraid of the Church, the Law or God.

Somewhat relieved that he’d only received the extremely detailed ramblings of a doddering parishioner, the Archbishop sat down and complemented Maria on her most excellent Mexican Wedding Cookies, may he please have another plate for his nerves? Perhaps the ones with sprinkles?

Dad went on to help build the internet, Father Patrick converted to Buddhism and Maria became a Nun.

*For those of you wondering, Jesus was made of Challah.

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