#bless tess for telling me her name

[katherine-mcnamara]

[josephquinnswhore]

Girl Dad

Pairing: Ex Joel Miller x female reader.

Summary: Joel makes a series of mistakes that cause you to leave the QZ with Tommy, finding a community to settle down with. Joel reunites with you to find he had daughters he never knew about.

Word Count: 2.8k

Content Warning: pregnancy, failed abortion, birth, failed abortion, death of a twin, typical tlou violence.

18 years, you and Joel had been together, never married but you both decided early on; it was something that could wait until you were ready, you were convinced you really would last forever, regardless of marriage. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly where things went wrong, when Sarah died Joel didn’t shut you out, he leaned into you more, depended on you as if you were his lifeline. You felt the loss as hard as Joel did, you officially adopted Sarah the day she died, your heart felt so bitter to this day at the way she was taken from you, it would be your first loss as a mother, the first daughter you would lose. The loss had you both closer than you ever had been, a trio travelling across the country accompanied by Tommy, the three of you stuck together like superglue.

At the time, finding the Boston QZ felt like a blessing, paradise within the giant walls and safety of order and authority. It felt like things were almost normal, everyone worked and earned credits, currency used like money to buy everything you needed to survive. 

The closest instance you could pinpoint the beginning of Joel’s hostility was when you had worked 10 hours a day, teaching children basic education, because was still important, even at the end of the world. A sickness had been bothering you for days-okay, a week, you’d experienced nausea and stomach cramps, with no blood to indicate it was your period behind the symptoms. You used 4 credits on an out of date pregnancy strip that showed a positive result. Turns out even out of date pregnancy strips can detect pregnancy, you were hesitant to tell Joel, he was a fantastic dad to Sarah, but he wasn’t the same, he was a broken man and you didn’t know how he would react to you having a baby.

You decided impulsively to drop the bomb over dinner, a half warm-can of pasta, interrupting Joel in the process, “got some extra credits today for those pills-” “I’m pregnant.” Your brain was running a million miles a minute, eyes scanning Joels face for a reaction when he started to frown. oh no. The lines in his forehead deepening, probably causing more stress lines. “I’ll see if I can find some pills that will get rid of it next time me and Tess go out, it’ll be fine we just need to get rid of it. Darlin’?” Joels eyes are watching you as he leans forward in his seat, tears threatening to spill from your eyes, “Joel maybe we don’t need to get rid of the baby.” Joel scoffs and stands up, the chair squealing as it scoots across the floor, “this is no world for any goddamn baby to be raised in y/n. Don’t be stupid.” You bit your lip as you stood, stepping toward Joel your hands in defense, “this could be a good thing Joel, we could even name her Sar-” Joel snaps at you loudly, “don’t finish that sentence, you’re really pushing it.” His body stiffened at the thought of you naming that clump of cells after his deceased real daughter. 

“We’re not doing this, you’re getting rid of it and that final.” Joel tells you sternly, leaving the apartment, slamming the door on the way out. You slump back into the uncomfortable embrace of the steel chair, accepting that Joel wouldn’t accept this baby as his own, it was a hard thought to swallow. You lean forward to rest your head on the dining table, eyes fluttering as you fall asleep in a position that your back would complain about in the morning.

A clink noise woke you up in front of you, the sunshine filtering through the square window by the bed, you had slept through the night on the damn dining room table, your back aching and cracking as you sat up made you groan, eyes met with Joel, who had placed a half a glass of water in front of you and two small pills rolled onto the large side as he threw them in front of you, standing over you as you take them into your hands and rub your eyes. Your eyes can’t meet Joels as he watches you, you drink the water in the glass, relieving some dryness in your throat as you swallowed the pills. You slam the cup on the table standing to turn away from Joel, his hand grabbed your wrist, “open your mouth.” You turn to him with a frown, “are you fucking serious right now Joel?” He didn’t answer just starred at you blankly, you open your mouth and lift your tongue, “Happy asshole?” You spat and walked into the bathroom where you turned on the cold water and held your arms around yourself protectively, “sorry baby i’m so sorry. Mama wanted you so badly.” Joel stood on the other side of the door, forehead pressed against the chipping paint, his heart filled with regret, he just couldn’t do it again, he couldn’t lose Sarah all over again.

Months went by and Joel had never been so distant with you, you had taken a few weeks of grieving to yourself, then slowly started to come back to Joel, the hugs, kisses, but no sex. His rejection weighing deep on your heart and the insecurity eating you alive, he thought you were disgusting, why else wouldn’t he have sex with you? For weeks the question ate you alive. 

The question was answered a few nights later when Joel stumbled in, drunk at 3:30am, you kept your eyes closed as he fell onto the bed next to you, the smell of Lavender and whisky was a scent you would never forget, you started to put the pieces together.

The extra smuggle runs with Tess. Coming home late. Not being intimate with you. Joel wanting you to abort your baby, all because of Tess. Your heart broke, you sobbed silently next to Joel as you mourned 18 years of your love, the loss of your daughter, the man you were meant to spent forever with. You started to emotionally detach yourself, Joel didn’t notice how you pulled away, never noticed how you wouldn’t touch him, would scoot further away when he lie down in the bed, would skip meals with him.

Joel only noticed something was wrong with you when it was too late, weeks too late. Tommy was going on a run far North; he was determined to find humanity outside of the worsening violence that happened daily in the Boston QZ, he always spoke and hoped of a nicer place, somewhere more communal. You begged Tommy to tag along, you would make yourself useful, you wouldn’t be a liability; “please.” You beg Tommy, he sighs deeply, “what about Joel?” You shake your head, “he’s with Tess now.” All Tommy hears is a mumble from you, “oh sweetheart.” He pulled you in for a hug and checked your bag for supplies, making sure you have a suffienct amount of equiptment. 

“Hey! Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Joels booming voice watched you, stopping right in front of Tommy. “She wants to come Joel, that’s her choice.” Joel grabs your wrist, and you shake him off, “isn’t Tess expecting you?” Joels face drops and his eyes soften, “darlin’ no, no. Come inside we can talk about this, okay?” You shake your head, “sorry Joel, it was over the day you made me swallow those pills.” Tommy looks between the two of you, confused. “I regret it, everyday.” You offer him a small smile, not wanting your goodbye to be hostile, “me too Joel. Goodbye.” You leave Joel standing there, heartbroken and truly alone for the first time since Sarah had been born. The ache in his heart begged for you to mend it, for him to chase after you and beg, grovel if he needed to, but his legs were frozen in place and all he could do was watch you leave.

 “Mama, my arm.” You’re met with your daughter sobbing, tears stained her red chubby cheeks as saliva slobbered down her lips as she wailed, pointing to her arm. “Oh Elliarna, let mama kiss it better baby.” You soothed as you cuddled her, the small scrape was red and barely peeled back a layer of skin. “Which bandaid do you want baby, Princess or Horses?” The tears stop momentarily, “hmmm, horsies please mama, can we ride the horsies and go and see sissy Sar?” Tears gathered in your lashline as you applied the bandaid carefully, “sure baby, go and ask Tommy to help get your boots on.” Her footsteps thundered down the hall to meet Tommy, the sore on her arm completely forgotten about. 

She came back speed walking down the hall to you where you wait by the front door, pulling one of Tommy’s warmer jackets over your shoulders, covering the vunerable exposed bump of your pregnant stomach. “Tommy told me stop running in the house mama, so I did.” You smile at Tommy walking towards you, his shy smile making him look so handsome, “good listening Elliarna, let’s go and feed the horses.” She skipped ahead of you out the front door in joy, Tommy holding your hand in his, “she’s going to be a great sister.” You smile at Tommy in agreement, a protective hand over your bump, “I have no doubts Tommy, you’re going to be a great dad, you have been a great dad.” Redness spreads from Tommys cheeks to his ears, you had been together for three years, shortly before you gave birth you found yourselves romantically involved. Tommy was there when you found this community in Wyoming, when you had pregnancy complications and went into pre-mature labour at 36 weeks because you were having twins, Elliarna survived, the smaller baby didn’t. You never thought you would lose two daughters in a lifetime. You had suffered enough. Tommy shared the same anxiety as you carried his own child, 8 months into your pregnancy you were as far along as you were when you gave birth three years ago. Praying to whoever was listening this baby was born alive, healthy.

“Hey, it’ll be okay sweetheart.” Tommys fingers squeezed your own and offered a sweet smile. You bring his hand up to your lips and kiss lovingly, finding the same appraise in your eyes. “Mama, Tommy look, there is new people on the horsies.” 

You look up, a familiar face looking back at you and Tommy, a young girl clinging to him on the back of the horse they shared. Your mind had to be playing tricks on you, a delusion. Joel fucking Miller was jumping off the horse, you pickup Elliarna and rush to your house, tears gathering in your eyes, “what’s wrong mama are you hurt?” You sniffle and nod your head, “yeah baby mama’s hurt.” She rubs your pregnant stomach which makes you weep more, “is the baby ok?” You place your hand over her small one, “the baby is okay Elli.” Your daughter frowns, “then what’s wrong mama.” She reaches up to wipe your tears away and you chuckle, “let’s go outside and see sissy? Mama can explain it better okay?” 

She smiles at you and pulls on your hand leading you outside, “okay mama.” 

“Tommy.” Joel yells rushing to his younger brother, “Joel.” Tommy breathes, embracing each other, seeing each other for the first time in 3 years. “Was that..?” Tommy nods, “yeah, we made it here together.” Joel looks to Tommy, “and the kid?” Tommy huffs, a cloud exiting his lips, “your daughter, Joel.” Joel frowns and shakes his head, “no, that not possible, she took the-” Tommy placed his hand on Joels shoulder, “they didn’t work.” Joel’s breath stutters, choking back a sob, falling into Tommys arms. “There’s something you should see before you meet her, follow me.” Joel follows Tommy towards the house you retreated to, walking to the back of the house to a small garden shed, your body crouched down with you-his daughter. In front of you was a small wooden cross painted white, with black letters Melody Sarah Miller, small pink flowers painted around the name with a date. 07/15/2020. 

You put the small butterfly antique back with the other decorations that the town had donated for your daughter. You wipe your tears as you turn around with your daughter, Joel standing beside Tommy you immediately start shaking your head no, “sweetheart he deserves to know.” Your teary eyes met Tommy’s and your hand instinctively cradled your pump to protect it. Joel watches the interaction between the two of you, sweet, affirmative, loving, you’re pregnant. Joel’s heart sinks, regretting every choice he made to push you into his brother’s arms. 

You turn to Joel with sad eyes, he feels his demeanor crumbling at the sight of you, teary eyed and vunerable, your daughter shying away from him. “The pills didn’t terminate the pregnancy, I was pregnant with twins, I had alot of complications and went into early labour, Elliarna was the larger twin so she survived, Melody didn’t, I had to bury our daughter Joel and you weren’t here.” Your eyes began weeping as your body shook as you sobbed, reliving the feeling of despair, hopelessness and loss as you look at him. “I’m so sor-” You shake your head, “don’t you dare, don’t you fucking dare Joel.” Joel’s body slumps in defeat, you were right, he doesn’t get to cop out and apologise now once all the hardship had been done, alone. He didn’t feel the grief, the void and emptiness losing this baby condemned you with. “You’re right.” Joels admission confuses you, him owning his actions calmed you a fraction, enough for you to take a breath. “Come here Elliarna sweetie, meet your daddy, remember how mama and Tommy told stories of your daddy Joel?” Elliarna steps out front behind you and in front of Joel. Joel’s eyes water, she looked exactly like him, her deep brown eyes mirrored his, her dark brown hair was sat in messy waves, the curve in her nose was a definite trait she inherited from him, the freckles on her cheeks softened the chubby-ness of her face. “Hi daddy.” Joel drops to his knees and holds his daughter, the weight of not missing 3 years of his daughter life weighing heavily on him, “hi baby girl.” Joel sniffles into his daughter shoulder, finding solace in the way she looks so familiar to Sarah. He pulls back and studies her face, afraid she will disappear from his arms. 

“She looks like her.” Joel whimpers, looking up at you, the statement overwhelming you and your lip wobbled. “Yeah, she does.” Elliarna insepcts Joel’s face and giggles, scratching his patchy salt and pepper beard, “you must be old daddy, you are all grey.” Joel chuckles and his chest feels a load of weight lifted off him, “yeah baby, i am getting old, aren’t I?” Elliarna giggles, “how old?” You scold her gently, “that rude Elliarna.” Joel dismisses it, “I’m 56, and you, you’re 3, right?” Joel looks to you for conformation, standing up his knees crack as he lifts up his daughter in his arms, “yeah, she’s 3.” Joel looks between you and Tommy, not displaying any affection in front of him, “and you two are? You’re..” Joel trails off noticing your pregnant belly. “Uh, yeah. We’re 8 months along now.” Tommy replies, testing the water. Joel nods, accepting the fact that you looked happier with Tommy than you ever did with him. “Now,” you start, looking at Joel, “who’s the girl”? Joel walks with his daughter in his arms, you and Tommy following beside him hand in hand, back towards the young girl that was left behind with the horses, standing awkwardly. 

You rush to her and pull her into a bone crushing hug, your swollen bump pressing into her, she hugged you back, welcoming the affection. “Ellie, meet my daughter, Elliarna.” Ellie laughed, “no way, that’s so frigging cool,” she turns towards your daughter, “we have the same name! sort of.” Your daughter giggles at Ellie and you smile between the bond that Joel and Ellie have. “Didn’t know you were such a pimp Joel.” You all laughed; she was going to fit in well with you. “This is y/n, the woman that gave me this beautiful girl, and my brother, Tommy.” Ellie looked between the three of you and you laughed. “Welcome to the family Ellie.” Tommy gives you a sweet smile, “let’s go and have dinner, we can talk more over a hot meal and a warm house to sit in.” Everyone agrees, “thank you for givin’ me a chance, I know I ain’t deserve it.” Joel thanks you sincerely and you smile, “you’re a dad of four Joel, it’s who you were meant to be, who am I to keep you from that?” 

Tommy kisses you sweetly, admiring your strength and kindness, the love of his life, no one in the world would ever compare to you, silently thanking his older brother for his mistakes. Your family was almost complete, waiting on the arrival of your baby, with two watching over you.

[messrmoonyy]

guess who’s back, back again 🕺 it’s the tess thirster

life has been what several may describe as ✨kicking my ass✨ so now all i can think about is either tess being really soft and making sure you’re getting enough sleep and eating a decent amount and not pulling away from her, orrrrrr… making you come so many times you can’t even process a coherent thought. i think i’d take option no. 2, seems like a perfectly good distraction to me. tess just noticing you’re stressed, being able to tell from your body language and the way you’re much quieter around her, and knowing exactly what to do to have your brain turn to mush so you don’t have to dwell on whatever is on your mind. pressing kisses to your neck, leading you to the bedroom, feeling her hands grip your thighs, even letting you run your hands through her hair while she makes you feel good, encouraging you to make noises for her and to come for her again until all you can do is whimper and quietly whine her name. she’d totally talk to you through everything too, responding to every moan of her name with “it’s okay, sweetheart. mommy’s got ya.” or “one more, you can manage one more for me.”

and the mommy kink makes another appearance i don’t think it’s a joke anymore •_•

You would come up in here on a Sunday. The lords day and subject me to these thoughts?

YOU ARE A BLESSING. Under the cut cause I rambled a bit lmao.

I’m sorry you’ve been struggling bestie, but Tess truly is the best comfort ever. Whether it’s soft Tess or eat-you-out-until-her-jaw-aches Tess. She’s definitely a protector and she definitely is one to fuss over you idc how tough she likes to act, she’s so soft with you. She definitely makes sure you’re eating enough and makes sure you’re sleeping enough. She can read you like a book. She’s so fucking smart and observant. One thing that’s clear about Tess ( in game and show ) is she knows how to read people and now to handle them. And that’s just increased tenfold when it’s someone she loves.

So she absolutely knows when something is wrong the second your mood changes.

Andddd she knows the best way to help you 99% of the time is to send your brain on a little vacation to the Caribbean and have you a dazy, submissive, wreck of a woman so the only thing you can think about is her. And not whatever it is that’s stressed you out or pissed you off.

And when you’re like that she won’t make you beg for anything. She’ll damn hand anything and everything to you on a silver platter. She’ll make you come over and over until you’re so pliant you don’t even remember your name never mind the stress and worry that had made you so withdrawn.

The mommy kink has wormed it’s way into my brain and it’s literally going no where. I have to force myself not to add it into every piece of smut I write now honestly. And it’s all your fault.

[biboocat]

Precious Bane by Mary Webb (25 March 1881 – 8 October 1927), a new author for me. The time of the story is only 200 or so years ago, but the remote, rural Shropshire setting, the dialect & unusual names, and the religious & folkloric traditions create a mysterious mood that seems almost medieval. The mood for example is epitomized by the description of a funeral: the traditional nighttime procession by torch light, the funeral attire with black streamers, boughs of rosemary, funeral cakes wrapped in black edged paper, the macabre role of the “sin-eater”. It took a little time to get use to dialect and learn about some of the folkloric traditions, but then it’s easy to follow. I found three brief videos of Mary Webb by Cath Edwards on YouTube interesting and helpful in explaining a few of the folkloric traditions that appear in Precious Bane. The heroine and narrator, young Prue Sarn is a beautiful creation. Her goodness, wisdom, and spunky nature are in the mold of Maggie Tulliver in The Mill on the Floss and Tess d’Urbervilles, and of course one is greatly sympathetic towards someone who privately suffers from being created differently from others. I love the pervasiveness of nature’s beauty which reminds me fondly of Thomas Hardy’s novels. There is also an indictment against the evil of man: greedy ambition, lust, cruelty, how evil men cloak their hate, misogyny, and murderous intent with religious and other superstitious conventions: “Suffer not a witch to live!”, “Hare-shotten!” Finally, there is Kester Woodseaves, one of literature’s greatest heroes. It’s an amazing novel, one of my favorites of all time. Beyond her impressive technical prowess, Mary Webb gives us a vision of morality to imagine and emulate.❤️

Some memorable excerpts:

He was ever a strong man, which is almost the same, times, as to say a man with little time for kindness. For if you stop to be kind, you must swerve often from your path. So when folk tell me of this great man and that great man, I think to myself, who was stinted of joy for his glory? How many old folk and children did his coach wheels go over? What bridal lacked his song, and what mourner his tears, that he found time to climb so high?

So cruel can folk be and mean nothing. (People can be cruel unintentionally.) This was the reward for my kind act. But those that say good doings are rewarded are wrong.

Was it all of the flesh, as it was with the young squire, or did my soul that was twin to his (Kester Woodseaves) draw him and wile him, succor his heart and summon his love, even, then? For I do think that the spirit makes herself busy about the body, and breathes through it and throws a veil over it to make it more fair than it is of itself. For what is flesh alone?

At the hiring fair: I was glad I worked at whome, and had no need to go and be hired, for certain sure nobody ud have taken me. It was a bitter thought, that.

At a bull baiting: I could see the bull, a little white one, tied to a staple in the wall of the ball ring, which was a semi circle built of rough gray stones. The bright yellow sunshine held them all, as if they were bees in the mid of the honeycombs, and the blue air, the brown water, the green meadow were all so fair, I could not believe blood must be shed on such a day. I wonder to myself, times, if it was fair, clear weather on Golgotha when Mary looked up at the cross, and whether there was some small bird singing, and the bees busy in the clover. Ah! I think it was glass–clear weather, and bright. For no bitter lacked in that cup, and surely one of the bitterest things is to see the cruelty of men on some fair morning with blessing in it.

There’s none so fierce as a loving woman, and it always seemed a strange thing to me that the mother of Jesus could keep her hands off the Centurion, and it could only have been because her Son had given orders afore. But indeed if it had been me, I think I should have forgot the orders.

I’ll be bound, if we could choose our heaven. I’m not very choice of golden streets myself. And I’d like my heaven afore I die.

#marywebb

[starshipsofstarlord]

Hey!! I follow your for such a long time :) Can I take the ✌🏼 emoji? And my request is the reader singing while she's in the shower and it's the first time tom has ever heard her sing and he's in total awe

You can freely take that emoji hun, I hope to hear from you ♥️ also I hope you like the imagine x

Bathroom acoustics

Tom Holland x reader

Masterlist

Warnings; fluff, nudity, mention of breakup, angst

divider by @firefly-graphics

“Come on Tess.” Tom entered his new apartment with his girl in tow, unclipping her leash as he closed the door, the presence of you absent from the front room. That was strange; since the pair of you had moved into this established apartment together, you had been cooped up in the space of the living room, organising every objective that you set your eyes on. He could see that the television was set up, it was playing some muted sitcom, something that you had randomly left it on as you parted from the environment.

As he delved into the new home, that he had jointly purchased with you, he ignored the freshly made pot of tea that was in the maker, scouring past the kitchen, and towards the bedroom. Though before he entered, the sound of running water ignited in his ears; it was coming from the bathroom. Tom found him rather tempted to join you, and slide into the room, discarding his clothes, but instead, he stopped in his sexual thoughts, as he heard your voice.

No, you weren’t speaking; you were singing! It was a sound he had never heard from you, and to him, the ballads of your voice sounded like the tone of an angel, they were strung together so perfectly and had purified Tom’s mind. His hand slipped from the handle as he heard you preach the lyrics of Drivers Licence, by Olivia Rodrigo.

“Cause they’ll never know you the way I do...” that lyric hit him hard, because that portion of the song was true. Nobody had the same perspective of him as you did, the world had this image of him, and whilst it was him, there were aspects that his friends would never see.

The way when he awoke, his lips would stretch in a yawn, as both his hands immediately went to reach for his girls; you and Tessa. He often had bad dreams that entailed losing one of you, and although his career was important to him, the world did not know how much his family meant to him.

The night that the two of you had met, had been one of mixed emotions. It was on the corner of the road, you were waiting for a bus. He was just supposed to be passing with Harry, that was until he turned his head to the side, revealing you to his sight, streaks of mascara cascading down your face like bars on a jail cell.

He had been unable to help himself, he couldn’t pull himself away from his selfless actions, he went to sit beside you, as he told his sibling to continue walking, and asked sincerely if you were okay. As you had turned to look at him, recognition had been portrayed in your eyes, but you played it off, it was already embarrassing enough for a celebrity to see you cry, let alone see you fangirl whilst you were experiencing one of the, you thought to be, worst moments of your life.

Later, after conversing with you for a while, you had told him how your boyfriend had broken up with you for some blonde girl, whose name you didn’t know. It was clear that you were feeling insecure, and whilst that was understandable considering the situation, Tom couldn’t fathom why anyone would leave someone like you. You were so beautiful, even with smeared makeup, and Tom was certainly that despite you being in pain, it was a blessing in cruel disguise that you had endured a breakup.

There was something about you that peeked a level of true intrigue within him. He couldn’t quite place his finger on why he was so pulled into your midst, it was like fate was tugging him around on a string, and it had landed him next to you, whilst it rained, under the shelter of a bus stop. “I’m y/n.” You had said, and Tom told himself that he’d never forget it.

And thus, he asked for your number, wanting to keep in contact with you, and now here the both of you were, nothing more than a door between you as you took him back to the early days with the power of your voice. He felt his eyes glossing over as he felt the succumbing feeling of gratefulness wash over him; there were many things that he was blessed to have in his life, and you were on the top of the scales.

Now every time you cried, he was there, urgently reassuring you and being a pillar of support in your life. He hated seeing you cry, but that one night, if he had not seen your suffering, there was a chance that the two of you would have never met. And that would have been horrific, he’d have no path that he was holding tightly onto, clutching with adoration every time he had to leave for work, or do press. He hated the distance but no matter what, you were always supportive of him and his enduring career, and that was how he had fallen in love with you to start things off.

A light frown pried at his features as he felt your voice dwindle into light hums, the sound of the water shutting off. He was caught in his breathless gaze as you opened the door, nothing more than a towel wrapped around the tranquil beauty of your body. There were beads of clinging water rolling down your neck, and Tom could not help the transfixed gasp that tripped out from his lips.

“Why are you creeping around like a peeping Tom?” You laughed at your own pun, crossing your arms over your chest, shifting your breasts slightly up, but Tom’s attention was elsewhere. His doe eyes were darting across the perfect landscape of your face as his tongue darted out to take a swipe at his own lip.

“I heard you.” He revealed, shrugging lightly as you quirked a sodden brow at him. “Your singing; it was beautiful and amazing and took my breath away, just like the rest of your entirety. Why didn’t your tell me you had the voice of an angel?” An embarrassed roll of your eyes came at a stand point as you instinctively crinkled the bridge of your nose.

“There are many things I can do Holland.” You cocked your head, unraveling the fabric from around the spiral of your body, dropping it to the ground at your feet. “Would you like to explore what else I am able to do?” Tom’s eyes went wide, but he certainly wasn’t going to pass up the offer.

[lichlover]

tess adventurezone do u have any thoughts on the "kravitz is keats aka edward and lydia's dead baby brother" theory. do u think taako ever makes the connection between them? does kravitz??? it's been so long and his death might have been so traumatic. do u think he'd even recognize them in ghost jail

Once, Kravitz asks the Raven Queen why he doesn’t remember.

Sifting through his own memories is like fumbling bare-handed through a mountain of glass, catching his own reflection in shards that cast disparate images back at him before they draw blood, and slip through his fingers. He remembers her, and her cloak in a warm, massive shroud around him, and her voice feathering in a dissonant cry through the astral plane. The first thing he feels is safe.

But further back, and his mind grows raw and ragged. A haze laps in molasses-thick tongues to overcome him, and then another memory breaks the surface—a familiar one, congealing in black sludge and vibrant, hungry threads of color twining around his ankles, his wrists, his throat—

So Kravitz asks. The Raven Queen’s feathers cockle and shimmer with a sickly olive sheen, and something close to recognition sparks like flint in his soul.

THIS IS NOT MY ANSWER TO GIVE, she says.

“My Queen,” says Kravitz, “it does seem like it’s my place to ask.”

The Raven Queen hums, low and deep, and he feels it between his ribs. YOU ARE THE PROJECTION OF A SOUL THAT LIVED.

“I... figured as much, yes.”

MEMORY IS THE LIVING’S LAST DEFENSE AGAINST OBLIVION. THE ASTRAL PLANE DOES NOT TAKE KINDLY TO RECOLLECTION.

“I know.”

He shifts his weight in her shadow, and she cocks her head, oddly delicate in shafts of saturated gray. THIS MEANS SOMETHING TO YOU.

“It does, my Queen.”

WHY? The Raven Queen’s mantle lifts and flutters. ARE YOU NOT CONTENT WITH THIS EXISTENCE? DO YOU WANT FOR MORE?

“N-No, I...” He lifts his hands, as if mortal mannerisms would do anything to placate a goddess, but she does settle as she watches him with a distinct air of concern. “It doesn’t make sense, to want to know? But I do, and I know I won’t be satisfied until I do. I’m content, I am. It just feels like... unfinished business. Does that make sense?”

WHAT IF IT HURTS YOU?

"Remembering?”

REALIZING. The Raven Queen tucks her cloak close to her, and he remembers his soul in those folds, flickering and fighting to maintain its form. THE LIVING WERE... THEY WERE NOT KIND.

Kravitz’s fingers close around a shard of glass, and he feels the blood drip and crystallize in the pit of his stomach, fear as frigid as his skin on the other side of the rift. “I have to know,” is all he says, even as his voice loses a note of steadiness. “Or I’ll just... spend the rest of eternity wondering.”

When the Raven Queen looks back at him, he feels his soul cord anchored, flooded with warmth and all the light she can summon in a lightless plane. YOU HAVE MY BLESSING. BUT PROMISE ME YOU WILL BE CAREFUL.

“I promise.”

YOU WILL FIND WHAT YOU SEEK IN THE ETERNAL STOCKADE, she says. THE ALTAR. AND PLEASE, MY KRAVITZ, BE WISE.

-

Kravitz numbed to the cries of the damned early on, but he can remember a time when he hadn’t; when waves of pain and rage buffeted him like high tide and threatened to drown him in the currents. Now, he moves through the Eternal Stockade as one of its shadows. The Altar doesn’t strike him as familiar, but as an aspect of the Raven Queen, direction is an instinct nestled in his gut, every turn through the twisting corridors as obvious as if he’d walked it a hundred times before. He feels her anchor tossing and turning, restless with anticipation and worry, and tries to meet her with an aura of calm. But his own anxiety gathers so thick at the back of his head that he might as well be trying to cut through fog.

He finds it, a solitary alcove stationed away from the holding cells, and rocks back and forth on his heels before he steps through. The chamber is, true to its name, a cavernous hollow in the Stockade’s obsidian walls, and a crude stone altar rising from a set of equally crude stone stairs. Shackled to the altar he sees them: two fractured, writhing souls, simultaneously withered and neon-bright, struggling to reform and promptly shredding into pieces. A futile, Sisyphean fight. Kravitz steps forward in morbid fascination.

When the souls catch sight of him, he knows, because they erupt in a thousand psychedelic colors that just as suddenly scatter to shreds. Something in the room must impose silence, because it couldn’t be clearer to Kravitz that they’ve started to scream.

“Who are you?” he says.

They reform and break and reach for him, and shriek like their essences are being pulled apart by a thread. Kravitz takes a long, shuddering breath and takes another step forward, and just as quickly recoils, because his head fills with their voices and an afterlife’s worth of agony.

Forgive us! Release us! Forgive us! Release us!

Kravitz stumbles back—collapses—

—staggers to his feet with twin vises cutting to bruise into his wrists, and a voice hovering in his ear, thick with enchantment, promising everything will be alright and it’ll all be over soon, folding his will like paper in its grip. He feels his body seize; feels his cries shrivel in his throat. He feels ragged stone drag and catch at his skin as they press him down.

In the end, he sobs silently, tears rolling across his temple and dotting the altar. He hears someone chanting. He hears someone else screaming.

He feels—

—the pleasant twinge of a rich meal, swinging his feet under the table as his heart skips and stutters, his family and the people in the olive-green cloaks, and one of them reaches for him, and says—

—“Later,” she promises, and he watches as she hunches again over the dusty old tome, swiping at the dark circles beneath her eyes like it will clear them, muttering in shards of a language that reminds him of monsters—

—out of the stories they would tell when the hunger hollowed out his stomach, and he could think of nothing else but a world where it didn’t ache to walk, to stand, to breathe—

—and Kravitz tastes copper as he sucks in a breath, air lifting and filling lungs he no longer has a use for, and Lydia and Edward shriek Forgive us! Release us! Forgive us! Release us!

He shudders and shakes his head, but reality clings to him with bloodied hooks. So Kravitz gets to his feet and runs.

[imherongraystairstrash]

Wessa baby Part 1

A/N: Thank you @daisyherxndale for recommending this!! I’ll post part 2 a bit later today. This story takes place about two years before Chog. I hope you enjoy!

Tessa was trying to read, but her thoughts were clearly elsewhere. She found herself reading the same sentence over and over again as her mind rattled with mixed emotions. Was she happy? Yes, she was over the moon. But was she allowed to? Would Will be happy? Or would he be distraught? Maybe she was just worrying too much. She put her hand on her abdomen.

However inconvenient it might have been, Tessa Gray was pregnant. Tessa Gray was pregnant with a third, completely unexpected, child.

By the time Will came into the room, Tessa had long abandoned her book. There was no point in trying to read about characters’ struggles, when all you could think about were your own misfortunes.  

Tessa didn’t even notice him coming in until he was kneeling in front of her.

“Tess? You look like you’ve aged fifty years since the last time I saw you.” Concern was etched across his face.

“Ha ha, very funny.”

“No, literally, you changed.” Will said, referring to her shapeshifting. “Are you feeling alright?”

Tessa held a hand up to her face. Of course. Whenever Tessa got pregnant, her warlock magic went haywire.

She forced herself to change back into her normal self, now understanding why she had felt a bit winded before. She blinked and looked back down at Will.

“I’m fine, Will.”

Will gave her a face that said he knew she was lying to him.

Tessa bit her lip. Now’s as good a time as ever to tell him. Will deserved to know. Besides, it might take some weight off shoulders.

She drew him in her arms and kissed his forehead. She held his face in her hands and looked into his deep blue eyes, seeing herself reflected in them.

“Whatever is matter, sweet Tess?” Will said, turning his face to kiss her palm.

“Will, I’m expecting.”

Will’s eyes widened, almost comedically, as he stared at Tessa, looked down at her stomach, and then back at Tessa.

“Tess, that’s…”

“Horrible?”

“NO! No, Tess, it’s wonderful.” he said, kissing her and resting his forehead against hers. “I was going to say unexpected, but anything that’s part you, even if it’s only half, is a blessing.”

Tessa felt her vision getting blurry. Will wiped a tear from her face.

“And anything that’s half me, is a blessing to the Earth.” He continued.

Tessa laughed and dug her face into his neck.

“My sweet Tess, I’m so happy we created something so wonderful.”

“Me too.” Tessa said.

...

Will was reading a book while stroking James’ hair, absentmindedly. Jamie had his head rested on his papa’s shoulder and was reading along side him. It was A Tale of Two Cities, a book they had both read many times, though they still seem enthralled by it, as though it were the first time they were reading it. Meanwhile, Lucie and Tessa talked about the new baby.

“Have you picked out a name yet?” Lucie asked.

“We were thinking of Ella, in honor of Will’s sister.”

Will looked up at the mention of his name, completely oblivious to the conversation the girls were having. Tessa waved him off as to say he could go back to reading.

“So, she needs a middle name.” said Lucie, tapping out a inconsistent pattern on Tessa’s belly.

“Well, she doesn’t need a middle na—” Tessa looked over at Lucie who she giving her puppy eyes. “Why? Did you have one in mind?”

Lucie looked up at her, enthusiastically. “You can name her after another book character, like you did with me!”

Tessa laughed, “Which one were you thinking of?”

Lucie sat up, practically unable to keep still.

“Elizabeth! After Lizzie Bennet!”

Will looked up from his book. “I like that one, Lulu.”

Tessa smiled. She didn’t remember ever having told Lucie that her mother’s name was Elizabeth; she did not have a strong memory of her as she died when Tessa was merely three years old. And yet, it seemed fitting to name her unborn daughter after the women who never got to meet her mother. The women who did not get a chance to raise her own daughter.

“I love it, Luce.”

Lucie, clearly proud of herself, sandwiched herself once more in-between James and Tessa. Tessa kissed her temple and ran her knuckles over Lucie’s cheek. She caught Will’s eye over their son and daughter’s heads. He smiled warmly at her and reached out to hold her hand. She placed it in his and he rubbed circles into her palm.

…

“Me first!” Lucie whisper-yelled as she pushed James out of the way. James stumbled at the sudden impact and would have fallen, had he not grabbed the couch in front of him and steadied himself. Without a second glance at her brother, Lucie plopped down beside Will ready to hold her new baby sister.  

Will carefully handed over the baby. Lucie smiled and cooed at Ella.

“Hello,” she whispered. “I’m Lucie, your favorite sibling.”

“Hey!” said James.

Lucie ignored him. “Has she opened her eyes?”

“Not yet,” said Tessa.

She inherited Will’s dark hair, but she had yet to wake up and see the world.

“Can I hold her now?”

“No, Jamie,” said Lucie, “being the klutz you are, you’ll drop her.”

“Lucie, honey, Jamie will be careful. He should be able to hold Ella as well.”

Lucie grumbled and turned towards Ella. “I apologize greatly for abandoning you, and leaving you to succumb to the evil clutches of Cruel Prince James, my sweet sister— oh, that would make a wonderful line for a new chapter of The Beautiful Cordelia.” Lucie looked at James. “Alright, you can hold her, but only because I have been in a writer’s block for months, and I just had a wonderful idea.”

She was about to give Ella over to James, before pulling away.

“Don’t even think about turning into a shadow once I hand her over.”

“Why would I do that?!”

“Because you are sketchy. And unpredictable. And just of being replaced as my favorite sibling.”

“I was your only sibling.”

“Exactly. That’s the only reason you were my favorite sibling.”

“Lucie!”

“Mam, Lu’s hurting my feelings.” James said, humoring her.

Finally, Lucie handed Ella over to James and got her pen and paper. She peered over at Jamie holding baby Ella while she wrote.

It was sweet to watch a smile stretch across James’ face as he looked down at Ella and bounced her lightly. James, who was always solemn, even as a child. The contrast between both Lucie and James’ personality was like white against black. Tessa couldn’t help but wonder what shape Ella’s personality might take when she grow older. She was also worried that Ella would grow lonely, as both of her siblings were quite grown, and were likely to have moved out of the institute by the time she turned five.

Tessa forced her concentration on something else. She’d long given up on trying to fix things that were out of her control. She often found it to do more harm than good. Besides, Ella is not truly alone; she’ll have her cousin Alexander to keep her company. Who knows, maybe they’ll become parabatai.

“Mam,” James said.

Tessa looked up.

“She’s got your eyes.”

The whole family leaned in closer, as Ella scanned her surroundings. They were, in fact, the same shade of gray as Tessa’s eyes.

“She’s a perfect hybrid!” Lucie said.

Tessa put her head on Will’s shoulder, perfectly content on enjoying this moment with her family.

[petersasteria]

The Four Men In My Life AU - 6

DISCLAIMER:  *This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.*

Pairing: Tom x Reader, Harry x Reader, Sam x Reader, Haz x Reader

Summary: Y/N has a shit love life. Mainly because of the four men in her life.

masterlist | series masterlist

A/N: You really should’ve read my letter.

* * * *

Three weeks have passed Y/N is all alone. Her only friend moved away and it made her really sad, but Y/N thought that it’d be best to move on. She started finding new hobbies and she even got a part time job at a donut shop.

That was when another Holland lad came into her life. Harry Holland to be specific.

Harry and the rest were in the donut shop and Tom couldn’t stop looking at Y/N. ‘If things went right, she’d be sitting here with us.’ Tom thought to himself.

“Harry, I’ll buy you a milkshake.” Sam said out of the blue. Harry looked at his twin and said, “Thanks man, but I know there’s a catch. So, what’s the catch?”

Sam looked at his twin to Tom and to Harrison and back at Harry, “I dare you to go out with Y/N longer than the time she had with Tom.”

“Sam-” Tom started, but Harry interrupted him.

“I’ll do it.” Harry shrugged. “Was she good in bed, Tom?”

“I won’t answer that, you pig. You’re really doing this for a milkshake?? I’ll buy you a milkshake just leave Y/N alone. She’s not bothering us.” Tom glared at the twins.

Harry looked at Sam and said, “Tom’s got a point. Raise up the prize and I’ll do it.” Tom sighed and looked at Harrison for help. Harrison just shrugged and scrolled through his Instagram, clearly not bothered on whether Harry will do it or not.

“Fine.” Sam said, thinking of a new prize. After a minute of silence, Sam smirks at his twin and says, “I’ll take you to New York City when we turn 21.”

Harrison, Tom, and Harry looked at Sam like he just grew another head. “You can’t be serious.” Harrison said with wide eyes.

“I’m serious if Harry will man up and do my dare.” Sam leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms.

“Yeah, okay I don’t care about your NYC trip, but can’t you just pick any girl? Why does it have to be Y/N of all people??” Tom exasperatedly asked.

“Because I saw you checking her out. Don’t you think another Holland should try a piece of that? They did say share your blessings, didn’t they?” Sam smirked.

“Go on, Harry. Charm her.” Sam nodded at his twin. Harry stood up from his seat and walked to the counter to where Y/N was standing.

“You disgust me sometimes.” Tom looks away.in disgust.

“Too bad we’re related.” Sam laughed, not caring about the situation. “Y/N is one hot chick, okay? She gets straight A’s too. A package, if I do say so myself.”

Harry walked back with a grin on his face, “Guess who has a date Friday night?”

*

Y/N and Tom dated for 5 months. Now that Y/N is dating Harry, Tom’s brother, Tom feels sad for her.

“Harry, how long have you and Y/N been together now?” Harrison asked in curiosity, before jumping in the pool. It was now summer vacation and school starts again in two months.

“Hm..” Harry thought for awhile, “About 7 months now. The deal was to date her longer than Tom ever did. I win.”

“How will you break up with her?” Harrison looked at him. Tom overheard this and listened. He needed to know.

“I’ll tell her it’s not working anymore. I don’t know. I’m not sure yet.” Harry laughed.

“Did you guys have sex?” Sam chimed in, holding two cans of beer before handing the other one to Harry.

“Thanks, Sam.” Harry said before speaking again, “Yes, we had sex and oh my god she’s fucking good, man. I recommend it. She’s not a virgin anymore, though thanks to our very own Thomas Stanley Holland!” Harry cheered.

“No one can call me out for using her for sex, because she’s not a virgin when she did it with me.” Harry took a sip from his beer, the other two agreeing. Tom, however, didn’t find it interesting.

Later that night Tom called Y/N to tell her about the dare. Unfortunately, it went to her voicemail, but Tom had no choice. He had to tell her. NOW.

“Hey darling. It’s Tom. I understand if you’ve deleted my number already, but thank god I still have yours. I couldn’t bring myself to delete it even though I try.” Tom said softly, laying on his bed.

He licked his lips before starting again, “I called, because I have to tell you something that’s been bugging me.”

“Harry dated you as a dare. The dare was to date you longer than me and I guess you can say he was successful. I’m telling you this, because I don’t want you to get hurt anymore. On behalf of him, I’m so sorry. Take care. I love you. Bye.” Tom ended the call and sighed of relief. Tom looked at Tess who was on the foot of his bed, “I did it Tess. I told her.”

The next day, the Hollands were woken up by the doorbell ringing. Harrison, who was asleep on the couch, stood up and sleepily opened the door only to see Y/N standing there.

“Good morning, Y/N/N. How may I help you?” Harrison smirked, leaning on the door frame. Even when half awake, Harrison still manages to be annoying.

“I want to talk to Harry.” Y/N stated. Harrison looked behind him and turned back to Y/N, “I’m actually the first one awake. You can come in, though. I can wake up Harry and-”

“Y/N! You’re here!” Tom smiled at her from the top of the stairs. “Why are you here?”

“You know why I’m here, Thomas.” Y/N looked at him dead in the eyes and the moment their eyes locked, Tom knew.

“Oh.” was all Tom said.

“Are you going to let me in or not, Osterfield?” Y/N glared.

“Fiesty, I like it.” Harrison winked before moving out of the way for her to enter the Holland household. Harrison closed the door and said, “I’ll get Harry and Tom, I’ll crash on your bed. I need more sleep.” Harrison headed upstairs to wake Harry up and Tom went down to accompany Y/N.

“If what you said was true, why did you wait for a long time to tell me?” Y/N asked in a whisper. “Did you want him to be successful in hurting me or something? I was at the hospital when you called, because of an emergency. And that wasn’t the type of news that I wanted to hear.”

“N-No, Y/N. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” Tom sighed. “I have no excuse.”

“Y/N? What the hell are you doing here at 7 in the morning?” Harry yawned, going down the stairs. Of course, Sam followed behind.

“Is it true? Is this whole thing just a dare?” Y/N asked, getting straight to the point.

“Yeah, it was. I was planning to break up with you already, but you saved me the time. For that, thank you for making my job easier.” Harry faked a smile.

“I hate you, Harry.” Y/N frowned.

“Haven’t you learned your lesson from Tom? You’re so stupid to think that a Holland would fall in love with you.” Harry chuckled.

“I fell in love with her.” Tom chimed up.

“Shut up, Thomas.” Sam said.

Y/N’s phone rang and everyone just watched her answer her phone in silence. “Hi mum. I’m here at a friend’s house....what??....okay, I’m on my way.” Y/N cried.

“What happened?” Tom asked, concerned.

“My grandmother just died.” Y/N sniffed. “I have to go. I fucking hate you, Harry.” with that, Y/N left.

“New York City, here I come.” Harry cheered.

Harry Holland was the man who dated Y/N Y/L/N because of a dare.

* * * *

-not proofread-

Taglist: @sweetdespairbarnes​ @fanficparker​ @myblueleatherbag​ @lcvelyparkers​ @tommysparker

[lumi-klovstad-games]

Ramses-17′s opinions on Destiny 2′s cast in the unfortunate event of his Death or Amnesia

The Prompt: Your Guardian, or a character of your choice, making video logs in case they die or start losing their memories

Ramses-17:

*shuffles nervously in front of the camera*

Hey you... so, I guess I’m either dead-dead or I’ve lost my memory completely. If I’m dead, I hope I pulled a Cayde-6 and went out like an absolute badass, defiant to the end. I mean, not that I’m eager to punch out or anything, but I at least hope my death measures up to what I hope my life amounted to. Preferably, even more so, but that’s a tall order. It’s been quite a life so far.

Some notes: I hope Saint-14 is still hanging around. If he is, go say hi. Make friends with him. He’s a damn good example of the very best of us. The image of a Guardian. He’s the icon I strive to live up to -- he taught me what it means to be a Titan and a Guardian. Just don’t don’t engage in a snowball fight with him. I don’t care how tempting it seems.

Be nice to Zavala. Yes, he’s made some dick calls, I mean, really dick calls... but his one love and loyalty is the City. Everything he’s done, smart or not, kind or not, was in its defense. He just... doesn’t understand that not all Guardians are like him, I think. You can get the story of what went down between us from Ikora, Shaxx, or Reena Feng but... dammit I’m just no good at telling stories. Point is, don’t judge him too harshly. There’s a good man underneath that gruff and social ineptness. Kind of like me, I guess.

Speaking of Reena Feng... it’s taken me a while to come to terms with the girl, and the choices she made, but ultimately... she made a better call than I did at the time. Showing mercy to Kaya-Sei was absolutely the right call, and I’m glad she was there to stop me. If she hadn’t been there, I think I would have regretted my decisions forever. If it’s Ramses-18 watching? Go thank that plucky Warlock. Say 17 told you to do it. She’ll laugh it off, tell a joke to try to deflect how much it makes her feel, but she’ll really appreciate it. With luck, you’ll be best friends with her, just like I used to be.

On the note of Kaya-Sei: she’s not that different from Zavala. She’s stuck in her way of seeing the world, but she’s not a bad person. If you cross paths with her, don’t treat her like the traitor everyone says she is. You can absolutely trust her, and this is coming from me, so that’s gotta mean something. Normally I wouldn’t say “trust the personal hitwoman of Mara Sov”, but if Kaya’s involved, take her side. She’s damn well earned that apology from me. Also her judgment is much better than it looks from the outside, which is a good thing because sometimes she really looks like a moron. Don’t tell her I said that. I mean, the part where I called her a moron. Go ahead and flatter her with the bit where I said she has good judgment. Mostly because it’s true.

Quick bits: Ikora Rey? Excellent sagely counselor. If you have concerns, she has some of the best advice out there. If you’re concerned about where to turn or what to do, ask her. You won’t regret it.

Drifter? Keep well away from that smarmy bastard. Something about him doesn’t add up, and the loot just isn’t worth the risk.

Ada-9: Worth kissing up to. Her gear is second to none. Just... learn to put up with the attitude; it’s not going away.

Devrim Kay: I may not have taste buds, but his tea is so good I’ve forgotten that fact any number of times. You can rely on him too. He may not have a Ghost, but he’s every inch a guardian in my book.

Asher Mir: ...kind of an asshole with a heart of jerk. Deal with him only when you must.

Sloane: Lady gets stuff done. Can be gruff, but don’t let it get to you. She’s worth getting to know.

Failsafe: I used to stop by every weekend and play board games with her. You should too. I know she likes the intellectual stimulation and the company.

Ana Bray: Ana Bray.... what do I say about her? That she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen? That I’m grateful to have ever known her? That she’s kick ass? That she helped me discover some bits about myself before I was all... metal? Ana’s brave and beautiful and unconventional and a trouble magnet, but she’s up there with the best of us. She should be a legend, in my opinion. But maybe I’m biased. If you’re watching this, Ramses-18: go get her, Tiger. 

Eris Morn: Queen of spookiness. Has a knack for knowing where we should really make our stand. You should absolutely dance in front of her. The worst that can happen is raisins. *barely contained laughter* 

Emperor Calus: Bad news, and definitely that “friend” nobody should like. Steer clear.

Xur: Oh dear god, ditto. Even if his loot is awesome, he’s shifty as hell and keep an eye on him. You don’t need his gear anyway. A real Guardian makes do and has plenty of tools in every situation anyway. Whatever he’s selling, you don’t need it. Even if it is really, really cool.

Tess Everis: Shrewd woman. Offers some neat stuff, but keep your hand on your cash when you deal with her, because she’ll probably rob you blind and call it “commerce”. Cayde never did finish that investigation of whether or not she ran Eververse sweat shops in the City. You should look into that for me.

Fenchurch Everis: I really don’t think he exists. Tess 100% made him up. I mean, has anyone ever actually seen him? Like, in person? Exactly. He’s pure fiction and you need to tell Tess to knock those stupid stories off.

Petra Venj: God I hate her. But... *sighs* she occasionally makes a good point and she’s handy in a fight. Also, if you kill her, I’m pretty sure Kaya-Sei will go all hitwoman on you and you will not make it through the rest of the week so play nice, I guess.

Mara Sov: Everything I just said about Petra Venj goes triple for Mara Sov.

Mithrax: Pretty damn chill for a Fallen.

Spider: Same, and oddly trustworthy. Do not trust him anyway, just for pragmatism’s sake.

Osiris: Means well but will 100% screw you over purely by accident. Keep your distance, but be ready for Ikora to draft you into cleaning up his latest mess on a monthly basis.

Banshee-44: Ever seen an Exo with Alzheimer’s? Banshee’s as close as you get. I heard a rumor that 44 is just the amount of reboots he lost count at. Either way, he’s got a memory like a sieve, but it’s hard to find a better gunsmith. Be patient with him. He’s been through more than I could possibly know.

Shaxx: He’s loud, he’s proud, he will get you killed many, many, many times, but he’ll help you stand back up every time. He’s quality guardian.

Lord Saladin: He’s grim, but like Eris, he comes by it honestly. Make sure he adds my name to his list.

Amanda Holliday: God I love her. She’ll have more than few tales to tell you about me. Not just me, lots of interesting stuff from our recent history. I think she’s seen almost as much as I have, and in a much shorter span. I have no clue how she keeps it together, but she does, and I’m grateful.

Suraya Hawthorne: I mean, she’s a nice gal and a great ally, but I think her desk job is getting to her -- sometimes it seems like she doesn’t realize how much stuff actually happened since she took her posting in the Tower. Poor girl needs some time in the field again if you ask me.

Who else is left? I guess I should mention Caesar, my ghost. Hopefully he’s watching over a Ramses-18, who is hopefully watching this. We’ve been through some times together, and hopefully, he’s there to get you through some more. I couldn’t ask for a more stalwart partner.

I guess all that’s left is me. I’ve always been a survivor. From Twilight Gap all the way to the Crimson Spire Offensive, I’ve made it through battle after battle. If I’ve lost my memory, maybe in some way it’s a blessing. I can’t begin to tell you the things that witnessing what I have does to a mind. Sometimes it’s better to simply know what you’ve faced and overcome and not know the details. I wouldn’t choose to forget any of it, but... if I have, I’d be hard pressed to say I regret the loss. But if you’re watching this, I don’t care if you’re Ramses-18 or someone else: by watching this, you’re picking up a piece of my legacy.

Go on and make something great with it. Most (keyword: MOST) of the folks I’ve mentioned will help. But you’ve sat and listened to an old Exo reminisce long enough. The future’s yours, Guardian. Go build it.

[plantfeed]

        ok turns out i am 100% that dumbass bitch who still aint posted my intro on main....... so for reference.....  hello! im nora ( she / her ). im a 24 year old creative writing graduate currently residing in sheffield, south yorkshire. when i’m not hunched over a keyboard writing, i enjoy independent cinema, chinese food, and big nights out that i’ll remember only in fleeting snapshots. i currently work as a barmaid and a tutor for a filmmaking project.  

without further ado, here is my interpretation on the skeleton ‘ophelia’, a development of a character who’s been brewing at the back of my mind for absolutely AGES now so thank u for giving me the push to actually flesh her out. 

ive included a full biography, but please feel free 2 skip to bullet points if TLDR because it is LOOONG..... and im so happy 2 be here.... new home.... chefs kiss.... yes lov u all

IN CHARACTER.

skeleton: ophelia name: theresa rigby. (goes by diminutives tess, tessa, tea or thea. the only time she’s theresa is when she’s in trouble.) age: 21, born july 10 (cancer) faceclaim: diana silvers. gender: cis-female. pronouns: she/her degree: comparative literature & ancient history (joint honours)

INTRO.

trigger warnings.

loss of a parent. missing person / disappearance. drugs and alcohol reliance. death.

BIOGRAPHY.

i. narragansett, rhode island.

              1999, an Austrian sunrise, it is the year of the Water Monkey.  A water baby, first screams under the surface, the catch of it gargled in your throat. A birth mark the size and shape of a door handle pressed into your pelvis like a lover’s badge. Born like a clenched fist. Annie always wished you’d be more like an open palm. You still carry that tension with you, an unreadable kind of silence when you slink around the edge of a room or perch on an arm rest like a bird about to startle and fly off. Nobody knows a thing about you and you like it that way. Conceived in the winter, some of that coldness still lingers in you. 

              The only perfect girl is a dead girl. That’s what you learned, last-born runt of the litter growing up in the bedroom of a girl who would be forever cold, young and pretty. In the beginning, they thought you were a blessing — Bet’s soul reincarnate, the same pale face they’d seen as they’d signed her into the pick ‘n’ mix family. You were given her clothes, her room, even her middle name, stripped and rebranded like a toy doll bought after the last one’s head was chewed off by the dog. Four boys, a dead sister, and you who — with your birdlike features and unrelenting eyes — was merely a walking ghost. Tennis skirts, nail varnish, a shag rug, a rotten corsage; these were the staple reminders that you were living in a shrine, the room never quite your own lest you disturb the lingering presence of Bet. Soon, you began to see it as not a room but rather a prison cell caging you in the imprint of a sister you never met.

              Your mothers met at an undergraduate socialist meeting when the fall semester fell into winter, Kath in a mustard coloured beret, Annie in a blood-orange duffle coat, a philosophy major and an art historian respectively. Your childhood was a montage of potato printing eels onto the walls of a Rhode Island boarding house next to the sea. Five children — some adopted, some surrogate — a permanent rotation of rooms and always a handful of lodgers to foot the bill. Travelling salesmen, students on gap years and tinkers in search of odd-jobs became a flipbook of faces etched into your memories like fleeting figures in the wings of a theatre; you sketch them into the body of your work. They become the characters to haunt the pages of your notebooks, stashed beneath floorboards lest they fall into too-hungry flour-caked fingers, scones baking in the oven two floors below. A house that seemed to physically inhale every time a new body entered it, tall and thin, too small to house all that weight. The gaps beneath the floorboards are the only spaces that feel like your own, untouched by a girl who’s shadow you were born in. In your diary, you scribble her name until it tears through the pages thinking that if you wish hard enough, you’ll make yourself her. It’s never enough.

              At twelve, you lose Annie to a boating accident. You lose a piece of yourself with her and stop wearing yellow. Grief makes a better writer out of you though it sounds selfish to admit it. Kath remarries the following spring, a man named Peter. He is ordinary in all the ways Annie was magical and when he sits in your mother’s chair you feel yourself slip out of your skin and into the body of a raven cawing in the woods, scratching at the dustmites. You try to teach yourself how to be a girl, though you’ve always felt more like a wild thing crouched in the attic window of the lighthouse, screaming at the crash of the waves. You wanted to love the sea as closely as it owned you. In the sea you were rewritten into a tide, into a shell, into the swell of a rockpool around the body of a crab. You wanted to be like the ocean —a tangible, changeling thing —making paper boats and setting them out to sea, wishing you could shrink yourself into one, sail away. For a while, you toy with the idea of starving yourself into something the size and shape of an eel; of growing gills in the night and darting into the ebbing current. They’d think you crazy if you told them.

ii. concord, massachusetts. 

              You butt heads with Kath on a daily basis. She tells you you resent her for moving on with her life when you seem unable to move on with yours. That maybe a clean break would be best for all the family. A fresh start. A change of scene. You lock yourself in the bathroom and cry for an hour until your mouth feels raw, like running a cheesegrater down the inside of your throat. The following September, they send you to boarding school, two suitcases and an armful of Annie’s jumpers. Kath has decided they don’t compliment her skin tone, and she’s not twenty-five or studying philosophy any more. New England becomes the best decision for you that your family have ever made. You thrive on the independence of living in a dormitory on a corridor of Alison’s and Margaret’s and Ruth’s. From the names on their doors, you paint them into people in your head, red-haired Ruth who collects birth stones and can count to twenty in Mandarin. They turn out to be nothing like the versions of them you’ve spun. You love them anyway, their rough-softness, the scuffed knee thrill of growing up half-wild. There’s a brightness in their girlhood that you try to capture in your words. 

              Though you never quite find yourself settling into a group, Dr. Franklin becomes the anchor to which you tether yourself to, a little girl leeching onto her Literature professor for a sense of stability in a tempestuous world. The others might think it sad, but she sees something in you — an inner restlessness, a need to analyse and observe and contain everything within poetry and prose — that reminds her of herself at your age. You begin one-to-one sessions after the school day has closed, whisper about Proust and O’Hara over frothed lattes in a campus-run coffee shop, ink blots on the pages of dog-eared copies she’s gifted to you on an indefinite loan. Sometimes, you think you love her. You run your fingers over the buttons of her typewriter, close your eyes, and imagine yourself pulling on her skin like a new coat.

              The woods become your saviour. In Narragansett you never knew woods, only harboursides, seafood restaurants, the smell of the ocean breeze and a lighthouse calling you home. You learn to love the smell of the earth after rain. The feeling of soil between your toes. The sense of belonging you feel trailing through the woods in stark white nightgown, twigs catching on the mud-stained hem. Massachusetts becomes a place of revision. You remake yourself as a fawn, elegance in your limbs and hunger in your heart. You learn how to write yourself into being. There’s a violence in your grace — simultaneously glass and the hammer that shatters it — and despite the ethereal way you move it’s the leonine stature of a tigress, claws bared, teeth sharpened into fangs, but a smile like butter wouldn’t melt. Lady Macbeth was always your favourite of Shakespeare’s heroines. There’s something dark in her that resonates with you, the way when a pimple appears you have to squeeze it until it bleeds. You tell yourself that everybody has a morbid fascination. 

              Each night you take a torch, a book and a bottle of Merlot, and you wile away the hours reading in the woods. At home, sleep never came easy to you. You’d pace the floorboards counting sheep and wake having barely slept a blink. This, on the other hand, seems useful, though when you’re never asleep, you’re never quite awake, floating through the school day like a ghost, part removed, the dark circles pulling your eyes to a close. It’s a tiredness you carry in every aspect of your life, limbs heavier than usual, pen slower when it grazes the page. Soon you start taking tablets each night. Two white ones, no bigger than a baby’s fingernail. For the first time, you begin to dream.

              When February rolls around you take your exams. Pass with the grace of a swan in everything except AP Calculus. You say you’ll try again next semester, but you don’t. You apply for Yale, Cambridge, Harvard, Columbia, Ashcroft. You wait. And wait. And wait until it feels like your skin has shed itself since the letters left your hands, before an envelope comes marked Theresa. No one ever calls you that name. Right from the start it’s been Tea, Tess, Thea, common names in your house as fickle as the tide that swallows it. Billy’s never been a William, and Sebastian sounds all wrong. You can scarcely remember what Brodie’s short for. Rejection after rejection until Ashcroft answers the call, a cawing in the dark of a wasteland you’ve not yet walked. You’ll read literature, follow in the footsteps of Ginsberg who you clumsily try to quote as you bid the girls goodbye, a bonfire and the smell of cinnamon whiskey. 

iii. ashcroft university, edinburgh. 

              You’d read of a boy who went missing there. It happened in the woods. Seventy years and all they’d found was an emptied bottle of wine and one shoe. Newspapers claimed involvement in an elite society, perhaps a hazing gone wrong, and you imagine them burrowed in underground tunnels wearing wellington boots and tweed. This is what draws you to Ashcroft ; to Imperium. It’s not so much the mystery of it —you’ve never seen yourself as a Nancy Drew — but more the idea of living in a place where people can disappear. That’s always been an idle fantasy of yours. One day, you wonder if you’ll write yourself out of the world and into the pages of a book, nestled between a title and contents page.  

              From Concord to Boston, then a ten-hour flight ; for the first time in months, you sleep through the night. A line break cancels your train and you have to take a replacement bus service instead. By the time you reach the school, the open day is almost over. You feel it at the gates, like a tingle on the back of your neck, something crawling down your spine. It only grows as you close in on it. It feels like it knows your own heartbeat. You’ve never known a building to have so much soul. You imagine yourself walking the cobblestones on the quad each day, climbing the steps to a dormitory, sprawled on a library table, scribbling frantically, willing the clock hands backwards. It’s a life you want to lead.

              In a matter of months, Ashcroft has become not only your home but your life. You are utterly consumed by it. You meet Lysander at a poetry reading. You recite Shelley. He recites Keats. He compliments you on the steadiness of your voice, clear as a bell. A voice for the stage. You tell him your father had a powerful voice. It’s a lie. You’ve never had a father, but it’s fun to imagine one slouched on the couch, wire-rimmed glasses on the end of his nose. He invites you to dinner the following week. Grilled sea bass and risotto. You don’t have the heart to tell him you’ve become a vegetarian, swallow each mouthful with your pride. You try out for the orchestra, though your hands shake a little too much and you hear more from the inside of your own head than the keys. You leave without waiting on an answer. It’s too contained for you, anyway. You need something more chaotic, like jazz. You wish for chaos, so Imperium opens it jaws and swallows you whole. They like you because of your voice, a voice that speaks scarcely more than a low whisper in life, but when written wins you a Bysshe-Shelley Prize. In poetry, you give that voice to the voiceless ; bring dead girls buried in the woods out of the ground and into being, like soil in your hands. A voice like that is a powerful thing to have in your ranks. It becomes every page in your diary, every catch of your skirt on a tree branch, every rap of your fingertips against the desktop, imperium, imperium, imperium.

              You’ve never been able to do things by halves — you always let them consume you. One glass becomes a bottle. One paragraph becomes scrawling until sunrise. Obsession takes its form in Hamlet, strong in all the ways you appear weak. You like the smell of his breath when he tells you to stub out your cigarette. That’ll kill you one day, he says. I know, you reply, and your pretty lips curl upwards. One drunken night, you fall into his bed and imagine stitching yourself into his sheets so you can sleep with him every night. Tongues on your thighs like a voice in your throat. Touch me, touch me, touch me. Never been held like this before. Like you’re not glass, but something material and robust. You like the way his hands feel under your skin. Perhaps you’ll keep him there like a splinter. Tall for your age but thin as a rail, he makes you feel like more than an eel of a girl. You like the way he catches on your spindly elbows where others have snagged leaving trails of cotton. At first, it’s only physical, but you get greedy and want more. You’re not sure when a love of beauty became something more than skin deep. You’re not sure if you even loved him until he’d stopped loving you. In October, you find the body. The day all the clocks stop ticking. The day something inside of you snaps like the branch of an elm.

              You become a cocoon, velvet ribbons in your hair and rope around your throat. Or maybe it’s lace, and you’re only imagining it that way. You drink wine, stumble blind-drunk through the woods, lose textbooks to nature and curse when you can’t find them the following morning. Most nights, you appear like a ghost in the wood, a linen nightdress with mud clinging to it’s hem and feet laden in soil. You’re not sure if it’s conscious at this point, or mindless sleepwalking. Everything you do feels like sleepwalking these days. Shadows move in the corners of your eyes at night and you turn to the tarot cards for answers. They tell you only of that which you already know. Death. The Hanged Man. High Priestess. You think of Octavia, of Lysander, and of you pulled like a ragdoll between them, with the intuition that comes from living by the sea but without the evidence to execute it. The pills have stopped working. You wake in sweats, guilt swelling in the pit of your stomach. In a therapist’s waiting room, you watch as a girl scratches the skin off her own arm.

              Soon news of your occultist proclivities becomes gossip on everyone’s tongue. Witch becomes a synonym for your name, and one you’ll happily wear like a noose until you’ve stolen Lysander from the drop. Finding the truth becomes the only thing keeping you sane, runes scrawled on the walls of a dormitory where pages of novels are tacked up like wallpaper. And still, you can’t shake the fact that she hasn’t come to you when the others who scarcely believe in such phantomed are rattled by her ghost on a nightly basis. Competing and girlhood go hand in hand, but the longer it gets, the more it feels like she knows your desperation to absolve Lysander isn’t entirely selfless. Perhaps she saw you lingering in doorways, waiting in the wings for him to change his mind and tell you it was you all along. Or maybe the sight of her corpse is making you search for answers in places they don’t exist. You’re hanging on my a single thread, one glimpse away from fleeing to the woods to plant yourself into the earth.

              The snow is crisp on the November ground when you learn to love melancholy like a dance you were taught as a child. You think it adds depth to being a writer. How can a person write about pain if they live in a state of blissful oblivion? You tell yourself that all of the best writers were depressed; Plath, Fitzgerald, Dickinson, Rice. If you say their names each morning, followed by your own, perhaps you’ll become one of them. 

BULLET POINT SUMMARY.

here is a bullet point summary of theresa, as i understand my writing can get a little dense.

Mother always said that people who grow up near water are different to other people. That there’s something more primal in their bones. A kind of knowing.

In Theresa, the knowing is a kind of silence. She’s always struggled with verbal communication, and it’s rare that she can ever let herself go in a conversation. She’s the one on the outskirts of the group, only speaking up to deliver a poignant metaphor, before fading off again. On a good day she’ll ramble, perhaps, on morbid longings and fascinations, but it’s like she’s always skipping around words she can’t quite pinpoint. 

Writing’s different. When she’s writing, she feels like all the dead souls of Emily Bronte and Virginia Woolf and Sylvia Plath are all rising up from their graves to possess her. It is, perhaps, a rather egotistical thought -- but it makes her feel less alone. Like writing isn’t so much a solitary pursuit as it is a reigniting of what’s been lost, a way of listening to the dead. She’s militant in the way she writes, has been for as long as she can remember -- every night when the clock strikes twelve. Even if she’s rolling on mandy in an abandoned warehouse or dropping acid in a shipyard with her toes in the sand, she’ll start scribbling at twilight, for as long as she can. Back home, there weren’t too many bars that allowed underage kids, and the ones that did would nail your phone to the wall like you’re living in the eighties, so they made their own fun getting high in places long since infested with rats on baggies bought cheap in the back of the dry-cleaners shop.

Theresa’s always felt more able to relate to dead people than to living ones. That might sound depressing, but she doesn’t think so. Death has never been far from her. She grew up in the room of a foster sister who had died the previous winter. She lost her mother to a boating accident at twelve years old. She lost Octavia last year, found her body in the woods, and was thankful that she -- and not someone else -- had seen her crumpled like a fawn. Because even though it clings to her and burrows under her skin, she knows how to drown it out now. In words. In wine. In pills crushed against the veneer of a sink and snorted through a twenty-dollar bill. She’s getting good at losing herself completely. Theresa herself feels like a girl half-dead, like something ghostly, trapped between two planes. Which is why it hurts so much that she still hasn’t seen Octavia’s ghost. She’s supposed to be the special one. The one who’s vision isn’t clouded by idle dogmatism. The one who believes in all that fate, juju, third eye stuff that the others seem to scoff at. It feels like a personal attack. Like somehow, in keeping hidden, she’s blaming Theresa for her death.

Theresa is the month of November. There’s something mysterious about it, something cold. It’s on the cusp of the end of the year, but it doesn’t quite reach it. I feel like that’s what Theresa’s like. Always reaching for the apples that are just out of her grasp, or perhaps, reaching for apples which aren’t even there. 

She knows grief like an old friend, but somehow, she still doesn’t trust it. When she was twelve years old she lost one of her mothers. Annie was always the brighter of her parents, and Tessa never really believed that someone so full of life could just disappear. Her soul had to be somewhere. When Kath remarried, Theresa never forgave her. Between grief and anger, their relationship became fractious, and Kath decided to send her to boarding school. She went to a New England college where she learned art, history, literature, english, athletics, the sciences and the classics. Boarding school was probably the best decision for Theresa that Kath had ever made. She became fascinated with the girls around her, so feral and wild in their girlhood. She fell in love with another girl more than once. She fell in love with the freedom of New England, of being in the woods, of a gaggle of girls with bottles of wine sat around a campfire, scared half to death that the matron would find them.

But death’s never far from her. She’s been searching for Annie in the linebreaks between poems, in the chaos of clutter under her bed, under lace and linen in her underwear drawer, but somehow she can never quite find her and never give up.  Finding Annie was perhaps the reason she came to Ashcroft at all. She intended to go to Columbia, read Literature, and clumsily follow in the footsteps of Ginsberg. But Annie had spoken of Edinburgh with such a childlike awe.

Lysander was the first of the society she met, at a poetry reading in the autumn of her first semester. He brought her into the club because he saw something in her, an otherworldliness, a still but powerful voice. Her eyes saw more than they let on, always glinting at something more. She thinks her closeness with Lysander is the reason she still hasn’t seen Octavia’s ghost, and now Hamlet’s out of the picture she’s starting to think she might love Lysander. Or maybe she just needs to be loved by someone, and absolving him of blame is the key.

She was never really sure how she felt about Octavia. One moment they were friends, the next they were rivals. It was something like love and hate combined, but perhaps that’s just the curse of being a woman. A fierce sense of competition in everything you do, even if it’s just competing for air.

She likes old French music, European cinema, art that doesn’t come in her mother tongue. She’s always thought English pointless. The French say things so much better.

Her favourite TV show is Twin Peaks. She likes the absurdist truth in it, the style, the colour, the oddness. She likes the mystery of it all. She loved the woods in New England and it reminds her of that. A kind of home away from home. Tea brings a pocked dictaphone out with her, for she’s so often absent-minded that she misses half the day. That way, she can replay conversations, the sound of a bird in flight, the particular inflection in the voice of someone she loves. She’s obsessive when it comes to lovers. She doesn’t want to be loved -- she wants to be respected, understood, devoured. She thinks love is a kind of mutual lying.

She finds truth in the unusual. In tarot cards and horoscopes, in the position of the planets through a thrifted telescope. She’s a night owl, never in bed before 3 or 4 in the morning. She visits the woods each night to write until her fingers ache. Sometimes with wine, sometimes with mushrooms, sometimes with a tab against the flat of her tongue, imagining herself to be Alice in Wonderland. She feels like she’s getting close to the truth, but maybe she’s just closer to losing her mind.

LETTER TO OCTAVIA.

My dearest O,

I wish I could find an adequate way to write you an epitaph. You saw a poet where everyone else saw a foolish dreamer and yet you’re the only one I can’t put into words. But in truth, there is no word large enough to contain you. You were the ellipsis I was always looking to conclude, and it’s so like you to steal even that from me. Some days, I think I could love you.  

Please know that death cannot touch girls like us. That you’re more than just skin, teeth and bone. Death itself has you only on a short-term loan. As Thomas puts so eloquently, Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Thank you for filling me with life. I’ll see you in the next one.

Tea.

anything else?

mock blog.

 pinterest 

wanted plots.

someone who theresa knows purely from seeing them at the library. recently, she hasn’t been visiting as often. she’s less in the world and more in her head. her schoolwork is suffering. someone who feels this absence like a missing tooth.

unlikely bc ashcroft is in scotland but if they’re from rhode island maybe distant relatives.... ophelia / theresa is adopted so could work regardless of heritage. her family lived in narragansett, but she went to boarding school in vermont. could have met if ur character is new england based??? maybe

give me fellow wanky pretentious art-lovers and poets and historians who will go to museums and galleries with her and listen to the velvet underground on vinyl

people she gets mortally fucked off her tits with at parties bcos this baby is not alright. she drinks at least one glass of wine every night. sometimes a bottle. she’s always a little bit high or a little bit weary with a comedown. she can’t seem to keep her feet on the ground.

theresa was pretty numb after finding the body, as you would be. she stayed in her room listening to enya for three days straight and just eating cereal straight out the box. then thalia broke up with her and that fuckin shook her too, and now she just thinks she’s unlovable. she’s always been pretty bad at sleeping but now she just wanders about in her white nightdress looking for a door with light spilling beneath it so that maybe she can find someone who’ll hold her for the night and make her feel like she’s still alive

she’s currently hooking up with a lot of people. a lot of very detached sex, so if she has any sort of close connection with your character this might not work. could be good for angst or awkwardness though, or she cld get like.... super attached after a one night stand and complicate the shit out of everything. theresa’s kind of obsessive when it comes to her affections, she loves with her whole heart or not at all

people she used to date or unrequitedly likes, but to them it’s just a physical thing, give me all the thirsty angst plots, and maybe some softness too, i need some religion in this girls life jesus 

honestly everything just give me all the plots

[johnsbleu]

Hold My Hand: John Wick & Reader Chapter 46

warnings: sm*t

You flop around on the bed in the dark and sigh loudly. You're not the one getting married tomorrow, but you're still nervous and you’re hoping like hell nothing goes wrong. John is still out with Jimmy and you look up to check the time, 12:39 AM. Another big sigh.

Bleu is at the foot of the bed and he perks up, hearing noises coming from downstairs. He stands up and wags his tail as John slowly opens the door, tiptoeing and trying to be as quiet as possible so he doesn’t wake you up.

“Hey, buddy.” he whispers and kisses Bleu on top of his head, “Hope you were a good boy while I was gone.”

Your face is hidden by the blanket and you smile to yourself when you hear John talking to Bleu. He’s so fucking cute, you think to yourself and pretend you’re still sleeping just in case John keeps talking to Bleu.

John quietly heads into the bathroom and moments later, he emerges in just his boxers and even in those alone, you can see the huge bulge he’s always hiding. He heads over to the sliding door and opens it, stepping out onto the balcony with Bleu. You get off the bed and peek your head out the door, watching John as he looks out across the backyard.

“Babe? Hey, are you okay?” you ask, worry in your voice.

“Hey, baby.” he smiles as he turns around, reaching out for you, “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

You wrap your arms around John’s waist and smile up at him, “No, Tess left about an hour ago, and I was waiting for you to get home before I went to sleep.”

“Sorry, I didn’t think we’d be out so late.”

“It’s okay.” you snuggle into his arms and he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“It’s warm out tonight.” he says and leans over the ledge to look at the backyard. The garden lights are on and the backyard looks quiet and serene. “I think tomorrow is going to be the perfect night. I tested out the patio lights before I came up, it’s going to look beautiful.”

“I hope so.” you sigh and John looks down at you.

“So, how was your night?” he asks and sits down on the patio chair, pulling you into his lap.

“It was fine. We watched a movie, well, attempted to watch a movie, my mom talked the whole time. Wanted to know all about you and I. Our relationship, our future, if we’re getting married, if we’re having kids, everything.” you sigh loudly and lean back against John, playing with his fingers, “Moms are exhausting. She means well, but gosh.”

“She’s just being a mom. You’d do the same if our daughter was living with someone.”

“I would, but you would be so much worse.” you laugh and John nods in agreement. “You’d probably have Jimmy do a whole background check on them or something.”

“Yeah, I’d just want her to be safe. Also, I can find way more information than Jimmy can.”

“Well, please promise me that you’ll never pull a shotgun out and threaten the poor child when they try to take our daughter to prom.” you say and you both start to laugh.

He nods, “I promise.”

“Also, uh…” you swallow hard and look at John, “She wanted to know about your job. She said there was no way that you got all of this from bookbinding. ”

John looks up at you worriedly, “What did you say?”

“I just said that you have a really good job and that we’re really fortunate. And somehow she took that as you…working for the FBI.”

John stares at you for a moment then starts to laugh, “She thinks I work for the FBI?”

“Something along the lines of the FBI, yeah.” you laugh and lean forward to kiss John. “Tess was no help at all. She just laughed.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t blurt it out.” he laughs.

You play with the edge of your shirt and look up at John, “Is that okay…that I said that? I mean it would help explain why you’re gone sometimes, and why you sometimes come home with cuts and bruises.”

John laughs again and shrugs, “Yeah, it works.”

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” you frown a little and John squeezes you tight in his arms. “I’m not good at coming up with shit like you are.”

John cocks up an eyebrow and laughs, “What does that mean?”

“You came up with a lie every time you left for work before I knew everything, and you made it seem so…effortless.” you shrug and look at him, “I could never do that.”

John gets quiet and looks down at his hand on your thigh. He takes a deep breath and nods, “Yeah.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to like…imply that lying to me was easy for you, I’m sure it wasn’t. I know it wasn’t.” you cover your face with your hands and sigh loudly, “Just forget I said anything.”

“Hey,” he removes your hands from you face and smiles, “You did perfect. What else did she ask?”

“Oh, uh…” you dodge John’s gaze quickly and shrug, “Just about work.”

“You’re such a liar.” he laughs, tickling your side, “What else did she ask?”

“She asked if we were going get married and if we were going to have kids.” you say and decide to leave out that she told you that John asked for her blessing.

“Oh.” he says and taps your arm to get you to stand up. You rest your back against the ledge of the balcony and John stands in front of you, “Did you tell her yes?”

“I just told her that we don’t know.” you say and look up at John.

John furrows his brow and tilts his head, “You don’t know if we’re getting married?”

“I mean…” you shrug as a smile spreads across your face, “You haven’t asked me yet, so…”

“Subtle.” he laughs and leans forward to kiss you.

“Hey, why did you call me tonight?”

“Just wanted to check up on you and hear your voice, which only backfired since I couldn’t hear anything in there.” John nods to the bedroom and he wraps his arms around your waist as you walk back into the bedroom.

He turns around to close the sliding door, but when he sees Bleu laying on the balcony, he leaves it open enough for him to come in when he’s ready. You crawl back into bed, and John finally notices your pajamas and laughs.

“My shirt again. I really need to buy you your own pack of t-shirts. You’re hoarding all my good ones.” he laughs and scoots in next to you, fixing the blankets.

“No, I like your shirts. I don’t want my own. These shirts always smell like you and they…they always make feel better when you’re gone.” you frown and John starts to laugh.

“I’m not leaving anytime soon, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

You start to smile again as John pulls you closer, “So, how was your night? Did you have fun?”

“Yeah, we stopped by Aurelio’s shop, then we all went out to the bar. Jimmy got completely drunk, sang some karaoke.” he laughs.

“You sang karaoke?” you sit up and look at John.

He shakes his head and pulls you back down to him, “No, I wasn’t drunk enough for that. I had a drink or two -- I was fine to drive, don’t worry, but I practically had to carry Jimmy into the guest room.” he laughs and looks down at you, “Hey, are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“I don’t know, I was just gone longer than I wanted to be.” he says and tangles his legs with yours, “I know you’re nervous about tomorrow, hoping everything will go as planned and I wanted to be here with you.”

You sigh deeply and stretch out, looking up at the ceiling, “Yeah. It’s just her wedding, you know? I just want everything to go as planned and just be…smooth and perfect for them.”

“It’ll be perfect. We got the DJ, we got the photographer, the food will be good, they picked a really good place to cater. The lights on the patio look really nice. Stop worrying about everything, peach.”

“I know, I know.” you look over at John, watching a smile spread across his face.

“I can’t wait see you in your dress again.” he says, staring at you in awe and leans over to kiss you, “You’re going to look so beautiful.”

“I can’t wait to watch you walk Tess down the aisle. That really killed me when she asked you.” you press your hand over your heart and smile.

“Did you know?”

You shake your head, “No, I really had no idea she was going to ask. I mean I know she considers you to be like a brother to her, but we never even talked about this before, so I thought she was just going to walk down the aisle by herself, or maybe ask Dan.”

“Think he’ll be upset?”

You shake your head again and look over at John, “No, he’s literally the nicest man on this planet, aside from you, of course.” you say and John lets out a small laugh. “I think my mom and him understand that it’s just us here. Tess and I only have you and Jimmy.”

“That’s true.” he nods.

“I really missed you tonight.”

“I missed you, too.” John says, reaching out to hold your hand.

“I hate that we haven’t had any time for just the two of us lately.” you sigh loudly, almost on the verge of tears and John looks over at you. “I feel like I haven’t been alone with you in forever. We’ve just been so fucking busy.”

“I know, but at least we’ve been together. We still got to sleep together every night and spend all day together.” he pulls your hand up to his mouth and presses a few kisses to it.

“It’s not the same though, I wanna be with you…alone.” you sigh and look over at John, “I shouldn’t complain though. We’ve been together and that’s what matters.”

“You’re going to regret saying this when everyone is gone.” he laughs.

“Yeah, I know.” you say quietly and start to laugh, “Hey, at least I won’t have a little kid’s foot digging into my back any time soon.”

“Benji really sprawled out the other night, didn’t he?” John laughs and rolls on his side to face you, “I had a lot of fun watching them with you. I definitely wouldn’t have known what to do when Benji got sick, and I wouldn’t have known how to entertain two kids.”

“You would have figured it out.” you laugh.

“That’s not true.”

“You would have just called whoever you were dating.” you say and look over at John, “Probably your favorite girl, uh, what was her name again? The one you who had the really bad date with.”

“Rachel.”

You snap your fingers, “Rachel!”

“Actually, I called her first. Guess she was busy.” John jokes and you open your mouth in shock as you both begin to laugh.

“Still wanna hear about that horrible date, by the way.” you say and John laughs quietly.

“A story for another night.”

“Is it weird if I admit that I kinda miss them? The kids, I mean.” you roll over and scoot close to John’s face. His breath smells like whiskey, but it makes you feel warm. “The house is so quiet now, and just having them around was really fun.”

“Well, we’ll get to see them tomorrow.” he says and laughs, “I can’t wait to see Harper in a little dress.”

“I know, she’s gonna look adorable, and I bet Benji will look so handsome in a little suit.”

You and John stare at each other, taking in how effortlessly you’ve worked kids into tonight’s conversations. He reaches out, touching your cheek and leans in to kiss you.

“We have a busy day tomorrow, we should probably get some sleep.” he yawns.

“Yeah, probably.” you say and roll onto your back, still holding John’s hand.

John leans over to kiss you and presses a kiss to your hand again, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” you say and stare at the ceiling.

__

It’s been about an hour since John fell asleep and you’re still wide awake staring at the ceiling. John still has a tight grip on your hand and you slowly untangle your fingers, and he rolls over on his side with his back to you. You sit up a little to check the clock and sigh, Yup, it’s been hour.

As quietly as you can, you let out another small sigh and flop around on the bed, and you reach over to grab your phone. You scroll through your phone, checking your Instagram feed, and you smile when you see Aurelio has posted a picture of him and John. It’s a little blurry, but he still looks handsome as hell. You decide to leave a nice comment on it and lock your phone.

John shifts in a place a little and you freeze, waiting for him to fall back sleep. You place your phone back on your side table and lean over his shoulder, trying to get a good look at his face. His eyes are closed and his lips are slightly parted, his breathing is even and you have to admit; he looks like an angel.

“John?” you whisper.

“Yeah?” he replies, and his voice is quiet but deep.

“Uh, are you awake?”

“Obviously,” he lets out a small laugh, “I can't sleep with you flopping around.”

“Oh...sorry.” you say quietly like a child who has just gotten in trouble.

Suddenly, you're incredibly uncomfortable and need to flop around some more. You hop off the bed and lay on the floor, sprawling across the rug.

The room floods with light as John turns on the lamp, and he sits up and starts laughing. “What are you doing down there?”

“I can't sleep.”

“Neither can I. Get back up here.” he says, a smiling spreading across his face, “Did you really think laying on the floor would help you sleep?”

“No, but all my flopping around wouldn’t bother you.” you say as you crawl back into bed.

“You weren’t bothering me, I was waiting for you to start talking to me again though.” he laughs and lays on his back as you lay down next to him. He reaches over to turn off the light and the room goes dark again.

You snuggle into John’s arms and inhale his cologne, “You smell good.”

“I do?”

“Mhm.” you practically moan when his hand dives under the blanket and lands on your thigh. His warm hand is such a contrast to your cold skin and you shiver.

“Can I help you sleep?” he asks, his thumb rubbing over your knee.

“How are you gonna help? You gonna sing to me?” you look up at him and he licks his lips, sliding his hand between your legs onto your thigh. “Oh. Yeah, you can help.”

John leans close to your face and you cup his cheek in your hand as you slide your tongue into his mouth. He hugs you tighter as he runs his hand up your thigh and he pulls back when he realizes you're not wearing underwear. You tilt your head back to look at him and when your eyes meet, you smile proudly.

“You’re not wearing any underwear.”

“Nope.” you pull your shirt up more and John’s left hand slides between your legs.

“You little sneak.” he leans down, kissing you mercilessly.

“Mmm, I missed your hands on me tonight.” you say in between kisses.

“I missed my hands on you, thought about you all night. Kinda wished you would have come out with us.”

“Oh, just kinda?” you laugh.

“No, I really wish you would have come out with us, even Jimmy said he wished Tess was there.” he says and smiles when you look at him. “I really missed you.”

As John slowly inserts his fingers, your eyes roll shut and you cover your mouth. You nod your head and squint your eyes open to look at John, “I missed you, too.”

From the moonlight spilling into the room, he can see you and he moans watching his fingers sliding over your pussy, “You’re so wet for me.”

“As soon as I saw you come out of the bathroom with just your boxers on, I knew there was no way I was going to bed until you touched me.”

“You could have said something an hour ago.” he laughs and leans down to kiss you.

“I know, but you were tired.” you close your eyes, spreading your legs further as John rubs circles on your clit.

“Never too tired to touch you though.” He looks at the door and jumps up quickly to lock it. When he turns around, he freezes in place as you pull your shirt off and caress your breasts. “You're killing me.”

“We don't have to have sex, we can just…fool around.” you wiggle your eyebrows and he climbs back into bed, tackling you. You lean up to kiss him and giggle loudly when he rubs his beard against your neck.

“Shh...” he presses his finger to your lips and you open your mouth to suck on it. “Taste yourself?”

“Yup.” you nod and watch as John sucks on his fingers.

He starts to laugh and rubs his beard against your neck again. You try to squirm away from him, but he lays on top of you to keep you in place. You tug at his boxers and he quickly kicks them off. “So, what do you want?”

“Um...” you lay back again and he hovers over you, “What are my options?”

“Well,” John leans down, kissing over your chest and smiles, “Whatever you want. I’ll do anything. Whatever you want, baby.”

“Whoa, cool it down with all the options.” you laugh. His hand is on your stomach and you grab it, moving it lower. “Let’s start with this.”

“Okay.” he smiles and spreads your legs. He licks his fingers and starts rubbing your clit slowly.

As he inserts one finger, you cover your mouth, “More...more, baby.” you let out a small moan in the palm of your hand as John inserts another finger, “Your fingers are so thick, fuck.”

“You feel...” he moans when your fingers wrap around his cock and you begin stroking him slowly. He looks down to watch and moans again, this time a little louder.

“I feel like what?” you laugh when you see his mouth hanging open.

“You feel like heaven.” he looks at you and smiles. He flicks his fingers and you ground down on them and slowly rotate your hips. “I want to try something.”

“Ooh, kinky.” you say, teasing.

“Stop.” he laughs.

He hops off the bed and grabs the chair near the window, then places it in front of the floor length mirror on the wall. He sits down and slap his thighs, “Have a seat.”

You turn on the lamp and laugh, “I thought we weren't having sex.”

“I never said I didn't want to have sex.” he whispers and points to the floor, “Your mom and Jimmy are right under us, you gotta be quiet.”

You get off the bed and walk over to John, then sit in his lap, “You just wanna watch?”

He scoots you back in the most awkward position, but he seems to enjoy it so you go along. Slowly, he rubs circles on your clit and you feel yourself growing wetter by the second. You start stroking him again and he moans against your arm, pressing kisses to your skin.

“Fuck this.” he picks you up and lays you back on the bed, then crawls back on top of you, burying himself inside of you with one hard thrust. When your gazes meet, he smiles and you reach up to bring his lips to yours.

“I knew you wouldn't last.” you whisper in his ear and he jerks his hips.

“I'm not going to last now.” he laughs and sucks on your neck.

He lifts your leg up and hoists it over his shoulder, moving in deeper. He rotates his hips in a way he’s never done before and you widen your eyes.

“You've never done this before.” you smile and cover your face with your hands as he continues. “Rotating your hips like this, in this position.”

“Feel good?”

“So good. Keep doing it.” you moan quietly into your hand.

“You're so flexible.” he laughs and presses a kiss to your knee, “It's hot. How long did you do gymnastics?”

You close your eyes and open your mouth to moan as John thrusts deeper. You grab at his biceps, squeezing lightly to silently tell him to slow down. If he goes too fast, you’ll come too soon and you definitely don’t want that right now. John seems to know what you want and he slows down.

You open your eyes again, blinking at John a few times and smile, “Um…what were talking about?”

“Gymnastics.”

“Oh, yeah…my mom put Tess and I in gymnastics when we were little because we had so much energy and she just had enough of us. I continued with it until high school. Tess quit in middle school.”

“So, you can like…do the splits, kick your leg up high and stuff?” he asks and leans down with your leg still over his shoulder, kissing your breast and testing your flexibility.

“My leg is literally over your shoulder right now, John. Yes, I can do the splits and stuff.”

John presses another kiss to your leg and he looks back at you, “That's so fucking hot. Of course I’ll need to see more of it.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely. My leg over your shoulder isn’t enough, you gotta have more proof.” you say jokingly and John laughs.

Beads of sweat are forming on John's forehead and his thrusts are getting harder. You moan loudly and John immediately presses his hand over your mouth to quiet it. He moves your other leg over his shoulder as his thrusts become deep and hard. The bed slowly starts to creak louder and louder to John’s horror, and he completely stops moving.

“Nooo, keep going.” you whisper.

“Your mom is going to know.” he says and moves your legs down from his shoulders.

“She's a heavy sleeper, I promise she won't know. ” you shake your head fast and grab at his ass, trying to make him move. “John!”

“What about Jimmy? He’s right down there, too.”

“He’s passed out drunk. He’s not going to wake up and hear us.” John still won't move, so you shove him off and crawl on top of him, “Fine, then I'll do all the work.”

You grind down hard on him and his breath gets caught in his throat, “Baby, I can't.”

“Yes, you can.” you say, leaning close to his face and kissing him all over. When you see John staring at you, you start to get off of him. “Okay, I’ll get off of you.”

“No!” he whispers loudly and holds you in place.

“Well, you obviously don’t want to have sex.” you laugh.

John shakes his head and caresses your hips, moving his hands to your ass. “I do! I do, it’s just…your mom is right there.”

“She’s not going to hear us, I promise.” you smile at John and lean down to kiss him. “Come on, John. I want you, baby.”

“That’s unfair. You know I’m going to give you what you want.”

“So give me what I want.” you say and he holds you in place, thrusting hard a few times as he moans. You pull him to sit up and your mouths meet for a wet kiss. “Thank you.”

“It’s gonna be hard to keep my hands to myself tomorrow. Seeing you in that dress at the bridal shop almost killed me, so I can’t imagine what it’ll be like tomorrow when you’re all fixed up.” he says, then closes his eyes as you slowly grind against him. “You always look so beautiful, but knowing I can’t have you tomorrow is going to be so hard for me.”

The two of you hold tight to each other as you buck your hips together, moaning quietly and breathlessly in the crooks of each other's necks. Your fingers tangle in his hair and you press your lips to his neck, squeezing your eyes shut. You cover your mouth with your hand and moan as you feel yourself starting to unravel.

Maintaining eye contact, John’s eyes are dark yet soft and his body starts to twitch. You feel a chill down your spine as you come, moaning and still riding John as the pleasure takes over. You open your mouth and John quickly presses his hand to it as you moan a little too loud.

“You’re so loud tonight.” John says as a smug smile spreads across his face.

“Fuck,” you hold tight to John, letting out a final moan as he jerks his hips, spilling into you. “Oh, my god.”

Still staring at each other, John leans forward to kiss you and holds you to his chest as he lays back down on the bed. Out of breath and tired, you roll off John and fan yourself.

“Hot?”

“Yeah, I’m melting.” you laugh and grab your hair tie from the side table, quickly pulling your hair away from your face, “Ew, my hair is all wet. I’m so sweaty.”

“Still look beautiful to me.” he says, kissing you and he sits up to pull on his pajama pants.

“Here.” you grab another hair tie from your side table and hand it to John.

He looks at it and laughs, then looks back at you, “What’s this for?”

“To put your hair up.” you smile at John and reach out to pull his hair up and away from his face. “Let me put your hair into a bun.”

“Okay…” John laughs and smiles at you as you move to kneel behind him. You try to put his hair into a bun, but it’s too wet from sweat and you huff as you plop down on the bed. “Let me do it.”

You lay down on your stomach and watch John as he pulls a few locks of hair into the pony tail. His hair is too short and it barely fits into a bun, but he looks damn cute.

“Stop it, you look so fucking cute.” you say and watch John’s cheeks turn bright red. “If my phone wasn’t four feet away from me, I would totally take your picture right now.”

John reaches out for you and you wrap your legs around his waist as you sit in his lap. You’re still naked and John looks down at your body, smiling and licking his lips. The two of you study each others faces and you smile at John when he leans forward to kiss you.

“I could stare at you for the rest of my life and never get sick of your face.” you say, rubbing John’s back lightly.

“You took the words right out of my mouth.” John’s eyes dart over your face and he leans his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. He moves you back to the bed and stands up, “I should let Bleu out one last time before bed, and I’m gonna grab some water.”

“Well, I'll be here…” you say, wrapping your arms around his waist and kissing his back, “Patiently waiting for you to return.”

__

Bleu comes running into the room and hops on the bed, quickly making himself comfortable and falling asleep. John shuts the door behind him and stares at you, mortified. “Um, baby, your mom was awake the whole time. She heard everything.”

You shoot up and cover your mouth, “What?”

“Yeah, she just gave me a lecture.” he says and you start to tear up from embarrassment.

“Oh, my god. Did she ask you inappropriate shit too? She’s done that before.” you say and flop back on the bed, covering your face with a pillow. “I want to crawl under a rock, this is so embarrassing.”

John starts to laugh and you move the pillow to watch as he sits back down on the bed. You sit back up and look at him as he laughs harder.

“Why are you laughing? This is embarrassing!”

“I’m just fucking with you.”

“Jonathan Wick, that is not funny.” you back away from him, but he grabs you and pulls you back to him.

“I don't know, I thought it was funny.” he laughs, pressing kisses to your face.

“Oh yeah, you're such a comedian.” you laugh and shake your head.

“What kind of inappropriate stuff has she asked?” he looks at you, intrigued.

“Oh, she wanted to know when my first time was and how I was feeling after, which is an embarrassing story.” you look up at John and laugh, “My mom and I are close, well, my mom Tess and I are all really close. I mean not like weirdly close or anything, she’s not gonna ask how big you are, favorite positions or anything like that. My mom, that is. Tess, on the other hand, she wants to know everything about you. I don’t kiss and tell though.”

John jokingly wipes his brow and exhales, “Whew.”

“Okay, so that’s a lie…I have told her a few things. I can’t help it!” you say and John rolls his eyes as he laughs. “What is your favorite position? I don’t think I know.”

John laughs and nods his head, “You know.”

“This?” you straddle John and he nods again as his hands move to your waist. You crawl off of John and lay flat on your stomach, wiggling your ass and he gets up to kneel behind you. “How about this?” From over your shoulder, you see him close his eyes as he slowly bumps his hips against your ass. “Oh, that’s a definite yes.”

“I love them all.” John pulls you up to his chest, kissing and biting over your neck and shoulder. You turn around to face him and you lay back down on the bed as he crawls on top of you, kissing you endlessly. “This is a really good one, too. Definitely one of my favorites.”

“Why?”

“Because I can see your face,” he says, cupping your face and moving his hands down lower to caress your hips and thighs, “And feel your body under mine.” John kisses you one last time before rolling off and back to his side of the bed.

“Oh, by the way, just for that joke, you have to promise to dance with me tomorrow. Not just a slow song either!”

“I will. Any song you want to dance to, I will dance with you.” he nods.

“Any song?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Any song, and how many ever you want.” he smiles.

“I'm gonna hold you to that, I hope you know.”

He kisses your cheek and pulls you closer to his chest, “Oh, I know you will.”

“You think everything will go as smoothly as we hope?”

“Absolutely. In your opinion, what’s the worst thing that could happen?” he asks and looks down at you as you bring your nail into your mouth. He swats it away and you start to laugh.

“I don’t know. I guess the worst thing that could happen would be like…a thunderstorm, or the caterer not showing up, or Tess’ flowers being all wrong, my dress ripping and then I expose my ass to everyone.”

“Oh, you’re just making shit up now.” he laughs and pulls you on top of him, holding you tight by your waist. “Baby, everything will be fine, I promise. I checked the forecast and it’s going to be beautiful tomorrow. The caterer is going to show up, and if they don’t, I’ll run to every grocery shop in the state and order as much food as I can. Tess’ flowers are going to be fine, Jimmy said she already has them all at their house and she loves them.”

“Okay.” you laugh and lean down to kiss John.

“And as for your dress ripping and exposing your ass,” his hands slide down to your ass and he spanks you, “Just make sure you’re wearing good underwear or something.”

“John!” you say, laughing as you roll of him. “That’s not funny.”

“Well, you’re laughing, so I’m guessing it is.” he snuggles into your side, wrapping his arm around you. “It’ll be fine. Nothing is going to go wrong.”

“If you say so.” you sigh loudly and flip on your side, resting your forehead against John’s. He’s so sleepy, but he’s trying his hardest to stay awake to talk to you. You tuck his hair behind his ear and rub his cheek with your thumb as he lets out a big yawn. “I’m sorry, I’ll let you go to sleep now.”

“You need to sleep, too. I’ll hum to you.” he says and wiggles into bed, getting comfortable as he starts to hum.

“Thank you.” you say and close your eyes as John lulls you to sleep.

__

taglist: @raveviolet @cheekybluefox @lainalainalain

[timelock97]

Love Without A Name

Chapter Nine: Bless this Mess

Word Count: 2359

Masterlist

Warnings: Language, fluff

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My eyes flutter open at the sound of the intercoms on the plane announcing that we would be landing soon. I nuzzle my head a little closer into Tom's shoulder as he lets out a tired groan, still fast asleep. I slowly begin to brush my thumb over the top of his palm, hoping the soft movement would help wake him up, it doesn't. "Tommy," I hum gently, turning my head slightly to press a kiss to his jacket covered shoulder. He lets a soft hum fall from his throat, head moving against mine in hopes that it is all the response I need. "It's time to get up, we are going to land soon."

Tom lets out an annoyed groan before sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "I think that's the best sleep I have ever had on a plane," he chuckles, lifting up the baseball cap on his head to run his hand through his hair before replacing it.

I squeeze his hand again, causing him to look over at me, smiling. "Well you slept pretty hard; hopefully it doesn't affect how you sleep tonight-"

"As long as I have my girls beside me, I think I will sleep just fine." He smiles at me, brushing his nose to mine to produce a giggle out of me. "Besides," he mumbles, "you were sleeping pretty hard yourself." The two of us lean away when the stewardess walks past us to remind us to fix our seats before we start descending.

Once landed, Tom and I are let out first so we can avoid the crowd, him keeping a hand on my waist as to not lose me in the familiar airport (familiar to him, not familiar to me). Tom squeezes my hip under his hand as we wait at the baggage claim; His focus is on his phone and seeing who was picking us up from the airport while I watch for our bags. When they finally appear, I move away from him to grab his, and in turn he grabs mine, setting it down beside me. "Harry is outside in his car, let's go, love."

I nod, taking his hand while dragging my suitcase. Once outside, I detangle my hand from his, only so I can push my sunglasses onto my face to shield my eyes. Tom pats the top of a car as we walk up to it, motioning over to me for him to take my bag and to get in. I pop open the back door and smile at Harry and Harrison sitting in the front seat. "Hey guys, thanks for picking us up. We really appreciate it."

"No problem," Harry smiles.

"I'm just glad you didn't have any fans stop you on the way out," Harrison chuckles, shooting me a playful grin.

"Yeah, we gotta few on the way home in Orlando, but nothing horrible." I smile as Tom hops in, grabbing Haz's shoulders as he does in greeting before buckling in.

"How's it been at home?" Tom asks, taking my hand in his again.

"Well, Tess has been staying at Mum and Dad's-"

"Why-"

"Because, Tom, (Y/N)'s cat has been making herself at home and we didn't know if they would get along." Harry sasses, rolling his eyes. "Didn't want to risk it with you two not being there." Harry cuts back in, making Haz laugh.

My eyebrows pull together, "I didn't think Phoebes would get here until after we got back?"

"Yeah, she was, but scheduling got mixed up and Hazel was on her way here with everything and figured it would be easier to bring Phoebe with her."

"So what has she been doing then?" I ask, sitting up a little.

Harrison turns back to look at me, giving me a small, reassuring smile. "She's been hiding for the most part. Scared me half to death when I went to use the bathroom last night and she bolted out of the bathroom hissing at me. She eventually disappeared into Tom's room. She has been eating if you are worried about that, just not when I am in the room."

"Okay, she's usually good with strangers, but it still always worries me." I sit back against the seat, nodding at him. The rest of the drive is quiet, me nearly missing that we had arrived at the apartment building except for Tom muttering a soft 'Home, sweet home,' under his breathe. Tom squeezes my hand again before the four of us get out of the car. Tom pulls our suitcases out of the trunk and we make our way inside the building, waving at the landlord as we go.

As soon as the door opens, and I'm not in the way of the boys I let out a low whistle, "Phoebes? Here baby." I crouch to the ground, tapping my nails on the wood floor. "Phoebe?" I call again, smiling when a small bell chimes from down the hall. The calico appears in the hallway, and upon seeing me bursts into a full on sprint, scaring Tom half to death as she bounds into my arms, meowing and purring loudly. "Hi pretty girl!" I coo, Phoebe rubbing her head under my chin, eventually crawling so she has her front paws on my shoulders so she can lick my face.

"So this is the little spit-fire you were telling me about?" Tom says, kneeling down in front of me as Haz and Harry stand by. Tom reaches forward slowly, and Phoebe only leans out of my grasp enough for Tom to pet behind her ears. "Phoebe, right?"

"Yup, here's my baby. Now we just have to introduce her to your princess." I giggle, Phoebe slowly crawling out of my arms to crawl into Tom's lap. "Which we will have to do soon, but for now we should unpack and do some laundry."

"Laundry," Tom yells, Phoebe hopping back into my lap in response when he stands, "Why would we want to do that?" The boys laugh with him as I roll my eyes. He lets out a small chuckle, offering his hand. "Come along, love. Let's unpack."

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Harry speaks, causing us to look at him. "Mum told me, to tell you, that she wants us to have a family dinner tonight."

"Alright, unpack and do some laundry, then we have dinner with my family." Tom restates, making me laugh as the two of us trudge down the hallway.

Tom and I take the time to unpack our clothes, tossing some of the articles at each other in the process of sorting them. Once we had a load in the wash, I settled on top of his- no, our- bed, watching as he looks in his closet with his arms folded across his chest. "Whatcha thinking about, bub?"

"Well," Tom lifts his hand to scratch the back of his neck, "I need to make space for you to put your stuff in here until we find a place."

I stand and walk over to him, wrapping my arms around his middle. "Can I help in any way? I could refold any clothes in your drawers or something...?"

"That would be wonderful, love." Tom mutters, lifting one of my hands to his lips, peppering the back with soft kisses. I smile, going to start while Tom pulls articles of clothing from his closet to be moved, settling into a comfortable silence.

Once the time had ticked away to about five, Tom, Haz, and I made the short walk to Tom's childhood home. His family greeting us at the door, Tessa had tucked her tail upon seeing me, but once spotting Tom didn't care that I was standing at his side. She eventually started nuzzling my hand for some love too, causing the whole room to laugh at her in response.

While the boys cooked on the grill, Nikki and I were occupied with looking over old family photo albums and her asking about the trip, which resulted in us trading pictures throughout the time. Dinner went by in a blur, eventually finally settling in the living room and talking about anything and everything that came to mind. Like tonight had been happening for years, Tom's family welcoming you with warm, open arms.

"We probably should actually look for a place to live together," Tom laughs, one arm wrapped around my shoulders as the two of us sit on the couch comfortably. He brings the bottle of beer in his hand to his lips to take a sip before continuing. "As much as I enjoy living with my best mate, I don't think he will enjoy living with the four of us for longer than a few weeks."

Tom's family nods along with him, Harrison rolling his eyes in the corner, "I was already getting used to a quiet flat, and then I had to deal with the lite she-devil-"

"Phoebe is not a she-devil," I point at Haz, who chuckles.

Paddy nods his head, hair falling into his face, "She likes you once you give her the chance to come investigate-"

"When did she investigate you, Pads?"

"The day I came in to grab some of Tessa's toys, she was getting a drink, but froze when she saw me, so I just sat on the floor and waited for her to come say hi. She did, and then she cuddled in my lap for like an hour."

"She just has to get used to you." I hum, laying my head onto Tom's shoulder, hand brushing against Tessa's head that was nestled on my lap.

"Now we just have to get them to get used to each other," Tom mutters, smiling down at his dog.

"Uh, huh." I yawn, covering my mouth with my hand.

"I think maybe it is time we headed home." Tom yawns, sitting up and stretching his arms over his head. "We will be by again soon, most likely after we figure out where we are headed."

The Holland clan takes time to say goodbye, hugs being distributed as Tom, Haz, Tess, and I were walking out the door. I notice Tom's mum stop him before we leave, but she keeps whatever she is saying very hush hush. The four of us walked quietly down the sidewalk, the boys talking back and forth while I held Tessa's lead. Once we made it to the door, Tom takes Tessa's lead and grabs a hold of her collar.

"Why don't you grab Phoebe, that way we can cautiously introduce them-"

"Let me in first, I don't want to be a part of that blood bath." Harrison jokes, slipping out of the entryway and down the hall, calling out a quick 'goodnight.'

I roll my eyes as I push the door the rest of the way open and step into the living room. I hear Tom shuffling off his jacket behind me and Tess whining at him, almost telling him to let go so she can explore. I crouch to the floor and tap my nails against the floor, clicking my tongue until the chiming of the bell grows louder. Phoebe trots down the hallway, and once she is in Tessa's view, freezes. I walk over to her as I hear Tess let out a soft growl. I lift her up into my arms before walking over to Tom. "You got her?"

"If they don't like each other, she will just have to stay in our room tonight and we can try again tomorrow."

I nod, moving slowly toward her and settle onto my knees in front of her, Phoebe had previously been in a house with dogs so I knew she'd be okay as long as Tess liked her. "Phoebe this is Tessa-"

"Love, I don't think you need to introduce them like that-"

"Yes I do, we are introducing our babies to each other, they have to be introduced properly!" I giggle, feeling Phoebe lean out to look at Tessa. Thankfully, Tessa wasn't growling now, but looking at Phoebe softly. "I'm going to let her down and see how they interact, m'kay?" I look at Tom, who nods. The calico crawls out of my arms and Tessa immediately looks at her in curiosity, moving slightly to keep her in her sights. Phoebe just weaves between her legs a few times before wandering off.

"She gives no shits-"

"She's a cat, so..." I mutter, looking at Tessa who is looking at her. I gently take Tessa's lead and let her move slightly over to Phoebe. The two of them look at each other, but ultimately decide that they just don't care, and are going to mostly ignore each other. After about ten minutes Tom let's Tessa free, who immediately charges at Phoebe, who plops onto her side, causing Tessa to freeze, smells her, then wander away. I place a hand to my chest as the interaction ends, and the two are now just doing their own thing.

"So would this be a good time to say that my Mum and Dad have already introduced them-?"

"You little shit," I growl, causing Tom to laugh as his arm wraps around my shoulder. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, but they told me that Tess likes to run up to her, so to still keep an eye on them. Tess will still sleep with us while Phoebe stays out here?"

"Yeah, that would probably be best." The idea was nice in hindsight, but at about two in the morning, when Phoebe started to meow loudly in the hallway, I give up in keeping them separated. I slowly separated myself from Tom's side and crawled out of bed to open the door, Phoebe rubbing against my legs until I crawled back under the covers. She settled on top of my legs once I settled. I smile as I feel Tess move to lay closer to the two of us. "We are gonna need a bigger bed," I mumble, a hum coming from Tom's sleeping form as he nuzzled closer.

Yup, this is bliss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

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[awritingrose]

Burn Everything You Love

(Then burn the ashes.) Celine is haunted from the moment she is born, and spends the rest of her life chasing answers.

Celine character study. 9.1k.

Warnings: abusive parent (non-explicit domestic violence, psychological/emotional abuse, racism); unhealthy coping mechanisms; toxic behaviors + relationships; illness/death/hospital scenes; this is not quite Dead Dove territory but we sure are pushing it

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Celine is haunted from the moment she is born.

There are creatures in the corner of the nursery that stare at her while she is paralyzed between waking and dreaming. She watches shadows try to suffocate Damien in his bed with their mere presence. She learns to speak from the spirits that whisper in her ears of dangers yet to come.

It makes her an eerie child, frighteningly intelligent, with raven hair and shifting hazel eyes. She watches the world around her with a flat affect, studying everything she sees.

Her father, simmering red, teaches her rage and defiance. Perhaps she should learn to cower instead, like her gray mother and blue-tinged brother. Perhaps that would make things easier. Keep her from spending the next twenty-odd years of her life always tense, always bracing for a fight—always looking for one. But she favors her father too much for that.

(She thinks, when they’re grown, that this is why Damien tries to control her in his gentle way. He favors their mother, in spirit and in face, while Celine is a mirror of their father’s sins. The heir he would have wanted, if only she’d been a man.)

By the time she is fourteen, Celine has grown so used to seeing the unseen that it barely makes her flinch. She learned quickly that no one else, not even her brother, sees the auras that cling to everyone.

(“Synesthesia,” the doctors call it when she is small.

“Hysteria,” they call it after she turns twelve, with an edge to their voices. If she were not rich, she knows, if her father’s name carried less weight, they’d lock her up in an institution and leave her to rot like the women that wail half-baked prophecies in her ears.)

She and Damien stand beside their father at a society dinner one night, dressed nearly identically in a white dress and white suit jacket. Damien takes to holding her hand at times like these, when she’s at her most unpredictable, half to comfort himself with her presence and half to try to rein her in.

(Later, she’ll unleash her temper on him for it. It’s the only time she ever does, because as angry as he might make her, she cannot stand the pain in his eyes.)

Tonight, his pinky is looped through hers. Despite his easy charisma, crowds still make him nervous. She and the voices in her ear both know that the world will eat him alive if she gives it half a chance. She can protect him from it, thrust her hand out and force everyone to hear her, but she cannot keep him safe from what really frightens him: the monster in their father’s skin.

“Arthur!” Celine watches their father’s spine stiffen at the sound of his name, echoing from the other side of the room. “There you are!”

The man coming towards them has his arms open as if he means to embrace her father. He radiates golden warmth from the top of his balding head to his stout legs, and somehow the kindness of it all makes her tense.

It is the daisy chain of three teenagers following him that truly captivate Celine.

The first of them is a boy, dark-haired and dark-eyed, with the whisper-thin beginnings of a mustache. Around him swirls a sunset corona, pinks and yellows in shades Celine never knew existed. She can barely resist the urge to try to bury herself in the colors. She can barely tear her eyes away from him and his infectious smile.

“I’d like to introduce you to my son, William,” The man says. He ruffles the boy’s hair, and Celine feels Damien’s pinky tighten around hers. “And my nephew, Mark.”

Mark is slightly taller than William, and completely clean shaven. There’s an intensity to his dark eyes that threatens to swallow Celine whole, just like the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. She recognizes a kindred spirit from the set of his shoulders and the faint circles under his eyes—he’s the older sibling like she is, always on guard, always ready to pack up everything he loves and run. A muted rainbow surrounds him.

“And who’s this?” Her father asks, not even trying to hide the disdain in his voice. “Another foster?”

The senior Barnum laughs, loud and from his belly.

(His name is William, too, whispers a voice. His wife is everything you will never be.)

“She might as well be!” He looks down at the girl with a fondness Celine has never seen in her own father’s eyes, and for a moment, she is struck with jealousy. “No, this is Tess. Grace is sponsoring her for all these parties—the debut balls, and whatnot.”

Tess, holding Mark’s hand, cannot seem to meet Celine’s eyes. Celine knows the trick of staring at a person’s forehead too well to not be able to recognize it. There are freckles across the other girl’s nose and cheeks, the kind that come from too many hours in the sun, the kind that Celine is always put into wide-brimmed hats to avoid. Tess’s cheeks are flushed with sunburn and not cosmetics. She’s not, Celine realizes, chained by the expectations of wealth, and again that dark jealousy rises in Celine’s chest. It’s beaten out, barely, by fascination: there is no aura at all surrounding Tess.

And around each of the teens’ throats is a writhing black tendril.

(Learn, cries her very soul.)

“I’m Celine,” she says. She steps out of her father’s reach. “Nice to meet you all.”

She lets go of her brother, and she does not look back.

The Barnum manor is silent, and for months, Celine thinks that is a blessing. It’s the only place she’s ever been where she can hear herself think, where there are not so many spirits clamoring for her attention that she almost thinks an institution’s sedation would be a relief.

“Let me show you something,” Mark says when she tries to explain this to him.

He takes her hand, and Celine is caught between the rush of heat it sends to her cheeks and the shock of how cold his skin is.

He leads her deep into the woods surrounding the property. If she were a different girl, Celine thinks, she’d worry about his intentions or her reputation. It’s the sort of thing Tess would focus on (Celine would call her prissy or prudish, if she hadn’t seen Tess and William sneak out of sight more often than Celine has ever been alone with Mark).

When they finally stop, it is in a clearing ripe with wildflowers and cloudy sunshine. There’s a humid haze in the air; she can taste a summer storm on her tongue. It’s the most beautiful place she’s ever seen, and the same part of her she’s tried to repress thinks of how dreamily romantic the whole thing is.

“William and Tess used to come here all the time. They said the birds sound prettier here,” Mark says. He looks at her out of the corner of his eye.

Celine frowns. She lets go of his hand to take a step further, eyes closed and head tilted to listen.

“I don’t hear anything,” She replies, turning back to him.

She can’t read his aura like she does everyone else, the soft colors giving him the appearance of experiencing every emotion at once. But she knows the flash of relief that goes across his face. It’s the same one that went across hers when Damien admitted he’d seen something in the darkness of their room one night. The relief of knowing you aren’t crazy. You aren’t alone.

“Exactly!” He grabs her hands again with a fervency that keeps the butterflies in her stomach from waking up.

He’s giving her a look that she knows is supposed to convey some deep meaning. He’s trying to tell her something that the writhing blackness wrapped like a noose around his throat will not let him say. She has no idea what it is.

(When it’s much too late to save either of them, she’ll understand. She’ll think about how prey animals fall silent when a predator is near. She’ll wonder what it means that the things she always thought were predators fall silent in the manor’s presence. She’ll find out.)

So instead, she leans forward and kisses him, because the consequences of that are easier to deal with than trying to understand why William and Tess hear birdsong in a place too perfect to be real.

That winter, she and Damien are invited to the Barnum’s second home high in the mountains. It’s not the first time they see snow, but it’s the first time they see so much of it.

Celine falls in love.

Damien can’t seem to put enough layers on to keep himself warm, while Mrs. Barnum (Grace, she wants them to call her) has to nag Celine to bundle up. She loves sticking her hands into the snow until her fingers burn and turn red.

(Someone should notice she’s self-destructing, but no one says a word, and so she buries herself deeper and deeper beneath the ice.)

She and Mark sit on the porch most of the time. They watch Tess run about up to her knees in snow, pelting anyone foolish enough to look away from her with snowballs. She shrieks with laughter when William dumps some down the back of her dress. Anger brings heat to Celine’s cheeks; it’s not fair that Tess is so free, but even holding hands with Mark seems scandalous.

On the third day, William rushes up to them. Tess runs past him into the house—Mrs. Barnum’s voice echoes from a distant room, reminding her to take her shoes off.

“Are you ready?” William asks. His aura rotates around him, like fairy floss at the carnival. It makes her nauseous, yet the intensity in his eyes keeps Celine from looking away.

“Ready for what?” Mark tilts his head.

William throws his hands up like they’re both missing something obvious, and a smile pulls at the corner of Celine’s mouth.

“Skating,” He enunciates each syllable carefully.

As if on cue, Tess appears in the doorway again, one hand carrying five pairs of skates by the laces, the other hand pulling Damien along behind her.

And though she’s seen it coming for months (even if she couldn’t see his aura flare pink anytime Tess looks at him, his cheeks doing the same would be enough of a giveaway), Celine can’t stop the ugly, unnamable feeling that rises in her chest.

“How thick is the ice?” Damien asks as they trek through the woods.

Tess shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s never cracked, so we don’t worry about it.”

“Thick enough,” William offers, with a wink that makes Celine roll her eyes.

They skate for hours in the silence of the frozen lake. Mark tries to help her get her balance at first, but Celine throws his hands off. He doesn’t try to force it; he simply lets her do as she wishes, and she loves him all the more for it.

The boys go to sit together in the snowbank when they tire. Tess turns dizzying spirals across the ice with her dancer’s grace that Celine envies. Celine circles the exterior of the pond, stubbornly pushing past her aching muscles.

“Watch this!” Tess calls to pull the boys’ attention away from whatever they’re discussing.

Celine watches something dark shift beneath the ice. It's as if some great fish were trapped within the lake. Yet nothing could be alive there, certainly nothing so large, certainly nothing with a half-rotten face that smiles at her as it passes beneath her feet. It comes to a stop under Tess, draws its melting hands back—

She thinks she screams Tess’s name. She’s never sure, even years in the future. But if she does, the warning comes too late; Tess launches herself into the air. The thing in the water slams its fists against the ice. The crack echoes like a gunshot when she lands.

There is a deafening roar in Celine’s ears as she propels herself towards Tess. The boys are shouting, Mark barely holding both Damien and William back for fear their sudden weight will plunge the girls through the cracks. They cannot see like Celine does. They don’t see the laughing face, the burning eyes, the creature that pounds against the ice, the thing that wants nothing more than to grab Tess’s ankles and drag her under.

And for all the things Tess does that Celine hates, Celine will not let her come to any harm.

She slams into Tess with a force she’ll regret later, but it is enough to throw Tess into Damien’s arms. A fraction of a second later, bony fingers wrap around Celine’s ankle, and frozen water fills her lungs.

(She thinks of those moments under the lake in the distant future, when she and Damien and Tess are thrown into an abyss. She takes them back to that moment. She tries to conquer the fear she felt, the echoes of her father’s voice that told her she would drag everyone around her to Hell if she kept acting the way she did, the realization that he’d been right.)

Celine wakes in the smallest bedroom in the house, lying in a cot and buried under a mountain of blankets. Tess sits upright in the second bed, similarly dwarfed beneath the covers. The ends of her thick hair are still wet, and that’s strangely infuriating to Celine, because Tess should be the only one without the bone-deep cold on her skin.

“What did you do?” Celine hisses. Her throat stings with the effort.

“Saved you!” Tess snaps back.

(She hadn’t hesitated; she’d wrapped her scarf around one wrist, handed the other end to William, and jumped into the water. The boys had pulled them out once Tess had a grip on Celine’s waist, both of them weightless in the ice. It was William, Celine finds out later, who pressed his lips to hers to help her breathe.)

“You shouldn’t have! I was trying to save you! You should’ve left me!” She shouts. It’s a little too close to a confession of something Celine isn’t ready to deal with. “You should’ve just done what you were told!”

(She hears her father’s words come out of her mouth. They taste like vinegar and blood. She does not try to take them back.)

“I don’t need you to tell me what to do!”

Celine has never heard Tess shout until this moment—she’s not sure she’s ever seen Tess pass a stage of “mild annoyance”. She always assumed Tess was too soft, too feminine, for something as uncivilized as anger. It feels…good to see Tess finally crack.

It’s good enough that Celine begins to laugh, though it quickly turns to raw coughing. Tess stews on the other side of the room. She doesn’t have to have an aura for Celine to feel the anger coming off of her.

“So you aren’t perfect,” Celine finally says.

Tess’s eyes widen with panic. “Shut up.”

“Why are you still pretending?” Celine doesn’t even lower her voice. She’s certain most of the house has heard them yelling. She’s surprised Mark or Damien hasn’t burst in to try to calm them down.

Tess looks away, fidgeting with the corner of one of her blankets. “They’ll get rid of me if I’m not.”

Celine knows about Tess’s attempt to run away—Mark had told her. He’d mentioned how lucky Tess was to be able to leave, how angry he was that she’d come back. Celine had agreed. If she ever had half a chance, she would throw everything she could into a bag and run. She wouldn’t look back. She never has.

But at the same time, she knows Tess’s fear more intimately than she knows anything else about the other girl. She’s felt it too. Tess made the choice to bend to it; Celine broke it.

“Can we...can we start over?” Tess asks softly, several hours later.

Celine wants to say no out of nothing but spite. To feel that rush again of seeing Tess break, of making her feel a fraction of the pain Celine has learned to live with.

(They’re not friends, Celine tells herself. They will never be friends.)

“I’m Celine,” she says instead. She smiles and stretches her hand out across the space between their beds. “Nice to meet you.”

The light in Tess’s eyes is a gift.

Celine falls through worlds only once.

The furniture floats away from her with the slightest touch. She rests her fingers on the keys of the piano and they begin to play a symphony from a memory that isn’t her own. The room on the other side of the door shifts as she thinks of all the places in the house she’d like to go.

It does not frighten her. It feels good. It feels right. This is what the power in her veins is meant for. She is meant for so much more.

Color returns to the world when she steps through the doorway and into the kitchen. That power still drums beneath her skin, though the counters do not move when she touches them and her fingers can no longer remember how the song began.

“Celine?” Mrs. Barnum’s voice makes Celine jump. The older woman stands over the stove, stirring something into the soup. “What are you doing in here?”

The real question is how she got into the kitchen. There is a look in Mrs. Barnum’s eyes whenever she asks anything like this, as if she already knows the answer and only wants to hear what the children will tell her. Celine has no patience for the games.

She has never gotten along with Mrs. Barnum. She’s a woman loved by her family, the heir to the Barnum fortune, so powerful that her husband had taken her name instead of the other way around. She’s everything Celine wanted to be as a little girl. She’s everything Celine will never be, and the voices are fond of reminding Celine of it.

(They are wrong—Celine is just like Grace Barnum, in all the worst ways.)

“Through the door,” Celine replies.

She won’t tell Mrs. Barnum of what she saw. She can’t stand to be looked at like she’s crazy, not again, not when she’s finally found a place she feels she belongs.

Mrs. Barnum’s brows lift. She doesn't point out that Celine's answer doesn't make sense. “I see. I thought I heard someone at the piano.”

Celine shrugs. “Must have been Damien. I can’t play.”

She can’t, not like this, but if she can only find that place again, she can learn. Learn everything her soul has ever needed to know.

(She spends another decade trying to find her way back. She doesn’t regret a moment of it.)

Her first attempt is with the ouija board, when she is fifteen, when she and Mark have finally declared to their parents that they are courting, when William still winks at her while no one is looking.

(Her father disapproves. Says that Mark isn’t a suitable match. She looks at her mother; she looks at Damien; she knows what he means.)

She smuggles the board into the manor with Mark’s help.

“My aunt hates those things,” he’d said, looking at it with a reluctance that almost gave Celine pause. She didn’t care if Mrs. Barnum didn’t like the board, but Mark’s obvious discomfort was nearly enough.

“Then I won’t let her see it,” Celine had reassured him.

He refuses to touch it, so Celine stuffs it into a bag and hides it beneath her skirts; Mark simply provides enough distraction to allow her to shuffle into the parlor.

William, Tess, and Damien are already gathered around the low table, Tess perched on a cushion she’s pulled into the floor.

Celine feels that power rush into her body as soon as she unveils the board. She does not feel the eyes that watch her; Tess feels them, Mark feels them, but Celine is too focused on finally, finally, getting answers to pay attention to their apprehension. The world shrinks to the thrumming in her veins and the whispers of the board.

William is the first to speak. “A seance?”

“Does anyone have any objections?” Celine’s tone makes it clear it is a challenge, not a question.

Tess and Damien trade a look that makes Celine want to roll her eyes. Tess speaks for the pair of them. "Are you sure about this?"

Instead of snapping, Celine smiles, soft and reassuring. “You know there’s something strange about this house, Tess. The spirits could tell us what it is.”

(She doesn’t mention that the spirits have never spoken to her in the manor before.)

There’s suddenly something strange in the way Tess is looking at her, too. That black tendril around her throat tightens and Tess reaches out for the planchette, her eyes glassy. It’s like she’s…empty.

The parlor door bursts open a second before Tess’s fingers reach the board, and Celine spins to face the door with a frustrated growl low in her throat.

Mrs. Barnum looks over the five of them. When her eyes land on the board, she flares such a bright red that Celine has to squint to see. For a moment, Celine is scared. She can’t recall the last time she felt anything other than anger or a crushing numbness.

Celine leaps to her feet when Mrs. Barnum snatches the board from the table, the heat of her own anger rising to burn against her skin.

“Give it back!” Celine shouts. “We didn’t even get started, there’s so much to--”

She feels the power draining from her fingers and she has to get it back, she finally has answers, she can find out what’s wrong with her, what all this means.

“You are done!” Mrs. Barnum shouts even louder, and Celine’s shoulders draw inward out of an instinct she’s not yet conquered. “Whose idea was this?”

Celine can feel herself start to shake with rage as all five of them look at one another. She wants to scream that it was her idea, of course it was her idea, and damn the consequences. Damn the fear in Mark’s eyes. She opens her mouth to speak—

“It was me, Mrs. Barnum,” Tess says from across the circle. Her eyes are cast downward at the floor and Celine sees her tense.

“Tess,” Damien whispers.

(They’re not friends, they’ll never be friends, they’re not friends, why does she do these things?)

From the look on Mrs. Barnum’s face, she knows it’s a lie. They all know it’s a lie. But Celine isn’t going to say anything.

Mrs. Barnum’s lips press together into a thin line. “Alright. I’ll have the driver take you home.”

Celine watches her go.

Their mother dies when they are seventeen.

Damien holds Celine’s hand again at the funeral. He stares into the distance, through the trees around the cemetery, into a spot that does not exist. He is trying not to cry.

Celine is glad for the mourning veil on her hat. It hides her dry eyes. It hides her rage. It hides her disappointment that the name carved on the stone is misspelled, and that she does not know enough of her mother’s language to fix it herself.

(She keeps the hat and veil. She dresses in black long after society says she should have put it aside. She is not sure there is a name for what she mourns.)

When the others speak of their futures, she speaks only of all the places she will travel to, all the people she will meet. All the spiritualists she will see and the questions they will answer. She glares at her brother and Tess when they trade looks behind her back.

(The voices in her ears scoff when she speaks of it. They tell her that she is the only one that has ever been like this. She is alone; she has always been alone.)

Mark is the only exception, the only one that doesn’t make her feel crazy, the only one that doesn’t question her. He simply smiles at her the same way he always has, like she hung the moon and the stars in the sky. Celine teases that perhaps, if he behaves, she’ll take him with her when she travels, and they will see the world together.

(“I can’t leave,” he snarls, in a rare display of temper that makes her skin prickle. She doesn’t understand what he means until she realizes the tendril around his throat has grown so large that she doesn’t know how he can breathe.

Something dark and ancient laughs when she decides that she will free him from it.)

It shouldn’t surprise any of them when William declares his intentions to volunteer for the war effort; he’s talked for months now about joining the service to find adventure in the world. Still, it grips Celine with a sense of panic that is foreign to her. All the news reports say that they are winning, that it will be over by Christmas, but the voices in her ears tell her they are lying. There are horrors to come that none of them could imagine.

He kisses her forehead at the train station and Celine finally learns what his aura feels like. It wraps around her for seconds that stretch into hours. It’s like the first time she got drunk on champagne; the bubbles had gone straight to her head, and she’d felt like she was flying, like everything was the funniest joke she’d ever heard, like the world was good and warm and she was finally happy. William feels like euphoria.

(It’s why she comes back to him, again and again, over the years. He makes her forget.)

While he’s gone, he sends letters home to Tess. She reads them out loud in the parlor. After the Barnums go to bed, she shows the rest of them the bits that she’s censored for his parents’ sake. They try to laugh at his stories of rats as large as cats that live in the trenches even as they pray he is only exaggerating.

And then influenza comes.

Tess moves into the manor permanently when her mother is the first to die. Damien is the one that found them, and Celine thinks it hurt him nearly as much to see Tess catatonic and staring at a corpse.

“I had to carry her out of there,” He tells Celine in a low voice. Mrs. Barnum gives Tess a glass of hot chocolate in the next room. “She was just...waiting to die.”

Celine has seen that hollowness in Tess’s face before, when the tendril around her throat tried to guide her movements. She is struck by the strange notion that the darkness is gorging itself on Tess’s sorrow; it grows larger and larger, though not nearly as large as the noose around Mark’s neck.

(Something cruel and ancient growls when Celine decides she will free Tess from it, too.)

The Barnums fall ill soon after, and Mrs. Barnum insists with a fervency Celine doesn’t understand that they go to the hospital.

It almost suffocates Celine as soon as she steps through the doors—screaming spirits, pain that smothers the world, so many emotions and colors and feelings that she cannot stand it. She lasts an hour before she begins to hyperventilate and runs from the hospital.

She is three blocks away, sitting in an alley with her knees pulled to her chest and tears streaming from her eyes, when she feels Mrs. Barnum die.

Tess grieves by working until she can’t feel anything at all, and Celine is happy to go with her. The second time she enters the hospital during the pandemic, she conquers her fear of it. She forces herself to breathe evenly. She puts walls up around herself until she can no longer hear the screaming.

She and Tess sneak out from the manor while Damien and Mark are at work. The boys would keep them locked up forever to keep them safe, but neither girl can stand it anymore. They’re starting to go insane from the solitude and volunteering as nurses seems like a good way to wash their hands of their guilt and grief. They learn quickly how to care for the dying. There is no saving most of their patients. All they can do is try to alleviate their suffering.

It works—until Tess collapses.

She’s been coughing for a few days, but Celine had ignored it; Tess had told her not to worry. Now she gathers Tess into her arms and drives her back to the manor because she doesn’t know what else to do. The hospital didn’t save the Barnums. But she can save Tess, if she can just channel enough power, and she’s strongest at the manor.

(If she can’t—if she can’t, this will be her fault, it was her idea to volunteer at the hospital, she’d just wanted to prove she wasn’t afraid and her selfishness will have killed Tess.)

“We need to take her to a doctor!” Damien shouts outside of the door to Tess’s room. Celine peers around the corner at her brother and her partner; they look half ready to tear each other apart.

Mark shoves Damien back into the wall. “I’m the master of the house! She stays here. The hospital is where people go to die.”

Damien storms past her on his way down the staircase. His permanently blue aura churns with streaks of red and purple. There is disgust in his eyes when they look at one another, though she knows it isn’t directed at her. He doesn’t say a word.

(She finds him later, at the writing desk in the study, penning a letter to William.

“He should know,” Damien says. “They didn’t let him come home to bury his parents, they’re not going to let him come home to bury--”

Celine wraps her arms around him for the first time in a very long time; he can no more stand to say the words than she can to hear them. He sobs into her shoulder.)

That last afternoon, Celine knocks on the locked door and waits for Mark to answer it.

“Chef has dinner ready. Go eat something. I’ll sit with her.” She leaves no room for argument in her tone.

Mark is too tired to argue, anyway. He shuffles out of the room and down the stairs like a zombie, his hair uncombed and his eyes red and sunken. Tess’s death will destroy him. Celine always found it silly that Tess was afraid Celine would take away everything she loved, but now Celine understands. Tess will take everything Celine has left with her to the grave. She has to stop it.

Tess looks terribly small in the bed, drenched in sweat. Her eyes flicker rapidly beneath her lids. If it weren’t for the blood and mucus drying on her lips, she would almost look like she was having a bad dream.

Celine sits down in the chair by her bed. She slips her fingers through Tess’s and gasps—it feels like Tess is going to catch fire. Celine wonders, for a strange moment, if that wouldn’t be better. Burn the manor down with them all in it. Die together instead of this long, slow process where they are damned to watch one another suffer.

She takes a deep breath. The power is there. She closes her eyes and thinks of how much she wants Tess to live.

(They are not friends. They’ll never be friends. This does not mean anything. She just—she just doesn’t know what to do without Tess, damn it.)

Nothing responds. Celine can feel it, so very close to her, just out of her reach. It gathers around Tess’s throat. It gathers in her lungs. It does not flow into Celine’s hands.

Tears roll down her cheeks unbidden. How dare she cry, how dare her power not obey her, how dare this happen again and again and again, this isn’t fucking fair—

(In the morning, Mark tells them that Tess is cured. She smiles at them all, but Celine sees that the darkness around her throat has hooks now, digging into her skin. Celine realizes she will never free Tess from that cruel, ancient, hungry thing.)

Mark takes her out into the woods behind the manor, back to that place that is too perfect to be real. He drops to one knee and pulls a ring from his pocket. The diamond is carved in the shape of a crescent moon, with smaller yellow stones on either side of it like stars.

“Marry me,” he says. It is not a question. There are no flowery declarations of love.

There are no voices in her ears to yell at her. Her stomach turns anyway, and every bone in her body screams at her to run. She is not the marrying type. She will never be a good wife. She will never be like Mrs. Barnum. It’s better to run now than to drag it out.

“Yes,” Celine hears herself say.

(She knows what he meant when he said he couldn’t leave.)

Damien looks like he might cry when he sees her in her wedding dress, even with her brows pinched tight at all the bridesmaids trying to help pin her veil into her short hair.

He shifts the tulle to lay flat over her back, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “I wish mom could see you. You look amazing.”

The reminder that he is the only family she has left makes her stomach turn. It isn’t much different from the rest of their lives; he’s always been all she has. But he’s always had so much more.

(“I won’t allow it,” their father had shouted when she’d told him about her engagement. She’d been foolish to tell him, she knows. Some stupid part of her she had yet to bury had wanted him to walk her down the aisle. Had hoped for it.

“I’m not asking for your permission,” she’d snarled back. It was the last thing she ever said to him.)

One of Mark’s cousins scrapes a hairpin against her skin and that’s all it takes for Celine to break. “Everyone out!”

Damien lingers. He’s never counted as a person.

“Will you--” Celine takes a deep breath and curls her nails into her palm. “I need you to send Tess here. And go help William get ready.”

She sees the hurt that flickers in his aura; it is the first time she has sent him away. But he is dressed, coiffed, picture perfect as he always is, and she knows for a fact that the best man is still drunk from the bachelor party the night before. William will need all the help he can get. Damien is the only person she can trust to take care of things. And there are—there are some things she cannot tell him.

Tess is a vision, even in her wheelchair. As soon as the dressing room door closes behind her, she is on her feet. The doctors may have forbidden her from standing for long periods of time, from walking, and from dancing, but she refuses to rest like they want. She usually has Damien or William’s arm to help her instead.

Celine knows that restless feeling. The chair is a cage to Tess, a cruel reminder that she can no longer do the things she loves--so she will do them anyway, and damn the consequences.

“Cold feet?” Tess asks gently. She takes the veil off of Celine’s head and frowns at the state of her hair.

Celine wants to hate how easily Tess sees through her. “No. ...Yes. I don’t know. I-I said yes, so I’m going to marry him, but I just—I don’t want to end up like--”

She chokes on the words. Like my mother. Mark is not her father, Mark is nothing like her father, Celine knows this, but at the same time, he could be. She’s seen that darkness in enough people to know that anyone could become a monster. And nothing scares her more than being seen and not heard, being buried in a grave with her name misspelled and no one able to fix it because she has been stripped of everything that made her her.

“Hey,” Tess says, resting her hands on Celine’s shoulders. Celine turns to look at her, and the determination in Tess’s eyes takes her off guard. “Listen to me. Tell me right now. Do you want to marry Mark? Because if you don’t, my car’s out front, and we’ll make a run for it.”

“He’s your brother.”

“And you’re my sister.” The love in Tess’s voice steals Celine’s breath away.

(They are not friends, they will never be friends, this is—this cannot be friendship.)

Celine takes another deep breath and closes her eyes. She focuses on the weight of Tess’s hands on her shoulders. Focuses on all the times she’s felt warm in Mark’s arms, all the times he has let her fight her own battles, let her rebel all she wants. Mark knows she is strange and eerie and cursed with wanderlust. He has never tried to change her. He loves her.

When she opens her eyes again, Tess is smiling at her.

“Alright. Then let’s get your hair fixed—what were they even trying to do?”

(Celine tells herself that Mark will not become a monster. She convinces herself of it, and she does not see it until it is too late.)

Damien walks her down the aisle. William cries when he sees her. Mark’s hands shake when he puts the ring on her finger. Tess leaps from her wheelchair to catch the bouquet.

For a moment, Celine is truly hopeful.

Everything is perfect for the first few years.

Mark’s career skyrockets. It makes him happy, and in turn, Celine is overjoyed. When he’s home, he hangs on her every word, does everything she wants. She can finally travel. There are no locks on the manor windows. She has a key to every door. Mark has never tried to control her.

She is free of the voices, too, now that she lives in the manor. They cannot reach her there.

Mark starts to throw wild parties on the weekends for his coworkers. Networking, he calls it. He doesn’t ask her to come. Celine is much happier staying on the second floor of the manor, setting up her work room or reading. He’s always been better at those sorts of things. Telling people what they want to hear. He comes to check on her periodically throughout the night whenever he has a party, kissing her forehead.

(After a while, it is Benjamin that comes to check on her, bringing her dinner and a drink at “the master’s” behest. She always thanks him.)

She sees when Tess meets Julian, when the man turns her across the parlor floor without any care for Tess’s breathing. His aura is golden and glowing, tinged with pink. It is love at first sight. It sickens her, though Celine can’t explain why. She retreats back to her study.

When they discover what Julian has done to Tess (when she turns up on the doorstep of the manor after not seeing any of them for weeks, bruises on her throat, tears in her eyes, carrying nothing but the clothes she’s wearing), it takes Mark and Damien both to hold Celine back. William paces the floor with his pistol in hand. Damien takes away their car keys, to keep she and William from driving to Julian’s home and showing him how it feels to be powerless.

When the man himself comes knocking, they hide Tess in the study with Mark and Damien. Celine and William greet Julian at the door. William’s pistol is in hand, and one of his medals is pinned to his lapel. It is Celine that steps forward.

“She’s not here,” Celine says. It’s clearly a lie, one they must tell as a sort of ceremony.

“I just want to talk to her. She’s been sick—I don’t think she’s in her right mind lately,” Julian replies. He runs a hand through his tousled hair. Celine supposes it is meant to be charming.

It infuriates her instead. He fooled her once. He will not do so again. Celine steps forward, into his space, and to his credit, he does not back down. His aura is brown with rot and black with pride.

“She isn’t here,” She repeats. “It’s a good thing she isn’t. Because if she ever tells me that she so much as thinks she sees you, I’ll kill you in your own bed.”

Something bubbles up inside of her. Power. Rage. He is just like her father. He hurt her pride when she realized he’d tricked her into believing he was good. He is not her father, but her father is six feet underground, and Julian is here, where she can reach out and strike him, where she can give him all the retribution he deserves—

Dry lightning strikes one of the trees in the yard and sets it alight.

Julian’s eyes are wide when he looks back at her. “You’re crazy. Where the hell is my--”

Whatever he was going to say is drowned out by a deafening gunshot. William has stepped out of the manor, his pistol pointed up at the sky.

“Oops,” he deadpans, as if he could’ve pulled the trigger by accident.

Julian runs, and he does not come back.

She dreams of his voice.

Celine is adrift in a void. She knows she is sleeping, but she cannot find her way back to consciousness. It’s almost pleasant in the darkness. Like she’s been there before. Like she’s always belonged there.

“Trust me, let me in, and I can make you happy just like Celine.”

It is Julian, and yet it cannot be. He should have no reason to speak her name, let alone make an offer like that in her dreams. It’s the sort of thing he’d say to—

She suddenly knows how to move through the void and she flies as fast as she can towards his voice. If he is here, if he has found Tess again, then surely he means her harm. Celine will kill him before he gets the chance.

Tess sits at a dinner table in the void, though there is no food in front of her. The man across from her looks like Julian. It should be Julian, Celine knows this. But the more she looks, the more Julian’s appearance falls away like water, and the monster beneath it is revealed.

It’s...formless. Endlessly shifting into shapes that should not exist, twisting around itself and inside itself. Millions of eyes blink lazily across it.

“No,” Tess says.

The entity surges forward to nearly envelop her. Celine watches the tendril that has always been around Tess’s throat tighten until the other girl’s lips turn blue. A thousand of those eyes see her all at once, and Celine realizes she must have cried out. She cannot move under its gaze, cannot help Tess, cannot save her—

Celine wakes and tumbles out of bed moments before Tess’s scream pierces the silence of the night.

(I know what you saw, Celine writes to Tess a few months later, after Tess has run far away, when Damien is the only one of them that knows how to contact her. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from it. I love you.)

It is as if Tess was the last thing holding them all together. With her gone, everything begins to fall apart.

William is rarely around; some strange animosity has grown up between him and Mark. He is always in search of the next big fight, the next war to be won, relishing in the violence of it all. There are moments, late at night, when he and Celine are the only ones awake in the manor. They sit together on the kitchen counters like they did when they were teenagers. They don’t speak about his nightmares. They talk about her work instead, and how phenomenal he thinks her research into the manor is.

(Mark forbids her from speaking of it in his presence. That is the first time she packs a bag and runs.)

Damien is more upset by Tess’s disappearance than he wants to let on. Instead, he wants to talk about all the things Celine is determined to avoid. She doesn’t want to speak about their father or his death or the strange, guilty mix of joy and sorrow it left them both with. So when he needs to borrow money from her, it is a relief, and she does not ask why. She simply lets him take it from her half of the inheritance, or she gives it to him from Mark’s bottomless coffers. When things get too rough, she takes the money to the speakeasy herself, more comfortable amongst the debauchery than she’s ever been amongst high society.

(She knows it is cards. She knows his tells. But he does not ask for help to get away from it, and so she does not give it. Mark is both too rich and too busy to notice.)

And Mark—

Mark is not the man she married anymore. He is gone from the manor more often than not, and Celine tolerates it for longer than she thought she would. Even when he is home, he may as well not be. They do not go on weekend trips anymore; it's rare that she can convince him to leave the manor for dinner. He spends all of his time locked in his study with script pages scattered across the floor, obsessively going over his lines. Sometimes he stumbles to bed with ink smeared across his hands from whatever new writing project consumes him.

(They start sleeping in separate beds when she shouts that she is tired of him waking her up in the middle of the night.)

Celine feels as if she is drowning. The marriage was a mistake. She should’ve taken Tess’s offer to run before the wedding. It hadn’t been cold feet—it had been a prophecy. The world is not a good or kind place. The only person she’s ever been able to rely on is herself.

In hindsight, she thinks that she wanted to get caught.

William has the same wild spirit as she does. Neither of them have ever looked for safety. Every time he kisses her is like the time on the train platform, like being drunk on champagne, like the world fades away and reality doesn’t matter for just a little while longer.

He runs from the manor when she screams at him to go, blood streaming from his broken nose. It is smeared on Mark’s knuckles as well.

William would kill Mark if he stayed, she knows this. His temper is too unpredictable, his tendency towards violence more frightening than intriguing now. Still, when Mark turns on her, Celine almost regrets being alone.

He takes a deep breath and smooths down the wrinkles on his shirt. He's pretending to be calm when he looks at her. His hands still tremble with the force of his rage. Celine keeps her weight on her back foot, ready to run.

"Now," Mark says. His smile is too wide--it is deranged. "Let's talk about this. William has always been...well, jealous. I know you wouldn't hurt me on purpose. I know this is because of him, so why don't you and I let bygone be bygones?"

How is she meant to respond to that? His eyes flicker with manic energy. Something dark shifts behind his irises. it is like all the times she's seen Tess go hollow, only worse. She does not recognize the man she once loved.

"I'm leaving," Celine manages to say. She backs up to the edge of her bed and pulls out the bag she's kept packed for the past six months.

(She should have left the moment she packed it.)

Mark follows her through the house as she makes for the front door, a demon nipping at her heels. Like all the shadows and spirits she's never been able to outrun.

"What's this about, Celine?" He laughs. "Whatever you want, just name it! Is it a child? Will that make you happy?"

In the future, the only credit Celine will give herself is not hitting him. He has become the thing she fears, the husband that wants her beautiful and home and caring for his children; the husband that does not know the first thing about her. Or, worse, the husband that simply does not care.

He catches her in the foyer. He grabs her shoulders and forces her to turn and look at him. The tears in his eyes are half rage and half sorrow.

(That is how all things will end.)

"I'll die without you." Mark's voice breaks on the words.

He is an actor, Celine tells herself. He's made his living by lying to people. This is just another lie. Like all the times he's said he loves her.

So she looks up into his eyes, and lets out that awful part of her that always screams to go for the jugular. "I don't care."

He stumbles back a step like she's punched him. Celine finally breaks into a sprint towards her car.

She looks back, just before she peels away. Mark still stands in the doorway, staring at the spot where she'd been with the same stricken look. For the first time, she sees the full extent of the darkness that has wrapped itself around him. It winds around his wrists, between his ankles, chaining his limbs together and rooting him to the floor of the manor itself.

Save him, shouts the part of her that still loves him, that knows they are not themselves. She could save him. She has the power.

But that’s not her job.

Celine does not plan on ever coming back. She sees Tess and Damien in brief flashes whenever she stops off at home to retrieve funds. They are still dancing around one another. Nothing else has changed. She is growing, becoming more powerful, but everyone else is...stagnant.

Tess corners her only once about what had happened, and for a moment, Celine is angry that Damien told her.

“I wasn’t happy, Tess,” she says, and it is far too close to the truth than she ever planned to admit. “You of all people should understand that. I regret it, but I’d do it again. I had to get away from there.”

There’s a flash of understanding in Tess’s eyes that makes Celine feel almost guilty. No, she wants to say. It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like you. I wasn’t a good person. But it is easier to let Tess think what she will.

She drives into the strange storm that lingers over the hills. The spirit in her passenger seat has a smile that is too wide. It urges her to hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry, aren’t you curious?.

(She will have her answers.)

The void is no longer familiar as she falls through it. It is everything she’s feared; it is being forgotten and being lost; it is her soul severed from her body and a name that will be misspelled on a grave and no one left who cares enough to fix it; it is the light of every bridge she has burned along her way; and worst of all, it is Damien falling with her, clinging to her pinky like he always has even though this is all her fault—

The ice groans beneath her as she sits up.

It is not really the lake she fell through as a teenager, nor is it really that forest. It’s her mind, her power, this place, all coming together to make something of nothing. It flickers and distorts even as Celine tries to hold on to it.

Cracks form beneath her feet as she stands, spiraling out towards the two prone forms lying too far away for her to help. Tess, bloodied, sprawled, moaning weakly. Damien, eyes closed, silent.

“Celine?” Tess’s voice echoes across the lake. With it, the world around them shakes, and the cracks deepen. “Celine, I can’t—I can’t move, please--”

The lake remains, but the trees around them flicker and warp and twist into—into places Celine doesn’t recognize. When she tries to pull it back to the forest, to hold on to anything familiar, Tess sobs.

She sees Tess clearly, now. Her eyes are sunken and red, the skin around them turning grey; her cheeks are hollow and her lips are cracked. Blood and a thin layer of foam have dried on her mouth and nose. The blood on her chest is still fresh, still oozing from the wound.

(It hits Celine in a rush. Influenza Tess has died before Tess has been here before Tess is fighting me for control Tess has a stronger connection Tess will win and I will lose Damien--)

If she and Tess keep playing tug of war, Damien will be dragged to the depths. Celine feels her feet sink a fraction of an inch. She has to act. There is a choice to make and no time to make it.

She runs to Tess.

Tess smiles up at her and Celine wants to recoil from her blood-stained teeth and rheumy eyes. But she remembers that moment, a lifetime ago, pushing Tess to safety and taking the plunge in her place.

(They are not friends. They could never be friends. They are not friends, so why are there tears frozen on Celine’s cheeks?)

Celine jumps. The ice shatters. Tess has enough time to realize what Celine’s done and scream in terror before she vanishes beneath the surface.

A thin crust of rime forms over the cracks, and the ice no longer protests when Celine runs across it to pull Damien to the shore, to pull him into her arms. The world no longer resists as she forces it into as much of a shape as she can manage.

And by the time Damien wakes in that one-room cabin, Celine has nearly convinced herself she doesn’t regret a thing.

[punkscowardschampions]

Fearghal & Tess & Katya

Fearghal: [Notes in detention, let's say he's there today 'cos some teacher was a patronizing dickhead and he told 'em to do one and then did himself] Tess: [we all know she was brawling but let's assume something/someone stopped her at the start of it cos she has no chill rn and they'd be dead] Fearghal: Hey up Tess: g'wed Fearghal: what you in for Tess: [draws a spoon because that means to make a mistake in scouse but with a hand gripping the handle because 'gripped' is caught] Fearghal: [draws an eye on the spoon] Tess: [when you're amused af but you can't show it because such is life so you just draw a big ? like what do you want] Fearghal: you not in year 11? Tess: [cross out the 1 and write a 0] Fearghal: [draws a smiley in the 0 so it looks like an E and does his own question mark] Tess: [writes however much that'd cost back then because idk] Fearghal: sound Fearghal: what's your name then Tess: [draws a _ like fill in anything you like] not gonna fuck you whatever you call me Fearghal: [does a lol and gets told to shut up] Fearghal: alright, blondie it is Tess: [makes a 😒 face at him] bleach ain't only a pure boss bevvy Fearghal: [huge grins back like] Fearghal: so you're smart and all Tess: [🖕 because does she care if the teacher sees not really but 😏 because try and keep some customers babe] Tess: can count the spends you owe if you're deciding you'll leg it Fearghal: [does 'dagger through my heart' act] Fearghal: not do that, you know where I live, babe Tess: if you wanna call it living, irish Fearghal: Living it up in Heswall are ya? I'll pop in for tea when I'm in the area meself Tess: you a scuffer with a baby face? [draws a baby policeman with an irish flag] Fearghal: get fucked am I Fearghal: new one, give you credit there Tess: ask a lotta geg questions, new lad, bit rem if you ain't earning from it Fearghal: Shit, don't tell Donovan he's right Fearghal: really can't read Tess: [is again so amused on the low but] do less drugs Tess: learn more scouse Fearghal: must be your main gig Fearghal: teach me then, blondie Tess: your gary orders are properly keeping my leccy on, yeah [draws a 💡 with a smiley face] Fearghal: better teacher than this lot but that ain't saying fuck all but I reckon I'd learn a thing or two if you were up there instead Fearghal: [throws paperball at board for emphasis and then has to go put it in the bin like 😏] Tess: whatever your meff mates in year 11 have said, they didn't learn or catch nothing off me Fearghal: [when he's back in his seat] Fearghal: I ain't got any blondie, you're alright Tess: [draws him a medal] made up for yous Fearghal: [makes it have a sad face] shouldn't be Tess: [crosses it out like I take it back then] Fearghal: [draws a heart] Tess: [rips up that page deliberately slowly like fuck you] Tess: giz us the £ and garry can show his face Fearghal: [laughs again like sh you have such a loud laugh but not bothered and neither is this teacher lowkey so] Fearghal: at the end, not necking it now, babe Tess: [draws a broken heart with garry written in it] Tess: call me babe again and you ain't getting it Fearghal: [crosses it out] Tess: not as rem as your face would have you look Fearghal: s'okay, I know I'm cute, blondie Tess: stop listening to your ma, irish, she's feeding you lies with the scran Fearghal: don't think it's in her vocabulary or recipe book Fearghal: [crosses out garry and writes his own name] Tess: how am I meant to say that? barely read it Fearghal: want me to teach you Fearghal: gave me the scouse 101 for free Tess: point you in the direction of a girl that'll work on, is right Fearghal: you're a pal Tess: friendly neighbourhood dealer Fearghal: [draws a really crap spiderman] Tess: gonna tat that on me, full credit to yous Fearghal: it is my look too so tah for that Tess: [looks at him like she genuinely hasn't noticed cos lowkey never looks at people if she can help it] Fearghal: [lifts his sleeves where necessary like hiya] Tess: [🙄 but she hasn't looked away so] Fearghal: and that's just the safe for school ones, jailbait Tess: [puts her hand up and is like sir this boy is flirting with me cos she knows he won't actually do anything but she's like um shut up fearghal] Fearghal: [always loling] Tess: try downers Fearghal: what would the chef recommend Tess: I'm not a walking menu Tess: how full's your wallet? Fearghal: not that full Fearghal: but my gaff is shit enough to make me [sad face] Tess: [draws a him with that sad face at a lemonade stand because lemonade is slang for shit drugs I don't think it's scouse but I'm still doing it] Fearghal: [draws a stickman teacher pissing in his cup] Tess: [😏 before she can help it, let's hope her hair is covering her face enough] Fearghal: [draws a landline phone] 123 what's the time and how long we got left Tess: [draws a clock with the time on as it is now and another one with the time they are allowed to leave as if she's challenging him to be able to tell time lol] Fearghal: not flirting with you or nothing but you got the glasses and pencil skirt or have I gotta fork out for them too Tess: [crosses them both out cos she doesn't have either of course and underlines the fork out bit like unlucky] Fearghal: tell all me mates your well expensive, fairplay Tess: tell 'em I ain't for sale and you won't get wrecked Fearghal: sure, lemme hit 'em with my next note Fearghal: [throws it at an empty desk like sup lads] Tess: [draws some ghost 90s fuckboys because amused again] Fearghal: [gives 'em stereotypical scouse names like idk, all of the beatles etc] Fearghal: bessie mates, right Tess: stay close to george, the rest are cunts Fearghal: looking out for me so you can do me in yourself Tess: need you to keep the wolves from my door, irish Tess: dead hero's no use Fearghal: so tell me Fearghal: which one am I, spidey Tess: [shrugs but we all know she's a massive nerd] Fearghal: take superman then Fearghal: 'least draw me the S and I'll see if I've got room on me chest Tess: [draws it at him in the air like] Fearghal: [catches it and thumps on his chest like sorted] Tess: [🙄] Fearghal: [draws a crossed-eyed face with glasses and the teacher bun] Tess: [puts a knife in her hand cos very subtle warning there] Fearghal: [draws target on his back] Tess: [😏] Fearghal: what parties are you hitting tonight Tess: every one Fearghal: busy [🐝] Tess: patronising [drawing of a slug because there isn't an emoji how rude] Fearghal: can put the salt away, meant it, honey [🍯💘] Tess: call me honey again and I'll stab you Fearghal: strangeways, here we come Tess: morgue for yous Fearghal: wish it were a promise, blondie Tess: it is, not a soft lad, i don't only put the tip in, like Fearghal: [puts his hand up like sir this girl is flirting with me] Tess: you wish Fearghal: [does daydream bubble above his cartoon head and sighs IRL so wistfully and dramatically] Tess: [writes I'm a doss cunt in the bubble and makes him be crying] Fearghal: awh, well how'd you know Tess: [points to her eyes like I've got them and use them] Fearghal: pretty Tess: [when you cross it out so dramatically cos you're fuming now because 1. we can all imagine the shit josh used to say 2. she's not allowed to live that way 3. thinks he's just flirting with her like the rest cos she's easy] Tess: fuck off Fearghal: [a bit like ?! but has the decency to hide it like shrugging like alright] Tess: [moody silence be like because can't look at him cos then eye contact and don't think about my eyes please] Fearghal: is charlie coming tonight too Fearghal: [coke] Tess: Yeah Fearghal: y'know what time? Fearghal: [price] Tess: [again idk but let's say she writes it there for him obvs] Fearghal: [does thumbs up when he can catch her eye for a sec] Tess: [nods to show that she saw it but those eyes are dead honey] Fearghal: what do you reckon he peps his coffee up with then [gesturing at the teacher who's so out of it] Tess: scotch [draws a 👃 like figured that out ages ago bye] Tess: teacher's highland cream if he had jokes Fearghal: you're funny even if he ain't Fearghal: not giving him that much credit personally, least that's an actual drink Fearghal: I reckon it's straight paint thinner vodka in that black coffee Tess: he likes to actually drink, irish he's not woman having a midlife crisis Tess: that was his wife Fearghal: so it ain't her red wine leftovers in there Tess: it'd be turned to vinegar Fearghal: [draws broken heart] Fearghal: bless him Tess: you sound like you're a woman having a midlife crisis Fearghal: ugly bitch if I am Tess: sound not look, bitch Fearghal: I get it Fearghal: older women are hot Tess: [crosses it out like no thank you] Fearghal: [draws himself with long hair crying] Tess: [starts putting her hand up again but puts it down immediately cos just for the bants] Fearghal: [is 😏] Fearghal: you'd know if I was Fearghal: reps anything to go by Tess: [draws an arrow to the older women are hot comment even though she put a line through it let's say it's still readable and a 💔 next to it] Tess: too young for you Fearghal: you're gutted Tess: [goes over and over the 💔 until it's really dark and emphasised like yeah obvs] Fearghal: eh carve it on the desk so i know its real, blondie Tess: [does because give a shit] Fearghal: [beats whatever is probably written about them in the bathrooms etc] Tess: [taking a sec to deal with her other notes/drug deals while the teacher is drunkenly asleep like] Tess: carve it into his head so i know it's real, fearghal Fearghal: [the rest of y'all better keep your chill enough so he can get it done then you can all run out early tah, 'DOSS CUNT' is the way to go obvs] Tess: [is so 😏 not fake rn at all] Tess: [people be following her like she's the pied piper cos deals to be done] Fearghal: [goes off like he ain't gonna stay but is actually just going for a piss or whatever so the crowd dies down a bit] Tess: [when you're waiting because you need the cash but it looks like you're shamelessly waiting for him] Fearghal: [walks back when the last kid is leaving and makes a face like 'looks like you'd make lots offa him'] Tess: [giving nothing away by your face because in work mode] Fearghal: [when you sit down on a step, wherever and get out a pouch of baccy and a rizla and start rolling 'cos conflicted 'cos got your own shit you have to save for here but also clearly need to get fucked up atm so- but you offer her the first one 'may as well'] Tess: [gives him a death stare like fuck you I can roll my own and probs better than you but still takes it but deliberately doesn't sit cos gotta keep that distance, blowing smoke like you're so furious he's being a time waster when we all know it's good to take a sec actually] Fearghal: [gives an amused little half-laugh on the exhale of his own smoke at her display 'can't charge me for time, still have 20 minutes in there if it weren't for me, blondie' shrugs] Tess: [just got the 🚬 in your mouth so you can pick at the bitten skin around your nails like it's not sore enough already and pretend like he doesn't exist to you] Fearghal: [just whistling to yourself 'cos you can't do silence] Tess: [when you lowkey kick him like shut up omg because can't pretend he's not there if he won't let you and to remind him you still are like are we doing this deal or nah] Fearghal: [slides the cash over to her on the floor like there you go] Tess: [hands him them droogs after she's picked up and counted the cash of course but she's written her name for him on whatever they're in like there you go 'nickname can go die on it's arse now' but we all know she'd die if he called her by her name actually] Fearghal: [breathes out like really? when he sees her name 'cos coincidences everywhere and shakes his head like 'fuck sake' and a little lol 'as long as you don't stab me for it, I'll stick with Blondie, tah'] Tess: [another death stare because what's wrong with my name fuck you and also so glad I bothered telling you then but crosses her name out like it's so casual which makes me lol cos it looks like she's gonna take her drugs back like none for you bye] Fearghal: [just getting up to either get his drugs or money back but still more bemused than mad, like 'nothing personal, babe'] Tess: [shoves his drugs back at him because don't call me babe] Fearghal: [does a cross over his mouth like whoops and pockets the droogs 'tah'] Tess: [just 🚬 like because as he said nowhere to be yet] Fearghal: [when you're just in your thoughts but trying not to be so you gotta lowkey make smalltalk 'you always lived here?'] Tess: ['the accent's not jarg, irish, is yours?' why is that the word for fake okay then] Fearghal: [can just about follow that one lol 'yeah, reckon it'd make me dead popular, nothing like fitting in' gestures at himself up and down with a grin 'cos does not in any way] Tess: [looks him up and down like 😒 don't protest too much babe 'heard you ain't had no issue finding holes to fit yourself in' cos that milf rumor popping off] Fearghal: ['careful, indifference gets to sounding like jealousy if you shout about it' but shrugs like and what?] Tess: [laughs in a way that would be so much like a fuck you 'proper scouse 101, say a cunt's still got a ma and da under one roof, don't come and fuck that ma under the same, however boss she looks in a nightie and slippers'] Fearghal: [makes a face that's so fake shook 'Well now you tell me, Blondie- No bother, 'cos if I can get in, s'the family that's already broken, not the door, give a fuck if some soft lad-' mimics her accent for that bit- 'and his da are gonna cry about it, his mum weren't'] Tess: [shrugs because lbr if that lad was gonna do anything or his dad they already would have and she's done her bit by 'warning' him for next time] Fearghal: [flicks his ash away and coughs 'if they seem desperate to get caught themselves, I'll reconsider next time, maybe'] Tess: ['it's your life, babe' mimics his accent for the babe because have to if he did it first] Fearghal: [nods like 😏 'nah fairplay my accent is well fit'] Tess: [the most disgusted face she can do and still be serious] Fearghal: [just laughing always 'alright then blondie, see you later'] Tess: [nods because inevitably] Fearghal: [time skip to a party] Tess: [girl be working hard drinking some horrible 90s energy drink that's probably worse for you than drugs because much to do] Fearghal: [can only imagine how gone he and Katya are] Tess: [everyone but her lowkey how bored she'd be] Fearghal: [s'not a mood but this party wouldn't really be anyway we all know it Tess: [story of their lives] Katya: [gonna be looking ravey af, the glitter and neon paint would be so real, coming up like 'hello' like you're already mates] Tess: [when she'd be shook because nobody says hello to her ever but covering it well of course and just giving her a look like what do you want because there's only one reason she's here] Katya: ['You look very bored'] Tess: [has to stop herself from loling because caught off guard again as that wasn't what she expected her to say but just looks at her like let me sell you some drugs and then I'll have something to do] Katya: [looks at her and raises an eyebrow like, I don't buy my own drugs 'Would you like something else to drink?'] Tess: [is conflicted af because obviously would because this party is boring af but like is also working and also we know the state of her father and also doesn't like owing people things which reminds her that she owes Fearghal a smoke so she's like 'where's the irish lad?' because thinks they are fucking/know each other better than they do] Katya: [has a look round genuinely like idk let's see but clearly can't see him or she would've babe, rolls eyes but affectionately 'must be upstairs'] Tess: [shrugs like it's so casual but goes to get a real drink cos fuck it] Katya: [is like 'hey!' 'cos she was gonna get it but smiles and stays put 'cos not gonna follow her that hard] Tess: [is probably ages cos getting waylaid by punters but comes back to stand where she was cos Katya is less annoying than the other dickheads here] Katya: [has just been grooving, with lads she wanna, avoiding the ones she don't like 'scuse me, in that vain running up to Tess and being like 'save me' in her ear so this particular one takes the hint] Tess: [death stares whoever it is like off you fuck now cos you don't wanna start shit with her boy] Katya: [shrugs at him like whoops sorry but is 😏 so evidently not 'Мудак' (Mu-dak, specifically for dudes) as she turns back to Tess, shaking her head] Fearghal: [suddenly popping back up like 'Dunno what you just called me but don't reckon I deserve it, like'] Tess: [is also 😏 because amused by Katya's antics anyway but have to keep the expression on around Fearghal of course and puts a 🚬 in his hand immediately like] Fearghal: [looks at it then at her like confusion 'cos high but then 💡 and nods her way like oh yeah, cheers and puts it behind his ear for later and puts an arm around Katya who is squishing his face like 'never!'] Tess: [when they are nothing like Josh or Summer but it reminds her of having friends so she wants to die just drinking too fast like] Fearghal: [the mood so neither of them is gonna call her out on it even though they see it, Fearghal specifically looking at her like 'Celebrating?' and a face like same 'cos doesn't need saying that obvs not but Katya raising whatever she's got like 'Ha За здоровье!'] Tess: [when she just ignores him and cheers Katya with whatever you're drinking as like I'll be off now but then she sees that the gruesome twosome are here and straight up freezes] Fearghal: [when you both look and are both 😒 like eurgh 'cos wouldn't fuck with either of them as is and like everyone knows who they are in relation to Tess so get why she's reacted like that, so he goes off to get more drinks having to go past them like 'scuse me dickheads and Katya turning her back so Tess can stand her ground and not but still look like they having an in-depth convo 'she was your friend' a statement way more than a question 'I think she would like to be you, she is an idiot'] Tess: [watching them kiss and dance together cos can't look away so I hope Fearghal barges into them even if he didn't need to so she can stop and down the rest of her drink to get rid of the taste of blood in her mouth from holding herself back from doing anything else since she's still got drugs on her like we said, can't be starting drama especially with Summer who's 100% that bitch. About to nod at Katya because she was her friend for such a long time but then snapping the fuck out of that instinct and shaking her head because not anymore clearly and scoffing because yeah Summer is an idiot, who'd wanna be her when she doesn't even wanna] Fearghal: [Katya scoffs back 'She would rather be thought pretty and have boyfriend than have things that matters but this is like all girls our age, yes? Silly, knowing nothing about anything.' Fearghal coming back with three of whatever and shoving one at Tess as quick as she did the cigarette, swapping it for her empty, throwing it not at Summer and Josh but in their general direction 'What would you like to do?' Katya adds, taking a swig of her drink 'We can find you more customers if you would like'] Tess: [literally would wanna say something about how much Josh and the family they were meant to be did matter but not drunk enough for that although she blatantly will be soon cos haven't eaten anything in forever probably and would drink like half the drink he just gave her immediately like what could go wrong here. Finally saying 'Yeah' to both things but so quietly they'd struggle to hear it over this rave if they were anybody else and making herself move into the crowd to get customers instead of away which is what she'd wanna do] Fearghal: [she can go off to get all the lads and clearly get so fucked up 'cos all gonna buy her some too 'cos that's the ploy here, whereas he's gonna stay in sight 'cos shamelessly protective and can step in if anything kicks off with those two] Tess: [god bless, not all heroes wear capes lads, I appreciate less lads for Tess to have to deal with as she's getting white girl wasted in this club] Fearghal: [go have a cry you deserve it lbr] Tess: [just in the bathroom like the girly cliche you're not] Fearghal: [have at it honey, shame he can't smack Josh yet really] Tess: [kick everyone out first though you don't need that to be your rep] Fearghal: [meanwhile actually do smack him 'cos any reason at a party where everyone's fucked up] Tess: [hooray for coming back and them being gone] Fearghal: [small blessings, and they've probably shifted a fair amount between 'em so] Tess: [give this smol drunk child her money lads and she'll try not to cry on you] Fearghal: [all the funds for you] Tess: [give them a drug freebie like thanks even if Katya might wanna save hers for later if she's had loads] Fearghal: [I hope you've cheeked some for later or you'll be so skyhigh/about to die lol] Tess: [when she'd just wanna leave but like that's not her life]

[entireoranges-creativity]

Rumors

Title: Rumors Fandom: Figure Skating Ship: VirtueMoir Note: Ok so this one of those stories where I had no real plans I just wrote and let my muse lead me where it felt necessary. It lead me here ... to be honest I’m not sure if I’m that happy with the results. But I figured I might as well share it. Disclaimer: This is a fictional story based on real people if that makes you uneasy don’t read. Also do not link on any sites without my permission.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Scott eyebrows perk up and a smirk develops as he listens to Tessa mutter with growing frustration from across the room as she scrolled through her cellphone.

“What’s up T?”

“Oh nothing. Well besides the fact I’m apparently pregnant. Of course your the father.” He chuckles shaking his head.

“Yeah yeah we already knew that. Isn’t our secret love child like five by now? God we’re horrible parents!’ Rumors had always been circulating over their relationship status. Assumptions, stories, and boldface lies were attached to both their names. Scott always rolled his eyes at them and never really gave them consideration. The ignore it they’ll go away mindset. T

‘I mean its the same shit as always. Twisting everything around, adding inflection that clearly wasn’t there. Most people don’t believe that stuff. So what’s the difference this time Tess?”

“The difference is I threw up during a performance about three weeks ago? Remember?” How could he forget? She had literally vomited on him during one of their lifts. Scott’s memory was full of happy and blessed memories with Tessa; that was not one of them.

“Yeah I am aware of it. You had food poisoning. I told you that fish didn’t look right.” Tessa glares at him; she was really getting tired of him bringing that up.

“According to the internet that was just a rouse to cover up the fact that I’m actually pregnant. Based on the assumption we all eat the same stuff while on tour and since nobody else got sick then the food narrative poisoning is a lie. Oh and because I haven’t discussed what happened besides the initial tweet people think I’m hiding something.”

“Yeah because it’s perfectly normal for people to discuss in details pouts of food poisoning and getting violently ill in public. Seriously Tessa don’t let it bother you. Like all the other rumors it will end. I mean I can sorta see these kooks believing we’re hiding one kid. But two? We’d be arrested!” He raises from his seat and walks over to her placing a hand on her shoulder.

“It gets frustrating. Tiresome I suppose is a better description. It’s hard to live when every move you make is underneath a thousand microscopes. The worst part is that no matter what I say about any subject or personal opinion someone out there will think I’m lying.”

“As I said most people out there don’t believe that shit. And I have a feeling a lot of those who do post those idiotic rumors and strange pieced together speculations deep down they realize its just a fantasy. A bit of fun.”

“Yeah but it’s starting to leave the fan generated social sites and some more reputable sources are starting to ask questions and make assumptions.’ Tessa drops her head and sighs. ‘I’m just emotionally exhausted from all of it. I’ve tried being nice, have been brutally honest, just plain ignored everything. Its never the right approach. How does it not get to you?”

“Because I have better things to worry about. It helps I don’t pay attention to shit like this.’ He leans over and taps her phone. ‘You should too.” She scoffs.

“It’s not that easy Scott. The world now runs on social media. You gotta take the good with the bad. I just wish the bad wasn’t so shitty. Ugh sorry. Guess I’m just having a bad day.” Scott squeezes her neck.

“Don’t worry about it. You’re allowed. Hey!” Tessa squirms in her seat to face him.

“Yes?”

“A bad day? Feeling moody?”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t need to.” Tessa tries to glare at him but soon begins to smile; she couldn’t actually refute what he said.

“Fine whatever.”

“I know its not that time of the month.” He had her cycle memorized by the time she was seventeen, sometimes more aware of its upcoming arrival then she is.

“Is there a point to this?”

“Maybe you are pregnant!” Scott gasp dramatically.

“Hilarious. Absolutely hilarious.”

“Just one question whose the father?’ Tessa shakes her head returning to attention to her phone. ‘Well? Who’s ass do I need to kick?”

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“No, not really. Seriously though who would it be?” She turns the phone back to the home screen and repositions herself again to look at him.

“Scott I’m not pregnant. I haven’t even had sex with anyone in....well whose counting! So why the question?’ He shrugs and suddenly becomes obsessed with looking at his feet. ‘Scott? Look at me.” After a few moments he does.

“What?”

“Why do you have this weird desire to know who’d the father of my fictional baby would be?”

“I don’t. I was just messing around.” He gives a strained laugh and playful swats her back.

“Stop lying. You really do suck at it.”

“I’m jealous.” He mumbles.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m jealous.” He says louder.

“Of what?!”

“Nothing.”

“Jesus Scott! Are you actually jealous of the idea I had a child with someone else?! A child that does not exist?!’ He just shrugs again. ‘And people actually think we have a relationship! God you can’t even tell me how you feel!’ Its at that moment Scott seemingly springs to life leans down and kisses her, hard, passionately, and almost desperately. Tessa responds by jerking away and to her feet.

‘What the hell Scott?!” The reality of what he did washes over him. He had no right to do that. To treat or anyone else for that matter like that. He was raised better then that.

“God T I’m sorry.” He wants to say more, she deserves more but nothing comes to mind.

“Scott I can’t do this. I really can’t. I feel like I’m drowning and you’re holding me under the water. You scoff and laugh at these bullshit rumors of babies and quick kisses during performances. You say or do nothing to help end them. Your silence speaks louder then you realize. Leaving it up to me to try to extinguish the flames. Meanwhile I have no idea how you really feel!”

“You’re better at that stuff. With the rumors and speculation aspect I mean. If you want me to get more vocal in trying to stop them I will. I can become a first class dick.” Tessa’s eyes soften. She knew he’d try but he didn’t have it in him to be a dick.

“I just don’t want all the pressure on me. These rumors are about us. Or maybe there not rumors?” He throws his head back and laughs.

“So you are pregnant!” She rolls her eyes.

“Scott....”

“I know. I know. Sorry. You should know how I feel.” He takes a step towards her.

“How? How am I supposed to know? You never say anything and when you do its like you’re reading from a script. You flirt, you kiss me! You say during press conferences you want to possibly pursue a relationship, but then you never discuss it with me! You get jealous over the idea I’d have a child with someone else. Then go back to making jokes. Scott I thought the fans on social media made my head spin but its you.” Scott runs his hand through his hair his eyes returning to the floor.

“I can’t discuss how I feel because I don’t know how I feel.”

“Stop lying.”

“I’m not!” She this time moves forward until she’s able to press her finger into his chest.

“Then stop hiding. Talk to me Scott.”

“I don’t want things to change.” His voice is soft.

“What would make them change?” She knew but she was gonna make him face it.

“If I admit I like you. If I admit I love you. If I admit the idea of you with another guy kills me. If I admit I can’t be strong enough for you. You’re right I back away from these rumors, I don’t help when I force you to handle everything. And I know the pressure is killing you. Tessa? What if that reality can’t hold up to what we have now?” She moves her hand up and caresses the side of his face. He leans into the touch closing his eyes.

“We won’t have to hide anymore. We won’t have to dodge the rumors.” He reopens his eyes.

“It could fail.”

“We have never failed at anything. I love you Scott. Simple as that. But if you truly are not ready or willing for this I understand. Life will continue on as it always had. I’m sure within the next ten years we’ll be up to four kids which are surprisingly never seen!”

“Prodigy ice dancing kids.”

“Of course.”

“All with your green eyes.” Tessa blushes.

“I’m okay with the fantasy. If that’s all you want Scott.” He shakes his head.

“I’m not. I want the reality. I want you.” He leans in and kisses her again. This time a real gentleman kiss.

“I still can’t believe you were actually jealous of a rumor.” She mutters a few seconds later after the kiss ended.

“I still can’t believe you ate that fish.”

“I swear to God if you bring that up one more time this will end before it begins!”

“Duly noted. So what now?” Tessa shrugs.

“I suppose we just do what we always do. And right now I’m thinking I could use some dinner. Interested in joining me?”

“Of course. I heard of a really good sea food pla...”

“Scott!”

“What? I didn’t say fish!” She throws her head back and joyfully laughs.

“Fine. Yeah sounds good.”

+++THE END+++

[dontshootmespence]

No Corner of the Globe

A/N: An anon request for a Spencer x Reader where their little girl gets kidnapped and the two are in turmoil trying to track down their daughter, Alice.

“Mommy! Daddy!”

Both parents turned around, smiles plastered on their tired faces as their daughter, Alice, ran back to them to give them another hug. 

Although she was only in first grade, her elementary school had an early hours program for parents that needed to go into work early, and Alice’s mom and dad paid each time rather than a flat fee to go every day, but unfortunately they’d called in on a case, so at 7:00 am, they dropped her off. 

“Love you Mommy. Love you Daddy.”

Spencer dipped down and wrapped his arms around her, pretend snoring as he slept on her head and made her giggle. As her few classmates played in the background, Spencer and Y/N pressed featherlight kisses to her forehead before leaving for the day. “We love you too, sweetheart.”

“False alarm,” Emily said as they walked in that morning.

Y/N collapsed into her desk. “What happened?” She was so tired. While she was glad the case didn’t need their attention, she was disappointed that they’d had to leave Alice at school so early in the morning.

Matt walked in from the hallway with Garcia right behind him, her hot pink heels clicking against the floor. “We had an Amber Alert in the area, but it turns out she ran off after an argument and now she’s back home.”

“Well, thank god for that,” Spencer said, his eyes heavy as he brought his wife a cup of coffee. “We dropped Alice off early.”

Emily felt bad; she knew that Spencer and Y/N didn’t like dropping her off early if they didn’t have to. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Not your fault.” Y/N pulled a stack of papers that was practically teetering off the side of the desk toward her. If they were going to be in the office early, they might as well get some work done. “I’m just glad the girl is home safely.”

“Me too,” Spencer said. His arm was rested on the back of his wife’s chair and slowly but surely he stopped bearing weight on it, eventually falling and resting his head on top of hers. He started pretend snoring like he did on Alice earlier and she giggled much the same. Spencer was convinced his the sound of his daughter’s laughter came from his wife. She patted his head, playing with his hair for a minute before telling him to go fall asleep at his desk so she could get some work done.

Spencer sleepily walked over to his desk, running into JJ and Emily along the way and pretending to sleep on them too. “You’re a dork, Reid,” Emily laughed.

“I know.”

Paperwork days were both a blessing and a curse. Sure, they didn’t have a case, which meant that no one was in immediate, which was amazing, but paperwork, especially Bureau paperwork, was mind-numbingly boring. 

When Y/N’s phone rang five hours later, she was shaken from her hypnotic paper-induced trance to see Tess, the nanny’s, phone number. “Hey Tess,” she greeted, still entranced by the monotony of Bureau papers. “What’s up?”

“I-I-I’m so sorry. I turned my back for one second.” Her voice was so shaky, Y/N could almost hear the bile rise in the woman’s throat and her heart sunk in turn.

“What happened?”

“I turned to talk to her teacher for a second and she said she was going to talk to Briana. I went to find Briana and she wasn’t there, oh my god, Y/N I’m so sorry!”

Spencer had seen her face from across the room. “What happened?”

“Alice is missing.”

Panic overtook him before he turned around and screamed into Emily’s office. “We need an Amber alert out on Alice now!”

With five minutes, the entire floor was buzzing with people. Emily had called everyone to turn their attention toward this case. “One of our own is missing,” Emily started, her breathe catching in her throat. “Alice Reid went missing from her school. Maybe she wandered off. Maybe she was taken. But until we know, we do not sleep.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a woman walk in with an envelope in her hand - a delivery. “What is this?”

“It’s a DVD.” “Did you watch it?” Emily asked. Y/N and Spencer ran up behind her. 

The young blonde looked scared. “Only because I didn’t know what it was, but once I saw it and read the note I brought it straight here. It was slipped under my office door. I work at the law firm on 9th Street.”

“What’s on it?” Spencer asked. He stared down at the disc in horror. This was his worst nightmare come to fruition. 

“There’s a little girl reading from a piece of paper.”

Emily took it and turned to them. “You shouldn’t watch this.”

Y/N choked on her words as she spoke. “How c-can we not? Emily, that’s probably our baby.”

“We have no idea what else is on this disc...” The last thing she wanted was for her friends to witness something despicable being done to their child. 

Spencer swallowed back vomit and took the disc, running into the conference room as Y/N and the rest of the Bureau followed behind. When the disc turned on, their worst fears were confirmed. Alice was sitting tied to a chair with a gun to her head. The man’s voice was disguised as he spoke. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Read from the paper like I told you too. And everything will be okay.”

Y/N’s hands clenched as she saw the man brush the gun through her daughter’s hair. If she found him, she would kill him - no hesitation. 

“Listen carefully,” Alice started, the tears streaming down her face. “If you want to see your little girl again, you will do exactly was we say.” That’s when Spencer noticed another kidnapper standing toward the back of the frame. “We want $5 million dollars for her safe return. Only one parent will be allowed to bring us our ransom. If anyone else comes, the little girl dies.” She looked toward the man, her lip quivering.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice obviously distorted. “Mommy and Daddy will give me money and you’ll get to go home. Keep reading.”

Her eyes were so filled with tears that she couldn’t even see the paper. Spencer almost threw up when the man wiped his daughter’s tears away. He’d never felt so enraged in all his life. He prayed that someone else found these people before he did, because he would not hesitate to kill them. “If you agree to our terms, one of you will respond via the 5:00 news. You have 24 hours to agree to our terms. If you agree to our terms, we will send another disc detailing what is to be done next. We look forward to hearing from you.”

At that moment, the DVD cut off. 

“Oh god,” Spencer said, falling to the floor. “If they hurt her, I’ll kill them. Emily, I’ll kill them all, I swear. Please...” He stood up and grabbed Y/N’s hand. “Please help us get her back. Please!”

Y/N broke down, her heart pounding so fast she thought she might die from shock and anger and heartache. 

While the two parents sobbed, Garcia hugged them, promising that she’d track them down. Emily, JJ, Tara, Rossi, Matt and Luke all began profiling at the speed of light.

JJ ran to call the local news station, switching right back into liaison mode because it was necessary. “While JJ does that, Y/N you’re going to go on TV.”

“Why me?” She asked. She couldn’t breathe.

Spencer couldn’t control his thoughts. It wasn’t computing in his head why one should speak to the criminals over the others. “If they are going to be moved by anyone, it’s a woman,” Luke said. He was right. Of course he was right. He and Y/N sat down numb as the team told them what they were going to do. “Y/N, you’ll get on and tell them that you’re going to do what they ask. Make sure you humanize Alice in their minds. Be careful what you say. It’s the money they want. They don’t want her.”

Spencer would immediately get on air and threaten their lives. That’s why he wasn’t going on, but he wasn’t so sure Y/N was going to be able to completely hold her composure either. Tara crouched in front of Y/N and grabbed her hands. “Stay strong. You can do this. We’re going to get her back.”

JJ ran back into the room. “We need to get to the news station. We’ll be on in 20 minutes.”

As they ran out of the bullpen, the rest of the Bureau poured over the DVD trying to discern every possible detail they could to figure out where Alice was being kept. 

“I can’t do this, Spence,” she said.

He hugged her close. “You can. I know you can.” He was so scared, but he believed in his wife. “We’re going to get her back.”

“But what if..w-what...” She wanted to ask what would happen if they couldn’t find her. How would their little girl feel knowing Mommy and Daddy couldn’t save her? “Oh my god...I can’t do this...” Her breaths were rattling in her chest. It was only Spencer’s firm touch that was reminding her to breathe at all.

“Y/N, your on in 20 seconds. You can do this,” JJ said. “Take a deep breathe.”

She did as she was told and walked in front of the camera.

Five...four...three...two...one...

“My name is Special Agent Y/N Reid with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. To the two people that have our daughter, my husband and I have heard your demands and we agree to your terms.” Her throat was on fire. How was she supposed to get through this with any sort of composure? The tears were already burning her eyes. “A-Alice is just a little girl,” she continued as the tears fell. “All we w-want is for her to come home safely.”

Spencer stood behind the camera, giving her nods of encouragement as his hands shook. 

“She’s such a smart little girl. And so carefree and compassionate...” Her mind drifted for a second. Alice was just learning to ride a bike and starting her multiplication tables despite her young age. She was their perfect little angel and some bastard had her in their grasp. “All we want is her back safely. We will get you what you want.”

They were about to cut the feed when Y/N decided to add one more thing. “I swear on my life, I will get you what you want, but if you hurt one hair on my daughter’s head, there is no corner of the globe you will be able to escape to where I will not find you.”

Her fists clenched as the camera cut and JJ ran toward her. Spencer followed closely behind. “You did great,” she said softly, wiping the tears away with the pads of her thumbs.

“What about that last bit? I couldn’t help m-myself,” she replied. “But what if it made them mad and they hurt her. JJ what have I done!?”

Spencer enveloped her as she screamed. 

“What have I done?”

His hand rubbed the back of her head. “It’s okay. Like everyone said before. They want the money. They know they won’t get it if anything happens to her.”

What had she done?

The kidnappers watched the mother’s impassioned plea. “See?” He said to Alice. “Mommy and Daddy are giving us what we want. You get to go home soon.”

Alice took a deep breath. She wasn’t sure she could cry anymore. Plus, Mommy and Daddy always told her to be brave. “Just don’t hurt me,” she said softly. “I just want to go home.”

“Soon, sweetheart,” he replied, as he tapped his finger underneath her chin. She shuddered, but said nothing. “Soon.”

As the kidnappers had promised, a second disc was brought to the Bureau by another random citizen whose door it had been slipped under. This one had the kidnappers speaking directly.

“I will be at the Chevy Chase Pavilion ‘s food court at 8:30 this evening. One parent will be there. Just one. I will slit her throat if I see any other officers in the vicinity. You will have my money on hand. We will exchange one for the other. Everyone will have what they want. Remember, do not attempt to bring anyone else. My accomplice will be on the upper floor with a gun in hand. If anything does not go according to plan, he has been told to shoot without mercy. If you do not want blood on your hands, you will do as I say.”

“How do we do this?” Spencer asked.

Neither of them had cried since the news station. They were just walking around like zombies taking instruction whenever someone spoke to them. “Since Y/N made the threat, you’ll go,” Rossi said. “We have the money in here.” He handed over a heavy attache case and Y/N opened it. 

“How?” It was five million dollars.

Rossi kissed her forehead. “I put up collateral. It’s mine.”

“Thank you,” she sobbed.

Spencer looked toward the ground, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you, Rossi.”

He nodded. Later on, he’d break down his walls a bit. Right now, Spencer and Y/N needed him strong. “Let’s go get your little girl back.”

Spencer and Y/N had been informed of the plan. The bureau would be there in plain clothes, guns tucked away. Local law enforcement would be doing the same. Beyond that though, he didn’t remember anything except for what he was supposed to do. 

His hand gripped the handle of the case as he scanned the crowd. There were so many people in here. How was he supposed to do this without getting anyone hurt in the process?

Across the way, near the pizza place, he saw her. Alice was standing with a man’s hand on her shoulder. It took everything in Spencer’s body not to go charging toward him.

With the money in hand, Spencer walked across the mall. The look in Alice’s eyes when he approached nearly broke his heart. She looked like she felt bad. Like she thought this was her fault. “Give me my daughter,” he said steadily.

“Open the case slightly so I can see what’s inside.”

Spencer did as the man said. Alice stayed silent. When he was satisfied, Spencer closed the case and handed it over at the same time the man released his grip on Alice. 

When Alice gripped his leg, it was like he could finally breathe again. “Are you okay, baby?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, Daddy!”

“It’s not your fault baby. It’s the bad guys.” But when he looked up, the man was already walking away. 

Thankfully, the entire BAU and local police department were in the mall. “Freeze!” The local sheriff screamed. One by one officers and agents emerged, guns drawn and ready to fire. 

He dropped the case. He was outsmarted and he knew it. Cover for himself in a crowded mall also meant that law enforcement could conceal themselves. Plus, he’d played his hand by telling them about his accomplice. He was taken down easily. Before the local officer could make an arrest, Y/N dropped her gun and ran toward him, tackling him to the ground and punching him over and over and over again. 

She had to be pulled off. She wanted him dead. She wanted every bone in his body crushed to dust, but then she looked to where the crowd had parted and saw Spencer and Alice. 

“Alice! I’m so sorry, baby!” Y/N sobbed so hard she felt like she was going to throw up. 

Spencer just felt relief. As Emily walked away, the man now in cuffs, she gave him a nod. “It’s all over,” Spencer said softly, hugging them both.

“Are you okay?” Y/N asked.

“Yes. Mommy. I’m sorry, I tried to get away, but he was too strong.”

“I know, baby, I know. It’s not your fault.” The crowd stared on, but she couldn’t care less. Clutching her daughter’s face, she kissed her cheek. “Daddy and I will never let anyone hurt you ever again.”

Finally, after all the shock, Alice started to cry. “Can we go home?”

“After a quick trip to the doctor,” Spencer said. “Just to make sure you’re okay.”

They started walking through the crowd and out into the parking lot where JJ was going to pick them up. Everything felt surreal as his little girl lay on his shoulder. So many other parents had not been so lucky to have their kids returned to them. It was like the reality of the situation had just set in.

“Can I sleep with you and Mommy tonight?” She asked, tears still tinging her cherubic little face. “I don’t want the bad men to come back.”

Y/N wiped her tears away. “Yes you can. And they are never coming back again. Daddy and I will never let someone take you away again. Ever.”

She’d aged 10 years in the past few hours. There was no way they could live through something like this again; it would kill them.

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