#but she died before her family and they’re all in heaven now so they hardly remember each other

[dolls-self-ships]

hazbin hotel self insert number 2 because I’ve lost all control of my life

@menshusband @shiny-self-shipping @westiefromtheeast @bat-anon @sunflawyer @sunstar-of-the-north

[theacevampire]

A Princess' Duty I

Pairing: Kita x fem!Reader

Genre: Royal AU, romance, forced/arranged marriage, betrayal

Wordcount: ~2.3k

Warnings: mentions of parents' death, (attempted) murder but nothing graphic

Track: Amanda Tenfjord – Die Together

A/N: This fic is part of @sasusaki's Kavyaverse Collab.This was due on July 2, so I apologize for posting late. Also, happy (belated birthday to our king Kita!

A Princess' Duty masterlist

The weather was beautiful as springtime slowly banished the winter and its gloomy atmosphere. The sun shone brightly, no clouds blurring its rays, the bird’s chirping chimed through the air and a soft breeze twirled petals and leaves around you. The scent of hyacinths tickled your nose like a page from a picture book. A tear fell down your cheek and into the bouquet in your hands.

It was ironic. The weather was so different from your sentiment. Usually, the sun would invite you to go for a ride with your beloved horse, enjoying the warmness on your skin and the wind in your hair, but today the warmth felt like salt in your wound.

You got on your knees and placed the bouquet of flowers on the moist soil, right next to the black marble statue of an angel. Not even two months ago, Daichi would’ve scolded you for potentially ruining your dress and lectured you about how a princess shouldn’t kneel in the dirt, but today he didn’t.

Today the dirt on your dress was trivial. Insignificant. Negligible. Just like everything else. Your fingers brushed over the names of your parents and younger siblings engraved in the gravestone. Today, Daichi laid his hand on your shoulder and squeezed it, silently providing you stability. Stability he barely had himself. 

“I don’t think I have realized they’re gone forever yet.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. If you spoke any louder only a croak would come out. “We will never hear Akiko’s laugh or Shiro and Yoshiro’s banter again. Or Mother and Father arguing about the next banquet’s seating arrangements.” More tears streamed down your face and you balled your hands into fists, gathering the grave’s dirt under your nails.

Daichi’s laugh was heartbroken. “Don’t say that. We wouldn’t want them debating in heaven whether they were having a discussion or an argument once again. What would God think of our family?”

Despite all the tears and sorrow, you smiled at the memory of your mother’s voice echoing through the halls, defending her firm belief she and your father had been merely discussing the matter while he had mumbled something about this hardly being a discussion but rather an argument. Still, they always smiled at each other while doing so, because such trivial matters couldn’t damage their marriage – nothing could. Ever.

“They really loved each other deeply.” You turned your head to Daichi as he looked up into the sky. His expression was dreamy, but you noticed the tears burning in his eyes too.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown. And he was still able to point his gaze up. Sure, his whole life Daichi had been prepared to become king, to reign over the Kingdom of Karasuno. But not at the age of twenty-one. He wasn’t supposed to take over the throne until your father had died of old age in a decade. But there he stood now: a king after losing his family and his head still high.

You made a move to get up and his attention snapped back to you, before he offered you his hand, helping you on your feet again. You gulped the lump in your throat, picking an entangled leaf from his hair.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” You faked ignorance, very well aware you did nothing to hide your emotions – not that it was an option. He had always been able to read you like an open book.

“Pity written all over your face.” A smile tugged on his lips as he tipped your nose with his index finger. “I’m your older brother, I’m here to protect you, to comfort you. I’m supposed to be the strong one, the one helping you through the loss of your parents and siblings.”

“Our parents and our siblings, Daichi. They were your family too, Daichi. It’s fine to express your grief to me. To whom else would you, if not me, your sister? We’re in this together.”

Slowly, the two of you made your way back towards the castle, away from the cemetery’s heavy aura. The servants knew not to approach you during your mourning times at the grave, but neither of you could escape the royal duties forever. Both of you knew that.

Passing through the palace grounds lifted some of the weight of your chest. Leaving the thick atmosphere made breathing easier again and the bird’s chirping didn’t feel like mockery anymore but reassurance the two of you could manage. With a shy smile you linked your arm with Daichi’s, squeezing it lightly to give him silent support.

“Your Majesty!” 

Daichi flinched as Nishinoya’s voice called from behind you. He still wasn’t used to the new title. A title he didn’t like because it reminded him of the price he had paid.

Daichi furrowed his eyebrows as he turned around. “Nishinoya! Did I not tell you to refrain from disturbing us?”

You laid your hand on his forearm to calm him down. Nishinoya was a reliable messenger, who would never refuse orders if it wasn’t a serious matter. “What is it, Yū?” you asked in a tone softer than your brother’s.

Breathless, Nishinoya bowed to you and you noticed the sweat glistering on his forehead. As Karasuno’s messenger, it was hard to bring his body to the point of sweating. “Your Highness.” He took two more deep breaths before continuing, “I’m really sorry for disobeying your orders, Sire, but His Majesty, King Shinsuke Kita of Inarizaki, is here, asking for his bride.”

“His bride?”

Nishinoya’s gaze flickered to you and he faltered. Your confusion and the deepening furrows on Daichi’s forehead told him neither you nor your brother knew what he was talking about. He gulped, looking at Daichi. “Yes. According to him, you signed a contract, arranging a marriage with him.”

Your nails dug into the stiff fabric of Daichi’s uniform. “Yū?” you asked, your tongue heavy. “Who is stated as the bride?”

His Adam’s apple bopped when he gulped again, avoiding eye contact with both of you. A moment of heavy silence passed with only the sighing of the wind interrupting it, his expression provoking an uneasy feeling. “I’m afraid it’s you, Your Highness, the Princess of Karasuno.”

Irritation and confusion wouldn’t do justice to what you felt at that moment. Shinsuke Kita, King of Inarizaki, requested your hand in marriage? This was out of the blue. Sure, you knew about him, who he was, but you hadn’t spoken to him aside from the time your parents had introduced him to you years ago at a ball in Shiratorizawa’s palace. If you recall correctly, this had been seven years ago, just a few months after your fourteenth birthday, and since then you hadn’t seen or corresponded with him in any form. So, why was he suddenly asking – or rather demanding – you to marry him?

“Tell him, we will hear him in the throne room,” Daichi ordered Nishinoya who promptly nodded and ran back to the palace. With his hand on your lower back, he guided you back as well. “Come on.”

You looked down on your dirty dress, the soil differentiating greatly from the lavender silk. “I should change. I–”

“There’s no time for that.” With a stern glance, he shook his head, continuing to drag you through the gardens. 

And there was nothing you could do aside from following him into the building, through the long, wide hallways to the throne room where Sir Kōshi Sugawara and Sir Asahi Azumane, your personal guards, were already waiting, standing left and right of the podium with the two thrones. They were exchanging glances but stopped as soon as Daichi and you entered after giving each other a nod in a wordless exchange. Daichi settled in the left throne as you took your stand beside him, a hand resting on his shoulder.

Not even a minute later, Nishinoya slipped in through a door to the side, signaling the arrival of King Shinsuke Kita. Your brother gave him a nod and Nishinoya hurried to the broader, taller door right across the podium.

The other two knights stationed right next to the main door, pulled open the door wings and Nishinoya cleared his throat before announcing, “His Majesty, the King of Inarizaki, Shinsuke Kita!”

Three people entered, their swords dangling from their belts, striding over the red carpet in Inarizaki’s characteristic knights’ uniforms: a suit of armor made of shining metal and a black cloak with white ornaments adorning the hem, held by a shoulder plate bearing a silhouette of a fox.

Shinsuke Kita’s physique wasn’t particularly more impressive than his guards’: both were taller and just as broad. However, he was so far from inconspicuous, that – even without his dark red sash under his cloak and the gold trim in the fox – one could tell he was the one coming from royalty. His presence was unmistakably a leader’s, a king’s.

“Your Majesty.” His voice was unexpectedly bright though deeper than you remembered it – no wonder, he wasn’t a boy anymore. “Your Highness.” He barely spared you a glance, keeping his eyes on Daichi as his guards bowed their heads.

His greeting was acknowledged with a nod and a “Your Majesty” in return.

For a moment you contemplated refusing the curtsy, but your mother had taught you manners and this was not the place for immature behavior. “Your Majesty,” you greeted him, brushing off the sting of frustration when he continued ignoring you.

Daichi watched his opponent closely, legs crossed and chin resting on the back of his hand, aware of every single movement. You could tell he looked more confident than he felt. “I hope your travel to our humble kingdom was without trouble and I welcome you in my castle. Though I must admit, I am surprised to see you here, Sire. I didn't expect you to show up at my palace’ door – unannounced, at that – demanding for a bride.”

The blonde guard's eyebrows rose in surprise before he caught himself. The other guard and Kita remained stoic.

“I fail to see how my appearance is unannounced. Two weeks have passed since the signing on your part and now I am here to pick up my appointed bride – like agreed.”

Under your touch, Daichi’s shoulder tensed and the knuckles on his other hand turned white as he gripped the armrest tighter. He was holding back – in favor of the neutral relation your kingdoms had and to save face as a king. If he lost his temper now, word would go around, damaging his reputation and authority over Karasuno.

But something was wrong. Daichi knew how much you valued a marriage out of love, how much you wished for a marriage like your parents’. There was no way he would marry you off to someone you didn’t approve – much less you barely even knew.

From Kita’s wording you deduced there was a written contract, quoting the terms and conditions of this arranged marriage. But Daichi couldn’t ask to see it, considering he supposedly signed it, as this would prove someone had interfered with his business. Which no king should ever, under any circumstances, tolerate. Saying Kita had shown up unannounced had already painted a bad light, but it could be excused by saying it must’ve slipped Daichi’s mind that the stated amount of time had already passed, as a ruler’s schedule tended to be rather busy. However, you could very well ask to see the record without raising suspicion, feigning the unknowing princess whose brother married her off and attempting damage control.

“May I have a look at the document? I assume you have it with you, Sire.”

Three pairs of eyes flickered to you instantly. For the blink of an eye, they fell on the stains on your dress and the dark-haired guard raised an eyebrow disparagingly before they got a hold of themselves and lifted their gazes to your face. Kita kept a straight face though his brown eyes studied your every movement with a certain interest.

“Ren.”

The dark-haired guard nodded silently and pulled something out of the interior pocket of his uniform. The paper’s rustling was earsplitting. The dull sound of your heels on the carpet and the rattling of his armor were the only things to be heard in the room as you walked down the steps from the podium, meeting the guard halfway.

“Thank you.” Internally, you thanked the gods your voice and hands weren't shaking as you reached for the document, noticing the guard eyeing the dirt still clinging to your hands.

The material was rough under your fingertips as they worked on unfolding the document and silence set over the room.

Holding your breath, you skimmed the text, catching a point here and there – exchange for the Princess’ hand in marriage – alliance between the kingdoms of Karasuno and Inarizaki – as soon as the wedding ceremony is fulfilled – typical conditions for a contract outlining an arranged marriage. Then your gaze fell on the signatures at the bottom and you froze. What you saw proved your worst fears to be true. Daichi betraying you and marrying you off against your wishes wouldn’t have been nearly as bad as this. There, down at the bottom, in black ink, stood Daichi’s name.

Only the signature wasn’t his.

“Sire? What shall we do now?”

Dull brown eyes set on the fields of hyacinths around Karasuno’s palace, observing the estate’s structure and layout, watching the animals scurry from bush to bush and the servants hurry from one side of the palace to the other.

“We will wait.”

Tagging: @hanayanetwork

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 259

The Foundry

“The Foundry”

Plot Description: Mary and the boys explore an old house astir with the sounds of a crying baby. Cas is less than thrilled she he’s forced to partner up with Crowley

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: I guess? I’m like half asleep, but I don’t think anyone died

No, I won’t be having emotions about two beings who feel so out of place even though they’re with the people they care about most (Cas and Mary)

Cas is goin to Cleveland now!!!

The haircut Mary gave herself in the middle of the night looks good!

Oh geez…guess they did die. I probably wouldn’t have gone into the house

They’re all so awkward about this family hunting trip. No one in this room is behaving normally

Oh Castiel…you gotta get better at undercover names. You can’t be Agent Beyoncé, I’m so sorry, babes

When the summary said Cas was less than thrilled, that was an understatement

Oh, I hate that old, not taken care of porcelain doll

I can’t imagine how this must be making Mary feel. This is not normal boomer doesn’t get technology stuff. She literally wasn’t around it, and she’s so miserable. SHE feels as obsolete as the way she was taught to conduct investigations

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Cas care about how his hair looks. The way he’s comparing himself (and to an extent Crowley) to Sam and Dean is cute but a little pathetic. He’s just been out of this particular game

What is this acting choice? What side of Cas that we haven’t seen before (or at least in a very long while to the point that I’ve forgotten) is this?? Is he trying to be Dean? Is that it?

I miss Ro Ro’s gowns, she looks so modern now. It’s not bad, but it lacks flavor. And I hate how often she’s literally in chains. Free my girl. She did all that shit, but she deserves freedom

I really wanted Mary’s more analog way of doing to work. I know the point is she doesn’t belong here anymore but UGGGHHHH

Rowena also spends too much time afraid for her life. With pretty much everyone else, they’ll probably come back because they’re an angel or a demon or god’s favorite special little guys…but her? No one but me likes her

Ah damn, Mary’s been possessed. Can’t believe the writers made the boys fight their mom

There’s no one in the wrong here and that’s why it hurts so much. Mary’s leaving for some amount of time because she’s mourning what she lost when she died and when she left heaven, but you can hardly blame Dean for feeling hurt at her leaving. After 33 years, he finally had his mom back and after a couple days she leaves, not tragically but of her own volition. He can’t even look at her or say anything as she leaves, and poor Sam is just so shaken.

[antebunny]

Continuation of this based on the Maleficent AU over on @angstymdzsthoughts because I write trash when my life is going terribly. 

All his life, Lan Wangji has heard more about his mother than he has actually seen his mother. He and Lan Xichen were taken to see her as many times as they could, but more often than not, it wasn’t safe to be around her. But Lan Wangji heard the other Lans talking about her, sometimes.

“How sad,” the elders would say. “The first not to accept the Grounding.”

On the good days, Lan Wangji’s mother would let him sit on her lap as she combed first Lan Huan’s, and then Lan Wangji’s hair. She would ask about their day, and invariably something Lan Wangji said would make her laugh. But with the good days came the bad days, when Mother flew into a terrible rage and could not be approached by anyone, not even Father, and Father was her fated one. On the bad days, Mother had to be left alone in her house until she calmed down, and no one ever let Lan Wangji go near.

“It’s because of the wings,” Lan Wangji is told. The wings that his mother once had, back when she was a heavenly spirit, the wings that make her want to leave.

“Such a tragic tale,” some of the elders say, shaking their heads. “Such a tragic love the main Lan family faces, generation after generation.”

Mother is never able to accept the binding, and no one knows why. Father performed it correctly, to this everyone swears up and down. Qingheng-jun has always been the pride of Gusu, but he grows increasingly more and more frantic during Lan Wangji’s sixth year, the year that Mother gets sick. Soon, the whole world knows that Madame Lan has a seemingly incurable disease. Before Lan Wangji turns seven, his mother dies. He knows because he never sees his father after that either. He’ll later learn that Father, unable to accept both the loss of his fated one and his own failure, retreated from the world, leaving his sect duties and his children to his younger brother.

“It is the destiny of one of you to find your fated partner in a heavenly being,” Uncle explains to Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen, but he doesn’t say it with the same pride and finality that he explains the other rules of the Lans.

Lan Wangji grows up. And though he’ll never admit it, Lan Wangji privately hopes that this destiny is not his to bear. It’s terribly unfair for both the sect duties and the Grounding to fall to Lan Wangji, and consciously he hopes that his older brother does not have to bear both burdens. But privately, somewhere buried deep where Lan Wangji cannot find it or examine it too closely, he hopes fervently that it is not him.

Then he meets a boy with black wings underneath the moon of the Gusu mountains, and his entire world changes.

Wei Wuxian laughs, and Lan Wangji has never heard anything like it before. His great black wings unfurl like ink from a brush, and they effortlessly lift his feet off the roof.

“I’m technically not in the Cloud Recesses,” he points out, silver eyes sparkling with mirth.

Lan Wangji can feel his ears turn a violent shade of red. He withdraws his sword, then, but a single flap of Wei Wuxian’s wings carries him above Lan Wangji’s head. And even then, in the exhilaration and frustration of their first meeting, Lan Wangji hates those wings for taking Wei Wuxian out of his reach. They’re beautiful, his massive crow wings. Each feather is a soft black that shines purple under the right light. Lan Wangji wants to touch them and see if they’re as soft as they look, but he doesn’t dare.

Wei Ying is magnificent, and Lan Wangji can only despair.

-

His brother is the first one to notice.

“Wangji,” he says, one day when he finds Lan Wangji with two bunnies and no explanation. “I’ve noticed that you seem to be spending a lot of time with the crow spirit, Wei Wuxian.”

Not by choice, Lan Wangji wants to say, but he knows it isn’t true, and lying is forbidden. But he doesn’t know what the truth is. He’s unsure, because Wei Ying is unsure. Wei Ying teases, Wei Ying smiles at him so sincerely and says not as pretty as Lan Zhan only to finish with I’m only joking, Lan Zhan! What if it’s not Wei Ying? What if Lan Wangji gets it wrong?

So instead, he says nothing.

His uncle is the second person to notice.

He’s frowning and stroking his beard after the day’s lectures have finished, and he stop Lan Wangji to talk after the other students have all left. “Yunmeng’s Head Disciple, and Sect Leader Jiang’s adopted son,” he muses out loud. “His…rambunctious personality makes me cautious, but he is one of the best cultivators of your generation. I am confident that he will recover from the Grounding.”

Lan Wangji tries to picture Wei Ying’s loud personality being confined to a single room for any period of time.

“Wangji,” his uncle says, when he notices Lan Wangji clenching his fists. The word is at once filled with pride, a warning, and gentler reassurance. “What happened to your mother was a tragedy,” he says, echoing the words of countless elders. “It has never happened before. There is no reason why it should happen again.”

There is no reason why it wouldn’t, Lan Wangji thinks. Still, it hardly matters, in the face of generations of tradition, in the face of his own destiny. There is no denying it: he loves Wei Ying. His next course of action is to perform the Grounding, before Wei Ying returns to Lotus Pier. His uncle expects him to. The elders all expect him to. Even his brother doesn’t understand his hesitation. And yet–

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says. “Come flying with me!”

When Wei Ying takes him flying, he takes him higher than Lan Zhan has ever gone by sword. Together, they soar over the misty mountain tops of Gusu, past pine forests and heavy clouds. Wei Ying is an single black spot in the blue heavens, but he dwarfs the entire sky, and Lan Wangji, in a place he doesn’t stop to think about, has never lived more in a day.

“Wei Ying,” he says at the end, when Wei Ying sets him gently back on the ground. His tongue is lead in his mouth. He knows what he should say–he should ask Wei Ying to take him to the cave in the back of the mountains, and there, where the wings have no power, he should perform the Grounding. But Lan Wangji looks at Wei Ying, framed by his crow wings in the green fields of Gusu, and all he can think is: Wei Ying loves his wings.

Which is why all that comes out of his mouth is: “Will you marry me?”

-

“Wangji,” Uncle says, and now his name is simply a warning. “You are doing this wrong.”

Lan Wangji bows his head low over the table he is seated by.

“I have left the Grounding to your own prerogatives,” Uncle begins to lecture, further angered by his silence. “I have raised you to be obedient and righteous, but if I must perform the Grounding for you, then I will.”

“No,” Lan Wangji blurts, and his uncle raises an eyebrow. Somehow, he knows that is wrong. His hands are clammy in his lap. “No,” he repeats, in a tone expected from him. “I will perform it. Tomorrow morning.”

“See that you do,” Uncle says. A dismissal.

-

He almost doesn’t.

Wei Ying is sprawled by his side, fast asleep, but his wings are wrapped around Lan Wangji when he wakes up. He rolls Wei Ying over slowly, carefully pulling his hair away from his back. Lightly, he runs his hands over the wings one last time, wings that were softer than he thought they’d be, and then he withdraws Bichen. His grip hasn’t trembled on his sword in years, but it does now.

In the end, it is very simple: Wei Ying loves his wings, but Wei Ying loves him. Surely that is enough. It has been enough for countless generations of Lans.

In the end, it is too simple. Lan Wangji flicks his wrist, and Bichen tears through Wei Ying’s beautiful wings. Wei Ying does not stir. He sheathes his sword and collects the wings reverently. He steps out of the room, long enough to leave the wings on the table, and returns to a devastating surprise:

Wei Ying is gone.

Naturally, the first person Lan Wangji goes to is Lan Xichen, and together they head to the Jiang disciple quarters. Lan Wangji is distressed the whole way, thinking of a Wei Ying who woke up alone, in the dark, missing his wings. He was supposed to be there to explain it to Wei Ying. He was supposed to be there for him.

But Wei Ying isn’t in the Jiang disciple quarters. None of the Jiang siblings are. The other Jiang disciples are still asleep, but when Lan Wangji makes an exception and wakes them up, they have no idea what’s going on. Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen split up, but no one Lan Wangji talks to has seen Wei Ying or the Jiang siblings. And when Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen circle back around to the quarters of the first Jiang disciples they talked to, they’re gone.

By the time the sunrise fades into yet another bright day, all of the disciples from Yunmeng Jiang are gone. None of the other guest disciples have seen them, not even the ones awake at that time. It is as if they simply all vanished back up to the heavens without a word, without a single warning.

And Lan Wangji is left reeling in their wake, stunned at the thought that somehow Wei Ying’s Grounding has gone even worse than his mother’s.  

[sxint]

“is the blood on your hands dry? is it slowly disappearing? mine isn’t.”

— Ashley Mares, from “Psalm of Scattered Ashes,” published in Luna Luna 

TW: death, violence, blood, guns, pregnancy

A pain surges long before the sharp execution of a bullet through his chest. An agonising ache in which Saint had known as if it were old friend, and it’s one of loss, of mourning, a dull and harrowing sting he’d thought he’d gotten used to by now— but no. No, not this time, the void in his heart rips through tissue and muscle until he’s left gasping for air. Starved of oxygen in a world where his reason for living is suddenly ripped from his grasp, and it’s all his fault. Carelessly impulsive, from the moment panic makes itself known in the manor, Saint had climbed from his bed and professed himself an instrument for battle. This is what he was made for, after all, born into an existence painted red by nature, where he should learn to act as the weapons his parents created in steel-toned factories. He’s just that, deadly, or so he’d thought, a soldier made to embrace the front lines of the war in the knowing that it was his family that founded such a concept.

The second Horsemen carried a sword, whilst riding a red horse and was the creator of War.

Blood and glory stain his vision, the will to protect his family, his legacy, engraved into him like any other hopeless mantra in which Gabrielle cooed to him in French. And it brings him here, with his grip clasped solid around his gun, an extension of his being, as he empties rounds targeted towards men shielded in the cowardice of bullet-proof vests. Stubbornly, Saint doesn’t move, jaw clenched even as red lights adorn his own body, snipers aimed towards him with the warning from an electronic voice that they’d shoot. Only as they do, he feels nothing, not at first anyway, not until it’s too late and the dull thump of a body pulls his rage and bloodlust away from conflict and towards her; Kitty. With brunette tendrils of hair falling to mask her face, he moves to catch her, only to be met by a similar fate.

“Kitty,” he exhales, the taste of iron thick on the back of his tongue and he uses his last ounce of energy to move closer to her. His hand presses to her collarbone, a mirrored injury as Kitty had mindlessly utalised herself as a shield in the attempt for him to survive. And Saint can’t help but see the irony in it, in what loving him had done, coming at the price of her bloodied heart that struggles to beat under the pressure of professing itself to a Saint. Because what good had worship ever done? He wonders, pressing his forehead to hers, her skin still warm against his own, gunpowder lacing the last weakened breaths he manages to take into failing lungs.

Saint had always intended to die for War and his family, but now that’s not true, he dies for Kitty instead. He lets go because there is no life worth living without her in it. And as he lies there, he experiences it all over again. Saint falls in love, hard, like a fallen angel whose banishment from the heavens lands him into the arms of something much sweeter than that of what God could ever have offered to him. And it's peculiar, what the mind does to soothe the punctuation of life for its mortal body. Because as Saint closes his eyes, he experiences it all over again. He sees her sat at a table, at the first truce anniversary. Then again, on a dancefloor, her affections always paid towards another as he's met with nothing short of disdain. Soon though, she graces him with her attention, and when she does it's a domino effect. Countless secrets forming, drawn to the other like a magnet until eventually, it's only her he'd ever wanted. Then they’re married, and she doesn’t take his last name, but he could hardly care when the evidence of their unity lays clear on her ring finger. And it doesn't stop there, as her stomach swells and they welcome a daughter into the world, and then a son, their names both as ridiculous as their parents. Tiger-Lily and Zephyr, resembling their mother with darkened features and perfectly poised devilish grins. Most importantly, they're happy. He's happy, in the knowing that he'd had a family of his own, and a purpose outside of the gunmetal and ammunition that would tear the future from them and give him this instead. Kitty gave him meaning outside of what he were meant for, and she still does now, even in their death.

His gaze flickers open again, meeting her brown eyes as he captures the last face he'd see. And they both smile, lips parting, and breaths slowing. "I'm yours, I'll love you, forever," the blood warms his hands, wet and viscous as it continues to pour. "Forever," the other agrees, professions that would turn into vows in the absence of their alter. The reaper beckons on the horizon, a dull calling that should punctuate the end. But there’s comfort in it still, in the knowing that he could rest with her forever without the indignation of their forbidden union. No one could take them away from each other now, not really, as souls intertwine in perfect harmony, spirits evaporating in a synced agreement. The last thing he does is kiss her, her lips far more seraphic than any afterlife that would come after, and it's there he would stay, in her embrace forever. Holding onto the adoration they held for each other so it would be bright enough to engulf them both. The vail pulls over him, and it's heavy, as his surroundings slip from his senses and are replaced with the eternal stretch of nothingness. Much like before birth, an emptiness that was neither terrifying nor joyous. It simply was, vacant apart from a spark, starlight in the shape of them destined to shine in the sky.

In the end, the apocalypse is quick. As was life. As was love. 

[stillbandofbrothersthirsty]

As Far As Friends Go

Chapter 26 (Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; ... Chapter 25)

The Last Chapter - May 1946

Emily’s mother frittered about smoothing the creases of Emily’s dress and plucking at non-existent lint.

“Mom, mom...mother!” Emily waved her mother away. “Let it be, I’m fine,” she tried to keep her voice calm.

Her mother took a step back with her mouth pursed. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Mom,” Emily raised her eyebrows in warning.

Her mother had the decency to direct her judgmental look at the floor. “It’s just,” she said in a hushed voice, “a divorcee?”

“Yes,” Emily said dryly, somehow this subject continued to come up. Emily probably wouldn’t have told her parents that Nixon was divorced if it could have been avoided. However, between the end of the war and the scramble to prepare for their future, the last year had been a whirlwind. “But let’s not forget, he was also a Captain!” That title had originally excited her parents when she first broke the news of their engagement, before they had learned the wedding had to be postponed until Nixon’s separation from Kathy was finalized.

That reminder seemed to perk Emily’s mother up slightly, “yes, a Captain. It was really quite nice of Lewis’ family to contribute as much as they did,” the compliment sounded obligatory. Emily’s mother would never truly comment on the Nixon’s wealth, it was undignified. But Emily was sure that fact somewhat amended Lewis’ disgraced martial status in her mother’s mind.

“Your father wasn’t pleased about it but you know how he can get. He wants to be the one to give you everything,” her mother continued. Emily began to tune out her mother’s ramblings. Once again she found herself wishing for more female friends so that she didn’t have to endure this time alone with her mother. Unfortunately, her cousins all had babies to attend to and had already excused themselves from the dressing room.

A knock at the door sounded and Emily felt instant relief. Finally, some sort of distraction from her nerves. She moved to open the door but her mother beat her to it. The door opened to the apprehensive face of George Luz, “uh, hi,” he said to Emily’s mother. Then his eyes landed on Emily. George let out a low whistle, “wowza, you look incredible!” he said appreciatively.

Emily blushed and smoothed her skirt, “thank you, George.”

“I got somethin’ here for ya,” George held up an envelope. He glanced at her mother for permission and her mother stepped aside to let him in. “Well,” George said, “Joe had it for ya but it was easier for me to run it over, because, well you know,” he shrugged and handed her the letter heavy with postage.

It was addressed in Marwa’s handwriting; her sweet friend had remained in Europe and was unable to make the trip to Chicago. But Emily and Nixon had made plans to meet up with her over their honeymoon

“Who’s that from, dear?” Emily’s mother asked.

“A friend, remember the nurse?” Emily responded already opening the envelope.

“Which nurse? I don’t remember a particular nurse.. oh that Arab girl?”

Emily shot George a look. “Mrs. Rooney is it?” George interrupted, “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you!” Emily mouthed her gratitude to him as he directed her mother to the settee. George winked and held up a thumb behind her mother’s back. “You know I’ve never been to Indiana, are there many churches there? I wouldn’t want to go if there wasn’t anywhere to attend mass on Sunday,” George’s flattery faded away as Emily turned her attention to the letter.

Marwa’s beautiful calligraphy transported Emily back to the last time she saw her friend. Their goodbye had been tearful, mostly on Emily’s part. But the friends had stuck to their commitment to write. It was in a letter to Marwa that Emily first put into words Nixon’s unconventional proposal.

Nearly a year ago Emily had stood beside Nixon looking down into the breathtaking Bavarian landscape from a balcony in Hitler’s Eagles Nest.

“Lew,” she placed a cautious hand on his hip, “what’s next for you?” It was a loaded question. Deployment to the Pacific was still an option. Emily was free to return to the states when she pleased but so many things between her and Nixon remained unresolved. The past few weeks had been a dream supplemented by good food and beautiful scenery. Emily had felt hope return to her - hope that extended beyond the end of the war. She wanted to know what life would look like next year, five years from now, and beyond. The first step in preparing for the future was to find out where Nixon saw himself.

Life had returned to Nixon the past few weeks; the receding war and his submission to Emily’s love had begun to heal him. Their time in Bavaria had been a relative heaven, but a temporary heaven.

Nixon pulled his gaze away from the captivating view to look into the grey eyes that had guided him through so much. “Dick and I are going to re-deploy to the Pacific,” he said matter-of-factually. There was no sugar coating it. He and Emily had found their sweet spot of upfront honesty. 


Emily nodded as if she had expected as much, “and then?” she asked.

Nixon had hoped she would ask that. He had seen the footage coming out of the Pacific - he needed her hope to get him out alive, he needed her to have a vision of ‘after’. “Well, I’ll go back to New Jersey, marry you and I don’t know, buy a house or something,” he leaned on the balcony.

An impulsive smile spread across Emily’s face, “marry me? Di- did you just propose to me, Lewis?”

He smirked, “I suppose I did.”

Emily narrowed her eyes playfully at him, “you suppose? Do you even want to marry me?”

“People get married all the time for many different reasons, they’re lucky if it’s for love. You should understand that better than anyone,” Nixon said, “and I love you, so yeah I want to marry you.”

Emily bit her lip to keep the smile from overtaking her face, “well who say’s I want to marry you?”

“If you were smart, you’d marry me now and hope I get blown up over Tokyo. Take me for everything that I’m worth,” Nixon joked darkly.

“Lewis!” Emily smacked his arm. He chuckled. “That’s terrible,” she admonished him, “besides I’m pretty sure Kathy beat me to that.”

“Touche.”

“That is the question though…” Emily’s tone turned serious.

“Yeah,” Nixon turned back to look out onto the landscape, “are you up to waiting for me?”

“I’ve already waited years for you to come around, what’s another few?”

Luckily, they only had to wait a year. Now, Emily found herself standing at the entrance of a grand room dressed in white holding onto her fathers arm for dear life. The loss of the marital sacrament had been a blow to her parents but after a lot of tears they had accepted that their daughter was getting married in a club hall, not a church. Emily couldn’t be bothered where she got married. Planning the wedding had been exhausting and distracting from what she’d actually been interested in planning: the honeymoon. Emily had spent far too much time mediating between her mother and her future mother-in-law.

The first couple of months back in the states, Emily had been a guest at the Nixon’s many properties along the eastern seaboard. New York City had been fun, until her mother came to visit and meet her future in-laws. Though cordial, the mothers seemed to agree on very little. However, they did manage to unite in order to bully Emily into wearing the gaudy ring Lewis had bought her out of obligation.

But Emily didn’t consider that her real engagement ring - it was simply for appearances sake. The ring she would wear as his wife would be a gold band engraved with flora. Nixon and Emily had picked it up in Paris on their way home to the states. That was all Emily had wanted. It was more fitting; a simple testament to how they had grown as individual’s and in their relationship. An ornate diamond strongly juxtaposed the world in which they had fallen in love.

As the wide doors to the hall swung open, Emily’s father squeezed her hand. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered. Emily looked up at him in shock but her ever stoic father was already looking straight ahead as if nothing had been said. But his words were monumental, that’s all she had ever wanted to hear from him.

The view down the aisle seemed incredibly long. The people who sat closest to the door were the people Emily knew the least; family friends from her parents church, the Nixons’ obligatory invitees. Emily’s hand grew sweaty around her bouquet as she gritted her teeth into a smile. She didn’t want any of them to see how nervous she was.

She began to relax as her father led her past the faces of her friends who sat closer to the front; her first co-workers from the O.S.S., the grinning faces of Harry Welsh, Frank Perconte and Babe Heffron. Emily’s throat closed with emotion as she passed Bill Guarnere and Joye Toye who wobbled, but leaned on each other, both determined to stand for the bride. Joe Toye smiled and nodded slightly from where he stood, “not just a work-wife,” he whispered jokingly as she passed. Emily’s giggle sounded nervous but confidence surged within her at his acknowledgement. Finally, the view of the altar was clear in Emily’s vision; she saw Dick Winters standing proudly beside Nixon. Suddenly, she felt so overwhelmed by emotion that she could hardly bring herself to look at her future husband.

George Luz was the first person to greet them at the end of the aisle. Emily focused all of her nerves on his steady smile. With a wink, he took Emily’s bouquet and made room for her mother to adjust her train. And then Emily was looking into the face of Lewis Nixon. The rest of the world melted away as he gazed into her sparkling grey eyes.

Everything that had happened to them the last couple of years had culminated into this very moment. It was in the moments without each other’s touch that they had learned to love each other; they had grown wiser with each fight, stronger with each shared moment of vulnerability, and in deprivation they craved only to give the other the world. Neither of them would have expected that they would end this way. That’s because this was by no means an ending; this was the beginning of life renewed.

Nixon took Emily’s trembling hands in his steady ones. “Finally,” he said with a smirk.

The End.

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who read this story. This was my first long fanfiction story and all of your support kept me motivated and encouraged to keep writing. Love you all <3

[lost-andfound]

CARRY ON (How Supernatural Should Have Ended)

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28041390 

INT. VAMP NEST BARN. NIGHT.

A VAMPIRE has just impaled DEAN on a nail. It is suggested that he is about to die. There are two flickering light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. The barn looks uncannily similar to the barn in which Dean and CASTIEL first met.

Dean chokes, blood pooling from his mouth. His eyes are glassy and fighting to stay open. SAM’s eyes are filled with tears--he can’t believe it.

DEAN (coughing, trying to speak through the pain) I thought— dammit, man, I thought this was our chance. A chance at a real life.

SAM (truly, genuinely, painfully) I’m sorry.

Sam’s hand hovers around the wound, as if trying to cure it. Dean shakes his head. He doesn’t want to die, but he’s past the point of no return.

DEAN (gently) Sammy— everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve lost— I’m glad it was with you.

SAM (starting to panic) No, Dean, no—

DEAN (breathing slower, but doing his best to look his brother in the eyes) I didn’t wanna die. I didn’t. Promise me you know that.

Sam nods. He can’t speak. He wishes— he prays— but no one comes. Dean’s head goes slack in Sam’s hand. His eyes are empty. He’s dead. The camera PANS slowly to Sam’s stunned face.

SAM Dean. (He waits for an answer, but none comes.) Dean, please.

Behind, there is a flutter of wings. The light bulbs blow out, glass shattering on the ground. Sam freezes, hoping against all odds—

CASTIEL (firmly, as if with all the power of Heaven on his side) No one dies today.

Without further ado, he grasps Dean’s body and pulls him off the nail. Sam winces at the sound, but Castiel does not flinch. He grips Dean by the shoulder and puts his hand over the wound. An unearthly blue light— the light of angelic Grace— flows from his hands, shines from his eyes. It is not the healing we’ve seen before— this power seems to come from the deepest part of Cas himself.

A beat. Sam stares, tense, hoping. Cas steps back, and Dean gasps.

SAM (with deep relief) Thank God.

DEAN (exhausted, yet still wise-cracking) That asshole ain’t to thank for this one, Sammy.

He sways, and Sam rushes to hold him up. Dean looks at Cas, who is, as usual, unreadable.

CAS Hello, Dean.

DEAN (softer) Cas. Jesus, you’re— you’re here.

CAS (with a slight smile, hardly believing it himself) Jack. He came for me.

Dean’s smile falters. He glances at Sam— they both feel guilty for leaving Cas behind. Castiel catches this look, and is about to speak, but winces. A curl of blue Grace floats from his mouth, winding into the air and vanishing like smoke.

SAM (concerned) Cas— are you okay?

Cas stumbles, falling to brace himself on the wall. Both Sam and Dean reach out to grab his arms on either side.

CAS (looking between them, suddenly weak) I think— I think I’m falling again.

BLACKOUT.

END OF ACT TWO

ACT THREE

INT. BUNKER - KITCHEN - MORNING

With a WIDE SHOT, we see that Dean is making eggs this time, with less spirit than the last morning. He slices peppers and onions with precision, but we can tell that he is worried, his brow furrowing as he sprinkles them in the pan.

Sam sits at the table, flipping through a huge, ancient tome. A stack of books rests next to him, waiting to be studied. Cas is not at the table, a noted absence.

Dean flips the omelet off the pan and onto a plate, setting it in front of Sam, who barely looks up.

DEAN (demanding) So?

SAM (looking up apologetically) I don’t know. I think it’s something to do with The Empty— sapping his grace, somehow. Saving you probably took a lot of mojo.

DEAN (muttering sarcastically, as usual) Great.

INT. CASTIEL’S ROOM

Castiel sleeps, his face serene. Morning light spills in through the window, the drapes gently fluttering. It’s a beautiful scene, almost like a painting. The song “THANK YOU” by Led Zeppelin begins to PLAY. PAN TO Dean in the doorway, awkwardly holding a plate of eggs and mug of black coffee. Dean’s face is softer than we’ve seen it in a long time. He hesitates, not wanting to disturb his friend.

CAS (sleepily) Dean?

The music fades, but remains in the background of the scene.

DEAN (gruffly) Mornin’, sunshine.

Dean moves to sit on the bed, a respectful distance away from Castiel. He sets the plate and mug on the bedside table. Castiel shifts into a sitting position. Dean looks at Cas, and we think he is about to speak— he thinks he is about to speak— but he remains silent. Cas merely looks back at him, at the face he thought he’d never see again. The awkwardness is mostly on Dean’s side, which is not a surprise. Castiel seems content to merely look.

DEAN (eventually) So, are you… human now? For real this time?

CAS (eyes flickering briefly) Yes. I believe so.

DEAN (gearing himself up to be angry, to find a solution) Okay. Well— we’ll fix it. Find some spare grace, find a spell to restore your grace, whatever. We always do.

CAS (sighing) Dean—

DEAN (a little heat to his voice) Dammit, Cas, let us help you. You saved my skin at the cost of your own for the hundredth time and— and I won’t let you do that. Not again. No one dies this time, remember?

CAS Dean, you’re not gonna find anything. Not this time. And I’m— (he pauses, smiling slightly. He looks calm, at peace.) I’m happy. And I can say that now, without fear. I can feel. That’s all I’ve wanted, for so long.

There is a pause. Dean swipes a hand over his face and shifts closer on the bed. There is so much left unsaid, between these two, and it hangs heavy in the air.

Dean (voice ragged) Cas. What you said. Before the Empty took you.

CAS (steadily, without hesitation) I meant it.

DEAN I’ve wanted to say it back. For so long, Cas. But I— I didn’t think— I mean, you were an angel, and there was Lisa, then Purgatory, and the Mark, and Chuck, and everything against us— it was never right, and I never thought you felt— (he breaks off, swallowing.) I never thought you could. Love me, I mean.

Cas says nothing, but laces his fingers with Dean’s. Dean looks down, stunned, then back up at Castiel’s face.

CAS But I do. Against all odds, I do.

Dean kisses him. “Thank You” by Led Zeppelin resumes. Cas pulls him in, closer. It is a beautiful, tender kiss, a movie kiss. After a moment, they break apart, still holding hands.

DEAN (slightly embarrassed, yet as unguarded as we’ve ever seen him) I love you too, Cas. I always have— you’re family.

CAS (softly, as if this moment is one he could break) So what now?

DEAN (his voice opening, finally, into hope) The rest of our lives, man. Everything that comes after.

PAN OUT, as they move into a tight, intimate hug. They’re family. The camera moves from them to the window. The curtains. The soft light outside.

INT. BUNKER - KITCHEN

Sam sits at the table, hands in his hair, still poring over the books. His plate is empty— Dean is a good cook. He is unaware of the conversation his brothers are having inside Castiel’s room. There is a CRASH. Sam sits instantly alert— there are those killer instincts. He grabs a gun and creeps slowly towards the entrance, where he finds… EILEEN. She stands at the entrance, confused, looking around. Sam keeps the gun trained on her, grief and rage and confusion flitting across his face.

EILEEN Sam?

SAM (speaking with certainty) You’re not her. You can’t be her. No one ever really comes back, no one that I— that I—

EILEEN Sam, it’s me. I promise.

She pulls out a silver knife, slashes it on her arm. She lets Sam pour some holy water on her hand. She goes through every test, staring at Sam’s face, willing him to believe her.

SAM (disbelieving) Holy crap. It’s you. It’s really you.

EILEEN (smiling) Duh.

Sam sweeps her into his arms, as if he’ll never let her go. She holds onto him just as tightly. In the same moment, they both realize how lucky they are to be here, together.

“CARRY ON MY WAYWARD SON” begins to PLAY.

CUT TO MONTAGE:

Dean hunting with Charlie and Cas, watching their backs as they move through a dark tunnel.

Sam and Eileen sharing a beer as they watch a movie, the lights flickering on their faces.

Dean throwing popcorn and Monopoly pieces at Sam, chasing him around the living room as Sam raises his arms in protest.

Cas and Dean washing dishes together, bumping shoulders and hands, smiling.

Eileen holding a newborn child as Dean, Sam, and Cas all crowd around her— someone takes a picture.

PAN UP from that picture on a table to an older Sam, reading in the study while his son reads next to him, a picture of his father.

Cas playing catch in the yard with Claire, who is clearly indulging him. His brow furrows as he drops the ball again and again, Dean laughing from the porch.

An older Dean finally perfecting his pie recipe, passing the plate around the dinner table, looking pleased with himself. Contented.

Sam’s son goes off to college, and Dean takes a breath, and claps a hand on his shoulder. Smiles proudly at him.

Finally, Dean in a hospital bed, surrounded by his family. He grasps Sam’s hand, looks at Cas like he’s trying to memorize his face. They are all old. They are all satisfied with their lives. Dean smiles, closes his eyes.

BLACKOUT. Heart monitor FLATLINES.

ACT FOUR

EXT. BOBBY’S FARM - PORCH. LATE SUMMER.

The field is golden and beautiful, yet as ragged as Dean remembers it. BOBBY SINGER sits on his rocking chair, beer in hand. Dean walks up to the porch. He takes his time— he has all the time in the world, after all.

BOBBY (fondly) Took you long enough, boy.

DEAN (looking around, smiling slightly) Had a life to live.

Bobby grunts, motions for Dean to sit down next to him. He hands him a beer from the cooler.

DEAN Thought you’d be able to magic yourself one of those from thin air, up here. Service not working lately?

BOBBY More authentic this way. (pause) Heaven’s better now, actually. You saw the old version— it’s not like that up here anymore.

DEAN How’s that?

BOBBY That kid of yours: Jack. He made it so you’re not just trapped in old memories— you can go anywhere, see anyone. (another pause— he knows how much this means to Dean) Anyone.

DEAN (swallowing— this is difficult, painful) Even—

BOBBY (more gently) They’re just up the road. (He takes a sip of his beer.) You have a lot to talk out. Bad memories to work through. But you can do it, with time. Work it all out.

DEAN I hope so, Bobby. I think so.

Pause. Something catches Dean’s eye. PAN OUT to the road— to the IMPALA, shiny as the day she came off the line.

DEAN (reverently) They brought my Baby.

BOBBY (looking at him like a father looks at his son) Go. They’ll wait.

Dean smiles, as big as we’ve ever seen, like a kid on Christmas. Driving down an empty highway, with nothing to do, nowhere to go. His favorite.

Dean turns on the car, smiles nostalgically, and flips on the radio. “HEY JUDE” by The Beatles begins to PLAY.

As the song plays, Dean sees people standing by the road— old friends, old lovers, old rivals, old members of his family. There is CHARLIE, waving frantically, a grinning KEVIN by her side. There are JO and ELLEN and ASH in the Roadhouse, bickering among themselves. There are MARY and JOHN, young lovers again, looking at each other with hope in their eyes. There is PAMELA, there is JODY, LISA, JESS, countless others they’ve loved and lost. JACK even blips in to wave hello.

And then, as the song concludes, Dean pulls to a stop. At the end of the road is Cas, and Sam standing behind him, waiting. They stand on a bridge that stretches over a river. The sun is just beginning to set. Dean gets out of the car, closing Baby gently.

DEAN Miss me?

SAM (rolling his eyes fondly) Shut up.

DEAN (brief confusion) So? Where’s everyone else?

SAM They’ll be here soon.

CAS They have some more living to do.

Dean nods, and turns to gaze out over the bridge. Cas slips a hand into his, and they stand together, looking at the sunset, breaking gold and crimson rays over the water, finally calm, finally peaceful.

BLACKOUT.

CARRY ON WAYWARD SON begins to PLAY again as the credits roll.

THE END.

[akaluan]

Erich/Kisuke: One Night Stand Turned Serious + Balcony Wooing Scene Part 2

They meet again on the battlefield.

Kisuke is late this time, having been caught up in clearing out a monster nest, and isn’t paying attention to his senses the way he should. He’s late, and the Invasion has already begun, and who knows how many people have already died because of his incompetence—

He skids to a stop on the edge of the battleground, eyes widening as he takes in the sheer devastation, the dead and dying monsters, the torn up ground…

And Erich in the midst of it all, exhausted but still fighting, emerald power flaring around his body like roaring flames, tearing through the monsters that remain.

Kisuke wills himself to turn away, to leave before the man spots him, but—

There are more monsters pouring through the Otherworld Tear, the Invasion larger than any other Kisuke has seen to date, and if he leaves…

If he leaves, he doesn’t know if Erich will survive.

So he draws his blade and plunges into the fight, carving a path to Erich’s side without a second thought; they’ve fought together before — fought well together before — and for all he suspects that Erich wants him dead, he doubts the man will sink to stabbing him in the back.

(Erich seems more like a stab-in-the-front sort of man.)

(It’s refreshing.)

Erich casts a startled look his way, then bares his teeth in a grin and says, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Maa, I was a bit delayed, sorry!” Kisuke replies as he settles in to fight at Erich’s side. It’s almost like breathing, if Kisuke’s being honest, the two of them flowing around each other as if they’ve done this all their lives, and in moments they’ve regained the upper hand. They start pushing the monsters back, destroying the invaders with negligent ease, and then—

“Look out!”

Kisuke looks up. Looks over. Curses at the sight of a Behemoth’s head emerging from the Tear, a bright cerulean orb of power already gathering in its mouth.

A Behemoth’s Cero will wipe them and the town behind them off the map.

He can’t let that happen.

“Awaken, Benihime!” Kisuke cries before he can think better of it, plucking at her awareness and rousing her from her rest. She uncoils from within his soul, stretching through his body to reach beyond him, layering crimson power across his blade as he keeps fighting, keeps killing, his attention on the Behemoth as he waits for the right moment—

“Nake, Benihime!” he shouts, slashing his blade through the air as the Behemoth fires its Cero.

Behind him, Erich sucks in a shocked breath as crimson blasts slam into the Behemoth’s cerulean Cero, the two attacks wavering in the air for one.

Brief.

Moment—

Kisuke crows his victory as the Cero evaporates into a small shockwave that knocks lesser monsters aside, then darts forward, another “Nake, Benihime!” calling forth a second arc of crimson blasts that tear through the monsters before him. He leaps. Brings his blade to bear. Cries “Kamisori, Benihime!” as he slashes down, and—

The Behemoth shrieks once, high-brittle-final, before its head tumbles to the ground and its body falls back within the Tear.

(*What barely suitable prey it was,*) Benihime scoffs in his mind as she begins to withdraw, then pauses to peer through his senses. (*So this is who you’ve been so wound up about,*) she purrs, presence draping across his mind with a sensation like sharp nails across his shoulders. (*How interesting.*)

(*Hime…*) Kisuke tries, hoping that he can dissuade her from… from whatever she’s intending, though the effort only earns him a throaty chuckle.

Honestly, he can understand why she’s fascinated, because he’s fascinated too; Erich is using the opening Kisuke gave him to completely destroy the few remaining monsters, his body limned with emerald power and his eyes practically glowing. It doesn’t take long before the battlefield is still and the Tear slowly, reluctantly closes, leaving behind another ruined area littered with bodies.

As if the Tear’s presence was the only thing keeping him up, Erich immediately crumples as his power fades away.

Kisuke bolts to Erich’s side with a curse, barely remembering to sheathe Benihime before he gets close enough to appear a threat. He kneels at the man’s side, scanning for any hint of a wound, but—

“Just tired,” Erich grunts as he reaches up with one trembling hand and shoves sweat-soaked hair out of his face. “I’ll be fine after some rest.”

“Maa… will you… let me help you back?” Kisuke hesitantly asks, then flinches at the bone dry look Erich levels at him in response. “It’s fine if you don’t want me to! But you seem, uhm, that is…”

Erich stares at him for a long moment, then huffs and holds out a hand. “Getting back up by myself is going to be… difficult,” he admits with a grimace. “Help me up and I’ll give you directions to my place here.”

“R-right, yes. I can do that.” Kisuke swallows at the implied invitation back to Erich’s dwelling and forces himself to focus; now isn’t the time to get lost in daydreams, especially with Erich in no condition to do anything but sleep.

(Still, a man can dream, can’t he?)

(Wait, no, damnit!)

(He needs to stop getting distracted!)

Ignoring Benihime’s wicked laughter, Kisuke pulls Erich’s arm over his shoulder and wraps his free arm around the man’s waist, then grunts as he heaves them both to their feet in an awkward, almost drunken stumble. Erich tenses in his grip, gaze slanting wary-uncertain-cautious, then breathes a soft sigh and slumps into Kisuke’s side, letting Kisuke carry most of his weight.

The trip back is slow and painful, the ground too torn and strewn with monstrous bodies for it to be anything else, but they make it back to town in one piece. From there, Erich directs him through the winding streets to another large, multi-family building, then up the stairs and down the hall.

Kisuke already suspects he knows where Erich’s room is: there’s a bucket and a tub set beside one door in particular, both filled with steaming water, just like there was at Erich’s other place. “Do you have people do your laundry at every town?” he asks in amusement as the approach the door.

Erich shrugs awkwardly and straightens up a bit, tugging at his blood-stained shirt in an effort to work it free. “Monster blood stains quickly,” is all he says.

Kisuke snorts but concedes the point: part of why he wears such dark clothing is because of how easily monster blood stains things. He just… finds it amusing that people simply leave buckets of steaming water outside Erich’s door any time a fight happens. “Come on,” he says as he skillfully fishes Erich’s key out of the man’s own pocket and unlocks the door, ignoring Erich’s offended squawk as he does. “In we go. I’ll take care of bringing your clothes back out.”

“Someone’s handsy tonight,” Erich mutters as they enter the room. “And when I’m in no state to appreciate it, too.”

Benihime cackles in Kisuke’s mind as his mouth goes dry and his mind swirls with ideas. “I’m certain I could still make you feel good,” he blurts out, then immediately ducks his head as his cheeks flame.

(Oh heavens above, what has he just done?!)

(Erich is going to kill him!)

“I might just take you up on that,” Erich says with a smirk, then slips free of Kisuke’s grip and settles on a stool with a soft groan of relief. “Though I make no promises on how long I’ll stay awake,” he admits as he starts to pull his clothing off, completely unbothered by Kisuke’s presence.

Kisuke’s mind goes blank-still-fuzzy at Erich’s words, his body acting on instinct to accept the man’s clothes as they’re handed to him.

(Erich wants…?)

(Erich— Erich still wants him?)

(Really?)

He swallows back his disbelief and forces a smile on his face. “Maa, that won’t be a problem at all,” he promises as he steps away to drop Erich’s soiled clothing into the tub of steaming water in the hall, then grabs the bucket, closes the door, and returns to Erich’s side with it. “If I can help you sleep, I’m certainly not going to complain.”

Erich gives him a considering look, then leans over to pull the washcloth from the bucket and wring it out. “There aren’t many who’d agree to that,” he says as he swipes the cloth over his skin to wipe away the worst of the grime.

“Aha, well, I’m hardly your average person,” Kisuke jokes weakly, then takes a steadying breath and leans over, plucking the washcloth from Erich’s hand before the man can protest. He rinses it out, wrings the excess water from it, then straightens up and begins to carefully clean Erich’s body. He takes it slow, watchful for any wounds, and just… lets himself enjoy the moment.

Erich leans into his touch with a quiet hum, head tipping down until his chin is touching his chest and his breathing begins to even out. It’s clear he’s enjoying it, especially when Kisuke gives in and rests a hand on Erich’s shoulder. That earns him a soft, pleased noise and a tiny shift to press closer.

Even the way Benihime is humming beneath his skin isn’t enough to bother Kisuke; her presence is warm-familiar-known and she doesn’t feel bloodthirsty, just curious.

It’s soothing, if he’s being honest; Benihime rarely involves herself in his personal life, but she does tend to make her opinions known if he accidentally wakes her. That she seems to like Erich is… it’s good. It’s a relief. It means he won’t have to be on guard at all times.

Kisuke drops the washcloth into the dirtied water and gives Erich a quick once-over; the man is as clean as he can get without a proper bath, and Kisuke hasn’t yet found any wounds, but he still worries. Worries enough to gather his flagging strength into a healing kido, to press it deep into Erich’s body—

Benihime crows her victory and rushes through his arm, using his kido as a bridge to dive into Erich’s body, her influence arcing through the man and tearing a pained cry from his throat.

“No!” Kisuke yelps as he hauls at Benihime’s presence, trying desperately to yank her back, to pull her away before she can do something irreversible—!

(*He has been wounded time and time again,*) she whispers in his mind, a smug-cheerful-pleased chuckle in her words. (*Feel how ragged he’s been run, my Kisuke. Feel it!*)

And through her, he can: a lifetime of combat has carved its mark deep into Erich’s body, with deep, hidden scars taking their toll on him one battle at a time. And Benihime sweeps into them, pressing the sense of damaged bone-injured joint-scarred muscle into Kisuke’s mind as she sinks her nails into each bit of damage, each spark of pain—

“He didn’t agree!” Kisuke protests, ragged-helpless-aching as Benihime drags strength from his body and into Erich’s. As she tears apart Erich’s old wounds and repairs him. Strengthens him. Builds him anew.

Erich gasps and slumps forward, toppling from the stool and to the floor, tearing away their connection as he does. He groans, weakly shoving himself over onto his back, and stares up at Kisuke with wide, confused eyes as he forces out a breathless, “K-Kisuke…? What…?”

Kisuke scrambles to his feet and stumbles back, legs barely holding him after Benihime’s unexpected actions. She’s purring in the back of his mind, pleased-content-satisfied, and it makes him sick with shock; Shinigami contract with Otherworld Beings to gain their strength, but this… he’s never heard of a contract spirit doing something so against their partner’s will!

What else has she been holding back? What other things has she done that he doesn’t know?!

“Kisuke…?” Erich prompts again, pushing himself up on one trembling elbow. “You okay…?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t know— she’s never—” Kisuke takes a breath, his hand trembling with shock as he shoves it through his hair and looks away, unable to meet Erich’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” he forces out with as much strength as he can, before he turns and bolts.

(There’s no way Erich will want him around after that.)

(What has he done?!)

[alirhi]

WF chapter 18

Title: Winter's Frost Chapter: 18/? Fandom: MCU Rating: R to be on the safe side Pairing: Loki/Bucky Summary: Loki never told anyone the real reason he became so obsessed with Midgard. Much better to let them think he wanted to hurt his brother than draw their attention to the one thing in the universe that makes the God of Mischief truly vulnerable.

"If I hadn't carefully orchestrated it myself, I'd be deeply embarrassed that I was defeated by this band of buffoons!"

Bucky shook his head, hiding a smile as he ran his fingers through Loki's dark hair. "Just because you're a genius doesn't mean they're idiots. They might prove helpful."

Rolling his eyes, Loki grumbled, "It took them three days and the deaths of eighty innocent people to even bother trying to assemble a team."

"And who killed those people?"

He tensed. "A building collapsed on them! It was hardly my fault. Though they were quick to assign the blame to me, of course."

"If a building collapsed on them, can you really blame The Avengers for not rallying in time to save them?"

"James?"

"Hm?"

Shaking his head, he framed his lover's infuriatingly pretty face with both hands and kissed him. "Do be a dear and shut up."

Bucky smirked. "Put my mouth to better use, then."

"Haven't I already?"

"Alright, that's enough!" Stark chose that moment to burst through the door he'd locked them behind so he and the other Avengers could argue uninterrupted. "Frosty, Manchurian Candidate, you're up. And quit slobbering all over each other! I didn't put you in here to make a porno."

"I didn't ask you to film us," Loki shot back, his playful smirk turning into a grin when he felt Bucky tense and shake beneath him with suppressed laughter.

"Can he even consent?" He glanced at Bucky. "Can you even...? Do you even know what sex is? Just how scrambled is your brain?"

"I've got a kid," Bucky reminded him, all amusement gone from his suddenly steely expression. "I think I've got a pretty good handle on the process, yeah. My memory's spotty at best, but I'm not a robot." Under his breath, he grumbled, "Just make sure Natalia-sorry, Natasha – sticks to English, and we'll be fine."

"No one will ever use those words against you again," Loki swore, letting out an irritated huff at Stark's pointed look and making a grand show of his reluctance to comply as he peeled himself off of his beloved's lap. "Well? What is it you need?"

"Information. What this Thanos guy is after, where he's going, how long we've got... We need to know what you know."

"In general? We haven't that much time." Bucky pinched his arm and Loki rolled his eyes again. "Pertaining to the issue at hand, I'm afraid I've very little to offer." Still, he and Bucky followed Stark back out into the main room, hand in hand, to face the rest of the rather tense people who still believed Loki had been trying to kill them only a week earlier.

"Why should we trust you?" Banner asked him point-blank before he'd even reached the table the others were seated around.

Loki snorted. "Oh, heavens, don't! Never trust anyone."

"Loki..."

Sighing, he gave Thor a snarky look and went on, "If I think there's even a chance your deaths will save my family, I will not hesitate to push any one of you in front of a blade or blast. My partner and daughter are my priority, first and always."

"For the record," Bucky piped up somewhat timidly, even adorably raising his hand like a schoolchild. He cast Rogers an apologetic look and mumbled, "Same. I love you, Steve – I barely remember you, but I love you like a very annoying kid brother. But if it ever comes to a choice between saving you or Eira, you're a human shield and I'm running very far away with her."

To his credit, Rogers laughed and ruffled his childhood friend's hair. "Even without your memories, you're still the same protective, pragmatic Buck. I wouldn't have it any other way. Anyone here take issue with parents prioritizing their child's life?"

Thor chuckled, looking uncomfortable. "I'll happily smack some sense into anyone who does. She's a baby; there should never be a second's hesitation."

"Speaking of shields," Loki cut in, hiding a surprised smile at the unexpected support and attempting to get the conversation back on track, "are we going to address the issue of HYDRA operatives within SHIELD's ranks as a group, or am I left to indiscriminately annihilate them all myself?"

"What?!"

"HYDRA infiltrated SHIELD?!"

"I keep telling you not to trust those shady government types."

"Fury's one of those 'shady government types' and he saved your ass, Stark!"

"Oh, did he? Is that what you call firing a nuke at New York City?"

"Fury didn't do that and you know it!"

"Um, no. I don't know that, actually. What I know is that your bosses tried to level Manhattan and I almost died on the wrong side of a wormhole to space, so trusting them? Not high on my list right now."

"For Frigga's sake!" Loki shouted, dropping his head into his hands. "No bloody wonder you people needed my help to 'defeat' me!"

Five incredulous stares – along with one embarrassed and one greatly amused – met this exclamation. Grateful that the stares at least came with silence, he began ticking points off on his fingers as he spoke. "Creating a scene in Germany so I'd be easy to find, allowing you to 'capture' me..." ensuring Thor's relative safety while getting him out of my way. Even with their gradually mending relationship, he'd never admit that aloud. Allowing the thought to pass by unvoiced, he skipped to the next: "Keeping that vessel you were on from falling apart or crashing before you could repair the turbine, setting up the portal in the most painfully obvious place on your little planet! Waiting around for you to catch up, ensuring Stark had safeguards in place before ejecting him out of a window so he wouldn't die – I quite like you, Stark. I would truly have hated to see you splattered on the pavement."

"Um... Thanks?"

Romanov was still staring at him as though he'd grown another head. He was tempted to do so, just to see if the saying proved true, or if her expression would actually change. "So you're saying you lost on purpose?"

"Oh, did you think five little humans actually brought down a God?" The mocking smile he gave her, and her sour look in return, brought him such immense joy that for a brief, shining moment, he almost forgot that the entire universe was in mortal peril. "That is adorable."

For the briefest of moments, he'd also forgotten about Banner. He cringed when from the other end of the table he heard a quiet, "Should I let the other guy out to play and see how 'adorable' you still think we are?"

"Even the beast won't be able to stand against Thanos," Loki pointed out, hiding his discomfort and getting back to the main topic. "And now that you have two of the artifacts he's hunting for, he'll be coming straight for you."

"No, we don't." Barton's tone started out casually dismissive, but grew more concerned as he went on. "I mean, they're here on the planet, but we don't have them."

Everyone seated around the table seemed to realize the full implications of the shit storm ahead of them at once. As expressions crumbled from bored or concerned to alarmed and then to an odd combination of panicked and weary, Romanov groaned. "SHIELD has them."

Loki was beginning to think he should simply glue his hand to his face. "I hate you all."

___________________________________________________

Next Masterlist

[starprincecas]

What was the point of it all?

Now that I’ve had a few days to sit with my feelings about the series finale, I think it’s time I got this out. This is something that needs to be said.

I hate that a lot of the rage and anger about the ending is being treated reductively with “destiel shippers are just mad their ship didn’t go canon”, as if that’s the only thing to be angry about.

Let’s be frank here, even with people being hopeful and positive and meta-ing about episodic and character beats for the past 10+ years, using their eyes and critical thinking and going “hmm, this... isn’t straight”, how many people sincerely thought they’d get openly queer characters, queer main characters and ones who have romantic feelings for each other no less, from a show that’s so notoriously bad with queer representation as a whole?

I certainly didn’t.

Did I want it? Absolutely. Was I hopeful about it? Sure, but I don’t think I actually expected them to go beyond the wink-wink nudge-nudge of plausible deniability because that’s what they’ve done since the very beginning. 15x18 honestly surprised me because I wasn’t expecting them to have the guts to go through with it even though they’d both laid the foundation and reinforced that that was the only direction it could go for Castiel.

Now, here’s where I’m mad; not about the final, final tease of something they’ve been baiting us with for literal years (like I said, tempered expectations), or even entirely that they clearly used it to increase their viewer count (fuck them especially for that one), but that the finale was a spit in the face to the characters and to us. Honestly, I’m more sad than I am mad. I wasn’t crying and grieving these last few days because “my ship didn’t go canon”, I was grieving because the people I love were treated so badly and I couldn’t do anything about it but watch it happen.

SPN, for all its flaws and problems, have spectacular characters. I love almost all of the characters (both bit and main with a few exceptions) a lot and have for years. I love them almost like they’re my family.

I’m grieving Sam, Dean, and Cas, and their found family, because they were my found family too.

None of them got a happy ending. Sure Sam lived on, but he was miserable the entire time; he was mired in his grief for the rest of his life. We’ve seen him try to leave hunting before, twice, both times unsuccessfully, before he realized it wasn’t something to run away from. Maybe he’d retire or semi-retire eventually like Bobby did, but he’d come to terms with it and found happiness and satisfaction for himself and with Eileen. But in the end we don’t even know whether she was even brought back after Chuck had snapped her and everyone else away because none of them speak of her again. None of the other characters are spoken of again either; we just have to assume Jack brought them back along with everyone else and that no one thought to reach out to anyone else just to be sure, to reassure themselves and each other that they’re safe and in one piece, that they’ve all finally won their freedom from being chess pieces on Chuck’s cosmic chessboard of milking Winchester AngstTM. Sam lost so many people in quick succession before they defeated Chuck; he lost his entire family of Cas, Jack, and Dean within a few weeks of each other.

The finale has him running away from his past, from hunting, from everything in his life, just to make a point of showing he’s grieving Dean and will forever grieve Dean. Does his blurry wife in the background even know about the grief he’s bearing, or did he package it away like he did with Amelia? There’s no indication he has any support system left, that he was ever able to move forward from that, because having him grieving Dean was the only thing that mattered to the writers/show.

Dean was given the worst ending. He’s lived his entire life for the sake of other people, chiefly Sam, and the moment he’s “finally free” to live his life he dies, terribly and cheaply. Maybe it was meant to hint at how death can be sudden and unexpected, to remind us that hunters live a life where any hunt they go on could be their last, but screw that. It was unfair. Just because he always expected to die bloody didn’t mean he had to, he deserved to live. To have a chance at living for himself however that turned out to be; whether that meant continuing hunting, or hanging it up for a normal life, or finding a balance between the two. And no, just because he went to Heaven doesn’t mean it’s a happy ending either, because he spent it alone. The only person he sees in Heaven is Bobby, who hints at his parents and Rufus and his girlfriend staying just around the corner; Cas and Jack get a passing mention to explain how/why the heavenly system got changed, and that’s it. None of their friends were worth a mention, not even Ellen, Jo, or Ash considering they’re in front of the Roadhouse (I can’t decide if this is more hilarious or sad). Dean barely spends more than a few minutes to get this mini info-dump from Bobby before he decides to go driving forever into the open roads of heaven to wait for Sam. For a man who loves and loves deeply, apparently no one else mattered at all (which, ha, try to convince me of that in another life where I haven’t seen him grieve and rage over losing said people). Oh, and to be clear, I’m not saying he shouldn’t be waiting for Sam, I’m saying he didn’t have to wait alone. I don’t know about you, but being alone for the interminable eternity of Heaven waiting for someone I love as much as Dean loved Sam doesn’t sound like Heaven to me.

I don’t know how anyone can love Sam and Dean and say they’re happy about this ending for either of them.

And of course we can’t forget about Cas. Castiel has spent almost his entire life trying and struggling to do what’s right. He’s been treated as a hammer and a weapon, a conduit for heavenly power, all the while trying to escape from what he’s been pigeonholed into. He’s suffered so much and for so long right alongside the brothers, for their sake, for the world’s sake, and been taken for granted even by the people he loved for much of it because of how useful he is/can be to them. Sure the Winchesters loved him, we know that, but he doesn’t; he hardly ever got them expressing as much to him through actions let alone words (seeing as they struggle to manage it in the latter even between each other). He deserves to have that just as much as anyone else does. Beyond all that, he deserved to be grieved over when he died. Except for a comment or two in the last two episodes, he wasn’t grieved at all.

I’m not even entirely happy with Jack’s ending either because he was a literal child in an adult’s body. He barely got 4 years of a life before he had to become the new God. But hey, it was necessary to resolve the final large plot thread (like there weren’t other alternatives they could’ve taken) so I just need to shut my mouth and accept it, right?

We get a shoddily cobbled together goodbye for Team Free Will 2.0 and no one else. No goodbye for Eileen, Jody, Donna, Charlie, Kevin, Rowena... the list goes on. Oh, but we got Bobby in Heaven in the end for a hot minute, so that’s good, right?

What the show tried to tell us with that finale is that no one really matters, not even Sam and Dean, because grief is more Edgy, more Meaningful, more Poignant, and happiness doesn’t matter worth a damn.

We’re grieving because we loved them, found someone to relate to with their struggles or saw ourselves in them. So you’re gonna have to excuse me for being mad at them tossing this at us and saying we should be happy with their hollow idea of ‘happiness’. In the end we were just cash cows and a number on their viewer count anyways.

[mcrrisons]

wooo hi friends!! s here FINALLY dropping this intro, you’ll now know that i’m late to everything O:) i have insane muse for this type of character so i’m sooo excited to be here! any questions lmk but now ........... *rubs hands together like a fly* let’s get to plotting

@mapleviewstarters​

『 travis fimmel. fourty-six. cismale. he/him. 』 oh heavens, is that WELLS MORRISON from CHESTNUT DRIVE i see roaming around mapleview? minnie may’s always calling them -BELLIGERENT & -CONTRITE. i happen to think they’re not that bad! they’re a pretty cool at COLLECTING UNEMPLOYMENT and every time i’ve seen them, they’ve always been +CAPTIVATING & +OPEN-MINDED. i hope i see them around again! 

TW: ALCOHOLISM, DEATH, ABUSE

GETTING TO KNOW WELLS

full name: wells irving morrison

age / birthdate / sign: 45 / november 18, 1974 / scorpio

gender / pronouns: cismale / he/him

orientation: hetero

height: 6′2″

hair color: dirty blond, some gray growing in

tattoos: a lot of drunken tats over the years, either cheap ones or ones that his buddies did for him for free. most of the actual WANTED ones covered up some scars he chose to ignore

drinks / smokes / drugs: big yes to all, no one left behind - but alcohol and cigarettes daily as those are more acceptable and easier to get

occupation: although collecting unemployment from the government, he often has plenty of odd jobs to make money under the books. 

residence: mapleview, born and raised. still lives in the same plot of houses his great great bought / built years ago.

alignment: chaotic evil (but he tries his best............ ok)

parents: hank (deceased) & caroline morrison 

siblings: 2 brothers (jeremiah & tucker) and 1 sister (addison) that he KNOWS of

children: lane morrison (intro here), and probably a few others but that’s for future plots!!

WHAT’S HIS STORY ?

wells’ blood runs thick through this town to a long line of morrisons, and they sure as hell make SURE everyone knows it. rumors have flown around about the morrison family for generations, eyes roll when they enter a space (at least in wells’ experience) & they own a reputation of chaos. scaring away newcomers just by being themselves. and of course, like it was in his dna, wells’ actions would align with those that preceded him.

he grew up on a plot of land bought many moons ago by his great great ... grandfather / uncle /  (the story changes every time he hears it) w/ a few trailer-like one story homes with broken screen doors & random “antiques” in the yard aka things that people in fair lane were throwing out that everyone THOUGHT would be needed one day. (still lives here btw!!!)

growing up around family was FINE but it reminded him of his destination - what he was going to end up like anyway, DESPITE being kinda smart in school & having larger dreams. the family was scrappy, deceitful; wells learned at an early age how to manipulate people to get what he wanted. he was taught how to STEAL, lie, charm, and how to get by with what they had.

wells spent most of his childhood at his uncle’s home, just a few minute walk away on the plot bc his own home wasn’t ideal. he looked up to the guy A LOT, but hasn’t spoken since he left mapleview for bigger and better things when wells was just 15.

his father, a returned drafted vietnam vet, took out the anger of what he witnessed / how he was treated / how life was UNFAIR out on his family, and often times physically. he wasn’t involved in wells’ life all too much, only when he needed something or wanted to let off some steam. 

his mother was a caring & loving woman, also mapleview grown (the two had been high school sweethearts), but loyal to a FAULT, always choosing her husband to back. 

screams, crashes, fights, fires - you name it. needless to say, that plot of morrison homes never had it quiet, easy. cops knew everyone by first and last name and could drive the route from the station to the morrison’s home with their eyes closed.

wells’ father DIED when he was 19 (although wells hadn’t considered him alive for a while) & no one knew HOW so there was never any closure for him, his mother, his fam... all his death provided was another source for the rumor mill surrounding the morrisons. was it a bad bar fight ? did he have a bad fall ? wrong pills ? some say his mother was a killer but he knew better than that.

wells’ mother is still live & somewhat well, living with his brother in a house about 20 minutes away. at her old age, it’s hard for her to do things on her own and it was decided that wells - the youngest of his generation - wouldn’t be able to care after her, let alone care for himself. she’s been there for about 10 years now and still complains every minute.

ok back to our boy. somehow wells managed to destroy every good thing that ever came his way. self-destructive due to self-hatred and REGRET which never got better as he got older and continued to well, destroy things. a slippery slope, for sure.

alongside his uncle, always dreaming of getting out of this small town, wells was good ENOUGH at school and that was his way. but of course it didn’t happen: 1. he fell into fulfilling prophecy of his predecessors, 2. he had not a PENNY to his name to leave (i.e. gambling addiction), 3. he had a child in his early twenties, 4. he tried to fight the admissions counselor at the nearby community college

having some sort of love in his life. didn’t happen: 1. he pushed/pushes everyone that dare get too close (mostly selfishly), 2. couldn’t change his addictive personality (i.e. alcoholism), 3. began to resemble his father, 4. has 0 emotional intelligence and cannot touch feelings/emotions

to get a job and be a normal person in society. didn’t happen bc: 1. has a narcissist complex, 2. would steal from the cash register, 3. would hit on customers, 4. doesn’t understand paying “taxes”

more to add here

BASICALLY, he’s lived a life. he acts as though his life is already over, there’s nothing to lose, nothing to gain and this is just how it will be for the rest of his time on earth. he’s despondent and lives far too much in the PAST, blaming himself for everything that came his way (but ok he’s not too far off tbh).

although MANY a regret linger in his mind before sleep, his largest regret is losing his family - the love of his life who LEFT the two high and dry just after about a year together and his son who moved out at just 16. the mother of his child was the only person he remembers that saw him for more than rumors, his facade and became a good influence to him - but OF COURSE he fucked that one up and she left. he blames himself big time, but would never show that. only hatred her way aloud. 

his son, lane, left while still a boy just like himself, and it HURT to think that the apple hardly fell from the tree above, not able to be a good father. never TAUGHT how to be one. manipulative to a fault, wells would always say the younger was never appreciative, never UNDERSTOOD... and he’d convince himself that his son hated him as much as he hates himself. he’ll also say he’s the only reason he’s still alive. LOVE / HATE seems to blur so often for the old man here. always did.

the only constant throughout his life has been alcohol. the morrison’s start off early of course, and wells was drinking/etc on his own by the time he was 12. UNLESS you count the bourbon his father would feed him to sleep as a baby. what started off as social and partying as he grew older, became something much more ugly. his body didn’t just crave it, it NEEDED it to function by the time he was in his early twenties. it was easier to hide it then, all young and into a good time but it wouldn’t just last for weekends. he’d need a drink to get by mentally, and physically and became fully dependent. a depressant to match his mental illness.

WHO IS HE ?

he has a DEEP southern accent with a hard RASP that sounds as though he smokes a pack a day (because he does). 

despite graduating high school (i KNOW, believe it), he doesn’t have a vocabulary too wide and will use larger words incorrectly all the time.

can have a bit of an old grumpy man aesthetic, easily belligerent, even though he’s only in his 40s and can be charming as hell too (that smile!!!! ok!!! knows how to manipulate.)

he doesn’t trust the government at ALL and is a bit of a conspiracy theorist, despite collecting money from the government each week for unemployment. he refuses to pay taxes so only does jobs under the books. will go on a tangent about how the government is creating diseases, hiding aliens; eat the rich, etc... he also doesn’t trust cops at all, despite being picked up and taken home by them at least once a week.

grew up on rock and roll! had a band in the 80s where he could’ve SWORN they’d be rich and famous. long hair, tight pants, acting out - wannabe motley crue.

drives (ILLEGALLY) an old ford from the 70′s that somehow still works, after losing his license years ago from too many DWIs. 

i assume all of the town knows him as the town DRUNK. maybe it used to be funny back in the day, but now it’s just really SAD. he’s a nuisance. 

WHO DOES HE KNOW ?

y/c HIRED him for some odd jobs, must be under the table.

HIGH SCHOOL BUDDIES who also stayed around mapleview. they can be friendly, enemies now, distanced, a lot to do here.

a BROTHER / step (which i might submit to the main :))

a ONE-NIGHT stand

a GOOD INFLUENCE who tries their best to get him working towards something better. fair warning, this would 9.99/10 times not work.

where wells is the BAD INFLUENCE to y/c, convincing them to drink a ton, giving horrible advice when they’re in their most vulnerable state.

a STORE OWNER that has banned wells from entering their establishment due to a prior mishap.

a DEALER of all things wells shouldn’t, but does.

THE HILLS by the weeknd - a plot where these two are hooking up or together but only in secret. whether that’s because they’re in different socioeconomic classes, have a bad history, the other is cheating... they have to hide.

WHITE KNUCKLES - they’ve previously had a bar fight, are known enemies. could’ve been something said about his family, his past.

[stiltonbasket]

chancellor of the morning sun: defense (reconstruction)

In which Lan Xichen throws hands and introduces her family to the second Maiden Lan; or, part 4 of the nielan au that has completely taken over my brain.

Part 1 | Part 2: Lesson (Youth) | Part 3: First Meeting, Mingjue (Childhood) | Part 4: First Meeting, Xichen (Childhood) | AO3

Jin Guangyao spends a great deal of time trying not to get on the wrong side of his stepmother's temper. 

This is not a recent development, of course; she was so enraged when Jin Guangshan legitimized him that she beat him with her spiritual flail twice in the first week, and her beatings only grew longer and more frequent after her husband’s death. Jin Guangyao hardly grudges her for it now, of course; after all, he did kill his father, by slipping trace amounts of medicine into his tea for three straight months until he died during a visit to one of his mistresses—and then it was found that the young woman was only fifteen when the affair began, and sixteen when she had a child with him, and Jin Zixuan was so horrified by the revelation that he brought the Second Mistress of Mo to the Jinlintai and gave her a separate wing of her own, so she could raise her son in peace with all the advantages that befitted the half-brother of a sect leader. 

(Jiang Yanli had been so pleased that Jin-gongzi was doing right by his baby brother that the news of Jin Guangshan’s death was almost immediately followed by word of Jin Zixuan’s renewed engagement, which pacified Madam Jin for a while—but not for long, because the gossip about Jin Guangshan seducing a maiden who was little more than a child infuriated her to the point where she began beating Jin Guangyao again the moment Jin Zixuan went to Yunmeng with Maiden Jiang’s betrothal gifts.)

And as luck would have it, this particular beating occurred the day before Jin Guangyao was supposed to journey to the Cloud Recesses to visit Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue, and his weak golden core ensured that by the next morning, he was not yet well enough to go.

He sent word to Lan Xichen—or to his Da-jie, now, since he swore brotherhood with her and then with Nie Mingjue after the war—and shut himself up in his room to wait for his wounds to heal, already wondering if he could reschedule his duties for the next week in time to make a visit to Gusu then. But the wounds proved slower to heal than he thought, and the next two days’ worth of work had to be put off, too—which is why Jin Guangyao is currently lying on his stomach in bed and fretting, because Jin Zixuan is almost certain to write and ask if he wouldn’t mind covering him for a little longer so he can spend more time with Maiden Jiang. But then he won’t be able to go next week, either, and then his plans to visit Gusu will probably have to be delayed until the next month, so Da-jie can have her little one in peace and recover before any guests arrive. 

“Did she know I was going to leave for Gusu this afternoon?” he sighs, trying to stretch and wincing at the searing twinge in his back. “I wouldn’t put it past her to beat me worse on purpose, if she did.”

But his thoughts are interrupted a moment later by one of the disciples, who taps on the door and announces that someone has come to visit him. “Who?” Jin Guangyao asks blearily, raising his head and promptly regretting the attempt. “Tell them to give me five minutes. I’ll come receive them in the Fragrance Hall the moment I’m dressed.”

“Ah—they won’t wait five minutes, Lianfang-zun,” the disciple squeaks. “They wouldn’t even let me announce them to her ladyship, they’re already with me in the hallw—”

And then the door flies straight off its hinges, followed by a dark black cloud and a fresh-smelling white one storming into his bedroom before the white one cries out in shock. 

“A-Yao!” 

Jin Guangyao scrambles upright, completely ignoring the pain in his back as he fumbles for a quilt and pulls it over his shoulders. “Da-ge, da-jie!” he gasps, as Nie Mingjue glances back at the broken door and throws a pouch full of money at the poor junior standing behind him. “What on earth are you two doing here? Da-jie shouldn’t even be getting out of bed, in her state!”

“Which is why you’ve been talking of nothing but visiting me for weeks!” Lan Xichen cries, her eyes widening in horror as she sees the crusted bloodstains on the sheets and the used bandages littering the floor. “I knew there was something wrong when we got your letter, so Mingjue-xiong and I came here as fast as I could. Pass me my healing kit, A-Jue—and for heaven’s sake get that blanket off your shoulders, A-Yao!”

She rummages in the bag Nie Mingjue hands her and pulls out a few glass jars full of clear salve, which she smooths over Jin Guangyao’s wounds (one tincture for pain, one to ward off infection, and one to prevent scarring, apparently) before taking out Liebing to begin healing the gashes with spiritual energy. 

“Ah, da-jie,” Jin Guangyao protests, looking desperately at Nie Mingjue—who is looking back at him in turn, his brows drawn together in a frown as the Lan sect master tends to each bruise and cut with murder in her eyes. “Should—should you really be wasting your spiritual energy on me, just now? This isn’t the first time I’ve been beaten, and I’ll get well soon enough with just the salve.”

“It isn’t the first time?” Lan Xichen repeats, so angry now that Jin Guangyao can feel the wrath rolling off her golden core in waves. “Who would do such a thing to you, now that Jin Guangshan is dead? Jin Zixun is still weak after the Hundred Holes, he couldn’t even have lifted a weapon like this—and if it was anyone on his side of the family, just tell me who it was and I’ll—”

“Isn’t it obvious, Xichen?” Nie Mingjue says, speaking for the first time as his eyes track the pattern of the wounds scattered across Jin Guangyao’s pale back—to identify the height of the person who gave them to him, as he understands a moment later with a sinking weight in the pit of his stomach. “Look at his wounds.”

“What about them?” Lan Xichen glances back at her husband in confusion before noticing that the gashes near the top of Jin Guangyao’s shoulders were made while he was kneeling, while the ones slightly lower down were dealt by surprise while he was in a standing position, and then the realization dawns on her face so quickly that Jin Guangyao feels a split-second’s worth of sympathy for Madam Jin.

“That—Jin-furen,” she hisses, pouring spiritual energy into his wounds so quickly that they finish knitting closed within the next minute, leaving nothing but irregular patches of new pink skin to prove that they were ever there. “First it was—oh, that woman!”

“Da-jie, you musn’t,” he entreats her, turning around as she stows Liebing back into her robes and marches towards the door with every inch of her body threatening consequences—and this even though she is with child, because she still carries Shuoyue at her waist and wears the horned silver crown of her rank pinned into her hair, and walks with the demeanor and bearing of a general even two years after the Sunshot Campaign. 

Suddenly, Jin Guangyao remembers that this is the woman who took Wen Xu’s head during the war after driving him from the Cloud Recesses almost single-handedly, and the woman who stood in front of Jin Guangshan on the stairs of the Jinlintai nearly a decade ago, when he ordered his illegitimate son thrown down to keep him from offending his wife, and called him every name under the sun before securing the young Meng Yao a place in her intended’s household. 

“Mingjue-xiong is rough-mannered with his men, but he is kind, and places their welfare far above his own,” she told him, holding his small, fine hands in her sword-calloused ones while they waited for Nie-zongzhu to find his way to her guest quarters. “You will be well-looked after as one of his disciples, I promise.”

“But he can’t—he cannot keep an eye on everyone, not every minute,” Meng Yao had whimpered, fighting the impulse to bury his face in Lan-guniang’s soft lap and cry because no one had been so gentle with him since his mother’s untimely passing. “I will never forget this, Maiden Lan, but please—my mother promised that my father would welcome me if I presented the pearl brooch he gave her, but the guards said—they said many women came with their babies, with just such a pearl brooch, and…”

“I am Nie-zongzhu’s betrothed,” Lan Xichen said peacefully, before patting his head so very carefully that he gave up and let his cheek rest against her knee. “He has made it clear that as the future lady of his household and his sect, his disciples are to honor my every command as they would honor his. If they mistreat you, you have only to tell me, and they will never do so again. And I will visit as often as I can, and expect letters telling me how you are faring when I cannot.”

“Why would you—I don’t understand, you…”

He meant to ask why a wealthy young mistress would go so far out of her way to protect a nameless nobody who had earned the disdain of a sect leader, and even promise him a place in a cultivation sect because she was so certain of her betrothed’s affections for her—but Lan Xichen seemed to read the question in his face, back then, and laid a finger across her lips before he could voice it. 

“I am a woman, Meng-gongzi,” she said, suddenly sounding both very old and very tired as a couple of early lines appeared in her forehead. “I have had to fight for every inch of ground I wanted since I was old enough to walk. First I fought to remain with my uncle and brother, and then for the right to sit in on council meetings as my father’s first heir, and then to have the courtesy name my father wanted for me. I fought to have my wedding delayed until I was twenty-five, because the elders wanted me married away from Gusu Lan as soon as I came of age, and then I fought for my inheritance, the sect leader’s seat, and won it only this past winter. 

“The cruelty of one’s birth forever weighing down one’s fate is not unknown to me, though my fate has never been cruel to me, only inconvenient,” the young girl sighed. “Being born a woman is not the same thing as being born a courtesan’s child, but I do not wish I was a man, and nor do you wish you were born to any mother but yours—is that not so?”

“It is,” Meng Yao whispered back. “I loved my A-Niang more than anything.”

What was it that Da-jie told him, after that?

“Then you understand that your circumstances are not your fault, or hers? Your father is a vile worm, Meng Yao, and none of his family have much claim to virtue, either. You will be much happier in Qinghe Nie, and if you find it does not suit you, ask Mingjue-xiong to send you east to Gusu Lan, and I will look after you myself.”

“What are you thinking about?” Mingjue asks him now, as Jin Guangyao finally clambers off the bed and pulls on some decent robes. “You’ve been awfully quiet, Guangyao.”

“Nothing,” he murmurs, smiling slightly. “I was remembering the day I first met you and Xichen-jie, that’s all.”

“And what a day that was,” his friend grumbles, crossing his arms before reaching out and handing Jin Guangyao his black velvet hat. “I was just thinking that the only good thing about being made a sect leader at eighteen was not having to sit with Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun, and the next thing I knew, all the Jin disciples were running into the banquet hall to tell me that they had to stop my intended from tearing Jin Guangshan to pieces over some village boy.”

“You shouldn’t have brought her here, you know,” Jin Guangyao says abruptly. “Madam Jin—she can be cruel, and journeying all the way from Gusu by sword, in da-jie’s condition—”

Nie Mingjue snorts. “As a faithful disciple of the Gusu Lan clan, it is my duty to acquiesce to my sect leader’s wishes,” he intones, mirth dancing in his eyes as Jin Guangyao huffs and turns away. “And as a husband, it is my honor to accompany my wife on all her ventures, no matter what they might be. There has been bad blood between A-Huan and Jin-furen since she and I were children, and whatever passes between them today, A-Huan will emerge the victor.”

“Bad blood? With Xichen-jie?”

“Oh, I never told you that story, did I? Well, the first time Zixuan laid eyes on Xichen—and he was only a foolish little boy, so it never meant anything at all—he decided that he wanted to marry her instead of Maiden Jiang. Madam Jin was angered by that, of course, what with Jin Guangshan being the pig he was, and she scolded Zixuan for it, but then she decided that Xichen was at fault and that her precious son would not have said such a thing unless Xichen had invited it.”

“When—how old was she when it happ—”

“Ten,” Nie Mingjue drones. “Jin-furen heard a mindless remark from a boy not yet nine years old, and then decided that Xichen, a child of only ten, was in the same class as your father’s women—that is, she decided that Zixuan might fall prey to her wiles and leave Maiden Jiang in Jin-furen’s own place, someday. And she never treated A-Huan well after that until she was forced to, when A-Huan became Lan-zongzhu eight years later.”

He frowns. “But then there was that business of Mo-guniang, so who knows how many young girls there were before...well, before. Such crimes are punishable by death in Qinghe.”

It is at that juncture that Lan Xichen reappears, sweeping into the room with one hand tucked behind her back and her head held high before dismissing the poor junior disciple who must have been forced to witness her encounter with Madam Jin. Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao both spring to their feet at the sight of her, Nie Mingjue to help his wife to a chair and Jin Guangyao to take Shuoyue; but she waves them both off and elects to remain standing instead, cooling her face with a borrowed fan from Nie Huaisang’s collection before laying a hand on Jin Guangyao’s cheek.

“She will never mistreat you again,” Xichen sighs. “I have ensured it, A-Yao. Forgive me for taking so long to notice that you were being so ill-used here.”

“Da-jie, you shouldn’t have! What if she treats you even worse than she did when we were young, now?”

“What could she possibly do to me? I am the master of one great sect, and the mistress of another,” she says dryly. “At least until A-Jue officially gives up his position to Huaisang, but that’s beside the point. I didn’t lead a third of the Sunshot Campaign to balk at the prospect of defending a friend, so let us say no more about it.”

“But what did you do?”

“Jin-furen loves Zixuan above all things,” Xichen shrugs. “I spoke to her about her conduct, and then I told her that I would give her son and future daughter-in-law a full account of your suffering at her hands if she dared lay a finger on you again. She went as white as milk so I said that last, so she knew my threats were not idle ones. Especially now that Zixuan dotes on little Mo Yu so much, and wants to make certain that any other half-siblings of his are at least well provided for.”

Jin Guangyao gapes at her. “Da-jie!”

“Get over it,” Nie Mingjue advises him. “Xichen decided she was going to protect you when she was sixteen, so that’s what she’s going to do. Thank her, and then come back to the Cloud Recesses with us—we want you to be there when the little one arrives, so Jin Zixuan can stop handing off his duties to you and put his courtship with Jiang-guniang on hold for a month or two.”

“You want me with you when the baby comes?” Jin Guangyao repeats, his throat feeling suspiciously thick at the prospect. “But I’m not—I mean, I helped with a handful of births when I still lived in the brothel, but I have no great skill in—”

“I want you there as my sworn brother, and my friend,” Lan Xichen says gently. “And neither of you are allowed into the birthing chamber, anyway. You’ll make me too nervous to concentrate, with how much you both worry.”

“But, A-Huan…”

“You’ll thank me for it later, my A-Jue. Just wait.”

*    *    *

Three weeks later, Jin Guangyao discovers first-hand that waiting outside a healer’s ward with Nie Mingjue, Lan Wangji, and Wei Wuxian is very, very different from helping carry water and sponging women’s faces back in the Chrysanthemum House when he was a child, because the mother behind those bolted doors is his dearest friend, and the father sweating like a salted da bai cai by his side is his own sworn brother.

(Jin Guangyao refuses to think of what he did with the Song of Turmoil, and what nearly happened before he came to his senses and stopped playing it for Nie Mingjue, and who had nearly been killed during that last horrible qi deviation, leaping into the fray in attempt to protect a terrified Nie Huaisang.)

“Why won’t she let us in?” Nie Mingjue says now, shaking Jin Guangyao out of his dark musings as he stares at the door with wild eyes. “If anything goes wrong—I can’t be here, when she’s in there!”

But the only man Lan Xichen permitted into her room was, unsurprisingly, Lan Qiren, who managed to gather himself well enough to hold her hand through the pains even when she let out a string of curses that shocked every Lan in the vicinity past the point of speech. 

“Where did Xichen-jie learn all those words?” Wei Wuxian murmurs, supporting his husband by his elbow as Lan Wangji sways dangerously towards the floor. He looks even more terrified than Nie Mingjue, for some reason, and every noise from Xichen’s room drains a little more color out of his face. “They’re very good.”

“My disciples never knew when to shut up when A-Huan was around,” Nie Mingjue groans. “I ought to have had them beaten for it, but I can’t blame them if their foul tongues are of some help to her now. “

But then, before anyone can try to distract Mingjue or Lan Wangji, or even convince them to sit down and stop pacing—a loud, strong cry rings out from behind the door, followed by a cacophony of shouted instructions from the attending healers and a sob from Lan Qiren. 

All four men freeze in their tracks, and Lan Wangji looks as if he might be sick. “A-Jie—” he says hoarsely, starting towards the next room on unsteady, stumbling feet. “Jie!”

And a moment later, Maiden Jiang lets herself out into the hallway, and bows once in Nie Mingjue’s direction before smiling so widely that he plunges straight down onto the floor and stays there. 

“A-Huan,” he begs. “Tell me, is she—”

“You have a daughter, Chifeng-zun, and mother and child are well,” she assures him, her own lips trembling slightly as Nie Mingjue bows his head and bursts into tears. “She kept herself safe the whole way through with her own healing cultivation, if you will believe it! The physicians are tending her now, and you and Wangji can come in to see them both as soon as Lan-zongzhu has had a sponge-bath and something to eat. But there is still much to be done in the first half-hour or so, so she has requested that you have something to drink and break your fast before entering.”

With that, she goes back into the healing ward and shuts the door behind her, and Jin Guangyao and Lan Wangji find themselves weeping, as well; though Lan Wangji weeps silently, pressing his face into Wei Wuxian’s shoulder and letting the tears wet his gown while his husband rocks him back and forth.

“I’m a father,” Nie Mingjue says, dazed. “A-Yao, I have a daughter!”

“So you do,” Jin Guangyao laughs wetly, as a disciple comes in with some food on a tray before fleeing as quickly as he can. “Who do you think she will look like?”

The answer—when the doors finally open, to reveal a room that had been thoroughly cleaned, a sobbing uncle, and a beaming Lan Xichen—proves to be that little Lan Jueying, who refuses to be parted from Xichen even for a moment without shrieking at the top of her lungs (unless she is being held by her father, of course, who bawls like a baby himself when Xichen first adjusts his arms around the child’s tiny pink body) looks exactly like her mother, and is just as beautiful. 

Jin Guangyao adores her from the moment he first sees her, and as for Lan Wangji…

“A-Jie,” he sobs, cradling the grumpy, wriggling bundle to his chest as his sister strokes his hair with such a loving look in her eyes that Lan Qiren starts crying again. “A-Jie, she’s perfect.”

[sabraeal]

Age of Reason, Part 1

Obiyuki AU Bingo Sleeping Beauty AU

The moon hangs swollen in the night sky, a bloated corpse in the river of the heavens. Fitting for a night like this, for the job he’s about to do.

Salt is thick on the air; a strange taste for a path in the middle of a wood, so tangled and choked with briars that he can hardly pass. As it is, they catch on the wool of his shirt, pulling snags in the pile. He huffs, plucking one from the shoulder seam. By the end of this little excursion, he’ll need a new wardrobe.

His mouth curves. Good. With the mountain of dir he’ll get from this job, he can afford an upgrade.

That is, if he ever gets there. The canopy looms, branches criss-crossing in a messy tangle, blotting out the sun. They said the village was only half a day’s walk, barely an hour over the border but--

That’s the thing about borders in these parts: there’s nothing to mark them.

The brush rattles, soft as a snake’s warning. His feet slide beneath him, supporting his crouch, legs coiled tight to pounce--

“Ah! Hail, traveler!” A man slips out from the bush, his hair a sloppy thatch of mouse brown, a basket perched high on his back. “Not many on these roads, of late!”

He straightens, yanking his boot away from where a briar has latched around its brim. “Can’t imagine why.”

The man smiles at that, but it’s a faint, bitter thing. “Ah yes, well, the plant life is certainly aggressive.”

He frowns down, plucking a bramble off his shoulder. “Can you tell me if it is far to Clarines?”

“Clarines?” His lips part in a friendly flash of teeth. “Why, you’re already there. Or at least close.” He hunches, squinting into the undergrowth. “There should be a marker, oh-- ah! There!”

There-- a small statue, nearly swallowed by the forest, shoulder-high. He steps toward it, gloved hand pushing aside the briars.

“What’s this?” He tilts his head. “An angel?”

“To guide us,” the man says, hushed. “Or guard us. I hardly know any longer.”

He lets out a bark of a laugh. “I thought the Clarinese were above superstition.”

The stranger’s smile wears thin. “So did we.”

The man next to him is large, tall and wide as a mountain, dwarfing the stool he sits on. Still, there’s something delicate about him, almost hesitant, holding this breath like he’s taking a plunge off the world’s edge.

“There’s a place,” the man says, his voice a deep rumble, like the way rocks move beneath the mantle of the earth. “In Clarines, just over the border. A manor.”

He leans in, on the hook. A manor means money, whether the people in it are alive or not. “Clarines? I thought they didn’t brook with the supernatural anymore. They’re--” he pauses, for dramatic effect-- “enlightened.”

The man’s mouth rucks into a smirk. “That they are.”

“And you’re telling me this manor is cursed,” he asks, dubious. “In this great land of reason.”

There’s gravel in this man’s laugh, the sorta of rasp that only comes from experience. “A man’s only reasonable if he believes what he sees with his two eyes.”

“And you’ve seen this?” he presses. “A cursed manor right in Clarines?”

“I have.” His teeth flash in the tavern’s dim. “And if you have any sense, you’ll see it too.”

“Where are you headed?” The man bobs along beside him, the mousy haystack of his hair ruffling in the breeze. “Down on to Wistal? I hear it’s nice this time of year. Prince just had a baby too, I heard. Holding a big party just to name the thing.”

He sighs. Clarines might be a land of reason, but they still clung to their royals. “No.”

“Eurikenna isn’t half bad either, if you don’t mind sticking to your own skin,” the man offers amiably. “They’ve got a festival of their own going on, least so they’re saying.”

He knows persistence when he sees it; this man has no intention of letting him walk in companionable silence. “I’m headed to Laxdo. Just across the border.”

The man’s brows hike to his hairline. “That so?” He lets out a huff of a laugh. “Seems as though we’re headed the same way. The name’s Shuuka.”

“Ah.” His mind whirs. “You can call me Kage.”

“Well, Kage--” he hitches the basket higher on his back-- “what brings you out to Laxdo?”

The gate, in theory, shouldn’t be a problem. Those royals like to make them high, make them spiked, make them out of wrought iron to keep the riff-raff out. He’s no stranger to being kept on the outside.

Boosting over a fence is no trouble, no matter how high they make it. But the briars, well-- those are a problem.

It’s the first part of his night to disappoint his expectations, but oh, it’s far from the last.

“Business.” His hands flex at his side, even as he smiles. “And maybe some pleasure.”

Shuuka’s smile stiffens. “Ah, well, there’s not much of either in Laxdo. Though if you’ve got something to trade, there’s always a few itching to buy.”

The man gives his pack a cursory look, but he assures him, “I’m no merchant.”

“Huh.” Shuuka’s mouth purses, thoughtful. “What else might bring you out this way?”

“KUREI!” A band of men raises their tankards as they catch sight of him in the corner, cheeks ruddy with drink. “The savior of Oberwald! You have a drink?”

He raises his own stein, nearly empty, but they’re all too far into their own to notice. With a raucous cheer, they turn back to the bar, wheedling for another pint.

Good. Now when they remembered that name, they would talk of the man who drank drink-for-drink with them, who told them just what they wanted to hear. He wouldn’t, of course-- but this night would be a blur to them, and a conversation with the man of the hour would be a lie that was safe to make. After all, he wouldn’t be around to gainsay them.

The big man is steady as he pours, the bottle comically small in his meaty hand. “Ah, so that’s what you have them call you.”

He watches his cup fill with dismay, smile plastered onto his lips. Now this-- this wouldn’t do. He could drink any of village men under the table, but this stranger--

Well, he knows when he’d be beat. “All the villages between here and Altenrode.”

“Quite a ways,” the giants says, shifting on his stool. “Thought I recognized the name they were shouting when I came in.”

“Many a tavern lifts a glass to me.” And he’s sure more than a few toast his eventual demise too. “But about this manor...”

The man’s mouth slides into a dangerous curve. “Ah, right, the cursed manor. Used to be a royal residence, you know. One of the ones built by the old king.”

A king’s manor. All the more promising. “Never heard of it.”

“You wouldn’t,” he agrees, “it was barely been finished before he died. The prince took up with it though. Kept a mistress of his there.”

He’d never much cared for Clarines-- too learned, and too suspicious in all the wrong ways-- but he did know something of their royals. At least, the younger ones. “The prince?”

“The same.”

His finger taps at the tables. “But none of this explains the curse.”

The man’s mouth splits wide, teeth flashing white in the dim. “Why do you think you’ve never heard of it?”

“I heard a rumor,” he says, casual, “that there’s a manor in Laxdo that used to belong to the royal family.”

Shuuka’s step stutters beside his. “Still does,” he manages after a moment. “On paper.”

Ah, now that was promising. “So it’s true.” He slants a sly look at him. “It was abandoned.”

A blunt-fingered hand ruffles through his mop of hair, anxiety entrenched at the corners of his eyes. “That it was.”

“The prince’s mistress used to live there, did she?” He doesn’t need to wait for Shuuka’s answer, it’s writ across his face. “Some say she still does.”

It’s silent for a moment, only the crunch of their shoes on the path to fill it, until Shuuka croaks, “Who says that?”

“So you mean this is a ghost situation.” He takes a quick sip of his ale and wishes he had more. “A haunting. Maybe a poltergeist.”

“No.” The man’s smile grows thin. “She’s alive, by all accounts.”

Alive. Now that’s a different sort of request. “I’ll admit you’ve got me intrigued, mister, but I exorcise spirits, not ex-mistresses.”

His mouth twists wryly. “Is that what you call it, then?”

“It is.” He settles back into his chair, balancing some of his weight on his toes. His knives dig comfortingly into the arch of his back. “I may make a name for myself for ridding folk of unwelcome guests, but those are the ones who have lingered, and need to pass on. By all accounts, a living mistress, well--” he winks-- “she’s done her job, and I’m not the sort to pry her from her hard-earned reward.”

The man shifts, the light of the lamps skittering over the hard planes of his face, and he grins. “Glad to hear it.”

Ever so slowly, he slides his feet down, so his soles touch the floor. “Still think I should go see this manor?”

“More than ever,” the man admits, and in the light, he swears he can see red glittering among the gray of his hair. “You see, this mistress, she’s not dead--” he hesitates, lingering at the edge of another drop-- “she’s asleep.”

Shuuka lets out a long string of air. “Wouldn’t think they’d talk about all that, even out in Tanbarun.”

“Ah, you know how it is.” He shrugs. “They love a good story. Even better if there’s a pretty girl with a curse.”

Shuuka grunts, casting him a measuring look. “And that’s what brought you here?”

He grins. “Who could resist?

The man shifts next to him, hesitant. “Just what was it that you do again, Kage?”

The brambles wrap tight around the bars, thorns as sharp and thin as needles. He places a hand over it, and-- ah, yes, that’s not smart. Not gonna be able to climb that way.

Not that he has many other options. Forewarned is forearmed, and someone hadn’t seen the need to tell him about the thicket of thorns tangled around the only entrance. Besides what could hang off his belt-- a few of his finer tools and a couple of his favorite knives, and a handful of nuts for good measure-- he’s shown up empty handed to a pruning party.

Still, if she had gotten in, he could too. He’d just have to get creative about it.

He stares down at his hands, leather giving a soft squinch as he flexes them. His teeth clench at the feel of padding against his palm.

Or he might just have to do this the old fashioned way.

His mouth hooks into a smirk. “I didn’t say.”

Shuuka’s eyes narrow. “Is that how you got that bruise on your cheek?”

The salt is rough against his palms, stinging where cuts haven’t yet become calluses. This hasn’t been the easy job he signed up for, but-- it’s fine. All this ends tonight.

He cranes his neck, squinting at the fattening moon in the sky. It’s not as full as he wants it, but that’s par for the course on this misadventure. It’ll do.

Stretching out a toe, he scratches a circle in the dirt. This isn’t how he likes to do this-- most villages have at least cobbled stones at its center, some sort of central pavilion around the town well, but-- not here.

He grimaces, pouring the sand into the trench he’s made. His payment here is more likely to be greens than guilder, but-- he knows better than to turn his nose up at a good meal. Not when he knows there’s no guarantee of his next.

“Kurei,” the mayor hisses from his doorstep, not daring to take a single step from its frame. “Are you sure--?”

“Stand back!” he warns, holding out his hands. Outstretched, they just fit inside the circle. “When I call the curse’s spirit, it will be violent! It longs for a life, and if any living being stands in this square besides myself, they risk becoming its next host!”

The townsfolk murmur worriedly at their doors, and one by one they close, even as shutters peep open. Eyes peer curiously out from slender cracks, all of them fixed on him. As they should be.

“I shall now call out the incantation.” He raises his arms, hands grasping beseechingly at the moon. “Protect me now, O Mysterious Maiden, for I call forth a power both vengeful and unknowable!” He takes a breath, and projects the words, “Veni! Vidi! Vici!”

For a long moment, there is only silence. He glances at sky, frowning as a cloud leisurely passes.

He clears his throat. “Veni. Vidi. Vici!”

A wind picks up, sudden and urgent, blowing at the salt in his circle, and pricking at his hair, but--

The moon shines down, unimpeded, and the circle around him softly begins to glow. Perfect.

A grunt saws from the rooftops, followed by a savage snort and a dangerous growl. He turns, a moment too late--

And catches a beastly elbow to the face.

His lips part in a grin. “Well now,” he drawls, casting his companion a sly look. “If you want to hear about that, you’ll have to buy me a drink.”

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

The Guardian’s Oath, Part Three

In order to make any sense of this, you’ll want to read Part One and Part Two. 

Thanks to everyone who’s read/ commented/ liked so far! My guess is that this section *maybe* represents the halfway point, although possibly a little less. I feel like I’m on the clock here since there’s at least one more “seasonal” (Halloween-type-theme) story I’m working on. 

Hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Feargal Devitt/ Finn Balor x OFC

Word count: 4,734

Content advisory: None. 

"Is everything alright, Miss? I thought I heard you cry out." 

Kate's voice startled me when I came back inside. 

"Oh yes, I'm sorry. I saw… there was a strange man at the gate just now but I told him to be on his way."

"A strange man?" She muttered something under her breath before continuing, "There's too many around this summer. You see tramps all the way down from Dublin with things being so hard there and it makes you feel like you're not safe in your own home."

"I hadn't thought of that. I assumed it was one of the village men."

Kate shook her head. "They're bad enough. But these city ruffians have a look that'll turn your blood cold."

"He was a peculiar looking fellow," I mused. "And there was certainly something about him that set my nerves on edge. But he's gone now."

I tried to sound confident but when I retired to my chambers for the night, I was haunted by visions of the dark man, filled with a foreboding that he meant harm to me or the children. During those few precious stretches when I was able to sleep, I dreamt of his pale eyes bearing down on me, of the man speaking to me without ever moving his lips. 

“I am coming,” he said, and nothing more. 

*

As the summer progressed, the children became more and more restless with their lessons. Although they did not associate much with the youngsters from town, they knew enough to be aware that schools had let out and that other children were free to spend their summers at play. I tried to keep them focused as much as possible but I found myself giving in to their wishes to go outside and, in particular, to go for long walks along the shore. 

I had become accustomed to the constant roll of the ocean in my new home but I still felt a little intimidated being next to what seemed like an endless expanse. In theory, I knew that there was land in the distance but the fact that I could not see it made me feel like it was a fantasy, as much as the monsters that the children told me of. 

“Miss Miles, can we please go around the point today?” William whined at me. 

For weeks, he had been begging me to circle around the tip of the beach crescent, around to the area just below the place where we had had our picnic. He could tell that each request was wearing me down just a little but I felt that he had reached my core and that I could not yield. The area was rocky and uneven, some of it barely above water even at low tide. I knew that, while he might be able to skip through it with impunity, I couldn’t hope to keep pace and could easily slip and injure myself, at which point I would be no help at all to him or his sister. 

“William, I’ve told you before, if we come to the beach, we stay on the sands,” I grumbled, irritable from a bad night’s sleep. “It’s too dangerous to risk going farther.”

“But there are caves! I want to go and look inside them!”

“My word is final and you know perfectly well that your father would agree with me.”

I remained nervous that the children could damage my position by complaining that I’d treated them unfairly, so I’d taken to invoking their father when I needed to enforce discipline. It worked in this case, as it always did, although every time I refused him his adventure, I could see William’s expression growing more frustrated and angrier. 

The three of us took our dinner together, William still sulking. 

“How did your family die?” he blurted as we waited on dessert. 

“Willam, be quiet,” Sophia hissed. “You’ve no right to ask her such questions.”

At the same time, I saw her dark eyes cut back to me for an instant, as if she wanted to see how I’d react without her intervention. I was exhausted and knew that no real harm could come of sharing my story. I even thought that it might generate some sympathy in them. 

“My mother died giving birth to my younger brother,” I informed them coolly. “My father loved her very much and after she died… his health began to deteriorate.”

I knew enough to avoid telling the whole truth in this case, namely that starting with my mother’s death, my father had started to drink heavily. This was not appropriate for children to hear. Then again, I mused, it was not appropriate for a child to experience. 

“He was a schoolteacher and as his health declined, he was forced out of work,” I continued. 

“So you were paupers?” Sophia asked sharply. 

“We were not so bad off. My father had some meagre savings that supported us, and he was able to take on some work tutoring.”

“Where is your brother now?” William now seemed more curious than resentful. 

I inhaled deeply. 

“My brother died when he was hardly more than a baby.”

“Was he sickly? What did he die of?”

I was not expecting the barrage of personal questions but I understood them to an extent. I likely could have scolded them and told them that they were being presumptuous. Instead, I cast my eyes down at the table and spoke. 

“He just died. No one could ever determine why. He went to sleep one night and never woke up.”

“How mysterious!” Sophia exclaimed. 

“I suppose so,” I responded softly. “After his death, my father’s health grew even worse. He grew weaker and eventually, he died too.”

“As a result of his illness?”

“He took a kind of a turn. I think he must have felt dizzy and he fell and hit his head. He died a few days later from the injury.”

“That’s horrid,” Isabella gasped. “You were left all alone!”

“Not quite all alone,” I answered with a smile. “My church took me in and made sure that my needs were met. They also made sure that I was educated enough to be able to take on a position as governess. And here I am with you.”

Sophia frowned a little. “Do churches in your area normally do that?”

“I suppose I was lucky that this one was very generous.”

The truth was that their generosity had always confused me. When I was very young, I didn’t understand why anyone should be so kind to me. As I grew older, I appreciated it more but I understood that this was not something that was normally practiced. Perhaps I had been lucky enough to be born in an especially generous parish. Perhaps the reverend there had seen some potential in me from the beginning, for he was always my champion and closest ally. I only knew that I had fared better than another in my situation could hope to. 

We all retired early, our lungs full of ocean air that soothed the brain. I read to the children from a book of fables that didn’t seem to bore them too much and was relieved when they declared themselves exhausted after just a few minutes. 

I said my prayers that night remembering my family and hoping that they had made their way to Heaven. 

At around one, I was awakened by Kate, who was in a panic. It took me a moment for me to get her to speak coherently. 

“It’s the young Master,” she sobbed. “He’s run off. She says she doesn’t know where he’s gone.”

The word “she” was said with a level of suspicion and anger that surprised me. I knew she was speaking of Sophia and that she had some dark opinions on the young Devitts, but it hardly seemed a tone appropriate to speaking of a child.

“How long has he been gone?”

“About ten minutes ma’am. I ran out to see if I could catch him because he’s run off to hide in the woods as a game before, but I couldn’t see him anywhere.”

I started to gather some clothes so that I could at least make a pretense of being presentable. 

“Was the back gate unlocked?”

“It was, although I can’t say for certain if that was done tonight.”

The two of us descended the stairs, looking out at the trees whipped around by the wind. I was aware that Sophia trailed after us but I was annoyed at her for her refusal to divulge where her brother had gone, even though I was certain she knew. 

“Kate, did you see him go in the direction of the woods?” I asked, another idea springing to mind. 

“I did not… I just assumed that since he’d gone before…”

“He’s not back there,” I told her. “He’s gone down to the water to look at the caves.” I spun to face Sophia. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

She pursed her lips, looking genuinely shocked that I had figured out the answer so quickly.

“The caves?” Kate exclaimed. “But it’s high tide! He’ll be pulled out to sea!”

“Kate, I need you to go to all the houses nearby. Wake them and tell them that you need to form a search party for Master William and tell them we think that he’s near the ocean. They can cover the ground over land in case he’s taken that route. I’m going to go down to the beach to see if I can find him there.”

“But it’s not safe!”

“It will be fine,” I assured her, far from convinced myself. “I should be able to catch him before he makes his way around the point. Hopefully, he’ll turn back on his own when he sees the water but at least I can move much faster than he does.”

Without waiting for another word, I bolted from the house, rushing down to the beach and almost falling several times. The tide was at its highest point, almost reaching the top of the rocks where William liked to collect his specimens. Even at a distance, I could see that the point of the crescent, where WIlliam would have to go in order to access the caves on the other side, was covered in water up to its vertical rise. And well ahead of me along the beach, I could see a small figure skipping along the rocks. 

“William!” I screamed, starting after him as quickly as I could. “William, stop! It’s too dangerous!”

The wind whipping off the water was too much for my voice to carry, so I continued after him as quickly as I could go, confounded that his tiny legs seemed to carry him at almost the same pace. It took me some time to close any distance between us and I was still too far behind for him to hear me calling after him. 

As he approached the end of the beach, I saw him pause and peer forward, as if he were following someone and questioning the wisdom of going further. I tried to call out his name even louder but I grew winded very quickly. 

It seemed like insanity, even for a child, but William waded out into the water, making his way towards the point. I trembled at the thought that in order to catch up with him, I would have to do the same, already imagining the weight of my clothing and the tug of the current on my legs. 

He clung as close as he could to the shore and began to gingerly make his way around the turn. Once he slipped, the rocks beneath his feet doubtless slick and deadly, but he resurfaced a second later, scrabbling his way up to the side of the rock and clinging to it as he made his way around and out of my sight. 

Terrified, I realized that in order to have any hope of overtaking him before the danger became worse, I would have to take a diagonal route, walking through the water rather than moving along the shore. I had never in my life ventured into the ocean but the need to rescue my young charge was greater than my fear. I waded out until the water reached my thighs and fought my way with all my strength. As I approached the point of the crescent beach, I stumbled, almost getting pulled under and soaked to my chest but I persevered, making my way forward until I saw the gouges in the earth that formed the caves William so wanted to see. 

As I approached the first one, I heard screaming over the wind and made my way towards it. Indeed it was William, ghost white and terrified, begging for help. 

“I can’t swim!” he shrieked. 

Of course, I couldn’t swim either, but I wasn’t about to say that. 

“I’m coming William!” I cried out, fighting my way towards him. “We’ll be safe soon!”

By the time I reached him, cowering on a ledge inside the cave, my lungs were burning from exertion. I gathered him up in my arms but my grip was weak. I was gasping and desperately trying to keep hold of him and I could tell from the look on his face that my demeanor was doing nothing to inspire confidence. Despite the cold of the water, my entire body felt like burning coals wrapped in skin. Truthfully, having made it this far, I wasn’t certain I could guide us to safety but I knew I had a better chance than the boy had on his own. And, although I felt shame at the thought as soon as it occurred to me, if I were to leave and focus only on saving myself, there was the chance that he would survive and be able to tell others that I had abandoned him. 

I wrapped my arm around him and crept forward to the mouth of the cave. I glanced over my shoulder, wondering if we might be safer heading further back, into the darkness behind us but there was no way to tell how far back the cave went, if there was a drop, or how deep the water was. So I clung as best I could to the rocky surface with my free hand, trying not to give into the panic I felt hearing William scream and cry. 

The rocks under my feet were slick and treacherous and more than once I slipped, sending both of us under the water and forcing me to expend more precious energy fighting back to the surface. After the second such accident, William ceased to cry and seemed to grow heavier. He coughed and spluttered and I found myself shaking him violently in the hopes of making him cough up the ocean water he’d swallowed. Eventually, though, I became so focused on getting back to the shore that it was all I was aware of. 

Rather than head back around the point and risk the strong current there, I took the shortest route and headed for the land nearest the caves. I remembered from our picnic on the cliff above that it was narrower and rockier but I didn’t believe I had the strength to carry William much further. I knew that there was some kind of path up because the children had taken it the day of our picnic. But I was certain what shape it would be in or how accessible it would be with the high tide. 

I felt like it took me hours to reach the point where the land rose above the water. The path up was difficult to mount but I somehow managed it, all the while pulling my young charge along. Although I managed to get us on to some semblance of solid ground, the soil there was loose and slid around, frustrating my attempts to crawl to safety. William whimpered and whined, for I was at this point dragging him like a sack behind me. I had to pause every few steps just to get more air into my body and because I felt too exhausted to continue. I gave some anguished sobs myself, desperate and furious that this boy had put us both in danger. 

About halfway up the hill, I saw some lights and thought I heard voices. I waited a moment, afraid that I was imagining things but the sights and sounds persisted and it occurred to me that there were people there: Kate had gone to raise the alarm with our neighbors and she would have sent them to the place where she knew I had headed. 

“Help us!” I cried as loudly as I could manage. I knew I was nowhere near loud enough to be heard over the wind but knowing how close rescue was, my body refused to move further up the path. “For the love of God, help us!”

I stayed in place, clinging to William and holding him close to my body in order to share what little warmth I had. I continued to scream, my voice growing louder as some of my strength returned. Although his glassy eyes told me that he had no idea what was going on, William was roused by my voice and then joined me in my calls for help. As I reached what I truly felt might be my last breath, I saw a couple of faces appear above us. I raised my arm weakly and hollered in the hopes that they would notice us. 

“They’re here!” a man’s voice cried out. 

I felt my body slump as I realized that we’d been seen. I clung as tight as I could to William and felt my head tip back. Although I never lost consciousness, I was only dimly aware of what was going on as the men descended and gathered us up to bring us back to safety. There was a cacophony of voices offering praise to God, trying to evaluate our health, barking orders on where to take us. 

Finally, one familiar voice cut through them all. 

“Oh my heavens, Miss Miles,” Kate cried, “you are a saint.”

I felt filthy and waterlogged and pain ripped through every tissue of my body. I felt like nothing like a saint but her praise felt better and more genuine than anything I had been told in my life. I tried to smile but even the muscles of my face felt heavy and I don’t know that I managed more than a twitch of my lips. 

The rescue party conveyed us all back to Wynn Cottage, throwing rugs and blankets over us as they did. I heard Kate giving orders and was quietly impressed at how her sweet, matronly demeanor changed when leadership was needed. When we reached the cottage, the group split into two. One part hurried up the stairs with William, yelling that the doctor was needed. Another group carried me to the kitchen, where Susan was standing over a washing basin filled with hot water. 

I was surprised, in light of her often grouchy mood, to see that her eyes were red from crying and that she reached out to grab hold of my hand as soon as the men brought me close to her. She held onto it hard and a strange mix of prayers and praise flowed from her lips. 

“Thank you, thank you,” Kate muttered, fighting her way to the front of the crowd. “Now please leave us, we have to get her into the bath to warm her up. Give us some privacy please.”

The men shuffled out of the kitchen and I immediately felt Kate and Susan working at the buttons of my dress. Their movements were frantic enough that a few buttons were torn clean off. Each time that would happen, I heard Susan assure us that she would take care of it. When they finally removed the last of my drenched clothing, I saw Susan gather everything up and grab the errant buttons off the floor before disappearing. Kate helped me step into the basin and lowered me into the hot water. 

It was painful, for my skin felt like I was being poached in the heat, but she stroked my hair and soothed me, assuring me that this was what I needed. 

“You’ve done more than was ever asked of you,” she told me. “You are that boy’s guardian angel and everyone in this place is going to hear of what you did for him.”

Gently, she laid my head against the edge of the basin and I looked up at her, able to focus my eyes for the first time since my rescue. 

“Thank you,” I croaked, my voice cracking with the effort of speaking. “You’re too kind.”

She huffed and shook her head. “The Young Master deserves a hiding for sneaking out that way. You are a truly godly woman and there’s not many that would have done what you did, putting your own life in danger to save him.”

I remembered that moment in the cave when I had considered abandoning William for an instant and shame washed over me. 

Some voices came from the landing above and Kate frowned a little. 

“I suppose I’m needed up there,” she sighed. “Can you hold yourself up if I go? You won’t slip under the water?”

“I’m fine,” I promised her. “Go and tend to the boy and make sure he has what he needs.”

I thought that she was going to repeat her assertion that what he needed was a hiding but she simply shook her head and left the kitchen. 

My body had adjusted to the temperature and I could feel myself relaxing. Fatigue was so heavy on me that I did need to keep a firm grip on the sides of the basin to avoid sinking to the bottom. How ironic it would be, I thought mirthlessly, to have escaped a watery ocean death only to drown in a tub of water here. 

The oil lamp that had been left to give me some light flickered a little and I wondered if there might be a draft. I couldn’t feel anything on my skin but in my state, I couldn’t be sure of anything that was happening. The lamp seemed to grow dimmer and the shadows in the room drew closer. It was my exhausted mind toying with me, I told myself. I couldn’t trust my senses under such circumstances. 

Nevertheless, a current of fear ran through me, making me feel more awake and alert than I had in hours. And as I looked around the room, I saw a figure emerge from the shadows, the low lighting casting a sheen over its dark skin and illuminating its pale eyes. It advanced until it reached the edge of the basin where I lay, helpless, its long tongue flicking over sharpened teeth like a predator discovering injured prey. 

I wanted to scream but there was no air in my lungs and my lips refused to open. My whole body was paralyzed, so that I could not escape or fight him. His face was familiar but I could not remember from exactly where. But while I was certain I had encountered him before, I knew immediately that he had not been in this form, this demonic shape, nude with an oily hide, black mottled with red and white, a deranged grin and eyes that seemed to hold me in thrall. 

Unable to move though I was, I quickly realized that I was not unable to feel. As he leaned over the edge of the tub, he took hold of my foot and lightly dragged one clawed finger along the sole. The sensation made me shiver, made me want to thrash around to free myself, but I could do none of those things. Grinning, he dipped his head low and stuck his tongue into the bathwater like a cat at a saucer of milk. Then in one smooth motion he tightened his grip on my ankle and pulled my leg forward, immediately pulling my upper body under the water. 

I wanted to push myself up again. I wanted to wriggle free of his grip. I wanted to run from him. But my body would do none of this. Instead, I was forced to feel the air escaping my lungs, to feel the desperation and panic grow in me as I realized that I could not reach the surface. At the same time, I felt the tip of the demon’s tongue touch the instep of my foot and trail a hot path over my calf. I could feel its cruel smile against my skin as it made its way higher, until its mouth came to rest at the back of my knee. There was a sharp pain as he bit down on the flesh there and I wanted to cry out but had no power to do. 

At that moment, his touch was gone and I was trapped under the water unable to move. A second later, a clawed hand grabbed a handful of my hair and jerked me back into a sitting position. I gasped, drawing in as much air as I could, touching my skull where I’d felt hairs ripped out. My body was my own again but as I surveyed the kitchen, I saw that I was alone. Had I imagined everything? Had it all just been some fevered hallucination? 

I looked at the skin under my knee and found a red mark where he had bitten me, however, as I prodded it with my finger, the mark disappeared and the flesh looked normal once again. For the first time since the demonic figure had appeared, I heard noises coming from upstairs in the house. People were bustling around, Kate was giving instructions, there were footsteps everywhere. I stayed in the tub for as long as I could stand, feeling the water grow cooler against my skin. Susan had left some towelling for me and I wrapped myself in it as I emerged from my bath, relishing the sensation of the soft fabric. 

I stood there, wrapped up, before the oven for some time, lost in thought, before Kate came back into the kitchen. 

“Oh bless you, miss,” she exclaimed. “We didn’t even remember you here.”

“It’s all right. I’m warm and I’m dry now.”

“After all you’ve done, it’s a poor return on our part to leave you all alone.”

“Kate, I’m fine.” Instinct told me that I should keep my demonic vision to myself. “If you could fetch me my nightdress, I would be most obliged.”

She hurried out of the kitchen, still fretting and returned only moments later with my gown. She helped me into it, as my arms ached so much I could barely lift them. 

“Is Master William safe?” I asked timidly. 

“He’s better than he deserves to be. He’s asleep in bed as if nothing happened.”

“I was a bit rough with him,” I admitted. “I was worried that I might have injured him on the way back.”

“A few scrapes and bruises is all. And it’s no less than he deserves.”

“You mustn’t be too harsh on him. Children are adventurous at that age, especially boys.”

She shook her head, guiding me up the stairs. “I have three brothers and let me tell you that all of them knew that if they’d run off like that, the cuts they got from the rocks would have been the least painful part of the experience.”

I smiled weakly and hugged her as she helped me into the bed. 

“We all need to sleep,” I told her, “yourself very much included. I don’t want to hear you up and about at the usual hour. You rest as long as you can.”

“You’re too kind, ma’am.”

“Nonsense. It’s the very least I can do after all your work tonight.”

As she left the garrett, I saw that she turned and looked back at me for a moment. “God bless you and keep you,” she whispered. 

I was quickly asleep, however, I woke up periodically, convinced that I felt a hand on my cheek or my throat, or that an unseen figure was hovering nearby, waiting. 

[punkscowardschampions]

China & Bobby

China: Hey, have you heard

Bobby: ?

China: Your girlfriend is setting up private rehearsals with that kid Louie

Bobby: I know they’re running lines together, yeah, and you know she’s not my girlfriend

China: If that’s what you want to believe

China: that’s not what my sister reckons it is

China: or Jake, actually

Bobby: 👌 Well, I’ll believe what’s actually coming from Libi

China: 😂

China: Have fun waiting for that

China: hardly going to tell you, is she

China: I’m just warning you, so you don’t look like a total cuck

Bobby: what’s funny is 1. the idea you’re looking out for me and 2. that I’d need that when it’s Libs we’re talking about 😂

China: Yeah he said she was probably frigid

Bobby: I’m SO glad I can’t usually understand what either of you are saying

China: Ignorance is bliss

Bobby: when you’re talking that much nasty bollocks it is

China: Um, it’s her you’re actually mad at, not me

Bobby: No, it’s you I’m fed up of

China: I’ve done literally nothing to you

Bobby: You’re a bit busy with Libi as a target for now

China: How am I?

Bobby: You’re only talking to me to try and stir up trouble and make her look and me feel bad

China: Oh, because I’M the rude one here 👌👌

Bobby: Yeah, unless you wanna say sorry and start over

China: I don’t owe anyone an apology

Bobby: Alright, I’ll see you in rehearsal then

China: You mean the actual rehearsals we all go to, or the cliquey one your girlfriend organized?

Bobby: Depends if you’re gonna turn up there without an invite

China: I wouldn’t come even if she wasn’t excluding half the cast

Bobby: so it’ll be left to Ms Howe to referee, lucky her

China: She literally started it, if it’s annoying you, you should bring it up with her

Bobby: I just said, you’re the one annoying me

Bobby: whatever massive scandal you reckon is going on must’ve passed me by

China: *you wanna pretend it isn’t happening

China: whatever, that’s on you

Bobby: I don’t know what you’re talking about, that’s real

China: Jesus, get with it

China: thought you weren’t meant to be slow

Bobby: She wants to do a good job, so would you if the lead had been given to you

Bobby: the rehearsals with Louie are just that and we’re having our own without you and your mates ‘cause you say stuff like that and think it’s okay, you have done since we were kids, don’t start pretending you don’t get why when it’s not a new thing

China: I didn’t say you were slow, I said you were acting it

China: you use it as a get out of jail free card for everything, if you’re looking to be offended, then you will be 🤷‍♀️

Bobby: I have stuff to do that’s not this

China: So?

China: Go do it

China: Being salty with me isn’t going to change anything

Bobby: don’t worry, I wasn’t relying on you to change Mullan’s mind about the casting or anything

China: Yeah, I’m blatantly not the only one who didn’t get the role they wanted

Bobby: That much we could’ve agreed on, except it’s too weird

China: I didn’t actually think that whole deaf plot was a terrible idea

China: neither of you deserved leads, but if he’d made her the maid or something, it could’ve been a subplot

Bobby: She did deserve the lead, sir got that bit right at least

China: 🙄

China: her and Jake look ridiculous together

Bobby: Yeah, that’s why they need extra rehearsals together too or the whole play is gonna fall apart

China: Well she hasn’t asked him, that’s my point

China: She clearly fancies that kid, God knows why

Bobby: No she don’t

China: How would you know? 😂

China: She’s giving him favourable preference

China: or maybe she thinks it’ll make Jake jealous, tragic

Bobby: We’re best mates, there’s nothing she wouldn’t or don’t talk to me about, but even if she didn’t wanna, I could tell ‘cause I know her inside out

Bobby: she’s not into Louie or Jake

China: When you were both children maybe

China: boys and girls can’t be friends like that after the age of whatever the fuck she is

China: 10, 11

Bobby: How did you work that out?

China: I’m not giving you a biology lesson we all had 5 years ago

Bobby: She’s not my only mate who’s a girl, I’d have to fancy them all, are you gonna go into the subject of polyamory or something like Miss never did?

China: That’s why I said mates like that

China: There’s a difference between BFFs and a girl you hang out with on occasion, duh

Bobby: whatever, it’s not true anyway

China: If you’re this upset, you should really say something

Bobby: I’m not that bothered that Mr Mullan can’t recognise a decent idea when it’s handed to him, I still get to be in the play

China: Yeah, so what I meant

Bobby: You’re the last person I’d tell anything personal to, not THAT slow

China: It’s pretty obvious

China: everyone knows

Bobby: *thinks they do

Bobby: but it’s alright there’s loads worse they could be saying than I’m going out with Libi or want to, least they reckon I’ve got good taste

China: You’re sickening, truly

China: don’t tell me all about your 😍s when she’s the one that don’t give a fuck

Bobby: You’re the one going on about it

China: You bang on about each other constantly, it’s gross

Bobby: yeah well

Bobby: I’m not gonna say or be sorry, especially not to you

China: Do something about it or shut up

China: before everyone else gets as tired of it as we are

Bobby: We’re not kids doing the nativity now, you can’t push me about or get mardy and automatically get your way

China: Ugh, I’m giving you advice to help you

China: fuck knows why

China: you lose all your mates then, girls or otherwise

Bobby: There’s no need

Bobby: but tah, the offer’s decent of you

China: Don’t take the piss

Bobby: I’m not, it’s a headfuck but cool of you to try and help me sort what you think is going on

China: Don’t be a freak about it

Bobby: 👍

China: I’m sick of her bullshit, you were the only other person who might’ve been too

China: but of course not

Bobby: I can only agree with you that Mullan is a dickhead, she hasn’t done anything to me

China: Perhaps not yet

China: I disagree

Bobby: ‘Course you do, whatever makes her the bad guy

China: I can just see what you don’t want to already

China: She’s all over both of them

Bobby: My 👀 are fine

Bobby: they’re both being full on with her but it’s not like she’s encouraging either of them

Bobby: she’s just 😳

China: Of course, she’s totally innocent

China: get real

Bobby: You and I both know she don’t look at Jake with 😍 and all she’s ever said about Louie is he’s alright, totally uninterested is what I’m saying

Bobby: maybe they’ll become mates after spending loads of time together, that’s up to her, she’ll know him better than I do by then, but there’s no real 💘

China: and maybe they’ll get together

China: it’s just as possible and you’d be able to admit that if you weren’t so butthurt about it

Bobby: What are you gonna try next, opposites attract? This is stupid

China: I’m not trying anything

China: Plus I hardly think bland v bland is opposites

China: Jake is ‘opposite’ I guess

Bobby: Calling him bland has helped a 🤏 putting aside you also said she was

China: I knew you were jealous 😏

Bobby: That I don’t get to spend as much time with her when that’s what I signed up for and we already don’t have lessons together, yeah

Bobby: I never said different

China: I don’t miss my friends when I can’t see them for a few hours a day

Bobby: I get why you don’t, loads of them haven’t been great recently

Bobby: and you’ve got more than me, it’s not gonna be as deep

China: You don’t get it, you don’t know anything about me or my friends

Bobby: as much as you know about me and mine

China: except one of your friends is my sister and the other is her little boyfriend, so nah, actually

Bobby: Which is how I know what’s going on, how else, I can’t hear the gossip just going around, can I?

China: And you believe my sister, the infamous liar?

China: that’s solely a you problem, not a me

Bobby: I also believe what I saw when he busted up your party we were at, but okay, no heart to heart happening

China: Yeah, no

China: my ma has a shit boyfriend rn, so what

China: you should really be having that heart to heart with your girlfriend about her mess of a family

Bobby: Her nan isn’t very likely to get a shit boyfriend anytime soon, she’s alright

China: Oh, you mean her great grandma, that she lives with

China: because her teen parents died

China: yeah no she’s probably grand

Bobby: She’s got loads of people around her making sure she is

China: Won’t be long before they peg it

China: who then, her incest loving auntie, perhaps?

China: I guess her actual grandma, who’s younger than my mum, cool, cool

Bobby: Feel better yet?

China: Like I said, worry about her

Bobby: there’s no need, I said, and nothing lost in translation when we’re both on our phones

China: yeah right

Bobby: You don’t want much do you? Tell I love her and slag off her family in the same chat

China: I’m not asking you to do anything, I’m pointing out the obvious

Bobby: 😂👌

China: Fuck off laughing at me, state of you two

Bobby: I’m laughing at what you’re bothering to point out

China: Well I don’t see how you’ve got any room to laugh when it’s about you and your bestie

Bobby: ‘Cause it’s stupid and you’re way off

China: 😂👌

Bobby: I dunno how you’ve got any room to tell me how I should react to such a weird convo

China: It’s not weird, you’re weird

China: if you reacted appropriately it’d be fine

Bobby: maybe it’s just ‘cause it’s you

China: what’s that meant to mean?

Bobby: I could count on one hand the amount of times you’ve spoke to me since I moved here and every word’s been rude

China: You’re too sensitive, still

Bobby: Piss off, you know it’s not on

China: So cry about it

China: you’re calling me rude, don’t see me moaning

Bobby: I could’ve called you loads worse but then I’d be as bad

China: Heaven forbid

China: 😇 wouldn’t love you then

Bobby: Not being a massive dickhead is a choice I’m pretty happy with for everyone who has to put up with me and not something I’d want even if Libs and I had never met

China: You want a round of applause?

China: you’re both so righteous, it’s ridiculous

Bobby: Only if you sign it

China: Ha ha

Bobby: I know you know it from assembly

China: If you see me hitting one hand into the other, you know what that means

China: why would you need a sign, you just want special attention

Bobby: Why does French have le and la? I didn’t invent the language

China: It’s not a real language

Bobby: Bit awkward for all the people who use it

China: If you wanna be a snowflake about it

China: Language is about more than just functionality, that’s all sign language is

Bobby: I wanted a way to communicate when I was too young to write, I don’t see how that makes me a ❄️

China: And that’s nice for you and your family

China: there’s no reason I need to know it, it serves no purpose to me, and loads of people who will never need to talk to someone like you

Bobby: Nobody’s forcing you, school doesn’t even offer it to people who want to

China: Then what’s your point?

Bobby: I’m just answering you

China: I don’t want to talk to you

China: this has a point, pointless as it has ended up being

Bobby: Alright

China: Enjoy then

[angry-slytherin]

Heaven Help Me(Ch 2)

Jo is reading scans from an email on her cell phone when she hears a voice behind her.

“Hey, Jo, wait up!” Jo whips around on her way to the coffee cart outside the hospital. She stops just short of the doorway. Amelia is walking briskly toward her.

“Okay so I know probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I’m dying to tell someone. Meredith is going on a date with Hayes. Don’t tell her I said this, she’ll kill me.”

Jo gives Amelia a look of confusion. “Uh, first of all I don’t know who ‘Hayes’ is and why are you telling me this?” Jo and Amelia had of course met through Link, and Jo likes her well enough, but she feels it’s weird that Amelia is sharing personal information about her sister’s dating life with her.

“Doctor Hayes! Pediatric co-chief of surgery! And I told you before, I needed someone to tell. You were on the way to the coffee cart and I don’t think you’ll blab to Meredith.”

Jo nods, “Right. You getting coffee?” Amelia frowns.

“No, I have surgery.” She says, and Jo just watches her walk off towards the elevator. Jo is just glad Amelia is self-aware of her crazy. That much is true.

Jo sees Rayn coming up the hall and quickly turns back toward the doors.

“Before seven is mine, Doctor Rayn. I told you this.”

“Doctor Wilson, I think you’ll want to come see this.” Rayn is tight-lipped.

“Fine; tell everyone I’ll be there in ten. I need sustenance or I’ll be crankier than normal. You don’t want that.”

Rayn agrees, still somber. “See you in ten. And I know we’re professionals, but I think it’s important you know that know my first name is Carleen.”

Jo studies the younger doctor carefully, realizing she reminds her of herself during her early residency years.

“Thank you, Rayn. I’ll be there in ten.”

Rayn goes to turn away, but Jo finds herself compelled to speak again.

“My first name is Jo.”

Rayn grins wide at Jo, before rushing back to the lab. Jo finally reaches the doors, stepping outside into one of Seattle’s rare clear mornings, and takes a deep breath. The fresh air helps to clear her mind.

“Good morning, Doctor Wilson.”

Jo jumps. Behind her is Alex Karev, scowling.

“Jesus, you scared me. Good morning to you too. What’s got you in a mood?”

“Got into a fight with my wife.” He practically tears his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans, and opens it.

“Oh, well. Don’t let it get to you too much. She loves you. And you don’t have to harp on it if it’s nothing that important.” Jo then remembers to take her wallet out of her own purse, fishing out a couple dollars.

“It was about— You know what, it doesn’t matter, you’re right. I’m just going to forget about it.”

“Right then,” Jo awkwardly moves on, “Did you read the article on ex-lap efficiency from Doctor Yat-Sen at UCLA? It was really interesting, the way he argued that you can minimize OR time by immediately doing a biopsy on the healthy tissue also.”

“I actually did. I dunno if it’s practical for me. It’s harder to decide on things like that with kids. They’re so compliacated. Like my wife.”

Jo openly laughs at that.

“Don’t hate on your wife. I thought you were forgetting about it?”

Alex groans, scowling again, “Right.”

“You’re right about the kids part though. Peds was super fun to me, but in the end I ending up in general, specialty-less.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Indecisiveness in the end. I never thought too far enough into it in the first place. Plus now, I have my research.”

Alex stands behind her on the coffee line, and Jo orders a lemon scone.

“What do you want, Karev?”

“I can pay for my own coffee.”

Jo turns to the clerk, “One black coffee please.” She smiles and hands the clerk the money.

“How could you possibly know how I like my coffee?” Alex says, accepting the cup.

“Please, you’re clearly not a sugar and milk person. You’re such a grouch.”

Alex keeps his scowl, but thanks Jo nonetheless.

***

“Good morning, all.” Jo greets the team as she enters the research lab. ‘The team’ being surgical resident Cross, oncology intern Rayn, and three biomedical engineers— John, Armani and Deborah.

“Doctor Wilson, we have great news. The mice are fine.” Deb is smiling, and the other engineers follow in suit.

“I don’t understand. That means our cells are flawed.” Cross furrows his eyebrows Jo sighs.

“Yes. It means we have lots more work to do. Actually, that’s the bio engineers’ job. Us doctors have to sit back now. Doctor Rayn, you’re of course welcome to help, as you’ve got the most extensive knowledge of cancer. Doctor Cross, thank you for all your help, but your services are no longer needed here.”

“It was wonderful to meet you Doctor Wilson. Hopefully we can call you back soon, once we’ve better understood this in our lab.” John sticks his hand out, and Jo shakes it.

“Thank you all. I look forward to it.” Jo nods, and she and Cross exit the lab.

“Doctor Cross, you should scrub in on as many surgeries as you can. I appreciate all of it, but your time spent here has set you back as a surgeon. Take some extra nights on-call for a while. Thank me later.”

Cross looks both solemn and grateful, and he simply walks away. Jo feels surprisingly upset at this; she knew her idea wasn’t the end all be all, but she had hoped it would’ve fleshed out more. All she had done was make mice ill, not help anyone.

She had gone and given up a great surgery fellowship, for one of her ideas to fail within only a little more than a week. Her favorite research already up in flames.

Then her pager goes off, and she is being briefed by a senior resident on a hernia patient who came into the ER last night. The woman whose scans she recieved this morning.

“Audrey Davis, 36. Came into the ER last night complaining of abdominal pain. After CT, it was concluded she has an epigastric hernia.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Jo nods to the resident.

“Doctor Wilson,” a medical student begins, “Am I correct to assume you’ll be performing a hernioplasty?”

“I will. Does anyone know why?”

“Yes. Mesh has proven to be exceedingly effective in long-term hernia repair.” A third-year resident answers.

“Doctor Wilson, will you be using an animal-based mesh or a composite synthetic one?” Another medical student.

“A bio human-based one. Why?”

“Because there’s a lesser chance of rejection.” A second-year.

“Alright, anyone who answered a question can join me in the OR today. Baker, scrub in. The rest of you can watch in the gallery. Find me later if you have further questions. Now excuse me.”

Jo makes her way into the patient’s room and the woman is surrounded by multiple people, ranging from toddlers to elderly. Jo counts thirteen.

“Good morning Ms. Davis, and family. I’m Doctor Wilson, and I’ll be your surgeon. I’ll be performing a laparoscopic repair for your hernia, and then hopefully in a day or two, you can go home. Do you have any questions?”

The elderly man speaks up, “Honey, are you the nurse? Because you need to speak up. I have hearing aids for god’s sake.”

“No, sir. I’m the doctor. Doctor Wilson, the surgeon who’ll be operating on Audrey.” Jo tries her best to muster a smile.

The patient rolls her eyes, “I’m so sorry Doctor. He’s especially irrational when he’s stressed. My mom was the first one in our family to have a surgery, and she died a year ago.”

Well that explained the whole gang showing up.

“No problem, Ms. Davis. I will see you in surgery.” The patient nods and Jo moves on to her post-ops. One med student trails her, with a concerned look on his face.

“How could you possibly not yell at that old man, it was crazy sexist what he said.” Jo faces the not-yet doctor, sighing.

“It’s the world we live in. As a female doctor, you learn to get used to it. You could probably ask your female peers” He frowns at Jo, shaking his head.

“Somebody should change that.” Jo is nearly crushed by his hope.

“Somebody should.”

She bumps into Izzie Stevens as she walks past the med student.

“Sorry, Wilson. I should’ve been looking where I was going. It’s been a long morning.”

Jo remembers Alex’s grumpiness this morning and guesses he probably slept on the couch.

“Don’t worry about it, I understand.”

“Are you married? Have you ever been married? It’s exhausting.” Izzie says it tiredly, not antagonistically.

“No, I mean I- yes. I have been married. But not anymore.”

Jo does not wish to share her own experience with marriage. She feels bad for Stevens and Karev, but their petty arguments hardly compare to her memories. She went to therapy for a long time after it ended.

“My husband — I think you know him — Alex, is just exhausting. He always thinks he’s making me happy, but half the time it’s just him pushing his wants onto me and calling them mine. Sorry, you probably don’t care.”

“It’s okay, I could use a break from my own thoughts.” Jo gives her a small smile, but the other doctor is right, she doesn’t care.

“Sorry, sorry again. Goodbye Doctor Wilson.” Izzie rushes off.

Jo finds several residents and med students waiting for her at Willy O’ Connor’s room.

***

After performing two appendectomies, Jo takes respite on a hallway gurney. She rubs her temples, leans her head back against the wall, and closes her eyes.

“Feeling okay? Fellowship life getting to you?” Link’s voice rings in her ears, her head pounding. She feels him sit next to her.

“I feel more tired than on a 24 hour shift as a resident. I research, and then I do surgery, and then I do more research, and then I do more surgery. It’s like everything I’ve ever wanted but it is so draining. I am so tired.” Jo opens her eyes and looks at her friend, fatigued.

“Ah I remember when I was a fellow, I actually slept through a M&M. The resident next to me who��d been there all night woke me up. It’s so much better than residency though. You’re basically an attending and still learning.” Link looks at Jo.

“Yeah,” Jo lets out a breath of air.

“So how is wedding planning going?”

Link smiles, “Well we set a date. July 18th. At the Old Mill Factory.”

“It’s gorgeous there! Oh I’m so happy for you both!” Jo squeals and suddenly she’s energized.

“Speaking of my wedding, how would you feel about being my best man?”

Jo smiles slowly, “Really? I mean I would of course be the best woman but minor details. Yes, of course Link, yes.”

Link grins at her. “Not that I’m doubtful, but I’m going to need you up there. Because me and Amelia will both be nervous wrecks.”

Jo bites her lip, “I bet. It’s gonna be great.”

***

Jo makes her way to the attending’s lounge on the third floor, but her desire for hot chocolate and a comfortable seat is prohibited by a screaming couple in the room already.

Jo decides she’s had a long enough day and braves the sparring lovers. It’s Alex and Izzie, of course. Jo shrinks, just wanting hot chocolate. That’s all she wants.

“-well that’s rich! You haven’t thought about what I want in a long time!”

“Oh so now you don’t want kids? We’ve always wanted kids, what changed?”

“Of course I want- that’s not what I’m saying, I’m saying I can’t give up more time for maternity leave. I have a lot going on right now with my patients and I need you to be willing to take time!”

“And I’ve told you I’m willing. But I’m not being a parent alone. That’s no— Iz.” Alex looks over at Jo and she widens her eyes, scooping up her mug.

She awkwardly smiles, “I’ll just be going now.”

God, she thinks, what a mess.

Alex follows Jo out of the lounge.

“Sorry about that.” Jo furrows her eyebrows, frowning.

“I thought the argument this morning wasn’t important.”

“It wasn’t.” Alex grunts. Jo doesn’t want to aggravate him more, but kids seems like a big topic. Kids are always a big topic.

“Kids are a big decision. I was a kid no one wanted, not even my own mother could stand to keep me for more than two days. She was under different circumstances, but no kid wants parents who can barely agree before they’re even a clump of cells.”

Alex fumes, “Who the hell says you get to comment on my marriage? What gives you the right? You’re not married, you’re not a parent. You have no idea.”

Jo rolls her eyes, “You’re right, Alex. But I’ve been married before, and I- you should think about what you’re getting into.” Alex waves her off.

“Screw you, Jo.”

Jo takes a deep breath, moving on to her surgery.