#and even SHE admits my high school in particular disturbed her and she keeps saying she wishes she transferred me

[vaugarde]

on my commute today i got like this fitness inspiration ad on youtube where it was like cheesy “defy the odds” kinda stuff and it blasted me back to high school where like this guy who had lost his arm as a kid came to the school and did like this really forced (well meaning but i hated it bc the student they had running it was the same girl calling me slurs and assaulting me with books and they took this opportunity to bully me further bc they kept insisting on being assigned to me) anti bullying session based around like “you can do P.E. without being fully able bodied” and again i personally hated it but my teacher that hosted it at the time just played the video and took the opportunity to just mock him for losing his arm and the whole class and her just laughed and joked about calling him “stumpy” or something and i feel like. this paints a decent picture of my high school personally

[words-writ-in-starlight]

For the ask meme: Sarah x Jareth (I almost wrote that as David Bowie), 14, 22, and 29!

I am RIGHT NOW watching Labyrinth with my partners, EXCELLENT timing!  Cut for length.

14) When one has a cold, what does the other do?

Jareth has never been “sick” a day in his immortal life.  He’s been stabbed, poisoned, cursed, and hungover, but even the weakest goblin is rarely “sick” and Jareth hasn’t spend enough time around mortals to have a good grasp of the fact that nonfatal illnesses even exist.    

Point is, there’s an intermediary period between Sarah pointedly ignoring every owl in sight, no matter the coloring, and Sarah becoming the Goblin Queen where she forces him to visit the mortal world more than he has in living memory, including his.  (Jareth has a vague sense that he might have been here more often once--perhaps when he was young, before he was King--but he’s been King so long, and the Labyrinth has a chain-tight grip on its own.)  Toby is entranced, and also terrified--he doesn’t buy Jareth’s glamour for a second.  Sarah spends half her life running interference on Jareth’s behavior, and the other half doing a double major in political sciences and folklore.  Which she decided to get before she agreed to start talking to Jareth again, thank you, kindly fuck off.

Point is, eventually even Sarah’s suspiciously excellent immune system clocks out for the day, and she wakes up with a splitting headache, a wet and congested cough, and a sense that her skin is being abraded by even her softest sheets.  She’s not sick-sick, it’s just a nasty head cold with a fever, but she calls out of class and flops down on the couch and mumbles non-answers to the goblin who lives in the top of her closet when it scuttles out to see why she’s still home.

She doesn’t even realize Jareth is there until she feels a shadow fall over her and cracks an eye to peer up at him blearily.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks in his most forbidding Goblin King voice, and she groans and pulls her blanket over her head.

“Go away, Jareth, I’m tired.”

“I will not,” he says automatically as he jerks the blanket down to her shoulder, and then he’s crouching down in front of her, mismatched eyes dangerous and inhumanly bright in the yellow light of her little dorm apartment.  “Who did this to you, Sarah?  I will not leave without an answer.”

“No one,” she says, squinting up at him.  “It’s just a cold.”

“’Cold’,” he repeats, in the same skeptical way that he said ‘phone’ when she complained about his unannounced visits.  “I am not aware of that particular toxin.”

“I’m just sick, it’s not like I’ve been poisoned.”

“An illness?”  He pauses, pulls a glove off one hand and reaches out to touch her cheek experimentally.  His fingers are always cold compared to hers, and she shivers hard when he touches her skin, but he doesn’t flinch.  There’s something odd on his face, a locked-up hardness, and he says, “What is it?”

“A cold,” Sarah says again, pulling her blankets back up to her chin and shutting her eyes.  “I’m just going to feel like garbage for a few days.  Probably less if you let me sleep.  Come back and bother me on Saturday.”

He doesn’t leave.  Whatever, Sarah decides--that’s his problem.  She’s tired and feverish and annoyed and she’s going to sleep whether Jareth likes it or not.  She thinks he’s talking to someone--probably that snitch in the closet--about something--sounded vaguely like library and cold--but that’s Not Her Concern.  Sarah is done here.  She feels the end of the couch sink down by her feet just before she falls asleep.

When she wakes up, the Goblin King is still there, reading a book filched from one of her shelves, pen tapping idly against his lips--he’s marking up the fairy tales again, god, she hates his guts sometimes--and there’s a series of tidy piles on the rickety coffee table.  It looks like someone robbed a pharmacy and cleaned out their Cough And Cold aisle, and then sorted their booty by color, which suggests probably goblins just smart enough to recognize a word their king showed them, but not smart enough to read the labels.

Sarah smiles a little and grabs some cough drops from the top of the red pile, and condescends to drape her legs over Jareth’s lap before she goes back to sleep.

22) Where does their first kiss happen?

Sarah has a much harder time in college than she expected.  Not with being away from home, although she does miss Toby something awful and spends every second of her breaks with him.  No, the problem is that she has to share a room.  All the way through freshman year, she has a roommate, and--

And the roommate is fine, she’s a perfectly inoffensive girl from Chicago who keeps her things on her own side of the shoebox room they share and doesn’t bring anyone back to the room and never makes noise late at night, but Sarah hates it.  She can’t quite put her finger on why--is a little afraid of what she might say if pressed, if she’s honest.  She has these half-finished thoughts that involve words like territory and invader and mine.  Sarah has worked very hard not to be a selfish teenager or, possibly worse, the kind of girl who sometimes talks to a Goblin King and wonders privately if his final offer was serious.

Sarah has no plans to be the Goblin Queen, is the point, no matter what Hoggle mutters under his breath when she admits, the summer after her first year of college, that she’s talking to Jareth again.  (He just--he can come see her, there, and he can look like a person, and none of her other friends can, and people are weirdly nervous of Sarah, these days, and she was lonely, okay, so she let an owl into her room while her roommate was gone, and let them who never made a bad choice in college throw the first stone.)  And that means getting over herself and never voicing any of the thoughts that creep into her head about how her roommate, who has every right to sleep here, deserves to be thrown in an oubliette for disturbing Sarah’s peace.

Sarah is better than that, these days.

The only person who isn’t fooled is, of course, Jareth, who is very perceptive and also very persistently determined to visit regularly.  He smothers smirks when he sees Sarah force herself to be kind, and once offers, sweet as arsenic, to take Sarah’s roommate off her hands if you just say the right words, precious.  Sarah glares at him and pointedly turns her back, and he laughs as he leaves.  But he never does anything to her roommate, and Sarah doesn’t think about how Jareth never actually does anything to her space or anything in it, and doesn’t think about the rules that fairy tales handed down for millennia about places that fall under the power of a creature not to be toyed with.

She’s signed up to room with the same girl for sophomore year, because she doesn’t have a reason to claim a single and seniors always snap up the free ones.  But she shows up to get her key, and the registrar frowns and clicks a few things and then shrugs and hands Sarah a key.  He gives Sarah directions to one of the buildings up-campus, and Sarah goes, not particularly suspicious--she’s never been to the up-campus buildings, because people are nervous around Sarah and, while she’s manages to make a friend or two, no one really invites her back to their room.  Into their space.

Sarah opens her door and stands there, staring, mildly shocked.

Apparently, she is now the proud resident of a senior-only dorm room, one of the very tiny apartments that are supposed to house two people, with a kitchenette and a couch and everything.  There’s no one else’s name on the other door.  Sarah is late moving in, but there’s no sign of anyone here, except--

The Goblin King is sitting at the desk in the bedroom that gets the most sunlight, feet kicked lazily up on the wooden top and playing a pair of crystals between his fingers, and he smirks at her.

“I know, I know,” he drawls, vanishing the crystals with a twist of his fingers.  “I have no power over you.  But the school’s quartermaster--”

“Registrar,” Sarah corrects automatically.  He makes a dismissive gesture.  “Did you--do this?”

“Of course,” Jareth says.  “This...situation is apparently the height of luxury at this institution.  You did so despise that fluttering creature--”

“Molly was perfectly nice--”

“--and I see no reason for you to endure her for another year.”

Sarah--should really say that he’s an interfering, high-handed bastard who pretends that he has the divine right to arrange her life to his liking, and keeps rules-lawyering his way around her totally legitimate freedom from his interference.

Sarah really doesn’t want to share a room again.

“What do you want in return?”  She doesn’t even pretend that she’s not suspicious, and he puts on an offended face, bringing his feet down and pressing his lips together.

“It is a gift, Sarah.”

...oh.  Sarah blinks for a moment.  He sounds--geniunely annoyed.  Gifts are, in her knowledge of the Underground and the fae alike, serious business.

She acts without thinking, takes a step forward and tucks her hair behind her ear, and kisses the high point of his cheekbone above his frown.  When she pulls back, she sees a moment of transparent, raw shock before he orders his face into a self-satisfied and haughty raised eyebrow.

“Don’t say anything,” Sarah tells him, feeling her cheeks burn.  “If you can keep your mouth shut, this might resemble a nice moment.”

“If I had known that I could claim debts in kisses--”

“You can’t!” Sarah interrupts loudly.  “Don’t get any ideas!  Now get out and let me unpack!”

29) Why do they fall a little bit more in love?

Jareth is already thoroughly decided that Sarah is eventually going to agree to be his queen, one way or another, by the time she finally sighs and opens her window and tells the owl that if he’s very very good, and doesn’t talk to Toby, and looks like a regular person, she will speak to him just to get him to stop lurking.  He breaks all of those rules very quickly, of course, but she doesn’t kick him out--instead, she yells at him, and he puts on his coldest and haughtiest voice as he snaps back at her, and it’s fun.  Jareth never could turn down a challenge, and it’s been a long time since he faced a challenge he might lose, and just like the first time, it makes him ruthlessly determined to win.

It’s not news to him, therefore, that he loves her.

She manages to lie, obfuscate, and generally bullshit her way around admitting what she does at school for nearly three years.  But she starts writing her thesis and slips up, and Jareth is stretched on her bed in the apartment he arranged for her like he lives there when he idly picks up a piece of paper and skims her proposal and she sees his eyebrow rise slowly before he holds it up at her.

“What’s this, precious?”

“Homework,” she says flatly.

“‘Thesis Proposal,’” he reads aloud, drawling.  “‘Sarah Williams.  Proposed title: I’d’ve Et Thy Heart of Flesh: Fairy Tales as a Portrait of Royalty Through History.  Majors: Folklore and...’”  His mocking drawl pauses, and he can’t quite hide his transparent delight as he finishes the sentence.  “‘...and Political Science.’”  

When he looks up from the page, she has a stubborn set to her mouth and a bright spark in her eyes, almost angry.  “It’s not about you, you arrogant prick, I picked my majors years ago.  Give me that, I need the notes.”

“And what do fairy tales say about royalty, dearest?”

“That they’re prideful jerks who steal kids for armies and play favorites--the paper, Jareth.”

“And what do you plan to do with your degree in politics?”

“Regicide,” Sarah snaps, and jumps out of her chair to snatch the paper out of his fingers.  He lets her, and smiles at the way she blushes stark red across her cheekbones and down her throat, and wonders whether she would like the emerald ring he’s kept in his private chambers for the past three years.

Mortals have been doing diamonds, for betrothals, but he thinks green suits her better.

[bookaddict24-7]

REVIEWS OF THE WEEK!

Books I’ve read so far in 2022!

Friend me on Goodreads here to follow my more up to date reading journey for the year!

___

97. Survivor Song by Paul Tremblay--⭐️⭐️

I think this author was a one-hit wonder for me. I'll keep trying but this book fell flat, especially after I'd read that awesome synopsis. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this. I didn't hate it, but I think I just felt indifferent? A HEAD FULL OF GHOSTS was just so eerie and captivating and disturbing that it set an incredibly high bar for me. If anything, this one left me with that aftertaste that CABIN AT THE END OF THE WORLD left me with...but a little less bitter for having built it up so much in my head? This is a very particular kind of "zombie" book (although we are told many times that it isn't) and I don't think this type was for me. There are a lot of unanswered questions and I wish we could have gotten some closure. Like I said, I'll try more of his books, but this was a meh for me.

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98. In My Dreams I Hold A Knife by Ashley Winstead--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

This book was MESSY but so entertaining, up until the very end. Everyone had secrets and no one was a good person. I had heard a lot of hype for this book before I picked it up, which I admit worried me a little bit--especially because this is a thriller. It's really hard for a thriller to have me as hooked as this book had me. I can't say too much because I don't want to spoil it, but if you want a messy good time, give this one a go! It was just very, very entertaining and I don't know what else to say about it.

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99. New From Here by Kelly Yang--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

When the coronavirus hits Hong Kong, ten-year-old Knox Wei-Evans’s mom makes the last-minute decision to move him and his siblings back to California, where they think they will be safe. Suddenly, Knox has two days to prepare for an international move—and for leaving his dad, who has to stay for work. At his new school in California, Knox struggles with being the new kid. His classmates think that because he’s from Asia, he must have brought over the virus. At home, Mom just got fired and is panicking over the loss of health insurance, and Dad doesn’t even know when he’ll see them again, since the flights have been cancelled. And everyone struggles with Knox’s blurting-things-out problem. As racism skyrockets during COVID-19, Knox tries to stand up to hate, while finding his place in his new country. Can you belong if you’re feared; can you protect if you’re new? And how do you keep a family together when you’re oceans apart? Sometimes when the world is spinning out of control, the best way to get through it is to embrace our own lovable uniqueness.

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100. All That’s Left in the World by Erik J. Brown--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I really enjoyed this book! This was another book that I've recently read that has briefly mentioned the pandemic and I'm really curious now to see what other books mention it. I loved the slow burn between these two characters and how their love for each other grew over time. They went through so much together and honestly, it was never a dull moment. There was one particular moment that had me anxious for their safety, but it was nonstop action. I almost wish that this was part of a series so we could see what other adventures and life-threatening situations they get themselves into. I'm a sucker for this genre of fiction (post-apocalyptic) and Brown's book did NOT disappoint! I'd recommend this to fans of this genre, and to those who want a slow burn romance between two boys who have lost everything and have somehow found each other at the end of the world.

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101. A Woman is No Man by Etaf Rum--⭐️⭐��⭐️⭐️⭐️

TW: Domestic Violence, Sexual Assault (given how she didn't actually want to have sex but it was expected of her), Verbal abuse, depression, parental death, sexism. This was an incredibly tough read. Rum explores topics that hit hard and brings forward discussions that I've personally only ever seen portrayed in media (such as this) and from word of mouth. I am not an Arab, so I don't have any right to say if this was an accurate portrayal of the culture. The only thing I can say is that this was an incredibly hard-hitting novel that can at times be triggering, but important. I normally don't like the jumping of timelines, but I think this one really benefitted from this narrative style. I think it really helped build and give life to the story of these three women in such an oppressive environment. I think it also helped us see everything from different perspectives and just how biased a perspective can be when it's all we have (whether it is an intentional bias or an unconscious one). While this novel not only dealt with the oppression of women and how they are treated like cattle to be married off, it also dealt with domestic violence and the normalization of it, and with (and this could be disputed but this is what I got from Isra's storyline) postpartum depression that just added onto Isra's already fragile mental health after a lifetime of living with domestic violence. I think this novel also dealt with the complexities of family and culture in an interesting and eye-opening way. As much as an outsider would like to yell that familial reputation and expectations shouldn't govern the way a family functions, it's also clear how difficult it would be to change this line of thinking if this is all a person has ever known. One last thing I think is noteworthy is the continuous allusion to doing things the "American Way". All throughout the book, we are told that Americans are too outspoken and are bad influences on the women in the culture (while simultaneously showing us the effect of this in women born and raised in the US). It was interesting seeing these families accept and adapt to the new norms, even if it was in small doses. It's like...we see this growth and hope that it affects our main characters, but if it does, it doesn't happen until it could potentially be too late. Also, because I can't NOT write this in here because I felt so much anger on Isra's behalf: The irony of a man's sperm being the carrier of the sex of a baby is the biggest biology lesson Isra's family needs. The anger I felt for her knowing that it was in fact Adam, the perfect first born son, who was determining (biologically) the sex of their babies but of course, it's all Isra's fault. I'm sorry, but I wanted to smack a bitch. Anyway, this book was incredible from beginning to end. I was hooked immediately and only stopped because I needed to sleep. I think this is also a powerful book to pick up--especially if you're wanting to diversify your shelves. Be aware of the trigger warnings.

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102. Hook, Line, & Sinker by Tessa Bailey--⭐️⭐️⭐️.5

While I am in the minority that liked the first book more (I’ll never get over the dining room scene and the enemies to lovers trope), I can see why this one is so loved. There was a couple of really spicy scenes in here that I had to fan myself for, but other than that I found that this didn’t hold my attention as much as the first book. The characters were fun and I loved seeing the growth the male love interest experienced. He was also the prime example of how toxic it can be when we set expectations and sexualize children based on their parents, or by saying things like “oh, he’s going to be a heartbreaker!” I loved their romance, but I do wish this story felt more…fulfilling? There were a couple of things that were kind of brushed over or never really concluded because it’s assumed it was fixed off page. And while I appreciate that there wasn’t an extended and unnecessary conflict, I DO think it was a little rush and let one of the characters off the hook a little too easily. This is a great summer read (both books are) and I will always recommend this series—but yeah, I’m definitely a first book fan 😅

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Have you read any of these? Would you recommend them?

___

Happy reading!

[cosmic-goddess-leo]

Familiar Face - Ukai Keishin x Reader

Summary: Ukai catches up with an old friend who has returned to Miyagi after being gone for 7 years.

Word Count: 4469

Warnings: SMUT. If you are uncomfortable with sex then DON’T READ THIS.

Author’s Note: I like dropping hints that I like older men... I like older men. Also, special thanks to the Haiku Writer’s Chat for helping me with this fic! 

Tagging: @cmllnc​ @haik-whoo​

“And look at this picture! He totally went bald, it’s only been a couple years and he’s completely bald!”

Ukai sighed deeply, trying to tune out Shimada’s and Takinoue’s gossip as he flipped through a magazine at the store counter. 

Shimada had recently made it a point to friend all their old classmates on FaceBook, claiming it would be good to ‘get in touch’ with everyone and set up a reunion.

Ukai was sure it was an attempt to rekindle old flames with their female classmates.

“Why haven’t you joined FaceBook, Ukai? If you join and you friend me, I’ll only be a couple more people away from having our whole class on here!” Shimada exclaimed, continuing to scroll through his feed while Takinoue looked over his shoulder.

“I don’t need a bunch of strangers to know my business,” Ukai replied, not bothering to glance up at them from his magazine, “If they matter, they’ll already know.”

Shimada huffed before returning to his recommended friends list.

A chirp from the phone followed by an excited gasp caused Ukai to give another irritated sigh.

“(Y/n) friended me back!” Shimada said excitedly.

Ukai finally looked up from the reading material, resisting the urge to completely set it aside and attempt to snatch the phone from his friend’s hands.

“Woah! She looks totally different- she messaged me!”

Well, that was enough for Ukai to toss the magazine aside and try to get a look at the phone.

“What? What’d she say?”

“Oh nowww you’re interested!” Shimada huffed, shielding the phone from Ukai’s eyes. “She said she’s moving back to town for work. She wants to meet for dinner and drinks tonight.”

Ukai would never admit to it, but that made his heart drop. He hadn’t seen or heard from (Y/n) in 7 years.

She decided to go to college in the city, meaning she left everything behind. Including Ukai. After being best friends since middle school (and boyfriend and girlfriend their third year of high school) she just left.

It wasn’t like Ukai didn’t understand. He totally understood why she wanted to go. That didn’t make their breakup any easier though.

“Lucky for you, she’s asking me to invite you and Takinoue.” Shimada smiled, typing out his reply to her.

“What are you saying?” Ukai asked, crossing his arms and sitting back in his chair.

“That we’ll see her at 7 at our old spot.” Shimada replied, sending the message before any of them could object. Not that Ukai would.

He would have to haul ass back to the shop from Karasuno, get changed into something presentable, then haul ass to the restaurant. But he would do it if it meant seeing (Y/n) again.

And that is exactly what he did.

He rushed his last words to the team before sprinting out of the gym, leaving the the boys confused and Takeda scrambling to come up with words of encouragement on the spot.

Once Ukai arrived at the restaurant, he was showered and dressed in jeans and a casual button-up. Something to show he tried but not really.

Shimada and Takinoue had seated themselves to face the door, meaning (Y/n)’s back was to Ukai when he arrived. Once the two started to wave Ukai over, (Y/n) turned to look at him and smiled.

Ukai was suddenly 18 years old again; palms sweaty and knees weak from that familiar smile.

“Keishin!” (Y/n) got up from her spot and leapt into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck in a tight embrace he wasn’t expecting. “It’s been so long!”

He quickly returned the hug, lifting her off her tip-toes for a moment. “Too long.”

Ukai set her back down, pulling out of the embrace and repressing the blush he had felt creeping up his neck.

The two sat down, all while (Y/n) continued staring at Ukai. “You look so different, look at this hair!” she beamed, lightly tugging on a blonde strand of hair. “You got your ears pierced too!”

“Yeah,” Ukai smiled, scratching at the back of his head, “I went a little overboard after graduation but I think it fits me...” More like after you left...

“Well I love it. It definitely fits you.” (Y/n) smiled, her gaze lingering on him before turning back to her drink.

“Well, let’s toast! To rekindling old friendships!” Takinoue held up his glass, clinking it against the other three.

Ukai watched (Y/n) from the corner of his eye as he sipped at his beer. It was almost room temperature since they ordered it before he arrived, but his thoughts were wandering elsewhere.

It would be way too forward to tell her how beautiful she had gotten in the years she was gone. When they finally got together their third year, she was a budding flower, still beautiful in her own right as a young woman. Now she was fully bloomed, radiant and flawless. A woman.

Rather than spilling his guts to her about how much he missed her and how these past 7 years were agony, Ukai spent the night laughing about old times while also catching up on more recent events.

“You’re really coaching at Karasuno huh? And to think you gave your gramps all that shit for sticking around like that...” (Y/n) smirked, downing the last of her drink.

“This is different, they really needed it.” Ukai smiled, tapping his fingers against his glass.

“You guys really needed it too, though.” she quipped, earning a laugh from Shimada and Takinoue.

“And what about you? You said you came back for work. What work?” Ukai asked, lightly nudging (Y/n) with his elbow.

(Y/n) shrugged, “I’m an athletic trainer and physical therapist. I’m interviewing for a job tomorrow. That’s all I’ll say about it because I don’t want to jinx it.” There was a coy smile playing on her lips. Either it was the alcohol or she was up to something.

“Well good lu-” Ukai was cut off by (Y/n) covering his mouth.

“No! You’ll jinx it!” (Y/n) giggled, keeping her palm firmly against his lips.

Ukai responded in kind by dragging his tongue along her palm, earning a squeal of disgust from (Y/n) as she pulled back.

“Sick! Keep your bodily fluids to yourself!” (Y/n) groaned, wiping her hand on his shirt.

“Need I remind you there was a time when you didn’t mind my spit.” Ukai smirked, looking away from her to hide his slight blush.

“Oh I don’t need any reminders there.” (Y/n) replied, rolling her eyes at him.

“I can’t believe you two dated.” Takinoue sighed, resting his chin on his palm.

Ukai sent a small glare his way.

“N-not as in you two weren’t a good fit! It’s more like... we all kind of expected you both to get together, when it finally happened it was like a dream!” he explained.

“He’s right,” Shimada added, slowly nodding. “No more tip-toeing around each other. No more cat and mouse. Just boom! Ukai and (Y/n)! They’re like an elephant! When they walk into a room it’s like, okay! They’re in there!”

Now there was no hiding the blush on Ukai’s cheeks. He looked down at (Y/n), who had started shuffling in her spot.

“O-okay, judging from his volume I think it’s time to call it a night.” (Y/n) said, checking her phone for the time. “I need to get to bed soonish anyway. Interview’s in the afternoon but I still want time to get ready.”

“I can get him home.” Takinoue said, dropping cash on the table and helping Shimada up. “We’ll catch up again soon.”

Ukai and (Y/n) bid them goodbye as they began fishing for their wallets.

“You back home home? Or have you found a place?” Ukai asked, helping (Y/n) onto her feet once she paid her fair share of the tab.

She shook her head, “Im in a hotel kinda nearby. Thought it would be weird going back to my parents’ place as a 26 year old...”

Ukai chuckled, following her out of the restaurant. “I don’t blame you.”

The two went silent for a bit, shuffling their feet and hesitating to make eye contact.

“...Shimada never could hold his liquor, huh?” Ukai asked, earning a giggle from (Y/n).

“You’d think after all these years he would have learned...” she mused, running a hand through her hair.

They both went silent again until (Y/n) spoke up, her tone conveying an inkling of hope.

“I have to get up early and all but even then... I’m still kind of thirsty...”

Ukai gave her a small smile, “We can get some beer on the house from the shop...?”

(Y/n) smiled back, “I’d like that.”

He offered (Y/n) his arm, hiding his excitement when she linked their arms and began walking with him in the direction of the shop.

He was sure to lock the door behind them, keeping the lights off so they wouldn’t be disturbed. Even though the shop sign read ‘closed,’ some of the Karasuno boys would still try to get in if the lights were on.

“Do we get to drink in the dark the rest of the night?” (Y/n) asked, taking a swig of her drink.

“We can go upstairs... sit in the living room and talk.” Ukai offered, his palms getting sweaty all over again.

Once (Y/n) accepted, he lead her up the staircase in the back of the store, unlocking the door to his flat and letting her enter first.

“Ooooo, bachelor pad.” She teased, looking around the room. It was surprisingly clean, except for the clothes trail towards the shower he had left earlier.

“Nothing to see here!” he shouted, swiping his boxer briefs from off the floor and throwing them into his bedroom.

(Y/n) giggled, turning away to look at the wall decorations he had strung up. Some movie posters, one karasuno poster, and a couple pictures of their friend group in high school.

She paused at a particular photo of the two of them at graduation, smiling fondly at the memory. “Bring a lot of women up here?”

Ukai had been gathering the rest of the clothes on the floor, pausing at the question. “None that are really noteworthy...”

(Y/n) hummed to herself, tearing her eyes away from the picture and making her way to the couch.

“It’s kind of awkward since the town is small... so I’ve kinda stopped doing that.” he explained, retrieving his beer and sitting beside her.

“Kinda?” she asked.

Ukai shrugged, “I’m only human... I slip up and break my own rules every now and then.”

(Y/n) smiled slightly, shaking her head and taking another drink. “Some things never change...” she mumbled against the bottle.

He kept his eyes on her the whole time, tapping his thumb against the glass. “Did you...?”

(Y/n) bit her lip, unwilling to meet his gaze before taking a big swig of her drink.

“You seemed so sure you would before you left... but it still feels like the same (Y/n).” Ukai continued, slowly looking her over.

“Is it bad if I didn’t change?” she asked, staring at a random corner of the room.

“Not at all...” Ukai paused, unable to hold back a sigh before continuing. “It just makes me wonder... why break up if the only thing that really changed was your zip code...”

“I mean- I did change. I grew up, you did too. I just didn’t want it to end badly because of those growing pains.” (Y/n) explained. “Did... did you think it ended badly?”

“N-no, no I didn’t. I’m grateful it ended the way it did, rather than you falling out of love with me or something... Not that you still love me now- I’m just- Ugh! Bottom line, I’m fine with how things happened. It just... stings...”

(Y/n) chewed at her lip, something Ukai knew she did when she was anxious. He just made things super weird, all cuz he wanted closure.

“Do you have any regrets?” she suddenly asked, finally looking up at him.

Ukai sighed softly, slowly nodding his head. “Yeah... just one... I didn’t go after you.... Do you...?”

(Y/n) chuckled softly, turning back to her bottle. “Yeah actually... I didn’t stay with you.”

The two went silent. Ukai hadn’t meant for the conversation to take this turn. He wasn’t even drunk and he was still spilling his guts over a breakup from 7 years ago.

(Y/n) downed the last of her beer, setting the empty bottle on the coffee table before fully facing Ukai. “Can we try something?”

He raised an eyebrow at her, setting his bottle on the coffee table before turning to her.

“You’re going to kiss me. And if we don’t feel anything, I’ll leave and act like it never happened...” (Y/n) explained. It was a simple set of instructions but it had Ukai’s heart ready to jump out of his chest.

“And if we feel something?” He asked.

(Y/n) shrugged. “I dunno. But I won’t leave...”

Ukai took a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily to regain his confidence.

“Okay,” he opened his eyes, “I’m ready.”

“You’re kissing your ex-girlfriend, not disarming a bomb.” (Y/n) quipped. 

“Well, now I have to take another deep breath because you broke my concentration.” Ukai complained.

“Will you just hurry-”

Without warning, Ukai cupped (Y/n)’s cheeks and pulled her into a gentle, passionate kiss.

He told himself to keep it simple, but 7 years of repressed feelings suddenly began pouring out into this one intimate moment. Before he knew it, (Y/n) was kissing him back, hands clinging to his shirt and pulling him closer.

(Y/n) brushed her tongue over his lip, earning a moan from Ukai as he pulled her body flush against his.

(Y/n) pulled away for a moment, lightly pushed Ukai to lay on his back, then moved between his legs and flush against him.

Ukai breathlessly pulled her into another kiss, sighing shakily against her lips as his hands roamed her body. He was beginning to regret wearing jeans instead of his usual sweat pants.

(Y/n) tossed his hairband aside and began running her fingers through his hair, causing another moan to bubble from his lips.

No other women made him moan like this. But this was (Y/n). (Y/n) who knew him inside and out. (Y/n) who he knew inside and out.

He brushed his hand through her hair, lightly gripping it and pulling her away, tugging her head to the side and dragging his tongue up her throat. She moaned shakily, gripping his shirt so tight that Ukai thought the buttons might pop off.

The sudden feeling of (Y/n) grinding her hips against Ukai’s had him tugging her hair harder and biting her neck.

(Y/n) whined and began shakily unbuttoning his shirt.

He parted from her neck and moved her to sit up, taking off the button-up and his undershirt.

(Y/n) had gotten busy trying to take off her dress, she almost didn’t notice Ukai’s shirtless body.

She went hot, looking over his amazing physique. He looked nothing like this when they were last together. Something special caught her eye, causing her to smirk once her dress was tossed aside.

“When’d you do this?” she asked, brushing her fingers over one of his pierced nipples. Ukai shivered at her touch. He retaliated by reaching around her and unclasping her bra, tossing it away.

“I told you I went overboard after you left...” he mumbled, kneading her breasts.

(Y/n) moaned shakily, peppering needy kisses against Ukai’s lips. “Take me right here...” she murmured between kisses.

Ukai suddenly flipped their position, getting (Y/n) on her back and straddling her. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket, beginning to take a condom out until (Y/n) stopped him.

“Nuh-uh, I’m on the pill. I’m clean. I want you raw.” She panted, hastily unbuckling his belt.

This was a dream come true.

Ukai threw the wallet aside and tugged off (Y/n)’s panties, stuffing them in the pocket of his jeans before tugging his pants halfway down his thighs.

(Y/n)’s eyes went wide at the sight of him. She gripped the couch cushion as he rubbed his tip against her slit, sighing shakily.

“Maybe I should have stretched first...” (Y/n) breathed, hips twitching as Ukai eased the tip inside of her.

“You’ll get a good stretch from this, angel...” he grunted, her old nickname adding onto the pleasure they were both experiencing.

Ukai eased in deeper, his hips stuttering as (Y/n) dug her nails into his arms. His teeth dug into his bottom lip and his eyes screwed shut. They moaned in unison once he was fully inside of her.

“Kei, if you don’t move...” (Y/n) whined, rolling her hips to gain some friction.

Ukai moaned shakily, slowly rocking his hips against her’s. “Y-you’re as tight as the first time we fucked...”

(Y/n) gasped as Ukai suddenly hit her g-spot, prompting him to thrust faster into that spot he instantly recognized. “Has my angel been waiting for me this whole time?”

She moaned louder, dragging her nails down his arms, earning a symphony of moans from him as well.

Ukai hooked one arm under her leg, spreading her legs wider as he continued plowing into her. He struggled to keep himself propped up with the other hand, shaking hard as (Y/n) began to tighten around him.

He pressed his forehead to hers, growling as she stared into his eyes and clawed at his shoulders.

“Keiiii pleaaaase!” she shrieked, squirming against him.

“T-that’s it, angel. Let me have it...” he groaned, brushing his lips against hers.

(Y/n) screamed shakily, burying her face in Ukai’s neck and biting him.

Ukai came after a few more thrusts, emptying himself inside her while he moaned wildly.

They both panted hard, a wave of euphoria crashing into them in the wake of their orgasms.

(Y/n) tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him into a sloppy kiss.

Once they parted, he stood straight and took off his jeans, standing completely bare in front of (Y/n).

She was slightly confused until he lifted her off the couch and took her to his bedroom. He carefully laid her down before flopping onto the bed beside her.

(Y/n) let out a tired giggle, looking Ukai over as he still struggled to catch his breath.

“I think I have a cramp in my leg...” he groaned.

“Want me to rub it out?” (Y/n) teased, reaching towards him and brushing a strand of hair out of his face.

He slowly shook his head before taking her hand and kissing the tip of her middle finger. “Anymore friction from you and my soul will ascend into heaven.”

(Y/n) sighed softly, relaxing into the mattress and closing her eyes. “I shouldn’t stay... I have my job interview tomorrow.”

Ukai moved closer to her, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “I have to open the shop up early tomorrow. I’ll wake you up so you have time to go to your hotel and make sure you’re ready... okay?”

(Y/n) slowly nodded, leaning up and kissing him once more.

“I guess this means we still feel something, huh?” Ukai asked, pulling the covers over their bodies.

“I guess so...” (Y/n) smiled, gently hugging his waist. “Maybe you can take me on a proper date tomorrow night... then it can be official.”

He chuckled softly, the need to sleep overcoming his need to say something clever. “Goodnight, (Y/n)...”

“Goodnight, Kei...”

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

The next day went by like a breeze for Ukai. He got one last kiss from (Y/n) when she left that morning, along with her new phone number. She didn’t even ask for her panties back.

Ukai wore a hoodie that easily covered the bite mark (Y/n) left him, meaning he wouldn’t have to deal with stupid questions from the boys at Karasuno.

Speaking of the boys, they were responding well to the new drills he and Takeda drew up. They were already showing improvement with their spikes and their serves. It was a perfect day.

Ukai was in the process of taking a swig of water when he heard the gym doors open, followed by a “HEADS UP!” from Noya.

The sound of a volleyball smacking against someone’s arm’s made the gym go silent. Hinata caught the stray ball, looking helplessly at Ukai.

The coach turned to see who had entered and blocked the ball.

He snorted, keeled over, and spat up the water he had been drinking onto the gym floor.

Takeda began slapping his back to help clear his airway as the school’s principal thanked (Y/n) profusely.

Ukai figured she had sidestepped in front of the principal and blocked the ball from smacking him right in the family jewels. She never joined Karasuno’s girl’s team, but she had helped Ukai practice enough to know how to receive a ball.

The principal cleared his throat, regained his composure, and led (Y/n) towards the coaches.

Ukai stood up straight, still struggling to breath as he looked her over. She was wearing a button-up shirt, a pencil skirt and heels. She was like an image out of a sexy librarian fantasy... only this was the real world. This was really happening.

“Coach Ukai, Coach Takeda, I would like to introduce your new athletic trainer!” the principal announced, beaming as Takeda and (Y/n) bowed to one another.

“It’s wonderful to meet-”

“What are you doing here?” Ukai coughed, interrupting Takeda.

(Y/n) smiled bashfully, giving him a small shrug of her shoulders. “I told you at dinner I didn’t want to say more about the job... I coulda jinxed it...”

“Ohhh!” the principal exclaimed, “I don’t know how I didn’t realize you two were classmates! What a wonderful reunion!”

“I did tell you we needed a trainer to come in and help before nationals...” Takeda murmured, nervously shifting where he stood.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. Her first official day is tomorrow.” The principal left with that, Ukai realizing how silent the gym was as his footsteps got further and further away.

“H-Hey! What are you doing?! Get back to your drills!” he shouted at the team.

The boys got their asses back in gear, stealing glances at the coaches and their new trainer every now and then.

“I’m going to... go... over there...” Takeda stuttered. He quickly bowed to (Y/n) before running to the opposite side of the court.

“Are you really that upset?” (Y/n) frowned.

Ukai sighed softly rubbing at his temples. “No... I just really wish you told me...”

“Well... I didn’t exactly plan on last night-” (Y/n) paused when she noticed one of the boys, Hinata, slowly sidestepping closer to them to listen in on what was happening.

“Get back to spiking or you’ll be on towel duty for a month.” Ukai grumbled.

Hinata squeaked before running back onto the court.

“I didn’t plan on last night to go the way it did. I thought we’d get dinner, go our separate ways, then surprise! I’m here and we get to live out some slowburn fantasy where we fall for each other again.” (Y/n) explained, keeping her voice low.

Ukai sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

He felt (Y/n) slowly place her hand on his arm, wandering until she took his hand in hers. “Please just give me a chance? I want to help you get them to nationals...”

He slowly opens his eyes, groaning at the way she batted her eyes at him.

“Fine.”

(Y/n) smiled wide and hugged him tightly, snickering when he completely flushed red. “This is gonna be so much fun... now introduce me to the team.”

Once their current drill was complete, Ukai called the team over, noting the way the boys eyed (Y/n) with a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“Alright, this is (Y/n). She’s an old friend and she’s going to be our new athletic trainer. She’s gonna do everything in her power to whip you into shape for nationals. So do as she says and we won’t have any issues.”

A couple of the boys raised their hands high.

“Wow, there are questions about that... Tanaka.” Ukai pointed at the redhead.

“Is she your girlfriend?” he asked, no hesitation or shame in his words.

Ukai tensed. (Y/n) snickered.

“N-Not relevant!”

“Is she our Coach Mom now?” Noya piped up.

“No!”

“So you're not our Coach Dad?” Noya asked.

“Of course not!”

“I have a question not having to do with Coach Mom at all!” Hinata shouted.

Ukai breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank god. What’s your question?”

“What’s on your neck?”

Ukai went completely red again as (Y/n) tried to stifle her laughter.

“Is that from Coach Mom?” Noya shrieked, grabbing Asahi’s arms and shaking him wildly. “That’s from Coach Mom!”

“It totally is from Coach Mom...” Suga mumbled.

“Don’t encourage them.” Daichi said, nudging Suga.

“THE NEXT PERSON TO CALL (Y/n) COACH MOM HAS TO RUN 50 LAPS!” Ukai yelled, finally silencing the boys.

“L-lets just get back to our drills!” Takeda shouted, ushering the boys back onto the court.

“I just wanted to know what was on his neck...” Hinata pouted, “Did Coach Mom really do that-”

“50 laps Hinata!”

“Awwww! Do I have to, Coach Mom?!”

“100 LAPS!”

“No!” (Y/n) barked, lightly pushing Ukai before turning to Hinata. “That’s absurd, you don’t have to.”

Ukai adjusted his hoodie, glancing at (Y/n) as she crossed her arms. “You’d think you’d be a little less tense after last night-”

“Please just go home.” Ukai sighed, taking the keys to his flat from his pocket and placing them in her hand.

She blinked down at the keys in shock.

“I don’t want you in some hotel room when I have a perfectly good bed at my place... I’ll help you get your things from the hotel once practice is over...” He explained, scratching at the back of his head while keeping his eyes on the team.

“Guess you are my boyfriend then...” (Y/n) smiled. She quickly pressed a kiss to Ukai’s cheek before turning on her heels to leave. “See you at home, Coach Dad...”

Ukai turned to watch her leave, a small smile on his face. It wasn’t such a bad nickname when she said it...

[hqbbg]

butterflies.

pairing: bokuto x chubby fem!reader

summary: bokuto doesn’t understand why everyone’s giving you a hard time.

genre: fluff

word count: 1.6K

warnings: people are mean to reader >:(

You saw many flaws about yourself growing up, whether they were first pointed out to you by your parents, schoolmates, or even the cashier lady at the supermarket. The one particular flaw that seemed to follow you around throughout all the years seemed to revolve around one thing: your weight.

Looking in the mirror, you used to not see what was so wrong with how your body looked. You truly didn’t think you looked as overweight as those around you made it seem, but their words began to contaminate your thoughts and soon, you saw what they saw: someone who simply did not fit into a conventionally “beautiful” body, a standard set by models on magazine covers.

Some people had called you cute while growing up, but as you sat in your classroom during your second year of high school alone while others had gone to join their friends, you most definitely felt like all the kind words people had told you before held no meaning or sincerity to them.

“Hey, hey, hey!”

You’ve been hearing this every other day lately. It was always at the beginning of lunch time, give or take a few minutes depending on the day. The source of the brief disturbance to the white noise of the classroom was none other than Bokuto Koutarou, a third year. He always came to hang out with Akaashi, a classmate of yours that sat a few rows down from you.

You had seen Akaashi once or twice last year in the hallways, but never spoke to him, and even this year as his classmate, you barely exchanged any words. He seemed like a relatively quiet and observant person, so part of you wondered how he and Bokuto seemed so close yet were polar opposites.

You had been lost in your own thoughts, too busy staring off into space to notice a few classmates come up to sit at the desks around you.

“What, is our little piggy not hungry today?”

This was not unfamiliar territory for you. Once or twice throughout the week, a few students would get bored with themselves and decide to pick on you or taunt you. Usually, you would ignore them with your head hung low, and they would just get bored again, deciding to leave you alone until they saw another opportunity to mess with you.

Things like this used to bother you a lot more than they did now. Of course, their words would still keep you awake at night occasionally, but you’ve learned to move on.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried to lose weight before; nothing just seemed to work. It was as if your body had reached its current weight and stubbornly refused to change, no matter how much your heart and mind willed it. Your mother would toss in a few comments here and there about how boys wouldn’t want you because of this complex of yours and your father wouldn’t stand up for you. You supposed they were right, since the only time boys were interested in talking to you was to either make fun of you or compare notes after class.

“Did you not hear us, piggy?”

“You guys are talking in her face, so I’m sure she heard you loud and clear.”

You snap your head up towards the source of the voice and see Bokuto looking over in your direction. He has an unreadable expression on his face and your eyes flicker towards Akaashi as he also looks in your direction, his face blank with indifference to the situation.

“With all due respect, this doesn’t concern you,” replies one of the boys sitting in front of you.

“How rude,” says Bokuto. “Akaashi, you never told me how mean your classmates were!”

The third year turns to look at Akaashi, a pout on his face as he points to the group around you. Any thoughts you had of him being cool for butting in and momentarily diverting the attention away from you have all disappeared and it seems that everyone’s mental image of the suave and cool upperclassman have collectively shattered.

“Everyone is mean to Y/L/N-san,” Akaashi replies coolly.

You have to admit, as much as that statement should irk you, it doesn’t because you know it’s true.

“Why?” Bokuto turns his head back and looks directly at you. You feel yourself stiffen in your seat. He blinks his eyes a couple times, as if he can’t understand what anyone could possibly be giving you a hard time for. Part of you finds it refreshing, but another part of you is skeptical.

“This guy’s weird,” mutters one of the girls next to you. “Let’s just go.”

You feel a little dumbstruck as you watch the students around you stand and walk away before your eyes slowly return back to the pair of boys who are still staring at you. You can feel your face heat up at the realization that their eyes haven’t left you yet and you shift uncomfortably in your seat, clearing your throat.

“T-Thanks.”

Before anyone else can say anything, you quickly grab your lunch and head out of the room, muttering halfhearted apologies to the students you bump into as you walk down the hall. You make your way to the rooftop where a few other groups of students are enjoying their lunch and find yourself a decent and secluded spot. Maybe the fresh air would cool you down and prevent yourself from overthinking the situation that had just unraveled.

The next few days, you avoid eating lunch in the classroom and go back to the spot on the rooftop; you aren’t disturbed there and find it quite peaceful. You get used to not hearing Bokuto’s unique greeting and things seem to slowly go back to how they used to be.

“Hey, long time no see!”

You glance up as you walk down the hall, seeing Bokuto walking towards you, presumably heading back to his class as you head for yours. Although you’re sure he’s addressing you, you glance around to ensure that it really is you he’s talking to.

“Yeah, you! You’re in Akaashi’s class,” Bokuto laughs heartily as he walks up to you, stopping only a few paces away. “You know, no one really answered me when I asked why everyone is so mean to you.”

You can only look up at him, unsure what exactly his motives might be. There’s no way he’s this oblivious, right? You’ve heard stories about him, being a remarkable volleyball player and assumed that he would be intelligent. Was that limited to just volleyball?

“I should get back to my class,” you reply, bowing your head halfheartedly before rushing back to your classroom.

Needless to say, you’re socially awkward. No one has really given you this much attention without throwing a blatant insult at your face, so you’re unsure how to handle it. It isn’t until a week later when you miss the timing of heading to the rooftop for lunch and see Bokuto enter the classroom, making a straight beeline to sit in the empty desk in front of you, facing you. Akaashi has also moved closer, sitting in the desk to your right, looking at you with the same indifferent expression on his face.

“So, I’ve really been trying to figure it out for the past week and a half,” says Bokuto, propping his elbow on your desk as he leans his chin onto his palm, “and I still don’t get it.”

Your eyes flicker back towards Akaashi, but he doesn’t move a muscle that indicates that he’s helping you get out of this situation.

“W-Well, I…”

What’s he talking about? What are you supposed to say?

“Are you mean? Is that it? You seem like a normal girl, so I really don’t understand why everyone treats you so poorly,” says Bokuto, not letting you finish your half-developed thought. Is he teasing you? Is this some cruel way of indirectly making fun of you?

“Do you really not see it?” You ask, finding some rare confidence spurred by the thought of his antics being motivated to hurt you like everyone else.

You finally look into his eyes and see no malice in them, quickly casting your eyes back down when you can feel yourself blushing at the innocent intensity of his eyes staring back at you.

“Is there something I should be seeing?”

“I,” you pause. You’re suddenly afraid to say your next sentence because it’s a thought that was drilled into your brain since you were younger, but say it anyways. “I’m fat.”

Bokuto frowns.

“So?”

Well, that wasn’t an answer you were expecting.

“Huh?” You look at him again, brows furrowing slightly.

“What he means is, he doesn’t see why that’s a reason for you to be bullied,” Akaashi speaks up. Bokuto nods his head quickly, realizing the mistake in his word choice.

“Yeah, that’s what I meant!”

You narrow your eyes slightly in suspicion.

“No, really, Y/N! You look perfectly fine to me.”

You try not to show your surprise upon hearing Bokuto say your name, but you’re not sure how well you hide it. You want to question how he knows your first name, but something tells you that the boy sitting to your right has something to do with it.

“Thanks,” you say awkwardly, unsure of what else to say.

“If anyone gives you a hard time, let me know! I’ll take care of it for you,” Bokuto sits up, puffing his chest. You’re hesitant but feel your lips tug into the slightest smile.

“You don’t have to, Y/L/N-san. He’s all bark and no bite anyways,” says Akaashi. You feel your lips pull a little further into a smile. Bokuto looks like he’s about to complain or whine to Akaashi, but is stopped when he looks at your face.

“Wow, so you do know how to smile,” Bokuto grins at you. “You should do it more often. It suits you.”

That might’ve been the first time in your whole life to have ever felt butterflies in your stomach.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Yamata-No-Orochi (Part 1) Uncle Caesar

We’re finally getting to the tail end of the Story Quests. Thanks for reading this far if you have. :D I’m so happy writing this, I’m just plugging story beats out like a happy like choochoo train, but this took a bit of thought.

This scene does not appear in the novel, manhua, or the game, however, it logically sets up a conflict that should have been there had the MC had real relationships with the characters and actual agency in the story. 

Enjoy!

It was about 9 am in the morning when Caesar got you out of bed and dressed you up as usual. He didn’t choose anything too casual or too sexual. He chose a yellow pleated skirt, a simple cotton white blouse and warm navy jean jacket, and knee high waterproof boots and invited you out with him for the day.

“Where are we going?” You had asked him.

“Just out shopping. Whatever you like. You’ve had a hard time. So it will be good for your mental state to get out and not be shut in feeling sorry for yourself.” He replied. But his eyes are not sunny, but clouded, like the sky over Tokyo.

So you spent the day shopping after breakfast, mostly for clothes and shoes. But Caesar took you to a toy store and insisted you buy something to play with. “You never played as a kid right?” He had asked you.

“No… not really. I liked to watch movies.” 

“Pick out a game. Anything you want.”

He didn’t accompany you shopping for the toys. He stood outside, smoking the cigar with his umbrella, not minding the rain. You were concerned about Kaguya but the disturbed weather was disrupting a lot of the internet access around Tokyo and the umbrellas provided physical disguise against searching surveillance cameras. Caesar didn’t mind being out, and while you shopped, he was keeping watch.

You spent a long time pacing the shelves, back and forth until finally you settled on a Sailor moon action figure. You pick it up and smile at the signature phrasing. “In the name of the Moon, I will punish you!” You could still hear the words clear in your head.

You come out with your single doll in the small bag and you put your two fingers in a V-shape over your eye playfully, just like the heroine in the Anime.

Caesar grinned broadly, but the sadness did not leave his eyes. 

You’d spent so much time in the stores that the sun  was already going down. “I’ve made reservations for dinner. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Won’t Nono get jealous?” You snort.

“Not at all. She knows she has all my heart in her hands. But it's important to talk to you. You gave a starheart to Ruri Kazama last night. That means he reached you, right?”

“Yes, but … he’s the lead member of a yakuza group and he’s kinda out of my league.”

He waved the cigar in his hand airily. “It’s good for a young woman to raise her station through marriage in any case. But in your case, I don’t think any man is out of your league. If you think he is above you, then that’s a good thing. There are not many men like that. Much less, a man like that who you’d find attractive enough to grant a star-heart.” 

You laugh. “You sound like an old Uncle playing matchmaker.”

“I know and I hate it, but I’ve given it a lot of thought.” He grimaced. “I thought you would be good for Lu Mingfei, but he’s a stable European Hybrid who grew up in a stable household. You’re a wild thing of the White King. You’d never be a good match.” Caesar mused. “Ruri, on the other hand, knew more about you than you did about yourself. You seem to understand each other well. You clicked at the Takamagahara Club. I was pretty pissed about that but now… not so much.”

You’d walked until you reached the historical luxury district. There were restaurants here that were passed down generation to generation for hundreds of years. They survived both World War I and World War II. The bricks and mortar were older than Anjou.

He reached over your head to open a small glass door. Inside, you saw only an old Japanese man behind a counter, who looked at you through his craggy face. You figured that this place was by reservation only simply because it was so small. “Let me guess? You bought out every table in this place?”

“That’s right. Lu Mingfei helped me with the Japanese.”

“Is he doing alright?” You ask.

“Yep. He’s got that girl wrapped around his little finger.”

“That’s kinda messed up.” You say, recalling your last conversation with Chance about Izanami using Izanagi’s feelings to further her own ends.

“Well, hopefully it will turn out to be genuine.”

You shake your head smiling. “You really are an Old Uncle.”

Caesar pulls out the chair for you and you sit. “Don’t worry about ordering anything. Everything here is good.”

A waitress came and poured sake into saucers from a black bottle and you remember that you promised Caesar to have a date over Sake and this was it. You can’t believe you forgot about that but given everything that was happening it was understandable. It was more incredible that Caesar actually remembered.

Once the sake was poured, Caesar raised his saucer and you joined him in a toast. “A toast to the best damn freshman I’ve ever met.”

“And a toast to the fearless friend of justice!”

The sake was good, not quite sweet but full of the aroma and taste of rice in the alcohol.

“I want to discuss your future at Cassell after this. It’s unfortunate to say, but once this mission is over, even if I’m alive at the end, I won’t be able to shield you from the school board or anyone else.”

Your eyebrows raise. “Oh? The Gattuso heir admitting that he can’t protect a lady? Did I wake up in an alternate universe?”

But Caesar didn’t laugh or crack a smile. “It’s the official policy of Cassell College not to admit anyone with unstable blood, like yours. My family pursued Chu Zihang because they suspected him of being of poor bloodline. Had they succeeded, they would have sent him away on an island, far from human civilization. I was able to vouch for him at his trial and foil their plans, but I won't’ be able to help you if you run afoul of them because after this mission, I’m graduating, MC. I will go back to Italy and marry Nono.”

Your expression falls and you feel a trapdoor has just opened underneath you. You were still heartsick over losing Chance. But Caesar was your support staff you could lean on. Without him, you would have given into despair long ago. How could you stand on your own now? You would find a way surely but you hadn’t expected to part from him so soon.

He stares at you now and you understand the cloudy look in his eyes. “I want to make an arrangement with you. For your safety. But it will take you far away from me. So I don’t like it. But I feel it's the best for you. If you agree, then… alright.”

“Alright,” You echo. “Let's hear it.”

“We talked a little last night about how Ruri Kazama wants the Devil Clan to join Cassell and replace Hydra as the Japan Branch. But Ruri Kazama does not want to stay at Cassell and run the Devil Clan. His dream is to become a Kabuki actor and singer. He also mentioned that he recently lost his lover, and cannot help but feel extremely lonely. When he feels very lonely he looks for the loneliest girl and keeps her company. I think you can tell what I’m getting at.”

“Yes, we’re like mirror images of each other now.” You murmur. “So I will join the Devil Clan until Ruri can get them settled with Cassell College and then leave the Clan and Cassell to be a companion to Ruri Kazama?”

“You’ll be safer, and happier, with your own kind.” Caesar said, gloomily

You let out a breath. “But you’ll miss me.”

“I already do.” He reached for a cigarette and pulled it out. Old places like this didn’t mind smoking.

“Thank you for thinking of me. Of course, it really depends too on how well we get along.”

“You don't just give out star-hearts. Pursue him. I think it’ll be nice.”

The plate of artfully crafted fresh sushi was carried to you. Even though you have seen so many wonderful things in Japan, you continue to marvel at the creative ways they put rice together with fish and vegetables to make a bright and colorful display. Even the heads of the prawns served as a splashy centerpiece, their antennae waving slightly like bright orange fountains.

You eat in silence for a few minutes. Neither of you are adept with chopsticks so you just use your fingers. 

Finally Caesar broke the silence. “Can you tell me something? You mentioned Ruri Kazama would have to fight another lion. Who is this other lion? I saw that there is a mystery contender that also received a star heart.”

“He doesn’t have a name. I just call him Z, and he’s followed me my whole life. He won’t give up easily.” You lower your eyes and your chewing slows.

“Also a hybrid?” He glances at you, his blue eyes suddenly clear and sharp.

“Yes. The strongest hybrid out of all of Black Swan Bay.”

“Your old boyfriend.” Caesar looked out of the glass door at the front of the store.

“We were never really boyfriend and girlfriend. He trained me to fight. He’s specifically told me not to fall in love with Ruri Kazama.”

“Any particular reason why?” Caesar balanced the cigarette on his fingers.

“He says he knows how that story will end.” You look at him seriously. “He’s possessive and very jealous. It might not go well for Ruri if we end up together.”

“If you’re not boyfriend or girlfriend, what does he care who you end up with?” He put the cigarette between his lips and inhaled.

“I don't know.”

“What will happen if you defy him?”

“I’ll probably die. He’s the one who has guarded my life. My guardian angel. He says that he has known how to keep me alive from the very beginning. If I don’t do what he says, then he probably won’t keep guaranteeing my life.”

Caesar’s eyes narrowed and you saw the killer aura rise in his eyes. “Where can I find this Z person?”

You shrug. “He’s a mysterious thing. All these years and I still can’t figure him out. He just… has a lot of control over things that happen. Like everyone is a puppet on a string and he’s the ultimate puppetmaster. Even Chu Zihang couldn’t help but notice how fortunate it was that we ended up in the backyard of Genji Heavy Industries to hide. Or how the fortunate earthquake I caused managed to assist you in battle. He was the one who took me down to the Genji Elevator and showed me the deadpool even though Chisei Gen didn’t know about it. He was the one who told me to cause the earthquake that saved Lu Mingfei in the elevator.”

Caesar leaned forward. “So is he our ally?”

You lower your voice. “I think your purposes align. He views you as no competition to him. He only gets annoyed at my love interests. Since you are not pursuing me, he couldn’t care less what you do. But I’m telling you this, because if you do send me away with Ruri, it could have consequences both for Ruri Kazama and you.”

“A love triangle?” His eyebrows raise.

“Yes.” You chuckle. “I guess you could call it that.”

Caesar lets out a breath and a puff of white smoke. “Just when I thought I had it all figured out.”

“You almost did.” You giggle freely.

“I do have one ace in the hole. If I can guarantee your life, then that will free you right?”

“But I’m dying as an unstable hybrid… I…”

“Yes but so is that Uesugi girl. The documents in that folder said that the Black Swan Bay children only lived to age 20 and at that age they inevitably turned into deadpool. Erii was created as a dying ghost, the same as you, by the same people that created you. You’re both alive, but you are 18 and Erii is 21.”

You gasp, suddenly breathless. Z’s words to you, that the key to your survival is in Tokyo, come roaring back.

“If I can figure out the secret to how they’re keeping her alive, then you won’t need the Z person.” Caesar smiles, but it’s challenging, snarling.

“You’re kidding! You’re not seriously considering competing with Z!” You always felt that Z, deep down, was a killer, who taught you to be a killer. What Caesar was doing was a dangerous thing, putting himself in the line of fire of someone who wouldn’t hesitate to arrange his death the same way he had arranged everything else.

But Caesar was always like this, running headlong into danger and saying, ‘I’ll figure it out when I get there’. And appealing to fear would never dissuade him.

“I’m not competing for your heart, only your freedom. I don’t like men who threaten the lives of women. There’s actually more I can say, but given your position, I’ll keep it to myself.” He was still smiling that deadly smile, staring out the door as though seeing an unseen person.

“Oh… my god…” You sigh. “Well, if anyone could do it, it would be you.”

Your appetite significantly diminished. You felt cold and anxious. You wondered what Z would say if he ever appeared to you again. You wondered if Z would ignore Caesar, or if Caesar would simply disappear without a trace, as though he never existed.

You left the restaurant and Caesar pulled you close, one hand over your narrow shoulders. “You’re afraid of him. Aren’t you?”

You don’t answer, not even with a nod.

“That makes me more curious. Stay close to me then. That way, if he wants to keep you, he’ll have no choice but to show himself.”

[crazynekochan]

Dangan Persona AU

Palace #7

Ruled by Makoto Naegi.

Captive is Mukuro Ikusaba (held captive in cell; will be executed for her crimes in the alternate reality if not rescued in time; picked very much the worst day to dress as Junko).

Shadow manifests as Makoto but wearing a creepy long black cloak, like he is the judge, jury and executioner (which he is), who turns into a 4-armed angel, one wielding a shield, the other a huge revolver (like truth bullets), and the 2nd pair holding up the weight of the world’s hope on his shoulders as a shining globe that seems to get heavier as the battle progresses. It’s also immune to Curse skills, which is rather unfortunate because that’s what everyone was betting on it having since Lincoln (and therefore Makoto)’s weak to Curse skills.

Palace is Hope’s Peak as ala the first game but much more pastel, with the walls instead draped in soft silk, light shining down in jarring contrast to the giant metal plates over the windows. It gives everyone the creeps, especially when the 2nd half starts with much more blood and gore appearing on the pristine sheets and floors.

As a little peep to the next palace, this is also where they get a glimpse of a Shadow Nagito. The original had gotten curious and just barely went a bit into the Metaverse. He managed to get out right away, but not before causing his shadow to be spotted tending to a strange memorial garden of class 78 before vanishing.

Finally after frankly too many puzzles, they arrive at the midway point of Mukuro’s show trial at a near exact replica of the red door to the trial grounds. They open up and find the elevator, but what is much more relevant is the metric fuckton of Junko photos and Monokuma memorabilia all over the room, almost all of them horrifically destroyed in rage, aimed at the faces in particular. Since Mukuro was dressed as Junko the day she got abducted (Junko had a scheduling issue and made Mukuro dress as her for class, even though no one else really bought it), this makes everyone rightfully very nervous and reluctantly head down, despite the sick feelings roiling in everyone’s stomachs, because they’re not gonna like this. And nope, they didn’t like it at all.

They came out to see the trial already underway, 2 large stands loaded with masked figures to the sides of the room and a high circle of 15 podiums surrounding Mukuro, chained into a kneeling position as the Judges gazed down upon her. The party looks up to see them, and finds something rather strange. On one side are 9 funerary portraits on raised poles, with the 6 judges in black robes in front of them, all focused on Mukuro. The Judges are cognitive versions of the DR1 survivors, all looking much worse for wear (cognitive Hiro looks exhausted, cognitive Hina is silently sobbing with a funerary portrait of Sakura in her hands, even cognitive Kyoko looks like she was in mourning), with Shadow Makoto in the center as the chief Justice. It’s right at the ending of the trial, and Mukuro is declared guilty for conspiracy to end the world, to the disgust and horror of the crowd.

Mukuro tries to argue, saying that this must be a mistake, they have the wrong person. Shadow Makoto tells her that no, they know full well who she is, Mukuro Ikusaba (full name, no honorifics). He continues, telling her, in no uncertain terms, all of the crimes he knows of from the alternate timeline committed by the Ultimate Despair. “And to prevent that from occurring, we must tear the despair out, root and stem. Junko would be nothing without her little cronies, after all. What better way to end this right now than by her dearest sister’s death, leaving her powerless?” Then the Shadow has her trapped inside of a cage and sent down to the dungeons to await her execution, before the party can help her.

The rest of the palace works in a similar way to the first half, but everything goes into straight up horror movie territory. Like they were creeped out before, but now it was fucking all sorts of terrifying. It’s pretty much an amalgamation of all of Makoto from the other timeline’s trauma and survivors guilt from the first game. This part of the palace also has a bunches of minibosses that they have to fight through in the second half because holy crap, those things are fucking horrific. The minibosses are all the souls lost to the killing school life and it is very much not pretty. Sayaka covered in blood impaled with knives; Leon tied to a pole, pummeled to a pulp, chucking bloody baseballs; Chihiro with his head bashed in, using a mess of cables and screens to interact with the world; Mondo as a hellish biker that seems to be melting; Taka the terrifying sergeant with his head bleeding; Hifumi with his head bashed in as well, using his horrific Junji Ito-style magical girl drawings for attacks; a thing so burnt and smashed up that they could only identify her as Celeste because of the twin drills; Sakura as a silent warrior, constantly coughing up poison and blood. Even a makeshift “Mukuro”, hardly able to move from all the spears through her body. Holy crap, did that freak everyone out and make them very glad when they next saw their friends again at dinner because they’re alive!

The time limit this time is because Shadow Makoto, while being a twisted mess of repressed anger, sadness, and misery, is also fundamentally a good person and doesn’t want to kill Mukuro before she had even done anything, even though he knows that she’s guilty as sin of conspiring to destroy the world and everything in it (in the canon timeline). That’s actually where the party comes in, because by the time they clear the palace, the Shadow had finally decided that it was now or never and he needed to do this now. When they rush in to stop him, that’s when the boss fight starts.

The fight is genuinely hard as hell and the Shadow isn’t holding back. The attacks are all similar to the various minigames from DR1, just with a Persona flair. Makoto’s providing as much support as he can without being able to control his own persona, with the Shadow lashing out every time that Makoto offers his emotional support. Eventually, they notice that the giant ball of hope is getting heavier to the point of nearly crushing Makoto, who’s holding up the globe like Atlas holding the sky. His Shadow’s about ready to cry, begging the others to stop as Makoto encourages them all to keeping fighting and to not give up now. The battle only stops when they finally get Makoto to confess that he’s not always the bright ball of sunshine that they think he is and that even he needs help sometimes. With that resolved, the shadow returns to being Makoto’s persona, now instead of Lincoln, he is Logos (basically the closest to Jesus as I can get without making an even bigger mess in the MegaTen universe)

[Holy shit, I feel like I wrote a whole novel here! I’m ending this here, good night!}

---

Mod: The design for Makot's shadow is so flipping awesome. It’s so fitting for Makoto considering that he’s the main speaker during the class trials (cause MC and all) and this is literally a trial his shadow is holding, with the shields and revolver in each hand. Though my favourite is him holding up the worlds hope like Atlas with the sky, cause it’s still my favourite part of his character development that he admits in the DR3 anime that he’s sometimes really overwhelmed with always having to be positive as the Ultimate Hope but still keeps it up for ever (and as entertaining the anime was, it was one of the only good things it did story wise, but that’s a different topic altogether...)

The palace must be so disturbing for the party, cause up until now every palace was basically a fantasy place representing something of the person’s life/personality. But now they are in a twisted and later on gory version of their own school, and still don’t know anything of the past timeline. But things are starting to get unravelled now. Though most disturbing must be the memorial garden for their very much alive friends. The fact that the survivors, who were not among the memorial photos, are the judges who look like they experiences something very awful and traumatic. Not to mention the tons of destroyed Junko photos

That the minibosses are the victims in an all horror like fashion, where I’m imagining something along the lines of DR3 anime with Makoto’s despair hallucination, must be so brutal cause these are literally the “corpses” of their friends that are attacking them, who are in this timeline alive and happy

I can only imagine how hard it must have been for everyone to see how Makoto’s shadow actually is, which is basically being overwhelmed with all the support he has to give all the time. Cause everyone does lean a lot on Makoto (not that leaning on people is bad, but there is a limit how much one person can handle, even for Makoto)

[incidentreport31]

Episode 2 - Secure TRANSCRIPT

[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts.

Recorder clicks on.

SFX of a mug being set down on a counter. Water pouring and then the clink of a spoon against ceramic. Then, an abrupt almost dropping of said mug as Zach begins to speak.

ZACH:

Tea? Really?

ARCHIVIST:

(stammering)Oh, hi, hello, can… can I help you…?

(beat)

ZACH:

You can help yourself by getting some coffee. Tea isn’t gonna do anything for you, you know. It won’t keep you going for the whole day. You’ve gotta get that good ole cup of joe to start your morning.

ARCHIVIST:

I’m… sorry?

ZACH:

You can’t tell me that you actually like that garbage, right? I mean what kind are you even making?

[shuffle as he grabs the box off the counter]

English Breakfast? Really? English? Compensating for being in the US are we?

ARCHIVIST:

(defensive for no reason beknown to the listener but painfully known to them) I happen to like it, actually but- no actually wait a minute, who are you? Do you work here?

ZACH:

(also defensive for previously explained reason) Yeah, I do. Do you?

ARCHIVIST:

Yes, indeed I do. I’m actually the head archivist. May I ask what in the hell you might do around here? Other than, of course, critique drink choices?

ZACH:

Oh. (beat) Oh you- (another beat) You’re the archivist?

ARCHIVIST:

(huffing out a breath) Quite right. Once again. What the hell do you do here?

ZACH:

Oh I’m Zach. Zach Baker. I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were… my… boss.

ARCHIVIST:

(hurried and with false confidence) Yes, of course. I’m Val West… your boss. Which means that I’m in charge here. Which then means you should… watch yourself in bothering me about these small things. Yes.

ZACH: It’s not my fault you have the worst taste in drinks-

ARCHIVIST:

(coughs to cut him off)

ZACH:

Well, you do. I’m just saying, okay? And- hold on, are you recording this?

ARCHIVIST: Hmm? Oh, yes I suppose I am.

ZACH:

Where’d that thing come from anyway? It looks ancient.

ARCHIVIST:

It is, from what I can tell. But Mr. Banks has instructed me to record all of my (said with distaste because the archivist is a dick to account givers) “little stories” into it. Apparently, silent reading does not do much in the way of furthering the plot of a story told in an audio format.

ZACH: Yeah, I guess he has a point there.

ARCHIVIST:

Fair enough… Either way, I'm not the biggest fan of the old girl, but she hasn’t broken down on me so far, so that counts for something I reckon. Not that there aren’t better ways of recording things, but I digress.

(a beat)

But, I guess I’ve just gotten in the habit of turning it on when it seems like I’m about to do something noteworthy that might further the plot, you know?

ZACH: Like… making tea.

ARCHIVIST:

Yes, yes, I believe you’ve already expressed your opinions on tea, but some of us prefer it to that… grimy coffee that you seem so attached to.

ZACH:

(flustered and compensating, sputtering his words out) Well you can defend your tea all you want, but I am still objectively correct and everyone else definitely agrees with me too, even if the coffee pot goes missing once a week-

ARCHIVIST:

The coffee pot what?

ZACH:

(feeling like he shouldn’t have said that as it seems to have hurt his argument, starting slow and getting increasingly heated) I… it goes missing sometimes… and I haven’t figured out who keeps taking it yet, but trust me I will, and anyways in the meantime, it’s a bit inconsiderate of you to continue trash talking my drink choice-

Recorder clicks off.

Recorder clicks on.

ARCHIVIST:

God, I had to cut that conversation off… It was getting quite past the point of relevance to anyone listening. Pointless debate. So… back to what I was hired on to do, I suppose. (clearing their throat) For the consideration of Boston College: Jordyn Mackenzie’s encounter with an odd child in her parents’ neighborhood, and her request to be exempt from her midterms. No date, once again. [mutters] I am starting to question my predecessor’s competency when it came to filing these out. Her story begins:

[ACCOUNT START]

Every Wednesday night, I make the drive over to my parents’ house to have dinner. When I first moved into my dorm, I had stubbornly been forced into these dinners, as if they were ripping away my freedom so shortly after I had received it. As time went on, however, those Wednesday night dinners have become what I look forward to most. After a while, the glamour of college began to wear off, and I got homesick easily, even if my mother and I didn’t always see eye-to-eye. There’s something so comforting about being able to step away from the bustling atmosphere of campus, and go somewhere quiet, and familiar. We’ve lived in that house almost all my life, and even with all of the bad memories attached to it, I can’t help but think of all the good ones. Perhaps that’s because I always try to see the glass as half full.

(beat)

It’s not just the house I enjoy. My parents live in a small gated community, just about twenty minutes away from school. The houses are all fairly new, with that white picket fence quality to them. In spite of that, each house has its own personality and charm to it. My favorite is probably this blue one with rabbit figurines out front. There’s a park in the neighborhood, too. Not a fancy one, just some monkey bars, a couple of slides, and a grassy field, but it’s great for picnics. Though, in all my time living there, I’ve hardly seen any other children there. I just assumed there weren’t many young kids in the neighborhood.

(another beat)

Thus, you can imagine my surprise when I met this particular child. Now, after dinner each night, I go out on a walk around the neighborhood. It’s small enough to walk the whole span of it in less than half an hour. My father used to come with me, but he’s been having troubles with his knee, so now I walk alone. The weather this time of year is near perfect for a walk—cold enough for it to kiss your face and wake you up, but not enough to freeze to death.

ARCHIVIST:

(mutters) Good lord, spare me the bad poetry. Would love to get to the actual point soon. Anyways.

[ACCOUNT]

It was on one of these walks that I first encountered the kid.

ARCHIVIST:

(mutters) Thank you.

[ACCOUNT]

As I previously stated, there aren’t many kids in the neighborhood, so it took me by surprise to see a new face. He looked to be about seven or eight, with unkempt, dirty blond hair, and blue eyes that were almost unnaturally large on his face. He wore a basic white t-shirt and jean shorts, and sure, I liked the weather, but a kid dressed like that must have been freezing, right? He did not shiver, however, hardly even emoted. Just walked right down the center of the road, staring dead ahead, carrying a bright orange toy gun.

(beat)

Of course, I worried for the kid. Where were his parents? Why was he out so late by himself?

I called out to him. He looked up at me with a surprised look, as if he was shocked to see me actually speaking to him. I asked him what his name was, but he didn’t answer. I tried to ask him lots of things—where his house was, why he was out so late, if he needed help or if his parents were nearby. He wouldn’t respond to anything I said. Just stood there and stared intensely into my eyes. I have to admit, it made me a bit squeamish. Eventually, I just walked away, hoping that whoever was responsible for the kid knew where he was, and that he would make it home safely. I tried not to think about it too much after that. The following week, when I went to dinner, I didn’t go on a walk. My parents had decided they wanted to play a board game, and I was more than happy to comply. The event with the kid had left me feeling unsettled, so I was a bit wary of going on a walk regardless. After another week, however, I had finally gotten over it. I figured it was just one weird kid, nothing more. I mean, looking back, I couldn’t blame him for being scared to talk to a complete stranger. I mean I wasn’t even certain looking back that the expression on his face was all that disturbing. It likely had just been fear, right? Surely, his parents knew where he was, and he was simply out for a post-supper stroll like I was. It was a fairly safe neighborhood, after all. So, the next time I went to my parent’s house for dinner, I went on another walk. There was a slight breeze, but my body heats up as fast as an oven with the slightest bit of exercise, so I welcomed the blasts of cold on my skin. The leaves in the trees rustled, and combined with the sound of windchimes, it was like a symphony of nature’s design.

ARCHIVIST: dropping down papers

(frustrated) I thought I said no more poetic imagery, christ- oh good it ends.

[ACCOUNT]

It was lovely, up until it wasn’t. I saw the kid again, still standing in the middle of the road. He was wearing the exact same outfit as before, the shorts even having the exact same grass stains they did before. It was uncanny, sure, but I figured it was just a coincidence. This time, I harbored far less discomfort or worry. It was just a kid. What could he do to me?

(beat)

A lot, turns out. (stumbling through the sentence) A lot meaning… scare me, but you know what I mean.

Before I even opened my mouth, I realized he was staring dead at me. As if his doll-like eyes were drilling holes into my skull. The weight of being watched hit me like a freight train, but I tried my best to shake it off. I apologized to him for being so invasive the last time we met. Again, he didn’t answer, just continued staring. I wasn’t quite sure what to say after that. It would be hypocritical if I began asking him questions again, immediately after I had apologized for doing exactly that.

ARCHIVIST:

Not sure a child understands what hypocrisy is, but, if it lets you keep the moral high ground, Ms. Mackenzie.

[ACCOUNT]

I didn’t like the way he looked at me, though. My desperate need to fill the silence was an instinct of some kind. As I stood there, teetering back and forth on my heels as I tried to think of what to do next, something strange happened. The kid, still staring at me, slowly began to raise his arm. In his hand was the same toy gun as before. He raised the toy gun until it was pointing directly at my head. Well, what the hell was I supposed to do with that? I knew it wouldn’t actually hurt me if he fired it, yet I still found myself frozen in place.

That was when the car, driving far too fast for a neighborhood, came barreling around the corner. The kid didn’t move. Didn’t even look to see the car coming. My feet lept to action before I processed what I was doing. I ran out into the middle of the street and tackled the kid. We stumbled towards the sidewalk on the other side as I dragged him. The momentum knocked us to the ground. Pain surged through my shoulder and my hip, but I hardly processed it until later, when I saw the large bruises that had formed. We had just barely managed to clear the car’s path. The driver didn’t even stop to apologize, or check to see if we were okay. Didn’t even slow down. I didn’t get a good look at the driver’s face, or the license plate. All I remember is that the car was black and might have been a Honda. Wherever they are, I hope karma did a good deal on them for their reckless driving.

Before I could focus on my injuries, I checked to make sure the kid was okay. Other than a scrape on his knee, he appeared to be fine, but it was hard to say. Even after all of that, his expression still hadn’t changed. For some reason, this made me indescribably angry. How could you almost get hit by a car and then still act completely neutral? Regardless,if he was in any pain, there was no way I could tell. I offered to take him back to my place and clean up his knee, but he shook his head. I noticed he was staring intently over my shoulder. When I turned around, I realized his toy gun had been destroyed. Orange and yellow plastic bits covered the street, almost like broken glass. He stood up and walked towards the remains. As he picked up what used to be the trigger, his face was still blank, but if I looked closely enough, I could have sworn I saw something adjacent to sadness. Disappointment, perhaps. For the first time since I had met him, he opened his mouth, and—god, I wish I had stuck around long enough to learn more. I wish I had pressed harder, since I now knew he was actually capable of speech. Hearing what he said next chilled me, though. I can’t quite say why. All I know is that after he spoke, I got up and ran back to my house, never wanting to see that kid again. Do you want to know what he said? The only words I ever heard him speak? It was this, with no further details or elaboration: “He’s not going to be happy about this.”

Paper shuffling.

ARCHIVIST:

And that seems to be where it ends. Jordyn gave us the name of the neighborhood this took place in, as well as the exact street the incident happened. The problem is, as she stated, it’s a gated community, and none of our staff had a code to get in. It says here in an attached slip of paper labeled: Incident Report, (sighs) date not given, that they contacted the head of the community in an attempt to gain access, but the head of the home-owner’s association said to, quote, “shove it in a place the sun doesn't shine, you conspiracy theory creeps.” Luca writes here that there was an issue involving a cup of… tea… thrown at their face… what a waste.(mutters) Rich people.

Because of this, there’s not much we can do. Without a stated name for the kid, or any known relatives, it’s hard to try to track this kid down. Frankly, I don’t think Jordyn’s story is all that concerning, other than the incident with the car, which we also could not find due to her vague description.

(beat)

It’s likely the child she met was simply shy, or possibly processed his emotions in a different way than she was used to. Her university certainly agreed with me, since it seems she was not given her requested time off. Thus, as far as I can tell, this is another instance of someone making something deeper than it needs to be and then trying to get an extra vacation. I can’t blame her, I suppose, since nearly seeing a kid get run over would certainly be upsetting. It does appear that Oliver, our resident psychological consultant, did recommend her a therapist, but she never went.

(beat)

Trust me, Jordyn, I would love to take a break as well, but post-grad school is expensive, and I doubt Mr. Banks would give me paid time off even if something worthwhile were to happen. It’s the world we live in, I suppose. Gotta pay off the student loans one way or another. (sigh)

End recording.

Recorder click off.

CREDITS:

Incident Report Number 31 is a podcast made by Three-Eyed Frog Presents. This episode, “Secure,” was written, directed, and produced by Val West and Luka Miller with sound design by Luka Miller. This episode featured Val West as the Archivist and Kaleb Piper as Zach Baker. Music is produced by Luka Miller. To keep up with the show and find transcripts, make sure to follow us on our Twitter at @IR31Pod and on tumblr at @IncidentReport31. To contact us with any questions or concerns, feel free to email us at incidentreport31@gmail.com. Thanks so much for listening!

[so-langdon]

Night of a Lifetime - Michael Langdon x Fem! Reader (Requested)

Summary: (Au) Michael and Y/N have been best friends and roommates for awhile. Y/N has been in love with him for awhile too, but tries dating someone else to get over Michael knowing he’s just a player. But when Michael sees her with someone else, he gets angry.

Warnings: Angst, fuckboy! Michael, jealous! Michael, possessive! dom! Michael, sexual tension, some dirty talk, biting, sexual situations, sensual touching, some choking, strong language

A/N: Finally had some time to write and got this written! @saltyshaggymeme wanted an AU fic of Michael with a “man-bun”, so I added that in of course, so hope you enjoy! Let me know! <3

I haven’t written in over a month, maybe even two, due to being so busy with work and I feel like my writing has already lost so much substance so I apologize if this is shitty.

And I will be posting my Xavier fic about loving his scars sometime next week hopefully!

Tagged!: @hecohansen31 @blakewaterxx @sarahandthejets @michaelsapostle @1-800-bitchcraft  @ccodyfern @rocketgirl2410

(tagged some who i thought may want to read but just ignore if not !! )

The piercing blue eyes of Michael Langdon stare into Y/N’s, baring straight into her soul. Michael’s long layered locks are up in a bun, a few strands framing around his face perfectly, giving him an alluring and intimidatingly handsome appearance. He grins confidently and sultry, causing her heart to flutter, making her want to kiss his soft, full lips already, yearning to satiate the hunger inside of her for him.

But in just the blink of an eye, the vision of Michael in front of her fades away completely, causing Y/N to shake her head a bit and blink a few more times before narrowing her eyes on the actual person in front of her.

Brock, the guy Y/N was currently dating sits beside her on the couch, having had snapped his fingers to get her attention as she clearly zoned out and her mind wandered to a completely different person.

“You okay,” Brock asks as he scoots closer to Y/N on the couch, reaching over for the remote and lifting it up to the television to put the movie they’re watching on pause. “I was talking and you just weren’t saying anything,” he adds.

“Yeah, sorry,” Y/N forces a smile. “I was just, uh, thinking about what movie you’d want to watch next,” she smiles more to seem more sincere and like she wasn’t just fantasizing about another man.

Y/N and Brock had been on a couple of dates before, having met in a shared class last semester. She didn’t really have a thing for him, hence why it was so easy for her mind to drift off to someone else in particular. But Brock was cute, personable and seemingly good enough for distracting Y/N from her mind-consuming thoughts of her actual crush: Her roommate and best friend, Michael Langdon.

She and Michael had known each other a few years, having had bonded and really connected from the get go when meeting at freshman orientation. Michael didn’t have much family, and Y/N was the first person he felt he could really trust, the two forming a strong bond once meeting and getting along together so well.

Though, they had never been anything other than friends. Y/N had grown feelings for Michael over the months, but would never dare dream of telling him, knowing he didn’t feel the same way, especially with knowing how he jumped from girl to girl.

Michael was a bit of a fuckboy for lack of a better term. Michael didn’t date, didn’t have relationships, didn’t have crushes. Just flings, hook-ups, one time things. He was the stereotypical college boy, knowing how popular he was considering his handsome looks and flirty charm. 

Michael was still sweet and friendly nonetheless, but he wasn’t interested in any type of commitment or relationship that didn’t end that night or following morning at the latest. He wasn’t ready to settle down in any way as of yet.

Y/N knowing this about Michael, could never imagine telling him of her feelings, figuring he wouldn’t just reject her, but would complicate their friendship too. Even with Michael being a fuckboy, player, whatever you wanted to call it, he still always made time for Y/N, letting her know she was the most important person in his life. So she’d rather have him in her life as her best friend, than not at all.

Since she knows she and Michael can never be together, she’s decided it’s time to start dating and to stop waiting around and hoping for Michael to admit some kind of love for her when she knew it wasn’t true.

Or so she thinks.

Nevertheless, when Brock asked her out, she went for it, figuring it would be good for her to move on from Michael and to get over her feelings. But, here she was, on the couch of her shared apartment picturing Michael as her date instead of Brock, attempting and failing to hide her feelings about everything.

Of course Y/N knew she didn’t really like Brock and didn’t have an actual interest in dating him. But she wanted to get over her feelings for Michael so despairingly, she was desperate for any kind of distraction and wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

But, even as Brock proceeded with making flirtatious moves, scooting closer to Y/N, and turning her face to his and kissing her, Y/N knew it was going to be more difficult than she thought when all she could think about and picture was Michael instead. 

So she tried to lose herself in the feeling, in any positive feeling when kissing Brock back, trying to push her feelings and desires for Michael aside in the process. 

The two ignore the movie playing on the television, making out on the couch like a couple of high school teenagers who have the house alone for the first time. Y/N lets Brock wrap an arm around her to pull her closer to him, resting his other hand on her exposed knee just below where her dress cuts off, slowly moving it up as he seems to have only one idea in mind she knows. 

Typical college guys.

Y/N doesn’t care and goes along with it, thinking maybe sleeping with Brock will break whatever spell Michael has on her and it’ll be a foot in the right direction of getting over him.

But before she can make a decision or even have another thought about it, the lights in the living room turn on, a voice clearing their throat, and an obvious tension overtaking the atmosphere.

Brock and Y/N pull away from kissing and turn their heads to the other side of the room, seeing who other than Michael standing there.

He looks intimidating, his crystal blue eyes still beautiful but showcasing an unusual rage as he glares lightly. His long, layered hair that reaches past his shoulders is tied up in a well kept bun, always adding a sexiness to him when he has his hair up.

His mouth is frowning, his light pink lips still looking just as soft and plump as normal, but having an irritation to them. Dressed in a casual black t-shirt that’s just tight enough to show enough of his fit physique as he crosses his arms over his broad chest, black jeans to match and Doc Martins. He looks devilishly handsome, practically jaw-dropping, per usual.

“What are you doing here,” Y/N asks, narrowing her eyes and trying to ignore the increase of her heart beat as she looks at him, her body reacting more to Michael’s appearance alone than she was when kissing Brock.

“I live here,” Michael states almost sarcastically, yet still impassive.

Y/N rolls her eyes, pushing her captivated feelings to the side and putting up her own irritated front. “I mean, what are you doing here right now? I thought you were going out to meet up with some people and wouldn’t be home all night?”

“Changed my mind,” Michael answers detached, eyes glancing over to Brock beside her and staring daggers into him practically, causing Brock to look noticeably uncomfortable as he tries to avoid eye contact with Michael.

Y/N sighs, leaning back on the couch and crossing her own arms over her chest. “Well. Don’t mind us then, we’re just watching a movie. So you can go to your room now or whatever and leave.”

“Didn’t look like you were just watching a movie to me,” Michael states angrily as he looks at Y/N, ignoring the second part of her words, glaring a bit more and diverting his eyes from Y/N to Brock again beside her. “Who are you?” He asks a little too harshly

“This is Brock, my date for the evening,” Y/N emphasizes, answering. “Brock, this is Michael, my roommate,” Y/N adds looking from Brock and back to Michael.

“And best friend,” Michael adds irritated.

“Well, um cool,” Brock begins lightly. “Nice to meet you,” he gives a small wave at Michael, smiling a bit in the hopes that whatever tension that’s in the air will dissipate. 

But that fails as only more tension seems to rise as the seconds pass. “Not really. This wasn’t the most comfortable scene to be coming home to,” Michael states as he keeps his arms crossed and looks back over to Y/N. “He needs to be heading out. It’s getting late.”

Y/N narrows her eyes again, Michael’s words catching her off guard. “It’s like ten o’ clock?” She states obviously.

“And? It’s getting late,” Michael repeats, furrowing his eyes and diverts his gaze to Brock. “So, go on and get going,” he says, dropping his arms and gesturing towards the door behind him so he can leave.

“Uhm,” Brock narrows his eyes too, but more confused, unsure if he should actually be leaving or not and looking at Y/N for a clarification.

“He doesn’t have to leave, we’re in the middle of watching a movie still.” Y/N points out, uncrossing her arms as she sits up more.

“What does that have to do with anything? It’s getting late and--”

“It’s Friday night,” Y/N interjects.

“--And I’m going to bed, so I would rather not be disturbed by the movie, or whatever else that might go on,” Michael articulates. 

“Whatever else? Are you serious?” Y/N glares, standing up and finding an anger building inside of her. “That’s so hypocritical.”

Y/N was no stranger to Michael having girls over, whether that be them in the living room on the couch like Y/N and Brock, or in Michael’s room. Y/N never said anything, never interrupting and disturbing whatever they were clearly doing, always letting Michael live his life because they’re adults and this wasn’t high school (and she never wanted to risk showing any jealousy too).

And yet, Michael has the nerve to demand that her date for the evening, whether she actually liked him or not, leave when Michael’s come home now, though he wasn’t even supposed to be home in the first place.

“Hypocritical how?” Michael raises his head, almost amused but trying to act clueless. “I’ve asked nicely for your guest to leave as it is late and I would like to go to bed knowing that my apartment is free of strangers.”

“Brock isn’t a stranger, he’s my guest, and you’re kicking him out very rudely, so that’s bullshit,” Y/N argues.

“Um, hey,” Brock interjects shyly, “I don’t want to get in the middle of.. whatever this is that’s starting, so I’m gonna just, you know, head out,” Brock says awkwardly, interrupting the current conversation and standing up.

“What, you are?” Y/N looks at him with a bit of disappointment. She wasn’t really that upset over Brock wanting to leave, finding more relief in it than anything. But she didn’t want him to leave because it would mean Michael would have won, and then she’d also lose further opportunity in trying to get over her feelings for Michael, or attempts, at least.

“Yeah, I’ll just see you later,” he smiles a bit and grabs his jacket off the couch and walks past Michael, still avoiding eye contact and leaves out the door without another word being said.

Y/N watches quietly as Brock leaves without even looking back. Y/N crosses her arms and glares back at Michael, a bit of humiliation and obvious anger showing on her face, remaining silent until the door shuts behind Brock.

“Glad that’s over with,” Michael speaks fluidly and walks off towards his bedroom door, thrilled Brock is finally gone and not just away from Y/N, but also that no other opportunity to be kissing her or whatever else will occur now.

"Glad that’s over with? What is wrong with you,” Y/N calls out, turning to him as he walks by her, obviously frustrated with the situation. “That was so rude and embarrassing! You had no right in doing any of that.”

Michael turns to her, “Look, I know it’s your apartment, but it’s mine too, and I wasn’t comfortable having him here.”

“He was here for me, not you,” she states. “Why would it make you uncomfortable to have him over when he’s not even here to see you in the first place, and we weren’t doing anything that would have bothered you anyway,” she says. “You weren’t even supposed to be here, but I’m allowed to have whoever I want over and when I want.”

“No you aren’t,” Michael snaps, his fists suddenly tightening by his sides. “Not when it’s some weird, random guy that you haven’t mentioned to me about.”

“I have mentioned him before,” Y/N points out. “He’s not some weird, random guy. He’s from a class I had last semester,” Y/N says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Michael narrows his eyes, “You mean that’s the guy you’ve been going out with and texting and shit?” Michael points, tone becoming more irritated. “You had one class with him and then ran into him on campus. You hardly know the guy, and you have him over in our shared apartment without me knowing?”

“Oh, what, I need your permission now in who I go out with?” She furrows her eyes. “You never ask me for ‘permission’ when you bring girls over.”

“That’s completely different,” Michael exclaims, gesturing out. “This is you and some guy you hardly know, and you two were fucking making out! Who knows what else could have happened!”

“Who cares?” Y/N speaks confused and frustrated. The way Michael was talking to her made her feel like she was some kind of child. She and Brock had been seeing each other for just the last few weeks but she knew him a lot better than Michael did with the girls he hangs with. “What does that have to do with anything? That’s between he and I.”

“No, it’s not. You can’t just be fucking making out with some random guy in our apartment without me knowing. You should have checked with me first!” He calls.

“Why are you so mad and yelling,” Y/N crosses her arms. “You’ve been so weird lately and just,” she shakes her head, “over-protective. What’s up your ass?” She asks, causing Michael to roll his eyes. “You know you have been, don’t you dare deny it,” she points.

Michael had been acting a bit strange lately whenever Y/N happened to mention the new guy she had been talking to. From a series of interrogating questions, to annoyed behavior and a short temper, always emphasizing that Y/N should be careful. Y/N never thought anything of it, always thinking Michael was just in a bad mood from class or work and she just caught him at the wrong times, while also being a normal best friend and warning her to be safe.

But she didn’t know that Michael’s “weird” and “over-protective” behavior was due to him being jealous and actually upset over having to hear about Y/N talk and gush about some guy she was apparently crushing on, her smiling and giggling over texts and saying how nice and great he was. Michel hated hearing it, but couldn’t tell her to stop without making it obvious the reason why.

“I’m not being weird or anything,” he glares. “You just can’t be doing this,” he says, knowing he didn’t have any other valid argument and his behavior wasn’t making any sense. But he was too scared to admit the truth.

Y/N stares at him, her expression implying that was the dumbest argument she’s ever heard, which Michael knows, but wasn’t going to be admitting that either.

“What,” Michael exclaims, shrugging his shoulders.

“I just,” she shakes her head in disbelief, “can’t be doing this? What, dating? Having guys over for movie nights and stuff? Having fun?”

“Yes, dating and having guys over for movie nights and stuff and having fun,” Michael clarifies matter of fact.

“You literally bring girls home all the time?” Y/N calls out. “What’s the difference? Plus, Brock is really chill and nice,” she explains.

“Brock? Really?” Michael crosses his arms over his chest and raises his eyes. “He’s just using you.”

Y/N drops her jaw, offended. “Using me? For what?”

“You know exactly what,” Michael drops his arms and gestures an arm out. “You’re not stupid, you know all he wants is one thing and that is all he is trying to get from you. And once he gets it, he’ll be done with you.”

“First of all, you don’t know anything about Brock. Second, you do the exact same shit to girls. All the time,” she emphasizes. “You bring them over here, without my ‘permission’, and you ‘hardly know them,’” she mocks.

“It’s consensual,” Michael steps forward. “Before I bring them home, they know it’s just a hook-up, a one time thing. But that’s besides the point,” he waves off. “You deserve better than some guy who’s just trying to use you for a one quick fuck.”

“Who are you, my dad?” She shakes her head dumbfounded. “I can make my own decisions, Michael.”

“I don’t want your first time having sex to be with some loser asshole who doesn’t care about you,” Michael states quite genuinely, because Michael is sincere about that and obviously cares for her, but is also indirectly possessive and doesn’t want her to be with anyone else either.

“Um, hold on a second, my first time?” Y/N raises her eyes. “I’ve had, you know, sex before,” she says as confidently as she can.

Michael laughs out, crossing his arms again over her response and the way she spoke it, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I wanted to let you have your moment, but I just couldn’t hold it in.”

“I’ve done it,” Y/N says a bit shyly as her face heats up with embarrassment and annoyance.

“No you haven’t,” Michael grins. “Trust me, I know. Your response alone would have told me that too, but I just know you.”

“Wha -- I,” She trails off, her jaw dropping a bit, trying to think of something to say and to put Michael in his place in some way, even though she knows he’s right.

Michael raises his eyes, smirking, knowing the truth about her.

Y/N breathes out frustrated and a bit embarrassed still. “Fine. Whatever. Fuck you.”

Michael bites his tongue, holding back the urge to make her words a reality. He’s been waiting for a moment between them to happen for forever it seems now. But he’s always been unsure of when to make the move, always being worried and afraid of being rejected and to ruin their friendship in any way, of course being unaware of her feeling the same way back.

“You’re just mad because you know I’m right -- about everything,” Michael says.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” she scoffs. “Is this how it’s always going to be? Whenever I date a guy now and bring him over or anything, I have to get your ‘permission’ and check in with you? I mean, you’re not my fucking dad or brother or something.”

“I’m your best friend, and roommate,” Michael states, as if that has any power in the situation. 

“Who’s currently pissing me off,” Y/N states harshly.

“I would just rather you wait to date a guy that’s actually nice and cares for you and treats you well and won’t use you for sex,” Michael says.

“That’s not your choice,” Y/N states confidently. “You may be my best friend, but you don’t know everything about me. How do you know I don’t want to just hurry up and have sex and get it over with?”

Michael narrows his eyes, surprised to hear her say something like that considering he knows the kind of person she is, thus leaving him momentarily confused.

“Maybe I don’t think it’s that big of a deal so I’m just trying to live my life. Or, maybe Brock really does care about me and it’s headed somewhere good. We both know you know nothing about him since you kicked him out so fast,” she speaks aggravated.

“I know how you think, Y/N. I know how you work,” Michael raises his head arrogantly. “You just have a half ass crush on that guy because he’s putting in all this effort and seems really great, but actually he’s just trying to fuck you one time and then move on to the next girl. And then, you’ll be left heartbroken.”

“Trust me, you really don’t know how I work, because I’m not dating him for that reason at all,” Y/N crosses her arms.

Michael gives a confused expression, more confused than he was just seconds ago.

Y/N just rolls her eyes. “Whatever. He’s gone, it’s done, and I’m done with this conversation now,” she says as she drops her arms and walks past Michael to go to her room for the evening. She’s too irritated and frustrated with Michael to continue speaking to him any further about Brock, sex, his annoying behavior this evening, or any of the events of tonight.

So she walks into her room, ready for this night to end and to think about what she’s going to do about her feelings of Michael since going out with Brock is now a total bust.

She pushes her bedroom door behind her as she steps in, allowing the door to close on it’s own. But her bedroom door slams shut a second later instead, drawing her attention as the shut was too harsh for it to be have been done by her.

Y/N narrows her eyes when she sees Michael standing in her room, clearly being the one to have slammed the door behind her and him now, too. She crosses her arms as she faces him, eyeing him bemused but still irritated from everything.

“I said I was done with the conversation. Don’t you dare try to--”

Michael strides over to Y/N assertively as she speaks, grabbing her waist and pulling her into him, causing her arms to drop as she presses her palms to Michael’s chest and he crashes his lips against Y/N’s, halting her words.

Shock and complete confusion muddles Y/N’s mind as she finds the moment to be too good to be true, her heart racing a million miles a minute. A breath-taking euphoria overtakes her, her not wanting this moment to ever end as Michael has just taken control of this situation and kissed her.

Y/N’s so immersed in the feeling of Michael’s lips against hers; his hands and arms wrapping around her securely, it feeling like he will never let her go; that she doesn’t process the next moment when she and Michael are stumbling back to her bed and falling over onto the soft mattress.

“You confuse the absolute fuck out of me,” Michael breathes out, almost hissing, once he pulls away from Y/N, kneeling up over her as she watches him pull his black t-shirt off and throw it to the side, exposing his fit torso. His bun is a bit messy now with all of the sudden actions, a few strands of his hair falling around his face like earlier when her mind had wandered off to him, looking unbelievably enticing.

“One day, you’re giggling like some innocent school girl over that idiot asshole, and now, you’re implying that you were dating Brock just to fuck?” He glares. “To get that shit over with?” Michael leans in, colliding his lips with Y/N’s again as a hand clasps against her cheek, hardly giving her any time to react.

Y/N moans lightly against Michael’s mouth when he bites down on her bottom lip, pulling back lightly, a hand of his gripping around her throat firmly.

“If anyone is going to fuck you, it’s going to be me,” Michael practically seethes against her lips, causing a shiver to run through Y/N’s core from the husky and possessive nature of Michael’s words.

Michael’s other hand roams down Y/N, feeling along her body before pushing the fabric of her dress up and allowing his fingers to brush and rub against her through her underwear, already feeling the wetness that’s beginning to gather at her center, causing her breath to hitch all together as she feels his touch against her.

“And from the feel of it, it seems like you agree,” Michael speaks cockily with a devilish smirk, kissing her again before Y/N can say anything, feeling like her skin is on fire, knowing she’s in for a night of a lifetime.

~

A/N: Let me know what you think! Any and all feedback is much appreciated! <3

[fictionaffliction]

Better Forgotten

Chapter Four

Summary: Dr. Ingrid Hansen is a respected psychologist struggling with the aftermath of the Snap as well as her own trauma from an accident she endured many years ago. Her world is thrown into utter chaos when she meets a dangerous man posing as a client. Dr. Strange is reluctantly tasked with protecting her, but in order to do so, he must first help her recover who she truly is. While she is grateful for his help, she has to wonder, are some things better forgotten?

Rated M

Chapter Warnings: Canon typical violence, memory loss, chronic pain, ophidiophobia, thalassaphobia

It was only when the sun rudely shone on Ingrid’s face through the open curtains that she woke up. Normally, she wasn't one to sleep in, but her sleep that night had been frequently disrupted by sudden bursts of anxious energy that shook her awake like an earthquake. She did not have a moment of forgetting where she was when she awoke, but she envied the temporary forgetfulness enjoyed by characters on television when they briefly do not remember the previous day’s events after waking. Maybe if she shared that condition, she might be given a moment of rest from the terrible sense of dread constricting her chest.

She checked her phone. No messages. Not even an email from a patient. Soren and the others must’ve kept their word and taken care of things at her office. Annoyed at the dead silence of her inbox, she threw the blankets off of herself and got up. After getting dressed and doing her makeup (which seemed to appear on the dresser the moment she realized she didn’t have any with her), she headed into the hallway.

She slipped her phone into her back pocket and was wondering where Dr. Strange might be when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned, ready to say something but yelping in surprise instead when she was met with the sight of Dr. Strange’s cloak, floating on its own in front of her. The cloak’s edge folded and waved at her, mimicking a hand beneath it. Unsure of what else to do, she waved back.

“H-hi,” she stammered, not wanting to be rude--that is, if one can be rude to a cloak. The edge folded again, gesturing for her to follow. She obeyed, careful to keep her hands clasped in front of her so as not to accidentally disturb any of the artifacts. They found Dr. Strange and Wong with a number of books surrounding them, sitting below the large circular window she had seen from outside the day before. They looked up when they heard her footsteps.

“Oh, good. We can get started,” Dr. Strange said.

“With what?” she asked apprehensively.

“Getting to the bottom of whatever the hell Loki wants with you,” he replied. “But we’ll start with those migraines.” He held out his hand in invitation.

Ingrid suddenly felt unsure. A million questions ran through her mind as she felt herself move a step backwards. The cloak scooped her up and carried her closer to them before settling on Dr. Strange’s shoulders.

“Have a seat, Dr. Hansen,” he said, gesturing to a wooden chair behind her that had not been there a moment before. She did so, still feeling uneasy. He settled in a chair across from her, Wong remained standing, watching them both closely. “When did you start getting migraines?” he asked, his tone suddenly clinical.

“About thirteen years ago,” she said. She was familiar with this conversation. She’d had it with a dozen neurologists before him.

“What prompted them?”

“A boating accident.”

“Tell me more about that.”

The conversation was practically verbatim each time she’d had it. This time was no exception.

She sighed heavily. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not go into the specifics.” It was painful to recount each time.

His eyes narrowed at her refusal. “Oh come on, Dr. Hansen, you know how this goes,” he said. She stayed quiet, keeping her face neutral but resolved. He let out a breath in exasperation. “Fine. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” He removed his gloves to reveal five long, pinkish scars etched into the back of each hand, running from the tips of his fingers to his wrists.

Staring at his hands, she nodded slowly. He kept his gloves off. “I don’t remember much,” she admitted.

“That’s okay,” Wong said kindly. “Just tell us as much as you can.”

She swallowed and took a deep breath. “My parents and I liked to go fishing and my dad wanted to go out on the water for a few days to celebrate...something.” She struggled to remember but it was hazy. The two men watched her carefully as she squinted at nothing in particular, searching her mind. “A birthday maybe? Anyway, we rented a little small boat and when we went out the weather was clear, but then...” she trailed off. The two men waited patiently for her to finish. “It got stormy on the second morning. We tried to get back to shore, but we couldn’t beat it.”

She recalled the lightning crackling across the sky as her father attempted to navigate the huge wave that slammed into the side of their boat. She heard her mother cry out for her as she reached for her hand. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she fought back the panic that kicked at the inside of her chest. You’re safe, she reminded herself, though safety seemed relative at this moment.

“The last thing I remember is getting hit in the back of the head and hitting the water.” she finished.

“And your parents?” Dr. Strange asked.

She shook her head. “They never recovered them or the boat,” she replied quietly, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. Wong offered her a tissue, which she took with a rueful smile. Dr. Strange and Wong exchanged a look before he continued with his interrogation.

“I appreciate you telling me,” Dr. Strange said, his arms crossed firmly across his chest. “That can’t be easy to live with. I seem to recall that you were interested in dementia treatment. Do you happen to have any memory issues?”

“You remember that?” she asked. He nodded. She was impressed. “Yeah, I do,” she admitted. The sorcerer’s eyes narrowed. “The doctor at the hospital diagnosed me with some retrograde amnesia following a traumatic brain injury.”

“Nothing shows up on any scans?” he asked skeptically.

She shook her head. “Nope. They couldn’t figure it out either. According to them, there’s no detectable reason for my memory loss or my migraines.”

Dr. Strange blinked in disbelief. “Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Not you. Them.” He got to his feet and nodded at Wong, who nodded back and stepped closer to them. "Amnesia this extensive doesn't come without significant brain damage. It would show up on CAT Scans and MRIs." Dr. Strange made a circling gesture. As he did, the air around them cracked into a hundred prisms that constantly shifted, reflecting soft rainbows around them. Ingrid gasped, jumping to her feet. It was beautiful, but that didn’t stop her from feeling unnerved.

“What is this?” she asked, reaching out to touch the edge of one of the prisms. Her fingers slipped through it, but did not break through. Wong watched them, or rather, watched in their general direction. He did not seem to be able to see them.

“This is the Mirror Dimension. Anything inside it cannot be perceived. The only way to open and close it is with one of these," he said, gesturing with his index and middle fingers. Across them was an aged gold ring with a simple bar on top. Had she seen it on the street, Ingrid would have thought it was a subtle set of brass knuckles. "This dimension will keep us safe from Loki as we’re working. He won't be able to track us. Well, he shouldn't be able to. If he does, we'll deal with it,” he explained with a shrug.

Her eyes were wide as he went over a couple of book passages in preparation for whatever he was about to do. He looked up and took in her frightened face and felt his expression soften to one of earnestness. He put his hands on her shoulders, and the warmth and weight of them helped calm her nerves.

“Dr. Hansen, I know this is a lot to take in and it's scary, but you've got to believe that I will protect you, okay?”

“Okay,” she squeaked. “What are you going to do?”

He thought for a moment. “You know, it’s easier if I just show you.” He placed his hands on either side of her face and she felt a strange warmth seep into her skin. For a moment she thought her face was flushed, until she noticed the soft electric feeling tingles that accompanied it.

She blinked, and suddenly she was standing with Dr. Strange in what seemed to be a dark expanse of fog. Muffled voices echoed around her and she whipped her head around to look. Two adult figures passed by, their forms faded and shadowed so that their features were only vaguely distinguishable. Ingrid gasped and moved closer to her companion, who watched closely. Another group of figures huddled around a table appeared from the mist, accompanied by a chorus of “Happy Birthday”. The little figure seated at the head of the table was the only one easily recognizable.

“That's me,” Ingrid realized, taking in the mess of blond hair and the single freckle on her right cheekbone. She touched her face where it remained. “What is this?” She asked, turning to face Dr. Strange.

“Your memories,” he said simply. “Though I must say, I wasn’t expecting them to be so…”

Another faded image of what looked to be a high school graduation appeared. “Say ‘diploma’!” the muffled voice of Ingrid's mother said.

“Eerie?” Ingrid offered, watching as it faded away.

“I was going to say few and far between,” he corrected. He put a hand on her back, urging her forward. “Come on, let's see if we can find something we can use.”

The sounds of a storm echoed to the right. A small sailing boat was caught in a swell that it had no hope of out maneuvering. She heard her own voice screaming out to the shadowy figure of her mother.

“Ingrid!” her mother screamed. “Hang on!”

Fear froze her veins as Ingrid helplessly watched her own body plummet into the frothing waves below.

“No, wait!” she yelled, taking a step toward the boat that was already fading away. Dr. Strange grabbed her wrist.

“It’s just a memory, Dr. Hansen,” he reminded her.

She looked at him with wide eyes and swallowed, but stepped back again as they watched another memory unfold. This one was more vivid. Ingrid’s too-pale body lying on a rocky beach as lightning flashed across the sky and waves threatened to wash her back out to sea.

“Hey! Are you alright?” a man’s lightly accented voice shouted over the storm. An aged hand pressed against her neck, searching for a pulse. “She’s alive. Call 911!”

The memory of Ingrid opened her eyes, blinking. Her face was dazed, devoid of any expression besides the wide-eyed confusion. Dr. Strange recognized severe shock when he saw it. The faces of the people faded in and out of focus. A man dressed in a tan windbreaker was bent over her. His hair might have once been red, though age had robbed it of most of its color. A woman dressed in a flannel jacket with long caramel-colored hair joined him. A girl with long dark hair and glasses stood close behind them, already yelling into her phone.

“Don’t worry, you’re going to be okay,” the woman said. “Just hang on.”

The memory faded away and Ingrid’s face looked almost as pale as it had in the memory. Dr. Strange knew couldn’t keep her here much longer. She wasn’t prepared. He looked around quickly. “Come on, we need to keep moving.”

She swallowed and nodded, following closely behind him.

They walked, though it felt like they weren't getting anywhere. Ingrid reminded herself to trust him, but she could not stop the dreadful feeling from gnawing at her gut. They halted as they heard a different voice, very far away. It sounded like that of an older woman and as they listened closer, they could hear someone sobbing. Was she soothing them?

“Where is that coming from?” Ingrid asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Her throat was tight with terror.

“Not sure,” Dr. Strange replied as he continued forward and she grabbed his arm instinctively. He allowed it, if only because her fear was so palpable.

The mist grew thicker and darker as they continued. There were no more sounds or figures of faded family members. Ingrid felt the keen sting of loneliness and loss as she saw how barren her memories were. Suddenly, there was a hiss from the darkness. She looked about, wide-eyed. Her hands tightened desperately on Dr. Strange's sleeve as her head began to ache. Another hiss, this one louder and closer, and the sound of something moving across the ground.

“What is that?” Ingrid’s voice was shaking. There was a flash of black and grey to their left. Another hiss. Dr. Strange shoved Ingrid behind him and pounded his wrists together before he landed in a fighting stance with brightly lit orange sigils spinning about his fists.

Out of the darkness rose a large pair of red eyes that glowed with a hatred like Ingrid had never seen before. Slitted pupils reflected the light of Dr. Strange's magic as it came closer, revealing a massive snake.

They watched in horror as it reared up, its forked tongue flickering out of a mouth that could easily swallow them whole. It opened its maw revealing two gargantuan fangs dripping with darkly colored venom, a set of frills at its neck expanding as it lunged with a terrible high-pitched hiss. Ingrid screamed, not just at the beast but at the terrible, splitting pain that struck at her head as Dr. Strange spun and pulled her to his chest.

The next thing she knew, she felt cold stone beneath her body and the world was suddenly brighter, even through squeezed shut eyes. She was sobbing, from fear or from pain, she wasn't sure which. She turned with some effort and pressed her face to the cool floor, desperate for any kind of relief.

“Hansen, it’s okay, you’re back. You’re safe,” Dr. Strange’s deep voice said from above her as he put his hands on her shoulders to try and sit her up. She waved him off weakly, clutching her head with desperate hands.

“What's wrong?” Wong asked, rushing over as the Mirror Dimension closed around them. He knelt at her side.

“My head,” she whimpered. She felt the pain throb with every pulse of her bloodstream. She opened her eyes to look up at them, but found that the room was suddenly far too bright. There was a greyish spot over part of her vision in her left eye. She clamped her eyes shut against the pain again as the two men kept trying to ask her questions. Nausea roiled against her stomach as she tried not to wretch.

“Alright, let’s get you to bed,” Dr. Strange said. “Can you stand?”

Her mouth didn’t want to form the words that her brain told it to. “I-I don’t know,” she stammered slowly, struggling to enunciate.

Wong helped her sit up slowly, then steadied her as she tried to get to her feet. Her legs wobbled and she nearly fell over, but Wong kept his grip on her as she took a few steps toward her room. “Do you need to be carried?” he asked gently.

“No, it’s fine,” she slurred.

“Liar,” Dr. Strange said as his cape unhooked itself and scooped her up into its aged silk lining. She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the cape’s magic carpet ride was certainly better than having Wong and Strange watch her struggle all the way to her bedroom.

When they got to her room, Wong hurriedly shut all the curtains, blocking out as much light as they could manage. The lamps were kept off, and Ingrid was placed gently on the bed by the cape, which dutifully returned to Dr. Strange’s shoulders as the man sat down on the bed next to her and conjured an ice pack.

“You didn’t tell me your migraines got this bad,” Dr. Strange said, keeping his voice quiet as he handed it to her.

She took it and gratefully pressed it to her forehead with a sigh of relief at the coolness against her skin. “They usually don’t.”

He and Wong exchanged a look and after telling her that he would be right back, Dr. Strange met Wong in the hallway.

“Something is very wrong here,” Dr. Strange said.

“I can see that,” Wong responded impatiently. “What happened, Stephen?”

Dr. Strange massaged his brows. “I took her into her memories and it was practically a ghost town. Most of them weren’t vivid or even whole, and then there was this...serpent. It attacked us.”

Wong frowned. “Was it a memory?”

Strange shook his head. “I don’t think so. It was too tangible, too aware of our presence.”

Wong thought for a moment, searching his own memory for a clue as to what this might mean. He clapped his hand to his friend’s shoulder. “Looks like we have work to do. You keep an eye on things here, I’m going to follow a few threads.”

Dr. Strange nodded as Wong hurried off deeper into the Sanctum.

[fpinterviews]

Jaclyn Santos

FP: We've spoken about the subject of the male gaze, and even part of the mission statement of FP is to question what it means when women artists control the power of their own objectification. There have been other artists who have paved the way, ie. Vanessa Beecroft, why do you think it is still considered controversial and shocking for a female artist to portray her sexuality as outwardly powerful and/or vulnerable?

JS: While many women artists have displayed their own sexuality in their artwork, every girl and woman still has to confront this topic individually and form her own convictions. It's something we continuously re-examine as we age and deal with new personal  struggles. There are so many conflicting messages in society regarding a woman’s stance on her own sexuality and most women are still trying to figure it out for themselves. On one hand, society definitely rewards physical beauty yet, in many other ways, it can be an impediment. Increasingly, I think people turn to media figures as a barometer for their own morality. For the "Shock Challenge" I wanted to generate discussion about the way women are often criticized because of images they present of themselves – particularly the way certain female celebrities objectify themselves by posting sexy personal photos on social networking platforms such as Twitter. Often these photos are low-resolution and snapped from cell phones. I decided to photograph myself in this manner as a sort of contemporary “self-portraiture” and elevate the photos to fine art status by re-contextualizing them. I then displayed the images in the gallery and allowed the audience to physically alter the work in any way with sharpies, which draws attention to the way women are criticized online. I titled the piece, “Triple Self-Portrait in Bathroom,” which references Andy Warhol, an artist known for working with the idea of celebrity persona.

Another reason it may still be considered controversial is because of female competition, which occurs in part due to socially imposed myths of female worth. The scrutiny with which women can judge each other is incredible. Growing up, I wasn’t horrendously unattractive but I did go through an “awkward phase,” and for five years of my life other girls ridiculed me nearly every day. Now that I am older and have grown into my looks, I am condemned by some women because I keep up my appearance, when if I didn’t I would be put down for it. The world sets up a standard for beauty, then criticizes those who admit they struggle with it. I’m willing to honestly examine this contradiction through my artwork.

FP: You've also mentioned isolationism in your statement...a theme that seems to be prevalent in American culture today, particularly because of the internet, and our ability to be alone yet still remain virtually connected. Can you speak about how that relates to your work?

JS: I think the piece I did for the "Art That Moves You" challenge on WOA, "11x17", touches on the issue of isolationism in contemporary urban culture. It also examines voyeurism, a somewhat natural response to isolation.  While most people do not spy on their neighbors' with binoculars, voyeurism has transcended to the internet in a more diluted version, where many of us use social networking platforms and blogs to comment on the lives of those we see on Television and other forms of Media. The pseudo-anonimity of the Internet offers protection while potentially causing further isolation. I think this has affected women in a very specific way. Oftentimes women display sexy images of themselves in an attempt to garner attention or praise, yet this often backfires into “unwarranted” criticism. Too often photos or explicit videos are released without consent.

FP: In regards to the nudity on the show...it really was a missed opportunity as you said for the production to discuss the current state of feminism as it pertains to the art world. Such a HUGE topic and yet (for the sake of time constraints? titillation of tv?) Bravo chose to edit down your provocative "shock value" piece to a hot girl defaulting to her own voyeuristic sexuality more than anything else. How did you feel about that? What could they have done to further the dialogue? What do you think would have happened if say one of the male artists had asked to photograph you naked or had photographed themselves naked...do you think more or less would have been made of that episode?

JS: So far my character has appeared very one-dimensional. The fact is, I am not a "bimbo" in any capacity.  Instead of portraying my true personality, they jumped on every opportunity to dumb-down my character. I was very disturbed by the way my piece, “Triple Self-Portrait in Bathroom,” was depicted on Work of Art as well as the way my character and art making process were completely distorted. I don’t think this was done because of time constraints; rather, it was done to create a very simple story arch that any casual viewer could follow. This was problematic because it made me look like I default to nudity without any thought behind the concept of the work, which undermines my art process. I am not shy about my appearance as they suggest, but I did feel incredibly vulnerable being taped in the nude. There's a huge difference between presenting a photograph that I have carefully selected and composed, verses handing over raw footage that can be manipulated in any way whatsoever. I was very hesitant about doing this but I believed in the piece and the producers said they needed the footage only to display my process. Yet in the episode, the rest of my process was barely discussed, then it was falsely made to look as though I was not responsible for conceptualizing the final product.

The treatment of sensitive issues on set was different for the boys. A male contestant was not required to film himself ejaculating on a piece of art, which caused some tension on set.

FP: In The Art of Reflection: Women Artists' Self-Portraiture in the Twentieth Century, Marsha Meskimmon states: "If the task was to find oneself, then the crisis for the postmodern subject is that nowhere is home, everything shifts and changes. What is the reflection in the mirror that 'vanity' holds? She refuses now to be the 'site' of another's desire and reflects back to you the insubstantiality of your projections."1

Do you think it's possible for the physicality of an attractive female artist to ever be a separate entity from her work, particularly if she is the subject matter of her own work? Is vanity and the mirror important to an artist?

JS:  To answer the question, if the womans' chosen subject matter deals with nudity or sexuality in the form of self-portraiture - i.e. Marina Abramovic, Cindy Sherman - no, I don't feel the artist's appearance could be a seperate entity. If the subject matter involves sexy images of other women or the imagery is more illustrative - i.e. Lisa Yuskavage, Hillary Harkness - I think it will be much less of an issue. I think it can only be a non-issue if the artist completely plays down her appearance or doesn't acknowledge it in her work. Yet this doesn't necessarily mean it won't be an issue. At a college critique, a guest artist was invited to our studios and the minute he saw me, before he ever saw my work, he blurted out, “you are the artist”?  “You don’t look anything like an artist... YOU are as interesting as your work." This sort of thing happened so often that I made a decision to incorporate my appearance into my work.

FP: Another great quote from this same book: "One of the key issues in feminist theory has been that of women's voice in male language. To what extent is it possible to enunciate a truly different position when you are already within the structures which mark your difference?"2 Do you think the art world is still a predominantly masculine one or is it now equal...what has your experience been thus far?

JS:  While certainly more doors are now open to female artists, there’s no denying the highest paid artists are all still men. There’s also no denying that the vast majority of Art collectors are men.  I worked for Jeff Koons for two years and there were very few women who came in to purchase work. Granted, this may simply be because men still make more money than women and if women had more spending power, more of us would invest in contemporary art. I think it is a challenge to make work about women that can appeal to both a male and female audience on the same level. We respond to images of the female form rather differently, and it's hard to subvert the provocative aspect of a sexualized image.

FP: The high-low art status is interesting in your pieces --do you think anything can be elevated to art status by redepicting it?

JS:  Yes, it can, if done in a particular way.  Intent is important -- low art must be appropriated in an intelligent way. For instance, a high school student copying his incredible hulk comic book is entirely different than Jeff Koons appropriating the hulk into his personal iconography.

FP: You worked as a studio assistant to pop art icon Jeff Koons. Has he influenced your work? And who are your biggest influences?

JS:  Before I ever worked for Jeff Koons, I loved his Made in Heaven series as well as his Luxury/Degradation series. Speaking of Made in Heaven, that’s a prime example of low-art being successfully elevated to high -art. Jeff Koons is brilliant and there are very few people who love art as much as he does. Working at his studio was an incredible learning experience. It was so interesting to see how he spoke with visitors about his work and I learned an incredible amount of technical skill while at his studio. Jeff talked "acceptance" quite often. We must accept who we are -- our individual and collective pasts -- our shortcomings, failures, weaknesses, and strengths. As artists, we must be honest with ourselves in order to make work that is personal yet transcends to a wider audience. So many artists have influenced my work, but to name a few: Damien Hirst, Marilyn Minter, Laurel Nakadate, Liz Cohen, Vanessa Beecroft

FP: Where do you see your work evolving now that you've participated in Bravo's Work of Art? Has the show inspired you in a new direction? What's on the horizon? Where can we see your work next?

JS:  Participating in the reality show was an experience like no other. It really made me more aware of the internet as a portal for criticism and dialogue in fine art. It also opened my eyes to how incredibly critical and voyeuristic our culture is, and I think I would like to comment even further on these qualities in my new projects. The show also allowed me to branch out into other mediums when appropriate, something I think I may have been afraid to do before.  Since the show wrapped up, I’ve been continuing my series of figurative paintings as well as a new series of explosions that respond to the war and oil spill.

Check my website, www.jaclynsantos.com for frequent updates of my new work.

[yuzurk]

[12.10.20] LIVE NOW : CHOI YENA 1ST SOLO VLIVE 

Yuzu is a little nervous as soon as she goes live. She had done this several times but vlive was a whole different platform she had to familiarize herself with first before being able to make it work as naturally as she did with twitch. Making sure her connection was stable and the frame well captured, she continued to hold on for several seconds, double checking everything and watching people pour in. “I feel so naked without my load out-,” she muttered under her breath in English, spotting most of the chat consisting of fans that had found their way here through her announcement on twitter.

She didn’t know how many fans of heartz would actually join this stream and it was a shame she had to talk in Korean for the most part through it even though her fanbase consisted mainly of international fans but she would have to work with the limited options she’s been given.

When she was sure that there was a good amount of people in the audience she leaned back and clapped her hands together after inhaling a deep breath. “Sup everyone, this is Choi Yuzu and yer not watching Choi’s Choice,” the ex-streamer joked, a laugh escaping her lips. “Before we begin- my vlives will be mostly in Korean. With me being an idol in the korean industry now, I have to re-shift my focus. To those who don’t understand Korean- do not worry. Each of these streams will be equipped with English subtitles eventually and I can read and translate your comments if you want to be a part of the life audience. Sadly, this is the most I can do as of now, I apologize,” she announces, her hands still folded together as she bows her head. When she looks up again, there are already comments pouring in from sad emojis to people saying they understand and some confused Koreans asking what the heck was going on and why she was talking in English. So Yuzu went ahead and really kicked off her first vlive als Heartz’ Yena.

“Alright. Here I go- Let me introduce myself properly-,” she begins in korean, her head nodded once. “My name is Choi Yena, I’m the October girl and final member of Heartz 1/3! I used to be a streamer in the gaming and variety field and trained under Samsung for about a year prior to debut. I was born on the 29th September 1999, blood type A, going by the nickname Yuzu. So dun hesitate to call me that! Born in Daegu, been to primary in Japan and middle school in Canada. I came to seoul ‘bout two years ago, straight after High School. I love Games and all sorts of performing. I speak Japanese, Korean and English. It’s a pleasure to meet y’all. Please look after me well,” she introduces herself, tossing the most important facts back at her new audience right after.

“I believe I got... all important things done...,” she murmurs, looking down at her checklist before gazing back towards the chat to see the comments pouring in. People greeting her, calling her cute and funny made the girl smile a little and grin to herself. “Heh. Oh- the other members? I think they went back to the dorm already. I stayed behind to go live... eh?” Right as she says that the door slides open, revealing Luda ( @rkxluda ) who tiptoed her way into the room with a box of food. “Eonni? For me? I thought you’d gone back- ye I’m already live,” she informs the other with a grin in her voice, waving her in and tugging her over. “Before y’leave say hi, real quick!” The two girls wave at the cam together, Yuzu chuckling at how embarrassed Luda seems to be for interrupting her solo vlive. So she lets the elder female scurry away quickly and looks at what she had left the streaming girl. “Oh.... this... I love this- eonni brought me one of my fav foods ‘cause she knew I’d stay back to stream.” Opening the lid carefully Yuzu tilts her head back in bliss after inhaling the beautiful, yummy scent. “Woah... hold on I gotta do this properly-,” she declares, placing her chop sticks down before rolling the sleeves of her jacket up and then putting her cap the other way around to have her face free of any possible disturbance. 

Only then she picks her chopsticks back up and claps her hands together. “Temporary mukbang intermission. I’ll eat well~,” the girl sing sungs before digging in carefully, the hot noodles tasting amazing but still hot in her mouth. “Hmm so hot- but so good.” Struggling through the first bite, she takes a moment to swallow the bite before she pokes her chopsticks into her noodles again. “Luckily the eonnis can cook well- I’m a huge mess in the kitchen. The closest to a good cook I am is playing overcooked,” she admits, a smile widening across her lips before she munches down another mouthful. While chewing she goes back to check the comments, one of them making her smile.

FoxyIrishka ( @rkirina ) : when are you buying me a box of premium grade beef

“Soon. I ain’t forget, Irishka. Dunno when I’ll have time now but it’ll happen,” the ex-streamer promises to her gamer buddy, holding up her pinky to seal the promise. Irina isn’t the only of her friends she sees in the chat and it warms her heart. Especially Chaewon ( @chaewonrk ) makes her almost snort out her next mouthful again. Instead she smiles, hamster cheeks on full display as they remain puffed up with food. “I see ya Chaewonnie~ This girl’s an amazing guitarist. We played in a band together- right! I forgot to talk ‘bout 6tunes!” The female sits up with a start, grabbing her own phone and pulling up one of the few original songs they released. “I used t’play in a band as drummer n’ vocalist. We released a few original songs before we had to disband. Chaewonnie was there- n’ my big brother too- Sungmin Oppa ( @rksungmin ) ... he’s- ah there he is! I saw you in the chat earlier, hi oppa~,” she greets, waving at the camera with a chuckle. 

“Yeees I’m eatin’ well- see,” she holds up her half finished dinner before looking through her library for a 6tunes song. When she finally found one, she held the cover to the lens, making sure people could see it properly. “If y’wanna give it a listen, go and check it out!” Not certain if she was allowed to play music not made by samsung artists she decided to not play it for now and instead continued on. On the topic of music it’s then she spots her namesake.

( @rkyena ) "hi yena-ya it's yena unnie~ congrats on your debut!! will you sing a song you've enjoyed lately?"

“Ah- Yena eonni, thank you-,” she can’t help but chuckle. “This still is so weird- people ain’t ever gonna find me with how popular Yena eonni is,” she states with a chuckle before munching down another bite. “Luxe sunbaenim is too powerful... eonni is it ‘kay if I tell my fans t’ tag my posts with Yuzu instead- otherwise I ain’t ever find ‘em if I wanna go lookin’,” she asks the idol, an amused smile on her lips while she continues to eat. Receiving an okay in return she pretends to breathe a huge sigh of relief. “You heard her guys- Yuzu it is! T’get back to yer question doe eonni,” she continues, reaching for her phone again. “I’ve been listenin’ to convex new release a lot lately. I really like Jinwook ( @rkjinwook ) sunbaenim’s solo ‘Simple’! It’s a really nice song- I love it a lot.” 

Watching the reactions she kind of pursed her lips together when various people asked her to sing the song right now. Inhaling and exhaling a long breath, she couldn’t help but feel like it was a request she should fulfill. “Ah- I can sing a little... I’ll do the chorus-,” she gives in, pulling the lyrics up and deciding to do a simple accoustic version solely because her voice was too soft to keep up with the instrumental and jinwook’s voice in the background. Towards the end of the chorus she gets shy at people calling her voice lovely and beautiful. She spots Xiao among them and immediately feels soft again how she can seemingly transition from one field to another and still keep some of her faithful fans. Hiding her smile behind her phone she can’t help but chuckle shyly. “Ah lleexiao ( @xiaoxrk ) enough y’gonna make me blush,” she admits cheekily, waving the compliments off before hunching her shoulders up as she cringes a little. 

She’d have to learn to get used to these kind of compliments.

Leaving people to gush about her a little longer she decides to finish her food and just peeks at the comment section once in a while. It’s during one of those times she sees Kiwi in the chat as well, his request causing her to snort internally. Of course he would. “KingKiwi ( @rkxkikwang ) - please do a kda cover... okay. I’ll get to that. Got just the person in mind I could ask t’help me with that. Keep a look on insta,” the idol teases, wiggling her brows. Next she spots Wendy ( @rkwendy ) as well among those commenting on her voice, praising her for her progress and that she was proud of her debuting at last. “Ahw eonni- thank u so much. Still got long ways t’go compared to u doe,” she tags on immediately. “Wendy eonni is such a great vocalist- Androma is full of so many beautiful n’ talented girls- if you’re not a fan of them- go check ‘em out right after this stream, okay?!” Insisting on this she points her finger to the camera, narrowing in on it before backing away once more to finish her food. “Okay, cool.”

“I’m planning to actually do more vlives if I manage to find the time... one of the series I’d like to get kicking is actually related to gaming and I’ll have an androma girl with me for those,” the ex-streamer continues to tease as she wraps up the empty box and her used chopsticks. “So y’can look out for that too!” Drinking a sip of soda the female comes quiet while she reads more comments. Among her friends still being noisy and her old streaming fans yelling about more gaming content she can see some new names and comments being tossed her way. One of them catches her interest in particular.

zuzuruhanyu: say "maganda ako" 

The female furrows her brows, head tilting to the side. “What does that mean? Can I even say that on a live broadcast?” For a second she ponders over it, typing the words into a google translator to see what it would spit out at her.

“I’m beautiful- is that what it means? Won’t that be a little vain of me to say,” she inquires with a chuckle. “I’m tempted to call someone who I know knows Tagalog to confirm Google Translate isn’t failing me-,” she wonders out aloud. In the end she sends him a quick message beforehand, just to warn him and ask if she could call him really quick to ask something. If she was already boosting her connections, she may as well continue to go and do that. With the okay given Yuzu calls up Johnny’s ( @rkjohnny ) number and puts him on speaker. She grins when he picks up and some people seem to actually get a clue who she just called.

“Johnny Oppa? You know Tagalog, right? Does ‘maganda ako’ mean I’m beautiful?” A grin on her lips she listens to him chuckle and confirm the information she dug up via google translate. Replying with a simple hum as he inquires if the chat asked her to say it, she lets the smile widen across her lips as he reassures her that she can say it live without getting into trouble.

“Ahh okay oppa, thanks!” Before she can hang up the call though, Johnny requests of her to do the ‘dalagang pilipina’ pose which leaves the female confused all over. “What’s that?” A pic of Johnny doing it along with an explanation follows not too long after and Yuzu can’t help but laugh. “Can I pleaaaase show this pic to the viewers,” she asks with a chuckle in her voice. When Johnny gives a confirmed chuckle right back she turns her phone to show it to the camera, still chuckling away. “Doesn’t he look like the perfect maiden?” 

Cackling at her own wording she turns her phone back to herself. “Are y’watchin’ the vlive right now? I’mma do it,” she announces before going ahead and doing it, wiggling her brows for extra added effect. “this good? am I doin’ this right?” When Johnny chuckles out a confirmation, Yuzu feels herself grinning back proudly. “Alright cool. I’mma hang up then now, ye? Thanks again, Oppa. Bye!”

Looking back at the chat and having people wonder how she knew all these idols, Yuzu had to think twice how she wanted to go about this. She had wanted to avoid being compared to Jieun but not wanting to look like she was flexing and flaunting all her connections right upon reveal she had to explain somehow.

“I know most of them from before they were idols through my cousin, Song Jieun. She used to be a Samsung trainee and her connections are crazy. She told people to look after me when I first came to Seoul ‘cause she was worried ‘bout me. Everyone’s been really kind to me and looked after me well, so I feel very spoiled and grateful.” A smile on her lips she nods her head calmly. 

She comes quiet again as she reads more comments, smiling at the reactions and responses she gets even if some of them call her out for riding on her cousin’s connections. To avert the topic she jumps at a comment from whom she knows to be her boyfriend ( @rkohsehun ) lurking on an alias that she admittedly has to sigh at internally. she really did love her stupid noodle.

"seahoney says: congrats on your debut !!! any new / laid back games you'd recommend?"

“hmmm,” she tilts her head, leaning back to think for a second. “with debut preparations and promotions I haven’t had much time to game much. I really do like the fall and halloween update for animal crossing new horizons but genshin impact has also been my go to game when I’m in the car headin’ to schedules. ‘s got everythin’ put together from what you’d love ‘bout open world games. the gacha ‘s a little annoyin’ but that’s gacha games for ya. the breath of the wild feel makes it a whole lotta different to any gacha I played doe. the controls are also easy to manage so that’s a plus as well,” she reviews with a smile on her lips, grinning as some people say they wish they could see her play. 

“maybe I’ll see if any of my friends plays it n’ once we all reach high enough levels we can coop and I could stream.” at the mention of friends she also spots yoojung ( @yccjungrk ) in the chat and can’t help but grow soft immediately. “yoojungie~ maybe it’ll be a game for ya too? I haven’t given up on tryin’ to find one we can game together besides ddr,” the gamer laughs. She wishes she could express how much she misses her old roommate and best friend but not wanting it to seem like she was ungrateful, she comes quiet instead.

A gaze at the clock does tell her that it’s rather late already and the staff member supervising her also looks ready to pass out in their chair so Yuzu slides an extra soda over towards them before turning back to her comment section.

“You guys are gems... I wanna stay around longer n’ talk to everyone more but I’ll be back soon. For now I gotta head back to the dorm too and get more sleep. Please look out for us and allow me to meet you at music shows. I would love, love, loooove to see you all and show y’all my appreciation for supportin’ heartz and our first unit 1/3. We got lots of great things planed ahead for the future and are ready to gear up good, so please anticipate the future girls as well,” she concludes, hands folded together as she tilts her head to the lens, gaze soft and adoration in her eyes.

“That’s all from me for today- Yuzu aka Heartz’ Yena over n’ out!” With a salute she squints her eyes, striking a cool pose that breaks with her exhaling a chuckle before the screen does turn black at last.

[luluwquidprocrow]

what grew in the garden of proserpine

originally posted: october 31st, 2019

word count: 2,553 words

rated: teen

original characters, beatrice, lemony, bertrand

halloween,  haunted houses,  pov outsider,  ghosts,  a sense of unnerving eeriness perhaps,   references of vfd trauma, hopeful ending

summary: The tradition was to find one thing that marked the old Baudelaire mansion as alive.

The silence weighed heavy there.

The Baudelaire mansion stood in the middle of the street, as it always did, and as it always would, set back a ways from the road by a long and winding driveway that appeared a deep and gaping cavity in the darkness. The black iron fence still stood, if only to the testament of its own resilience against time. No lights flickered in the windows; they were cold and still, the few curtains drawn. Trees that must have once been lush and colorful now gnarled themselves around the house like enormous, weathered hands, and in whatever spaces that remained, the ivy crept in, gripping the lawn and what was left of the turrets, the doors, the balconies, even overtaking the trees themselves. If one were to go behind the house, they would find the garden overgrown. The little stone pathways had cracked with age, as had the fountains and the statues, pockmarked by dead space where the stone itself had crumbled off. Where man’s greed and misfortune had staked its claim on the Baudelaire mansion, once reducing the structure to an ashen, skeletal frame, the earth’s reclamation continued to hold it back together.

What they will not tell you about the Baudelaire mansion is that it was rebuilt, before this and after the fire, when the mansion had a different name and a different family and a different although not altogether dissimilar story behind it. What they will tell you is that the state of ruin it is in now is, to their minds, the mark that something is never truly undone. The skeleton remains, the bones remember, there will always be a piece left that can never be covered up. Some mistakes, they will tell you, will just last, like ink staining a page, a chair, or a section of skin, taut and young. Age will never temper it all, and it never, ever could. It would last as it was, no matter.

Ophelia was twelve years old, and she lived down the street, and she had been to the Baudelaire mansion only a few times before, but never on a night like this. Merry and Ben lived on the other side of town, and they all knew each other from school, and that night they had met up in the city and made their way up and down the streets until they arrived at the Baudelaire mansion last. They stood, the three of them, at the old black iron gate, and when Ophelia touched it, the gate swung in, with a slow, steady creak.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Merry whispered. She fidgeted when she was nervous, and she adjusted the Alice band holding her hair back, again and again.

“Yes,” Ophelia said. “I don’t see why it wouldn’t be.”

“My parents keep telling me the old Baudelaire mansion is haunted,” Ben said. “I didn’t believe them.” He sounded as if he wanted to.

Ophelia didn’t believe them, although she had to admit that the state of the Baudelaire mansion could not inspire confidence. Nevertheless, she was determined to see the night through. She took a step forward, into the unknown, and even she was relieved when her boots hit the firm, solid drive.

“Did anyone bring a flashlight?” Ophelia asked.

“I hope so,” Merry said, “because I forgot mine.”

“Oh, I did.” Ben dug around in his bag and pulled out his flashlight. He switched it on, and it cast a bright white patch around them. The three made their way towards the mansion, past the trailing ivy and the old trees, Ben’s flashlight leading them on. Their eyes lingered on the statue of a woman in the yard, old and grey, everything about her set in stone, and then they looked away.

“Why do your parents think it’s haunted?” Ophelia asked.

Ben shrugged. “Well, I mean, they’ve lived in the city for a long time. They said a lot of things happened here, but they don’t really talk about it to me. They say they’ve seen a man here who looks like one who used to live here a long time ago.”

Merry whimpered, and she reached out for Ophelia’s hand. Ophelia took it.

“If your parents still live here, maybe that man still lives here, is all,” Ophelia said.

“I don’t think it looks like anyone lives here,” Merry said.

The front door was ajar when they reached it. A single candle was lit on the porch step, carefully encased in a smooth glass cover. Ophelia watched the flame; she knew what they said about fire. But the flame stayed where it was, swaying to and fro in the safety of the glass.

The three of them stood in front of the steps, watching the door. It didn’t move.

“They say he still wears the same clothes,” Ben offered.

“Maybe he’s just particular,” Ophelia offered in return. She too was particular. She was also practical.

Merry was neither. “Maybe it’s because he’s a ghost.” She cowered behind Ophelia, still holding her hand. “What if we don’t make it?”

“I think we’ll make it,” Ophelia said. “We do this every year, it’s tradition. And we’re already here. We can’t back out now.”

“Merry, why do you come if you’re so scared?” Ben asked.

Ophelia thought he wasn’t one to talk, but she decided not to say anything.

“I always hope one day I won’t be,” Merry said. “I just haven’t quite found that day yet.” But she swallowed, and she hooked her arm through Ben’s, and she set her jaw.

The three approached the door. Ben nudged it open the rest of the way with his flashlight, and they stepped inside.

The darkness in there, a cold and a heavy darkness, sat along their skin. Ben’s flashlight flickered. The beam shone over the twin staircases on either side of the foyer, how they stretched up and up towards the high ceiling, how the walls alongside were old and peeling, faded floral paper dangling, forgotten. The few tables that remained were covered in thin, dusty white sheets, and when Ben moved forward to shine the light in further, his footsteps echoed in all the open, empty space. It was as silent and as closed as a grave. Unmarked, unknown.

The tradition was to find one thing that marked the old Baudelaire mansion as alive. Not haunted, but alive. A flower in a crack in a window. A sheet of paper, blank and waiting, in a typewriter. A record still left in the victrola. Something to say, even here, there had been life.

The three of them kept to the ground floor. They went along slowly, even Ophelia, scared to disturb the silence. The other rooms were more furnished than the foyer, although not by much. A warped coffee table here and an aging couch there did not make it any more of a home or any less unsettling. Dust and cobwebs had become a part of each room, more than the furniture, more than the old paintings on the walls, more than the boarded-up fireplaces, more than the still piano in the den or the typewriter left in the office, almost embalmed with time. It was so hard to tell someone had even ever been there in the first place, if all that was left had decayed like it had, carving its existence into the house over what life had been there.

They reached the back room last.

Ophelia shivered when they passed through the doorway. The sunroom was her least favorite. She imagined it as bright and sunny, with the light streaming in the windows, little dust motes floating along in the air. In the night, something about the room always smelled like ash. Jagged window glass laid upon the tiled floor, where careless dirt still lingered. Ben’s flashlight cast more light than the moon outside, and the beam caught over sharp corners and edges until—

“There!” Ben exclaimed.

It was a handful of rose petals, grouped on the edge of a rickety black table like a red spill. Their relief was as palpable as anything else in the house, and they each took one, a second heartbeat in their hands, a light, proof.

“Ophelia,” Merry whispered, suddenly, “was that statue always there?”

Ophelia looked up. She locked eyes through the windows with a statue of a woman—young and beautiful, but with such a melancholy and anger about her that it seemed to sink her eyes back into her face. She held her hands out in front of her, open, and her grey dress cracked up from the bottom. It was as if, like the iron fence, she was keeping herself up only out of spite.

Ophelia remembered the statue.

She had last seen it by the driveway.

“No,” she murmured.

Ben swallowed. “Oh no.”

Merry grabbed at their hands, tugging them to the doorway. “We should go now,” she said, “if we go now we can still—”

The statue vanished.

They ran to the door, Merry in the lead. They could hear the woman behind them, growing closer. The floor sagged in her wake, stone dragging across the floor. Her eyes were on them. They knew they would not make it out of this house. They would not make it out alive, if they did. The door was too far away. The woman was so close. They would end there, with the rest of the house.

A man stood at the door.

Ophelia and Merry and Ben stopped short. They held onto each other and prepared to scream, as the man stood there, all in black and impassive. Their voices didn’t come, only the frantic and uneven breathing of terror. The man produced something from behind his back, and then opened his mouth to speak.  

“Fear,” he began, in an uncommonly gentle voice, “is a word which here means a sensation that strikes when one is presented by something unnerving, unnatural, or particularly anxiety-inducing. It is typical on a night like this, although you perhaps did not anticipate it to be quite so awful. For that, I can only apologize, but I must remind you, fear itself is nothing of which to be ashamed or frightened. It is a natural human response, and we must value it as we do all other natural human responses.”

“Lemony,” came an exasperated voice. “Let the kids take their candy.”

The man bent down very slowly in front of them and lowered the bowl in his hands. He smiled. The three children stayed stunned only for a moment longer, until their hearts reminded them that they were in fact alive, against all odds, yet again. The foyer looked no different no different than it had when they walked in, but it felt warmer now. They reached into the bowl he offered and took their candy.

They looked back at the woman; in her glory, Mrs. Baudelaire stood there, heavy rocks hanging from her dress, her whole body painted over in grey. She watched them with sharp, clever eyes.

“Boo,” she breathed, and they bolted.

They took the steps two at a time, the driveway at an impossible speed, careening back through the night.

“Well, we made it,” Ophelia said as they ran.

“Another year!” Ben shouted, raising his flashlight in triumph. “Another Baudelaire haunted house!”

“It never gets any easier,” Merry said.

“You did it, though,” Ophelia pointed out.

Merry ducked her head and smiled, and then ran right into the group of people standing in the street beyond the front gate, Ophelia and Ben tumbling after her.

Soft, small hands pulled them to their feet. “Are you alright?” someone asked in a familiar voice.

“Do you need any band-aids?” asked a second voice, just as familiar.

“We have an awful lot of them in the house.”

“On the second floor, the one we didn’t decorate.”

When the children looked up, they saw the concerned faces of Violet and Klaus Baudelaire, and of Mr. Baudelaire behind them, all three dressed in costume and carrying full bags behind them.

“I think we’re okay,” Ophelia said. “Thank you.”

“Great house,” Ben said.

“Mr. Baudelaire,” Merry cut in, “why don’t you ever hand out the candy instead of Mrs. Baudelaire and the other Mr. Baudelaire? Can’t you do it next year?”

“Oh, but they have so much fun doing up the house and handing out candy,” Mr. Baudelaire said. “Lemony practices the advice he gives all year!”

“Father,” Klaus said, rolling his eyes.

“They’re so embarrassing,” Violet muttered.

“We’ll see you at school on Monday,” Ben said.

In the morning, the Baudelaires—Mrs. Baudelaire, and Mr. Baudelaire, and the other Mr. Baudelaire, but not their children, for they will still be sleeping—will take down their decorations, and they will tame the ivy, and they will move the old statues and fountains into storage once more and bring out the newer ones that will last the winter, and they will fix the roof, because Mr. Baudelaire respects his wife’s dedication to the spirit of the season but does not care for the squirrels the hole in the attic invites, and the other Mr. Baudelaire will clean the dust off every inch of his typewriter, and Mrs. Baudelaire will spend the afternoon sneaking pieces of her children’s candy. All three of them will be wearing socks that will cover their ankles.

They will take their socks off that night, as they always do, in the comfort and safety of their bedroom, and they will look at each other. They will tell themselves, nothing is ever truly undone. Joy is only a crafted thing, and it cannot replace their lives. The bones remember, under skin that was taut and young and stained, what age has never, ever, ever tempered. They will tell themselves that, like their house, they have not been spared. They can make it better, they can go on, they can cover it up with a mask and try and change it into something better, but they can never change. This house will hold them, and they will hold it, where the smell of ash has claimed them all.

They will look at their house. They will look at the mansion that, when they had all been children, much younger than their children now, was the childhood villa of the other Mr. Baudelaire, whose last name has not been lost to time but just isn’t mentioned as often as his husband’s, because it was easier for the neighborhood children and the local school district. They will look at the place the other Mr. Baudelaire grew up, the place their children are growing up now, the place all of them spent a good deal of time believing one thing or another. They will look at how they have filled up the home with their lives, new and old, how they have layered memories over and over and stood in the places that hurt and let it hurt until it stopped. They have rebuilt, and they have remembered, and they have recovered.  

They will think, of course they have not forgotten. And they will think, that is why we have remained. For living, for loving; for fear, for joy; for proof.

There will be no silence in the next morning.

ending notes:

i for one am STUNNED i managed to get a halloween fic finished at all this year, not to mention in two days. very little proper editing went into this so here's hoping the theme tracks all the way, it very quickly spun into something i didn't quite expect and i just let it do that.

[klaineharmony]

300x3, Year 2, Week 1:01

All right, all. I’m trying to pick up my 300x3 for the new year, and get back into “We’ll Be There to Defend One Another.” I’m posting a fairly large chunk here, but I only wrote 302 new words of it today. But 302 words is 302 words! I won’t sneeze at it. @whatstheproblembaby, @katherineisthebestpulitzer, @queenofbrooklyn, @canadiantheatrenerd, @elozable, @wordshakerofgallifrey, @captainlordauditor, @writemetohell, @thelittleredheadedmusician, @rudeflower (are you a fan of this ‘verse? I honestly don’t remember).

Katherine woke early the next morning, much to her chagrin. She had honestly wanted to get some sleep after the past few days. She was normally an early riser, but it became chronic when her brain was too full, her mind too busy, and there had been much to think about during the past week. She wasn’t sure that even David knew about this particular quirk of hers, though he already worried that she didn’t sleep enough. (He was one to talk, with his full work days and union meetings afterward.)

She crept out of bed and once again availed herself of Sarah’s wrapper before sitting next to the window. I really should bring a set of nightclothes from home, she thought. Goodness knows I’m here enough, and they would be easy to smuggle out of the house. I’ll do that, the next time I have a convenient excuse to leave with a bag.

Of course, if David had his way (and Jack, too, from the sound of it) this would be her home permanently about a month from now. The thought filled her with joy, but there was trepidation mixed in.

Last night had been hard. She had known - or thought she had known - the complications of existing in a mixed religious marriage; her parents had certainly had their share of detractors and mockery, and even hatred. But, to a certain extent, her father’s money and position had insulated them. Elite New York was a money club, after all. Joseph Pulitzer could create scandal around anyone, make or break political careers, with just a story or two. And her father had done everything he could to divorce himself from the Jewish community, Katherine recalled bitterly. He had given up his heritage when he married her mother, become persona non grata to to the community that should have been his home, failed to teach his children about the religion he had been raised in. Katherine had never asked him whether his motives were personal or purely social, but either way, she wasn’t sure she could forgive him for it.

Still. To think that she had understood the extent to which people in mixed marriages could be ostracized and threatened, based purely on her own family’s experience, seemed like the height of arrogance now. 

She wanted to build a home, and a family, with David. She hadn’t fully realized that she could also deprive him of those things, simply by being who she was. The community that was instrumental to the Jacobs’ support and well-being could close ranks and leave them utterly alone, if it was collectively decided that she and Jack were too great a threat. People in her parents’ stratum of society did the same, of course, to anyone who violated their social rules, but it wasn’t quite the same. Money could be gained or lost, earned or inherited, and while longstanding wealthy families always carried a certain social influence around with them, it wasn’t a given that they would always belong to the club. Money wasn’t religion or heritage or identity, as much as some people in her parents’ circles liked to believe it was. It didn’t create a community or a home. Her parents’ cold mansion was proof enough of that. It didn’t hold people together when there was nothing else left.

Katherine sighed softly, rubbing her forehead. She was thinking in circles, and the headache that was developing as a result did not bode well. All she really knew was that she wanted David to be as safe as he could be, given the constant prejudice that was a part of daily life for him - and therefore, now, for her. She didn’t want to make that worse - but how could she make it better?  

A shadowy figure appeared abruptly outside the window, on the fire escape landing, and Kath pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp. It took her a moment to recognize Jack’s shape in the vague gray outline, but then her alarm gave way to concern.

She raised the window sash slowly, careful not to disturb Sarah. “Jack,” she breathed. “What are you doing here? It’s so early, and you have work today. I thought you were staying at the lodging house.”

Jack had turned toward her at the sound of the window, and Kath could just barely make out his features in the dark. “I did,” Jack confirmed, “but I woke up early and couldn’t get back to sleep, so.” He shrugged. “It happens more often than I’d like.”

“For me, too,” Katherine admitted softly. 

She just caught sight of Jack’s grin. “What keeps a wealthy girl like you up at night, Ace?” 

Katherine chuckled, still trying to keep her voice down. “A lot, these days.” She climbed carefully out the window and shut it behind her, joining Jack on the first escape and sitting next to him.

“Scandalous,” Jack teased. “Katherine Plumber out on a fire escape with a disreputable union leader.” 

“I think the papers would find the fact that I’m out here in my night clothes more scandalous than the company I’m keeping. Every paper in New York and anyone who reads them knows that I’m hopelessly corrupted - a union worker, a socialist. A champion of the working class, heaven forbid,” Katherine responded dryly, but she was still smiling.

“I’m glad you’re safe, Kath,” Jack said softly. “I was worried about you yesterday.”

“Awwww, Kelly,” she teased. “I’m so touched. I didn’t know you cared.” 

(She was touched, actually; his reaction to her story had been expected, but still shocking for its intensity. She had also learned long ago that it was easier for him if she teased, before delving into anything serious.)

Jack leaned over and shoved her shoulder with his own. “Shut up, Plumber. Just because you’re Miss Independent, you think no one in this family worries about you?”

Katherine smiled, but she was reminded abruptly of the conversation at dinner the night before. “I know you do. I’m grateful for it,” she said soberly. 

“How was it?” Jack asked, and though his voice was steady, Katherine could feel the trepidation underneath.

“It was . . . better. I think,” Katherine said. “Warden Collins seems to be a good man, and he’s made a lot of changes to try and make the children healthier and happier, and less afraid. I think he truly is trying to do his best for them. But it’s still awful.” 

Jack sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Sounds about right. But I’m glad, if it’s any better at all.”

“Speaking of which,” Katherine said, “I’m supposed to tell you that Eugenia says thank you, and that things really are better now, at least for her.”

Jack looked over at her in surprise, and a smile crept onto his face. “You saw Eugenia?”

“I did,” Katherine confirmed. “She’s lovely. One of the best students, she said. She’s thinking about going to high school.” 

Jack’s smile broke out in full, then. “She’s a good kid. That’s . . . that’s amazing, Ace. Thank you for telling me.”

“Of course. She asked me to,” Katherine said gently. “Of course I would. And - and I’m going to be able to get Smalls home, Jack. Collins said that as long as Skittery can come get him, as long as he can release Smalls to family, he’ll be glad to let him go home. I want to try and talk to Skittery today.”

Jack blew out a long breath, and pulled Katherine into a hug against his torso. “You are somethin’ else, Katherine Plumber,” he said. “Skittery’ll be - he’s never been the same since they took Smalls away. He’ll be so happy.”

“That was the point,” Katherine said.

“I thought the point was makin’ yourself a world-class reporter,” Jack needled her, but she could tell from his tone that he was joking.

“The story’s just a bonus,” Katherine said, smiling and shrugging her shoulders, and Jack chuckled. 

“Jack,” Katherine asked slowly, “before you escaped the last time - and I was on the ferry, by the way, and worked out how you escaped on Roosevelt’s carriage, clever boy - but before the last time, did you ever try to swim, to get back to Manhattan?”

“Sure,” Jack shrugged. “It’s not that far, Ace - maybe half a mile? Maybe a little longer, to get to a dock. The hard part is the currents, and avoiding the river traffic, but still.”

Katherine hugged herself, crossing her arms over her chest. “But you would have been so little. How did you even know how to swim?”

“My ma taught me,” Jack said, his voice low. “We used to go out to Coney Island - it’s one of the only memories I have of her when she was even partly healthy. I don’t even know how we went, or why - maybe the doctor thought it would help, bein’ farther out of the city. But I remember bein’ in the water with her, and my pa too, and her showin’ me how to move my arms and keep myself up. I guess I never forgot.” He paused. “It’s funny, the more I talk about her, the more I seem to remember.”

“I’ve never heard you mention her before,” Katherine said softly. 

“Mama Jacobs asked me about her, and no one had asked in so long that I wasn’t even sure I was rememberin’ right,” Jack said ruefully. “But now that I’ve thought about her, things keep comin’ up to the surface, almost.”

“Maybe you’re just ready to remember again,” Katherine said, her voice still soft. She had the feeling that if she pressed on that memory at all, Jack would close up like a clam, and so she refrained from saying anything else. She stood up, straightening her nightgown and borrowed wrapper as she did. “Stand up.”

Jack raised an eyebrow at her. “What for?”

“Just stand up, would you?” Katherine said, rolling her eyes. 

Jack did so, and Katherine tugged him into a proper hug, resting her chin over his shoulder, looping her arms around his waist, and holding tight.

He carefully put his arms around her shoulders. “What’s this for?”

“This is just for you,” Katherine whispered. “For being brave enough to stay alive and stay yourself in that awful place. I couldn’t stop thinking about what it must have been like for you.”

Jack hugged her harder. “Best not to think about it, Ace.”

“You’re an annoying idiot, Kelly,” Katherine murmured, “but I wanted to burn The Refuge to the ground yesterday because of what Snyder had done to my brother. And cry my eyes out. Preferably in that order.” 

“Hey,” Jack said softly, rubbing her back. “I’m okay, Kath. I’m okay.”

“I’m not really sure you are,” Kath retorted, “but if you’re not, you tell Sarah or you tell Davey or you tell me, and you let us help you. I know you talked to David a little bit, the other day, and I’m glad you did. If you need to, you keep talking, and any one of us will be there to listen. Understood? That’s what families do - or what this one does, anyway.”

“Understood,” Jack promised, and Katherine nodded and gave him a final squeeze before letting him go.

“Good,” she said, trying to smile as she swiped at her eyes. “So, I understand that our fiancé brought up the idea of getting married in a little over a month?”  

Jack gaped at her, and Katherine winced. “Too much too soon?”

“Way too much,” Jack murmured. “You do realize that Davey and I haven’t even had a chance to talk about this yet?”

“I’m sorry,” Katherine apologized, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “You know I say things before I think, sometimes, and it’s usually not good when I do. I didn’t mean to be intrusive. I know you haven’t had a chance to talk to each other, and we’ve all been trying to have these conversations where we can, this week, because we’ve all been so busy. Let’s table that, then. But just so you know, Jack - I’m happy to talk about it, once you and David have had a chance to get your heads around it.”

Jack gave her a little smile. “I know, Kath. Just - give me some time with this, okay?”

“Absolutely,” Katherine promised. “And, in the interest of doing that, and also filling you in, you really should know about dinner last night, and what happened to Sarah yesterday.” 

Jack tensed visibly, and sat down again, bracing his elbows on his knees. “What happened?”

Katherine launched into telling him all that had been said at supper the night before, including Sarah’s unpleasant encounters with Bilah Schecter and Mr. Johnson, and the family conversation about potential threats against the Jacobs. She took her time with the story, both to give Jack some breathing room and to make sure she remembered the details, and Jack’s face was sombre by the time she finished.

“Damn them,” he said angrily, and he suddenly sounded exhausted. “Damn all of them for their hatred. And if Johnson lays a single finger on Sarah, I swear by all that is holy, I will kill him myself.” 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. You knew he had been threatening her,” Katherine said carefully.

“I suspected,” Jack nodded. “Sarah would never say it outright; she wouldn’t want me to worry about it, when there’s not a lot I can do. She’s been workin’ in that kind of environment since she was fifteen, Kath; she knows what it takes to keep herself away from the foreman’s attention. It sounds like yesterday was just unlucky. Sarah told me, once, when I asked her how she knew how to punch Morris, that her father taught her some defensive moves to keep her safe - how to throw someone off balance, how to punch them, how to hit them in vulnerable places - enough to get herself away, if she ever needed to. He gave her lessons right before she started working.”

“Mr. Jacobs taught Sarah those things?” Katherine repeated, amazed. 

Jack nodded again. “He knew the dangers, and she always has, too. He wasn’t about to let her work without some basic ways to defend herself, and I’m glad she knows as much as she does. But sometimes - sometimes it isn’t enough.”

“I - I just never thought about it, I suppose,” Katherine said, still shocked. “I can’t imagine my father deciding to teach me those things. Men in my father’s circles get away with - liberties, shall we say,” she grimaced, “and occasionally worse, but for most of them it’s just words. They know the social cost of hurting an unmarried woman of their own class - not that they should get away with it with any woman,” she added angrily. “Some of the men hurt their wives, too - I saw enough of the women wearing long gloves or long sleeves out of season, and heard enough talk, to know what they were trying to hide. And the law can’t touch the husbands for it. I suppose the difference is, married men do the damage at home, and foremen go after their women workers. But it’s still the same brutality. Some of the men in the newsroom are bold with me - words again - but I can’t imagine any of them ever trying to -” she broke off and shook her head. “But maybe they would.” 

Kath paused. It made her ill to think about these things - and it should, for heaven’s sake; it should make everyone ill, and furious - but her own privileged existence sometimes still blindsided her, and she hated that. She knew men who abused their wives. She knew girls who had been caught in compromising, scary situations, thanks to some suitor’s sense of ownership and entitlement. Girls of her class were chaperoned so heavily that it was relatively rare, but it did happen. But fathers never thought about teaching their girls self-defense - nor mothers, for that matter. The fact that Mr. Jacobs had found it necessary to teach Sarah those skills, however basic, before sending her into a factory workplace, made it so clear how little protection women workers were given. 

“Well, and there are two big differences, Kath,” Jack pointed out quietly. “One is, you have Denton. He’s your friend and your mentor, and he’s got authority over a lot of the junior reporters. I know it probably hurts a little to think that he acts as a shield for you - but he knows that he does, and he’s happy to do it. And two is, there isn’t a reporter in that newsroom who doesn’t know that you’re Pulitzer’s daughter, no matter how messy your relationship with him is.”

“Class and power rear their ugly heads,” Katherine murmured. “And I did know, about Denton - I took him with me to Hell’s Kitchen for a reason, and I know that just by existing, he acts as a protector, a buffer. I’m not a complete fool, and I’m grateful that he does so much for me. But Sarah - until last night, I never thought about what those women must go through, working together and having their immediate boss or some of their male coworkers threatening them. And there are no laws against it, nothing to stop them.”

“No,” Jack sighed. “Nothin’ but what the women themselves can manage to do. And sometimes they can’t do anything.”

“How did you know?” Katherine asked, still carefully. “I can see how you would be able to tell about Sarah, even if she didn’t say anything directly - but how did you know what happens, more generally?”

Jack smiled grimly. “I spent a lot of time in Medda’s theater when I wasn’t in The Refuge, Ace. Medda has really strict ground rules for her customers, and it’s been better since she became the owner, but she wasn’t always. Under the earlier owners, a lot of the women who worked there got threatened. Or grabbed. Or hit. I used to sit in the dressing rooms and draw, and I’d see them patch each other up, cover up the marks with stage makeup.”

“And the newsies talked,” he added. “The ones who had mothers and sisters who worked in the factories, they would come to get their papes some mornings and want to punch somethin’, ‘cause some factory boss had left bruises. Not that their pas didn’t do the same, sometimes, but when it was the bosses, they couldn’t even try to help.” 

“Of course,” Katherine said wearily. “Of course they couldn’t.” It made her ache with sadness, in a bone-deep way, to think not only of Sarah and Jack, but of so many of the newsies, enduring abuse or watching their family members endure it, and having no legal recourse to stop it.

She was silent for a few minutes, and she and Jack both watched as the light crept over the sky and gradually drove away the darkness. And in the pale light before sunrise, Kath asked the real question that had been weighing on her mind.

“Jack, would you - have you ever thought about converting? Becoming Jewish?” Kath asked, and Jack’s eyebrows went up in surprise.

“Have you?”

“Yes,” Kath confessed. “I’ve been thinking about it even more lately, and especially after last night. I want to keep David as safe as I can, Jack, and if that means formally becoming Jewish, then - I think I’m willing to do that.”

Jack’s eyebrows furrowed, and Katherine could see him considering what he was about to say. “Kath - that’s a huge thing to want to do for David, but - you know that it’s not going to make things easier, right? I mean,” he amended, “it might make things easier for you and Dave within the Jewish community, but it’s only going to make it harder for you with your parents, and anyone else from that part of your life. They’ll see it as a betrayal. And after everything your father’s tried to do to keep people from knowin’ he’s Jewish, he’s not going to appreciate the news articles your conversion will create.”

“All the more reason to do it, then,” Kath said, giving Jack a bitter smile.

Jack frowned. “Kath. I’m bein’ serious here. Is this about David, or about you, and somehow gettin’ revenge on your father? 

Katherine sighed, running a hand through her hair. “It’s not really about my father at all, Jack. Or if it is, that’s only a small part of it. I want David to be safe. I want the Jacobs to know that they are safe, at least in terms of having their own community standing behind them. And,” she said shyly, looking down at her hands, “I never really felt at home in the church where I was brought up. It was just something we did. It didn’t mean anything. I think maybe it held meaning for my mother, but - it always felt empty to me. That’s not true here. When we’re all at shabbos, when you and I get to share in those holidays and rituals - that’s beautiful to me. That means something. I don’t know the rules for this, but I hope that wanting to marry David, and declaring that I want to be a part of his faith, will be convincing enough to allow me to go through whatever process is required.”

She smiled at Jack again, and it felt more sincere this time. “So you see, I’m not really giving up that much. Not when it comes to my parents, at least. Goodness knows I never was the daughter they wanted me to be. And I don’t think I can say that I’m giving up a faith that never felt real to me in the first place. But I think - if I do this, I think it might feel like I’m reclaiming something I lost. Reclaiming the faith that my father gave up. I’m not technically Jewish, because my mother wasn’t, but this way - I will be.” Her lips twitched, and she gave Jack an impish look. “And then, after all that, there is the added bonus of making my father even more angry.”

Jack chuckled, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “Those are all good reasons, Ace. Just be sure before you jump in. I wish I could feel the way you do about it.” 

“Don’t you have - some kind of faith, Jack?” Kath asked hesitantly. It pained her to think that he didn’t have that comfort.

Jack tensed, just a little, but Katherine noticed. This wasn’t an easy topic for him. “I believe in - somethin’,” he acknowledged. “A higher power, a guidin’ force in the universe, if you want to think of it like that. Call it God if you want. I’d be an ungrateful heel if I didn’t. I was an orphaned street kid who should have been dead several times over, Kath. And yet somehow, I didn’t get sick when my mother did. I had Medda, I had the newsies, then I had you all. I had people who cared enough to keep me safe, people who actually loved me. There’s no way to tell you how much that means,” he said, giving her a little smile. “But at the same time, I’ve seen religion do so many awful things. Snyder thought he was doin’ ‘God’s work’ when he beat kids. My father thought the same. They didn’t even belong to the same church, but they both used religion to satisfy their own cruelty. And people who call me a mick, who hate Sarah and Davey and call them kikes in the street, they’re cut from the same cloth. I can’t subscribe to that. Not any form of it. I’m glad that Sarah and Davey and their parents find comfort in their faith - I’m glad if you decide you can, too,” he added, “but I just can’t swallow it.” 

Katherine absorbed that for a minute. She thought about what it might have meant if her own experience with religion had not just been empty, but tied to discipline, to beatings, to hatred. In a way it was astonishing that Jack could still believe in something higher - it would be so easy for him to think that the universe was purely chance, and fortune or misfortune completely arbitrary. It would be so easy for him to hate, as so many people around him had hated him, and hated those loved - and yet he loved, Sarah and Davey and the newsies, and Medda, and even her, with a capacity that continued to surprise her.

“I think that’s understandable, and completely fair,” she said to Jack. “I might have spent the rest of my life just going to church as a matter of form. I didn’t expect to find so much meaning in Judaism - and if I hadn’t cared so much about Davey, and even Sarah, in the first place, I’m not sure I would have been so open to it. If I’d had experiences like yours, I think I might discard the idea of a god altogether. So you won’t find me trying to argue with you about how you feel.”

Jack smiled again, and she could see the relief as his muscles uncoiled and his limbs relaxed. “Thanks, Ace.”

“We should get going,” Kath suggested, smiling. “I need to hunt up Skittery, and get a full draft of my story to Denton, and you have to get to the yards. What if you go rouse Davey, and I’ll get Sarah,” she suggested, and she valiantly tried to suppress the smirk that was trying to creep onto her face.

Jack shook his head at her, and she could see him blushing even in the dim light. “You’re impossible, Plumber,” he muttered, and Kath laughed before climbing back through the window. 

[morethanaprincess-a]

@madamhatter​ said:  “I’ve been through the occult section at the library five times [and I found what you were looking for!]"

Jennifer’s Body starters

At least compared to the Castle's library, Hope's Peak's version didn't shy away from certain disturbing topics. The school had no issue admitting students who were there to learn more about magical or demonic arts, and so Sonia thought it best to pour over her favorite non-fiction section of the place for an answer to their current predicament. But at that time of night, only she and Sophie were left, two lamps lit over a single desk with the girls needing to use the lights of their mobile phones to read the spines of the books nestled deep within the stacks.

And she was tired, exhausted and sleepy as she surrounded herself with various encyclopedias on demonology and testimonials from those highly respected in the field. Sonia had poured over the books of Ed and Lorraine Warren more times than she could count, but even they had never encountered the entity that currently lived in the oven in the student kitchens. Sonia yawned: the yerba mate tea Sophie had made had begun to wear off. Without caffeine or a snack, or both, she'd likely fall asleep atop images of pentagrams the Leviathan Cross. All for the sake of uncovering if anyone else had met this particular prince of Hell, and if a certain exorcism had worked. Between them, Sonia had more experience with spirits and being Catholic (technically, her parents made sure she had proper study at least), His Highness was far less likely to latch onto her soul. She'd been nothing but polite with him until then, and now Sonia was in the process of uncovering Beelzebub's favorite baked goods for Sophie to bake elsewhere in order to lure him out, or at least give him a comfort to indulge in once he was forced out. Sonia yawned: it was a topic she didn't want to think about. She quite liked having a demon in the oven, to the point she did most of her studying in the kitchens now instead of her own room.

“I’ve been through the occult section at the library five times and I found what you were looking for!"

That woke her with a start. Sonia had nodded off, head tilted back as she leaned against the back of the wooden chair. How long had it been since the word had blurred together into black emptiness and sleep had taken over? Rubbing her tired eyes, the Ultimate Princess turned to see Sophie hurtling out of the stacks towards her, waving a book in her hand. Sonia beamed, clapping her hands together.

"You did! Thank you, Sophie!" Sonia exclaimed, eagerly accepting the book as it was offered. It featured the only current non-denominational exorcist working professionally now, a rare edition that even the publisher had condemned but sold in limited quantities anyway. Due to how disturbing the material was within the book's cover. "If we're going to do this successfully without telling the school or my family, we'll need to as much research as possible. And I've never performed an exorcism myself really, or at least not one that's worked. I cannot say I'm looking forward to bidding goodbye to His Highness, but hopefully your cooking will keep him happy. But you can't be there, Sophie. You do understand that, right? Otherwise he may latch onto you instead of the oven and it could be a problem."

[peakysabrina]

Dark Horse: chapter 5

Warnings: nothing, I don’t think? Nothing other than the usual violent themes and language I guess.  I’m back, because I decided I was gonna ship Gigi and Ada. 

Ada had meant to visit Polly first thing in the morning, but arrived to her aunt's home and found it empty. It was strange, because since Aberama Gold's death, Polly was always home, usually in bed, facing the wall, curtains drawn, refusing to see anyone. Where in all hell  had she gone now, probably alone? Was she high on something, was she drunk, had anything happened? There was even a possibility of her being hurt, and the though alone made the hair on the back of Ada's neck stand up. Polly was so fragile now, so helpless... her strength had left her when the man she loved died, and this time... this time the prospect of her older self coming back wasn't looking too bright. 

Out of the blue, there was a knock on the door, a strong and persistent knock, that made Ada jump unwillingly. Her hand flew to the revolver she kept in her purse, and only with the trigger engaged did she approach the front door, and looked through the little window to identify the visitor. It so happened to be the peculiar man with the top hat, the only one of Gigi Gold's companions Ada had seen with her own eyes. The man showed her his empty hands, and cleared his voice before speaking.

"Madam, my name is Lucas Tiller, I am with Gigi. We met the other day, I believe. I came to deliver a message: your aunt is safe, at our camp. She met with Gigi late last night and ended up staying. Would you be so kind as to accompany us with a method of transportation for her?" Lucas said, loud and clear. 

"I remember you" Ada replied, opening the door, and even allowing the man to receive a smile. He had good manners, dressed well, and was apparently clean, despite the muddy riding boots. "My aunt is with Gigi, then? At your camp? Is she alright?" 

"She is, no need to worry. She wanted to meet Gigi, which I think is understandable. And she wanted to meet her alone, that's why she came late at night" Lucas deemed, having the common sense not to do any sudden moves: he could see the woman in front of him had a loaded weapon in her purse. 

"I can't really argue with that..." Ada conceded, taking a deep breath. 

"I do have a message, written by your aunt, madam. So that you can follow me to the camp, without fear of being trapped and hurt" Lucas informed, delivering a sealed letter to Ada with an exaggerated bow. She didn't know how to react to that, but she took it with a thankful smile, and read it hurriedly, recognising Polly's handwriting. It had been nice of her, and of mister Tiller, to provide proof. Ada had to admit she would have followed him regardless, wanting nothing more than to have Polly back where she could be watched, in case she decided to do something she would regret. 

"Thank you for coming, mister Tiller. I do have a car, do you reckon I can get close enough to your camp in it?" she asked the second she finished the letter. Polly said nothing special, only that she was alright, and had gone to Gigi Gold because she wanted to, not because someone forced her. 

"Certainly, madam. If you'd be so kind as to follow my horse" Lucas requested, waiting for Ada to close the door, put on a pair of gloves, and walk to her vehicle. Soon enough, they were on the road, old school and new school, horse and car. 

It took them about twenty minutes to arrive to Gigi's camp. The bonfire was now extinct, but the circle of rocks around it remained, as did the mismatched stools around it. There was some wood ready to burn again, neatly piled, and a plate or two on the floor. Polly herself was sitting nearby, on the step of a vardo, happily chatting in Rokka to a stranger. 

"Polly! I was scared half to death when I got to your house and you weren't there!" Ada chastised, seeing her aunt's eyes sparkle for the first time in too long. No one could say she looked hurt, or held against her will.

"Ada! I'm glad you're here. Milosh, that is my niece, and I need to go now. Where is Gigi? I want to say goodbye" Polly replied, getting up and shaking the stranger's hand. Apparently hearing Polly summoning her, Gigi came out of her own vardo, and smiled at the sight of Ada Thorne, as fresh as a daisy, and as beautiful as one, too. 

"I assume you got the message, eh?" Gigi called out to Ada, approaching her calmly. "I meant to send Lucas earlier, but didn't want to disturb you in case you were resting" 

"I must've beat you by about ten minutes. I had just gotten to Polly's house when mister Tiller came knocking" Ada explained, directing her attention to the head of the camp. Today, she wore black riding pants, and an equally black shirt, made of a linen-like material. Her riding boots were squeaky clean, with not a spot of mud on them, and her hair was up, tied with a raw leather band. The absence of anything remarkable in her garments only did her features justice: she looked positively enchanting. "You ready to go, Pol? My car is just up there, would you wait a bit for me? I'll be right there" 

For once, Polly did as she was told, but not without a knowing smile on her lips. She had seen the way Gigi looked at Ada, and could even detect the shadow of something very similar in her own niece. They were different, dramatically so, both in lifestyle and appearance, but somehow, some way, God above had made them see something, something in each other that created a tension between them, a tension that Polly reckoned would intensify in due time. She could see it now, the tiniest hint of a spark, that would surely grow if given space and nurture. 

"Should we talk in private?" Gigi wanted to know, hands on her hips as usual, squinting her eyes due to the sun. 

"Yes, please" Ada confirmed, prompting Gigi to nod and lead them in the direction of the nearby woods. The trees were dense enough for them to be granted privacy, both from prying ears and prying eyes. 

"Polly was perfectly safe last night, she knows the way like the palm of her hands..." Gigi started, but Ada didn't want information she already posessed. Of course Polly would've taken it upon herself to visit Aberama's daughter, and of course she would do so without telling anyone. 

"That's not why I asked to speak to you. I want to know if she... if she said something, if she wanted you to do something" 

"Whatever it is she told me, she would not want me to tell anyone else, would she? I'm sure you understand" Gigi stated, crossing her arms. "It has nothing to do with you, that much I can say" 

"It's not me that I worry about; I worry about Polly. And now that you've met her, I'm sure you do too" Ada explained, with a little more emotion in her voice than she would've liked to display. 

"I do, I worry about her, and I've no intention to harm her! How could you even suggest that?" Gigi almost shouted, in complete and utter shock. "My father was going to marry her, I would never even lay a hand on her, let alone..." 

"No, no that«s not what I meant, Gigi! Listen to me, I'm asking you if she asked you to do something she might regret, or that... or that could end up getting her killed" 

"You know, don't you? You already know what she came here to do" Gigi whispered, in absolute disbelief. "She said she had asked it once before, did she tell you about that?"

"No, she didn't. But I knew, like I know now. I don't know how I know, call it a feeling, a premonition... I just know there had to be a reason for her to want to come alone. And I know now that she is broken, and I know who she blames. Gigi, I can't let you do what Polly asked you to do" Ada everything but begged, stepping forward ever so slightly, unaware of the effect her perfume had on Gigi Gold, who inhaled it as if it was the last bit of oxygen on earth. 

"Why not? If you know what she asked, if you really do, why can't I honour her wish?" 

"Because he's my brother! And he means well, he wants to protect us, he..." 

"He keeps on putting you in harm's way! Polly told me about it, filled in the gaps of what I didn't know. Ada, he's not a good man. He's too broken, he's too far gone to be saved. I can guarantee you that he won't get you, or anyone else, in business that can get you all killed. Even if he is your brother... please, don't deny that what I'm saying is true. You know better than to do that" Gigi responded, getting heated as well. 

"I can't. I won't let you kill him. I simply won't, Gigi" Ada countered, on the brink of tears. The only thing keeping her from full on crying was the look on the girl's face, the effect of the greenery that surrounded them on the colour of her eyes, and of the shadows of the trees on her hair. "He'll... Gigi..."

"What's wrong? Ada, are you feeling unwell?" Gigi immediately asked, seeing how pale Ada had gotten all of a sudden, eyes fixated on Gigi's. 

"I'm fine, I just..." Ada stammered, not knowing exactly what to say. Should she say that only then had she realised the person in front of her had the most extraordinary eyes? Or should she simply tell her that there was something alluring beyond belief about her duplicity, about her ability to change from hellbent on murdering an entire family, to a normal girl, an amicable host, and a model stepdaughter? "Give me some time, alright? Some time to try and figure out who killed your dad, and figure out what to do about Tommy"

"Of course. We agreed on a month, and I keep my promises" Gigi agreed, nodding to make the message crystal clear. "And I know what I said before I arrived: I wanted blood, and I wanted your family's blood, of all of you. But I no longer want that. I understand now, seeing you in person, that you're not bad. Only Tommy is. And I pride myself on only preying on the rotten" 

"That's... a start, I guess" Ada sighed, feeling that particular weight lifting off her shoulders. "I don't... I don't know what to say, Gigi. I understand you. I really do" 

"And I understand you, Ada. Trust me, I do. I came from Swansea to defend my family's honour, to avenge a death. There's nothing I can do other than that, and I still made my way here. You're fighting for your brother, who is still alive... I understand it. You love him, he's your brother, but you also know that he has done things you can't hope to forgive" 

"Yes" Ada agreed, chuckling for good measure. "Yes, that's absolutely right"

"I understand. And I think you understand me" Gigi responded, taking another step forward, so close to the source of the scent she was falling in love with that she could feel the fabric of Ada's dress on her arms. 

"I do"