#and she had allergies so she was scratching herself behind the ears to the point of bleeding

[ineed-to-sleep]

She is but a humble lampshade

[raindownforme]

Hey! I’m back with another request!

Reader and Ted practicality have all the same classes and whenever they have to do projects or work in pairs Ted without fail or shame is always like “Can she work with me! Please!” Even in front of the class So he can flirt with her during the project

She/her pronouns pls :D

Also I LOVED ORBITING JUPITER I NEVER HEAR ANYONE TALK ABOUT IT

An Ode to You

Ted Nivison x reader [she/her used]

The teacher, Mrs. Statham, smacked a stack of papers on her rolling cart. She lined the edges of them up to make it straight, then held the stack in her off arm. She turned to face the class, smiling kindly as she stood tall in her professional shoes.

“This week, we’re starting a project. You and a partner will be writing poetry based on prompts and discussing your different styles of writing. Your partner will be randomly assigned-“ the class groaned, some shutting books in protest. “Hey. It’s 9am, you think I want this either?” The class grew quiet. “Exactly. Now, I’m pulling names from a hat. First is…”

y/n leaned into her open palm, closing her eyes for a moment. She could hear students shuffling around their chairs, tennis ball covered legs scraping the cheap cement. She ran a hand through her hair, leaning back to stretch her back over the cheap school chair.

“YES.” Someone stood quickly in the opposite corner of the room, the scraping and falling sound of the chair making y/n jump. She opened her eyes to see her classmate Ted standing up in the corner with his arms upright in a cheering motion. He smiled widely, looking over towards y/n. He quickly realized his outburst, dropping his arms and pushing his glasses further onto his face. “Should I pick up that chair?”

“Yes, Ted. Then go move over to your partner.” Mrs. Statham shook her head, going back to the task she’d been working on before hand. Ted gathered his things, placing the chair back to where it belonged, and headed across the classroom to where y/n sat. He pulled the chair next to her out and sat down, smiling widely.

“Hey, come here often?”

y/n rolled her eyes, trying to hide a small smile. “Good morning Ted.”

“Good morning gorgeous.” Ted looked away from y/n, sorting through his backpack for a spiral notebook and a mechanical pencil. He turned back to y/n, intending to say something, but Mrs. Statham spoke first.

“All partners have been assigned. On the board are types of poetry and some one-word prompts. Yes you and your partner must pick the same type of poem and prompt. If you have any questions, I’ll be up here grading. Go ahead.”

The students began chattering as Mrs. Statham went to her desk. y/n huffed, staring at the board. She wasn’t well-versed on types of poetry, and the list was quite long.

“How about an Ode? You know like an Ode to something?” Ted gestured with his pencil as he talked. “I’ll let you pick the category.”

“An Ode to…” y/n scanned the board, looking for the right word. “Does that say darling?”

“No?” Ted squinted as he looked at the board as well. “I think it says daring. But I like darling! An ode to darling.”

y/n smiled, turning to begin writing in her own notebook. The rest of the lesson went on with only a few scattered comments from Ted.

“What color are your eyes?”

y/n looked up at him, confused. “Why?”

“Never mind I got it.” Ted furiously scratched at his paper, y/n returning to her own.

“What season is your favorite would you say?”

“Fall.” y/n set down her pencil, smiling kindly at Ted. “I like the leaves and it’s usually a nice temperature out. You?”

“I’m a late spring early summer kind of guy.” Ted taped his pencil over and over in a slow rhythm he could only hear in his head. “I mean, unless you have a pollen allergy.”

“Why?”

“I can’t take you out if you’ll be sneezing and coughing the whole time. I don’t know, maybe the fall could be a good time.” Ted waved like he was getting rid of an idea. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Okay?” y/n thought to herself for a moment, then ignored Ted’s question to go back to her work.

“Hey what’s your-“ Ted was cut short by the ringing of the school bell. He groaned dramatically as y/n stood to gather her things. “No! Stop.”

“Why?” y/n didn’t stop, instead zipping her bag shut and throwing it over her shoulder. Ted grabbed onto the edge of her shirt, tugging slightly.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Ted, I have a class across the school. I’ll see you tomorrow.” y/n gently pulled her shirt from Ted’s grasp. He sighed, standing up.

“Fine. Let me walk you there at least?”

It took Ted all of a minute to gather his things. He shouldered his back pack and led y/n out of the classroom. He let his hand fall to his side, gently taking y/n’s middle finger and wrapping his own finger around it. He looked down at her, smiling softly, and held on tighter when she showed no sign of discomfort.

The two walked in silence across the school, taking y/n to her science class. Ted stopped her before she walked in, keeping her finger is his grasp. “Can I see you later?”

“Ted, we have class tomorrow. I’ll see you then.” y/n patted him in the arm, politely excusing her self. She watched him walk backwards down the hall, and turned to walk into the class.

“I’ll be thinking of you!” She rolled her eyes at Ted’s outburst, avoiding the peering eyes of her classmates.

———

The next few days continued the same way; Ted endlessly flirting while y/n write her ode. The writing came easy to her. She wrote about the stars, about the constellations and the night sky. It was a basic topic she knew, but it was easy to write about and it fit the prompt. She wasn’t sure what Ted had written about, but by now everyone had finished their poems, and it was time to present.

“Alright, Ted and y/n?” Mrs. Statham sat behind her desk, yawning into her mug of tea. “Please state your type and prompt.”

“We chose an Ode, and I miss read the prompt so instead of daring we chose darling?”

She nodded, keeping her eyes on the grading sheet in front of her. “I like it. Go ahead.”

y/n cleared her throat. She looked over at Ted, waiting to see who would go first. He gestured to her, offering her to go first while smiling kindly. Oddly enough, for it being the first class of the day, Ted seemed to be the most awake in the classroom.

“For darkness around you, a pattern to make do…” y/n read robotically from the sheet of paper in front of her. The poem lasted only ten seconds, letting her quickly set it aside and awkwardly smile at her classmates. There was light clapping from the crowd, complimentary almost.

“Very good.” Mrs. Statham scribbled on the grading sheet with a blue pen. “And what was that called again?”

“An Ode to the Stars.”

“Thank you. Ted you’re next?”

Ted nodded eagerly, straightening himself. He smoothed down the front of his shirt and looked expectantly at Mrs. Statham. “Do I-“

“There are no extra credit points for memorization. However, if you’d like to, go ahead.”

“Thank you.” Ted turned back to y/n, smiling widely. “I’m encaptured in your loving stare; My darling girl, my lady, fair.”

Ted went on for a long minute, leaving y/n a flustered mess. Every stanza, Ted found a new way to look at her. A new way to gesture to her. A new way to emphasize the lines he spoke. And after that long minute, the class fell silent for a moment before clapping loudly for Ted’s display.

“Thank you both. Class, did we notice any differences in Ted and y/n’s writing?”

Someone y/n didn’t know the name of put their hand upwards, prompting Mrs. Statham to call on them. “Well, y/n wrote about an object, Ted wrote about a person.”

“Good. Is there anything else we can infer class?”

“Oh!” Someone in the back classroom sat up straighter as they shouted out. y/n couldn’t quite see who it was. “y/n wrote kind of factual? Like things that we could all see. But Ted sees the person differently than we’d normally… perceive them?”

“Yeah. Exactly. Alright good job you two, go ahead and take your seats.”

Ted followed y/n to the shared desk in the far corner of the classroom. Another set of students went up to present theirs, and y/n kept her eyes glued forward on the pair, avoiding looking at Ted.

“I really liked yours.” Ted leaned over to whisper in her ear. She jumped a bit, surprised by how close he sat. “I think it was beautiful.”

“Thanks.” y/n chewed at the inside of her lip. “What was yours called again?”

“An Ode to You.”

“Sorry?” y/n tried to swallow the heat rising to her face, trying to not be flustered in front of Ted.

“It’s called An Ode to You.”

“To me?”

“No— well.” Ted twirled a pencil around in his finger tips. “It’s called An Ode to You, not like An Ode to y/n, I mean technically it is about you-“

“Me? What, are you flirting?”

Someone snorted in the seat in front of y/n and Ted. “You just noticed?”

y/n watched Ted’s face turn bright red. “I mean, they’re right. You just noticed?”

“I assumed it was a joke.”

“Why would I be joking?” Ted looked at y/n with concern etched across his face.

“I don’t know! Are you not joking?”

“No.” Ted very gently took y/n’s hand in his. “y/n, my darling. I would never joke about you.”

“Well Ted, honey, it’s 9am and you’re flirting with a tired teenager.”

“Can I flirt with you some other time?”

“Yes.” y/n yawned, stretching her arms upwards. “Any other time.”

“Tonight then? 7 o’clock?”

“Why 7-?” y/n stopped, her face becoming increasingly heated as the realization came to her. “A date? You want to take me on a date?”

The school bell rang and Ted stood from the desk, placing a folded piece of paper in front of y/n. “Text me, I’ll come pick you up.”

She watched Ted walk away, then looked down at the paper. On it read a phone a number that she assumed belonged to ted. When she unfolded it, however, was a hand written poem with a title reading, An Ode to y/n.

[guiltysecretpasttime]

Blended - 2

As you can see - so I decided to pursue Blended. Originally, there was no serious plot to this, I swear. I was just winging it but before I knew it - I was exploring this interesting new AU that I’ve unearthed and I thought, eh why not? Now, I have quite a backstory for our main characters here. Which, unfortunately, will not yet be revealed below but just the same, hope you like this!

---

Title: Blended

Previous installment here.

Legend of Korra, Lin/Tenzin, Modern AU, no bending

Multi-part, WIP

—

Narook’s

Lin sucked in a deep breath. She released it slowly, counting up to five.

Her eyes blinked, wishing for all the strength in the universe not to forsake her.

She had taught her sons never to play the break-up one-up game but good Agni, she wanted to say that she is winning this particular break-up even a decade or so after.

Yes Lin, you can do this. You have won this break-up.

She tried to give herself an imaginary fist pump.

Yes, sure. Real mature of you.

Feeling that she had done enough pep talk, Lin plastered a smile on her face. She had gotten good at this in the past years after all.

Now or never. For Jinora.

She crossed the room quickly. “Hey kid, sorry I’m late.” Lin pressed a kiss on Jinora’s hair, not meeting the eyes of the other occupants of the booth. The young girl faced her to give a kiss and a hug in return. “Of all the days, I know.” Lin focused on tucking some stray hair strands behind Jinora’s ear. “I don’t even know why Mr Sato has an assistant if the man barely follows his own schedule.”

She finally took a seat and faced the now gaping man across her.

“Ah – this is my mom –,” Jinora started to introduce her at the same time that Lin extended her hand.

“I’m Lin, Jinora’s mom. Nice to meet you.”

The bald man automatically reached to grasp her hand to shake it He was a beat too slow to release her hand and Lin involuntarily frowned at that.

Ikki elbowed her father. “His name is Tenzin.” She added helpfully. “He’s my dad.”

No kidding.

She put up the menu as a shield between them to prolong the inevitable conversation; a ruse of reviewing the food and beverage lists even if the diner has yet to update it in the past five years.

Belatedly, all her uncharitable thoughts about the faceless man that was Ikki’s father came to the forefront of her mind.  

Figures he would be that stuffy businessman who did not have his kids play with the neighborhood kids.

Speaking of kids…

The two girls were sharing a plate of waffles beside them. The waffles were slathered with butter, whipped cream, maple syrup and sprinkled on with chopped peanut butter cups. She frowned and glared at the man across her from behind the menu. That was a sugar overload and sugar crash waiting to happen. And happen it will when the two girls would be in her care later today. He would not have to deal with that.

Tenzin only had a cup of coffee in front of him. She eyed the porcelain canisters at the side containing cream and sugar. The sugar bowl was only a third full and she would bet that it was full earlier before he had his hands on it.

She put down the menu and decided they have had enough time.

Lin waved a waiter over and requested for a tall glass of lemonade.

Tenzin was still looking at her apprehensively.

As he should.

If he thinks I will cash in on this 'renewed' connection, he is very much mistaken.

“So, I believe you have some concerns about Ikki staying over?” Lin was pleased to note that her voice did not even waver at any point.

She felt the curious eyes of the kids turn to them; their own conversation turning into whispers.

That seemed to snap Tenzin out of his thoughts.

“That is - that- no I don’t -.” He stammered unbecomingly.

Lin briefly wondered how this man managed to lead a conglomerate with this level of eloquence.

Ikki pounced on this. “Does it mean I can stay over at Jinora’s and Ms Lin’s? I promise I will behave, Daddy. And I swear we will produce the best project ever – with glitters, and sparkles and all the colors.” She beamed from the side, clutching at her father’s arm in excitement.

“It’s not our first sleepover at the house,” Lin interjected gently. “But I understand it’s Ikki’s first time to sleep over that is not with family. So you might have some questions for me – about the overnight stay.” She amended quickly, if the look in his eyes meant that he did have questions - just not related to the sleepover.

He motioned to speak but was interrupted by the serving placing a glass of lemonade between them.

“Well,” Lin calmly took a sip. “I could probably start with my questions and just chime in if there’s anything that comes to your mind.” She pulled out a pen and a small notepad from her bag. “Does she have allergic reactions to food -?”

“Shrimp and crab.” Tenzin responded in a subdued manner, absentmindedly stirring his coffee. A habit that Lin knew to indicate his nervousness.

“That won’t be a problem because,” Lin began but was interrupted by her daughter.

“Me too!” Jinora pointed to herself with a grin. “I’m allergic to crab and shrimp as well!”

There was a small shriek as the two girls began chattering about being besties and twinsies.

Tenzin’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the display.

If that was how they would react over a common allergy (of all things that they could get from their father, it would be his ironic allergy to shellfish, which was to his mother’s consternation – but that’s a different story), wait until they realize they were sisters, Lin idly pondered.

She froze.

Sisters.

It did not dawn on her until then, put in simplistic terms, the two girls are related. She looked at them thoughtfully now, trying to see similarities in their features.

Half-sisters.

Lin corrected herself. Everyone knew how much she had clung to that particular distinction in her own family.

She clicked her pen and noted down in neat precise letters about Ikki’s allergy. “How about emergency numbers or any medicines that she needs to take regularly?”

Tenzin lifted Ikki’s bag, he showed her the bag tag which has all the emergency numbers. He also stated that there were no other allergies or any meds that the kid needs to take.

The pen continued to scratch on the pad.

Pen scratched on the pad.

“Bed time?”

“I'll leave it to your judgment to what's reasonable.” The fingers continued to hold the spoon that stirred the coffee. “They are bound to stay up later because of the project, I suppose.”

A back and forth of more questions and answers continued in the same vein.

When Lin (and Tenzin) was satisfied with the childcare information, flipped back the note pad and kept it and the pen back in her bag. “Alright then, are you really okay with Ikki staying over? If not,” She peered at him, gauging his reaction. “I can easily bring her back to your house later tonight.”

Tenzin shook his head with conviction. “No need, I mean, yes, it’s okay for her to spend time with you.” His face looked stricken at what he said. “No that’s not why I’m implying – I mean.”

Lin resisted rolling her eyes. “I get it.”

 ---

“I get it.”

Did she really, though?

Tenzin tilted his head down, stirring his coffee again, which has gone cold really. He did not dare ask for another refill as he had lost count of how many he had drank in his nervousness.

He inattentively watched the interaction of his daughter with Lin and her daughter.

Lin laughed at something Ikki was talking about.

If nothing else, Lin looked –

Happy.

Contented.

Tenzin was happy, truly, that his childhood friend (among other epithets he had for her, he thought heavily) is in a good place. He would be lying to claim that she did not cross his mind once in a while. He did wonder what had become of her. Their parting was not…ideal. And that was putting it very very lightly.

Now, here he was years later, sitting across her, having finished a conversation about their respective daughters. Lin was warm to Ikki, and he was thankful that she did not seem to bear a grudge against his daughter because of their past.

It was a surreal scenario, to say the least.

If Bumi had told him that was what he would be doing that Friday afternoon, he would have probably slapped his brother upside the head. Or checked his breath for the stench of alcohol.

This was not a normal Friday afternoon for him.

When Lin sat in their booth, he felt a chill run up his spine. The air left his lungs, as though someone had punched him suddenly.

No, it can’t be. Was his first thought.

And yet – he knew it was her.

He would recognize her anywhere. There was no mistaking the way she carried herself, the smirk, the flashing of her grey eyes – only a moment of emotion before it was hidden by the veneer of politeness.

It was cold but his palms turned sweaty. It was an odd feeling really, like a memory that was at the fringes of his mind suddenly before him. He did not know what to make of it.

As much as he was sure he has not forgotten her – when she started introducing herself, he wondered if the same can be said for the other way around.

He had moved far to start a new life with his children. Figures, that, with his luck, he lands at the very town that Lin lived at.

But if Lin wanted to keep it like they did not know each other, fine then. He could handle that. It would be simpler that way, he supposed, especially if Jinora and Ikki would remain friends (bffs, Ikki had said).

It was a cliché but he really did think the years were kind to Lin Beifong.

Is it still Beifong?

He surreptitiously peeked at her hands on the table. One of her fingers was sporting a ring.

So maybe not a Beifong…

He took a sip of his coffee and made a face, forgetting momentarily that it was little more than sludge.

 Before long, the bell at the diner’s door tinkled, announcing that more customers had entered.

Lin turned to face the door at the sound. Her face brightened up and Tenzin craned his neck to see who had arrived.

There was a young man with yellow-orange eyes, a messenger bag slung across his body. His eyes alighted at their corner booth and he smiled, more of lifting the corner of his mouth really than an actual smile.

Tenzin barely heard Lin excuse herself from the table; the two girls, still eating their pile of waffles and chatting about some singer or actor (he wasn’t exactly paying attention), took no notice of her.

Lin went to the newcomer, who raised his hand slightly as greeting.

He watched them with curious fascination – or horrible fascination, he wasn’t sure.

There was that odd tug at his stomach (that he would rather not explore, no, thank you) when the young man (boy, really now Lin? He grumbled internally, never mind his own ex-wife was years younger than him) moved to hug her and give her a kiss on the cheek.

Yes, it was definitely not Tenzin’s usual Friday afternoon.

---

Note: I enjoyed writing this. Pretty cathartic - did you like reading it too? Let me know! 

[dwead-piwate-meggers]

Catching Colds and Feelings

A superhero catches a cold. A meddlesome brother attempts to play matchmaker. And Ellie Wiseman can’t resist a challenge.

Inspired by a number of @mindblindbard​‘s answers to reader questions and some in-game text.

Very Pre-Relationship F!Button/Grayson Black approx. wc: 1789 rating: t, for Gray’s language warnings: none

Read it on Ao3 or below

Chatper 2 (Chapter 1)

Grayson Black is not sick. He does not get sick. Sure, he may have had some chills this morning, but the air conditioning on the UCRT floor was probably just running high. And he may have a sniffle, but it’s the middle of summer! Isn’t that peak allergy season? He is absolutely fine, and if Nick hadn’t gotten it into his fat head to order him to go home, then he could still be at work doing his job. At least he managed to sneak some paperwork home with him. Nothing that would break regulations to have out of the office, obviously, it’s mostly expense reports and the like - things that need to get filed but usually end up on the back burner because they aren’t time sensitive - but something must have been wrong with the printer because the text is all blurry. It’s got nothing to do with the sharp pain in his temples. It’s definitely the printer.

He’s hunched over his coffee table (If he’s going to work at home, he can at least be comfortable, it has nothing to do with the way his whole body ached when he tried sitting at his desk. He probably needs a new chair.) doing his best to work out what he's supposed to be filling out on this line when his ringing phone nearly startles him out of his skin.

He checks the screen: Ellie. That’s… unusual. They text, (because they’re friends, and friends text each other), but outside of when they were trying to organize Nick’s surprise party, she’s never called. Especially not in the middle of a weekday. His stomach clenches, his mind jumping - is she ok? does she need help? - to worst case scenarios. He fumbles the phone, rights it, answers.

“Hello?” His throat stings a little when he speaks. That’s an allergy symptom, isn’t it?

“Hey,” she responds. She sounds calm, she’s ok. The tension in his stomach dissipates. “It’s Ellie. Can you open the door?”

Can you open the… It takes him a second longer than usual to understand what she means, his momentary panic over her well-being shading into confusion. What is she doing here? How would she even know he was home, unless…

He fucking didn’t...

“Did Nick send you?” he says, “I told him -” I’m fine, he tries to finish, before she cuts him off with some rather pointed words about not wanting to be a bother.

He doesn’t. Want to be a bother, that is. But she raises a fair point about already being here. It would be worse to just send her back home after she made the effort to come over, wouldn’t it?

Nick was probably counting on that when he asked her to check up on him. Arsehole. 

He heaves a sigh - getting up off the couch takes more effort than it should - and takes a quick look around the room to check that it’s tidy before he goes to the door. It is. Of course it is. And he rather doubts that she’d care if it wasn’t. But at this particular moment, it really feels like it matters.

Ellie’s standing in the hallway, phone still held to her ear. Her brown eyes - deep brown, the kind a man could get lost in - widen at the sight of him as he stands in the doorway. He says could. He means does. They’re dark, warm, flecked with black and framed by impossibly thick lashes and...

You’re gawking, Black. He gives himself a mental shake and looks down. And he notices the bags. That she’d lugged all the way here. For him. And that swooping in his gut is definitely not allergies. No, that’s guilt. (It is guilt. That’s all.)

“You didn’t have to -” he starts to say, but she cuts him off again with a roll of her eyes.

“It’s fine, Gray,” she says. “Now go sit down, you look like hell.”

Ouch.

He backs away from the entry to let her in, protesting, “It’s just a headache.” 

He’s fine. She can make her delivery like Nick asked her to and go. He’s sure she has better things to do. “It’ll pass.”

“Uh huh.” And he may not be an empath, but even he can feel the scepticism radiating off of her. “Have you taken your temperature?”

“I’m not sick.” He insists, around the scratching in his throat. And anyway, he doesn’t get sick, so naturally he doesn’t have anything to take his temperature with. “And I don’t have a thermometer.”

She doesn’t seem at all concerned by that, just reaches into one of her bags and tosses a small package his way. He catches it, and looks down. It’s a thermometer. Of course it is, because she’s smart enough - so damn smart, she’s going to be brilliant as an MIV -  to come prepared. He looks back at her, and she’s smiling. Beaming, really.

Her smile could light up a room. Is lighting up the room.

She’s also saying something. He blinks, managing to tune back in before he’s forced to admit that he hadn’t been listening, “...reading comes back normal, I’ll leave you alone.”

He’s not getting out of this. 

“Fine.”

She drags the bag into his (essentially pointless) kitchen, and he can hear her rustling around as he pops the thermometer in his mouth.

He waits.

It beeps.

He looks.

“Well?” she calls. 

“That can’t be right,” he mutters, more to himself than her. Because that temperature is a low grade fever. And he doesn’t get sick.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“One hundred and one.”

“How about that,” she says, mildly. 

Cheeky. He smiles to himself. Of course she is, she’s Nick’s sister. She’s Nick’s sister.

The smile falls away.

She’s also still rummaging around in his kitchen - he can hear the cabinets opening and closing as she looks for...whatever it is she’s looking for. He gets up to help, and ends up in the doorway just in time to see her trying to reach a mug with a spoon. Because there isn’t a problem she won’t face head on, won’t try to solve herself. She has her hand braced on the counter, pushing herself just a little higher as she stands on tiptoe. It’s causing her shirt to lift just a little, exposing just a sliver of her midriff. And it wouldn’t be that hard to help her, to stand behind her and pass that mug down, a hand on her waist…

He tears his eyes away, cheeks flaming in spite of his chills, and fixes them resolutely on the wall. So much so that he doesn’t notice that she’s standing in front of him with a laden tray until she tells him that he’s blocking the exit.

He follows her back to the living room, careful to look away when she sets the tray on the coffee table, just to be safe - she came here out of kindness, not to be ogled - although he catches her gesture for him to take a seat as she says, “Tea, soup, nap. Proven 100% effective most of the time.”  

“Really,” he says, sitting down (because it’s polite or because she asked or both) “this isn’t necessary -”

She cuts him off again, “You have a fever. Drink the tea. Eat the soup. And lie down. If you’re still awake after 15 minutes, I’ll back off and let you get back to work.’”

He opens his mouth, halfway to telling her that he isn’t sick. Closes it, because if that didn’t convince her before the thermometer reading, it’s not going to now. Opens it again, halfway to telling her he doesn’t mind the company. But he doesn’t want to monopolize her time. And he can’t think of how to frame it that doesn’t sound weird or creepy except it shouldn’t be either weird or creepy to ask your friend (because they’re friends) if they’d like to stay a little longer...

“I didn’t drug your food,” she says dryly.

“I didn’t think -” he didn’t even suspect that. She’d clearly misinterpreted his silence. But she doesn’t give him a chance to explain.

“Gray!”

“Right, sorry.” It’s probably for the best. He doesn't have the first idea as to how he would go about explaining it anyway.

She sits down at the opposite end of the couch, as far from him as she can get, (it aches, a little, to always be kept at a distance) and he recognizes the MIV study guide she pulls out of her backpack. He sneaks glances at her between mouthfuls of soup, studies the curve of her pursed lips, the way her brow furrows and smooths as she puzzles over the text. She’s quiet, still, in a way that Nick never is - goddamnit it, don’t think about Nick right now - and it’s...nice. Comfortable, to sit in silence with her. 

He doesn’t want to stop. 

And she’s absorbed in her studies. Would she notice if he just...eked his reports over?

“Hey!” She’s looking directly at him, pointing at the papers under his hand. Yes. Apparently she would notice. “We had a deal,” she reminds him.

He stares at her for a moment, mind racing (or rather, mind wading through knee deep mud thanks to the congestion) for any excuse to stay out here with her, before the look she’s giving him tells him that he’s not getting out of it. 

“Fifteen minutes,” he confirms.

“Mhm. Fifteen minutes.”

He sighs, makes his way to his bedroom and lays down on top of the covers. He isn’t going to fall asleep. He’ll just lie here for the requisite fifteen minutes, then he’ll go back into the living room, tell her it didn’t work, and she can… go…

It’s dark. In that hazy space between sleep and waking, he is aware - because his arm is draped over a body - that there’s someone (Ellie) in the bed with him. He gently tugs her closer, nestles back into his pillow for the split-second before his thinking brain kicks in. 

And his eyes fly open. 

He rockets to the edge of the bed, almost falling over the side, we shouldn’t, too close, don’t want to take advantage, doesn’t feel that way about me and…

And the lump he’d been holding doesn’t budge. 

Because bunched up comforters don’t move.

He rolls onto his back, and rubs a shaky hand over his face, the wave of panicked adrenaline receding as quickly as it had surged. “Fuck,” he breathes. 

Something else floods him in its place. Something that isn’t quite the ease that comes with relief. Something that feels a little more like a weight in his chest. Disappointment.

Oh.

Oh shit.

He has it so much worse than he thought.

[danny-chase]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman (Comics), Batgirl (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Barbara Gordon, Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain & Dick Grayson Characters: Cassandra Cain, Barbara Gordon, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Leslie Thompkins Additional Tags: Allergic reaction, POV Cassandra Cain, Cassandra Cain is Batgirl, Barbara Gordon is Oracle, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Tim Drake is Robin, Cookies, Panicking, Hurt/Comfort, Cassandra Cain Whump, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Good Sibling Tim Drake, Good Sibling/Parent Barbara Gordon, Fluffy Ending, no beta we die like Cass, Everything Turns Out Fine, Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), Cassandra Cain-centric Summary:

The one where Cass finds out she has a food allergy - the hard way...

.

.

.

Cass slipped back in through the window, not bothering to close it behind her (Barbara said it wasn’t safe – someone could get in, but she was strong, so it didn’t matter). She pulled off her mask, dropping it beside her, and yanked out her ponytail, slipping the band around her wrist. Barbara had left clothes on her bed, that meant she was expected to change.

 The new clothes were soft. She hesitated briefly before taking off her suit. She liked her suit; it would be nice if she could wear it all the time. She didn’t need any other clothes. But Barbara got mad if she wore it too long, she said it ‘smelled like rancid meat’ and that didn’t sound good, so she relented.

A laugh rang out, echoing through the halls. She cracked open her door, and noise poured in. Words were coming from the kitchen, opening the door further, she made up her mind to investigate. She crept through the hallway, catching a whiff of a delicious smell as she neared the kitchen.

 Poking her head around the corner, she found Barbara sitting with a guy – Dick – Nightwing, he was Dick without the mask, Nightwing with it. And the boy – Tim – who was also Robin. Tim moved his hand back and forth, looking at her.

 The others abruptly stopped talking, noticing Tim’s movements. She slid back into the hall, unsure of what to do. Barbara didn’t usually have other people here (at least while she was home).

 “Hey, Cass, where’re you going?” Tim called, he was nice – she talked to him on patrol sometimes. She leaned back into the room.

 “Bed.” There wasn’t any point in being up any longer. She would sleep and then train, and then patrol again. Tim frowned, unhappy, though she didn’t know why.

 “Why don’t you come join for a bit. We made cookies.” Dick offered, smiling wide. Very wide, she could see all his teeth. Happy? She didn’t know. It made her feel uneasy, she didn’t know either of the guys very well. She looked to Barbara.

 “I tried one, they’re good.” She gestured to the stove. “Don’t eat them all.” She warned. Cass needed no more prompting; the cookies smelled delicious. She practically floated over to the stove. She shoved the first cookie down her throat with no hesitation (she was hungry after all), and enjoyed a second one, chewing it slowly in her mouth.

 The conversation picked back up as she devoured her prize. Nicking a third cookie from the pan, she stood and watched the three talk. They seemed relaxed and happy, no signs of sudden movement. The cookie was chewy, sweet and like… she thought for a minute. Savory? Savory sounded kind of correct.

 It was kind of sticky though. Like it wasn’t making it all the way to her stomach. And her throat felt weird, like the time Barbara gave her a scratchy sweater to wear to the mall. She scratched it, but the feeling didn’t go away.

 The others were still engrossed in conversation. She took another bite but couldn’t seem to swallow it. She set it down frowning. She liked the cookies, she wanted to eat more, but her throat felt weird, and the itching sensation kept spreading.

 “Cass, how was your patrol?” Barbara asked from the table. She opened her mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come, her chest tightening. It felt like her throat was swelling, closing in on itself, and she found herself gasping for air. “CASS!” Barbara screamed; the boys leapt from the table.

 Wheezing, she half fell into Dick’s arms as he rushed over. The world blurred around her. Panic raced through her mind, her pulse pounding in her ears.

 “Tim, get the epinephrine, I’m calling Leslie, Dick, get her on the couch.” Barbara barked out orders as the world began to spin. Everything was dizzy, and confusing, words began to swirl around her.

 She was swept off her feet, instinctively she fought back, kicking without her usual force. She squirmed away as her foot connected, unwilling to be captured in her own home. <em>Barbara was right</em>, was all she could think. She should have closed the window.

 A kick connected, and the attacker let go. She hit the floor running. Alarm bells rang in her head as she was grabbed by both arms. Words swirled around her as black spots danced across the blurry kitchen floor. She fought to keep conscious as her breath escaped her.

 She was moving, she couldn’t tell where, and she couldn’t see by who. She kept kicking, she tried to scream but couldn’t. The voice turned pleading, but she couldn’t see where it was coming from, her eyes felt puffy, and she couldn’t open them. Hot tears streamed down her face uncontrollably, she wasn’t crying, but they came out anyways.

 With a final burst of energy, she heard a delightful crack as she headbutted her captor, but the hands on her arms held fast, determinedly dragging her away. She squirmed, exhausted, but unwilling to go quietly. Eventually they stopped, and she felt someone pinning her legs, as the first captor pinned her arms and chest. She was forced down, onto her back with her legs raised up in someone’s lap.

 Something sharp pricked her thigh. She squirmed harder, desperately trying to break from the hold. Words usually bounced off her ears, she didn’t have time to listen, she needed to get out! Her brain screamed for freedom, though her body betrayed her; she sat limply against whoever had taken her.

 But, listening might help her figure out how to get out. She willed the panic filling her to ease and focused on the cacophony, trying to pick out something that made sense.

 “Cass?” She made out Barbara’s calm voice amidst the blur of words and held onto it like a lifeline. “It’s going to okay, you’re safe.” She turned her head towards the voice. “Oh, thank god. Nod a bit if you can hear me.” She jerked her head. The grip on her slackened momentarily, and she nearly broke away before it tightened again. “Stay still, it’s just Dick. He won’t hurt you.”

 She thought back to moments before, vaguely remembering him approaching before her vision had turned hazy. “Focus on breathing okay, in… out… okay?” She followed the instructions, turning attention to her breath. In, out, in, out. The hands on her loosened as she sat perfectly still, her wheezing evening out as she concentrated. Something wet dripped on her face and was wiped away, one of Dick’s hand’s receding altogether, the other moving to reassuringly squeeze her shoulder.

 She felt acutely alert, restless, despite the dizziness clouding her mind. She tried to sit up, but Dick’s hand kept her planted to the couch. “Sorry, Cass.” Came his muffled voice. “Stay put.”

 “Cass, Leslie’s going to come over in a minute, is that okay?” Tim asked, the grip on her legs receding. She gave a thumbs up, Leslie was nice, and good of taking care of her when she was sick. “Barbara’s going to put cream on your eyes so you can see. Is that okay?” She flashed a second thumbs up.

 A wet, lukewarm cloth wiped tears and sweat off her face, then a dry fluffy one patted the liquid away. Cool goop was smeared around her eyes, quickly but precisely and gently. Her heart raced in anticipation, but the hands remained gentle. She allowed herself to relax against (what she thought was) Dick’s lap.

 Barbara finished her work, and minutes later, opened the door and the sounds of Leslie’s irritated voice echoed in the room. “I can’t believe we didn’t test her for allergens. I can’t believe Bruce never got her tested. I can’t believe I never got her tested. We’re getting her tested next week.” Leslie declared. She could hear her footsteps pounding closer.

 “I’m going to listen to your heart alright?” Leslie asked, and she nodded. A cool piece of metal slipped under her shirt up to her heart. Leslie asked her to breathe, and little by little, she made it through the examination.

 She was able to lift her eyelids by the time she was asked to swallow another pill. The room swam back into focus, Tim sat at her feet, propping up her legs, and Dick smiled down from above her. She could hear Leslie and Barbara talking in the kitchen.

 She blinked a few more times. Dick’s nose was busted, dried blood covering his face, and one of Tim’s eyes was swollen, an icepack sitting forgotten on the table beside him. Had she…?

 Cass wanted to fade out of existence and sink into the couch. “Sorry.” She muttered sheepishly. The boys looked confused for a moment, then glanced at each other, then broke into light laughter.

 “Oh, -ude, it’s -ine.” Dick assured, feeling at his (probably) broken nose. “I smashed it -ast -eek, the -amage was already there.”

 “Yeah, besides.” Tim chimed in, red angrily spreading across his face. “I startled Dick once, and he threw me off a roof.”

 “I -id not.” Dick bantered back. “-ou -ell by yourself.”

 “Sorry, can’t understand you.” Tim caught her eye and smirked. “Don’t sweat it Cassie, Dick’s a bigger dumbass than any of us.”

 “Whatever.” Dick mumbled above her. He pulled her up by the shoulder and leaned her against the couch. “I’ll -e -ack.” He walked over to Leslie, grabbing a cloth and cleaning up his face.

 “So, how do you feel?” Barbara asked, rolling back over. She hesitated for a moment before responding.

 “Confused.” She replied. Weren’t people supposed to be angry when you hit them? And cookies weren’t supposed to make people sick. Everything that had happened since she’d gotten home had been overwhelming. Barbara placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.

 “There was peanut butter in the cookies, it makes some people, like you, really sick. But not everyone.” Cass nodded, sort of understanding.

 “Why me?” She asked. Her skin still felt itchy; her hands were still red. Barbara shrugged.

 “Maybe it’s cuz you’re so good at everything else, the gods thought you needed a weakness.” Tim suggested. Barbara tossed an icepack at him.

 “Allergies have scientific basis, don’t go teaching her lies.” She instructed. Cass smiled.

 “I’m too powerful… The gods were scared.” She asserted. She liked the sound of that. Barbara groaned.

 “See she’s like Superman, and peanut butter’s her Kryptonite.” Tim added, pressing the ice to his face. Cass had met Superman, he was nice. Too nice.

 “I could take him.” She grinned as Barbara groaned again.

 “No, you can’t, he’s literally invincible.” She argued.

 “Kryptonite.” Tim reminded. “Bruce probably has some, somewhere. After that it’s easy.” Cass grinned at him, with whatever he was talking about, if it had the same effect as ‘peanut butter’ it would be easy.

 Dick groaned and muttered something undistinguishable from the kitchen table. “He said, shut up, Clark can probably hear you.” Leslie offered. Cass peaked behind the couch to see ice pressed against his face, his nose was back in place with a little shield covering it.

 Leslie strode towards the door. “Call if you need anything, Cassandra’s under observation for the next four hours. I don’t think Tim has a concussion but watch out for any signs. And Dick, if the pain gets worse, don’t be like Bruce.” She admonished. The door slammed shut behind her.

 The group sat in silence for a moment. Suddenly, Barbara started to laugh. Cass nervously chucked along, and Tim joined in as well. Dick contributed a few wheezes, and they all broke into harder, relieved laughing. It felt good, crazy, but also good.

 After a few minutes Tim calmed down enough to speak. “Why are we laughing?” He asked nervously. Barbara dropped her head into her hands, and wiped tears from her eyes, quieting at last.

 “We fight crime every night, and a couple cookies just took down three of you.” Barbara pointed out. “Lord, help us all.” Cass grimaced. She didn’t want to see cookies for a long time.

 Dick made his way over from the table, and sat to her left, Tim remaining on her right. Barbara hugged the left side of the couch. “So, Cass.” His voice clearer than before, but still muffled under the ice. “You can’t leave or sleep for the next four hours. You pick the movie.”

 The television clicked to life before her, and Tim passed her the remote after adjusting the volume. She grinned, scrolling to her favorite (well, she’d only seen three movies, but she liked it).

 “Swan Lake? No one even talks.” Tim asked, sounding puzzled.

 “Hey, don’t judge.” Barbara chided. “She likes ballet.”

 “I’m not.” Tim defended as the opening credits began to play. Cass hushed him.

 “Makes sense. It’s like body language poetry.” Dick muttered. She hushed him too as the dancer began appearing on stage.

 The people in the room fell silent after that. Dick scooched over making room between them and helped Barbara onto the couch. About fifteen minutes later, she heard his breathing even out as he fell asleep. Tim made it another five before he passed out as well. Thankfully, neither snored.

 Barbara sat next to her, awake and alert, quietly scanning her every few minutes. Cass took in the beautiful sequence on the screen. As they sat in quiet companionship, an arm wrapped around her shoulder, and she snuggled back, neither needing words to take comfort in one another.

[sxveme-2]

strawberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

SEQUEL TO BLUEBERRY PANCAKES

DESCRIPTION: Lily Osborne and Bucky Barnes were never blessed with an easy relationship. Whether it be emotional trauma, or Lily's parents trying to be evil scientists. But they somehow made it work, after coming together once again after the birth of Lily's nephew. They were smooth sailing for a while. He proposed, they got engaged, but have yet to marry. While also juggling raising a teenager together as Hunter reaches the age of 16 now. All the while struggling with adjusting to their new lives in Long Island, balancing careers. Meanwhile, Lily struggles with the new found fame of being the fiancé of The White Wolf; and handling the tabloids critiques on her life and gossip columns digging up any information they can on her. While trying to maintain a low profile; and handle her life as it is. And becoming parents. Lily for the second time, while Bucky, well, this is his first attempt at a biological child. All the while a new threat from their past rises up once again, blind siding the family. Bringing forward old hatchets that had been buried, and putting their relationship at risk once more.

DISCLAIMER:  I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

STATUS: Unedited

NOTES: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter One: The One With His Outburst

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2241

    The mix of barking and meowing stirred Lily Osborne from the depths of her sleep. The feeling of a warm body pressed close to her back earned a content sigh from her, his warmth beckoning her to pull back into her sleep. But the melodic noise of animals fighting kept her wide-eyed. A groan vibrated in her throat as she slid from her fiance's grip, stepping into her slippers. The blonde glanced behind her and chuckled lowly at the peaceful face of her hopefully, soon-to-be husband.

The howling continued and Lily stood to her feet, sneaking from her bedroom and down the stairs of their home. She began shushing the noisy animals when her feet hit the bottom, rounding the corner and separating the three animals.

"Why must you three do this every morning," Lily whispered, picking up the bright white cat the two dogs had been harassing, "I know they're so mean to you, Alpine." She cooed, scratching the cat's head, "Poor boy."

The cat cooed before hopping out of Lily's arms, racing down towards the small cat door that led into the expansive backyard. Lily followed close behind, watching the white fur dance along the boards of the dock, before perching on one of the posts near their boat.

Turning on her heels, Lily glanced down at the two dogs that stared up at her, wide-eyed and ready for their breakfast, "Well aren't you two just a sight to see." She grinned, bending down and scratching the Bernese's ear.

Along with the ever-loving cat that they had adopted, the small family rescued a Bernese mountain dog that was being used for dog fights in an underground ring in New York. They named him Chandler, coinciding with the german shepherd they had, Joey. Lily had made sure that the names matched, for only having Joey just didn't make any sense. She tried to name the cat Ross, but her lover was not having it.

After Lily made her coffee and fed the dogs, she found herself stepping out onto the back porch, finding a seat on the swinging bench. She curled into the light blue and navy pillows, allowing the warm sun to seep into her skin as it rose higher above the lake. Glancing at her phone, she saw a few texts from her best friend and chuckled at what was contained.

"Did you know Leo spits bananas at people? Rose forgot to tell me that while I was babysitting."

Typing back her response, notifying Gen that she did indeed know that, Lily chuckled. It was moments like these that reminded her just how lucky she was for the life she led. A loving fiance, great pets, a beautiful home, a perfect job, a son that she wouldn't trade for the world, and-

"Mama!" the young girl's voice rang as she pushed open the back door, walking over towards the blonde with a bright smile on her face.

"Well good morning Stella," Lily chuckled, placing her mug down and lifting the four-year-old to the swing with her, "What are you doing up so early hm? It's only 7." The blonde asked, kissing the dark brown curls on her daughter's head.

"Loud noises." Stella shrugged, looking over at the two dogs playing on the grass.

"And daddy was snoring."

Lily lifted her head and smiled at the man that had emerged from the house. He had a cup of coffee in his hand as well, and walked over towards his two girls and took a seat next to them. The blonde smiled up and pressed a quick kiss on the blue-eyed man's lips. Bucky Barnes. War hero. Ex-assassin. Avenger. Fiance. Father. Love of her life. Despite the obstacles that were continuously thrown in their path, the two found each other each time. And hadn't parted since.

"How do you think mama feels, having to sleep with him every night," Lily teased, tucking a strand of her daughter's dishevelled hair behind her ear, "Might just have to join you in bed tonight."

"Haha very funny," Bucky chuckled, plucking the four-year-old from Lily's arms, "you wouldn't dare steal mom from me would you?" he teased, kissing the brunette girl's cheek, "C'mon, let's get you fed and then get you off to school hm?"

"I wanna stay hooome," Stella whined, leaning her head on Bucky's shoulder, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Lily scoffed as she watched Bucky's face fall and grow softer as his daughter stared up at him with those bright blue eyes she inherited from him. The three fell silent for a moment as Bucky tried to keep his will intact long enough to tell Stella she had to go to school. But it was when he looked up at Lily with puppy dog eyes, she realized she was gonna have to play bad cop with the young girl this morning.

"Sneaky girl," Lily chuckled, standing from her seat and scooping the four-year-old into her arms, "Giving daddy those eyes. Y'know, I invented those eyes. You're welcome." She teased, turning and walking back into the home.

Lily sat Stella down in her chair at the table, before wandering into the kitchen and pouring her daughter a bowl of Cheerios with strawberries on top. Stella had an allergy to blueberries, meaning that Lily and Bucky had to work around the attachment they all had to them to accommodate the newest addition to the family. Hunter just about threw a fit when he realized that they wouldn't be able to have blueberry pancakes as often anymore.

"Morning grumpy," Bucky grinned as Hunter walked into the kitchen when he came back in from the porch, "Looking as excited to be up as ever." The supersoldier teased, ruffling the 16-year-old's blonde hair.

Hunter gave a disheartening grunt in response before popping two pieces of toast into the toaster, staring at it dead-eyed as he attempted to wake himself up. Lily chuckled and poured the boy a cup of coffee, sending it his way before placing the cereal down in front of Stella for her.

"Hey can you promise me not to be late for class this morning," Lily sighed, bumping her elbow on Hunter's arm, "I don't need another call from Ms. Humphrey in the middle of an examination again."

"I make no promises." Hunter quipped, giving his mom a tight smile before sliding into the seat adjacent to his younger sister.

Lily sighed and sent a quick glance towards Bucky. Hunter had been acting up at a continuous pace, furthering his attitude towards Lily specifically. The room fell silent as everyone resumed eating or drinking their coffee. Bucky sent Lily an apologetic smile when he caught her staring at Hunter with a saddened look on her face. When finished, Lily plucked Stella up and carried the dark-haired girl up to her room to get her ready for school.

"Hunter come on!" Lily called after buckling Stella into her car seat, "I don't want Stella to be late!" The blonde sighed, chuckling as Stella pointed out that Lily had a coffee stain on the corner of her mouth.

"I don't get why I have to go to school so much earlier just because Stella's starts earlier," Hunter sighed, climbing into the front seat of the car, "Can't I just get a ride with Bucky when he goes to work?"

"No, because Bucky is going the complete opposite way of your school," Lily hummed, taking a seat at the wheel, "Plus, it puts me at ease knowing that there's less of a chance of your dad calling me wondering why he keeps getting emails that you're late."

"Why do they even email him, it's stupid," Hunter muttered, popping one of his earphones in.

"Don't say that word around Stella, we've talked about this."

"Right, always have to watch out for Stella." The sixteen-year-old muttered, staring out the window.

"Don't start this right now, Hunter. Please."

-----

Lily muttered a few unflattering words as she pulled into the driveway of the large beach house that she was fortunate enough to call home. However, she knew the teenage boy that sat inside the house would not feel fortunate that his teachers were so vocal with his mother. Slamming the car door, Lily stormed up towards the front door, throwing it open with such frustration she thought she herself had become a supersoldier like her fiance.

"Doll hey," Bucky smiled, jogging forward with Stella in his arms, "I know it sounds bad but let's get Hunter's side first- "

"Hunter's side?" Lily scoffed, dropping her purse, "What side, Bucky? He swore at a teacher today. What validates that?"

"Maybe the teacher said something to provoke him." Bucky smiled slightly, a weak attempt to calm down the fuming blonde.

"Have you talked to him?" Lily asked, sliding her coat off and hanging it up on the stand.

"He won't come out of the attic." He sighed softly, bouncing Stella in his arms.

Lily stormed past the brunette holding their daughter, running up the first flight of stairs to the second floor, before mounting the ones leading to the attic. She stopped at the top of the stairs, glancing around the attic in search of the dirty blonde boy she was hunting for. Lily spotted him at the birchwood desk, staring at a blank computer screen. Dropping her bag, the blonde walked over, not attempting to be quiet as she pulled a chair around next to the boy, arms crossed over her chest.

"Something you want to explain to me, Hunter?" Lily stated voice calm and collected as she waited for her son's response.

"If you listen to my side of the story, maybe," Hunter responded, shutting his laptop and turning in the chair to face his mother.

"I'm all ears."

It didn't take long for Lily to end up on the phone with Syosset High School, fuming with a new type of rage that Lily only ever summoned when these specific issues arose. She paced around the back deck, waiting for the line to be picked up so she could let the teacher have a piece of her mind. Though she was sure when they did, the school would've wished they hadn't messed with the Barnes-Osborne family. Especially when it came to the former name in the equation.

"Good afternoon Mrs. Tyler. It's Lily Barnes, Hunter's mom," Lily began, her lips stretched tight, "And I would like to speak with Ms. George about the things that were said to my son today in class."

"Why don't you, Hunter, and Mr. Barnes come by the school. I have Ms. George in my office here." The principal commented, her voice as calm and cool as Lily's.

-----

That was the first mistake on Mrs. Tyler's end. See, over the years, Lily found that fire that burned deep within her. She had allowed herself to feel loved and confident, with the help of therapy and her fiance encouraging her. It only amplified the fact that Lily was the common mother bear that would not hesitate to go to war for her children. Specifically when it came to people spitting on the image of her family.

"Want to tell me why you called my son's father a terrorist?" Lily snapped as she stormed into the office of the high school, making a b-line towards the principal's office, "Because as far as I'm concerned, that's crossing a line."

"Ms. Barnes, please sit." Mrs. Tyler smiled, a tight one that made a shiver run down Lily's spine.

"Relax, love," Bucky whispered, hand finding the small of Lily's back, "You blowing up won't help the case."

"If I may-" Ms. George piped up, earning the coldest glare that Lily had ever dished out.

"No, you may not. You, Ms. George, have crossed a line here," Lily snapped, walking further into the office, "You may teach American History, but clearly, your mind is stuck in the 20th century. My fiance has saved this world more times than you can count, and if you think for a moment I would sit by idly and allow you to say that to the father of my children? You're as dumb as you sound."

A sigh escaped from both Hunter and Bucky's lips as they took a seat behind the roaring Lily, Stella situated comfortably in Hunter's arms. Both knew better than to step in between Lily when it came to this sort of topic. Bucky was the one person who made Lily feel genuinely safe in the world and hearing someone say he was anything but a hero made her stomach twist into violent knots that set off the fire within her.

"I agree the comment was inappropriate," Mrs. Tyler began, "but we are concerned about Hunter's response. We do not tolerate that type of aggression here at Syosset High."

"I don't care what you tolerate, Maria. Ms. George has insulted my son's father and the man that has helped raise him. And has thrown the term terrorist out like it was nothing," Lily continued, chest heaving, "My son had every right to lose it on her. It was a personal attack and insult. So if you think I will be disciplining my son for defending his family? You're mistaken. Suspend him, I don't care. Because I would prefer to teach him myself if this is the education he will be receiving here."

"Lily-"

"It's Ms. Barnes, to you."

[rory-for-short]

We are not Our Parents| Part Three

Hauntingly Beautiful

He was wearing the stupid wire. Across from Lucy's complex, Batman and Robin took watch. Tim with his laptop and coffee and Bruce with his eagle eyes and monitoring equipment. They could both hear Dick Graysons nervous shuffling and see him shifting weight from foot to foot. It was obvious from first thing in the morning his son had a date tonight. Dick had been meeting up with her without telling Bruce for the past two and a half weeks. This morning he had betrayed himself of his plans. Bruce could hear him singing "sixteen going on seventeen" in the shower. He had used the syrup on his pancakes to make the shape of a heart. It was obvious he was seeing her again. He had pulled his oldest son aside and explained to him. The classic, 'I'm not stupid, you are wearing the wire tonight no room for debate,' conversation. He could tell Nightwing was unhappy when he agreed to it.

Dick Grayson had brought sunflowers in a bouquet. She had them on her dangly earings when he last saw her. He figured she might like the real thing.

He was starting to feel really weird about this situation. How much did she know? If she knew nothing, this was as scummy as he could get and not even a million showers could get rid of the feeling. If she knew everything. He won't hesitate to do to her what he did to her mugger. It freaked him out. How could he be such a schodingers man? Simultaneously Dick Grayson and Nightwing until he knew the truth.

He knocked on Lucy's door. She was smiling brightly when it swung open. Oh God, she was wearing red lipstick. It looked so good on her, but he couldn't help think about her family who often sported the same color in the same place.

"Aww, yah got me flowers!" She squeeled in an accent identical to her mother's. Oh how obvious that she was a perfect gene splice of the two. Mabey it wasn't his PTSD giving him danger signals all this time. Mabey it was his subconscious.

"I hope you like them, and don't have any allergies or anything-" he started.

"They are absolutely perfect, here let me put them in water. Why don't you take off your shoes and stay awhile," she was floating on air, so graceful and calculated in her movments as she set the flowers in a vase.

He felt a twinge of embarrassment. Her curtains were open. Bruce and his brother had a perfect veiw of everything, plus perfect audio. How stupid must he seem right now for not figuring it out immediately. Her voice, the way she looked, she was so much like Harley. Her graceful steps and body language just like the Joker.

"So," she started towards him tilting her head, "you wanna start back where we left off last time?" She suggested in a low sultry voice, her accent less definable, as she lifted her eyebrows and began pressing herself against him. He could feel Bruce's judgment radiating through the bay window.

"Ahh, actually I wanted to talk to you about something," he explained skirting around her to sit on the couch.

"Yeah what's up?" She questioned. Furrowed brow and a slightly pouty lip. She didn't look like either of them now. Nightwing relaxed under her concerned gaze. He planned how he was going to get information from her. It was super risky. Bruce would be pissed. However, Bruce was on his shit list, so he didn't care.

"It's just that, my dad is hosting a charity event," Dick nervously scratched the back of his head. "I know its kinda early to do something like that we've only been seeing each other for a month or so-" Lucy cut in.

"You want me to go to a Charity event... and meet your family?" She laughed nervously.

"Look, it's fine if its too soon for the 'meeting the parents stuff.' I just never have a date to my dad's insufferable parties and I thought you could bring a little life to it." That was true. Plan aside, he still felt like having someone at one of those awful events could make it fun. He hoped Bruce thought he was just good at manipulating and didn't mean it. But he kinda ment it.

"I've never been to a charity event. It might be more fancy than I'm use to, but I'll donate anyway. Is it like one of those television ones?" She asked intrigued with the idea.

Holy shit. It just now donned on him that she didn't know who he was. Well, she did. She knew his name was Dick Grayson. It must have never occurred to her that her Dick Grayson was the young socialite 'Richard Wayne' as the press knew him. She said on her first date with him that she wanted to eat the rich. She might dump him before he could get any real info out of her. That was a secret relief to him.

"Mmmkay, this is going to be hard to explain. Have you ever heard of Bruce Wayne?"

She gave him a 'no shit Sherlock' kind of look and answered in a monotonous and sarcastic manner that chilled him. In that moment her expression and tone belonged to the Joker.

"Yeah. Bruce Wayne rings a bell or two," she answered.

"Well, have you ever heard of Richard Grayson Wayne?" He probed.

The look on her face. It was the look of Harley being double crossed. Of his dad cornering the Joker. It was that hereditary deer in the head lights look; and just like them, it was gone in a second and replaced with faux confidence.

"Don't tell me I've been bruising up a man worth millions," she joked with an eyebrow quriked. Suddenly, her face went back to pale and fear stricken.

"Oh god," she muttered quietly, "we hafta beak up."

Dick was confused. So was Bruce and Tim who had been listening in this whole time. It wasn't what any of them were expecting.

"Okay," Dick attempted to regain control, "I know you said 'eat the rich and all' but we give to charity and-"

"You are in the public eye. Press are probably all over you, right?" Lucy Reasoned.

Dick nodded. Batman belived he knew where this was going. Press on her = press on her father. Her father's whereabouts wouldn't be safe. She would break up with Dick to protect her family.

"Look I like you. I really, really, like you. So I'm gonna tell you that I'll be nothing but trouble. I'm no good. If they find out you are with me they will drag you and your family's name through the mud!" She warned getting more and more frantic. The adrenaline set in to both parties now.

"You aren't making any sense, what do you mean?" He was baiting of course. He knew exactly what she ment, but he had to hear her say it. She sat down next to him and began nervously scratching her inner forearm. That was an unhealthy grounding technique. Dick learned that in therapy.

"So, you know how your family is well known-" she trailed off. Dick encouraged her by nodding. "Well so is mine. But they are well known for all the wrong reasons. My mom and dad were terrorists. Famous terrorists." She sighed and gathered herself. "I'm sure you've heard of them. Uhg, it's like being related to Hitler or something!" She frustratedly palmed at her hair. Her dad did that alot. He'd get that same crazy look in his eyes doing it too.

"Just tell me what you are getting at please" Grayson earnestly pleaded while taking her hands and removing them from her hair. Her frame relaxed.

"What I'm say'n," she continued, "is I was brought into the world by Gotham's most wanted clown duo. And that if you like not having the world's largest target on your back, we gotta call this thing off." Her eyes were teary and she looked down. Once more. She didn't look like either of her parents. Her face was just Lucy.

Dick, at this point, should have kept pressing. That's interrogation 101. Instead he moved her hair behind her ear and pulled her into a hug. He soothingly held her and petted his hand through her hair.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay. We are not our parents. I promise" he shushed while holding her against him.

"I know," she muttered in a monotone and low voice, trying to pull it from all emotion, but he felt the tears on his shirt. He pulled back and held her shoulders. She was deflated with puffy eyes and a tired distant stare.

"Hey, I know you are dealing with alot. You don't have to got to the Charity event if it's too much. But frankly I don't give a damn if they try to drag my name through the mud," Dick swore. Lucy sniffled and gave a soft smile.

"You don't get it.. It's not just the press. My family keeps tabs on me. Arthur escaped Arkam just this month, and Harley sends me cards in the mail. You aren't safe." She gave him a look of pity. Her dad used that look on her mother right before double crossing her. Immediately, Grayson's sheilds were up.

"So they know you are here? You know where they are?" He stammered out.

"I don't know where they are. I mean I have a vague approximation of where mo- Harley is but Arthur is hypervigilint.

That's the second time she used that name. No one knew the Jokers name. Not him, not Bruce, not the FBI. Mabey it was only an allies or sydonyme, but It was the biggest lead to Jokers identity yet.

He figured Bruce was already searching every database at his disposal for any criminal named Arthur.

"Anyway, they find out I'm prancing around town with a billionaire's kid, you are as good as ransom. I can hear them now. 'Why kitten you've been holding out on us. Though you could keep the millions to yourself huh? Dontcha know you gotta pay back your old pals in show biz'" she imitated her father's cadence and did jazz hands when she said 'show biz'. Dick could hear Tim laughing over the ear peice, and a quiet 'I love her' giggled though by him in the receiver. As uncanny as the impression was, he felt a bit of comfort in that moment. She understood something not many people of the world could. Being tormented by the Joker as a child. This really fucked up situation gave them a sort of unbreakable understanding. He laughed a little suddenly before realizing how very inappropriate it was in that situation.

"Sorry," he looked down and cleared his throat, "you just caught me off gaurd there."

Lucy snorted, "It's fine. I guess luck would so have it that I developed a wicked sense of humor," she smiled rolling her eyes." She then hesitated before continuing, "I'll think about going to the Charity thing... as long as I can lay low, unless you changed your-"

"No! Of course you can come! Oh you are gonna hate my family they are insufferable sometimes!"Dick exclaimed grinning ear to ear. He could hear Tim protesting from the ear peice. He didn't care. He hugged Lucy and turned off the sound. When Lucy got ready for bed, he spoke into the wire "Hey I'm clocking out for the night. Don't wait up," he whispered into it before disconnecting it and leaving the two on the roof with radio silence.

[suponts]

SADIE “SADE” DUPONT ( BRIANNA HILDEBRAND ) is a/an  EIGHTEEN year old teenager from FARGO, NORTH DAKOTA. SHE is known around the island as the RECLUSE because they’re RESOURCEFUL and DURABLE but can also be RESERVED and DISTRUSTFUL. SHE reminds of calloused fingers,  ripped skinny jeans, and a dented camera.

BASIC INFORMATION

NAME: sadie elizabeth dupont

NICKNAMES: sade

BIRTHDAY: january 7, 2002

AGE: 18

HOMETOWN: fargo, north dakota

BIRTHPLACE: fargo, north dakota

RELIGION: atheist

ETHNICITY: german, english, irish, and mexican

NATIONALITY: american

EDUCATION: high school

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: it’s complicated single

SOCIAL CLASS: below poverty line

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS

HEIGHT: 5′3

EYES: brown

HAIR: black

BUILD: muscular but not ‘cut’

DISTINGUISHING MARKS: burn mark from a cigarette butt on her inner, right forearm, stick ‘n poke tattoo of a queen of hearts playing card (inner bicep, right arm) and an angry cat (left thumb), notched scar in her left brow

NOTABLE FEATURES: pierced ears

PHYSICAL DISABILITIES: slight limp in her left leg from falling out of a window when she was 12

ALLERGIES: none

PERSONALITY & BEHAVIOR

HOBBIES: music (guitar), photography, film, people watching, spending time with marnie, petty theft.

LIKES: being alone, cartoons, indie and rock music, the scent of fresh leather and coffee, staying up late sleeping in late, nighttime, quiet observation, bike riding.

DISLIKES: people in better circumstances than herself, the taste of pink bubblegum, crowded places, alcohol, second-hand clothing, meeting new people, feeling like she doesn’t ‘fit in,’ feeling like people are staring at her

QUIRKS: she almost always stands with her arms folded, even if she isn’t upset. it’s an unconscious gesture. she sleeps curled up in a ball with her hands tucked under her cheek. she still uses a walkman. though she says it’s because she thinks it’s cool, the truth is she couldn’t afford an ipod or an iphone. she tends to stand with her weight shifted to one foot.

STRENGTHS: durability. sade is a tough cookie and her instinct is to always get up when she’s been knocked down, even if it means she forgets to check if she’s been hurt. observant. sade isn’t overly talkative, and though she can be combative, she always listens and takes note of what is going on around her. responsive. sade is great at thinking on her feet and getting herself out of ‘tight squeezes,’ even if it’s by the skin of her teeth. faithfulness. although sade is slow to trust and even slower to love, once she becomes attached to someone she’s completely devoted to them (sometimes to the point of it becoming a dependent relationship). physical strength. though sade looks small, becoming ‘strong’ has been a personal goal of hers since she was a child. perhaps one of the only students to take gym class seriously, she also incorporated workouts outside of school when possible. when sade started getting involved with the criminal population in her city, it required agility and physical strength on her part. Though not formally trained in any sense, she had to be able to defend herself, to get away, to climb over, under, and around dangerous places (sometimes while carrying very heavy bags). As a result, she’s deceptively strong.

WEAKNESSES: untrusting. sade grew up in an unstable home environment with little support from those around her. she’s trusted the wrong people before and faced negative consequences because of it. as a result she assumes people have ill intent and holds most people at arm’s length. uncooperative. sade doesn’t know how to work on a team. she’s always done things independently, and though it has made her adept at problem solving, she has a bad habit of going off on her own, not communicating, and thinking for herself rather than the welfare of everyone. dealing with natural environments. though sade has experience dumpster diving and foraging in urban settings, she has little to no knowledge about survival in a real wilderness. she doesn’t know how to start a fire or how to find shelter that doesn’t involve a bridge or a hastily constructed pile of cardboard boxes.

POSITIVE TRAITS: efficient, hardy, observant, creative 

NEGATIVE TRAITS:  judgmental, distant, independent, insecure

MENTAL DISABILITIES: idk if this is the right term for it, but she does have PTSD from her home life

SHARE 5 FUN FACTS ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER

one: "sadie” was her grandmother’s name. sade’s dad always told her that her mom was really big on family names, but as sade grew up she felt like the name didn’t fit, preferring to clip it to ‘sade.’ her parents always called her ‘sadie’ anyways.

two: she’s actually pretty good at sewing as long as something can be hand-stitched. her family didn’t have money for new clothes so being able to patch up rips and tears was a necessity.

three: she’s a good singer, though she thinks she’s terrible and insists she can only play the guitar. the only person she’s sang for at this point is marnie.

four: sade has never seen the ocean until now. though she finds it beautiful, she’s also frightened of it’s unpredictability and the breadth of its power.

five: though sade is rather serious and a bit moody, she also has a goofy streak once she’s comfortable. she’s quick to make offhanded jokes and dry, sarcastic remarks, but she’s been known to do something as extreme as trying to walk backwards on her hands to make marnie laugh.

WHAT WAS YOUR CHARACTER WEARING ON THE FLIGHT?

a striped turtleneck that once belonged to her mother. faded. she’s wearing an oversized tee shirt over the top that she got for $1 at value village. it’s a band t from a group Sade doesn’t recognize, but she thought the patchy logo of an alien driving a car through outer space looked cool

oversized red flannel. second hand. there was a large rip in the elbo that sade stitched up, leaving a small scar of black thread behind

black second-hand jeans with a rip in the knee, secured at the waist with one of her mom’s old leather belts

socks with a hole in the right heel, black doc martens marnie gave to her a few years ago when she outgrew them. they’re patchy and worn, but they still have the heels attached so sade held onto them.

braided friendship bracelet from marnie; the colors are light pink, black, and gray. there’s a silver crescent moon charm tied at the tassel. 

silver ring on her thumb - a birthday gift from marnie a few years back. it’s shaped like a silver bird and has a black stone in it’s chest

silver heart locket. sade wears it under her clothes because she hates the way it looks, but she can’t bring herself to get rid of it. it was a gift from her mother. inside there’s a small, hand cut photo of her mother holding sade as a baby. sade had considered scratching it out or pasting marnie in over it, but she can’t bring herself to do it. instead she pasted a little photo of marnie in the other open window to try and make it feel more like it’s her own choice to keep the locket rather than an item she can’t escape.

PLEASE LIST 3 PERSONAL ITEMS OF YOUR CHARACTER THAT WASHED UP ON SHORE

1. her camera. it’s old and runs on polaroids. she’d gotten it second-hand and taught herself how to piece it back into functionality. there are 7 photos left.

2./3. her guitar inside of her guitar case. it’s an acoustic and once belonged to her mother. the case is covered in old, vintage stickers and has the initials of people sade doesn’t recognized carved into it. miraculously, the case protected the guitar in the crash and prevented it from getting completely water damaged.

pinterest

[q-gorgeous]

Flowers

fanfiction

hidey hey finally fkkin finished this oh my god

“Hey, Valerie!”

Valerie turns and looks over her shoulder, looking for who called her name, only to see Kwan jogging down the hall behind her. He comes to a stop just a couple steps away and puts on a shy smile. 

“Do you wanna go to the dance with me?”

Valerie smiled back at him. “Are you trying to put the moves on me again, Kwan?”

“No!” He shook his head. “I’m just not really interested in anyone right now and I thought we could still go as friends. And you know, hang out with everyone else.”

“Okay, yeah. That sounds fun.” Valerie said. “I’ll let you know if I’m able to get off of work that day, alright?”

“Right! See you later, Valerie!” He gave a small wave and began to head back down the hall. 

“Bye!”

QQQQQQQQQQQQQ

“Okay, Kwan.” Valerie said, holding her phone between her shoulder and ear as she washed her dishes from dinner. “Did we wanna match? Or are we just wearing whatever?”

“Oooooo, yeah. Let’s do matching colors! What color do you wanna wear?”

Valerie scrunched up her nose and scrubbed a plate a little harder. “How about red?”

“I like that! I’ll pick up a tie when I go find a corsage and boutonniere.”

“A corsage and boutonniere? It’s just the winter formal, do we need those?” Valerie asked. 

“C’mon, Val! It’ll be fun! When’s the last time either of us got to wear pretty flowers?”

Valerie chuckled and began to dry off the plate she’d been washing. “I guess you got a point there. I have to go work on homework now but I’ll see you tomorrow, Kwan.”

“Bye! Have fun!”

QQQQQQQQQQQQQ

“Hi, Mr. Gray. Is Valerie ready yet?”

Valerie could hear Kwan talking to her dad out in the living room as she finished putting on her earrings. She grabbed her purse and headed out to meet them. 

“Hey, Kwan.” Valerie waved as she walked through the room, smiling. She saw her dad stooped over, as if he’d been talking in a hushed voice.

“You’re not tearing into him are you dad?” Valerie rolled her eyes. “I told you we’re just going as friends and that we’re gonna meet everyone else at the dance when we get there.”

Damon stood up straight and crossed his arms behind his back. “Pft, no. I was just telling him that I hope you guys have fun today.”

“Mhm, sure.” As Valerie approached she saw the box in Kwan’s hand and the boutonniere on his jacket. “Ooh that’s such a pretty flower, I don’t think I’ve ever seen that one before. Where’d you get it?”

Kwan helped Valerie get the corsage out of the box and on her wrist as he replied. “Mrs. Fenton was giving them away to students for free! She has a bunch of these growing in the backyard and had Mr. Fenton help her make some. Isn’t that cool?”

Wrinkling her nose, Valerie studied the flower on her wrist. “Why are they just handing out flowers? Are you sure they didn’t contaminate them somehow?”

Kwan waved his hand in dismissal. “Nah, wouldn’t they be glowing or something? Besides they smell pretty good.”

She took a small whiff, but the longer she breathed in the more the smell began to sting. She must be getting sick. 

“Okay, are you ready?” Kwan nodded and Valerie turned to her dad. “I’ll see you later! I should be home by eleven, if not I’ll text you.” She waved goodbye and started heading out the door. 

“Have fun!” Her dad said and then closed the door behind them. 

“So.” Valerie started as they walked down the hall. “Are Dash and Danny really going to the dance together?” 

Kwan nodded. “I’m not sure how either of them got the courage to ask the other, but it happened somehow. I’m willing to bet ten bucks that they’re gonna be super awkward tonight.”

“I’ll take you up on that.” Valerie said, scratching at her wrist where the corsage was wrapped around it. “Sometimes Danny can be more than just a nervous wreck. I’m sure he’ll woo Dash at the dance.”

They made their way to the doors of the apartment building and headed to Kwan’s car. Valerie sat down and buckled her seatbelt. They chatted as they drove, and soon they came upon Casper High and it’s full parking lot. 

Pulling their tickets out from their purse and pocket, Valerie and Kwan went to stand in line with the other students. While she waited, she heard her name be called from behind them. 

“Valerie! Hey!” 

Turning, Valerie saw Danny walking towards them with Dash at his side and Sam and Tucker following them. Dash was wearing a white suit with a green vest while Danny had a black suit with a green bowtie to match. Sam had on a pretty black and purple gothic dress while Tucker just wore a plain black suit and yellow tie. 

“Hey, guys! What’s up?” Valerie called. 

Danny groaned. “My parents would not let us leave the house until they got about a million pictures of all of us! They’re being so overbearing today.”

“C’mon Danny.” Sam said. “I’m sure they just wanted to get a memory of meathead’s first step in real character growth.”

“Hey!” Dash exclaimed. “I’ve gone through a lot of development over the past couple months!”

“Hey, Danny, how come you guys aren’t wearing the flowers your parents were handing out to students?” Kwan asked suddenly. 

The four of them shared a look together before Danny nervously chuckled.

“I mean, my parents made them, what did you expect? Besides, we didn’t really want flowers. It’s a bit over the top for us, you know?”

Valerie nodded. “Yeah, sure.” Out of the corner of her eye Valerie could see the line moving forward. “Come on, guys! We’re almost in.”

Slowly the line moved forward and soon they were inside the school and in the gym where fairy lights were strung around along with the DJ’s light set up. There was an area with a bunch of tables, one of them filled with food. 

“Wow! Didn’t know there was gonna be a buffet here!” Tucker said excitedly before dashing off. 

Valerie shook her head and looked towards the rest of the group. 

“Are you guys ready to dance?”

QQQQQQQQQQQQQ

It was later in the night and they were all dancing together when the DJ lowered his lights and started speaking over the microphone.

“Alright everybody, it’s time to grab your special someone and pull them close, but not too close, for a romantic dance together.”

Valerie and Kwan stepped away from the dance floor and turned to watch Dash and Danny dance together, the awkwardness fading as they talked during their dance. 

“Kwan, do we know who’s winning the bet? I think they’re halfway between our two ends we were betting on.” Valerie whispered to him. 

He chuckled. “I don’t know, but here comes Lancer.” 

They laughed as Lancer talked to the two boys and was redirected towards another couple by Dash. 

As Valerie watched, she scratched at her wrist and hissed.

“What’s up?” Kwan asked, looking at her.

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s probably nothing. I think I just need to put some lotion on. I’ll be right back.”

Valerie turned and headed towards the bathroom. Stepping up to the sink, Valerie took off her corsage and gawked at the sight that she was met with underneath. 

Her skin looked like it was burnt, like it had bubbled up. Why would a flower do this? It almost looked like the burns Phantom when she shot him…

She pulled out her phone and typed “blood blossoms” into google and hit search. When the results popped up she clicked on the first link and saw that it was written by the Fenton’s. Of course. She started reading. 

Blood blossoms are what our family used as ghost deterrent before we were able to harness ectoplasm to use against them. Blood blossoms can be used to ward them off and to cause damage to their forms. While it is merely a flower, it’s effects can be quite potent. We believe-

Valerie stopped reading and stared blankly at her phone, her heart pounding.

What did this mean? She couldn’t be a ghost. Why did it harm her like one? This wasn’t how allergies worked! Why would-

Her train of thought stopped and she stared at her hand in horror. Summoning a glove from her ecto suit, her heart dropped. Could this be why? How would- 

What was she?

Valerie stood at the sink, gripping the sides and staring down into it. She took a deep breath and with shaking hands she put the corsage back on. Staring at herself in the mirror with a hard expression, she left the bathroom and headed back to Kwan, pasting a smile on her face.

“Hey, Valerie.” Kwan said. “Is everything good? You were gone for awhile there.” 

“Yeah, everything’s okay.” Valerie said. “Do you want to go dance some more?”

“Yeah let’s go!” Kwan said and grabbed Valerie’s hand. 

Valerie’s heart rate was hammering in her chest as he pulled her back to their friends. Thoughts churning in her mind. 

They can never know. 

[thebestworstidea]

The Green Knight’s Lady

Sequel fic to “The Witch and the Green Knight” (on Ao3)

Chapter 1: In which Rowan has Unexpected House Guests

>-<>-< ——————-<>——————- >-<>-< 

Chapter 2: In Which They Try to Figure Out What the Hell is Going On

>-<>-< ——————-<>——————- >-<>-<

Remus was familiar enough with the Baker’s house that he brought a chair so the smaller fae could sit in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room and watch Rowan suspiciously. 

“So what do you like to eat?”

“Meat.”

“...” Rowan pinched the bridge of her nose, stopping herself from being exceptionally sarcastic. If she let herself get much more catty she’d have to sit down and eat mice with him. “Raw or cooked?” 

“What?”

“It’s just that if you want it raw, it will probably be cold. I could get it warm-ish, but it would probably be a little cooked by that point.” she had her head in the fridge. “We’ve got some chicken, and some beef. We might have venison or mutton in the freezer in the basement, but you know, freezer. Basement.” She closed the door. “How hungry are you?” 

“I’m really hungry, little tree.” Remus said making eyes at her. “I’d like that beef.” 

“You’d like that entire roast.” she retorted. “It’s something we have in common.” Rowan sneezed, and rubbed her nose on the back of her hand, before heading to the sink and washing her hands thoroughly, throwing occasional looks over her shoulder.  Wiping her heads she hit the button on the kettle. “Let’s start with tea.” Standing in front of her jars, she ran her fingers back and forth over them, plucking a few, and setting them on the counter where they could be seen, a square of white cloth laid out on a far-too fancy saucer next to a plain teapot. “Something simple.” Rowan hummed under her breath, and measured out pale tea leaves, lemon peel and the barest pinch of lavender, knotting the cloth up, and pouring the water into the pot, swirling it a moment before dropping the bundle in. She put the jars away, and picked out a pretty teacup with yellow roses on it and a matching saucer, then two mugs, one with a stylized face made out of leaves on it, and the other a gradient rainbow. 

“This is awkward…” she realized. “I’m not going to try to get you into the kitchen, but I’m sure you’re going to want to watch me cook; so I can’t get you to sit in the dining room.” She flapped this thought away with a hand, actual blood pact aside, ‘Danger Noodle’ had no reason to trust her, so the lack of it could hardly hurt her. Well, her feelings at least. “Hey, stinkbug, you know what a tv tray looks like?”

“No.” 

“Little folding table, I think there’s one in the corner of the dining room, can you grab it?” As he stepped off to look for it, she adjusted her shawl and sighed.  “No food offered to you in this house carries obligation.” 

“You can’t make that claim for the other mortals here.”

“I sure as sugar honey iced tea can. At least for my family. Don’t you have things in common with your family?”

He frowned, brow furrowing slightly. It would have been more intimidating on an adult’s face. 

“Nothing significant comes to mind.” 

“It’s like a tea tray on stilts!” Remus said brightly, returning through the other door into the kitchen. He set it down in reach of the young fae, and Rowan brought over the tea cup and one of the mugs, pouring them full, before returning to fill the last one. 

“Somehow I think you could use a great deal of sweetening.” she said cheekily.

“I want honey.” Clearly he could see it, though if he wanted to get it himself he’d have to step into the cast-iron filled kitchen. 

“Well you’re not getting it.” her nerves were buzzing. She was just going to spend the next however long she lived in a state of repressed hysteria. This entire situation was ridiculous but she pushed forward, putting the sugar bowl on the tv tray along with a silver spoon.“The compost heap doesn’t even get honey, and you’ve been alive for like, less than twenty four hours by my count.” she didn’t mention his physical state. “Oh wait…” 

There was a cake stand on the counter, and she lifted it up, and pulled out a cupcake, setting it on a napkin and putting it in front of him. “Happy birthday, Danger Noodle.” 

The expression of warring confusion, annoyance and ‘oh gosh a cupcake’ was well worth it, in her opinion. 

“Can I have one?” 

“Yes- no wait.” She walked towards Remus with intent. “I am not letting you be a biohazard in my eating area.” 

“It’s perfectly clean mess.” Remus held up his hands wardingly. 

“Yeah, well, no.” She grabbed him by the back of the collar and hauled him away. 

“What am I supposed to do?” demanded ‘Danger Noodle’

“Drink your tea and don’t hurt anything.”

“No promises.”

>-<>-<

The laundry room was next to the downstairs bathroom, and Rowan pulled Remus in, digging in a basket in the corner. 

“Is this weird for you at all? I mean him being a kid.” she asked quietly. 

“Nah, not really.” Remus shrugged. “It’s not going to last. It’s not like he’s a baby or anything. Besides, I’ve always been older than him.”

“What?”

“Yeah, not a lot but-” he made measuring gestures with his hands.  “Ten years? Something like that? That kind of gap isn’t even really weird for mortals, right? I mean, it looked different, I started out smaller.” 

“It’s a little creepy.” 

“Is it?” He stopped. “Oh shade and sorrow, where did you get those dirty thoughts?” Giggling, Remus tweaked her ear and she swatted at him. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Oh thank you for that visual, that’s great.”

“I may go back down a bit, anyway.” 

It took Rowan a moment to parse out what that meant. 

“You’d better stay a certain amount big, he’s going to need protection.”

“Probably just a few years. Getting smaller is harder than getting bigger.” he scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Wouldn’t want to be creepy accidentally. Let me know if I stray closer?” 

“Sure.” She rested against the wall for a moment. “I’d feel weird if you were like… a kid or a teenager too. Not creepy-weird, just weird. Humans only age in one direction.” 

“Boring!” 

“Yep, that’s us.” Rowan shook out a t-shirt, then tossed it on top of the pants she’d picked out. “Here, these are my longest jeans, they should fit you okay.” She handed him the pile, and shoved him towards the bathroom. “I think you’ll feel better clean. I mean, it’s not your thing, but still. You can use my soap and shampoo, I think you’ll know which ones they are.”

“Do I gotta?”

“You absolutely gotta. Things will be fine for ten minutes while you shower.” As much as she loved him, she wanted to reduce how much clean up she was going to have to do. There was a beat of silence and she listened to the house. Upstairs she could hear the rattle of her younger brother’s snore, but no footsteps. Downstairs, nothing but her breathing, no- she could hear Remus and the faint sound of the water heater beneath them. 

“I can hear him. It’s fine.” Remus murmured. 

“It is so far from fine I don’t think I’d be able to see it on a clear day.” Rowan retorted, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing her hands over them. “I just… I told him he needed sweetening and told him he couldn’t have honey like he was a child and gave him a cupcake, and he’s- he was-” swallowing she grimaced. “I called him ‘Danger Noodle’. To his face.” 

Remus laughed at her, but gently, and bonked their foreheads together again. 

“I think it’s cute.”

“You would.” she mumbled sourly. “He really trusts you.” 

“It’s not polite to talk about it.” he was smiling. 

“When has that ever bothered you?” 

“I know what manners are for.” he retorted, not sounding offended at all. “You know, when I told you my name, it was so you could call me by it.” He dragged his fingers through her bangs. She relaxed, just a little bit. “It’s what people call me. Not that I don’t like your nicknames.” 

“Am I gonna stop being a little tree?” she asked, steering him towards the shower. 

“Maybe if you get bigger.” He kissed her forehead again and started to get naked. Rowan left the room, shutting the bathroom door behind herself and taking a few more deep breaths. 

Then she headed back to the kitchen, her tea would be cool enough to drink. 

She caught ‘Danger Noodle’ with fingers in his mouth, apparently licking off frosting, since the cupcake was gone completely. 

They stared at each other. Rowan did her best not to get into a staring contest, or fall back asleep. 

“So … ‘Danger Noodle’ is that really what you’re sticking with?” he asked

“You going to give me something better?” She challenged. “It is kind of a mouthful, though. Nope Rope? Spicy Spaghetti? Caution Ramen? Murder Spugurder? Tube Dude? Scale Puppy?” 

He looked quietly appalled. 

“I’ll take the first one.” 

“I thought you might.” 

“You’re obnoxious.” 

“I’m nicer when I’ve had enough sleep. I think.” 

“I’m not.” 

She couldn’t help it, she gave a snort of laughter, which didn’t make him look any happier. 

“D.N. then,.” Rowan said thoughtfully. He narrowed his eyes at her. And she’d so carefully not said ‘for short’ 

“Well, that’s an improvement.” 

She took a sip from her mug and pulled the roast out of the fridge. Her hand automatically went to the knife block, then pulled back. Treating it like an allergy, she should reduce contact with steel. Rowan began rummaging in the kitchen drawers. 

“Is it weird for you?” she asked, not looking at him “I may be small again after I die, but I won’t remember being an adult.” 

“I am just barely sure that this is not a nightmare.” 

Her search produced a ceramic knife her mother had gotten after Remus had started visiting. 

“I am right there with you.” she sighed expressively. “No salt, no steel.” Rowan sang under her breath as she sliced the meat into thin strips, and moved on to an onion, tossing it into a copper pan with a large pat of butter. “I’m going to have to learn to cook again-” she continued in singsong “As my green friend is not a good judge of what is safe to feed a fae…” 

“I see his eating habits haven’t changed.” 

“I’ll be fair, I’ve never seen him eating roadkill.” She offered. 

“He’d much rather kill something himself.” 

“He’s blood thirsty like that.” There was a pause, and she sipped her tea without turning around, as the idea that her back was to an unfamiliar person, in the middle of the night itched at the back of her mind. “You’ve known each other for a long time.” 

“Do you really want to have a conversation with me?”

Rowan’s shoulders went up then down, and she kept stirring the onions. 

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t try.”

“Pretending won’t make me any better.”

“No, that’s all on you. Would you like more tea?”

>-<>-<

Fortunately for their awkward conversation, Remus came back into the kitchen then, a silver chain disappearing under the collar of the t-shirt, hair wet, and moisture sticking to his skin. Rowan was not completely sure that he wasn’t a lighter shade- but she had seen him wash before, so that was probably in her head. 

“I feel naked and not in a fun way.” he pouted. “Do I get a cupcake now?” 

“But you smell better, and I’d be willing to lend you a blanket.” She tweaked his nose and did give him a cupcake. “I’ll put the meat in and you’ll have food in a minute.” 

The sound of frying meat covered up the quiet conversation they had behind her, and she focused on it. 

“Real table time.” She interrupted. “Dining room’s right behind you.” 

It was too late for a midnight snack, and too early for breakfast, but she filled three bowls with the meat and vegetable mix, ignoring the voice in the back of her head that insisted she should make rice, or at least some noodles to go with it, she set the bowls out in a row, and let her guests pick whichever they pleased, only sitting down and taking the last one one they had. The meat was more rare than she’d prefer in a fryup, but compromise. She’d refilled her cup twice and Remus’s once as well before she spoke again. 

“How is this even possible?”

“Now you ask.” scoffed the young fae. 

“Do you know?”

He didn’t answer, eyes flicking to the side to avoid meeting her gaze, but it looked more like a ‘no’ than a ‘not telling’. She poked Remus with her foot under the table, getting his attention, and after a moment, sliding the rest of her serving over to him. 

“Okay, I need you to walk me through what happened.” 

“Uh…” He looked lost. 

‘Danger Noodle’ sat back a bit in his chair so he could see them both better. 

“Just, some idea. We found his bones, and then...”

“Not a creepy conversation to be sitting in on at all.” the young fae hissed between his teeth, cleaning his nails.

“Shut up, Danger Noodle.”  He made a very teenagerish face at her. She sneered back.“And then?”

“I uh… don’t remember much for a while?” Remus admitted “So I don’t know how long I was there. But eventually, I..” his eyes flashed over to the other fae, then returned to Rowan. “I picked them up and gathered them into the bag you made me. And then I wormed my way out of the grove and I left.” He looked over at the young fae and took a deep breath. “So, legend is they were made straight out of shadows in the darkest part of the forest. So I went there. I’m not sure what I was thinking, that if they were born there, that would be the best place to rest. I just knew I didn’t want to leave the bones where we found ‘em, because it did feel… bad. Angry. And keeping the bones in my home would be a little weird even for me.” 

“Just a little.” Rowan agreed. 

“But that’s not much by way of directions.” 

“The forest is a fae.” Interjected ‘Danger Noodle’ They both looked at him. “My brother calls it ‘mother’.”

“And you?” Rowan asked. 

He gave a surprisingly honest looking shrug and rubbed the back of his neck, then his temples. “Something is there.” 

“And I found a nice hollow tree to put them in.” Remus offered.

“Which I’m sure sounds cozy to a summer.” 

“It does! Not that one though.” Remus blinked, slowly and rocked back and forth. “Then, I sat down, I was only going to sit down for a minute, only it was dark, and like… like finding the first patch of horfrost. So I just stayed sat.” 

“Did you say anything? Think anything?”

“I don’t think I said anything. I thought about dying of exposure, and that elk skeleton I saw last summer.” He looked away from Rowan and smiled at the little fae “Thought about you.”

He raised his eyebrows, but didn’t respond. 

“Then… I dunno. I think I fell asleep. I don’t remember anything. But then I woke up and heard swearing.” he gestured at ‘Danger Noodle’. “The bones were gone, and he was there instead.” 

“And you just knew who he was?”

“I will always know.” Remus said with enough feeling he embarrassed both Rowan and the fae child. 

“So nothing we did on purpose.” 

“I was brought back to life by accident?” he sounded almost offended by the concept. 

“Oh somebody did it.” Rowan retorted. “It just wasn’t us.” It didn’t taste true, there was like a rattle of thought in the back of her mind. “It wasn’t just us.” she added, and shivered. “I remember when we were looking I’d get these strange feelings; nudges. Just different enough from how I normally find things that they didn’t seem like the same thing. I usually find things by seeing something, or feeling a tug in the right direction, and it was like that but it was like… someone pulling on a string that was tied to something that pulled me, the pictures I saw looked like words feel.” 

“Witch magic.” 

“I always thought of it more as psychic phenomenon, but-” She laced her fingers together. “I don’t know how to separate them.” Rowan pulled her shawl around herself more tightly. “Somehow… I feel I should apologize.” Rowan said honestly. 

“What for?”

“My admittedly small part in your resurrection.” 

“Don’t.” He folded his hands and frowned.  “I was… present. In the bones. I couldn’t leave.” He looked at his hands and scowled again. “A poetic punishment for past misdeeds, I suppose. And I can feel magic. I would not be here, even in this form, if it weren’t for you. I hate it, but I owe you a debt, Rowan.” 

“That’s why you agreed.” She said quietly. 

“Whatever I owe you doesn’t preclude me killing you if you push it.” his eyes widened suddenly as if noticing something. “... you didn’t include yourself in your bargain. You said ‘my family or guests in my home’.”

Rowan just smiled at him. 

“That took even less time than I thought it would.” 

“Nothing is keeping me from killing you.” he sounded almost confused. 

“Well. You are a guest in my home.” she offered. “And you owe me. So there’s that for now.” 

“You’re very trusting.” 

Rowan laughed. 

“That’s not a new observation.” Her head felt split in two by a sudden yawn. “I feel like I’m out of thinking for now.” Rowan squinted at her guests. “Let me offer you a bed; I mean, you could sleep in mine, but I’m not giving it up, so the mess gets the middle.” she nodded at Remus. “So there’s the guest rooooo-okay not the guest room, that’s got an iron bedframe. So the loft, which is at least private.”

>-<>-<

The house only technically had three floors, the third being more of a half floor that was mostly one large room with storage closets lining the eves. Lazy storage left a handful of boxes not actually getting where they belonged, boxes stacked on the made up king bed, which Rowan hurriedly moved. The wind could be heard through the roof, but there were only two windows, round ones, one that faced the road, the other facing the forest. Both had small iron bells hung on the upper frame, and fans sitting beneath them. Bookshelves in various states of dilapidation were filled with books haphazardly, and there was a large stack of white comic book boxes. A standing rack was full of coats and old costumes, only some of which were in garment bags. A space heater stood at the foot of the bed. 

“If you want to stay here, it will be mostly private,” Rowan offered.  “If you need more blankets, there’s a blanket chest outside the upstairs bathroom.”

“Thanks little tree.” Remus nodded. “I shouldn’t be tired, since I just woke up but… winter I guess.” 

“One last request?” Rowan asked nervously, standing at the head of the stairs. “I’d like to broach the subject with my family myself? So uhm. Could you wait until I come get you tomorrow?” 

“Are you trying to lock me in a tower?”

Remus seemed to think that was a joke, so Rowan took it as one. 

“Don’t be silly. There aren’t any towers available. Or big enough locks.”

[olicitysecretsanta]

uncanny valley (pg, 1972 words, Bratva AU)

A very happy and hearty post-finale (because I refuse to say “farewell”) Olicity wish to this wonderful fandom, and especially @nikscaroline​, who asked for jealous/possessive Bratva!Oliver. I haven’t written a lot of him in that space, so welcome to this AU (inspired in part by this image, which I’ve been hanging onto for, oh, a year or so? Thanks for the great prompt to finally use it, Irvane!)

By @effie214​

Summary: In aesthetics, the uncanny valley is the relationship between the degree of an object’s resemblance to a human being and the emotional response to such an object.

© Pawel Piotrowski

  The bite of the Boston winter is not unlike that of Russia. 

What’s unfamiliar to him, however, is the light he sees when he lays eyes on her for the first time. It’s not from the waning colors of the mid-December sun as it sets, nor even the light emanating from behind her in the room in the second house from the right in Fall River. He doesn’t see the blonde hair that he’ll catch wisps of in the corner of his eye as she eliminates his blind spot entirely; doesn’t see the blue eyes that will look up at him at first in fear, then in meditation, and finally in a trust that shakes him to his core with a chill more biting than any snow could ever muster. 

He does not see the hands that the Bratva have tracked here, to Felicity Smoak and her ridiculous boyfriend, as they nearly – and, he’s sure, unintentionally, but if there’s anyone who knows that all roads to each hell, for there are many, and their devils multifaceted, it’s Oliver Queen – brought down one of the outfit’s most brilliant money laundering schemes through fake student loan payments and “donations” to various colleges and universities. He does not see the fingers that will shake first as he enters her house unannounced, the ones that will scratch and claw and tear at him the way fear will do the same to the soul he thought he’d buried in the South China Sea when she stupidly – brilliantly, for even in her folly, she will be his guiding genius – pushes him out of the way of a bullet aimed for a heart that, were it still there, would by that point belong to her. He does not hear the voice screaming into the silence for help, the one that sounds like his from so many last chances ago, lost in the echo of the waves and a recoiling gunshot. He sees nothing, feels nothing, hears nothing of this place; only knows the emptiness Anatoly has trained him to be in order to survive. He is as empty as a valley, but as he stands in the darkness that knows his name better than he does, he looks up to that light, and the shades of grey fall from his eyes as he sees the stars that he will come to understand reside in hers – not of fancy or fantasy, but of unshakeable strength even the hardest men he knows will cower beneath. He sees a precipice, a choice he’s somehow going to be given even as he plans to take away hers. He somehow sees something that shakes him from his stone: she in her uncanny nature will breathe him back to life, and he gasps against it; not the salvation, for no person – even as important as she will become to him – will ever give him that, even in the wee small hours and the tiniest sighs of hope. No, he does it because he knows – somehow he just knows – she will make him man again, instead of the many mistakes he is built of. In his old life, the one built on so much promise and so easily parted with, it had been easy to turn Judas; run from the things he was too small for. Even as he’s been warped and weathered like storm season on the island, even as he has been laid bare and barren as the Siberian winter, alone because there is no strength found in numbers, only vulnerability, somehow he looks upon her and see the Atlas to his Sisyphys, the one who will roll his truth and all their consequences up a hill of his own making. 

He cowers in that already towering presence, palms burning not from frigid temperature but from the feel of her waist in his hand as they work undercover, the pink silk of her dress crinkling easily beneath his possessive hand as she tries to charm their latest mark to get her into his study, when the jealousy becomes too much and he gives into the basest of instincts to tell the world she’s his. His ears sing not in the winter wind but with the forgotten feeling of calmness that slides down his being with her voice in his ear, the only one he trusts – a partner, even if he cannot say the word. It will start first with short, angry reminders of her nut allergy, then with clipped efficiency as she talks him through his missions. A surprised, soft “thank you” that will come when he brings her a cup of coffee every time he refills his own mug as she runs search programs and he reads the results; the adorably offended laugh that unintentionally escapes her when he effortlessly makes an omelette for her at three in the morning after she goes through almost an entire dozen trying to do it herself; the gentle, soothing words as she prays in Hebrew that he doesn’t know but understands all the same – even if it terrifies him to realize one night during Passover that he’d kept his eyes open and on her the entire time, enchanted by her face lit by flames of her belief instead of the ashes of his own aftermaths. 

  His eyes tear not because of the plea he’ll see in hers when the Bratva captains try to make him think Interpol has struck a deal with her so he’ll banish her long and far enough that they can take her out, because they don’t trust her as Oliver does – with the life he only thinks might be worth saving when he hears her tiny sigh of relief when he returns each time from wherever he’s been, to that place called home that he hadn’t even realized was there until he walks into her upstairs office and she does the same to his life, changing everything – and she stands toe to toe with him, manicured, brightly colored fingernails poking him hard in his chest as she screams with as much volume as she’ll do in mere minutes when she calls out for help that will not come that she’d never give up on him, no matter how much he’d already given up on himself. “You are not alone,” she’ll spit vehemently, “And I believe in you.”

His lips are chapped not from the night as it settles itself in navy over him, but of the future memory of finally pressing his mouth against hers in a hungry revolution, a shot across the bow and the one that will restart that heart she saved, a resolution that they are in this together, even if they have no goddamn idea what this even is. 

No, by then they’ll know: by then, he’ll have told her to go, in as quiet and heartbreaking and shaky voice as she’ll ever hear from him, that he refuses to make her a regret. Coward that he’ll be until she reminds him that the only easy day is yesterday, words that will propel him forward into a future as unknown as the destination has always been, he won’t be able to look at her when he tells her he’s sorry, that he’ll get her out, that this was a mistake. He’ll turn only when her hand finds his face, not in the slap she’ll give him when he tells her to stop getting in his way, but instead bringing him forward; bringing him to her light. “You may have forced me to leave, Oliver, but I’m choosing to stay.” She’ll shrug, those slim shoulders that hold up his world moving so easily as his lungs cannot in that moment. “There’s really no choice to make.” 

(He’ll want to fall into bed with her then, claim her and let her know he’s hers as much as she’s ever been his, but then he spots the red dress and heels she buys during a girls’ day out with the medic called Sasha – because Felicity Megan Smoak not only ends up getting the Bratva to do her bidding rather than the other way around, but makes sure to prove time and again to anyone in her sphere that she’s both hellbent and heaven-sent – and though he’s sure to the very heart she put the beat back in that the evening will end up with a grenade launched from a rooftop across the street from the restaurant, the only explosions that happen are in those wee small hours he looks so forward to now are the best ones either of them can even fathom.

They’ll fall into bed time and time after that, fall into each other and three words that should be so easy to say, especially given his increased time around her verbosity, but they don’t come until she’s elbow deep in flour, has butter on her nose and there’s what’s supposed to be fondant on the ceiling when he walks in on her in the kitchen where she’s told him about her bubbe’s latkes and he about Tommy and Thea and where they’ve hashed out his moving from an enforcer to a kapitan – as they try to relive and also rewrite the narrative of the story they’ve both found themselves and the best parts of each other in – trying to make him a birthday cake. 

They’re not so hard to say after that; in a world of fools and falsehoods, she truly is his felicity. When she looks at him in utter disblief, instinct driving her “you don’t…”, this time it is he who finds the words quickest: “Don’t ask me to say that I don’t love you.”)

He stands still against the New England quiet, the same kind that will not just echo but follow as they run from their pasts but with each other, hiding from the outfit and her father and Cooper Seldon; as she pretends to be someone else, working in a Tech Village under a carefully built and maintained identity, only herself when they are together; when they share a tiny last egg over a candle on its last millimeter of wick, and when they cuddle together under a blanket on a mattress on the floor as they disappear into a dingy Hong Kong walkup and the only thing that has ever felt like safety. He is unmoving against it, the way they’ll both be in the darkest hours, first when her tears belie her loneliness, and when his deeds catch up to him in his dreams.  When she forgets who they are, or supposed to be, or something in the middle, he’ll kiss the top of her head and say, “I know who you are. Whether you’re in a ponytail or those terrible khaki pants, you’re the one thing I believe in.”

When they sit on a plane on their final forged passports, hand in hand with fingers adorned with rings bought with cash in suburban Vancouver, slipped over still-brightly colored nails and now healed knuckles and with whispered “for better or for worse” and “I’ll go anywhere with you” inscribed in the metal as the flight attendant welcomes them to Starling City, because they have decided – chosen, that holiest of holies – this mission to save his city in the same way they’ve saved each other. “Because this is what we do,” she whispers as they touch down and she presses a kiss against his shoulder. “Because this is who we are.”

He’s not met her yet, but she’s already under his skin; more a part of him than anyone or anything else. 

He knows going in he’s not ever going to let her go again.

The beauty of it is, as he takes that first and ultimately final step, toward her door and their shared destiny, he also knows she won’t, either. 

fin 

[yellowsugarwords]

Walking Dead Game FanFiction - “The PTA”

Title: The PTA Characters: Clementine, Luke Summary: At a PTA meeting, Linda, an average mom, begins to harass Clementine for her natural hair. In an act of defiance, Luke stands up, amongst everyone, and roasts her. Author's Note: this was so funny and fun to write lol Requested By: -cassiehardcore on Wattpad support me with ko-fi ♡ ---------♥️♥️♥️----------

“This is stupid.”

Luke gave a stiff smile at Clementine’s comment as he turned on his signal light. “I agree Clem, but we don’t really have a choice here.” Clem said nothing, only sunk deeper into the passenger seat, tugging her notebook tighter into her chest.

Luke’s family had been friends with Clementine’s for as long as they could remember. When he was a teenager, he babysat her. Seeing as they were just down the street, the two of them often wandered around together on summer days when neither of them had anything else to do. They were used to each other and had grown up like distant, albeit respectful, siblings.

So, when Clementine’s social studies class offered bonus marks for attending the PTA meeting to see how a formal organization committee was held, her parents immediately turned to Luke to do them the favour.

“If we go, they’ll ask us to join the committee.” Her mom said. “And that’s the last thing we want.” Luke completely understood and took up the task right away. The 20 bucks they gave him as thanks were just a bonus. He deserved the pay if he was to sit in on a boring PTA meeting for his Tuesday night.

As Luke parked the car and slipped out, Clementine trotted behind him. She wasn’t a poor student in any regard, but social studies wasn’t her strong suit. Her parents leapt at the chance for her to get bonus marks. Coming wasn’t a choice, it was a demand.

The auditorium was barely full; as to be suspected. Up on stage there was a single plastic table and three chairs. On the left was the vice-principal, on the right was the school’s PTA president, and in the middle was the school’s principal.

With a deep breath forcing back the urge to roll her eyes, Clementine politely followed Luke’s lead and took a seat on one of the chairs set up on the floor. She opened her notebook to a bank page, jotted down the day’s date, and slouched into her chair.

They sat in relative silence, Luke tugging out his phone and scour social media, until a voice sounded from Clementine’s right. “Oh!”

Clementine glanced up from absentmindedly doodling in her notebook, spotting a middle-aged woman standing in the aisle by her side. Clem took a sweeping glance at her and faintly furrowed her brows. “Are you okay?” She finally asked.

“You must be Clementine,” the woman said, her smile strained and forced. Her hands clasped each other in front of her waist. Her dress looked soft and expensive, and given her ruby necklace and matching earrings Clem assumed that it was. The woman bent forward slightly, hoping to better speak to the child that way. She gave Clem a once over, taking in what she was wearing and how she was sitting. “I hear so much about you from my daughter Jessica.”

Clementine furrowed her brows. She was Jessica’s mom? Clem and Jessica weren’t enemies, per se, but were not in the same social circles. She was on the cheer team, was on the student council, was applying for every post-secondary scholarship she could get her freshly-manicured little hands on. “She talks about me?” Clem asked. Given by the tone of Clem’s voice, Luke sat upright.

The woman gave a tense smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “She does.” She stood upright again. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” Despite the words feeling sarcastic, she left before Clem could question it.

Even as she wandered away, Clementine’s terse stare remained on her as she joined a small cluster of moms at the front of the room. “Linda!” One of them beamed. “It’s so good to see you again. How was your trip?”

“Linda,” Clementine scoffed. Luke turned to look at her. “She looks like a Linda.”

Luke smirked. “Be nice. We won’t be here for long.”

“Why was Jessica talking about me?” Clem mused, more so to herself rather than to Luke. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Are you friends?”

“Not at all.” Luke had a sinking feeling in his gut, but turned to face the front of the auditorium, dismissing his worries.

The room was filled with meaningless chatter for a few more minutes, but then the clusters of parents, and the handful of students there, took their seats. The principal began with an opening address, rattling off upcoming school events and building changes.

“Now, we’re going to open the floor for questions,” she said, crossing her legs under the table and smiling into the crowd. “And I will let my two other hosts get a chance to speak.”

The crowd gave a stiff laugh before approaching the microphone stand at the end of the centre aisle. A handful of parents asked questions about bake sales, changes in allergy policies, and volunteering questions for approaching fundraisers.

Then, from where Clementine had been distracted taking notes and doodling in her book, she heard a familiar voice that jolted her back to reality.

“Yes, hello,” a woman said. “My name is Linda Patterson, and we need to have a discussion surrounding the dress code.” She said, finger raised, smile prim and proper. Luke rolled his eyes. Clementine sat idly, her notebook abandoned in her lap, no longer bothering to jot anything down.

The principal cleared her throat, her hands squeezing and relaxing on the table in front of her. “Ms. Patterson we don’t have a dress code.”

“That’s precisely my issue.” Linda said again, hands curling behind her back. She was standing too straight, as if her back was going to start curving the other way if she tried harder. “I think that not having a dress code is creating an issue among students.”

The three at the front table remained still and silent, bracing themselves for what was coming. “Okay?” The PTA president finally said.

“You see,” Linda continued, twirling with one of the many rings that grazed her fingers. “I believe that not having a dress code is causing our students to get sloppy.” her gaze remained strictly forced onto the principal. “And, at times, risque.”

“Can you provide an example, m’am?” The vice-principal asked, scratching at the stubble on his chin.

“I can,” Linda said, forcing herself farther upright. With no hesitation, Linda turned to her left, a bedazzled hand gesturing to Clementine in her seat. Immediately, the girl stiffened. “Ripped jeans, dirty sneakers, a baggy t-shirt with wear-and-tear,” Linda began.

Luke’s jaw popped open. Clementine’s face burst into flames, her cheeks flaring up hotter than she could’ve sworn they’d ever had before. Luke gawked, horrified at the audacity this woman had.

Before he could say anything, she continued. Her hand flopped down to her side, seizing its pointing, distraught and disappointed. “This was no doubt what she wore to school earlier today.”

Luke glanced around, arms crossed and jaw agape. Most of the parents had averted their gaze and were embarrassingly studying the floor or the walls, checking their phone or speaking in hushed tones with their kids. Nobody was going to say anything.

That was, unless Luke said something.

He stood without hesitation, eyes blazing and fists clenched. “Excuse me?” He scoffed. “That’s a student you’re talking about. Why are you singling her out?”

“These students are representing our community. They should look presentable.” Linda said to the panel, ignoring Luke’s voice bubbling from the sideline.

“That’s crap.” Luke scoffed. Somehow, that was the claim that made the woman turn to face him. Her posture screamed ‘belittling,’ as though she was doing Luke a favour by listening. “You’re hiding behind this stupid complaint because you want to single out one kid.” He shook his hand, his hands slapping back down to his sides. “For what? Her hair? Because you don’t like it?”

Linda raised a brow, drinking all of him in. “My concern is valid.”

Luke raised one challengingly. “You think so? If we’re talking about issues with physical presentation, I think that’s rich coming from you.”

Clem’s jaw snapped open, turning to gawk at Luke before turning back to Linda. Her eyes had bulged, the flames inside jumping up. “I don’t--”

“Save it,” Luke said, waving his hands to silence her.

“Excuse me you two--” the principal attempted to interact.

“You look like the dictionary definition of a rich snot with a stick shoved way up their--”

“Okay,” the vice principal said, pushing himself to his feet at the table at the front of the room. “I think you’ve both made your points. Let’s just call this a wash.”

Linda clamped her lips shut nodded and squeezing her fingers together. “Agreed.”

“Of course you would.” Luke scoffed, easing himself back into his seat. “Sucks to be called out publicly, huh? Probably pretty embarrassing.” Linda huffed, scurrying back to her seat. Her heels clicked quickly on the floor as she strode away, attempting to cling to her pride despite Luke’s outburst.

The remainder of the meeting passed with ease, but Clementine had long ago stopped taking notes. After what had just happened, she knew her teacher was going to give her the bonus marks. She didn’t need to fight for it. Luke continually glanced over, making sure she was doing okay despite it all.

On their way out, that was when Luke asked. He settled a hand against one of Clem’s shoulders, jostling her faintly to get her attention. “Holding up?”

Clem shrugged, feeling Luke’s arm fall off. “Yeah,”

The two slipped by Linda and her clique on their way out the door. Clementine look her in the eyes, unflinching, refusing to cower. Was it embarrassing? Yes, but it showed more about Linda’s character that it had actually succeeded in embarrassing her.

Luke stared her down as well, watching as her gaze scanned him — judging him too for what he wore.

“I may have old jeans but at least I’m not an old, bitter hag.” He tossed back, shrugging coyly. He smirked watching the way her face contorted in horror; jaw agape, eyes wide, hands tense and clutching her purse. Clementine snorted as they made their way out of the doors.

“Ugh. What a jerk.” Clem scoffed, hugging her book in frustration to her chest, groaning as the duo made their way down the sidewalk and to the parking lot.

“The good news is that practically nobody was there,” Luke said, reassuringly patting Clem’s back as he guided her to the car.

Clem snorted. “As if I’d care about the opinions of PTA members anyways.”

All Luke could do was smirk. He liked to think that she got some of her sass from him, but he knew that it was just who she was. It was charming, and adorable, and was going to make her even stronger in life.

Tonight, her ability to brush off something embarrassing so easily was a prime example of that. ---------♥️♥️♥️----------

[mrfeenysmustache]

A String of Souls

Chapter 2

Pairing: InuKag

Genre: angst, romance, SORT OF soulmate AU

Summary: Kagome Higurashi lives in a world where everyone has a soulmate, and they don't have to wait long to find them. She is more than happy with the person fate has chosen to stay by her side, but as soon as Happily Ever After can begin, it's ripped away. Fate, it seems, can be a cruel mistress. Or maybe not... Time travel/Soulmate AU/No jewel/InuKag Rated T for language

The next morning, Kagome felt even worse than she had the previous day.

Her dreams had been dark and heavy, and they had shifted and morphed rapidly from one thing to the next. She couldn't remember a single second of them, but they'd drained any rest she'd managed to get the moment she'd got it.

She may as well have stayed up all night.

And her finger itched like hell.

That was something else that had kept her from truly resting. She woke frequently to scratch at her finger hoping to relieve the itch she felt. It had begun as a soft tickle when she'd left Kisho's grave, and had grown more intense as the day had worn on. She'd examined it closely for a bite or rash or anything to show what was causing it, but her skin was only red and irritated from her scratching. She'd applied creams and sprays and even taken allergy pills and nothing had spared her a second of itch save for placing her hand directly in a bucket of ice.

For obvious reasons, that was not a long term solution.

She peeled herself out of bed and half shuffled, half stumbled to the bathroom.

Maybe a hot shower would help put some pep in her step. She turned the hot water up as hot as she could stand it and pulled out her more expensive soaps, hoping the added luxury would give her that much more sparkle.

It didn't work, so she wrapped her robe around her tired body and blearily walked downstairs for breakfast, resigned to a day of feeling like she'd been hit by a truck physically, mentally and emotionally.

Her mother simply patted her cheek with a sympathetic smile, and Kagome was grateful for no prying questions.

"Mama? Have you seen Buyo? It's time for him to take his flea pill."

"No Kagome, I haven't. Have you looked outside?" Her mother's voice called from the kitchen where she was making lunch. She hadn't checked in there yet, but if her mother hadn't seen the fat cat the whole while she'd been in there it was a good bet looking would be a waste of time.

"No mama, I was hoping he'd be in here somewhere so I wouldn't have to look outside."

She heard her mother chuckle.

"Check the storage sheds. You know he likes to watch grandpa clean In case he drops something vaguely edible."

"Alright, thanks mama!"

She slipped on her shoes and made her way to the shed she knew her grandfather to be cleaning antique bobbles and sorting old scrolls and documents in. He had his polishing cloth out and rubbed vigorously at an old lacquered box.

"Grandpa, the point of keeping these things is to preserve them. You're going to rub a hole right through it."

"Eh? Oh Kagome! Hello Granddaughter. What's that you said?"

She giggled and gently took the box from him, replacing it on the shelf.

"Only that I think you've polished that one enough."

"Hm.." he eyed it shrewdly before nodding in agreement.

"I suppose you're right. What brings you out here to my shed?"

"Have you seen Buyo? He needs his flea medicine."

"Can't say that I have. He's not in here. You can check the other sheds but mind the merchandise!"

She giggled again, kissed his cheek, and stepped out of the shed to continue her search.

10 minutes later she'd checked the remaining sheds and still had no Buyo.

"Where is that cat? It's like he just knows when it's medicine time!"

"Mrreow."

"Buyo?"

"Mrreow."

She stood completely still and strained her ears as he'd as she could. She knew she'd heard-

"Mrreow."

"That way!" She whispered to herself and began walking, following the sound of Buyo's voice hopefully to his hiding place."

"Mrrrrreoooww."

She could hear it getting louder, could even pick up on the soft rumble of his purr. She was now outside the well house. She circled it, but Buyo was still nowhere to be found.

Suddenly her finger, the one that held both her Red String and the itch from hell, began stinging as if someone had stabbed her with a needle.

"AHH!"

She rubbed at it to soothe it, but it began burning.

"Grrrrr, What is going on!"

"Mrreow."

Buyo's voice seemed to be coming from inside the well house now, which made no sense since the door was never opened. She'd have to have someone check the roof for holes.

Feeling fed up with the day before it was even lunch time, Kagome slid the door open aggressively and stomped inside.

"Alright that's it, get out here now Buyo!"

"Mrreow."

She gasped and her eyes widened. For all she could tell, Buyo's voice was coming from inside the well, which had an intact covering and layer of dust.

"How..."

"Mrreow."

"Don't worry Buyo, I'm coming!"

She hurried over, sliding the wood covering off and coughing and sputtering through the cloud of dust that puffed up in her face.

She leaned way over the side, hoping Buyo's white fur would catch some sort of light.

"Buyo? Buyo!"

She leaned a bit further, but she could see nothing in the utter darkness of the bottom of the well.

"Buyo... Bu-AAH!"

Another stinging, stabbing sensation in her finger caused Kagome to startle and lose her grip on the edge of the Well. She tipped forward and fell down into the darkness, squeezing her eyes tight and covering her face to brace for impact.

Buyo ran out from behind the well, out of the well shrine door, and to the house to get his midday meal.

Staring up at a bright blue sky, Kagome wondered if she'd been knocked unconscious after falling in the well. She'd didn't remember any impact, didn't have a headache or sore back or sore anything really. There had been lights and the feeling of floating but surely that had been a concussion dream or something... right?

"Wait. Where's the well shrine roof?"

She stood to her feet, brushing dirt from her clothing running fingers through her hair.

She looked around, but couldn't decide if everything still looked the same. The well she'd fell in had been dark.

Vines lined the sides. She tugged on one to test if she could use it to climb out, but she caused the whole woven lot of them to fall over her head instead. She quickly shook them off to avoid spiders and other bugs in her hair, and began to panic.

"Oh no. Oh no oh no. How am I going to get out of here..."

She hoped that whatever happened to the well house while she was unconscious, 'I was unconscious right?' didn't spell anything bad for her family. That they were just in the house or right on the grounds.

'I guess I'd better yell for help.'

"Hello? Hello! Is anyone there? Hello! I need some help down here!"

A silhouette filled the top of the well opening and Kagome sighed in relief.

"Well that was fast. I need help, I can't get out!"

A foreign hand reached down swathed in red fabric, but in her need to escape the claustrophobic well she paid no mind to how strange that should seem.

She was pulled out with ease and placed on warm green grass- not dust and dirt.

She gave herself another brush off to remove the little bits of leaf from the tumbling vines.

"Thank you so much, I don't know what I would have done-"

She looked up and her heart stopped beating and her lungs squeezed the rest of the air out of her chest.

Standing in front of her was a face she knew better than her own, looking as shocked and confused as she felt. She clutched at her shirt over head heart and desperately tried to pull in air, feeling the sting of tears behind her eyes.

Her finger immediately ceased burning.

"Kisho?!"

"Kikyo?!"

[slytherpuff98]

It's a really busy period and I can't draw as it should be done, but I still want to "at least" post something of my own, so... I hope you won't mind if I share the answers to some of the questions I didn't got from the Kny Ocs Ask, which I recommend once again if you're in the process of creating your own oc ( I would like to link it, but the app doesn't let me sorry 😥😔 )

4) How do they know about the Demon Slayer Corps?

As expected, being a secret organisation, Yuzu had no knowledge whatsoever over the Demon Slayer Corps when she was still a child, despite already believing into demons because of nursery rhymes and fairy tales.

One day a rich family passed by the Onsen with their beloved and spoiled daughter, who wasn't much older than Yuzu, so the last one immediately tried to befriend her and ask for advice over how to get her own parents' attention. The girl suggested Yukino to leave the Onsen at night and hide herself in the forest on the other side of the mountain, where the suns never shines, so that her parents would've been worried for her enough to come searching for her and finally give her the attentions she was seeking.

Despite the fear of going out of the house at night, Yuzu followed her suggestion and hided in the woods, where she started sneezing louder and louder every step she took. She thought it was because the air was chilly and she probably got a cold: she had no idea at the time that her body was actually trying to warn her about a near danger, a demon. Terrified, Yukino started running as fast as she could and calling out for her parents, but they weren't there... They couldn't help her and probably wouldn't have despite knowing she was in danger, because they never cared in the first place and she couldn't change it... However, she was too scared of the demon to stop running and kept on going with her eyes and nose getting redder and redder, more because of the allergy than the crying.

Luckily, no other than the Winter Pillar herself, appeared and slayed the demon in front of Yuzu, who was able to come back home only with a few scratches, but not before having her ears boxed by that angry stone cold woman. Her parents, as espected, weren't aware of her disappearance and didn't even care to ask for the reason behind those wounds. When Yukino told the other little girl what happened, she got shocked to learn that the last one was just playing her for fun the day before and watched her going away with her parents still laughing at her because of how naive she was.

5) Why did they join the Demon Slayer Corps?

Yuzu was actually dragged into it by force when she got saved by her "soon to be teacher", Himeyuki Hirayama: the last one, in fact, once she realized that the kid was able to sense the presence of the demons ( even if in such a ridiculous way ), thought immediately that such an ability could not be wasted and took the little girl with her at the Temple. Her parents didn't even complain, as expected, and not only because Himeyuki-sensei blandly lied to them like she wasn't actually dragging a child into a "most likely to die tomorrow" kind of job.

6) Who trained them?

Yuzu was trained on the highest picks of the mountains by the former Winter Pillar, Himeyuki Hirayama, known for being strict and uncaring towards her students, and not only.

Most of these training sessions took place on the thin ice in order to have Yuzu develop a strong control over her own body: despite performing the Winter Breath's forms with a bamboo sword while in motion, she was supposed to neither break the ice or slip on it.

7) What is the color of their Nichirin Blade?

Winter Breath users' Nichirin Blades, because of the breathing technique itself, always have their edge covered in frost, but their surface is actually cyan coloured: obviously Yuzu's one is no exception.

20) It's time for a Taisho secret!

She mostly reacts confused and curious towards physical manifestations of affection because she isn't used to them that much: she rarely got attention by her family in the first place and people at the temple only get physical when it comes to throw hands, after all.

However, Yuzu would never reject any of them. On the contrary she might be the one getting pissed at the idea of having to break an hug, as well as the one wanting to try show you her affection, for example by patting your head. Whenever she does so, Yuzu feels really satisfied about her "social achievement" to the point that her eyes start sparkling.

[blvckvampyre]

The Cycle

A short story by Ashley Davis.

~5580 words. Inspired by Ganja and Hess (1973), Night of the Living Dead (1968).

“ Esther was left in the dark, waiting for a shifting that never came. Somehow she knew that she was dying. Animals knew when they were dying; in their final moments, they loosed that long, mournful moan as either sickness or some other animal tore them to shreds. Somehow, she had tapped into that long-lost sixth sense, and it was neither comforting nor terrifying. It was a dull reminder throbbing in the back of her misshapen skull. You’re almost done. She was transforming, and when she reached that final stage, she would disappear. Either her body or her mind would fail her. ”

Esther woke to find she had lost two more teeth overnight.

They were molars this time: flat, still bloody at the roots, one chipped from when she bit down on a walnut as a teenager. She opened her eyes to find them right in front of her face, lying in dried flecks of blood; evidently, she’d had the mind to spit them out in her sleep.

She uncurled herself, her spine popping as she moved, and sat up on her mattress, staring at the teeth warily, like they might get up and move if she watched long enough. These two made seven teeth she had lost. In a moment of vanity, she prayed she’d never lose the front two; she didn’t want to look like a six-year-old in her final moments.

There were no windows in the cell. There was a door, one too heavy for Esther to open even if it were ever left unlocked. The floor was hard and cold. She’d slept on it for a week before her captor finally and quite literally tossed the dirtied twin-sized mattress into the room, letting the door slam shut behind it. When she shivered, it added a blanket, and when she complained of neck pain, a stiff square of a pillow. Every other request went unanswered.

She had no idea what to call it, so she settled for “captor” or “beast.” To this day she laughed at her situation, at her own stupidity and skepticism. She remembered hearing about the first sighting in March of last year; a man had taken a shortcut home through the woods and claimed he saw a monster with the eyes of his brother, who had disappeared months earlier. He’d escaped, but weeks later another had disappeared, a woman this time, blonde-haired blue-eyed Ellie Dench, and with her disappearance came vigils, month-long searches, and the support of the entire town. She’d been found eventually, naked, gaunt, and shivering in the woods, unable to explain what had happened to her or who had taken her. Since Ellie Dench, there had been eleven sightings and half as many disappearances, nearly all of whom had shown up months later confused and afraid. All but two of the people kidnapped had turned up. One of them was Esther’s neighbor Lathaniel. The other was her fiancé. Her Marcus.

Esther was not superstitious in the slightest. Months ago, it had all seemed like some elaborate prank or cult activity. When the sightings had first shown up on their television screen, she’d shared a look with Marcus, the look that said, “I know this is frightening and all but do you want to laugh as much as I do?” Then Lathaniel had vanished, and then Marcus a month later. Lathaniel’s disappearance had left Esther scared, but Marcus ... Marcus’s had nearly killed her. She’d spent weeks organizing search parties, putting flyers on every corner in the neighborhood, trying her damn hardest not to break down, and all for nothing. He’d been taken in June; it was November now. If Lathaniel’s lack of return were any indication, Marcus would not be coming home.

Now here she was, likely to suffer the same fate that the love of her life had suffered. She cast a weary look at the door and saw her captor had left a tray out for her, with a bowl and a spoon. Whatever was in the bowl must have been hot hours ago. Her captor kept her fed on little more than bread, cornmeal, and soup, the kind that came out of a can. Not the warm, well seasoned kind Marcus would make for her on her sick days. The food did enough to fill her, when she could keep it down. She’d started feeling ill about a week into her captivity, a variety of symptoms that occasionally left her writhing on her mattress with pain. Her skin hurt constantly—it was an ache she found herself growing accustomed to—and she vomited every day, no matter what she ate or if she even ate at all. Worst of all, her bones needed cracking. She thought it was her muscles at first, but no, it was her bones; they felt like rubber bands that needed to snap back into shape, as if sleeping on this mattress had refashioned her skeleton. Each day she felt it, the shifting of her bones as they tried to twist into shapes they were not meant to form, and then they’d snap back, leaving her winded and sore. Her own body had betrayed her, to the point where she went from moment to moment afraid of her next spell. Each one lasted longer than the last; last time she’d passed out from the pain.

Esther dragged herself onto her knees, ready to cross the room, grab her breakfast, and scarf down whatever bland, room-temperature mush lay in that bowl, when her body racked with pain. She caught herself on her hands and knees, gasping as she felt the shifting again, her bones creaking as they bent and curved and turned in on themselves. She fell onto her side, moaning, grabbing at her ribs, feeling them flare and straighten beneath her skin. She turned over in time to vomit onto the floor and not her mattress, heaving until there was nothing left. And then it was gone. Her spine straightened, her neck unfolded, and her ribs ... Her ribs.

She hurried to her feet, so quickly that she bumped into the wall behind her, nearly slipped in her own vomit as she fought to lift up her shirt with shaking hands and peered down at herself. She was so skinny now that her ribs were clearly visible beneath the skin, she was used to this, but now they moved. They continued to move even after the shifting, opening up and swinging on their hinges, so wide she thought they’d penetrate her skin if she breathed too deeply. She could feel her chest opening up. Was her heart beating louder? She held her breath, and when she saw them, the sharp white buds of ribs blooming bright through the brown of her skin, blood welling where they showed, her head suddenly felt too hot, her eyelids too heavy. She was unconscious before she even hit the floor.

⬥ ⬥ ⬥

Cancelling the wedding was harder than Esther had anticipated. Of course her and Marcus’s families had understood; they only wanted what was best for Esther, we’ll find him, Esther, we’ll be here for you, Esther. For weeks, they’d left Esther to her own devices, sending her hopeful messages, participating in her search parties, spreading the news of Marcus’s disappearance on social media. When she refused to hold a service for him, to acknowledge that he wasn’t coming back, his mother and sisters had finally stepped in, not-so-gently reminding Esther that it was time she face the reality of the situation, for her own sake. “Denial won’t bring him back,” they’d said. Neither would a candlelight vigil.

She would never get used to sleeping alone again. The cat did little more than stare at her from the edge of the bed, blinking slowly. Overnight it would find its way onto Marcus’s pillow, and Esther would awake to find its striped brown form just inches from her nose, making her sneeze. Marcus loved that cat; that was the only reason Esther kept it around, despite her mild allergies to it. She told herself that she would grow to love it too, just as she would learn to live without him, just until he came back.

The evening that she officially cancelled the wedding, the cat trotted right up to Esther and curled up in her lap on the couch. That odd moment of affection made her tear up, like it was a sign from Marcus somehow. She stroked its back, scratched it behind the ears, and a few minutes later it left her to sit on the arm of the couch, watching her coolly.

She spent most of her nights sitting on her couch in silence, eating little and sleeping often, thinking about it all—about how she’d taken those early sightings for granted, about how Lathaniel and Marcus had to be the ones who hadn’t returned—until one night she got a hold of herself. There was no point in mourning. Tears got nothing done. Whimpering wouldn’t bring him home. The best she could do was look out for herself and ensure that she remain as strong as ever. Marcus was going to return, and he would not return to some skeletal waif of a woman. He would return to his fiancée, his Esther. She had decided long ago that she was not going to allow herself to be told to fear the world. She was going to go on cruises and hike in the mountains and go on evening jogs because she was ready for whatever the world had to throw at her. She took after the women on her mother’s side: tall, stocky, narrow-hipped and wide-shouldered. In fact she and Marcus were the same height. She figured no creep in Oliveview would want to mess with a six-foot-tall Black woman on her evening jog. She figured the fact that she felt comfortable enough to run at such late hours would ward off any predator, man or otherwise. And so she saw no foreseeable issue with going for a run at nine p.m. that night, armed with nothing more than her spare key.

The cat seemed to protest when she left, weaving between her legs and meowing incessantly. She refilled its food bowl, and when it still meowed, she rolled her eyes and left, taking off down the pavement, her form falling in and out of view at each streetlight.

It was a quiet night, warm for November. The only sound Esther could hear was her own breathing, and her shoes striking the pavement. The burn in her muscles made her feel more alive than she had felt in months, and so she sped up, going as fast as her legs would take her. She stopped about a mile in to wipe sweat from her brow with the hem of her pullover, and that was when she heard signs of another’s presence. She looked to her right, to her left, and saw nothing. She went on.

Esther wasn’t superstitious, but she was paranoid, and Marcus’s disappearance had left her even more on-edge than usual. With all the vanishings and the sightings, perhaps she had a reason to fear the world.

She was being followed. Someone else’s feet slapped the pavement behind her, or to her left? Ahead of her, perhaps. The woods were to her right on the other side of the street; it could be a squirrel, or a raccoon if it were hungry enough. She refused to believe that it was anything other than an animal, but she knew she was not alone in the dark, and once she had rounded the corner and was halfway back to her own house she stopped, whipping out her spare key and holding it between her knuckles, ready to slash whatever came her way.

She heard growling behind her, and when she turned, she saw a stray cat loping her way, head low, hackles raised. The cat skirted around her, and Esther followed it with her eyes, chuckling at her own anxiety. When she turned back, her blood went cold.

It crouched not two feet away, impossibly huge, furry, hunched over like a gargoyle. It did not growl; the only sound was its wet, heavy breathing. It was dark, but its eyes shone bright under the streetlight, so small in that broad, beastly face. Brown irises, light enough to see the pupils. Esther’s mouth went dry.

“Marcus?” she breathed. Those were his eyes, she’d know those eyes anywhere, even if they were set deep in that heavy leonine skull and regarding her predatorily.

Esther moved to run, opened her mouth to yell, and it grabbed her, one paw clamped over her mouth and nose, the other pinning her to its side. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream. All she could do was flail wildly and kick at the creature. It wasn’t even looking at her. It glared straight ahead, silent. She stared up at it in terror, eyes honing in on the fangs jutting from what must’ve been its upper lip, and her last thought before she passed out was that the cat would have Marcus’s pillow all to itself that night, because Esther was on her way to join him.

⬥ ⬥ ⬥

Sometimes, when the pain was a little more bearable, Esther would sing to keep herself sane.

In a way, she saw the singing as a sign of her own growing insanity. She was tired of this cell, of the four gray walls, the lack of sunlight, the cold and unforgiving hardness of the floor. After a while she tired of singing, and her voice became a shrill, harsh grating to her own ears. It was getting hoarser by the day; even her throat was turning against her.

The shiftings had doubled in frequency. Since the expansion of her ribs, she’d experienced shiftings every hour or so; the most recent one had left her permanently hunched over. Miraculously, a few teeth grew back, bigger than they were before. And of course, to make room, her jaw had expanded.

The monster had started visiting her. Not to deliver food or supplies, but to just sit in the corner of the room and study her. It sat like some enormous dog that hadn’t realized it had long outgrown its puppy bed, crouching on the balls of its feet. It watched Esther, and at first, its presence disturbed her too much to even look at it. She found that it was more difficult to pretend it wasn’t there than to look at it and learn more about it while it learned more about her.

She’d scream at it sometimes, demanding to know what it wanted with her until her voice gave out on her. Then she’d give up, retire to her mattress, and watch it back.

It was at least eight feet tall, surely more if one included the horns spiraling up and out of its brow. Its face was a cross between a bear and a lion, but certainly catlike. The fur on its neck, face, and chest was thicker, coarser, and darker, like a mane of sorts. It had a tail, long and tufted, sometimes curled neatly over its feet, sometimes twitching back and forth. It had huge paws with claws that glistened and made a terrible clicking sound against the floor when it moved. Muscles rippled beneath its coat, and its nostrils flared with each deep breath. Some mannerisms reminded her of the cat and others of the dog she’d had as a child: the crouching, the sighs, the spasmodic shaking of the pelt. Most of its movements were slow and deliberate, but it could move quickly for its size. It would outrun Esther if she made for the door; she was sure of it.

And it still had Marcus’s eyes.

Esther saw now why those people had fallen prey to this monster. It must have been a shapeshifter, one who could imitate the eyes of a loved one, leave you confused enough to overpower you easily. But how did it know who to imitate, and why? It was certainly strong enough already to knock its victims out with a single blow. And why stop at the eyes? Why not change itself into someone’s lover, friend, or relative entirely?

She hated the staring. Several times she’d sunk into the bathtub for a peaceful soak and opened her eyes to find the cat staring at her from the doorway. She used to find Marcus watching her silently while she did simple tasks like cut vegetables or wash dishes. No matter the viewer, she hated being under someone’s close inspection. The beast looked at her as if it were picking her apart, peeling the skin away to view the musculature, the bones beneath, ensuring that her suffering continued accordingly. She didn’t know how, and she didn’t know why, but she knew it was the cause of the shiftings. It had to be.

Esther could usually hold her tongue when the beast was around, but during shiftings, she lost all control.

“Why?” she hissed through gritted teeth, grabbing at her ribs while her hips curled in on themselves. She screamed and fell onto her side. “You like taking people? Hurting them?”

She threw her head back to look at the creature. It sat apathetically, watching her.

“Why give back everyone else? Why keep Marcus? Where the hell are you keeping him?” Esther’s arm lashed out, her forearm bent at an odd angle. Her fingers dropped, extending from the knuckles, curving like talons. She bit down on her sweatshirt to stifle another shriek. She felt as though her head needed to be unscrewed from her neck.

All the while the beast sat there, unblinking.

“Answer me!” Esther cried, and just as she felt herself about to faint, the shifting ended.

The beast huffed and left the room, leaving Esther to tremble alone on the mattress. She refused to assess the damage for several minutes. Tears slipped down her face as she fought to steady her breathing, closing her eyes and pretending she was elsewhere. She was home. Marcus was there. She’d had a nightmare and Marcus would be there to remind her she was safe.

When she opened her eyes, she found that her hands had turned to claws.

⬥ ⬥ ⬥

“What’re you thinking about?”

Esther turned over onto her side. Marcus sat in the armchair by her feet, watching her with a smile on his face. “About how my man keeps staring at me even though I told him long ago that I can’t stand it,” she muttered, sitting up with a groan. She rolled the crick out of her neck and slouched. “What are you thinking about?”

“Look, I only stare at my lady cuz she the most beautiful thing I ever laid eyes on,” he retorted, folding his hands over his belly. “I’m thinking about how lucky I am to know you.”

Esther grinned. “You’re full of shit.”

“It’s true! I feel lucky. You feeling lucky?”

“Depends. You making dinner tonight?”

He sucked his teeth. “Is water wet?”

“Mar, we argued about that for hours—”

“I meant yeah, I’ll make dinner tonight.” Marcus stood up, the cat at his heels as he headed for the kitchen. “We got spaghetti, chicken, some of that rice from last night . . .”

“You make me spaghetti and I’ll feel pretty damn lucky.”

Marcus chuckled. “You and that spaghetti. I feel like even on a deserted island you’d be a’ight long as you got that spaghetti.”

“Me and carbs go way back, babe. What are you taking to a deserted island?”

“Shit, you hopefully,” Marcus said over his shoulder, rummaging through the drawers for a pot. “I ain’t suffering alone.”

Esther’s mouth fell open. “You sadistic fuck.”

“What! At least we’d be together.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, frowning at him across the room. “What you should hope is that we wouldn’t get stranded, period.”

“Oh, we won’t.” She heard the click and whoosh of flame as Marcus switched the stove on. “We’re too smart for that.”

“Are we now?” Esther muttered. Marcus started humming, and his humming turned to singing, that same Sam Cooke song they’d had stuck in their heads all weekend. Esther sighed and slouched further into the couch.

⬥ ⬥ ⬥

The day Esther found hair growing around her neck was the same day the beast finally spoke to her.

It wouldn’t enter the room, not since Esther’s hands had changed weeks ago. She heard it waiting outside the door, perhaps slumped against the wall, and then words.

“Don’t want ... hurt.”

Esther opened her eyes. The lights were off, but she could see perfectly, her eyes adjusting immediately to the darkness. She was lying on her mattress, hugging herself, nails—no, claws—biting into her arms. “What?” she called out, wondering if she was imagining things. “What did you say?”

It growled a bit, then cleared its throat. Yes, cleared its throat like a person would. “Don’t want you hurt,” it croaked haltingly.

Its voice was deep, grating. Exactly how Esther would imagine a beast to speak. Nevertheless, the rough timbre shocked her. How long had it been able to speak? Why hadn’t it spoken before? Esther laughed. Her own voice sounded so hoarse to her ears that she barely recognized it. “You didn’t want me hurt? You kidnap me, throw me in a cell, watch me change and shift and grow hair on my goddamn neck and you think I care if you wanted me to hurt?” She shivered, feeling that familiar tingle of pain through her back, and whimpered. Like most recent shiftings, it quickly went away. Evidently, her bones were done reforming, leaving her with a hunched back, deep chest, and legs that bent backward like a dog’s.

The beast growled again, frustrated. “Not ... Not me.”

“Who else then? Who put me here?”

It didn’t answer for several seconds. And then, faintly, brokenly: “Had to be you.”

With that, the beast shuffled away, and Esther was left in the dark, waiting for a shifting that never came. Somehow she knew that she was dying. Animals knew when they were dying; in their final moments, they loosed that long, mournful moan as either sickness or some other animal tore it to shreds. Somehow, she had tapped into that long-lost sixth sense, and it was neither comforting nor terrifying. It was a dull reminder throbbing in the back of her misshapen skull. You’re almost done. She was transforming, and when she reached that final stage, she would disappear. Either her body or her mind would fail her.

Part of Esther wished the beast would enter the room, just so she could see Marcus’s eyes one more time.

⬥ ⬥ ⬥

“Goodnight, baby.”

Esther felt the soft press of Marcus’s lips to her temple. “Goodnight,” she murmured, keeping her eyes closed.

Only when he was quietly snoring did Esther turn over to look at him. He was lying on his back, chest gently rising and falling. The cat was curled up between the two of them; it stirred when Esther turned, moving closer to Marcus.

He was serene while he slept, face unlined and relaxed. Defenseless. She smiled; he was downright angelic in his sleep.

She’d tried and tried but couldn’t shake off what he’d said earlier that night before dinner, about hoping they’d be stranded together on an island. I ain’t suffering alone. Why would he want her to suffer at all? If she were stranded, she’d hope Marcus was elsewhere. Why wouldn’t he want the same for her?

She shook her head and closed her eyes, willing herself to let it go.

⬥ ⬥ ⬥

She needed a mirror.

She wanted to see what she had become. She had fur all over now; it was thickest around her neck, almost silky. It was as deep and lustrous brown as her skin, each tuft glistening with hints of gold and auburn. Her teeth had fallen out, one by one, and grown back bigger, sharper. Her jaws had lengthened and widened to fit them all, but two fangs jutted out from her upper lip no matter how hard she tried to hide them. The tail was the oddest part of it all; it extended from the base of her spine, moved with a mind of its own, keeping her balanced on her new legs and new feet. She could not see herself, no, but with the slender muzzle and tall ears, she imagined she resembled some monstrous jackal. She’d thought the shiftings were the worst pain she’d ever feel again, but the growing, the forced extension of her limbs and expansion of her skull—this was her confirmation that she had truly died. She had died and lived now in a body freed from pain.

As different as she was, Esther felt powerful. She felt a new strength welling within her. Her teeth would tear through any flesh. Her claws would put a bear’s to shame. There was no need for clothes. She tore them off days ago. It was freeing to move without the constriction of spandex and polyester, without the confines of human skin and bones.

Even more than a mirror, she wanted to face the beast. She was strong now. She could take it, she could feel it. It had taken her humanity. Each day she lost parts of herself, and the first to go was the fear. Days after the beast spoke, her voice left her, replaced with guttural growls and huffs. The rage stayed with her, and as the hair grew and her claws sharpened, it swelled into bloodlust. She wanted to punish the beast. She would break open its chest, reveal its beating heart. She would smother it to death, watch the life fade from its eyes, then she would take those too, right out of its head. The eyes that should have belonged to Marcus.

Esther was pacing the room on all fours when the door finally swung open, much more slowly than she’d expected. She whipped around, reared back on her haunches, prepared to spring—

And stopped.

“Esther.”

It was no beast. It was a man.

“Esther, it’s me, baby.”

Her man. This was her man. Her Marcus.

She lunged forward, then stopped, scrabbling backward clumsily. She peered around Marcus, waiting for the beast to follow, but it was just him. Just the two of them.

And this was her Marcus. He was skinnier than she’d ever seen him, almost emaciated. His clothes hung too loosely off of him, and his cheekbones shone too distinctly. His hair was long and scraggly, and his beard had grown, but this was him. Her Marcus.

Esther opened her mouth, formed his name with her lips, but all she could do was bellow unintelligibly. She whined, shrinking away from him, remembering what she’d become. How could he recognize her? How could he possibly know that this was her and not—

The eyes. Those were still her eyes, but they must have looked so small. They must have stayed the same.

“Esther, baby,” Marcus said, stepping toward her. “Can you understand me?”

She nodded but refused to move closer.

He was close enough now that she could see the tears brimming in his eyes. His lips twisted into a grimace. His brown eyes looked too large in his skinny face. “Baby, I’m so, so sorry. I had to, you know I had to.”

She heard what he said but didn’t understand what he meant. She tried to say his name again and failed, shutting her mouth before she could embarrass herself further.

“Lathaniel took me, Essie. He was the last one before me. There’ve been so many cycles, one after another.” He closed his eyes, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “On the last day, he came to me like I’m coming to you right now. This—this woman started it all. She went crazy, cursed her husband to become some monster. And the only way to get rid of it was to pass it along. Like a disease.”

Cycles . . . Esther shivered, gritting her teeth. The beast had had Marcus’s eyes.

“Lathaniel got taken and he had to pass it along to someone, so he chose me. He said I seemed like I was strong enough to take it.” Marcus shook his head. “I hated him for it for so, so long. He said he was leaving cuz he couldn’t bear to face anybody after that. I thought I couldn’t do it, couldn’t put this on someone else. But I realized, Esther—Esther, you my ride or die. You could take it.”

No.

“You could take it and then afterward we’d be together again.”

No.

“Essie, I’m so sorry but I had to, baby. I couldn’t do this to a stranger, it was worse somehow—”

Worse than putting it on me? She wanted to yell, but all she could do was growl, deep in her throat. She refused to look at Marcus, staring instead at the open door.

“—and I knew at the end of it all, we wouldn’t even remember it. You’d come back and we’d both forget all about it. That’s how Ellie Dench turned up. That’s how they all turn up, at the end, with some kinda amnesia. I don’t know how much longer I have before I forget, too.”

The beast had trapped her with its eyes. Esther found herself snarling, then cut herself off with a whimper. Marcus had known the eyes would stun her. He’d known where she jogged, when she would jog. He’d chosen her because she was the easiest to find. He hadn’t even had the gall to look at her while he smothered her that night. And all the while she’d flailed around, and he couldn’t even look at her.

“Essie, you gotta know that I did this because I trust you. I got so much faith in you, baby, I knew you could take it.”

And in a few months she would forget all about it. She would forget how Marcus had hurt her, and he would forget that he’d chosen her. Their families would thank the Lord that they’d been reunited, and then they’d marry. Just like that.

“I know you can’t talk, baby, but I need a sign. Show me you understand. I never meant to hurt you—”

This was their deserted island. And he’d taken her along with him, true to his word.

“Please, Essie, look at me—”

She was on him like fire.

It took one forward bound to reach him, and when she did, she bowled him over, forcing him to the ground, snarling in his face. Marcus screamed, begging for mercy, trying in vain to push her off of him. She pinned him down by the shoulders and hovered over him with slavering jaws, threads of saliva hitting his face. She would kill this man for hurting her. She would not let him forget. He would remember this, this monster who’d been his woman, how he’d made her suffer for his own sake. She wanted blood. She would tear his throat out, rip him limb from limb, make sure he felt the pain he’d caused her.

This crazy woman who’d cursed her husband ... Had she really been crazy, or was “crazy” the husband’s way of placing the blame on her? Of making her responsible for whatever trauma he’d put her through?

“Esther, please, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, you know I’d never hurt you—”

She placed one paw on Marcus’s throat, pressing down enough to choke him. She watched him flail, watched him struggle and beat against her with weakening fists, watched his eyes strain to look at her, those same eyes that he’d used to capture her so long ago.

And she stopped, right when his fists fell and his face went slack. As soon as her paw left his throat, he inhaled deeply, and when she stepped back, he rolled to his side, coughing as air filled his lungs.

She wouldn’t kill him. Not like this.

Marcus turned to look at her over his shoulder, his face racked with fear. “You’re no monster, Esther. This ain’t you.”

This is me, she wanted to tell him. And you’re the monster.

Esther leaped over Marcus and ran for the door, kicking it closed behind her. Without a second thought she latched it shut, leaving Marcus locked inside.

“Esther! Esther, open the door!” His fists pounded the other side.

She looked around the room. She was in a basement of sorts, and there were stairs to her right. Whose house had this been? How many beasts had used it as a hideout? She placed one paw on the first step, then glanced back at the cell door, wondering where she would go, who she would meet. How could she take someone knowing what they would go through? How could Marcus, Lathaniel, and everyone before them have done that to each other?

Esther’s tail lashed to and fro as she mulled it over. She couldn’t do it, and yet, in the back of her mind, Marcus’s own voice reminded her that in the end, she would forget all about it. She would forget about her own suffering and whomever she captured. She would watch them deteriorate, watch them lose their spirit while she found herself again, and then she would forget about it.

Marcus would forget too. He would sit and starve in that cell and wonder how he’d gotten there, why his clothes didn’t fit and why Esther’s jogging clothes lay in a ragged heap by the door.

What would happen if she didn’t find another victim, if she let herself waste away in this beastly form, the curse discontinued? Would they find her in the woods? Would they put her down like some rabid dog?

The pounding of Marcus’s fists against the door matched Esther’s own racing heartbeat. Who else would she bring to this deserted island?

“Baby, please, don’t leave me here!”

This cycle would try to break her. She would break it first.

[snowycrocus]

Frozen Fanfiction “Such a Cost” Ch.3/? Elsa Sacrifices her Magic to Save Anna

Start with part one and part two first.

Now to find out what is going on with Anna....

Anna hung her head and waited for the others by the doorway.

“I’m sorry,” she uttered as Kristoff approached.

“You should be,” he shot back, voice thick with emotion. “You….for over a month?!” He ran his hand through his hair, subconsciously closed his hands into fists. “You know what this means for you, what could happen – and you didn’t tell us?!” His voice had risen in anger and panic, his stance becoming tense and stiff, almost threatening in his concern. Movement from the corner of his eyes made him turn, seeing Elsa crouch down against the wall and hug herself into a ball in response to the situation. He recognized the start of a panic attack – something he had now seen a couple of times but less and less frequently as time went on.

Kristoff sighed, seeing his anger would only make things worse – for everyone. “It doesn’t matter now,” he told Anna. “All that matters is that we get you the help you need.” He took slow, careful steps to approach Elsa, crouching down to her level on the floor.

“Elsa.” He reached out a hand to settle on her shoulder before thinking better of it in the current circumstances.

Elsa drew a rattling breath. “I can’t go with you. I can’t.” Her breathing came staggered and stuttering, high-pitched through her throat which felt like it was closing.

“We might need you there.” He tried to soften his words while what he wanted to do was shake her shoulders and smack her senseless for prolonging the time until they could get help for Anna.

“You – you don’t need me,” she spit out, struggling. Her chest was heaving and Kristoff found himself needing to tear his gaze away from watching the tears slide down her cheeks before freezing and catching the light. “No one does. Least of all Anna. All I ever do is hurt her.” She tried to brush the tears away but they stuck to her cheeks. “Just go. You’re wasting time.”

His frustration bubbled up to the surface and broke through. “No, you’re wasting time!” He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, figuring even if he began to freeze he didn’t want to live without Anna, and they were already going to the trolls for help anyway. Elsa gasped and sputtered in surprise and Kristoff was struck by just how fragile she felt underneath his palms, like he could accidentally crush her if he could get past the feeling of rapid-onset frostbite under his skin.

She staggered as he pulled her up and couldn’t meet his gaze. “Don’t touch me,” she cringed. She waved a hand vaguely in Anna’s direction. “Look at her.”

Kristoff bit his tongue before answering. “You’re coming with us, Elsa,” he said, his tone brooking no room for argument. “None of us know what’s going on, and you especially need to be there to help figure this out.”

Her breathing began to even out, panic fading into relief as someone else took charge of the situation for once. “Fine. But I’m not riding with you. Just – just stay away.” Her voice broke on the words and Kristoff merely nodded.

The ride to the Valley of the Hidden Rock was nearly silent – just the sounds of Sven’s hooves clip-clopping and Elsa’s disc of ice on which she stood gliding over the icy path she cast in front of her. Her path occasionally spread out farther to the sides than she intended, shards of ice and lumps of snow shooting out to the sides and encroaching upon Sven’s path ahead. The struggle increased as time went on and Kristoff recognized it as the fear overtaking her. Her facial expression spoke of her strain to fight her magic, brows knit tightly in concentration and lips twisted in a pained grimace.

Upon reaching their destination, Kristoff bounded off of Sven before helping Anna gently to the ground. He was relieved to note that Anna’s appearance hadn’t worsened during the journey, and though she felt chilled she didn’t feel close to the point of freezing like she once had months ago. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. We still have time.

As the trolls rolled around the incomers and called for Grand Pabbie, Elsa hung back, a light wind tossing her hair and skirts as little snowflakes fluttered in the air. Anna turned back toward her sister.

“Elsa,” she called. Elsa whipped her head around, startled.

“I’m sorry,” Anna started. “I should’ve told you. I just didn’t – I didn’t want to worry you or upset you. -Elsa!” she cried out, as her sister took a few more steps back, wrapping her arms tightly around her stomach. “Elsa, please – please, I need you.”

“No.” Elsa’s voice came surprisingly strong to Anna, as far away as they were. “No, you don’t. Just stay away from me, Anna. I told you before and I’m telling you now. Stay. Away.”

“But the trolls will help! They can tell us what’s going on!”

“Anna, we know what’s going on – I hurt you with my magic before, and now I can’t even tell when I’m hurting you anymore!” Tears poured down her face and Anna felt more anguished over her sister’s emotions than the fact that she was slowly freezing once more. Elsa had finally broken free over feeling powerless over her own magic, from feeling like her body had betrayed her. And now that betrayal was back, and with vengeance.

“Princess.”

The rough, gravelly voice behind Anna made her jump in surprise. Grand Pabbie stood by Anna’s knees and held out his hands to her. His gaze passed calmly yet concernedly over her form. “Princess, what happened?” His gaze flitted over to Elsa briefly, who still stood away from the group, shuddering.

Kristoff stepped in as Grand Pabbie took Anna’s hands in his own. He examined her ice-encrusted fingertips and reached up to touch her blue-tinged ears. “We don’t know, Grand Pabbie,” he told him. “Nothing happened, this time.”

“Hmmm, strange indeed.” Grand Pabbie gestured to Anna to lean down in front of him so he could hold a hand to her forehead. He closed his eyes. “Queen Elsa – do you know nothing of this, child?”

Elsa’s hands closed to fists tightly and she shook her head violently. “No!” She protested. “I don’t – I didn’t – I don’t know how I-” she broke off with a choking cry.

Grand Pabbie concentrated for a few moments with his hand on Anna’s head still. Finally, he pulled back, and Anna gasped at the release from his probing magic.

“Interesting,” he started, as the three turned to him in desperate anticipation. He turned to Elsa first. “Queen Elsa, you are correct – as you know, you did not strike the princess with your magic this time.”

Elsa quite literally sagged in relief, her limbs suddenly turning to jelly and breath escaping her. The question remained, though, and her gaze turned perplexed as she opened her mouth to ask-

“How, then?” Anna interrupted. “What’s going on?”

Elsa felt safer to approach and joined her sister and Kristoff, who was holding on to Anna’s arm tightly.

Grand Pabbie pondered for a moment, hand rubbing his chin. “How do I explain…” He turned to Bulda next to him and they joined hands. Both the crystals around their necks alit and Bulda’s eyes moved beneath her eyelids as she felt and saw what Grand Pabbie had gleaned from Anna with his magic.

“Aah, I see,” Bulda exclaimed. “Kristoff- do you remember, when you were a child, you ate my fireweed soup?”

“Uuhh, no, sorry,” Kristoff scratched his head and looked down at Bulda apologetically. “Why?”

“Well,” she started, “you ate it, and then perhaps a few weeks later you ate it again. But that time, after you ate it, your skin turned red and bumpy and your lips swelled and you were having trouble breathing – remember that?”

“Sounds like something I blocked out,” Kristoff responded, looking a bit startled. “I’m glad to know now not to eat any fireweed though. But – what does this have to do with anything?”

“An allergy,” Elsa breathed. Her eyes were wide with concern yet she wore a calculating expression. “Anna’s body is reacting to….me?”

“Precisely,” Grand Pabbie nodded. “Though more specifically, to your magic.”

“The princesses’ body has experienced harm from your magic twice now,” Bulda continued. “Now it senses the presence of your magic and is attempting to protect itself.”

“But just like an allergy, the body often creates the very problem it’s attempting to protect itself from.” Elsa twined her hands together. She was fluctuating between breathtaking relief that she hadn’t harmed Anna and crippling anxiety over the fact that she was still causing Anna harm even when she wasn’t doing anything.

“Wait, what?” Anna sounded a mix of worried and outraged. She narrowed her eyes. “So, what, if I leave Elsa, then I’ll be back to normal?”

“Correct, Princess,” Grand Pabbie nodded. “As long as you are away from your sister and her magic, you shall survive. However, your body’s reaction to the presence of her magic is causing you to slowly freeze to death once more. If you choose to stay, and allow your body to react to her magic…at this rate, I would imagine you have perhaps four to six more moons until your body succumbs to the ice.”

The air around the group turned frigid and a wind began to blow. Elsa was struck speechless – she had only recently gotten her sister back – her sister who was her whole world – and now, out of her control, she would either have to lose her for eternity – or, essentially, watch her die.

“Whoa, whoa hold on-” Kristoff waved his arms in the air, breaking up the stunned silence. “What’s ‘far away’ mean? A couple feet? Kilometers? What’re we talking, here?”

Grand Pabbie looked at the small group gathered solemnly. “Queen Elsa’s magic is extraordinarily powerful, with a great range. Even out here in the Valley we can feel her presence.” Elsa bit her lip and her skin turned an ashen grey at the words she knew would follow. “If the princess wishes to live….she cannot see her sister again.”

Anna staggered back like she had been struck in the chest, while Elsa’s knees gave way and she crumbled to her knees as gusts of snow and ice began to swirl.

“No-”

“Please-”

“There must be another way!” Kristoff turned to Grand Pabbie, pleading.

The troll pondered, silently observing the mourning sisters who even in their deepest grief dared not to touch one another.

“There is – there is a way, but-”

“Anything.” The snow and wind stopped abruptly and Grand Pabbie actually had to look down to find the Queen of Arendelle on her knees, begging. “Anything,” she repeated harshly, tears cascading down her cheeks and freezing to twinkling droplets. Her gaze was fierce, eyes piercing blue. “Just tell me, and consider it done.”

Grand Pabbie waved his hands in the air and allowed his magic to create pictures of light in the sky. “Only with the power of love,” he began, painting two feminine figures above, “can I remove magic.” Anna gasped by his side at the light show above. He drew waves of magic being drawn out of both figures. The one on the left, as a result, turned from icy blue to blazing green and grew straighter, taller – fuller and healthier. The figure on the right, however, faded from an azure blue to an ashy grey, crouched and spasming in suffering and loss.

“Yes,” said the Queen without hesitation. She stood, once again confident, straight and tall. “Remove my magic.”  

“Elsa, no!” Anna ran to her sister’s side to grab her, but Elsa recoiled from Anna’s icy fingers on her skin and grimaced when her eyes found the blue tinge of Anna’s ears and lips. “You can’t do that, Elsa!” Anna continued, despite her sister’s reaction. “Your magic is a part of you! What makes you you. You can’t take that away!”

“Anna,” Elsa shook her head in grim acceptance. “You don’t understand. You are the most important part of me. You are what brought me through all the darkest times – it is you that brings me the most happiness. You make me me. Without you – without you I am nothing, I have nothing.”

There was no question, no consideration. She returned to stand in front of Grand Pabbie.

Elsa stood tall and proud, looking more like a Queen than even at her coronation. She raised her chin, squared her shoulders and spoke, strong and clear.

“Do it. Remove my magic. Save my sister.”

I’d love to hear your thoughts, readers! What did you think of my reasoning? Trying to stay away from the cliche “there’s still some of Elsa’s ice left in Anna, etc”

Please please let me know what you think of the chapter! I love to hear any words/comments/tags you care to share, each one means so much! <3 

From here on out I believe the chapters will be snapshots of Elsa and Anna’s lives as they grow used to (or not used to) Elsa without her magic. The original discussion thread gave me lots of ideas for these next parts, but please feel free to throw some more ideas at me as to how this would affect them.

Tagging those of you that commented and/or reblogged for the previous chapter- let me know if you don’t want to be tagged in the future (or if you really do!) 

@grrlgeek72, @ellacarter13, @no-escape-from-the-storm-inside, @a-frozen-kind-of-love, @etiennia, @justlookatthosesausages, @thankfullyimgay, @pyre355, @above-d-clouds, @heidi-and-joseff-bjorgman, @frozenartscapes, @wandering-bard-from-the-id, @habibi18, @thegeekogecko, @maregnbue, @butimaloneandfree, @the-magic-one-is-you, @snowqueenofmyheart