#he retired as soon as the keene act happened for a reason

[peaceisadirtyword]

Heathen VI (Ivar/Edlynn)

A/N; Hello!♥️ I’m back after a short, holiday break! And even if these next weeks are going to be chaotic, I will try to keep posting Heathen once a week as I did before! There’s only another four (five with this one) left until the end👀, so I hope you enjoy it a lot🥰 I didn’t have time to reply to your comments on last chapter but I read all of them and I’m so happy to see you’re liking it🥺 thank you so much, it means the world🙏🏻 took a bit longer to finish this one because I wasn’t too convinced but I hope you like it too♥️

Warnings: smut ( 👀), talk of feelings, my cringey writing, Ivar is the best, mentions of alcohol, violence, sex and talk about arranged marriage and religious things!

Words: 4823 (will I ever stop)

Heathen Masterlist

gif belongs to @therealcalicali​

"We could move here" Harald pointed at the map. Hvitserk followed his finger and pressed his lips together. Maybe a bit risky, he thought, but he didn't dare contradict the king because of strategical differences, that was Ivar's job "It's closer to the sea, and it would be easier to run away if the saxons decide to attack us once we don't have the saxon girl as leverage"

"It could be" he nodded, as he waited for Ivar's opinion. But as the minutes passed and his brother didn't say a word, Hvitserk raised his head to look at him. 

Ivar was sitting in front of him, with a drink on his hand, but looking away. He didn't seem to be even listening to what they were saying, and when Hvitserk's eyes followed his gaze, he understood why. 

His lips curved on a small smirk and immediately turned to look at Harald, who also seemed amused to have caught the ruthless Ivar the Boneless sneaking glances to a lady. 

Edlynn was sitting on a cut tree, not very far away from them, and her eyes were fixed on a book that Hvitserk had seen on Ivar's tent. She only had a couple of guards with her, and her wrists were untied, giving her much more freedom than Hvitserk ever thought Ivar would give her. 

"Ivar" he called his name, making him turn his head with a frown, almost like he was annoyed by his interruption "Are you listening?"

Harald held back a laugh when Ivar blinked, somewhat confused, until he spotted the map and the pieces the king had moved, and seemed to get out of his trance. His cheeks reddened softly, but he pretended not to realize as he scrutinized the map, trying to remember what had changed since Edlynn stepped out of the tent and his eyes wandered off. 

Hvitserk raised his eyebrow. He already knew what was going on, since he caught Edlynn leaving the tent with swollen lips more than once and had seen them sleeping together, with her face hidden in Ivar's neck. But at first he thought his brother was just having some fun, not falling for the saxon girl. Those glances said otherwise. 

"It would be risky" Ivar cleared his throat "I don't think Alfred would attack us once Edlynn is with him" 

Harald raised his head again. Edlynn? He didn't know when Ivar started calling the prisoner by her name, but found it amusing. 

"Then what do you propose?" Hvitserk tried to ignore it, but he would ask his brother about it "Shall we stay here?"

"I think we should move a bit closer to the boats, but not like it seems we're retiring" he shrugged "But it's your decision, king Harald"

Harald had gotten used to the mocking tone whenever Ivar said his title out loud. He didn't really care, it had started to sound like a joke to him too. 

"I will think about it tonight, and tomorrow we'll decide" 

But just when he was about to stand up, maybe too eager to go back to his tent, a guard approached them. 

Edlynn pretended not to realize he was staring. Neither of them talked about it but both of them seemed to think the same: no one should know of their... Affair? She couldn't help but blush whenever she thought about it. Well, she didn't even know if it could be considered an actual affair. There had been kisses, some more innocent than others, Ivar had touched her body in a way no one had in her entire life, she had let her hands wander down his strong arms and chest, but nothing more. It was still a sin, something she didn't want people knowing. Edlynn would be mortified if someone heard about it, about what she was doing with a... Heathen. 

But the thing that alarmed her the most weren't the kisses or the caresses, not even the fire that Ivar awakened in her, but the warmth that expanded through her chest whenever she saw him, the smiles, the little laughs, the reddened cheeks... She couldn't think about anything else that weren't his blue eyes and his pouty lips, nor could pray in peace without remembering how soft his hair was under her fingers or what a beautiful smile he had. Every night she promised she'd stop, that she wouldn't let herself fall in love with him, but sometimes, especially under the furs and between his arms, she thought there was nothing she could do now. 

It was temporal, Edlynn tried not to think about what would happen when she had to go back to her family, to Lord Edmund, the man who was supposed to be her husband. Would she ever feel the same with him? Probably not, and the thought saddened her. It was such a beautiful feeling she wished she could carry forever. 

Even if it was hard, and even if she knew many people in the camp suspected it, Edlynn tried to act like nothing had happened. They barely talked to each other in public, but she noticed he was always close to her, or at least close enough to be able to watch her. She liked that. 

Edlynn was reading, but she hadn't turned the page in what felt like hours, too focused on the glances that certain man threw her way and on hiding her blush. Until someone else approached the three men that sat down not too far away from her. She raised her head, interested, as the man seemed to carry important news. Even if she had understood their language, she wouldn't have heard anything, as the noise of the camp was too loud. But she could see the king with a big smile, celebrating something. And Ivar had frowned and his eyes were now fixed on the ground at his feet. 

When he finally looked her way again, he ignored the silent question on her eyes and looked directly at the guard that stood next to her, pointing to his own tent with his head. And Edlynn was practically dragged towards it. 

____________________________________

That night they celebrated. The reason was still a mystery to her, but Edlynn tried to ask every single person that entered the tent, from Brianna to Hvitserk, without receiving any answer. She could hear the happy screams and laughs, and figured it couldn't be bad, right?

At least not for them. 

A shiver travelled down her spine when she thought about her family, would they be alright? Had those heathens killed them?

And then Ivar came back. 

His eyes were bright and Edlynn figured he had been drinking too. His movements were slow, and let himself fall on the bed with a grunt, letting his crutch go before rubbing his face with his hands.

"Hello" Edlynn raised an eyebrow, why do men drink so much if they feel bad afterwards? 

"Hi, princess" he muttered, grunting "How was your day?" Ivar sat on the bed, sighing. It had been a long day, and it seemed it would be a long night too. 

"Clearly not as interesting as yours" 

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't turn to look at her. 

"I was trying to negotiate" he shrugged "And king Harald negotiates better when there's ale" 

"Negotiate what?" Edlynn narrowed her eyes, moving a bit closer to him. 

_____________________________________

"The saxons will agree to our terms" the messenger smiled proudly as he delivered the news "They will pay, and give us land and time to settle" he nodded "In exchange for the saxon girl" 

Harald's laugh startled Ivar, who stared at the messenger intensely.

"Of course they will!" he celebrated, nodding his head and patting Ivar's back softly "You were right, once again" 

He shot him a fake smile, which faded as soon as the king turned to Hvitserk. He thought he'd have more time, that asking for such a ridiculous amount of gold, land and a truce would be too much to give for just one girl, and that the saxons would try and change the terms. That would've given him weeks, even months. His eyes went back to where Edlynn was sitting, and silently told the guard to take her away. 

"The saxon king said they shall wait for us in the battlefield to make the exchange, and that the girl must be unharmed and well, otherwise they won't give us what we asked for" 

"Thank you, my friend" Harald patted the soldier's shoulder with a bright smile "Go, eat and rest, tonight we'll celebrate" 

Hvitserk didn't stop looking at Ivar. He noticed how he clenched his jaw and licked his lips repeatedly. He felt his own lips curving on a smile, but just slapped his head playfully. 

That night they did celebrate. Everyone sang, drank and ate next to the king, around a fire. Another victory, thanks to Ivar. But Ivar didn't seem too keen on participating on the celebrations.

"What's it, Ivar?" Hvitserk sat next to him as he saw him pour the ale on his horn for the fifth time "Aren't you happy to get rid of the saxon girl and get paid for it?" he chuckled, but his brother didn't laugh with him. 

"I just think..." Ivar clenched his jaw again "Maybe the price is too low" 

"Low?" Hvitserk raised an eyebrow "We didn't think they'd agree, it's too much, that price would fit a queen, but not a noble girl" 

"Yes but they did agree to it" he shook his head "What if... What if we ask for more?" 

"They would say no, and the negotiations would continue, we don't want that" his older brother frowned and shook his head, taking another sip from his horn "Because we don't want that, right?" 

"No" Ivar replied maybe too fast, and then scowled "It's just that I don't think we've benefited enough from holding her captive, she's obviously more important than we thought" 

"Well, dear brother, if I'm honest, I think you've benefited quite a lot from having her here" he chuckled, patting Ivar's leg softly. His brother widened his eyes at him, but managed to hide his surprise and go back to scowling.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Hvitserk" 

"Sure" he laughed, shaking his head "Sure, you don't know, but it's quite obvious, Ivar" he shot him a soft smile "I can't blame you, she's pretty, innocent... I thought you didn't like saxon girls" 

"Shut up" he rolled his eyes, but Hvitserk saw the little smile he tried to hide "I'm not trying to keep her here, I just want to make sure we get the deal that benefits us the most, that's all" 

"Fine, I believe you" this time it was Hvitserk's turn to roll his eyes "Tell Harald, then, but I don't think he will agree" 

"I was waiting for him to get drunk" Ivar shrugged, making his brother laugh. 

"Good luck then" Hvitserk winked at him before getting up "Want advice?" 

"No" 

"Don't fall in love" he ignored him "That doesn't end well" 

_________________________________

Ivar finally gave up, and went back to the tent, in need of some peace and maybe the soft touch of the woman that sat on he bed behind him. Harald didn't listen, and they kept celebrating. 

"Your king agreed to our terms" he said, finally turning his head to look at her. Edlynn wore another dress they had found for her, with her auburn hair loose, and she looked so beautiful Ivar had to blink a couple of times. He wanted to see her reaction, would she be happy? Or would she feel as weird as he had been feeling all day?

But instead she looked confused. 

"What... What does that mean?" 

"That means we'll meet them in a few days and I will let you go"

Edlynn gasped, but instead of feeling relieved and thankful, eager to see her family again, to see Mildrith, to go home... She looked into those ocean eyes and only felt a strange emptiness inside her. 

I must be insane, she thought as she crawled closer to him. Ivar's eyes didn't left her face, almost like he was waiting for her to smile, laugh and sigh in relief. 

Edlynn didn't do any of those things. 

"Aren't you happy?" he gulped. 

"I... I suppose I am" she muttered "But..." 

I know, he thought, nearly desperately. He couldn't describe it either. 

"You'll go back to your castle, you'll marry your lord, you'll be with your family and will have a church to pray to your God every time you want" 

"Yes, but..."

"Wasn't that what you wanted?" he sounded sharper than he intended. 

"I don't want that anymore" Edlynn scowled "I don't want to go back and marry, I don't want to spend my days sewing, gossiping with other women and praying"

Not so long ago, she wouldn't have even imagined she'd say those words, that was her life, a life she had enjoyed and lived happily. But now... Now she had tried other things, new things... Was it that bad to want to keep them?

"I know it's my duty" she continued, the tears threatened to fall down her cheeks, but she held them as she had been taught "And I know I will have to do it someday but I... I will miss you"

Ivar looked away, clenching his jaw again and hoping she didn't see the tears filling his eyes. The thought of entering that tent and finding it empty, without the familiar presence of the annoying saxon girl praying or reading, of spending his nights studying maps alone instead of the books in latin Edlynn would read for him, or talking about the Gods, about the adventures of Thor and Loki or the golden apples of Idunn was... Not what he wanted. 

Not even the possibility of conquering England was helping. 

He felt Edlynn getting closer, and her small hand, with her soft fingers that had never held any kind of weapon, touched his shoulder. Ivar felt dizzy, but couldn't know if it was because of the ale or because of her. 

"I will miss you too" 

The words left his lips before he could hold them back, and when he raised his head to look at her, Edlynn had the biggest smile on her lips. She almost made him smile too. 

"I... You could come and visit me someday?" she muttered, biting her lip "My friend Mildrith would love to meet you, she's obsessed" 

Ivar raised an eyebrow. 

"Do you think your father or your husband would let me visit you? You're supposed to hate me" 

Edlynn's smile faded. 

"I don't hate you" she tilted his head in an adorable way, and Ivar had to look away again "You were a bit mean at first, but you're not like they say you are... And he's not my husband" 

"Yet" he shrugged "What do they say about me?" 

Edlynn giggled, shaking her head.

"Mildrith said you're the Devil, in a human shape, that you are ruthless and... I heard you drink blood and eat human flesh" 

Ivar couldn't help but laugh. 

"I don't eat human flesh" he scowled in disgust "Do you think I could be that Devil you talk about?"

Edlynn took a deep breath, and her fingers caressed softly his cheek. 

"You could be" she said, nodding slowly "You're smart, ambitious, ruthless, but also beautiful, like a fallen angel" Edlynn blushed "You do tempt me to sin"

Ivar smirked, humming in delight. She had a lot more to say about his looks, but decided to keep it to herself to avoid feeding his ego. 

"And you would invite me, the heathen who tempts you, to your home with your father and your husband?"

Edlynn blushed again. 

"He's not my husband" she repeated.

"But you're going to marry him, princess, he will be your husband soon, unless..."

His eyes fixed on the axe he had next to the bed, and Edlynn gasped and punched his arm. 

"Don't even think about it!"

Her reaction amused Ivar, who shook his head laughing. Even if he wasn't actually joking. 

"Lord Edmund is a good man, a good christian, he will take care of me" she said quietly, almost trying to convince herself "And it will be a good thing for my family"

"From what I've seen, princess, you don't need anyone to take care of you" he sighed, leaning to undo his braces. She smiled at that, feeling that warmth fill her body again. It was a huge compliment coming from him. 

When he finished taking off the braces and removed most of his clothes Edlynn was already under the furs, her eyelids felt heavy but she forced herself to stay awake. She wanted to enjoy every moment she had left with him, knowing she wouldn't see him again. They still had some days, though, that comforted her. 

Ivar nearly moaned when he finally was able to lay on the bed. His eyes had been a bit more blue that morning, so it had been a difficult day. Edlynn watched him in silence, amazed by the perfection of his features. How could he be the Devil when he looked sculpted by God? He was too beautiful to be impure, but then again, he was a heathen. Her mind went back to his wife, and a strange pang of jealousy stroke her. What would he do if she kissed him now? 

"It's rude to stare, princess"

Ivar had an amused smirk on his lips, which only grew when he saw Edlynn's glare. 

"Remember when I said I'd miss you? Well, I take it back" 

That made him laugh. 

"Go to sleep, little one" he muttered, already closing his eyes "Maybe I can teach you some more archery before you leave, but only if you rest" 

He could hear a little gasp and imagined her excited smile, but didn't open his eyes until he felt her crawling closer to him and leaning her head on his shoulder. When he did look at her, she was already ready to sleep, with her eyes closed and breathing slowly. 

"Good night, heathen"

Ivar couldn't help but smile, too. 

"Good night, princess"

______________________________________

Ivar was cold. He stirred in his sleep looking for the source of warmth he was missing, but opened his eyes when he couldn't find it. 

The bed was empty, he frowned and pawed at the furs, confused. Where is she? 

The thought of her escaping made him more sad than angry, and he was nearly gasping when he finally spotted her. Edlynn sat on the wooden stool next to his table, studying the paintings of one of the books he had at the dim light of a nearly melted candle. 

"Sorry" she pouted, looking at him with widened eyes "I didn't mean to wake you up" 

"You didn't" he groaned, rubbing his eyes "What are you doing awake? It's the middle of the night" 

He couldn't hear anything outside the tent, only the hushed voices of some guards, and it was still dark. 

"I couldn't sleep" she shrugged. 

"Come back to bed" he nearly ordered, narrowing his eyes at her. Edlynn held back a laugh as she closed the book, leaning in to blow the candle before making her way back to the bed. Ivar watched her as she crawled under the furs and laid back, with her eyes still open. 

"It feels strange to go back and marry someone else"

Ivar frowned in the darkness of the tent. 

"What does that mean?"

"You're the first man I shared the bed with" she muttered "The first man I kissed... The first touching me. I always believed that man would be my husband" 

"I'm also the first man that made you a prisoner" he teased, and Edlynn rolled her eyes with a small smile. 

"I don't think you understand"

"Then tell me"

"I want you to be the last, too" 

Edlynn bit her own tongue after saying it, taking a deep breath as Ivar turned to look at her. She nearly regretted it, but... Why hide it? They probably wouldn't see each other again. She was just telling the truth, like a good christian.

"You don't know what you're saying" 

His answer confused her even more. 

"What?"

"I... We're on different sides, princess" he sighed, and held himself back from reaching out to caress her cheek "I am a heathen, remember?" 

"But you're good to me" she pouted, and Ivar nearly leant in to kiss her "I've seen you talk about your Gods with passion, laugh with your brother, I've seen you bonding with your men and even stroking horses... You're not the monster they talk about, at least not now... You treated me well... As well as you can treat a prisoner, I don't see how you're different from any christian man I know"

Ivar couldn't help but smile and lean his forehead against hers, his fingers tingled, desperate to touch her. He felt a faintly familiar warmth inside his chest. 

"You have to go back home, princess" he insisted "You'll forget about me and will learn to hate me again" 

"I will never hate you" she muttered, and then there was silence. Ivar nearly thought she had fallen asleep again, and kept relaxing against her body, listening to her breathing.

"Ivar" it was the first time he had heard her saying his name, and it sounded so soft with her voice... He looked at her, who had her eyes fixed on his Mjölnir necklace "Kiss me?"

It sounded more like a question than a demand. Edlynn wasn't nearly ready when she felt his strong hand around the side of her neck and his lips pressed against hers. She sighed in delight and kissed him back, grabbing his arm shyly. She had missed his kisses so much... What would she do without them? 

Ivar deepened the kiss, making Edlynn moan quietly and mover her hand to his face, cupping hit softly until her fingers touched his hair. Ivar's hand roamed down her body, settling on her waist and nearly touching her ass. Things were getting out of control, and Ivar didn't know how much he could keep things... Like that. 

Edlynn moved even closer, and now he could feel her breasts against his bare chest. Ivar sighed and smiled against her sweet lips, tightening his grip around her waist. They broke the kiss to breathe, and Edlynn smiled brightly at him before leaning in to kiss him again. 

"We can stop whenever you want" he groaned as her thigh pressed against his cock, making it twitch. 

"I don't want to stop" she replied, frowning, and he nearly laughed. 

Edlynn was serious. She had heard about it more than once, her whole life everyone assured that it was painful and not enjoyable at all for women, but everything Ivar did in that moment felt good... Why wouldn't that feel good then?

"I thought you weren't allowed to do this" he panted as Edlynn's lips landed on his jaw softly. Her kisses were shy, inexperienced, innocent... Completely different from Katia, Freydis or Margrethe, the only women he had ever kissed, but just as effective. 

"I'm not" she giggled "Should I stop?" 

"No" Ivar groaned and tightened his grip on her waist. If they stopped now, he was going to go crazy. He had tried to erase her body from his mind since he saw her in the river that day, and he had failed. 

"I want to do this" she muttered, interrupting their kisses to look at his eyes again "Because I've been told men like it, a lot" she blushed, but the darkness hid it "And I want you to remember me"

"Trust me, princess" Ivar squirmed under her, his body reacting to her closeness "I was going to remember you anyway"

When they kissed again, he tugged at the skirt of her dress, nearly moaning when he finally was able to touch her bare skin. It was soft, warm, and Ivar felt her stiffen when he caressed her leg. Her hand traced the ink lines of his chest as his lips traveled down her neck, Edlynn gasped and let out a shaky breath, biting her tongue. She was supposed to be silent, right? 

"Women can also enjoy this" he said against her skin, his fingers reached her inner thigh and Edlynn's muscles tensed under his touch "Want me to show you?" 

He smirked when she nodded shyly. Edlynn was biting her lip and looking down in curiosity, even if she couldn't see his hand approaching her sex. Ivar wasn't too sure of what he was doing, but kept reaching until he finally touched her, and Edlynn let out a strangled sound and he quickly looked at her. She had closed her eyes and her nails were digging on his skin. Ivar kept caressing her folds until he reached the place that made her jump and moan loudly. 

Edlynn quickly covered her mouth as Ivar smirked with pride and started circling his fingers as his brothers had said more than once. He would have loved to go down and kiss her properly, but didn't want to scare her so soon. 

When Ivar finally pressed two fingers to her entrance, Edlynn opened her eyes, looking both aroused and confused at the same time. 

"Relax" he whispered, reaching to kiss her softly "How does it feel?" 

She was gasping, but managed to reply with a small moan and a frown. 

"Weird" she muttered "But... Good" 

"Good" he nodded, and increased the pace, making Edlynn moan again and grab his arm "I've got you, princess" 

She was shaking between his arms as he started curling his fingers inside her, enjoying the way her walls clenched around them and the incoherent moans she let out. His hand was covered with wetness, and finally Ivar retrieved his hand, making Edlynn whimper in protest. 

But he needed both hands to tear that stupid dress apart. 

She gasped and blushed when he finally was able to throw the pieces of fabric away, to reveal her entire naked body to his eyes. Ivar growled and his lips collapsed against hers again. His hands were everywhere, touching her breasts, her belly and her ass at the same time, and soon his mouth followed them. She nearly felt overwhelmed, where she expected pain and discomfort she only got pleasure, a different kind of pleasure, and she needed more, so much more. 

Ivar finally pushed her to lay down on the bed, and moved to crawl between her legs to keep kissing her. 

"Want me to fuck you, princess?" 

Edlynn widened her eyes, but her legs tightened around his waist and Ivar put his pants down just enough to free his cock. He enjoyed the surprise on her face when she saw it, not used to women being impressed by him. 

"Look at me" he muttered, noticing how she grew nervous "Do you trust me?"

Edlynn allowed herself to get lost into his eyes again, nodding slowly and grabbing his neck as he pressed into her slowly. Ivar needed all of his willpower to keep a slow pace to avoid hurting her too much. She scrunched her nose in pain and closed her eyes. Ivar wasn't an expert, but he knew that, for women, it was painful the first time. Her little shrieks of pain brought back some not very nice memories from his own first time. 

"Hey, princess, open your eyes" he stopped moving, even if he was already shaking from feeling her tight walls around him, when Edlynn obeyed, she had tears in her eyes "Am I hurting you too much?" 

She shook her head and licked her lips. 

"Just a bit"

"I'm sorry" he kissed her temple and let out a shaky breath "I promise it gets better" 

His own eyes were fluttering and he could barely stay still. 

"Keep going" she muttered "I'll be fine"

As he started moving again, Edlynn felt the pain fading slowly. It didn't became pleasurable, like it had when he had used his hand, but it became more... Tolerable. She even felt some pleasure, and it wasn't as bad as she thought, in fact, she enjoyed the way Ivar muttered some strange words in Norse she couldn't understand, and how he moaned and sighed against her skin. It was truly a sight, to see him with his eyes closed in pleasure, enjoying her body in ways she never thought anyone would. 

When Ivar finished, he captured her lips with his again, drowning the sounds they both made as he finally stopped moving. His forehead rested against hers, and their hands were intertwined. None of them said anything at first, enjoying the feeling of being so close, and Ivar let himself hide his face in her neck, sighing. How was he going to let her go now?

___________________________________

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[joezworld]

📂

What in the HECK happened with Scotsman, Dominion, and Dwight during the Great Gathering?!

(Also, since Dutchess of Hamilton has also been to the US during the 1939 NY World’s Fair, did she get involved?)

Warning - extremely long post below

So, first of all, Duchess of Hamilton never went back to the UK.

Duchess of Hamilton (6229) and Coronation (6220) had their nameplates swapped by the LMS when an engine was sent over to the US. 6229, in the guise of 6220, went to the US.

Streamlined locomotives were all the rage at the time, and railroads practically fell over themselves to get Coronation (as she was now known) onto press trains. The B&O railroad in particular was so impressed with her capabilities that they extended a formal offer of employment to her for service on their streamlined Royal Blue service. The LMS were surprised to get an offer to "purchase" their locomotive, but accepted nonetheless, as it meant a welcome infusion of cash in the dark days during the beginning of WWII.

Coronation fit right in with the Americans, having only been about a year old when she was sent to New York. Following the end of steam traction on the Royal Blue in the late 40s, (the B&O were early adopters of diesels.) she and her B&O coworkers found good employment on the New York Central, where she still runs to this day.

Since then, she's fully "gone native", marrying a J3 Hudson, (yes one of the streamlined ones) adopting both an American accent and three children, and being fully repainted to NYC silver by 1956. Flying Scotsman met her in Albany in 1970, and neither one of them recognized the other.

Actually, most UK expats don't recognize her, to the point where a common interaction is for her to be held up as an example of "look at her, she's integrated well into the US", only for the British engines to say "that's preposterous, she isn't English".

When it's pointed out that she's still obviously an LMS Coronation, the next response is usually screaming.

All that being said, she has no interest to come back to the United Kingdom, and wasn’t asked by the NRM anyways. 

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

Second of all, the Great Gathering was... an event.

So, there are (officially) 6 preserved Gresley A4s.

Mallard - static, National Railway Museum (UK). Also an asshole.

Bittern - running, private owner, UK based

Sir Nigel Gresley - running, owned by a trust, UK based

Union of South Africa - running, private owner, UK based

Dwight D. Eisenhower - static (officially), National Railway Museum (USA)

Dominion of Canada - static (officially), Exporail (Montréal)

This is the official list, and for the first 4 engines, it's the truth.

However, things are a bit hazier on the other side of the Atlantic...

-----

So the thing that needs to be made clear right up front that in a sentient vehicle world, museums aren't like the NRM, where locomotives sit static for years on end, although obviously the English have museums like that because of course they do.

Rail museums in the rest of the world are much more like Colonial Williamsburg - a living history center staffed by volunteers who act out a prototypical setting from [insert decade here].

British Rail, being British Rail, didn’t know that and didn’t care.

-

4496, Dwight D. Eisenhower, having been named after the General-turned-President, had been earmarked for preservation by BR, and was summarily shipped off to the US National Railway Museum in Green Bay, Wisconsin.

In an entirely unintentional move, this donation MONUMENTALLY snubbed the Smithsonian, who refused to have any dealings with BR for decades, even for archival purposes. This, combined with the fallout from Operation Smash Hit, and the fact that the Smithsonian is Petty AF, meant that there was virtually no official trans-Atlantic cooperation between British and US museums for decades.

Dwight hit the shores of the US in 1964 New York City and was greeted by a marching band, a ticker-tape parade, and Presidents Johnson and Eisenhower, who were on-hand to personally make the engine a US citizen.

Always keen to curry favor with the government, the Southern Pacific railroad had a job offer waiting for Dwight right alongside the Presidents and the parade, and when he accepted, he went off to Sunny Southern California - someplace so opposed to Britain the he fell in love with the place immediately and refused to leave!

The ladies may have also had something to do with it as well - while most engine classes fell into a typical 50-50 gender distribution, the SP GS-4 class was all female...

[Pictured above - one of 28 very good reasons to live in California if you're a single British steam engine.]

Dwight does not kiss and tell, but at his wedding in 1974, all 28 GS-4s showed up - and he was only marrying one of them!

Since the 70's, he's become a mainstay in California, having been repainted into Daylight Limited colors in 1969, and retiring from railroad duties in 1999. After that, he went into the movie business, and is currently the head of digital media development at Disney.

His wife Irene (SP 4437) is also an interesting figure as well - following in the wheelmarks of the great female locomotives before her, she had an eye for business and a Stanford education before she married her husband, and was an initial investor in multiple tech companies in Silicon Valley during the 70's and 80's, but stopped doing that after her investment in Apple proved very lucrative. In 1996, she was convinced by a few people in the Stanford Alumni association to invest in another tech startup, this one an "internet search engine" called Google.

So yeah, Dwight Eisenhower kept falling up and up and up all his life, and is now married to the richest woman in the world.

--

4489 Dominion of Canada was donated mostly by accident, having been forgotten in the back of Darlington sheds until 1966, when she was shipped off to the Canadian Railway Historical Society in Montreal.

As stated elsewhere, the Canadian Government considered any locomotive built in the UK to have UK citizenship, and therefore treated them as commonwealth citizens under existing Canadian law. (remember that Canada was still a colony at that time)

CN, the national rail carrier, was obligated to offer her a job under their charter, and she accepted, moving to Toronto to run intercity trains between Toronto, Montreal, and Ottawa.

Within two years she was displaced from those duties by the introduction of a new, shiny, jet turbine powered train, and was summarily demoted to local commuter runs in the Toronto suburbs.

Moving to suburbia did one thing more than anything else - expose her to the people who live there. They all had complaints, they all had problems, and they all had no idea on how to fix them.

Being a helpful sort, Dominion decided that she could help, and promptly ran for Toronto city council in 1974. She won, and has been a fixture in local Toronto politics ever since - she even got to be Chairwoman of Metro Toronto (the closest thing to being mayor because Toronto's governmental structure is weird) until 1998, when Toronto was merged with the surrounding area to create a massive new region.

Having then done everything there is to do in municipal Toronto government, Dominion went on to become the Chief Executive Officer of Metrolinx, the agency that controls almost all of the transit agencies in Ontario, because, as she puts it, "I'm still a commuter engine at heart".

She's now painted in the current GO Transit paint scheme, and still does commuter runs- which is really weird looking now that there are double deck commuter coaches in a push-pull configuration, with a Gresley A4 doing the pushing.

------

Now, I mentioned that those 6 were the only ones officially preserved - there were two unofficial preservations as well...

-

4486 Merlin was properly Shanghied - he was yanked off the docks in Southhampton by a cargo ship in August of 1965, and was spirited away to parts unknown.

Those unknown parts turned out to be South Korea. There, he was given citizenship by the US-aligned military dictatorship (Korean history is wild) and was employed by the State-run rail operator.

As the military government began a hardcore plan to increase their country's wealth and industrial output, rail lines were being built across the country, and Merlin was soon awarded a position on the fastest train in the network, the Seoul-Busan Saemaeul-ho.

Because of his experience in running high-speed express trains, Merlin not only became the public face of Korean high-speed rail, but also became an "honored elder" amongst the other Korean engines, a position he still holds to this day - as despite being over 70 years old, he still runs daily trains on the fast services, easily keeping time with the Korean schedules as well as training the new high speed trains, including the KTX sets. He's on his 24th boiler by now, and has more parts from Hyundai than Doncaster.

An additional fact - Merlin actually has had a linguistic effect on Korean railroading, as his strange amalgamation of an accent - a strong Yorkshire accent that tried to be Received Pronunciation for 30 years, mixed with almost 50 years of middle-to-upper-class Korean - has filtered down through the ranks of KoRail, because all of his students want to sound like him out of respect. Human British expats in Korea will occasionally hear a locomotive speaking in English, and the engine will sound like a Yorkshireman every time and the Brits cannot handle it.

---------

4495 Golden Fleece is the only A4 to preserve himself - he saw the writing on the wall in the early 60s, and hopped a car ferry to France at the end of 1962. From there, he bounced around Europe for a bit before making it to the United States in the late 70's.

Of the 8 surviving A4s, he's probably led the quietest life of all - he moved to Miami before it got nice, and basically got in on the ground floor of CSX when that merger happened in 1980. He's now the head of terminal operations for the Port of Miami, but he's generally kept a low profile - not even having a chance to meet Scotsman due to his time in Europe.

He's still in contact with Dwight and Dominion, and has no real bitterness over not being "famous" like they are - he likes the quiet, and still lives in a modest house in Boynton Beach with his long-term girlfriend.

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

Soooo... the Great Gathering.

It was supposed to be a meeting of the 6 surviving A4s - a two year event held at the NRM in honor of the 75th anniversary of Mallard's record-setting run.

"Record setting" is a past-tense term here. While there have been no official runs, every single one of the Pennsylvania Railroad's T1 and S1 locomotives claim to have gone faster than 126 without meaning to, and numerous other locomotives on unofficial attempts done late at night on flat stretches of land across the country have hit 130+.

British Expats have also done better than 126 - Coronation claims to have hit at least 140 on a midnight mail train in 1980, and in Korea, Merlin claims to have hit 128 on a test train, although that was judged by timing mile markers as his speedometer wasn't functioning properly.

Problems arose before any of the engines had even reached the NRM, as Mallard's already sizeable ego had swelled to massive proportions, and several engines in the great hall were planning a justifiable homicide.

Then came the time restraints - none of the foreign locomotives were willing to uproot their lives and jobs for two years just to sit motionless in a shed. A two year exhibition was eventually negotiated down to a 6 month gala, much to the irritation and confusion of the NRM, who could not understand that the engines were still in service.

Then came the extra engines - Dwight and Dominion thought that the NRM knew about Fleece, and were quite insulted on his behalf when he wasn't invited - they threatened to not attend unless arrangements were made for Fleece to attend as well.

An utterly baffled NRM agreed, but also tore their record archives apart, as they knew that Fleece had been scrapped. The fact that his picture was plastered all over CSX's Florida Division website was all the more confusing as a result.

-

Meanwhile in Busan, nobody knew that Merlin had escaped the scrappers' torch and therefore did not invite him. He was only informed after K-Pop star Psy texted him from London to ask if he knew about the event, which was being advertised on television.

Merlin, having missed his friends from the LNER, decided that he would just crash the party, used some of his many vacation days, and took off for England on a cargo ship.

-

By sheer coincidence, all four foreign A4s hit the dock in Southhampton on the same day, and were delighted to see each other - especially Merlin, considering that everyone else had thought he'd died.

Meanwhile at the NRM, delight was not the word one would use. Befuddled, confused, shocked even, but not delighted. Their plans had revolved around 6 A4s, most of which wouldn’t be running - only to now discover that there were 7, all but one of which were functioning! (Mallard, the star of the show, was the odd one out, and it drove him crazy) 

Then they got a phone call from their man at the docks saying that another one had showed up, looking like he’d driven out of a K-pop album cover, and they just gave up and started screaming. 

-

Screaming is also what happened when the cavalcade of foreigners showed up in York - first of all, the quartet of new engines sounded nothing like they had when they left England. 

Dwight had willfully unlearned his Upper Crust British accent by 1971, and had fallen deep into a California accent (quite similar to what Scotsman sounds like - coincidence? No.)

Dominion and Fleece hadn’t tried to unlearn their accents, but 40+ years of living in North America can really dilute the Britishness. It doesn’t help that Dominion has developed most Canadian vocal tics eh?

As stated above, Merlin has a weird fuckin accent, and now he speaks English with a strong Yorkshire accent, but will occasionally and without warning drop into a Korean/Yorkshire hybrid accent.

The screaming also happened because the NRM had wanted to repaint the duo trio! quartet?! into LNER garter blue, and were promptly informed that “we’re painted like this for work! Don’t touch it!” (the sole exception was Dwight, who hadn’t pulled a real train in 14 years, but he liked his Daylight Limited paint), so instead of the new arrivals showing up in LNER colours, they showed up looking like THIS:

Having their long-lost siblings show up looking and sounding like THAT had quite an affect on the A4s and the other NRM engines: 

Bittern could not believe her eyes - to the point where she actually began making noise about seeing an optometrist

Union of South Africa almost backed through a wall

Sir Nigel Gresley was speechless for two days

Mallard was so angry that he actually chipped a tooth during one of his rants about “the impropriety of it all!!”

Evening Star laughed so hard that he managed to derail himself without moving

City of Truro almost cracked a piston from shock

Alycidon spent the entire gala coming up with more and more laser focused jabs at Mallard - who was so easy to fluster that the Deltic needn’t have bothered 

Oliver Cromwell and Green Arrow made fast friends with the new arrivals, and spent the entire time learning ‘Americanisms’ to annoy the other engines with.

But what about Flying Scotsman? Where was he in all of this? He was generally considered to be the “leader” of the NRM fleet (much to Mallard’s annoyance), and was usually who the other engines turned to when things started getting out of control. 

Did Scotsman calm things down? Like hell he did. The inmates were running the asylum from the moment that Scotsman saw the other A4s - more importantly saw Dwight - and immediately greeted them in flawless Californian. 

This actually set off the building’s security alarm, as Flying Scotsman saying “DUDES! Wassup?!” caused such an uproar that the noise broke several exterior windows. 

----

And all of this was in the first few days - there were six months left to go. 

--

There was one railtour attempt. It was supposed to feature Bittern and Sir Nigel running in tandem, but instead featured Dwight and Merlin, mainly because Bittern wanted to see what would happen. 

They exceeded the max speed limit for steam traction within 15 minutes, sparked a thorough investigation by the RAIB, and got all future steam powered railtours for the Gathering cancelled immediately. 

On the plus side, the two engines did prove that it was still possible for a steam train to hit 100 safely. 

--

One thing that baffled the other engines was the inordinately large number of people who turned up just to see Dominion, and the one person who kept turning up to see Fleece - it took a lot of explaining for them to understand that Dominion had been married three times, and had children (adopted) and grandchildren from all three marriages coming to see her. A similar amount of explaining was required to explain that Fleece’s girlfriend/partner wanted to see him too. 

The normally chatty Dwight and Scotsman would suddenly clam up whenever Dominion and Fleece teasingly tried to ask about their love lives, something which wasn’t unnoticed by the other engines, but got similarly nowhere. 

The answer to why they both shut the hell up was explained when a lot of shouting broke out in the yard of the NRM one day about a month into the exhibition:

Irene Eisenhower, not content to sit in California and count her billions, quickly grew bored without her husband, and decided to go to England and be with him. The fact that she definitely did not fit the UK loading gauge was never even a consideration, and so she just showed up in York on the back of a lorry, having informed no-one of her arrival, and content to just pay off the requisite people if a fuss occurred. 

A fuss did occur, and it was only ended when Scotsman managed to convince the museum’s curator (who at this point in his life was regretting ever thinking of this damned gathering) that Irene was a ‘temporary donation’ to the museum. 

[Scotsman, who definitely hid his Cali accent from museum staff the entire time, has one of the best poker faces in the world]

Dwight was overjoyed, and so was Scotsman, for initially unclear reasons. Then Irene managed to grab both her husband and Scotsman, dragged them behind a shed, and [THIS IS A PG13 HEADCANON] the both of [PG13]. Turns out that while Scotsman may have slept his way across the US a few times, he was actually ready to settle down with Dwight and Irene - they were a throuple way back in the 70s, and those passions haven’t faded. When Scotsman reluctantly left the US in 74, a lot of the reluctance was because of those two. 

This bombshell of a revelation went over interestingly at the NRM. Some engines (Green Arrow) were happy for them, some were incensed (Mallard - although it was for anti-American reasons, not homophobic ones), and some were intensely curious about what was going on in the outside world (Bittern). 

-

The ‘foreigners’ (as Mallard had taken to calling them), were deeply displeased at how their fellow engines were being treated - while a lot of them were ‘in steam’, some were not and might never be again, something they found abhorrent. Unable to do anything at that time, as the NRM was not a for-profit entity and therefore did not have anyone to bribe, (Irene’s solution to things is to throw money at the situation) the engines started talking about how life was different in the outside world - namely that engines were still working hard, even when they were over a century old and running on steam power. 

This was of great interest to engines like Evening Star and (6220) Duchess of Hamilton, neither of whom were likely to be steamed again, and Bittern, who was growing more and more curious with each passing day. Dissent began to slowly build against the NRM curators, and the culture of the United Kingdom in general.

-

One thing the foreigners did try do something about was Ellerman Lines. The poor bastard had been sectioned to show his inner workings, much to the jaw-dropped horror of the foreign A4s, who made such a stink about it that he was moved outside the museum by NRM staff, who must have thought that the engines lacked object permanence or something, because that didn’t make it better!

-

Irene Eisenhower, who was beginning to get really sick of the nonsense that the NRM called preservation, (Scotsman was not in running condition, and had been hastily reassembled mid-overhaul in order to be cosmetically ready for the event, and let’s not forget poor Ellerman Lines) elected to bring the event to a close on her own after only three months. She did this by eventually putting her immense wealth to good use, and called for a haulage service to rescue the engines from the NRM without the knowledge of the museum staff. Aside from the A4s, she also took Ellerman Lines, Scotsman, and Bittern (who had asked to go) with her, and only bothered to inform Ellerman and Bittern - she was not about risk Scotsman having another “think of England” moment and staying. 

The haulage firm was efficient and the cargo ship was waiting, so the engines were in international waters before the NRM opened the next morning. 

Much swearing occurred in England that day, and the NRM’s image has yet to fully recover from the PR story that they had sold Flying Scotsman (and Ellerman Lines) to a reclusive American billionaire. 

Privately though, the NRM does not care, as that story is a lot better than “Someone stole our engines and we’re not allowed to get them back because as it turns out we’re slaveowners, so no international court will help us.”

Also, despite their multimillion dollar “donation" from the I. Eisenhower Opportunity Fund, they still haven’t been able to fully pacify their engines, all of whom have somehow gotten the idea that they should be running in main line service like they live on Sodor or something...

--------

Dwight, Scotsman, and Irene all live happily together in the sprawling Eisenhower estate in Malibu. Irene is currently lobbying the California state government to legalize polygamy, with moderate success. 

-

Ellerman Lines, after a lot of therapy and a full rebuild, is now working on a short line in Wyoming. He likes the scenery.

-

Bittern followed Dwight, Irene, and Scotsman to Los Angeles, and used her ‘connections’ (Dwight) to get a supporting role in Avengers: Age of Ultron. Since then, she’s gotten several roles based on her own merits, including an Emmy nomination for Best Guest Appearance in a Comedy.

-

Merlin spent a few months in LA before he went back to Korea. He is very thankful that he was able to reconnect with his brothers and sisters, and that his homeland has good internet, as he video calls his family across the Pacific almost every day.

-

Golden Fleece still lives a quiet life in Florida, but finally decided to tie the knot, and married his girlfriend in 2017. The ceremony was supposed to be quiet, but Irene Eisenhower has no idea what that word means. 

-

Dominion of Canada continues to baffle non-local trainspotters when she runs commuter trains into Toronto. She is now a great-grandmother. 

-

7 years later, and the term “Great Gathering” is still a forbidden phrase in the back rooms of the NRM.

[professorsnape394]

The Potions Master’s Apprentice

Chapter Five: The Calm before the Storm

A/N: This is the fifth part to my fanfiction ‘The Potions Master’s Apprentice (Severus Snape x OC)’. Chapters 1-16 can be found already uploaded on Wattpad under the same name. Feel free to leave requests in my inbox for anything Snape related you want me to write. Leave a comment below if you wish to be added to my tag list.

Pairing: Severus Snape x OC (Dumbledore’s Granddaughter)

Summary: A talented young witch is employed as an apprentice professor at Hogwarts, but who will she be working under? Severus Snape is not best pleased with his new responsibility of taking on an apprentice, however she is relentless to create a friendship between them. Will she be successful? Or might the friendship just go a little two far? With the eyes of her grandfather constantly watching over them, an attempt at a relationship might not be in the cards for Aria Dumbledore and Severus Snape.

Word Count: 2128

Warnings: n/a

Credits to Gif Creator

Severus Snape spent the next two weeks drowning in fire whiskey. When he returned to his quarters after spending an evening with Miss Dumbledore, he could not get her out of his mind. He hated himself for it, but she had admittedly charmed him with her striking beauty and captivating personally.

Having somewhat sobered up from the evening drinks, Severus took it upon himself to crack open another bottle of Firewhiskey, downing glass by glass until he no longer remembered how he felt about the woman.

The days that followed simply became harder to forget about her, as she would often come calling to his office; private quarters and classroom in search for the brooding Professor. Each time she came knocking Snape shied away from her, keeping his doors locked, and poured yet another measure of the burning liquid down his throat in the hope that she would disappear from his memory all together.

This was not him. He thought to himself. His whole life he had resisted the temptation of women like her. This was not to say he had never felt the touch of another, he had in his youth had his fair share of women upon leaving Hogwarts. But never had he caught feelings like those that were threatening to surface, except for one other woman. The thought of his first love forced yet another glass of whiskey down his throat.

As of now his feelings for Miss Dumbledore were purely physical but he did not want to risk them developing into something much more complex. Vowing never to fall for Aria as he had for Lily Evans, Severus built his walls higher than before, making himself impenetrable to the charms of Miss Dumbledore.

Staring at the bottom of yet another empty glass the Professor knew the only way he could resist his urges and keep the woman away, was to use his feelings for her to fuel his (now) hatred. Every kind word she spoke to him was ammunition for mockery. Every question she asked him was an excuse to belittle her. Soon enough she would take the hint and keep her distance. At the very least it would surely provoke her frustration and spark disagreements between the two. No relationship with the woman would of course be better than a bad relationship, but if he had to settle, he would gladly take the latter.

Reaching the end of yet another bottle Severus dumped the vessel into nearby bin, finally retiring for the night.

Countless bottles of Firewhiskey and Nettle Wine later, the castle gradually begun to fill with numerous Professors and various other members of staff. The school year would resume in two days time and Severus needed to get his act together in order to once again face his new apprentice.

*

The night before the students were set to arrive via the Hogwarts Express, Headmaster Dumbledore sent out a formal reminder to the staff regarding the start of year feast. Aria was well aware the feast was a tradition here at Hogwarts where a ceremony was held and the new first year students were sorted into their respective houses. She was not, however, aware that the night before the official grand feast the professors sat down to a banquet of their own. It was stated in her letter than all staff were required to attend. Aria assumed this was included more or less for the benefit of Severus, whom she knew would try at all costs to avoid attending, possibly even more so now then any year before, though she wasn't entirely sure why the sallow-skinned Professor had been avoiding her these past weeks.

Admittedly, she missed the man, though they had only really spent a few days together, she was getting used his company and her loneliness only made the days longer. She had tried to talk to him, ask him why he had been avoiding her. However, after receiving no response when she sought him out, and due to their conversation at the Three Broomsticks detailing the man's introverted personality, she decided not to pester him further.  Instead, she chose to busy herself preparing alone for the school year. Until the past few days that is, when the castle begun to fill with Professors and she thought she may as well get to know some of them.

Almost instantly Professor McGonagall took Aria under her wing and set about introducing the girl to her fellow colleagues. The two witches got along so fast, Miss Dumbledore almost wished to become her apprentice instead. Sadly, Aria was not particularly skilled in the art of Transfiguration. After a few days of brief meetings with almost all of the staff, Minerva invited Aria to afternoon tea in her office. Getting on like a house on fire, Aria felt all the nerves that had been building up within her over the last month slowly melt away. Minerva happily chatted away with the young woman, feeling she too had found a great friend.

Sooner than Aria may have liked the subject eventually turned to the subject of her mentor, Severus Snape. Minerva couldn't wait to her Miss Dumbledore's thoughts on the man. Although she also considered Severus a close friend, she knew he would not be happy with the situation and was dying to hear of his reaction. It of course came as a great shock to her when Aria Dumbledore began to spill the details of her brief encounters with the Professor.

"He was harsh at first." Aria begun. "I knew he wasn't happy with the arrangement at all, he clearly resented me for coming here and invading his space. He seemed like a very foul man."

Minvera smiled knowingly at the young woman, never had she heard a description so accurate, though she secretly knew he was not all bad. Not that he would ever show it. She thought to herself, of course she was moments away from being proven wrong.

"Don't worry about it too much, my dear. He'll eventually get used to your position here and then he wont be so cruel... simply unpleasant." She chuckled to herself. "He's not truly as hateful as you might think. He does have a heart somewhere in there."

"Oh I know." Aria exclaimed. "It took a few days but we found a rhythm of working that suited us both. Eventually we were getting along quite pleasantly. That was, until the night we had a meal at the Three Broomsticks. Then I have no idea what happened, I haven't seen him since." Miss Dumbledore pondered.

"You and Severus had a meal at the Three Broomsticks." Minerva gawped, her eyes almost falling out of her head in disbelief.

"Yes, he didn't seem too keen on the idea initially, but he seemed to reason with himself and finally came around."

"Aria, my dear, dear girl." Professor McGonagall shook her head, trying to get a grasp of what the young witch was telling her. "You do realise Professor Snape, does not socialise with anyone." Minerva tried to state her point, hoping the woman would catch her drift.

"Yes, he did mention that. I guess he's coming out of his shell." She shrugged.

"No, no, no." Minerva shook her head once again, bringing a palm to her face. "You do not understand. I have known this man since he first came to Hogwarts at the age of twelve. He had rarely shown interest in any other human being his whole life, and he certainly does not go out for meals with his coworkers for a simple chat. Especially not one of your beauty."

"What are you saying?" Aria looked confused, not liking what the older woman was insinuating.

"I'm not saying anything, my dear." McGonagall placed a hand over Aria's, reassuringly. "Except... I consider Severus a close friend, and although he doesn't show it, I believe he feels the same. And never, I mean never, has he agreed to socialise with me just for the fun of it. The man never leaves his chambers, my dear."

What Minvera said stuck with Aria for the rest of the day.  She was even more confused than ever now. Why had Severus been avoiding her for so long, if he clearly liked her more than the rest of his colleagues. Why had he spent the time listening to her, talking to her and walking her back to her quarters, to only cut all contact the next day. She knew he was a mysterious man from the moment they met, but this was just plain confusing.

This thought circled in her mind even as she made her way to the Great Hall for the first meal of the semester. Although she knew Severus was required to be there, she presumed he would keep his distance, and with the overwhelming amount of staff and topics to get caught up on she did not expect they would have any conversation at all.

When she arrived the table was already more than half full, but still Severus was no where to be seen.

"My dear, sweet, Granddaughter." Dumbledore beamed. "Come and join us." He beckoned her over, gesturing to the empty space next to his at the top of the table. Thankfully she had been positioned next to Minerva, though she feared for who would take the seat opposite, knowing that almost everyone except one was present.  Embarrassed by her Grandfather's introduction she hurriedly sat down, and began talking with Minerva, hoping no one was staring at her too much.

Dumbledore wasted no time in waiting for the final seat to be filled, and it seemed the rest of the staff had forgotten that Severus even existed. That was until, half an hour into the meal, when the doors to the Great Hall, swung open violently, causing a loud and startling bang to echo through the gigantic room. Instantly the ramble of excited chatter stopped, everyone staring at the culprit. Almost immediately upon noticing the bat-like Professor enter the room, cloak billowing behind him, the chatter commenced once more. The Potions master's reputation was more than proven to Miss Dumbledore, as it appeared even the staff did not want to face his wrath. His presence was known and he was feared. This was more than enough to intimidate Aria into keeping her mouth shut for the rest of the meal.

"I'm glad you could finally join us, Severus. Please, sit." Dumbledore spoke softly, grinning at his friend.

Snape did not return the gesture, his features perturbed into an aggravated scowl.

"It is a wonder I even made it here at all, Headmaster." Severus sneered. "I suppose everyone else received a letter, detailing the time of the feast. However, sadly." He spat. "My owl must have fainted on the job, for I did not receive such a thing. Is it your intention, to excluded me, Professor Dumbledore."

The chatter had quietened now, everyone curiously listening in to the dispute. A dispute, which Dumbledore appeared to find rather amusing, evident by the growing grin appearing on his face. Taking a slow sip of wine, Albus let the Professor stand waiting on his answer.

"That is not my intention, at all, Professor Snape. But I assumed due to the ever expanding collection of empty FireWhiskey bottles in your rubbish bin, that you would be, shall we say, preoccupied, at this time." Albus shot him a disapproving look and a small frown before, turning his attention elsewhere.

"How dare you." Snape raged, ready to continue the argument Professor Dumbledore deemed complete.

"Take a seat, Severus, before you miss any more of the meal." Albus continued, like he had not just outed Severus' small drinking problem to the whole of the staff. This however, was the incentive Severus needed to sober up and act professionally once more. He knew this was a warning from his employer and if he continued his antics his job would be on the line. His replacement was already lined up. He thought, reluctantly taking his seat across from said woman.

As everyone had, Aria couldn't help but listen to the conversation unfold. Terrified of catching Severus' eye, she focused on the three rogue peas that danced around her fork. She thought about the Professor sitting alone all those nights he had ignored her, downing glass after glass of whiskey. Knowing him, he didn't seem the type to have a problem like that. He was clearly a very disciplined man with rock solid self-control. So what on earth could have forced him to act in such a self-destructive manner?

At least now she had an answer as to what he had been up to while avoiding her all this time but the main question still remained. Why?

Taglist:

@ayamenimthiriel

[zuzu-hotman]

Ready To Love Pt.2 [[Zuko]]

Pairing: Zuko x Female!Reader

Warnings: More angst??? Dark-ish imagery?

A/N: Uh so I got asks for more??? I want you all to know most of my works are angst- but I live for good ends so dw (; I’ll link the first part after posting bc tungle is dumb. Anyways, probably gonna do a third cause there’s a bit more I want to do with this and I don’t want too much at once <3

Pt.1

“ Hᴇʏ, ᴡɪʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴅs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ʜᴏʟᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴄʟᴏsᴇ?”

Seeing him again was like adding salt to deep wounds- rubbing the coarse grains deep into gashes, open and bleeding. You kind of hated that it hurt so bad- you were supposed to be over it. You were supposed to be completely done with him. With all remnants of him. His choice was clear- the truth was laid out bare for your eyes to see.

He was not who you thought he was. He was not the Zuko you knew in your mind- and maybe he never was.

No one who had once worn a kind smile could look like he did that day, right? There was no way someone like that could just... lose all sense of themselves? That look he held- the crazed fire in his eyes.. how those flames should have touched you- burned you. Perhaps Zuko was not as skilled as Azula. He didn’t bend the way she did, but that didn’t make him any less powerful. He had good aim- he knew you’d find it hard to even try to make an attack on him. He could’ve used that against you- it’s what Azula would have done.

You assumed that if he could so easily turn into Azula’s direction.. he’d be able to be as cruel as her. That he’d use your weakness to him against you. You felt the heat of his flames, you knew they could have scorched you. You weren’t that accustomed to fighting yet. For a long time you had suppressed your bending- scared of what it might bring you and what it meant for your future.

You came to regret that eventually. You could have told your parents- your Father could have shown you so much..

Fate was absolutely cruel- you firmly believed this now. She had no right to harm you like this- to drag you through the mud, already beaten down and tired.

She allowed him the chance to be in this group. You wanted to object, violently so. It wasn’t your place to though. Your personal ties to him had no place stopping him from teaching Aang about fire bending. The Avatar needed to know all four elements to bring balance. It was important to Aang’s journey and to putting an end to this long war.

That didn’t make you despise it any less. Hatred or anger- which was it you felt?

“Please talk to me..”

His quiet plea fell upon your ears in the dead of night, long after everyone else had retired to their own spaces. You had suspected he’d find his way to you soon- someway or somehow. With no one else around to bear witness. You hated how you froze in place- how all that anger just fizzled into nothing at the sound of him. So sad- so lonely. You were his only link to his former self, to who he should have become. A tiny string stuck on it’s last thin thread. You didn’t know that however. t’s not as if that was his only reason for reaching for you like this, and that you didn’t know of as well. You were in the dark on his feelings.

As you assumed you always had been.

“___, please..”, he whispers once more when he gets no response.

You make sure to keep your breathing even, to not move at all. Give him an inch and he’d probably take miles. Miles upon miles- stretch you until you break into tiny pieces. Yet some small pieces would still yearn- crave for what your brain told you not to. 

You hear his breath hitch a bit, as if he’s fighting back overpowering emotions- him? The glorious crown prince who had slain the Avatar? The prince who turned a blind eye to you, to his good Uncle? The audacity- and yet you felt no actual anger. Not when he spoke.

“I- I’m so-- ___ I’m so sorry. I know that’s not enough. I know it will never be enough- I was wrong. I did everything so wrong and Uncle- I’m sure he hates me. I’m sure you do too. I never meant- I thought it was my destiny to.. to.. capture him. For my honor and my nation. I thought I was right and..”, he takes in a shaky breath. You’re glad you can’t see him. His face just might break you. “I hurt you. I hurt Uncle. I-I made you not trust me- I disappeared and I never responded to any of your letters- I still have them I- I don’t know.. I don’t have a reason or any excuse I just.. please. Please at least talk to me- say something! Anything! I’ve missed you- I was miserable- it’s not home.. not without you. I made mistakes even there I.. even she told me that I was wrong.. even..” and he trails off, gaining no response.

Little did he know he was close to getting one. She? He didn’t mean Azula.. he would have said her name. You hated how your chest burned- what mistakes could he make there? At home? No- not home. Not your home.

“...You’re sleeping.. I hope. I almost got loud. I’m..”, he sucks in a breath, “Okay. Another time.”

You choose to ignore the way he sniffs- knowing all too well it meant he’d shed tears. If you acknowledge it, you know what may happen. You know how it’d go- how weak you’d be. This isn’t how it should be, you should be able to ignore him without batting an eye. He should be able to just let you go. He’d already done so. What was the use in this? Hadn’t he decided already, who he was or at the least who you were to him?

Clearly nothing-

You let out a heavy breath, almost shudderingly so when you hear his footsteps fade away. You clench your eyes shut, banishing any trace of wetness from your eyes. No no no- you would not cry. Not again, and not anymore. Remember how he looked- remember those crazed eyes and harsh blasts of fire. Remember and hold it- no apology could fix it. Not so simply. It would take much more than words because.. you weren’t sure your aching heart could take much more of it..

Morning came quickly, with no remorse to any who had not slept in her absence. Specifically to you or Zuko. Luckily enough, you hid it well enough. Zuko? Not so much. Clearly he looked like he’d had a fitful sleep.

Hmph-

“Wow. I didn’t know it was possible for you to look even angrier than usual.”, Sokka pipes up, already at his usual antics of antagonizing the newest group member.

“Shut. Up.”, Zuko hisses in response, causing Aang and Toph to laugh a bit at his expense.

“You really should sleep. Set a good example for your new student.”

“I said shut up.”

“He is kinda right, you know.”, Toph adds in, “It’s not good to be up so late.”

Zuko freezes for a moment, but says nothing else. You’d almost forgotten- Toph was very attuned to the earth. Of course she’d know if anyone was up and moving. The only thing to question was if she’d heard him. At the time though, there would be no answer to it. He wouldn’t ask and she didn’t seem keen on pressing the issue. No one else was aware either. So it just faded into silence, not spoken of. It was replaced by Zuko barking at Aang that it was time to start his training.

“I lost my stuff.”, he says it so plainly. Uninvited and without any context.

“Wasn’t me.”

Zuko makes a face, “No I mean my bending- I don’t know I..”

You decide to tune him out, spacing away from his frustration and Katara’s laughter. Was he really that out of it? He suddenly couldn’t bend? What a load of garbage. If he expected you to feel bad, you didn’t. Not even the slightest. Serves him right for the look he gave you when he learned of your bending. When he saw the element of fire was not in you to control, but-

“___” , He speaks your name softly.

You look up to where he stands, a few feet away. You hadn’t noticed everyone else had already gone to bed. It was just you and him and the dwindling fire between you.

“I-”

“Goodnight.”, you say, starting to stand up, brushing your legs off.

“Wait-”, he gently grabs the sleeve of your shirt but you push his hand away.

“Don’t touch me.” You don’t look at him- you can’t. You must remain strong- don’t do what you did in Ba Sing Se. Don’t fall into that hole a second time..

“At least hear me out- get mad all you want. Scream at me- hit me I don’t care just-”

“I’m not going to do that. You made your bed. Lie in it.”

“I did, you’re right. I did and I’m so-”

“Don’t apologize. Teach Aang bending. I’m not a part of this- none of them know I knew you, which clearly I didn’t. I never did. I know you as this guy I bumped into in Ba Sing Se. This guy that I thought I was nice and had a good heart but I guess I misjudged. Maybe he just feels guilty or that apologizing to me might right his wrongs or whatever. If this is your way of getting them to trust you more, I’ll allow it. Anything to help Aang.”, you speak as calmly as you can. Not sparing a glance, “You already made your choices- you already let me go so just-”

“I don’t want to let you go though- I never wanted to. I just- I thought I was right. I thought that.. you’d come home. I thought that that was still home. I was wrong. I was so wrong-”

“Yet you still stayed, huh?”, you say, bitterly now, “You had a little life out there- you had your glory. Had the nation at your feet. The crown prince who slayed the-”

“I’m not that person! I never was!”

“You seemed to think you were! You acted the part! You were there for well over a month!”, you looked at him now, eyes burning, “You weren’t sorry enough to come back earlier! You didn’t think enough- you didn’t care enough! You were gone for three years! You never replied- I lost my Father! I lost what I thought was home and you weren’t there! I find you in Ba Sing Se- acting like no time had passed! Like we never grew apart! You talk to me like you still knew me, like you still cared! Yet you still chose to do what you did!”

He’d shrunk back a bit, shocked at the bass in your voice- how heavily it weighed on him. He didn’t know you felt all that. He had no idea..

“Your Father-?”

“Don’t.”, you hiss, quieting down, now aware you might have stirred the others from their sleep, “Don’t even. Don’t come to me with any apologies unless you really mean it- unless you’re ready to tell all you have to tell. I’m done with secrets and lies. Good night.”

You walk off now, leaving him to stand by the dying fire. His hand feels cold- his chest aches- your Father? That man he’d seen love you so happily- the home that was worn down but well loved? Gone? How had you suffered so without him even knowing- what had happened to you in his absence?

Why hadn’t he even thought of it?

How did he manage to screw up a screw up?

Zuko groaned to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose, “...what would Uncle have me do- what’s right..”

How to salvage this mess?

“Mʏ ᴍɪɴᴅ ɪs ᴀ sʜɪᴘᴡʀᴇᴄᴋs ғʟᴏᴏʀ..”

Pt.3

[brokenbuttonsmusic]

Howard Tate: A Philadelphia Soul Resurrection

This post is a near- transcript of the Broken Buttons: Buried Treasure Music podcast (episode 1, side B). Here you’ll find the narration from the segment featuring the great Philadelphia soul singer Howard Tate, along with links, videos, photos and references for the episode.

Listen to the full episode on Spotify, Anchor or Mixcloud.

Music history is packed with bands and artists that had the talent, the songs and even the fully realized recordings to make it big, only to be passed over. Some miss their window, or worse, some get their big break, but somehow  self-destruct or fail to capitalize on it. It’s the reason why I decided to do this show. There is so much overlooked and under appreciated music out there to be found and enjoyed.

This next artist doesn’t quite hit any of those scenarios exactly though. Howard Tate got his break and made it happen. Howard Tate hit big and he hit fast. Tate said he came home from work one day and a big limousine was sitting in front of his door. 

“You gotta get in here right away. You gotta get a suit. You’re playing with Marvin Gaye tomorrow night.”

Between 1966 and 1970 Howard Tate had six top 40 R&B singles. And then he disappeared. Plunging into obscurity, almost as quickly as he soared within sight of the summit. Tate never completely crossed over. While he regularly appeared on the R&B charts, the highest he ever placed on the Pop charts was #63. 

Let’s start our dive into Tate, by hearing his highest charting single. One of three top 20 R&B hits in his catalog. This is Ain’t Nobody Home by Howard Tate. 

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Ain’t Nobody Home by Howard Tate.

Here’s what the Rough Guide to Soul & R&B has to say about that recording and the chemistry of the whole crew who made it happen.

“With a groove laid down by keyboardist Richard Tee, guitarist Cornell Dupree, bassist Chuck Rainey and drummer Herb Lovell, the production of Ain’t Nobody Home by Jerry Ragovoy both borrowed from and influenced the music coming from Memphis and Muscle Shoals, and set the precedent for Atlantic’s first recordings with Aretha Franklin. While the music was great, however, it was Tate’s vocals that made the record. Sounding like a less overwrought Percy Sledge, Tate’s simultaneously Northern and Southern phrasing was impeccable, and economical use of his falsetto made it all the more effective.”

Tate had the voice, which many compared to Sam Cooke and Marvin Gaye. He also had a distinctive gospel-blues delivery that sticks with you for days. But the tunes came from somewhere else.

Before his quick ascent, Tate was singing in a group with Garnet Mimms. Mimms was the original singer of the Janis Joplin hit,  Cry Baby. He also introduced Howard to record producer Jerry Ragovoy, who co-wrote Cry Baby. Ragovoy is known for writing Time is On My Side for the Rolling Stones and another Joplin hit, Piece of My Heart. Clearly Janis liked the songwriting of Jerry Ragovoy. In fact, she also performed this Ragovoy composition that you’ve probably come across at one time or another.

That’s Janis Joplin singing Get It While You Can from her massive second album Pearl in 1971. What you might not know is that Get it While you Can was originally performed by Howard Tate, five years earlier in 1966.

Ragovoy was taken with Tate’s voice and began recording him as a solo artist for Verve Records. Ragovoy’s memorable, punchy Northern soul production paired with Tate’s soulful blues phrasing was a perfect match.

Here’s Howard Tate’s version, the original version, of the Jerry Ragovoy penned Get It While You Can.

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That was Howard Tate with Get It While You Can from the 1966 album of the same name.

American rock critic Robert Christgau had this to say about Tate and his collaboration with Jerry Ragovoy.

“Tate is a blues-drenched Macon native who had the desire to head north and sounds it every time he gooses a lament with one of the trademark keens that signify the escape he never achieved. He brought out the best in soul pro Jerry Ragovoy, who made Tate's records jump instead of arranging them into submission, and gave him lyrics with some wit to them besides. In return, Ragovoy brought out the best in Tate.”

Despite the magical team up on early singles and a debut album, Tate recorded his second album without Ragovoy, instead working with Lloyd Price and Johnny Nash. Released in 1969, Howard Tate’s Reaction is more uptown soul than the grittier southern soul of its predecessor, but it’s another recognition worthy collection of performances.

Ragovoy and Tate reunited for 1972’s eponymous Howard Tate. This time an Atlantic release. Critics knock this album as being a notch below Ragovoy’s best songwriting, but I think it’s a worthy piece of Tate’s catalog. Tate sounds great, as always, and there are a couple of really explosive, interesting covers. The Band’s Jemima Surrender and this one.

Bob Dylan’s Girl From the North Country. Listen to this voice.

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Howard Tate covering Bob Dylan’s Girl From the North County from 1972.

After recording a handful of additional songs—one single for Epic and a few for his own label—Tate retired from the music business. Frustrated with his lack of crossover, but downright bitter about how little he was paid for his successes, which again, included 3 top 20 R&B hits—he quit. Disappeared, really.

But not everyone was ready to forget. And while his name would fade from memories over the coming decades, Howard Tate’s impact was undeniable.

One of Tate’s heroes, BB King, covered Ain’t Nobody Home. So did Bonnie Raitt.

Ry Cooder and Grand Funk covered Look At Granny Run Run

Jimi Hendrix covered Stop

Foghat covered Eight Days on the Road and so did the one and only queen if soul.

And not everyone forgot. Tate’s old partner, record producer and chief songwriter Jerry Ragovoy made many attempts to track down his old friend over the years. He contacted old business associates and got them in on the search. They all came up empty.

A New Jersey DJ named Phil Casden had developed somewhat of an obsession with Tate’s whereabouts. Casden hosted a weekly radio show, spinning soul, blues and R&B and had taken to asking his listeners for any information about the missing (by this time) cult soul legend.

Even Verve, Tate’s old record company, had given up trying to track down the long retired crooner. The 1995 CD reissue of Tate’s Verve sessions included liner notes that flat out said: Howard Tate is probably dead.

''It wasn't sufficient to leave a story like that open-ended,'' Mr. Casden said. ''I had to find out: 'Is the guy alive? Is he dead?' There had to be something more than, 'He just rode off into the sunset.' ''

In 2001 the mystery was solved. Ron Kennedy, singer of Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes recognized Tate at a grocery store and the old pals played catch up after nearly 30 years. They exchanged numbers. Kennedy put the New Jersey DJ, Casden, in touch with Tate. Casden enthusiastically announced the good news to his listeners and the soul fanatics across the internet. Howard Tate was alive! He even put Tate in touch with a lawyer to help him recoup past royalties from his reissues.

Apparently Tate had quite a loyal following overseas. Eventually, a British journalist reached out to Tate’s old partner-producer Jerry Ragovoy for a reaction. The only problem was, Ragovoy didn’t have a reaction to give because he didn’t know Tate had been found. Ragovoy was elated at the news. After reconnecting with his long lost friend and confirming he was doing well, the next thing on his mind: could Howard Tate still sing?

Before we answer that, let’s answer this: where had Tate been all those years after walking away from the music?

After becoming resentful and disheartened by his missing paydays, Tate decided to go missing himself. He didn’t intentionally go into hiding, he just bailed on the industry that he felt wronged had him.

He worked as a securities dealer with Prudential for a while and then darkness hit. He lost his 13-year-old daughter in a house fire. In 1981, after 20 years, his marriage fell apart. Soon after, Tate unraveled too. He tumbled into drug addiction and lost everything. He lived on the streets for years, struggling to get by and feed his habit. Finally, in the mid 90s, he started to climb out of the hole. He cleaned up and found god. He became a minister and dedicated his life to helping the poor and homeless.

And that brings us up to the moment of his big reunion with Jerry Ragovoy and loyal fans awareness that Howard Tate was alive and well after all those years. But now more than your die hard R&B/soul enthusiasts were interested.

But did he still have that voice? Could Howard still sing?

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Uh, yeah. Jerry Ragovoy was stunned at how strong Tate sounded after decades of being out of the game. And he was REALLY out of the game. Howard claims he never sang a note all those years. Not until Jerry approached him about recording a comeback album and got him into the studio. Tate also says he had no clue that Janis, B.B., Jimi, Ry or any of the others had ever covered his songs or took an interest in his music.

Howard and Jerry recorded a new album in 2003. It’s called Rediscovered. And remember that Elvis Costello quote from the intro to this episode? Elvis called Tate the missing link between Jackie Wilson and Al Green. Tate asked Costello to write a song for his new album and he agreed. 

Let’s here that now. From his comeback album, Rediscovered, more than 3 decades in the making, here’s Howard Tate with Either Side of the Same Town, written by Elvis Costello.

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That was Either Side of the Same Town from Howard Tate’s first album after 30 hears away from the music business. But not his last.

Tate had quite the victory lap. He made numerous tv, radio and festival appearances in the ten years after his reemergence. He recorded two more studio full lengths and a live album. On December 2nd, 2011, Tate passed away of complications of multiple myeloma and leukemia.

With a superb first act and a spectacular resurrection that led to the near doubling of his recorded output, there’s plenty of Tate music to check out and enjoy.

Other sources for this segment are listed below.

I referenced several NPR features in this episode, including the obituary they did for Tate. 

Deep Southern Soul - This blog did a great post on Howard Tate. Lots of other good stuff here, but they recently announced they are closing up.

Gadfly Online - Another nice write up on Tate and his back story.

New Jersey new feature - The clip of Howard talking is from this segment. They did a feature on Tate’s rediscovery.

Trunkworthy - Post about Tate and his comeback. This site digs into music, movies and TV you might have missed. They also did a post about the Elvis Costello song featured in this episode. Elvis’ version is on The Delivery Man album. 

New York Times Obituary for Howard Tate

The Guardian Obituary for Howard Tate

Billboard Magazine, July 26, 2003 - Article about Howard’s return after 30 years.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

The Crucible (part 11; epilogue)

[UK Tour; Carrie AU]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

It’s finally done!!!!!!!!!!!

Word count: 11,867

TW: Survivor guilt, victim blaming

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

Epilogue

  “Do you ever see something you can’t explain? I’m not talking about some strange lights in the sky or Jesus’s face on a tortilla. I’m talking about something that’s not supposed to happen. Like in reality.”

Mulaney tilted his head at the retired coach across the table from him. She was dressed maturely and her hair was neatly combed, leaving no evidence of any trauma retained from the massacre she lived through. Her eyes were calculating and narrowed like a defensive lioness’ as she studied the detective and then his partner for the third time during that interview. She was as sharp-tongued as Katherine Howard before she was switched to a different investigator.

  “Like a miracle?” Mulaney asked.

Catalina de Aragon shook her head. “Something else.” She said. She fell silent for a moment, gears in her head visibly turning, then spoke up again, “Do you think you can’t explain what happened on prom night is because what happened wasn’t natural?”

Mulaney raised his eyebrows, which seemed to offend Catalina. She leaned forward against the table and set her jaw.

  “Two weeks ago, I saw a steel desk move across the floor without anyone touching it.” She told him. “Five inches. I measured. Joan Seymour was in the room when it happened.”

  “Two hundred and thirty-four people died, and you’re trying to sell me on some Weekly World News headlines?” Mulaney said.

Anger flashed in Catalina’s eyes and, for a moment, she looked like she wanted to leap across the table and jam her thumbs into Mulaney’s eyes.

  “I don’t need you to tell me how many people died,” She growled. “Half of them were kids I saw every day.”

  “I am truly sorry for your loss, Miss Aragon. I am.” Mulaney said. “But--what exactly are you implying here?”

  “I’m not implying anything. I’m just giving you the facts. I might as well tell you it was poltergeists.”

  “But you don’t believe that?”

  “No.”

  “You think it was Joan Seymour?”

  “Yes. I do.”

Mulaney studied her, looking her up and down, but the ex-coach didn’t appear to be lying. She believed what she said, despite how absurd it was.

  “What exactly did you see on prom night?” He asked.

  “I was hanging from an air vent pissing my pants, trying not to get electrocuted.” Catalina spat bluntly. “I didn’t see anything.”

------

HERE LIES

JANE R. SEYMOUR

1972-2020

JOHANNA M. SEYMOUR

2005-2020

MAY GOD SAVE THEIR WICKED SOULS

------

Aragon saw Katherine Howard on the way out of the police department. They were both leaving their interrogations at the same time and stopped like deer in headlights to gawk at each other for a long moment. Then, Katherine ducked her head, almost in an apologetic, truce-like gesture and walked to her car.

It was always strange to see students outside of school, but it was even stranger now that Aragon had quit.

Holbein understood when Aragon emailed him saying she was going to resign, although she doesn’t think it was entirely for the reasons he assumed. The decision wasn’t so much for her own mental health, even though it has taken quite a beating since the Black Prom, but more on the “this is what’s right” and “I can’t go on in this profession” aspect.

Hundreds of children died under her watch. She was only able to get out thirteen. She felt like she failed as a teacher.

Most of them deserved to die, she knew they did, but the fact that so many lives were lost with her there acting as their chaperone, guardian, protector ate away at her mind. 

She would rather kill herself than ever teach again.

Aragon walked to her car and just sat in the driver’s seat, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, for several minutes. She looked up at the sky, which was grey and rumbling like a fire breathing dragon. It would rain soon. Even Mother Nature herself was trying to wash away the tragedy.

Aragon still remembered the first time she saw Joan Seymour. 

At the beginning of the year, two years ago, it had just been another name among many on her class rosters. Several of her teacher friends told her good luck when she told them about how she got the “strange little religious girl” in her class, and she thought she really needed it. At the time, she hadn’t actually ever met Joan or even seen her for that matter, but from the rumors she heard, the girl brought trouble wherever she went. She thought that year was going to be a hellfest of religious warbling and being told she was a sinner. And then the first day came and she was calling attendance, and heard the tiniest voice say “here” when she came to the final name on the list.

Joan Seymour was like a starved lamb in a pack of wolves- prey that was being left around to be messed with by her peers. She was everything Aragon wasn’t expecting and so much more. She could see so much light in her, beneath all the walls she had put up around herself, so much room to be loved.

Aragon wondered what happened to that light.

She remembered when the maternal instincts hidden inside of her first flared up. It was November of her first year with Joan Seymour. The gym class was a mix between all grade levels, with Year 10’s like Joan and Year 12’s like Anne Boleyn and Year 11’s like Bessie Blount, and--

And there was a scream.

Now, Catalina de Aragon had heard screaming before. In Year 13 of high school, she vividly remembers watching a school rugby game and one of the players from the other team, she believed they were the Pumas if her memory was correct, broke his arm so savagely it almost looked like it was on backwards. He had dropped to the ground in a blur of black and maroon, bellowing in agony, and at the time Aragon had thought that it was the worst sound she would ever hear in her entire life.

And then she heard the ricochet of a cry rattle from the girl’s locker room, so loud that she could hear it from outside in the gym, and the first place spot for “Worst Noise She’s Ever Heard” was quickly snatched away from the football player.

He had screamed. But not like this.

This scream was piercing, bloodcurdling, and memory-haunting, and it only got worse when Aragon charged into the locker room, leaving a gaggle of wide-eyed students already dressed out behind in startled shock. 

Opening the door and passing through the doorway was like coming out of water in the midst of a war- the scream suddenly became ten times louder and much more ear-splitting. She actually had to clamp her hands over her ears and stop her forward stride to shudder in pain at the intensity of the noise that made her feel like she was going deaf. What could very possibly be 140 to 150 decibels of volume jammed its way directly into her eardrums, stabbing over and over and over again until a ringing was sent jangling through her skull like the aftermath of an explosion.

To be in the same room as such an outburst of agony, so close to the cause of deafening distress, was so much more bone-chilling than listening to it from stadium bleachers.

Aragon staggered forward, pulling her hands away from her ears and crossing the corridor threshold into the open space of lockers. There, her current class was huddled in a group of abstract horror around one row, eyes so wide they were nearly popping out of sockets and shaking in abject pant-pissing fear. Aragon wasn’t quite sure who looked more terrified: them, Caroline Casey holding a can of pepper spray, or Joan Seymour frenzying around with her hands over her face, screeching.

  “WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE?” Aragon roared over the commotion, and everyone except Joan whirled around to face her with ogling bug eyes. They apparently hadn’t heard her come in over the noise. Joan keened again, a loud, drawn-out sound like the cry of a crow being gutted alive.

  “Sh-she--” One girl tried to say, but the words got stuck in her throat when she glanced back at Joan writhing, slamming into the lockers, and scratching desperately at her face.

  “WHAT HAPPENED?” Aragon demanded.

  “I--got startled.” Caroline choked out.

  “Is that PEPPER SPRAY?!” Aragon shouted.

Caroline looked down at the canister in her hand as if it were an active bomb and suddenly appeared very sick. She doesn’t answer- she can’t. She’s shocked into silence.

  “WHY do you even HAVE IT at SCHOOL?!” Aragon bellowed. Her eyes are wide now, too, as she put the pieces together.

  “I’m sorry!” Helen said.

Joan wailed tumultuously. She dropped to the ground, screaming helplessly at the ceiling and squirming like she was trying to wriggle out of her own skin. Her hands are still fervently clawing at her eyes as if she were trying to scoop them out of their sockets, and there’s spots of red mixed in with the translucent sheen of pepper spray spattered across her pale face. Aragon quickly pushed Caroline aside, practically throwing the other girls out of the way to get to the panicking student rolling on the floor.

  “Joan! Joan!” Aragon called over the screaming. Joan doesn’t appear to hear her- she just continued to caterwaul and claw like a burning black cat. “Johanna Seymour!” Not even that got through to her, and if it did, it only made her even more distressed. “Joan!!”

Aragon finally grabbed the girl by the wrists and yanked her hands away. Without the spindly fingers itching incessantly, she could see her reddened face, gashed skin, and eyes filled with blood.

  “Oh my god,” Someone from behind, Susanne Young, maybe, muttered.

  “IT HURTS!!” Joan’s screams have finally morphed into words, and Aragon isn’t sure which was worse because the screams may have been nightmare-inducing, but the words were like a punch to the stomach with a spiked iron gauntlet. They come out hoarse and high pitched, vowels stretched out in whines and keens of pain, and Aragon’s heart clenched tightly in her chest when they reach her ears. “IT HURTS!! IT BURNS!!!!”

Joan writhed beneath Aragon, flailing her arms in the grip that holds them. Her moon silver eyes are upturned in their puckered sockets, saturating in blood, and the whites weren’t even white anymore, rather an awful crimson color with throbbing scarlet veins lacing through them like smoldering snakes. The shredded, bloody eyelids soon slam shut and remain shut, swelling so badly that Joan was temporarily blinded, and that makes her panic even harder.

  “It burns! It burns! IT BURNS!!!” Joan screeched. Her voice became garbled after her final cry and she dissolved into body-breaking coughs that manage to rock Aragon’s own frame from where she’s crouched over her.

  “What do we do?!” Another girl, Silvia Lewis, yawped. She flinched backwards in fright into the arm-locked duo of Katy Yu and Eliza Carroll when Aragon whipped her head around to her, dark brown eyes flashing like jagged ebony stalactites in flickering firelight.

  “NOW you care?” Aragon snarled, loading her voice with as much venom as possible. “Now you care about her? When she’s been fucking pepper sprayed?”

All the girls flinch this time. It’s obvious that they’ve never been cussed at by a teacher before, and it gives Aragon just a tiny swell of pleasure. But then Joan sobbed audibly again and it’s replaced with seething rage.

  “It- it was an accident!” Amy Harding tried to defend. “R-really! Caroline didn’t know!”

  “Oh really?” Aragon said. “I’m sure spraying a kid with fucking pepper spray, which shouldn’t even be brought to school, by the way, is really easy to do om accident!” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anne Boleyn clench her jaw and she rounded on her. “Do you have something you want to say, Boleyn?”

Anne opened her mouth as if to snark, took one look at Joan’s bloody, burned face, and realized this was not something her father could fix with his lawyer status. Even if she told him that Joan had snapped at her, he would have to agree that being pepper sprayed for it was much, much worse. She grit her teeth and looked away.

  “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts,” Joan wept. Aragon looked back down at her and felt a sharp stab of guilt when she realized how much time she had wasted scolding the other girls when she should have been treating Joan.

  “It’s okay, Joan,” She told her softly, smoothing down the barbs and thorns in her voice until it’s more like warm honey or silken velvet. “It’s okay… You’re going to be okay.”

Joan’s lolling head froze in its process of sweeping back and forth across the scuffed locker room tile. Her brow twitched and her eyelids flutter like she was trying to open them but can’t, and only bloody tears are able to squeeze their way out of the scrunched up sockets. She ‘looked’ in the direction of Aragon’s voice, lips quivering.

  “M-Miss Aragon?” She whispered hoarsely.

  “Yes, it’s me, Joan. It’s just me.” Aragon moved to hold both wrists in one hand and used the other to brush Joan’s cheek tenderly--which was instantly the wrong thing to do because she grazed over a spatter of pepper spray and tiny burning teeth latched onto her fingers and began eating away at her flesh. She bit back a hiss of discomfort to avoid stressing out Joan even more. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

  “It hurts,” Joan sobbed. Her eyes screwed shut even tighter, like she thought that it may help block out the pain. “I-it hurts, Miss Aragon. M-make it stop!”

  “I will, Joan, don’t worry,” Aragon assured her. “Just take deep breaths for me. Can you do that? Deep breaths, sweetheart.” She swiveled her head around to the group of quavering onlookers. Caroline backed up behind Lidia Peterson and Penny Spencer when her glaring eyes skim by, still white-knuckling the canister of pepper spray. “Bessie.”

Bessie Blount jolted, but raised her head in an obedient, listening way.

  “Make yourself useful and get a bottle of water and a rag from the showers. Wet it.” Aragon ordered.

Bessie nodded, but didn’t dare speak up. She scurried off, clipping her shoulder on one of the lockers and tottering sideways for a moment before regaining her balance and continuing with her task. Aragon can hear her tinker with the padlock of her locker in another row, open the door, pull something out, and then hurry into the bathroom area without fully closing the door. She stopped listening after hearing the running water of a sink to glower at the rest of the girls.

  “Get to class.” She said coldly.

The girls exchanged glances. They seem surprised that they hadn’t been struck dead or something (although Aragon really, REALLY wanted to do so). Then, they disperse without another warning, with Caroline hightailing it out the door first. Bessie returned shortly after with a folded, pulpy paper towel that drips water on the floor and a water bottle. She looked down at Joan as she passed them over and Aragon saw that she was genuinely concerned.

  “Is she...going to be okay?” She asked.

Aragon was conflicted- she wanted to say yes to make them all feel better, but she really didn’t know. Joan had rubbed her eyes viciously enough to smear the pepper spray further into her sockets and the open cuts she carved into her skin was probably exposed to any lingering residue, too, which would only deepen her anguish. But she didn’t want to say no either because that would just induce panic, so instead she just said, “I’ll take care of her.”

Bessie seemed to catch her avoidance of the question by the pinch at her brow and frown on her lips, but she just nodded instead of pointing it out, much to Aragon’s relief.

  “Okay,” She said. She cast one more glance at Joan, who appeared to be trying to figure out where she was, then turned around, gathered her belongings, and walked out.

  “Okay, Joan,” Aragon looked down at her student. “I’m going to pour some water over your eyes, okay? Just keep breathing for me. You’re doing so good.”

Joan whimpered. She jolted when the contents of the water bottle were poured over her face, crying out in shock and pain, and a light bulb overhead shattered in millions of burgeoning pieces. Aragon jumped and looked up at it, then back down at Joan, who was now panting and wheezing heavily.

  “H-hurts to b-b--reathe,” She uttered.

  “Oh, Joan…” Aragon murmured. She carefully wiped away the pepper spray residue on Joan’s face with the paper towel, finding that the girl’s skin was suddenly very cold. Her breathing wasn’t normal anymore. She can feel her heartbeat thump heavily beneath her flesh; it’s too fast for even someone in the midst of a panic attack. 

Something was sizzling in Joan Seymour’s skin, and it wasn’t just the pepper spray.

There’s a clamor from the front of the locker room- Aragon’s next period class started to bustle inside to change out before their minimal time limit was up. Aragon jumped up, causing Joan to whimper in distress at the loss of her presence, and stormed to the entrance corridor. The girls inside stopped, easily picking up that she was on edge, and took a small step back in near-perfect synchronization.

  “You don’t have to change out today.” Aragon said hurriedly. “Or do anything. Just sit in the gym and do whatever. As long as you don’t kill each other or set something on fire, I really don’t care what you do.”

The girls blink and exchange looks.

  “Everything okay?” One asked.

  “Fine.” Aragon said, squaring her shoulders and straightening her back. Her posture nearly faltered and crumbled when she heard Joan whimper again. “Go on. Out!”

The girls obeyed, quickly exiting in a flurry of binders and backpacks. Once they’re all gone, Aragon hurried back to Joan, who was trying to get up. She yelped and flinched so badly she knocked herself back over when Aragon touched her shoulder, and another light in the first aisle of lockers popped and fizzed out.

  “It’s just me, Joan.” Aragon said. “It’s Miss Aragon.”

  “Miss Aragon,” Joan repeated to herself in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

  “That’s right,” Aragon nodded, although she knew Joan couldn’t see it. “Joan, I’m going to help you stand up and we’re going to walk over to the showers, okay? The water bottle isn’t working as well as I had hoped. Running water will help flush out your eyes better.” She gently touched Joan’s face and she ‘looked’ up at her. “It’ll make it hurt less.”

Joan nodded. She grit her teeth as she’s helped to her feet, staggering, but staying upright. A jewel of blood welled up from a scratch dividing her left eyebrow in two and lazily made its way down her face. She twitched when it tickled her skin and she reached up to swipe it away, but Aragon snatched her hand before she could make contact. Joan jumped and instantly tried to jerk away.

  “Don’t touch your face.” Aragon scolded lightly. “It’ll only make the burning worse.”

Joan swallowed thickly, but didn’t say anything. She just nodded silently and obeyed.

The short walk to the bathroom and shower area was much clumsier than it should have been, with Joan stumbling over her ankles and hitting every outcrop of lockers, even with Aragon guiding her. Lack of sight was numbing her senses and making it hard to listen. Aragon didn’t ever get mad at her, though; blindness, even temporary blindness, would make her a complete nervous, bumbling wreck, too.

  “M-Miss Aragon?” Joan croaked as Aragon cranked the nozzle to a middle-row shower. She turned her head in the direction of the sound of spraying water.

  “Yes?” Aragon gently touched her shoulder to let her know she was there. “I’m right here, honey.”

  “I’m sorry,” Joan whispered.

Aragon’s heart sunk into her stomach. Oh, Joan, please please don’t--

  “I-I didn’t mean to.”

A wave of guilt slammed into Aragon, alongside a rumbling riptide of pure rage that roiled through her insides like a storm at sea. She clenched her teeth until she thought they may shatter and wished that she had exacted punishment on all those girls, especially Caroline, instead of sending them to their next class to deal with them later.

  “I’m sorry,” Joan said again, this time much more choked up. Her skin was frigid cold. “M-Miss Aragon?” She reached up a blind hand and lightly touched Aragon’s, which she must have forgotten was on her shoulder. She grabbed it in a way that sent shockwaves of desperation up Aragon’s arm. “I’m sorry…”

  “Don’t apologize, Joan.” Aragon said firmly. “This wasn’t your fault.”

  “Okay,” Joan said, but Aragon knew she didn’t believe it. She lowered her voice and rasped out, “It really, really hurts…”

  “Come on,” Aragon lowered Joan to her knees and tilted her into the warm rain of water shooting from the showerhead. She lifted her chin so the spray would directly hit her face. “There we go... Good girl.”

Joan took a deep breath, spitting out water. Streams ran red when they touched her numerous cuts and the blood oozing from her tightly shut eyes turned into puffing clouds of crimson along her cheeks, but at least everything was getting flushed out. 

Aragon risked getting wet when she reached over and began to rub soothing circles against Joan’s back. She swore the girl arched her spine into her touch, exhaling a soft sigh of relief--or maybe contentment. She wasn’t quite sure, but at least it wasn’t a sad or angry sigh, although Joan had every reason to be sad and/or angry.

  “It felt like a hot knife.”

Joan’s rough, husky voice jarred Aragon out of her thoughts. Silence had descended upon the two of them for about five minutes, the only sound being the hiss of the overhead faucet and the low creak of pipes. Aragon blinked a haze of black spots out of her vision; her hand was still on Joan’s back, no longer rubbing, but the fingers were still grazing up and down tenderly, with the thumb gliding in soothing strokes.

  “Or a fire poker. Like the ones you use for fireplaces.” 

  “What?” Aragon said.

Joan craned her neck to look at her, and her eyes were open. They were reddish-blue-silver jewels in a nest full of restless red snakes. Trails of water cascading over her face cause the dozens of cuts around the sockets to glow in hues of neon pink and burning scarlet. She tilted her head at Aragon.

  “When I got sprayed,” She specified. “And you know what I thought when it happened?”

  “What?” Aragon said again, this time with dread pooled in the pit of her stomach like a dark oil spill.

  “‘Thank God,’” Joan said. A small, weak smile twitched at the corner of her lips and she looked down at her hands, where bits of her flesh still clung beneath her nails. “I wasn’t angry. Or upset. It did hurt, though. Really badly. But after everything--after everything I’ve been through--” Her arms dropped limply to her sides and she turned her head back to Aragon. “It felt good to not have to see.”

Aragon was silent. Her breath is caught in her throat in horror.

How could a child think like that? How could they be treated so poorly that they have to think like that?

  “I’ve never been blinded before,” Joan went on, musing her words like she didn’t realize how traumatic they were. She lifted a hand and gently touched one eye, as if she were reminding herself that it was still there. “It was--scary. Really scary. I’m--used to darkness, but--that was different. It wasn’t black, but really, really bright. So bright my head started to hurt--still hurts--and there were these flashes of color and it all mixed together into this big mess. But still-” She shifted on her knees, sloshing water around her. “I thought that not seeing anymore would make things better. Somehow. Maybe then I would be pathetic enough for people to leave me alone.” Her eyes gleam; Joan is crying. “But it wouldn’t end up being like that, would it? I’m never granted such mercy.” She flicked the water around her bitterly, then had to scrunch her eyes shut again when the pain registered again.

  “Were you--” Joan cocked her head in the direction of Aragon’s head to let her know that she was listening. Aragon’s hand on her back clenched a fistful of soggy pale yellow sweater. “Are you happy?”

  “Now?”

  “Ever.”

Joan ‘looked’ up at the ceiling like she was deep in thought, and Aragon already had her answer.

Fury bubbled in Aragon’s stomach, while pity and grief squeezed her heart to the point of nearly bursting apart. It wasn’t fair. It was so unfair for a child to have to live like this.

Joan had tipped her head down and apparently stopped thinking by the time Aragon was finished stewing in anger and conflict. And that’s when Aragon realized that Joan didn’t look even a little angry or conflicted. Or upset or sorrowful or anguished or vengeful.

She just looked tired.

Not just tried, though- Jaded.

  “How are your eyes?” Aragon asked.

Joan gently touched one. “They still burn. Badly. But not as bad as before.”

  “Yeah, they’re probably going to hurt for awhile.” Aragon frowned. She cupped Joan’s cheeks, which felt so hollow and sunken beneath her fingers, and she cradled her head. “Can you open your eyes, honey? So I can see them?”

Joan struggled, but managed to pry open her eyelids and keep them open for Aragon to inspect. They were bloodshot and definitely looked like they were hurting, but at least they weren’t bleeding anymore. Aragon gently stroked her thumb across her cheekbone.

  “Maybe I’m not happy,” Joan blurted.

The memory cut out abruptly, any other voices of remnant fading away, and Aragon finally accepted that Joan was right. She wasn’t happy, and Aragon began to worry if she ever really was in her entire life.

Aragon leaned back in her seat and rubbed the heels of her palms against her eyes. She sniffled, but willed herself not to cry. She just--

She tried so hard to help that poor child. She didn’t want to believe that Joan was really as broken as she seemed, that she still had a chance of recovering, but she finally came to terms that not everyone can be saved. Joan was too far gone for Aragon to pull her out of the blackhole she was stuck in. But maybe if she had just tried a little harder, if she checked on her more often, if she did something sooner-- Maybe things wouldn’t be the way they were now.

Maybe Joan would still be here.

But it didn’t matter anymore. Joan, several of her teacher friends, and hundreds of her students were dead, and nothing was going to bring them back.

Aragon sighed and finally buckled her seatbelt and got to driving. She had to get to her house to start packing. She was going back home to Spain, to her family, and find a job there. Perhaps the memories of the Black Prom will be less crushing when she was so far away from the site of the massacre, but she doubted it. Trauma never died.

------

Water.

Water was what the air in and around this part of the city smelled like the most.

It was in the deep, earthen musk of the damp soil that lay beneath the lush, dew-soaked grass.

It was in the marshy fumes, sometimes sulfurous, sometimes sickly-sweet, of the patches of hidden swamp that lay in wait for unsuspecting feet.

It was in the carpets of fallen leaves that hid hollows between the tree roots, where pools could collect and play host to all things that crawled or squirmed through the wet.

It was in the very forest itself, coating wet leaves and bleeding from the dark, pulpy wood of the gnarled, old trees.

There was nothing dry about this place.

Fog, ghostly-grey and creeping on silent feet, drifted in low wisps over the crumbled and cold earth, painting the normally-stark outlines of the trees so pale that they faded into the sky rather than stood boldly against it. The mist had dissipated somewhat since anyone had last passed through this particular stretch of rarely-visited meadow, but not by much. Hours, though, or perhaps a day before, it had been as oppressive and thick as cold clam chowder.

Now it was slowly thinning out, listlessly lacking the eerie, almost lifelike malevolence with which it had pressed in upon the very soul before. There was a certain…uncertainty about the way it was hovering now, no longer pouring into every little hollow and alcove like milk over cereal. It was just there.

There, in a sort of in-between way. Lingering.

All was still, and--save for the rhythmic pitter-patter of falling rain--all was silent as well.

Except for herself, of course.

It was movement in the stillness that preceded the first disruption of the tranquility of the forest; the silk-thin web of drifting mist that hung in the air like lace slowly began to slide forward, rolling away from her feet like a translucent white carpet, perhaps in front of some ghostly noble attending an afterlife celebration in their name. Right from the Black Prom, her movement through this strange, still world, which her life had become, had felt alien and out of place, but it had never felt that way more than right now.

With each footstep, a narrow patch of soggy grass pressed down and sent a miniature pool of moisture bubbling up around the edges of her boots and in through invisible gaps in the leather, oozing into her already-saturated socks and settling in icy little pools in the dips where her toes went, setting the blisters on the skin alight with fresh pain. If her feet hadn’t already been numb from the wet and cold, she might have cared more. But everything from her toes to her feet and the soaked leather that clung stiffly to them was in no shape to feel anything but the dull warning sting of oncoming pins and needles.

Besides, Bessie had other things on her mind right now.

Like how it was said that the school was being shut down for an undetermined amount of time to repair what had been charred.

Like how she heard that Miss Aragon had quit and wouldn’t be teaching ever again.

Like how lifting her feet from the indents they made in the muddy undergrowth kept on getting harder and harder to do. Her legs felt heavier with each step and the little grassy pools made squelchy noises of protest, sucking hungrily at her feet each time they left the earth. Behind her in the grass, there was a long trail of tiny shoe-shaped lakes, like murky little grey-green cousins of the ones she would see when she would take trips out to the bay.

Like what had happened just three weeks before.

There was a clank-CLONK and a gentle patter as droplets of condensation came raining down from where they’d collected on the bars of the cemetery gate. There was no real latch, so she just pushed it open. There had been one once, but it had rusted away under the perpetual wet.

…Or maybe it hadn’t.

The gate’s movement ground to a halt after a mere few inches, hindered by tufts of almost-oily grass which had been allowed to grow out of control around the edges of the compound for what had probably been years. They snagged on the metal almost as though they were alive, gripping its frame with the sort of desperation one normally only saw from a particularly needy child clinging to its mother’s arm while she was on her way to work.

A half-hearted hiss of frustration escaped her as the gate’s creaking cut off. She clenched sore and swollen fingers around the wet bars, feeling flakes of rust and ancient, now-colorless paint crumble away and stick to her fingertips, which the condensation in the air had turned pruny and pale pink, like anemic raisins. When further shoving only yielded that rubbery, elastic sound that wet wild grass sometimes got, she let out a puff of air and gave up for the moment, leaning in to rest her forehead against the cool metal as she slouched, peering through the bars at the army of tombstones lined up within. She was so close to relief and salvation and maybe even a little bit of closure, and a damn hunk of metal was standing in her way.

Bessie tried one more time, desperation straining through her pulls, but she gave up when the flowers in her hands were nearly crumpled in her attempt. She would have to go around through the front, much to her dismay.

Nothing was worse than visiting a cemetery on a rainy, gloomy day. That was why she had been trying to get in through a backdoor in the first place; she didn’t want to pound her abysmally low mental health further into the ground by being seen by people when she entered, even though it was a perfectly normal thing to do. A lot of people were going to the cemetery lately, anyway. But never had she thought she would be one of the mourners.

The gatekeeper looked almost suspicious when she shambled up to the wide gothic front gate, and she didn’t really blame him. She didn’t have an umbrella, she was whiteknuckling a handful of flowers like her life depended on it, and her shoes were covered in so much mud that it looked like she had just been dredged out of a mudslide. But, then again, most people who visit a cemetery in the rain must all take on such an appearance in some way, so he shook off the expression on his face and asked for the plot number of the grave being visited. Bessie told him, he checked to make sure she was telling the truth and not just trying to get in to grave rob or something, and then opened the gate. Bessie thanked him and stepped inside the cemetery.

And, like that, all the strength was drained out of her body. It was the same sensation she felt when she was crawling through the air vents to escape the school, a coagulated sense of shell-shock that was like having the flu. After the night of the Black Prom, small physical tasks that she would have normally have found easy took everything out of her, like how taking a simple step forward was right now.

Though it’s steadily getting better, or so she likes to tell herself, the ordeal has scarred her. In a close community like this, there’s no escaping it. The tragedy hit all of Oxford hard. A lot of the kids who died were well-liked in the city, it didn’t matter if they picked on some poor religious outcast. They still--died.

God...

Bessie will never survive it if she can’t find a way to put the Black Prom deaths in the past where they belong. It would be devastating if she sank any further into the pit this disaster has left behind. It’s not like she was embraced by the student body of Kingston High as much as Anne Boleyn or Katherine Howard in the first place, but she, like the other thirteen survivors (counting Miss Aragon) had gone from being someone who was just there like everyone else, living a day-to-day life to a full-blown pariah. Nobody said recovering from being one of just a few survivors of a large massacre would be easy, but at this point she’s just hoping that it’s even possible.

Strange, how she can live her entire life in one place and take it for granted just to have it turn on her so completely. The shops, the woods, the school, the park, her house, Main Street--these places that she grew up in haven’t changed on the outside, but now they all just feel so empty when they’re missing two hundred and thirty-four teenage bodies mulling around them.

The loss is visceral, as if something vital was ripped out of her body when they died and the wound was still fresh. If she’s feeling this way, it must be unimaginable for the families.

Bessie began to walk down the stone pavement that was clean of any weeds that may grow in between the rocks, leaving muddy footprints in her wake. There were only a few people in the cemetery, all with fitting black umbrellas, as if the dark color was a mandatory dress code for grave-visiting. Most of them didn’t look up at her as she passed by, but one glanced over and seemed to recognize her as one of the survivors of the Black Prom. The woman’s nose wrinkled and she snapped her head back down, blinking back a furious wave of tears.

Bessie had never thought she would be a survivor of a massacre, but she definitely never expected the contrasting reactions to such from other people. Most are sympathetic and are gentle with her, as if they may think the slightest thing would shatter her into pieces, while others are insanely curious and want to know everything they can, usually reigniting poorly put down trauma in the process. And then there’s those who just hated her guts. Because they were jealous. Jealous that she got out alive and not their son or daughter, sister or brother, best friend or boyfriend or girlfriend. They didn’t think it was fair, and it definitely wasn’t fair to Bessie to be treated this way. But, in a way, she felt the same way they felt, wondering why she of all people had to live and not somebody much more important.

Her knees felt weak by the time she almost reached her destination and she thought she may black out before she even got there, but then she noticed something that made her sober up instantly from her daze.

The Seymour tombstone.

It was upright, like most of the tombstones in the cemetery, stretched out to fit two names, and was a plain grey color. There was a black cross etched at the top and had no flowers surrounding the base, unlike all the other graves.

HERE LIES

JANE R. SEYMOUR

1972-2020

JOHANNA M. SEYMOUR

2005-2020

MAY GOD SAVE THEIR WICKED SOULS

That was what was written upon the granite. It seemed even the creator of the stone knew about the Seymour family’s damnation.

Someone was standing in front of the tombstone. Bessie blinked her eyes rapidly, as if she thought she were seeing a ghost, then slowly walked up beside the person.

A long silence descended upon the two of them, neither speaking or acknowledging the other’s presence. Glancing over, Bessie could see tassels of short reddish-brown-blonde hair around the black umbrella they were holding over their head at an angle.

  “Did you know her?” The stranger asked. Their voice, tinged with what Bessie believed was a Danish accent, cut through the mist and fog and rain, taking Bessie by surprise.

  “Yeah.” Bessie replied. “We went to school together.”

The stranger nodded slowly, not looking at Bessie. Their gaze was fixed on the tombstone with intense curiosity.

  “Did you?”

They shook their head. “Not personally. By word of mouth.” They said. “Kind of hard to not know Oxford’s resident psycho.” They chuckled harshly.

Bessie grimaced. A tidal wave of guilt came crashing down on her when Joan was referred to in such a way. It reminded her of all that she had done to the girl and all that she had said. And for what? Clout? Attention from the popular kids? An excuse not to hate herself because as long as she puts someone else down then she won’t be the most pathetic piece of garbage in the school? A reason to forget, even if it was just for a few hours at a time, that she was her mother’s unwanted aborted afterbirth gratuitously carved out of an abyss of awful red placenta, shaped into a human being with too bleached hair and too much of a passion to be accepted and too many feelings?

No reason could justify what she’s done.

What did it cost to be kind? 

  “Yeah,” Bessie muttered, and her tongue felt like it was made of lead. She had to get to her destination now.

But first--she snapped off one of the flowers in her bouquet and placed it on Joan Seymour’s side of the grave. Curious hazel eyes followed her momentarily as she staggered away.

She walked and walked, slower and slower as she got closer to her destination: she doesn’t want to be there alone, she doesn’t want to accept that it happened, and that there was no one waking her up and telling her that it’s all a nightmare. But she’s there and, for a moment, her breath gets caught in her throat, a bundle of emotions that are finally finding their strength to come up and be heard.

She doesn’t want to be there.

But then, finally, she was.

It was a kerbed headstone, upright with a bed of marble stretching out for flowers and other offerings to the dead, which was already loaded with various flowers and a few small trinkets. The tomb was ebony black and embedded with tiny flecks of silver quartz that looked like sparkling stars in a clear night sky. Carved out in gold lettering, the bearer of the tomb was written out:

IN LOVING MEMORY OF

ANNA VON CLEVES

SEPTEMBER 22, 2002

MAY 28th, 2020

A wonderful Daughter, Sister, and Friend

It was hard to divide up her grief, when Bessie had so many people to mourn--her peers, her teachers, her friends most of all, even Joan in a way. 

But losing Anna, though...most days, that was the worst of all.

  “Hey, Anna,” She said, and her voice broke almost instantly. The tears came fast, pricking like hot needles in her eyes and cascading down over her cheeks before she could even try to blink them away. “I brought you some things.”

She brandished the red flowers to the tombstone, as if Anna were actually perched on top of it, smiling at her and looking excited over the gift.

  “They’re gladioluses.” Bessie told the tomb. “They--they symbolize strength.” She swallowed thickly, biting back the lump welling up in her throat. “They reminded me of you.”

She tentatively set the flowers on the rim of the black marble bed. Her fingers fumbled together for a moment, then began pulling something else out.

  “I also brought you this,” She said. “I know--I know you always liked it. You would always touch it because it was soft when you would come over, so I--I thought you would want it.”

She set a tan dog stuffed animal with big floppy ears on the front of the marble bed. She realized her hands were shaking when she pulled her arms back and swallowed hard again.

  “I--” The words caught in her throat. She scratched at her neck with one finger, trying to muster up the will to speak. “I was thinking--about dyeing my hair red. In memory of you. I hope you don’t think that’s weird.” She paused, took a breath, then went on, forcing out a giggle alongside her sentence, “I’m probably gonna look really silly though.” And then, much quieter, wringing her hands together, “I wish you were here to do it with me.”

Silence fell upon the girl and the grave. The stuffed dog’s fur was starting to grow damp and dark from the drizzling mist. Bessie kept her eyes closed for a long moment, praying to a god she didn’t even really believe in. Her hands were clasped tight and she brought them to her stomach, imagining what it would be like to find absolution in a blade. She would plunge and drag and drag and drag until there was nothing left of her but shredded flesh and blood, but that would not be enough, not for her. It would not give her her friend back. It would not give her the shouts and the laughs and the boisterous cries at all hours of the morning and night. That was not what Anna would have done if it had been Bessie that had been stabbed and burned in that gym instead.

But she wasn't as strong as Anna.

Bessie didn’t really realize exactly how loud she was crying until her shaking breath hitched so high it sounded like a squeak. She blinked through the haze of tears and scrubbed her eyes with her sleeve, but the merciless flow did not stop. 

A little brown bird landed on a grave nearby and fluffed out its wet wings. A grazing deer on the other side of the tall black fence was munching contently on some wild flowers, not at all concerned about or aware of the grief going on just a few yards away. Some type of bug was buzzing in the grass somewhere from behind. The person at the Seymour tombstone finally turned and walked out of the cemetery.

Looking around at this all, Bessie was shocked by how the world kept running and running while hers had stopped its run not so long ago.

The summer leaves are dancing around her, whisked from the towering oak trees by the foggy gales and sent into a whirling axis in the sky. A humidly warm, but also bone-chillingly cold breeze was trying to offer a comfort that seemed to be invisible and impalpable. There can’t be comfort. There can’t be reassurance. The pain is still too loud, the wound is still too raw: her heart and her soul aren’t ready to accept that there was a reason for what has happened; her mind was still trying to distinguish between reality and fantasy, between the soothing effect of a false illusion and the harsh truth of a world deprived by its most beautiful voice.

  “Why?” She wondered but there was only pattering raindrops and whisking nature replying to her, and that lack of words is an absence that stings more than she can accept.

  “Why?”

She had wondered for too long but still nothing has come up and maybe it will never be answered because sometimes life is like that, a storm in the middle of a summer day and its lingering residue following her for weeks and months. Maybe one day she’ll stop asking herself that but, for now, it’s just all she can think about, over and over again.

It doesn’t make sense.

Nothing makes sense and it has been like that since she saw the sight, just a few flashes of images on a stage, blood and a pipe and a collapsing body, that had stumbled down her life and shattered it. She can still see them behind her eyes, she can still feel the way her own heart had stopped beating as a black void started to envelop her. She still felt like she’s down there, trapped in a nightmare that no one knows how to stop or break.

It doesn’t make sense.

There was regret in her body language. There was a baggage full of words that should have been said and things that she should have done. Maybe, if she had done them, nothing would have ever happened. Or, maybe if she hadn’t done anything at all in the first place.

Bessie wished she could go back in time. She wished there was a way for her to erase all those tiny mistakes she’s made, all those times she wanted to reach out but, instead, turned her head away because it still hurt. Her friendship, her best friend was--is still--the most important thing in her life and, yet, she let it slip away in fear of what the world would have said if she had confessed how she truly felt. Her image was everything and, yet, what is left now? There’s no image to defend, there’s nothing left because Anna’s death has destroyed everything.

So she wishes. She wonders and wishes that there was a way for her to save just a few lives.

Their lives.

Her life.

There are still tears in her eyes. She wanted to believe it’s because of the weather and the wind but it’s just a useless alibi. She lets them fall, not ashamed anymore because there was no one around to watch her. But she felt like a hypocrite, she felt like she didn't have the right to cry that loss because she could have done so much to prevent Anna’s absence.

To prevent her death.

She knew it’s the truth, no matter how many times people keep telling her that she’s done nothing to cause the incident. She knew it’s the truth, no matter how many people try to explain how, sometimes, she can’t save everyone. That bad things just happen to good people.

  “I’m sorry.”

She knew it’s too late.

She knew that it’s useless because Anna’s not there to hear that word.

Maybe she’s listening, like Miss Aragon had said to her during Anna’s funeral. Maybe she’s been watching her down from heaven, because that’s where she is now, along with all her other friends who perished in the fires, those tortured souls hidden behind a smile and an endless laugh. She remembered it. She remembered how Maria’s sweet voice always went directly to her heart and pulled strings that never hurt. She remembered how Maggie’s laugh made her feel better, especially those days when the world was so set on destroying her balance and sanity. She remembered how Anna’s face would light up when she walked into Mr. Stephens’s class every morning, bright eyes that shone like daily stars. But, most of all, she was addicted to Anna’s voice, Anna’s laugh, Anna’s smile and eyes. She craved Anna’s everything in ways that were so deep and powerful that, after a while, she stopped asking herself what magic they held. So she turned to Anna, she made Anna laugh over and over again because she was selfish, she was in pain and only that laugh, that smile, that voice, those eyes could save her from the deepest and darkest waves.

Regrets don’t leave Bessie, not even now that she’s standing in front of the consequences of her ignorance. 

It’s her fault. 

She kept telling herself it as if this admission of truth could absolve her sin. It’s her fault because she promised but it was always so easy to forget about it: there wasn’t ever the need to- she had always been the one that needed help the most in the friend group it seemed. She had always been the one fate had chosen to deal bad cards: her family, her relationships, those idiotic statements and those stupid decisions.

But then there was Anna. Anna’s comforting words, gentle touch, light hearted jokes to make her smile--the way they would just…be there and make things better in ways that were difficult to explain to the world that had never seen her in private.

Why didn’t Bessie do the same for her? Or for any of her friends?

Why didn’t Bessie come out and defend Maria when all those voices wanted a piece of her soul? Why didn’t Bessie come out and be there for Maggie, not only when those cracks in her voice were so out for everyone to hear and judge? Why didn’t Bessie let Anna know that those voices weren’t true?

Why didn’t Bessie let Anna know that she was the purest soul she’s ever met?

  “I’m sorry.”

Bessie was sorry. She could have done more. She could have told them more. She could have told her.

She should have known better.

Bessie should have known better, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to face the truth. She didn’t want to realize that her superhero might be needing a hero herself and she was too afraid or too busy to be up to the task.

She depended on Anna and now she’s lost.

Alone.

Bessie heard a whimper and realized it’s herself. She hiccuped and struggled to breathe for a moment. With visibly shaking hands, she fished her phone out of her pocket and unlocked it. The lock screen was her and Anna at a dog shelter they had been helping out at seven months ago. 

She opened up her messaging app, smearing water across the screen in the process, and found Anna’s contact. The name was, “Anna Banana”.

Bessie: I know it’s too late, but...I just wanted to tell you that I love you.

Bessie: Don’t worry about replying.

------

George wasn’t as sad as everyone thought he was. And he understood why he should be and why they assumed such, Anne was his big sister, but Anne had also done awful things that even he couldn’t feel sorry for her bloody fate.

On the night of the Black Prom, after the horrid blood dump, he and Jane escaped by going after Anne and Cathy with Anna. After losing sight of his sister and her girlfriend, Anna said she was going to go back inside to get Joan, and that was the last time he ever saw his friend. Anna’s death messed him up more than Anne’s did.

Mother fell to the floor, screaming and crying, when the officer arrived to tell the family the news. Father became very pale white and stopped breathing for a moment. When Mary was called at college, she was silent for a long time and then stammered when she spoke. George just wore a solemn expression on his face and shook his head. He was the first to see the body, since his parents weren’t up to it, and he sighed at the mutilation in the ambulance, then told the officers what his sister had done.

The funeral was difficult. Anne had to be sewn back together, but it still didn’t look like her in the casket. The corpse seemed more like a pasty wax replica of the sister he thought he knew.

His mind has been running wild since then. So many thoughts whirled through his head. He wondered if he could have prevented what had happened, although he was doubtful. It wasn’t his fault, no matter what his brain tried to tell him. He didn’t kill the pigs, he didn’t fill the buckets, he didn’t pull the string.

It wasn’t his fault.

But still. Emotions have risen into a fever pitch. The dreary, grey weather definitely didn’t help, either. He had to get out of the house, away from Anne’s lingering presence in his home life, so he drove out to the closest beach he could access, parked on the bay, and just watched the storm for hours.

The beach reminded him of better times. Back when things weren’t as messed up as they were. Back when Anne hadn’t been such a monster.

One of his fondest memories was of when he was eleven, Anne was twelve, and Mary was thirteen. They were playing at a sparkling beach while their parents watched from underneath a rainbow umbrella, and he specifically remembered Mary meticulously digging a hole on the shoreline. 

  “OI!!” His oldest sister had roared from inside the giant crater. “Get you big galumphing feet out of here!”

The offender, George, peered down at her from where he was perched precariously on the edge. “I don’t even know what that word means!” he had said. “But I’ll show you what galumphing REALLY looks like!”

Anne’s head popped out from the hole at the same time as George had jumped into it. The three of them fell into a tangled tizzy, grunting and gibbering and giggling loudly like sparring puppies in a playpen. They had begun to wrestle, getting absolutely covered in wet sand.

George smiled fondly at the memory. Those were the good days. It’s a shame, he thinks, how much things have changed since then.

He sighed and turned on the windshield wipers, then leaned back into his seat, thinking.

Joan was dead, too, apparently, and that was another person he was more distraught over than his own sister. That poor girl. He really liked her and was looking forward to hanging out with her more often. Too bad it’ll never ever happen.

After that, he couldn’t get Joan out of his head, so he tried to find some closure by visiting her grave. 

There was a single flower upon the mound of dirt, and George didn’t think the man standing before the tomb was the one who put it there.

  “Oh-- Sorry.” George said, backing away when the man looked at him. “I was just--”

The man looked him up and down, then made a motion with his head, signaling for George to come beside him. George did.

The man was huge, with tufts of blonde hair and a big bristly beard. He wasn’t using an umbrella, but didn’t really look like he cared that he was getting wet. He studied the tombstone intently.

  “You know them?” He asked in a deep, gruff voice.

  “I knew Joan.” George answered honestly. “We hung out at prom together. I like to think that we were friends, even in the short amount of time we knew each other.” He shifted, bowing his head. “I hope she knew that.”

The man nodded with a rumbling humming noise.

  “Did you know them?” George asked.

The man looked at George, and his eyes were a startlingly bright blue.

  “In a way,” He said.

------

The smell of the ocean is salty, wet, and overpowering. After everything that had happened in the past three weeks, Katherine was convinced that this was what freedom smelled like.

After Mulaney couldn’t get anything “useful” out of her, she was switched to a new detective, Victoria Green, who was at least willing to listen to reason and rationalized her story much more than her male counterpart did. But still, all the questions and constant repetition was hellish and definitely not the birthday gift she was wishing for when she recently turned nineteen. Not that it would be easy to celebrate with such matters on her hands.

Katherine stepped out of her car fully, breathing in the fresh ocean air. Seagulls were squawking loudly from a distance, and the splashing of the waves alongside the gentle rocking of the ferry created a soothing lull that sedated the stress in her mind.

She weaved around other cars waiting to arrive at mainland Europe and walked onto the deck. Distant city lights were mere winking twinkles in the distance, and the ocean seemed like an endless roiling black abyss of tranquility. The sky was spread wide open and ran free from horizon to horizon.

After everything, it was nice to get away from it all, even for just a few hours. Even if it was just one ferry ride and a single short drive around, then back to interrogation the next day. It loosened so much tension in her body that had seemed to have her snared in a vicious bear trap.

Only a few people were on the deck, most deciding to stay in their cars, sheltered from the misty weather. There was a woman smoking on a bench, a kid gazing out at the ocean, two young children haphazardly jumping up and down to try and see any dolphins by the guard rail, and a man taking a few pictures of the city in the distance. Katherine walked over to the railing to look at the water and took in another deep breath to ease her lungs.

  “It’s so beautiful,” Murmured the person to Katherine’s left. They were staring up at the sky with a wistful expression, starlight shimmering against their deep, rich brown eyes.

  “It is.” Katherine agreed, nodding.

  “Have you ever been on a ferry before? Because I haven’t.” The person asked, initiating small talk of sorts. It was refreshing for Katherine, so much better than the interrogation questions from the detectives and the concerned statements her family are always giving her now. 

  “A few times,” Katherine answered. “When my family would take trips, we would usually just ride the ferry or take the Eurotunnel because it’s cheaper than flying.” She chuckled lightly.

  “If I may--” Said the person, “Where did you go? Like, on your trips?”

  “France, Germany, Poland, Belarus, Norway, even Iceland! Of course, we had to fly there, though. Don’t think a ferry would go that far.” She actually managed a real laugh, despite the comment not being that funny. 

  “Wow,” The person said, looking starstruck. They swept their brown-red bangs out of their eyes, adjusting circular gold glasses on their freckled nose. “That sounds like so much fun.”

  “It was,” Katherine smiled at the memories. 

She looked back at the ocean stretched all around her. The water below was roiling, waves crashing and clapping loudly against the ferry. Something in the sea seemed agitated, Katherine could feel it. Like even nature itself knew something terrible had happened.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” She whispered. 

That was something Katherine kept telling herself over and over again, and she knew it was true, no matter how scared she was, no matter what any news station said. She just had to remember that, even if nobody else did.

  “It wasn’t all your fault.” She said again, this time a little louder. The ocean noises and the boat blocked out most noises from listening ears, not that anyone seemed to care what she was saying.

Joan looked at her, peering out through silver eyes that were muted by dark brown contacts, but didn’t say anything. She turned her head forward again, touching and fixing her fake glasses in a nervous tick of sorts. Anxiety was written all over her face.

  “I’m sorry you can’t stay in England,” Katherine said for what felt like the hundredth time. Joan told her she didn’t have to apologize the first time, but she was still so sorry. Being smuggled out of the one place she knew--it must have been so scary for Joan. And Katherine being the mastermind behind the scheme didn’t give her much peace of mind. “It’s just--” She went on, “People thinking you’re dead is sort of contingent on nobody seeing you alive.”

Katherine took it as a miracle that Joan was even alive. After the girl had gone limp in her arms, she thought all was lost, that it was over, but then the bleeding abruptly stopped and Joan’s heartbeat continued to flutter, weak, but there. Katherine then wasted no time getting her into her car and driving her to her house. Her oldest sister was a vet, so she snatched her pair of keys to the local animal hospital and broke in for the necessary supplies.

In her car, she cleaned, disinfected, stapled, and sutured Joan’s wounds with no anesthesia to the best of her ability. It was a messy and uncomfortable process for the both of them, with Katherine being confined to the cramped space of her vehicle for the amature sewing treatment and Joan getting sharp things put into her skin without any drugs to make her numb. Katherine had debated using some, but didn’t want to run the risk of accidentally killing Joan with dog sedatives when she was already barely clinging to life.

After Joan was treated, Katherine housed her in an old storage garage her family rarely ever went to, filling it with blankets and lanterns, food and water, fans and extra pairs of clothes. She knew it must have been scary and awful and painful lonely for Joan, but she had nowhere else to hide her until she got a plan, so that was where the girl stayed for three weeks. Katherine visited every day, always checking up on her little stowaway when she got the time, but it soon became apparent that neither could live like this. So that’s when Katherine created the plan to get Joan out of England.

  “Where will I go?” Joan asked in a tiny voice. There was fear in her eyes; she didn’t want to be alone anymore, but they had no choice.

  “I don’t know.” Katherine admitted, biting her lip. “Somewhere where they don’t know you.”

Joan nodded sadly and looked back down at the water. Katherine knew she wasn’t going to last long on her own.

  “I can take you as far as Paris,” Katherine said. “But then I have to come back.” She wasn’t going to be getting any sleep tonight.

  “Thank you,” Joan whispered.

Katherine quirked a tiny smile. “Come on,” She said. “Rest in the car. You’re going to need energy.”

Joan nodded and they both walked back to the car. Joan fell asleep rather quickly, leaning her head against the window and drifting off, but it wasn’t long before she suddenly jerked awake with a gasp, sweating and breathing heavily.

  “Are you okay?” Katherine asked worriedly, glancing away from the road they were back to driving on.

Joan turned her head very slowly, fearfully, as if she were expecting someone else, something horrifying, to be sitting in the driver’s seat. She swallowed thickly.

  “Do you need me to pull over?”

  “No,” Joan whispered, her voice sounding strangled. “Sorry.” She rubbed her face with a sluggish hand, then ripped off the red-brown wig she was having to wear. Locks of white-blonde hair instantly came tumbling free down her back and shoulders. 

  “Do you wanna talk about it?” Katherine offered.

Joan actually choked a tight laugh. “It’s dumb,” She said. “I just--had dream. About Miss Aragon.”

Katherine looked at her curiously. “Really?”

  “Mhm,” Joan nodded. “We were--we were close.” She wrung her hands together like a nervous baby pangolin trying to muster up the courage to ask for food at a friend’s house. “But--in the dream she--she said that she loved me like her very own daughter.” She finally managed to say, the words wobbling out of her mouth like someone shaking them out of a bottle. “She said...she said that she was gonna--she was gonna adopt me.”

Katherine’s breath caught in her throat. Her chest suddenly felt as tight as a noose. The kind of pain that happened when you swallowed too much water at once, and it stretched and gouged all the way down through your chest like a burrowing worm.

She closed her hand tighter around the steering wheel because there was nothing else she could think of to do--like maybe if she squeezed that semi-pliable ring of rubber and cloth as hard as she could, some of the tightness and pain would bleed out of her chest. It was the only way she could bear to keep watching the young girl in the passenger’s seat beside her.

At long last, a few tears dribbled down from Joan’s contact-covered eyes and over her cheeks (which had been growing redder and redder with the effort of holding them back). She had lost the battle with her mouth, allowing the tenuous trembling to become a yank at the corners, pulling her lips into a long, fishlike downwards curve. Her voice was beginning to skip like a broken record.

  “She was g--she was g-gonna adopt me…”

Katherine felt her own eyes burn and she turned to the windshield, which the rain had blurred into a muted grey painting.

Beside her, Joan spluttered and hiccuped and coughed, her chest hitching as she tried valiantly to keep speaking. But the oncoming sobs chopped her words up like vegetables under an inexperienced hand's paring knife.

  “So... S-so she t-t-took me home with h-her and m-m-made me feel so s-s-special. She l-l-let me d-do things my Mama never allowed. But n-now Miss Aragon was my Mama and I was happy. For o-one in my miserable life, I was happy!”

Katherine’s hand raised upwards to cover her mouth with more force than was necessary, sending creeping threads of pain up the bridge of her nose. Her eyes had shut tight for a moment--she realized that the rain was not what was blurring her view out the windshield.

Joan was crying openly now, her face crinkled, puffy and red, glistening with tears. Her fingers were clenched tightly on either side of her, white-knuckled. There were tracks in the velvet from where her fingernails had scraped into fists. The gasping had trailed off, but in exchange, it had taken with it any semblance of composure.

  “I was happy, Katherine.”

Katherine bluntly jabbed her thumb into the lid of her tender eye and her own tears erupted at last--they had just been waiting for an excuse to fall.

Joan, too, was spluttering even harder, fighting with every last bit of strength to keep from succumbing to the deep, chest-born sobs that were welling up and shaking her tiny body.

  “She said she loved me. ME. N-not one of the other kids, she loved me. S-she was the o-only one who did. S-she... She was gonna adopt me…”

Katherine sniffled, swiftly wiping her eyes. Joan watched her with a deeply saddened expression, then looked out at the road ahead.

  “And then--everything went wrong. Miss Aragon was dead and her blood was all over me and it was my fault.”

  “She’s alive, Joan.” Katherine said, surprised at how steady her voice was. “I promise. She’s okay.”

  “I know, but--” Joan shook her head, whimpering softly. The PTSD from the events of the prom set in fast for her, not that Katherine was really surprised. “Thank you.”

  “What?”

  “Thank you.” Joan said again. “For letting me tell you that. It--it felt good. To get it out.”

Katherine smiled slightly. “I’m glad.” She reached over and gently took Joan’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “We’re going to be okay.”

Joan nodded.

  “We can pick up some more clothes for you,” Katherine said, trying to switch to a more stable topic. “So you won’t have to wear the same thing all the time.”

  “Clothes are good. Will I have a map?”

  “I have one in the glove compartment.”

  “But don’t you need it?”

  “No, don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll be okay without it.”

  “...I’ll make a map for myself.”

  “Heh, all right. We can get some paper and pens, too.”

  “Walkie-talkies. We should have those, too!”

  “I’m. not sure about that.”

  “Don't you want to stay in touch?”

  “Of course.”

  “So are you gonna buy walkie-talkies?”

  “...Maybe.”

And they both laughed. For some reason, it made things feel better. Just for a little while. Even if the walkie-talkies were just a false sense of hope, because Katherine feared she wouldn’t see Joan Seymour ever again after tonight.

[texanredrose]

Friction

It started out as a hypothetical.

Wouldn’t it be funny if?

The discussion she’d had with her sister didn’t seem to go anywhere, at first. Just the two venting to one another about yet another formal event their father forced them into and another evening spent pretending they didn’t hate him with every fiber of their being. They played the game well enough, kept him from suspecting too much, but always kept in mind their precarious positions. If either fell into bad favor, they’d lose any chance of wrestling control of the company away from the man. 

He announced his retirement just after christening the newest branch to be added to the juggernaut SDC assets- and shortly before that day they’d spent at a local cafe in downtown Vale, bemoaning the news- while inviting every shareholder to the lavish soiree that would serve to ring in the new year and signal his departure from the company as one of his children took over. Leave it to Jacques Schnee to turn a worldwide celebration into an ego trip.

But then, he banked too hard on others’ perception of him, that his status translated to concrete fact. Father decided to allow his replacement to be chosen by the board of directors, giving them the options of his three children. He always had his favorite, of course, and spent the next several months introducing Whitley officially to every member of the board.

Weiss saw her chance and nudged her sister. Winter saw the same and they set to work. While their brother spent the time between the announcement and the vote attending parties and schmoozing, the sisters put in overtime. They plied their talents, sometimes working in concert and sometimes not, generating what the men of their family pointedly ignored: results. When it came time for the voting, nepotism waged a war against greed. Greed won out and Weiss, surprisingly, won the vote, as she’d managed to attain a higher profit margin- though she’d specifically chosen projects that would result in just that, while Winter focused on hard-to-solve problems.

Thankfully, there was no ill will between them; they’d accomplished their mutual goal. Replacing Father as head of the company would give either one of them the power they desperately needed to affect real change. Now, came the celebration.

Their conversation from before came rushing back and Weiss voiced it. The idea. The plan. The sweet promise of a revenge over two decades in the making. Winter, of course, agreed instantly.

Weiss put an anonymous ad in the local paper. It was simple and straight to the point, if slightly vague.

Date needed. Must be able to backtalk racists, xenophobes, and sexists. Must be willing to wage VERBAL war with morons for an indefinite period of time. Must be rude and have horrible table manners. Will be handsomely compensated for scandalizing rich people. Faunus only.

The first volley of responses were ridiculous. Mostly from people who fell into the categories of racist, xenophobic, or sexist, as they’d felt personally attacked by her ad. She ignored them and continued sifting through the responses until she happened upon one that caught her eye.

One could consider intentionally ignoring someone to be rude. Under that logic, if I could bring a book to continue my reading periodically throughout the night, I’d be interested in taking the job. -Blake

Upon reading it, Weiss couldn’t help but smirk as she sent a reply.

Which book?

She received a response rather quickly.

The Fallen Faunus. -Blake

It took her a moment to recall the book specifically but when she did, she instantly accepted and arranged to meet Blake in person to discuss the particular details. No doubt meeting with a member of the Schnee family would put the entirety of her ad to the test and, based on that, she could enact the rest of her plan. 

And it would be glorious. --- When the night of the party came, Weiss almost couldn’t contain herself. Her sister had gone the opposite route- perusing the advertisements of others until she found a suitable date for the event. Again, their approaches differed; Winter’s date embodied loud and abrasive, with an outfit far below the standards of the event itself and colorful language that resulted in many clutched pearls.

In contrast, the person who answered Weiss’ ad was... almost regal, in a way. Quiet, reserved, but- as she’d already found out- more than capable of delivering a verbal lashing that would sting just as much as any physical blow. Their first meeting, Blake had assumed the ad referred to that occasion, seeing as Weiss fit the supposed criteria- rich, from a family that had a well documented (and rather recent) history of racism, xenophobia, and sexism, and rather easily riled up to boot- and immediately began laying into her with an impressive diatribe. 

Weiss couldn’t help but be ecstatic as she pulled a book from her purse- her own well worn copy of The Fallen Faunus, with a bookmark halfway through the chapter detailing how humans drove Faunus from their native lands- and immediately began explaining what she hoped to achieve.

Much to her relief, Blake Belladonna accepted her offer- her interest piqued- and something secretive gleaming in amber eyes as she sat down across from Weiss to discuss the details.

“Are you ready?” She turned her head, trying her best to gauge what thoughts might be drifting across the Faunus’ mind, but her date for the night had an impressive poker face.

“As I’ll ever be,” she replied, feline ears twitching ever so slightly. They both wore gowns fit for a gala, catching the lights overhead and sparkling. Weiss’ had white and blue sequins while Blake’s had black and a dark purple that matched her eye shadow. “Though- just one more time- who are the off limit ones?”

“My sister, Winter, and her date.”

“And we’ve been dating...”

“For two years.”

“And you’re sure you want to go with that?”

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?” She arched a bow, listening as the dull roar in the ballroom they approached grew more distinct. They walked along one of the seldom used halls to avoid any other potential partygoer prior to the ‘big reveal’ and stopped just short of making their entrance.

“Couples who have been together for that long typically... have a different set of boundaries.”

“Meaning?”

“Casual contact, invading each other’s space, knowing how the other likes their drinks- things like that.” As if to make her point, Blake took a small step closer, and though they still weren’t touching, exactly, Weiss could feel the shift between ‘casual distance between acquaintances’ and this.

“Ah. I see.” After taking a moment to evaluate herself, she took a step closer of her own, their arms brushing together as she slipped her hand into the Faunus’. “I believe this would be a bit more believable then, yes?”

Again, she caught a glimpse of that secretive gleam as Blake smirked. “Yeah.” --- The night proceeded much better than she could’ve imagined. Blake’s razor sharp wit resulted in some truly memorable quotes throughout the night. Between her very existence causing a mild panic to roll through half the attendees and her business acumen winning over the other half- apparently, she had some formal education in business management, though she opted not to follow it through- Weiss couldn’t be more pleased, and the way Winter’s date completely offset the Faunus by being brash and jingling with every step thanks to a multitude of chains attached to her pants for seemingly no reason- she had to admit, Father was perhaps stronger than she expected. Although he looked on the verge of an apoplectic fit, he somehow managed to retain his composure throughout the night, though he certainly lost the spotlight as soon as his daughters entered.

It felt almost natural to be on Blake’s arm for hours on end, mingling with people, sitting and eating, talking quietly, and even dancing to the music. At some point, Weiss forgot about everyone else and the display itself and started... actually enjoying herself. Especially when they decided they’d had enough of dealing with people and pulled out the Faunus’ copy of the book and began reading together, seats pressed close, Weiss’ head resting on Blake’s shoulder as she read aloud.

Distantly, she became aware of the growing concern regarding the storm and the lack of possibility that anyone would be leaving the mansion that night. It registered as a concern but one she could worry about later, posing a question to Blake regarding a detail that had always escaped her understanding. Thankfully, the Faunus could supply the answer, and they were deep into a discussion of their own making when she felt someone come stand by her elbow and await her attention- which she wasn’t keen on removing from her date for the evening.

“Ahem.” 

Begrudgingly, she turned her head to find her father standing there, a vein bulging from his forehead. “Yes, Father?”

“It would appear that no one will be able to leave due to the storm,” he tersely said, the words escaping his throat as if someone was strangling him. “Your... guest... will need to use one of the rooms in the south wing.”

“No,” she replied immediately and without thinking. “My girlfriend will stay with me in my room.”

“Your room has only one bed.”

Just as quick, Blake responded. “That’s not a concern. It won’t be the first time we’ve shared.”

As much as she would’ve enjoyed watching the minor stroke that comment caused, Weiss... found herself distracted by... quite a few thoughts.

“And, on that note, I think it’s time we retire, dear.”

“Of course.” The Faunus slipped the bookmark into place and accepted the hand Weiss offered to help her up, the two of them leaving the ballroom and Father behind without a look back. They were halfway down the hall, walking side-by-side and hand-in-hand, before she continued. “So, was that the performance you were hoping for?”

“Ah. Yes, quite.” She fumbled the moment, reminded all too suddenly that it was a display, an act- a performance, as Blake said, with a specific goal that she’d somehow forgotten all about. “I apologize for the inconvenience, though. This... wasn’t part of our original deal.”

“It wasn’t but... I pride myself on being flexible in many respects.” A moment’s pause. “Perhaps I went too far with that last comment, though. About sharing a bed.”

“I don’t think so,” she replied, noticing neither of them had moved apart as they continued towards her room. A request flashed through her mind and, though some part of her thought voicing it would gain her nothing, somehow the words slipped out anyway. “However, I feel a touch guilty.”

“For what? I agreed to put up with all this.”

“While true, I never asked you to lie, and you didn’t up until the bed sharing comment- at least, to my knowledge.”

Blake’s ears twitched but her expression remained inscrutable. “It seems like we will be sharing a bed soon, though, so it won’t be a lie much longer.”

“I have the feeling you... intended to imply more than simply sharing a bed.”

Slowly, they came to a halt, just as the lights above them sizzled out as a shuddering echoed from somewhere else- likely the generators failing, plunging them into the dark. Moonlight from the nearby windows allowed her to see when her eyes adjusted, finding that Blake’s caught every stray bit of moonlight and reflected them, amber glowing in the dark. Faintly, she could see the way the Faunus’ lips curled into a small smirk.

“You know, you could just ask me to sleep with you.”

“I-” A finger came up, pressing against her lips to cut her off.

“Before we go any further on this ‘I’m just trying to make you honest’ line, I feel like I should remind you that you hired me to pretend I’m your girlfriend of two years.” That gleam reappeared, somehow distinct from the glowing quality of her eyes in the darkness. “So, unless you’re interested in making that true, too, you don’t have much of an argument.”

Weiss had- somehow- forgotten that part.

Blake withdrew her finger and waited, black hair blending into the dark shadows thrown against the wall and still wearing that curious little smile with the gleam in her eyes.

Only after a moment of weighing her options did she attempt a response. “And what if I did intend on making the whole thing true?”

The Faunus’ eyes positively lit up. “In that case, our anniversary will be easy to remember.” A light tug. “Now... your room?”

Weiss smiled, her heart thundering in her chest. Whether or not she’d follow through with the... implied meaning remained to be seen but the prospect that she might actually have a relationship with Blake, frankly, made her look forward to the coming year more than her life’s ambition of taking over the company.

And she couldn’t wait to see what else the future had in store. --- So, I had every intention for this to include at least one sloppy makeout and maybe heavy doses of UST. Then... this happened and I don’t know how I got from point A to point B but here we are.

[syms-things-5]

Clear The Area - Chapter Six

Previous chapter HERE

Warning: Mild language

Summary: Sarah’s parents make a visit, and not everyone is happy with Sarah’s choices.

Note: Sorry this took a while to get out.

CHAPTER SIX

There’s a couple of things you should probably know about Jocelyn and Noah Bernette.

The first is that they are salt-of-the-Earth people. They are friendly to anyone, heavily involved in their community, and they make regular donations to a charity that provides home improvements to families so they can live comfortably with a disability. They once spent a summer volunteering with Habitat For Humanity and have fostered approximately 18 cats and dogs over the past seven and a half years. Jocelyn regularly bakes cakes for their neighbours and Noah is obsessed with his garden and tending to the Norwegian Purple Heather he paid a fortune to have shipped over from Bergen. Politically, they are liberal in practically every sense of the word and up to speed with the latest democratic events. Seriously, you would have to work extra hard to trip them up if you wanted to hold any kind of debate with them.

Sadly, the Bernettes could not have children biologically for one reason or another. Jocelyn in particular struggled with that knowledge. She figured at the age of 34, with most of her friends now mothers and fathers themselves, a child was the obvious piece missing from their puzzle. Professionally, they were both pretty much at the top of their respective trees and they had no mortgage to speak of so naturally the only thing left to accomplish was raising a child. So, thereafter, followed several years of testing, waiting, waiting some more, then more testing, but the doctors couldn’t fathom why it just didn’t want to happen for them. There didn’t appear to be anything medically wrong with either of them. It was nature, they said, as though that was supposed to be some kind of comfort. Eventually, when Jocelyn reached her 40th birthday, she and Noah decided it wasn’t meant to be and opted to try a different route, though it wasn’t much easier being told implicitly that they were now too old to adopt a baby.

Which leads to the other thing you should probably know about them: they don’t like to be reminded that Sarah is adopted. It suits them just fine to block out the first 12 years or so before they met. It’s not to say they completely disregard her past of that they want to forget they couldn’t have children, it was more that on some psychological level Sarah had long since given up trying to understand, they felt more like a real family if they could continue to believe that they had always been this way, that it was fate they would find each other and live happily ever after.

Jocelyn wanted to experience sleepless nights from a crying baby wanting to be fed but instead she learned to deal with sleepless nights waiting to see if their runaway child was going to come home before four in the morning. They would argue about boyfriends they didn’t trust or buying a car they didn’t think she would look after. Jocelyn would later attempt to make the move from mother to best friend as soon as Sarah moved away to college, always planning meet-ups or sending her cut-outs in the post about make-up thinking she would be interested in them and they could perhaps bond over shared hobbies. She could finally empathise with her friends and neighbours about whether their children were surviving their studies. All stereotypical parental concerns and she embraced each and every one of them.

Noah on the other hand, a few years older than Jocelyn, was definitely calmer about the whole thing. He was glad they chose this option for them both because he reasoned he might be too long in the tooth to start changing nappies or teach another human being how to ride a bike given that he didn’t know how to do so himself. Instead, they could take what they had, what they both worked so hard to achieve, and help someone who hadn’t had the best start in life. Isn’t that they best way of helping your community?

Lisa once joked that she learned more about Sarah from one dinner with her folks than she had learned from Sarah herself over the course of knowing her for six months. But she couldn’t understand why Sarah had a particular desire to create a distance between herself and them, and from her seemingly healthy teenage years in a quaint town in Maine, a far cry from Michigan in more ways than one. Shanna didn’t understand either but Sarah wasn’t always forthcoming about her rationale even after knowing for as long as she did.

Sarah learned early on that it was best not to talk about her birth family. She was thankful to have Noah and Jocelyn steering her at a time when it would have been all too easy for her to go off the rails. Of course, she was thankful; who wouldn’t be, living that kind of comfortable life. She didn’t want to see ungrateful. It just never really settled within her. She always felt a little out of place and struggled to adjust to the wealth of positive emotions, love, and a somewhat material wellbeing she hadn’t experienced before. She provided the Bernettes with their missing piece and they wanted to reward her for that but she in turn felt like something was missing from her own identity and that feeling only grew as she got older. Increasingly, she felt like who was as a Bernette was not entirely in line with who she felt she was in the baseline of her DNA. At times she felt like she was merely living to someone else’s expectations so moving to Boston was something akin to therapy.

“And he just gave you this?!”

Jocelyn was stood by the wardrobe in Sarah’s bedroom. She usually did this under the pretence of casually catching up on life and everything else but realistically, Sarah knew she just wanted to snoop around in the hope of discovering hints of a boyfriend she’d been keeping to herself. Shanna was currently sat on Sarah’s bed, one leg tucked underneath and enjoying their relationship from a distance. She was wondering when she’d bring up Prince Greg as she’d dubbed him on account of his floppy hair. She felt like she knew more of Sarah when she was around her own family. It was kind of fascinating to see.

Jocelyn held the dress up in front of her, taking it in, gobsmacked. Sarah had never seen Jocelyn this excited before. To the untrained eye, it was just a simple black mini-dress; unclingy with loose full-length sleeves and a frilly detail around the hem. There was a silver thread woven into the stitching that caught the light if you were stood the right way. Chris was right; it was cute. Shanna suggested wearing it with black tights and those heeled boots that were her go-to date footwear. Her only go-to date footwear, Audrey would remind her whenever she managed to drag her into town for some shopping. Being overtly dressed-up wasn’t something Sarah was easily comfortable with and Chris knew this, so simple was definitely the way to go.

“Not exactly. It’s a loan. I’ll have to give it back afterwards.” Sarah pressed.

She was ready to get to the exhibition centre before it closed but Jocelyn didn’t seem in any particular rush. Her knowing Chris Evans was perhaps the thing Jocelyn was most proud of in Sarah’s life and she always managed to work in a conversation or two whenever she visited. Rather than be irritated by it, Sarah actually found it rather amusing. Chris seemed to have a sixth sense for guessing when Jocelyn was trying her patience, though, and played up to her a little bit so as to give Sarah a break. She once lost her asking him questions about the Academy Awards for nearly an hour. The amount of beer she had to buy him afterwards as a ‘thank you’ nearly bankrupted her.

“Well, you’ll have to make sure your hair and make-up matches. You can’t wear a dress like this with a ponytail.” She was speaking in what she assumed was a helpful tone. It was a good job she couldn’t see the face Sarah was pulling right now.

“Oh, between us all I’m sure we’ll be able to figure it out. I’ll have to do the same thing, too.” Shan was trying her best to act nonchalant in an effort to support her best friend. “I mean, it’s not often any of us get the chance to get dressed these days, really.”

“How lovely. You can borrow my emerald earrings if you like? They’ll bring out your eyes.” Jocelyn was more than a little eager now, no doubt buzzing at the thought of having her personal jewellery plastered all over Instagram. She zipped up the dress bad and placed it carefully inside the wardrobe while Sarah and Shan just smiled at each other knowingly.

As Jocelyn moved to the bathroom to wash her hands, they left the bedroom opting for the relative safety of the living room where Noah had set up camp alongside Chris and ESPN. He was a keen follower of most sports with golf a particular favourite. He was saving up for tickets to the PGA tour next year as a retirement gift to himself. Sarah knew Jocelyn wasn’t going with him but couldn’t be entirely sure he hadn’t invited Chris along in her place.

“What’s she mithering you about this time?” Noah asked, eyes glued to the TV screen. He didn’t get much time to sit and be still watching television at home so visiting his daughter was even more of a treat. If Sarah could survive being the sole focus of Jocelyn’s attention for hours on end, he would have happily left them to it for the afternoon and set up camp with Chris and a glass of Talisker.

“Nothing much, it’s OK. Are you ready to go yet? It’ll take about 20mins to walk there,” Sarah was hinting as heavily as she could now, short of jingling her keys in front of their faces likes they were cats.

“Sure, go grab your mom and we’ll head out. Have you had thoughts about dinner yet? Chris, would you like to join us?”

“Well, I was quite keen on seeing the exhibition myself actually but I’d hate cause you guys any problems with my being there.” He tried to casually shrug it off in a look she’d seen all too often lately.

“I’m sure we can manage,” Noah managed to tear himself away from the TV screen for his beloved Chris. “Is it a ball cap situation or more of a through-the-backdoor type of thing? I’ve never had to sneak around before. Could be fun?”

Sarah appreciated Noah’s casualness and evidently, judging by the grin spread across his face in that moment, so did Chris. He turned to look over the back of the couch at Sarah, silently asking her permission.

“Well, I did get a 4th ticket in case you or Scott fancied coming...” she offered. “I mean, I’m fine if you are?”

Chris gave her a grateful smile. “Give me two minutes and I’ll be right with you.”

*

For this time of day, the gallery was surprisingly busy but mainly full of people Sarah figured were die-hard fanatics of his art and who probably wouldn’t recognise Chris if he appeared in front of them dressed in his full Captain America get-up waving the American flag. As they passed by the smiling security guard. Noah wondered quietly to Sarah what the Venn diagram of McCurry aficionados crossed with Marvel fans would realistically look like. Given his nerdiness for all things mathematical, no doubt he’d have an answer figured out for them by the time they reached the Vietnam display two halls away.

“...and this was the photograph that started the Live Aid charity.” Jocelyn stopped in front of a small photograph, no larger than one you’d have in a frame at home yet unmistakeable on the wall alongside dozens of other images, Sharbat’s eyes piercing your soul. Walking slightly ahead of them, she’d somehow managed to link arms with Chris and was now acting as their defacto tour guide, explaining each piece to him in turn as though he’d never seen them before. Anyone who knew Chris properly would know he greatly enjoyed photography and was well read on the latest pieces. Nevertheless, he was still polite and nodded along as she enthusiastically spoke of the lens McCurry used to achieve the effects of his art.

As they moved through to the third and final hall space, things had gotten noticeable quieter as more people were filtering out. Noah and Jocelyn were deep in conversation with a local art student who had stopped to sketch a couple of pieces, and Chris seemed far more relaxed and happy walking around without his NASA cap on. No on had paid him any attention all afternoon, it must have been a nice change of pace for him.

Sarah lost track of how long she had been staring at a larger canvas piece of a bridge with a giant concrete hand underneath holding the structure up. The place was unknown and the image was photographed from high up, possible from a plane or helicopter. It was oddly serene even if the bridge had become overgrown with reeds and dirt.

“I think it’s meant to represent Mother Nature’s battle against Man,” Chris spoke quietly as he approached her from behind, standing to one side as she continued to stare at the image.

“That’s an interesting theory. Where did  you read that?”

“i happen to have an ongoing subscription with National Geographic.” Chris said, comically smoothing his beard in contemplation. Sarah almost believed him until she registered what he had said. Chris clocked her side-eying him. “Joss told me to tell you when she saw you looking at it.”

She smiled at him before turning back to the wall. “I think I want to visit this place one day. It’s like the complete opposite of Boston.” she mused.

“You’d never leave Boston. It’s in your DNA now. You’re officially one of us.”

“That’s....that sounds vaguely threatening.”

“You have leprechaun pyjamas and you’ve been drunk at Fenway. You pretty much tick all of the boxes.” Chris smirked and turned to walk away.

“How do you know I have those pyjamas?” Sarah followed behind him.

“I didn’t. You just told me.” Sarah punched him in the arm and Chris pretended to wince.

Noah had somehow managed to loop back around the bookshop from the start to purchase a couple of prints and a biography before joining them as they headed towards the exit. The rain had started getting a little heavier during the time they had been inside and Sarah chastised herself for ignoring Jocelyn’s advice to bring an umbrella with her. If there was one thing you could guarantee in even the nicest of Summers, it’s that Jocelyn Bernette always, ALWAYS, carried an umbrella in her handbag. Also, one of those waterproof macs that rolled up to the size of a dollar bill but she couldn’t convince anybody that they were a good idea.

As they gathered outside, Sarah gently pulled Chris back by his elbow. “Hey, there’s no pressure on staying for dinner if you’d rather head out or whatever. I think they were keen on you stopping out with us but I’m happy to make an excuse if you’d rather not.”

“What? No, it’s totally fine. I really like your folks. They’re fun and interesting.” Chris noticed Sarah’s look of skepticism. “Seriously, you need to chill. I’m having a good time. It’s nice doing normal things for a change.”

“In that case, I’ll let them know you’re up for a bike ride tomorrow. Dad wants to rent a tandem.”

“Are you....Are you being serious?” Sarah nodded. “Wow, they really go all out, huh? What are you gonna do while they do that?”

“No idea. Probably hold their bags.”

Chris laughed. “Man, those two are cute. I’d kill to be that dorky when I’m their age. You’re so lucky.”

Sarah considered his point for a moment, looking at Jocelyn waving her flip phone up in the air trying to get a signal. She’d lost track of the number of times she’d tried to convince her to upgrade, telling her they could stay in touch more easily with Whatsapp rather than pages-long emails once or twice a week. Sadly, this would turn out to be the last positive memory they would have of  their peaceful afternoon.

“Can I ask you something, but you have to promise not to get mad.” Chris posed an interesting question. How was she supposed to respond to that?

“I don’t get why you’re meeting Charlotte.” He could see Sarah about to protest and continued regardless. “I don’t see what good can come from this. You’ve tried it once before, it failed, and you didn’t leave you bed for two weeks. I was there, Sarah. It was horrible. I don’t understand why you would put yourself through that again.”

His tone was a little louder than he realised and placed a hand over his mouth, wiping at his beard as if that would somehow erase his words from having been spoken. Sarah didn’t know what to say. She was tired with a continuous feeling of frustration at having to explain away her decisions at every turn. She hadn’t mentioned meeting her birth mother for a while now but could sense the apprehension people had at the thought. If it wasn’t Chris, it was Shanna, and if it wasn’t Shanna, Audrey had kindly informed her she was taking an unnecessary risk although she didn’t put it quite so mildly.

“You don’t have to agree with me. I get that no one supports me here,”

“Oh, that’s unfair. Jesus.” He turned to face away from where Jocelyn was stood, only a few feet ahead of them but seemingly oblivious to their contention. “It’s not just you that this affects, you know. You seem to forget that.”

There was no mistaking his argument this time as he drew Sarah’s attention back in her mother’s direction.

“Have you guys been talking about this behind my back?” Sarah finally asked after what felt like minutes of silence. Noah was now indicating at something ahead of them.

Chris took a breath and Sarah could tell he was refraining from saying something he might regret. “No, we haven’t we’re just concerned is all. You don’t know her -”

“- hence why I am going to meet her.”

“- and you don’t know what she is after.”

She stood still as Chris continued walking but only getting a few steps ahead of her before noticing she’d stopped altogether. Jocelyn and Noah continued on ahead of them, enjoying the drizzly walk and the lights of the town and gradually getting further and further away.

“Do you not think it’s just what she wants to know who I am? What is it that you think she is after?”

“Sarah, don’t do this, OK? I’m not going to get into an argument with you about this now because I’m not going to say what you want to hear. I’m sorry.” He looked at her carefully for a second. “I just...I see you guys together hanging out and it fits, y’know? You’re so like them, Sarah. You think the same things, you like the same things. If I didn’t know you at all, I’d think you were the double of Joss. They’d be heartbroken if they knew what you were doing.”

Sarah couldn’t look him in the eye. The older Sarah would have possibly turned to run at this point, trying to avoid conflict at all costs, but they’d had spats before and Chris was nothing if not annoyingly unflappable. She knew he would tell her straight and as much as she might not want to hear it right in this moment, it was probably for the best.

He saw a flash of what looked like hurt cross her face. Now or never, he doubled down. “You wanted to know what I thought so I’m telling you.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to make tracks but not before one last bash. “I think this is a bad idea.”

“Well, then it’s a bad idea I’ll deal with myself.”

*

[wild3flow3r]

Epilogue

2021

Two years. Two years amounted to numerous missed calls, a handful of visits, three consecutive weeks of not knowing whether the relationship would make it, one pregnancy scare, an engagement (because not even Harry could stick to his own plan), and a reunion of the lifetime.

Mister Cunningham, Lorelai’s boss, decided to expand his business to the United Kingdom at the end of last year and he was looking for a new CFO for that office. Lorelai applied for the position, Brian did not. Brian was so sure that the current CFO would retire, like he’d told her he would after two more years. The CFO didn’t retire, Brian didn’t get a new position, Lorelai did. There were many tears shed by both Lorelai and Harry the night she found out.

Now Lorelai’s stood in her new living room holding a paintbrush. Harry bought them a house just like he said he would. Lorelai’s only condition was that it would need a little work done. She wanted them to do it together and make the house their own. Harry comes up from behind her and wraps his arms around her waist and leans his chin on her shoulder.

“Well, you’re not an artist.”

Lorelai playfully swings a punch backwards to land on his shoulder. “Shut up.”

In theory, Lorelai’s idea was nice, but neither she nor Harry really knew what they were doing. Somehow, Lorelai had messed up painting the wall in front of her, and she doesn’t understand how when she’s only been using one shade of blue.

“We can still make the house our own without actually having to do all the work.”

She knew Harry’s been meaning to bring this up to her for the last few days. He was smart to wait until now, when she was at her wits end. “Alright.” Lorelai finally gives in.

Harry presses kisses against her shoulder and up to her neck. “We’ve also got a wedding to plan.”

“Hmm,” Lorelai murmurs while leaning her head back so that she can stare at Harry. She’s been back home for a month now, and she still can’t believe it. Every morning she wakes up feeling like the luckiest girl in the world, and every night she goes to sleep scared that she’ll wake up in the morning only to find out it was all just a dream. “I’ve got a dress fitting this weekend. The workers are probably going to hate me, I’m bringing everybody.”

“Everybody?” Harry asks with an eyebrow raised and a teasing smile. “I wasn’t invited.”

Lorelai rolls her eyes. “I can’t invite one sister and not the other four. Plus my sister-in-law wants to come along too. And of course my mother, along with your mother and Gem. And I think my three oldest nieces are coming as well. That’s twelve people Harry. You get to go to your suit fitting during your lunch break by yourself.”

Harry shakes his head. “My mum’s asked to come to that as well.”

“And?”

“I told her I’d let her know.”

There were no truer words than time heals all wounds. A year after everything had happened, Harry called his mother. He asked her to attend one of his therapy sessions with him, that way his therapist was able to mediate the chat. They’ve been continuously making amends since. Harry’s said before, he loves his mother, he always will, and he can learn to forgive her for her past mistakes, but that doesn’t mean their relationship will ever go back to the way it once was. Xavier has had less luck with Harry, but Lorelai knew that he wanted to reach out to his uncle before the wedding ceremony.

From upstairs, a small yip is heard before there’s some pounding against the stairs. A four month old tan pitbull barrels his way into the living room and face plants against Lorelai’s leg. She can’t help the laugh as she bends over to pick him up.

“Got scared when no one was there after you woke up from your nap, huh Waffles?” Lorelai cradles the puppy against her chest. He only licks her chin in response.

Lorelai can practically hear Harry roll his eyes, from both the puppy's name and from how she’s babying him. As if Harry didn’t do it all the time when he didn’t think Lorelai was watching him.

“You got daddy wrapped around your little paw too, right? I saw him sneak you some of the bacon off of his plate this morning.”

“Because he wouldn’t stop whining.”

“Because daddy likes to spoil his baby, hmm?” Lorelai coos while scratching Waffles behind one of his ears. “Daddy’s got such a soft spot for you. Maybe even more for you than me.”

“I’m going to bed.”

Harry takes two steps back, and at the movement Waffles practically leaps from Lorelai’s arms to Harry’s. He catches him right before the puppy would have fallen into a can of paint. Harry sets Waffles down carefully and starts to walk away again. Waffles follows right on his heels, even nipping at the ends of Harry’s pants.

“Unbelievable. Both of you will be the death of me.”

Lorelai laughs until Harry exits the room with Waffles hot on his tail, and even more when Waffles barks for Harry to carry him up the stairs and Harry groans (because for some reason going down the stairs was okay, but going up them was a tricky task). Harry tries to act like he only tolerates the dog for Lorelai’s sake, but of all the puppies they looked at together Harry was the one to pick Waffles out. And every day Lorelai could see his act slipping away.

“Lorelai! Come get your son! He’s peeing all over the bath mat!”

Well, most days she can see the act slipping away.

~

2023

Lorelai thought she’d only be able to fall in love with one boy with bright green eyes and soft brown hair, but she was very very wrong. Wyatt Styles would also steal her heart. Born on May twelfth, after seven hours of labor, Lorelai and Harry welcomed a baby boy into their small family. Four months later, they couldn’t be more sleep deprived or happy.

Although Harry hadn’t really wanted to be the one to work on the house, he was keen to set up the nursery and build everything himself for the baby. Lets just say, there were lots of bandaids and even a hospital visit when Harry accidentally hit the hammer against his thumb. And he stood with Lorelai every step of the way through the pregnancy. He went to every appointment, every class, and would get up in the middle of the night to find whatever weird craving she was having.

Watching Harry with Wyatt is Lorelai’s new favorite scene. Some nights she’ll wake up to hear Harry humming quietly through the baby monitor, sometimes even whispering sleepy nonsense to the baby while feeding him a bottle. Some nights when she comes home from work, Harry and Wyatt will be napping on the couch together, drool coming from the both of them.

“What’re you three doing?”

Harry and Lorelai alternated in the mornings on who would be awake with Wyatt. This was Harry’s morning, and Wyatt was being particularly quiet, which was abnormal to say the least. Wyatt seemed to love the sound of his own voice, or more the sound of his cry.

Harry snaps his head up at Lorelai’s voice, his eyes frantic as he waves his hand as if to tell her to be quiet. He’s kneeling in front of the couch, Waffles and Wyatt lying together in front of him. Lorelai rounds the couch to kneel next to him.

“I thought you said Waffles isn’t allowed on any of the furniture?” Harry had come up with that rule when they first got Waffles, and while Lorelai didn’t particularly care where Waffles relaxed, she enforced the rule.

“That was before I found out Waffles was the best nanny in the world. Look!” Harry whispers, exasperated but also excited by his new findings.

And he wasn’t wrong. Waffles laid curled up, and against his stomach sat Wyatt. The dog's head was pressed against the baby's stomach. Wyatt pressed his hands all around the dog's face before he looked up at his parents with wide eyes. Waffles stayed there and took Wyatt’s grabby hands like a champ. And for once, Wyatt wasn’t crying.

“Waffles has secret powers.”

Lorelai stares at Harry, her face giving off an ‘are you serious’ look, but Harry was still too busy looking at Waffles with amazement.

“Or our son loves dogs.”

“I’m going to stick with my theory.”

Then Waffles licked Wyatt’s hand, and a sound that sounded awfully like a laugh, his first laugh, passed his mouth. Both parents' jaws drop, before forming into large smiles.

“Waffles has secret powers,” Lorelai finally agrees.

~

2025

“No, don’t want.” Wyatt shakes his head over and over again. He pulls his hand hard enough that Harry is forced to let go of the toddler's hand, and then he runs out into the hallway. Two seconds later he comes back, but he’s tossed over Jones's shoulder and giggling. A ten year old Rebecca enters the room right after them.

Jones and Rebecca moved to London about a year ago. Jones was offered a new job, and Rebecca enjoyed spending time with Lorelai and helping to watch Wyatt, and now Lauren.

“You don’t want what?” Jones asked as he set Wyatt back down on the ground.

“A sister! Asked for a brother!”

The night before, Lauren Styles was born. Now she’s wrapped up in a blanket, being held by her mother. Harry sits on the hospital bed next to his girls, carefully running his fingertips against her face. Blue eyes blink slowly, before closing completely and drifting off for a nap. Rebecca comes up on the other side of Lorelai.

“Why’s she bald? Wyatt had hair when he was born.”

“Some babies are just born bald,” Lorelai explains. “She’ll grow hair soon enough.”

“What’s her name?”

Lorelai pauses before looking up to Jones who is now holding Wyatt on his hip and is standing behind Rebecca. “Lauren,” Lorelai responds. Jones's eyes snap to hers.

“Like my mother?” Rebecca gasps, leaning over the bed to get a better look at her new cousin.

“Exactly like your mother.”

“Daddy used to call my mom Ren, can I call her that?”

“Of course.”

Lorelai shifts so that Harry can hold Lauren. “Do you want to hold her?” He asks Rebecca, who nods enthusiastically. They move to a chair nearby.

“Mummy,” Wyatt whines and reaches out for her, not liking no longer having all of the attention on him. Lorelai opens her arms and Wyatt presses his head against her neck.

“I don’t know what to say,” Jones mumbles, trying to hold back tears.

Lorelai shakes her head. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Jones leans down and presses a kiss against Lorelai’s cheek. “I love you.”

Lorelai playfully pats his cheek. “Love you too.”

“Daddy! Look! I’m holding the baby! All by myself!” Rebecca shout whispers as to not to disturb Lauren.

Even Wyatt looks over at this. He’d been given the option to hold her, but immediately refused. He’d entered the room earlier this morning demanding to see his brother, and was rudely shocked to find Lauren instead. Then he proceeded to run around the hospital, Harry having to chase him up and down the hall.

Rebecca was in fact holding Lauren herself, but with a pillow on her lap to help support her arms. Harry kneeled in front of them just in case, his smile wide. Wyatt scrambles out of Lorelai’s arms and Jones sets him back on the ground. Everyone knew what he was about to do. He seems to copy everything Rebecca does.

“I wanna do,” Wyatt pouts, pulling at his father’s sleeve.

“You want to hold your sister?”

“Please?” He stands on his tiptoes and spreads his arms out. “All by myself.”

“Daddy will have to help a little bit, alright?”

Wyatt pouts, but still he nods. Harry takes Lauren back from Rebecca, who now goes to sit next to Lorelai, and then he takes a seat on the chair. Wyatt crawls into his lap and sticks his arms out again, and Harry places Lauren down in front of them. Wyatt’s arms wrap around the baby but he still looks unsure about her.

“Next time give me a brother please,” Wyatt mutters.

~

2028

Two kids had been the plan, a boy and a girl just like Harry had said eight years ago. But this year they started it with three kids. Now that it’s three months into the year, Lorelai and Harry feel like they’ve been dragged through the mud, but the smiles and laughter make it completely worth it.

Wyatt’s four now, or if you ask him, four years and seven months. He’s a spitting image of his father, but he takes to his mother’s more kind nature. Lauren, now two, has brown curls that fall down her back, and has taken her mother’s brown eyes. She prefers to be the boss, much like her father. Sarah Styles, aged eight months, was born with blonde hair that still hasn’t darkened, and eyes still the color blue.

“Daddy! Wyatt pinched me!”

“I did not! She’s lying!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Please, can you guys be a little more quiet. Sarah’s down for a nap,” Harry begs his children as soon as he enters the living room. “Now, what’s happened?”

“Wyatt pinched me!” Lauren responds, although she does lower the volume of her voice.

“Daddy, I didn’t I promise. She’s only saying that because I don’t want to let her play with my truck.”

Harry kneels in front of both of them. He looks between the two of them, and he knows who is most likely telling the truth. It wasn’t the first time Lauren lied about being hurt, and if she really was then she would have started crying by now.

“Did he actually pinch you, Lauren?”

Lauren stares at her father, but then looks away on the ground. “He wouldn’t let me play with his truck, daddy. My Barbies wanna go to the beach, and his truck can fit all of them.”

“Lauren, we talked about lying and about respecting your brother’s toys. That’s going to be two minutes on the naughty step.”

“Sarah gets to grab at my toys and she doesn’t have to sit on the step!” Lauren pouts and stomps her foot.

“Sarah’s only a baby. If she’s still doing it when she’s a little older then she’ll get punished as well. Now go on.”

Wyatt goes back to playing with his truck gleefully, and Harry stands out of view of the step counting down the time. With his job, most days he’s allowed to work from home. Typically, he has a nanny help him with the kids while Lorelai is at work, but she was taking her vacation this week. Finally, he gets Lauren to apologize to both him and her brother. Then Sarah starts crying, and Harry’s jogging back upstairs.

“Hello? I’m home!”

“Mummy!” Both Wyatt and Lauren scream. They leave their toys forgotten on the ground and race to go to Lorelai.

Lorelai drops the bags of takeout on the ground and kneels to hug both of the children at once. “Oh my, I missed you guys so much.”

“Don’t go then, mummy! Stay home with us.” Lauren whines while pressing her lips against her mother’s cheek. “Want to have a tea party tomorrow.”

Lorelai smiles sympathetically. “I’m sure daddy can have a tea party with you tomorrow, and you can pick any teapot from my collection alright?”

Lauren nodded reluctantly. When Lorelai stands, Wyatt tugs her hand towards the kitchen. “Mummy look what I made in preschool today. Daddy hung it up on the fridge already!”

Lorelai places the bags on the counter now before being dragged to the fridge. Wyatt drew stick figures of both of his parents, himself, Lauren, a really small one of Sarah, and Waffles, although he was drawn to be as big as Harry.

“Good job baby, that’s so pretty.” Lorelai kisses his nose and Wyatt giggles while playfully swatting her away.

“Mummy, me and daddy went to the park today with Sarah and I went down the big curly slide all by myself.”

Lorelai ruffles her hair. “Oh my, you’re so brave baby.”

Harry enters the room then, holding a wiggling Sarah in his arms, and Waffles following close behind them. Both parents are anxiously waiting for the day their youngest finally learns how to walk, knowing she’ll be getting into everything much like the older two.

“Hey Skipper,” Harry murmurs while he’s pressing a kiss against her lips. Wyatt and Lauren both yell in disgust before trotting back into the living room to their toys.

“How was today?” They both know from experience, single parenting for a day with three kids is one of the hardest things any human can endure.

“Alright. No one had to go to the hospital, so I’ll call that a success.” He hands her Sarah so that he can start unloading the food.

Sarah coos at her mother and reaches to play with the teapot charm around her neck. Lorelai blows a raspberry against her cheek, surrounding the room in giggles.

“Zachary’s going to pick Wyatt up from school tomorrow, and Xavier’s coming by my office tomorrow for Lauren and Sarah, and then both of them will drop the kids off by dinner.” Harry tells her as he starts setting the table.

“Your mum’s going to call me tomorrow about the family vacation she wants to plan this summer.” Lorelai says. She puts Sarah in her high chair and begins separating the food onto plates.

Harry comes from behind her and places both of his hands on her hips. He presses his forehead against her neck. Lorelai reaches back and runs her fingers through his hair. He’s come so far these last years redeveloping his relationships with his mother, Zachary, and Xavier. He’s trusting them to help take care of the kids, is willing to go away for a few weeks for a family vacation, and he can have actual conversations with all three of them, even Zachary.

“Thank you,” Harry mutters.

“For what?” Lorelai hums.

“For everything.”

“Like?”

“For the kids. For marrying me. For loving me back. And…” 

“And?”

“For letting me catch you. I’d be lost if you hadn’t.”

Fin.

[samsm2mstories]

The Jacobs Labs. (Series)

The Jacobs Labs stories: The Body swap of Sam and Liam.

Please be aware this is a role play that I did with @liamstfstories and I edited it slightly to turn it into a joint story / roleplay style text. Enjoy! PS it’s my first story series I’ve ever written!

Part 1: The upcoming days to the trip to the life change

Main characters:

Sam was a typical British male aged 28 who was into his fitness and was toned but nothing major but the one major perk he had was his 10inch cock which was thick. Sam had a short buzzed dirty blond hair cut which you could relate to an army cut while having green eyes. He would of been a typical hot guy in the eyes of the British. You see Sam had a keen interest in travelling as he recently won a few thousands on the lottery but it wasn’t enough to retire from work. He went on a life changing trip to Australia where he used the money to get a new life started. He happens to meet his future boyfriend called Liam’

Liam is your typical Australian male aged 20, he had a skater style body which he had a six pack that could show through tight tees. He got brown eyes and brown hair which changes time to time as he follows the style trend in his town. You see Liam has this typical boyish personality which tends to make him act younger but you would call him a normal Australian. Full of energy and takes every challenge in a chilled manner. Liam met Sam at the coffee shop that he works for.

Their relationship went from a simple chat to Sam moving into Liam’s apartment within a week and it turns out that Sam with his mature attitude looked after Liam like his son. Sam loved how Liam personality was and always laughing at the silly things he does and say. Liam on the other hand loved Sam due to his large British cock and his smarts. Some reason these two were a perfect match for each other until Liam mentioned about a new company recently moved into Sydney that was based on advanced medical operations.

Jacobs Laboratories was a recently founded company based in Sydney that specialised in medical conditions and Mr Jacobs Williams was the founder. He had a special underground branch that was trialing operations that wasn’t approved by the government but because the company was respected by the city for it’s massive investments it got away with the hidden experiments.

Jacobs had a breakthrough with one it’s new machinery that can prevent any cells undamaged in an operation. This was managed by a breakthrough on a certain liquid that runs along side with human blood cells. Jacob needed to test trial some major operations when one day he went into the coffee shop where Liam works at. Jacobs saw Liam having a crazy conversation with Sam about their bodies and how amazing it is to experience each other from a different view. Jacob was indeed curious by these talks and took out a card with a message and number and left it in Liam’s jacket.

Later on that day Liam picked up the card and saw a message saying:

Dear Liam and Sam, I overheard your conversation earlier and heard you two was in need funds and was interested in exploring a new life. How does this sound? 100k for a successful swap of you two to swap bodies? If interested please call this number.

Liam was so excited by this and straight away he went home to speak to Sam and both of them was interested in this. Sam had a lot of doubts if this was true but decided to call Jacob's up to arrange a meeting in a few days time. Both Liam and Sam was joking about being each other in the upcoming days. Liam was so convinced he was going to have Sam’s body just to have his cock and smarts, he kept on winding Sam up about being the smart big cock guy in the apartment. Sam was thinking over about giving up everything he built up for a fresh start as Liam who not set himself out a career.

The day has finally come for them!

Liam was in bed just waking up after Sam’s phone alarm. Sam was already up in the kitchen cooking breakfast.

Liam got up and put on his white boxers and went into the kitchen to see Sam in some tight blue chino shorts making some smoothies for the day.

I turned around and saw Liam rubbing his eyes as he just woken up.

S: ‘Morning Liam I hope you are ready for today’ *looking at Liam’s golden tanned body knowing that will be me in a few hours

L: ‘Hey dude, I am totally ready to take that body of yours today’ *winking at Sam

S: ‘I made us some breakfast smoothies for today to keep us full, who knows what is going to happen today. *drinking my smoothie and Liam doing the same.

S: What are you going to wear today? *looking at your sexy body knowing that will be mine.

L: ‘uh i'm just wearing a red shirt and some black shorts’

S: ‘Typical you always putting on the clothes from the floor!’ *I put on some shorts, tee, snapback and black vans

L: ‘what now?’ *looking at Sam in a confused way

S: ‘You looking so damn sexy Liam! Sure you don't want to jerk off before we head to the labs?’ *sees Liam still not dealt with his morning wood

S: ‘Might be the last time you jerk that morning wood of yours!’ *chuckles knowing Liam can spew out a big load of cum every morning. Just amazes me that it soon could be me doing that!

L: Well if i did it now, u wouldnt have as great of a time when u take the body?’

S: Yeah true still you never will feel that cock again after we switch bodies!! Plus I be the one spewing that huge wood of yours! *smirks at Liam knowing I could be right on that!

Liam looked at me like he was using his brain cells for once. . .

L: ‘hmmmm’ *Looking at his morning wood giving it a rub

S: ‘I just want to make sure you don't regret it.’ *hoping he doesn’t actually come up with an idea as I want to have that for myself!

Liam smirked at me . . . What has he got to say I wonder??

L: Think u could give me one last blowjob? *smirking even bigger now

I stood there looking at him rubbing his cock knowing I have no option but to give him his final blowjob. I went towards him and gave it a rub and I could feel how bloody horny this guy was!

S: ‘Ok Liam since it the last time you going to experience that crazy wood of yours!’

I go on my knees right there looking up to my new body to be knowing I will be making Liam do this to me so he knows how much this annoys me sometimes.

Liam pulled down his boxers and said ‘Hell yeah!!!!’

I saw this decent sized cock pointing towards as I went to put my hands on it to give it a rub to get it pulsing before it goes into my mouth for a full on session. As I rubbed it, Liam moaned and smirking that he got me to give him his first blowjob in weeks. He was moaning more as I was rubbing his veins. I decided to pull down his foreskin to expose the red pulsing tip of his cock.

Liam was moaning like mad as I was giving him the best ever blowjob he had from me. All I heard was

‘MMMMM’

‘AGHHHHHHH’

‘MMMMMMMM’

L: ‘GODDDDDDD I might actually miss this body’

L ‘But oh well! Guess I still gonna be so good seeing it from the outside!’

He was saying this between his moans as I was sucking it real hard hitting at his prime spots

I was giving Liam the best ever sucking just to fully understand how his or soon to be mine new cock works. I can't believe how thick and big his cock is and how much cum he can spew from it. It tasted amazing with the shower gel he uses in it also. I just carrying on enjoying every moment of this blowjob knowing I soon be this handsome man!

A few minutes later:

I carried on sucking, just to hear Liam moans more and see his body gets all tensed up as he will about to release his loads.

L: ‘MMMM THIS FEELS SO GOOD’

Liam started to thrust his hips forward as he placed his hand on my head. He was thrusting more and more as his hands were on my head and they felt so soft!! I carry on sucking his cock like it's the last day on earth! My tongue touching the spots that sends Liam into a new deeper sexual level!

Suddenly Liam spoke!

L: ‘FUCK IM GONNA CUM!!!!!’

He pushes his hips further forwards as he grabbed my  hair as tightly as possible while moaning louder!

L: ‘MMMMMMMMMM HERE IT COMES SAMMMMMMM!’

Within that last second he released many thick loads down my throat as I swallowed every drop of his cum knowing soon he will be tasting that in his mouth later on today!

Liam shouted out FUCK DUDE!!!

Every single drop of this tasty Aussie cum went down my throat. God he must eat or drink some sweet stuff considering that actually tasted really nice. I pull out and lick my lips. Then I looked at him!

S:"Fuck Liam you tasted so delicious like sweet nutmeg! Did you eat some nutty health bars or something today?" *smiling as that did taste really nice!

L: “Haha nah dude i don't eat much nuts at all, I guess I just taste that good normally!” *he sighed as he laid back onto the kitchen side

L: “Dude that was so good! I’m so glad we were able to do this before I leave this body!”

He stood up and pull up his shorts and headed towards the bathroom to clean himself up so he looked presentable for today’s trip and his last outing as himself.

I walked to the kitchen sink to wash my face and take a cold drink to wash the cum down into my stomach. I can't believe how much I just swallowed from him. All that healthy proteins, luckily I had the pleasure of having it and not some other guy! Liam spent a few minutes cleaning himself up in the bathroom.

Liam: I walk back out of the bathroom, grab my shirt, put it on and walk up behind up to Sam  whilst he was at the sink. I press my bulge against ur ass as I leaned over u and grab myself some water. I rubbed my still hard cock on purpose and then said

“Lets go to this lab, I think I'm ready to swap”

S: I felt something pressed against my arse and god it was huge knowing it was Liam's after that blowjob. It still must of been really hard. I looked around and smiled when Liam said this but I went in for a last kiss! I turned to feel up Liam's body under his red top rubbing every part of him just to get one last feeling from it as an outsider. I was so lucky to have such a handsome friend like Liam who I cared for so much!.

Liam: *I started to blush and awkwardly smile at him and he continues to feel me up. He really knew how to turn me on even more by doing this!

“alright dude, im sure ur eager to get this stuff as your own, so let's go!”

I leant over Sam and grabbed his car keys

“ill drive today!”

Sam:

*I saw him grabbed the keys and was surprised by this as it was my car.

``you offered to drive for once, that is unbelievable from you Liam!" *laughs away as I put on my vans and grab the paperwork we signed before. I must admit I was feeling a bit nervous inside knowing everything will soon be new to me. Same time I was dead excited!

"Liam make sure you got the right keys!" *knowing he picked up the wrong keys as he always does!

I looked behind knowing soon that apartment will be mine and everything in there will belong to me as I will be coming home as a new man! I chuckled as I waiting to see Liam reaction when he has the wrong keys

Liam:

I was walking towards the car and soon realised that I had the wrong keys.

‘Oops I DID grab the wrong keys!”

I quickly drop them back down and proceeded to grab the right ones “every single time!” I mutted to myself. I laughed as I proceeded to check sam out and relish in the fact that soon i'll have his body!

S: I laughed loudly as Liam walked back towards the car after grabbing the right keys

L: ‘‘alright dude let's get out of here!” I started to walk out the door as sam follows, I turn back around to take in the apartment one last time, knowing I  would be back here soon but not as myself*

S: ‘‘I really hope I don't get that key habit of yours! I swear you do it on purpose sometimes just to check yourself in the mirror!" I looked at Liam and smiles nervously knowing that would be a bad habit to have!

"You looking abit nervous today Liam, what bothering you? I happy to talk stuff out first before we go in? I sure you got some questions going around in your mind?" I was holding Liam's hand to reassure him to be truthful. I looked deeply into his eyes waiting for a reply. . .

L: ah I don't really have any worries at all, I think I look nervous because it's just a very big decision, but I made my decision a long time ago didn't i!” looking at Sam in his eyes.

We both started to walk down the path to the car and we hopped in! I looked at Sam when he was strapping himself in.

“Alright let's do this! you excited?”

S: "Wait a minute Liam, you got something bothering you! I know that tone of voice when I hear it." *places my hand to stop you starting the engine up "Come on tell me Liam as I don't us to have any regrets now!"

S: "Is it because I am more on the twink build side of things? *lifts my top up to show you the secret I have been working on. You see Liam I have been building this six pack up for you, it's bloody tough but I am trying to make it easier for you! Remember you soon will be the smart one and be loaded up with my cash!"

L: “dude seriously i have no regrets or worries! it's gonna be so good! im so excited to do this! it's gonna be so fun!” *I pull ur hand off and start the car up* “do u know the address? I just realised I have no idea where im going” *I laugh*

“dude we’re seriously gonna be fine! im sure this experiment will go perfectly and we will live happily in our new bodies!”

S: "I hope you are 110% sure about this as I be so gutted if you did have doubts and I feel them as you!"

"Here give me a second!" *set up the sat nav on your phone. "Can you press your finger on it?" *waits for you to unlock it and I get it sorted for you

"You know I am excited about this swap as we have money to finally buy a bigger apartment and live an easier life! I wonder though what traits we will have as each other! I do not want that key trait of yours!!!" *chuckles away

L: *I grab the phone and unlock it and give it back

“dude this swap is going to be so fun! we’re gonna have a great life from now own! lets do this!”

S: "Fact we going to become each other will be so weird, just remember to take it easy Liam as you will be learning everything over again. No rushing into anything as we don't want to burn our brains!"

"Let's go Liam!"

L: “Alright!” *I start the car up and we start to drive to the labs* God this is going to be so good! I think to myself, ive always wanted to be sam and now it's HAPPENING!!!

S: "God I am going to be talking like an Aussie soon! That's going to be so bloody weird Liam!"

*laughs as I watch you drive!

"This makes a change of you driving for once Liam! You always try and bottle out of driving and get away with it!!"

*I can't actually believe we are on our way to the labs and soon will be living in each other's bodies. I am petrified at the thought of having Liam's little dumb moments but so damn excited about having his body and looks. He is so damn sexy!!!!

L: “well soon i'm gonna be you which means ill be driving way more! so i thought id get used to it now!” *I start to slow down and pull into the car park* *here it goes! in a couple more minutes, I am finally gonna be sam! we are going to swap lives!*

“alright sam, let's do this!”

*I smile at you as i get out of his, soon to be MY car*

S: "Let's go in and get this going Liam! In a few hours we are going to be with each other forever!" *feels a tent in my tight beige chino shorts

L: *I look down at my soon to be dick, smile, and place my hand on it* “someones a bit excited? shall I return the favour?”

Sam and Liam walks into The Jacobs Labs which has been recently refurbished to meet the standard level you see in the cities.

S: *I hold your hand tightly as we walk through the entrance of this newly refurbished skyscraper. As we walked through we saw a large white room with the polished white floor tiles that you could slightly see your reflection. The reception room had a very small humming tune playing in the background.

"Really Liam, I swear your are dumb as fuck sometimes" *chuckles

"Fuck I might have that trait also" *looks at you and does a dumb face!

*we walk towards the receptionist and she greeted us.

L: * she seemed nice and started to talk us through the procedure, I started to feel my dick get hard again! God, I think to myself, I better leave that to sam when he wakes up as me! he’d love that’*

Receptionist stands as (R)

R: Good Morning Liam and Sam. We were expecting you a little later but as it's quiet shall we start by checking your paperwork from the pre-agreement and your passports as idenity and protection reasons?

S: *I talk first*

"Good morning Kelly, thanks for the warm welcome and here are the paperwork and our passports" *looks at Liam who has the folder with him

R: "That a strong British accent you got there Sam?" *she blushes when she says that

L: “oh right! yes i have those!” *I quickly reach down and grab the folder out of my bag* “here it is kelly!”  *I hand her the folder*

“I hope this is all u need!”

“sam and I are very excited for this experiment and hope that everything goes well”

R: "Hey Liam!!! You seem really excited today and must I say you looking really good today!" *checks everything over and makes a call. "Doctor Jacobs will be waiting for you two. Take this tablet as it will lead you through the building and give you access to the lifts. Oh please be careful and good luck with the protein experiment. I hope those powders will become a huge hit on you two!"

S: "Thanks for that Kelly, I hope the protein shakes will give me more muscles! Liam shall we proceed to meeting Doctor Jacobs?"

*looks at you and hope you don't mention about the swapping*

L: *I take the tablet from her hands and thank her* “haha SAM u have plenty of muscles!” “but yup let's go meet this doctor!”

*i look down at the tablet and start following its directions* “come on!”

S: "Liam you nearly slipped up buddy! I can't believe this is happening!" *smiles

*As I walked along, I could sense the excitement between us about this swapping experience or procedure. Same time I qas praying to God that nothing will happen. We was walking down a corridor and it was like the reception with it blossomed while tiles. I looked at Liam and smiled. "Not long left now Liam!"

*I knew that will cause Liam's cock to tent in his black sporty shorts*

*we were only steps away from reaching Dr Jacobs offices.*

L: “Dude this is gonna be so cool!” I say excitedly as I look at you. *I notice u looking down at my dick and I smile* “this will be yours in a second!” I say as I patted my dick

S: "Yeah I know Liam, it's going to be an interesting moment!" *grabs your cock and squeezes it*

"How much longer Liam" *looking at the tablet

L: *I look down at the tablet, stop walking and smile at you* “alright! here we are sam! lets do this!” *I grab the door handle and smile at you before pushing it open*

*I gesture for u to enter the roomfirst*

S: *Knocks on the door and Dr Jacobs welcomes us

Doctor Jacobs stands as (DR)

DR: Ahhhh you both arrived! Pleased to meet you both! *offers his hand to Liam first

L: *I shake enthusiastically* “good to meet u too!*

DR: "So Liam you ready to become your best friend Sam here?"

*I shakes Sam's hand also*

S: "Nice to meet you Mr Jacobs and I think we are both ready to talk about the surgery and deal we have in place.

"I am nervous about the surgery as this is going to unknown to us both."

DR: "please both of you sit down so we can go over the formalities." *offers us two chairs at his desk

*we both go over and sit down in the chairs* L: “alright, so what's gonna happen here?” I ask as I hand over the tablet and our documents with our credentials

“how long will this take etc?”

DR: "The operation machinery is all ready to go and the surgery will take a few hours but you won't feel a thing. Our technology is that advanced that there will be no scarring at all but due to the nature of the stress of the transfer that this will be a one way transfer. If this all is successful you will have your money deposited and be allowed to live your new life, remember when you sign these paperwork nobody will ever know about this experiment.

DR: Here is three pieces of contracts you must sign each. *passes them to us

S: "Are you ready for this Liam?" *gives you the pen first*

L: “alright let's do this!” I say excitedly as i grab the pen from ur hands

*I quickly sign off the paper and pass it over to u*

“alright im all done and ready, what now?”

S: "Ohhh here it goes!" *signs the paperwork

DR: "Great please come with me to the two rooms!" *shows us two doors with our names on them but the rooms are connected to the main operation room

S: *Looks at Liam and hugs him tightly*

L: “alright Dr!” *I stand up out of the chair and walk over to my door*

S: "I hope to see you soon brother, if anything happens just remember that I am so thankful and loved every moment we had!"

*cuddles you more*

L: “dude stop we’ll totally be fine! don't even worry!” I say as I pat u on the back “this is gonna be totally fine! let's do this!”

S: "Let's do this!!!"

*opens my door to see a bed and a chair*

DR: please take off your clothes

L: “oh boy okay!”

While in the other room Sam just entered.

S: ‘’Knowing Liam he will just strip off and leave his clothes on the floor screwed up*

*I fold my clothes and possessions neatly

In the other room which DR Jacobs and Liam are in.

*I started to strip of my clothes, I pull of my red t-shirt, slipping down my black shorts, pull of my socks and shoes and throw them all to the corner of the room* “let's do this!” I say as I shake my hips teasingly

*goes onto my bed and lays down

Doctor Jacobs proceeds to the other room to see Sam waiting on the bed and deals with him first.

DR: breath this gas in slowly Sam *places the gas over my mouth and I fall asleep

Doctor Jacobs finishes the first part of the swap on Sam and he goes back to the other room to see Liam.

DR: "Liam please stop touching your penis and lay on the bed, Sam going to be so aroused by your typical Australian personality and traits"

L: *I sigh loudly and go lay down on the bed. the doctor comes over and puts the gas mask over my mouth as well. I fell asleep.

Sam and Liam have both fallen asleep now and we soon see what happens in Part 2 which is coming soon.

[jupitermelichios]

Not-Fic Amnesty: Rorschach Kid-Fic

About 3 years post the Keen Act, and the Roche case, and everything going so wrong, Dan’s at home one evening by himself (as usual) when he hears a noise from the basement.

He goes to investigate, expecting rats, or raccoons, or a pigeon. Instead he finds a kid, scrawny and ginger and ugly as sin, wearing a man’s dress shirt that reaches nearly to his knees and nothing else.

Dan has no idea what the hell’s happening, but the kid is clearly cold and scared and hungry, and he’s not a monster, so obviously he takes the kid up and feeds him, and tries to get him talking. The kids not chatty, but he warms up a bit when Dan doesn’t stopping him having 8 sugars in his coffee, and the more he says, the more the suspicion grows in Dan’s mind.

He puts the kid to bed in his spare room, and calls Jon who confirms what Dan’s been fearing. The kid sleeping upstairs is Rorschach, somehow de-aged to 9 or 10.

Dan has no idea what the fuck he’s supposed to do. He knows what Rorschach would want him to do, but Rorschach is an asshole and sometimes an idiot, and Dan’s not going to abandon the kid to fend for himself just because Rorschach doesn’t trust Dan to know his secret identity.

Jon comes to examine the kid, and try and figure out what’s happened, and of course when she hears what’s happened Laurie insists on tagging along, because this is way too good to miss. Except that it turns out Rorschach as a kid isn’t prime teasing material, it’s just fucking tragic. He’s so small, and so scared, and so desperate to find anyone he can trust that he’s imprinted on Dan like a baby bird, and he’s awkwardly polite to her and so worried when Jon’s teleportation makes her barf like it always does, and godamnit it she hates Rorschach but it takes all of five minutes for her to decide she would die to protect baby Walter.

Jon can’t figure out what’s happened to Rorschach, something is blocking his future vision, and that’s unusual enough that he actually engages with the problem, promises to investigate. He suggests that Dan speak to Adrian as well, but Dan’s wary to when Rorschach always disliked Adrian so much. (He would never admit that it’s also because Adrian has a tendency to take over any situation, and he’s guiltily enjoying being the one in control for a change.)

Laurie agrees to go shopping for clothes for Walter, since he won’t let Dan out of his sight, and Dan’s wary of taking him outside when he might suddenly revert at any minute, and she tries to pretend that she’s just helping because of how pissed Rorschach will be when he comes back and realises what happened, but really she’s just gone all in on being Walter’s cool vodka-aunt.

After a week of not much happening, they realise that this might be a long-term thing, and people are going to notice that Rorschach hasn’t been out on the streets. They debate just leaving it, but even though they’re both retired and legal now, it feels disrespectful to retire Rorschach even temporarily.

Dan would never pass as Rorschach in a million years, but with a binder and a little strategic planning Laurie is surprisingly convincing, and Dan is very confused by how ridiculously hot he finds that fact. They fall into this domestic routine, Dan home-schooling Walter in the day, then Laurie giving him boxing lessons and having dinner with them before she goes on patrol, and Dan isn’t surprised in the least at how damn happy he is, even though he’s desperate to be out on the street with her, but it comes as a shock to Laurie. She hadn’t even realised she was miserable, but suddenly everything is so much better that it’s been for years. She’s missed being out on the street, but more than that she’s missed having people who actually pay attention to her. Jon cares about her, but it’s all so distant and abstract, but Walter thinks she’s the coolest person in the world because she showed him how to throw a proper punch, and Dan is a perfect gentleman but she’s not an idiot and she can see he’s falling in love with her, and she almost hates how good it all feels.

Eventually Jon admits he’s not getting anywhere, and Dan has to suck it up and go talk to Adrian. Naturally Adrian thinks it’s all hilarious, but promises to look into it.

He’s Adrian, and he’s a dick, so he doesn’t update them, or tell them what he’s doing. They say goodbye to Laurie and go to bed one night, and the next day Dan wakes up to find the spare room empty, and a note in familiar handwriting that just says “don’t look for me”.

When Adrian phones later to say that it was an accident resulting from an experiment he was running involving tachyons. Rorschach must have been close to one of his research labs during one of the test runs, and somehow been exposed.

Dan’s too fucked up to be suspicious. When Laurie turns up the night after Rorschach’s disappearance, he just fucking collapses, sobbing his heart out. She does her best to comfort him, but there’s not much she can say, and when in a moment of emotional weakness he kisses her, she stops coming visiting him, too guilty over how much she wanted him too to see him again.

He spends weeks drifting, feeling like a ghost in his own home. It’s not even the loss of his almost-kid. He’d never really forgotten who Walter was, had never let his feeling get more paternal that strictly necessary, as opposed to feeling like an older brother. What’s fucking him up is realising how pitifully lonely his life is. How he has no friends who aren’t superheroes, and now even they aren’t talking to him anymore.

He doesn’t let himself hope when he hears noises from the basement, he honestly feels like he’s beyond hope that this stage, but he still nearly fucking breaks down crying when he finds Rorschach waiting for him. Not Walter – real grown up Rorschach. His Rorschach.

Turns out he’s been investigating Adrian, trying to figure out what the fuck really happened because he didn’t believe for one second that his de-aging was really an accident. And he’s got proof.

Dan pretty much started suiting up as soon as he saw him, because he’s spent 3 years benched while people he cared about fought crime with no protection and no back up and he is done, okay, he is totally fucking done with that. But he nearly gives himself a concussion that would have benched him for another month when Rorschach casually mentions that they need to go get Laurie first.

Jon doesn’t seem surprised to see them – Walter is the only thing that’s managed to surprised him for decades – but does seem real sad. Laurie takes one look at Rorschach and goes running for her costume, because in some ways she’s been even worse of than Dan. She’s had a taste of it again, a chance to do what she was trained from birth to do, and then had to give it all up to go back to playing house with a man who barely speaks to her.

She tells Jon she’ll be back later, and he just says “no you won’t” and goes back to his work, and she doesn’t press it.

In Archie, Rorschach tells them what he’s figured out – that Adrian is behind a series of death of retired superheroes and villains. That he’s been building a secret base in the arctic. That he’s been doing experiments in ways to block Jon’s vision. That he knew Rorschach’s identity.

Put like that, it’s pretty clear what’s going on, if not the reasons for it, but Dan doesn’t want to believe it. Yes Adrian’s weird, and intense, and thinks he’s smarter than everyone else just because he’s better at math, but there’s a big gap between that and full on supervillain. But Rorschach is sure. And Dan has been following this man’s hunches into certain death for a decade, and just because they’re all old enough now to know better isn’t going to stop him.

They go to confront Adrian in his penthouse. He’s ready for them of course, is sure he’s planned for every circumstance. But he never expected them to be a family. He understands comradeship, even friendship of a sort, but he’s never understood family. Laurie has spent weeks using all Rorschach’s signature moves, Walter spent weeks studying Laurie’s style, both of them know Dan inside out. They work together seamlessly, and for a moment it looks like it’s going to be enough. Adrian’s good, but they’re spectacular.

But Adrian really doesn’t plan for everything, and they’re in his property, in the middle of New York. The highest paid private security in the US are only a button push away, and there’s only so much even the best spandex can do again machine guns.

That’s when Jon shows up.

It only takes him vaporising a couple of guards to make the rest of them realise no paycheck is worth this. Adrian tries to play it innocent, but it doesn’t matter. Rorschach’s return hadn’t been part of Adrian’s plan, for all that he’d been happy to take credit. He’d assumed the affects would be permanent, or at least long term enough to keep everyone distracted.

When Rorschach came to Manhattan’s labs to get Laurie, Jon had been able to trace the tachyon field around him, unravel it, undo it’s affects on his abilities. He can once again see all the branching realities, and he knows what Adrian is planning. How he was experimenting with ways to block Jon’s vision, to cover up his plans for the world. Mass death, destruction on a terrible scale, as a way of preventing nuclear war.

He tries to convince Jon that it’s the only way, but this Jon hasn’t been driven to the drink by a campaign of psychological warfare. He atomises Adrian, and then for good measure, he atomises every single nuclear weapon in the world.

Even with the horror of what Adrian was planning, and seeing their old friend killed, there’s still the elation of having won. Having saved the day. This time when Dan kisses Laurie she doesn’t stop him, and before Rorschach can edge away from the display of affection, she grabs him and kisses him too, right on the mask.

They all go still, waiting for the violence, but to their surprise it doesn’t come. The mask patterns move very fast, like maybe he’s blushing, but he doesn’t do anything more than adjust his hat and move a little closer to Dan. And when Dan takes his hand, he doesn’t pull away.

Jon is by the window, looking out at the city he just saved. Laurie comes over the join him. She hadn’t know she was making a choice, but she can feel the finality of it now, and she doesn’t regret what she did. They’re better together, the three of them, they’re a family. She and Jon were never a family, just two lost souls clinging to one another because the familiar is less frightening than change. “I’m leaving,” he says eventually.

“I know. I’m not coming with you.”

“I know that too. I’m glad you have them, Laurel. They are good for you.”

“Yeah. I think they are.”

They keep watching for a while after he’s gone, but he doesn’t come back, so all that’s left is figuring out to get back out without being seen, and figuring out what to do with the rest of their lives together.

[kwrittink]

Bloody Love 6

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader (princeBTS!au)

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Language, mentions of nudity, mentions of death, grief, conspiracy, mentions of violence

Words:  7,740

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“Did someone gave a look at your injuries? I have to say, the ballroom glass door has a pretty big crack.” Changkyun's voice pulled Jimin out of the depths of his prayers, and he looked up confused at the younger, that had just got out of the bedroom where you were being taken care of. Jimin felt his body ache, but didn't put any thought on it, being too focused on you inside of that room, unconscious in that bed, fighting for both of your lives. Without Y/N, I...  

“Ouch!” The prince frowned and jerked away from the other man's touch, as his fingers prodded his scalp till finding a big bump on his head. As he retired his hand noticed some blood staining the healer's skin. Reaching towards the now throbbing spot, he too felt the wetness of his own blood and hissed once again. He didn't notice when that happened.  

“Yeah, sorry for being rough Majesty, but I hope that makes a point for you to take care of your body too,” Changkyun smiled sheepishly and Jimin only sighed in return, nodding. His eyes went again to the door where you were being treated, hesitating to move. “Look, we have your General stabilized, she's sleeping and out of danger. I'm going to be called in any case of any occurrence... And your Majesty too, of course.” The healer reassured, seeing the dilemma on the prince's eyes. Clenching his jaw - the immediate sharp pang at the back of his head made him regret that action - Jimin nodded, getting up and walking towards the direction Changkyun pointed.  

Worry still ate at him while he walked to the other man's room, where he said the other medicines were. Jimin knew what the protocol said, that in case of a foreign attack, he would have to flee the kingdom immediately, provided a safe trip home by that same kingdom - if that one wasn't at fault, of course - and access the situation from the safety of his own castle, together with his father, the King, and their counselors. But he couldn't even think of leaving you there, even if it meant putting himself in danger all over again. You were more important to him than his life, and he needed to personally make sure you'd get back in your feet. I would never forgive myself if something happened to her while away. I need to be here.  

Inside of his chest, a strange feeling of knowing hit him, and breaking the protocol definitely the best decision to have made.  

Changkyun settled him in a chair, and only then Jimin really noticed where he was. Focusing on the badly lit room around, he could make out the shapes of diverse glasses, most with some weird concoctions and random objects. What exactly this boy does here? Frowning, he reached out to a transparent one that had an X symbol and a sort of blue water inside. 

“Oh, I'd rather not touch that particular flask. It's poison.” The raven-haired man explained, hurriedly taking the cup from his hands. Eyes widening, Jimin rubbed his palm on the silk shirt he was still wearing, snorting. 

“If you were smarter, you'd have just told me to drink it, and would make your king's life easier,” he joked and even if it was kind of offensive, the other still laughed, while putting away the poisonous substance in a shelf nearby before heading to somewhere behind Jimin, fumbling as he searched for something.  

“I don't think it would, even if he had really asked for it to be done. One look at General Y/N and I knew it would be a very hard task for my King to get what he wants.” Said and a smile crept on the prince's face at the accuracy of the boy's perceptiveness. He meant every word he said to Kihyun earlier that night, you were your own person and it was you that had the decision at hand to let someone walk beside you. “Thought that with you on the scene, Kihyun doesn't stand a chance.” The mutter wasn't low enough for Jimin ignore, but as he was about to ask what he meant, a very wet cloth was pressed on the back of his head, just about where his bump was, making the prince hiss loudly and jerk forward. At first it ached on his wound, only to then get sort of warm, then numb. 

“Whoa, what kind of magic is this?” Jimin muttered, while having his hand guided to the cloth to hold it still as the distinct smell of herbal paste filled the air.

“Don't insult me, and don't try to get me killed please. The people in this country abominates witchery,” Started Changkyun, tearing some other pieces of white fabric - with a very sharp knife, Jimin observed - to make strips that would tie the medicine saturated dressing to Jimin's head. “And this is just an extract of goldenrod, just to decrease the bump and prevent any infections. I'll also be giving you a willow bark tea so your head doesn't hurt so much. Besides that, rest and you'll be okay,” Instructed the youngster.

“So you're treating Y/N with that too?” He asked, waving off the last of Changkyun's advice. If there was anything he wasn't able to do at that point was sleeping, his head was working in full speed between his worries for you and trying to figure out who exactly could have been the commander of that attack, and with what intent. 

“Oh no, I'm actually using a blend of mashed yarrow and gotu kola on her stab, so she will...” The healer's voice slowly faded out as Jimin got stuck with what he had just thought. The Commander. A soft scoff left his lips as his hands felt numb, head throbbing with the sudden discovery. Not the current one, but the previous one. Only Sonhyun could have a real reason to plot against Y/N like that, he's always been keen on diminishing her. The one thing I don't know is why would he try to kill me? He could have definitely tried to take this kingdom king's life and strike a better deal, having the war he wants so much, unless...

“Changkyun, what has been done to that assassin's body? Tell me you haven't get rid of it yet!” Jimin jumped out of the chair, startling the boy as he descanted about the properties of the herbs he used. If I'm right I'm going to find that damn mark... 

“Wha- Uh... I think we're keeping him in the Soldier's room-”

“Where is that, I need to see it right away, it's extremely important!” He felt himself shaking, tense and scared. If Jimin was right, it meant that everyone was in danger, and his kingdom was in the imminence of a coup d'etat, so he needed to act. And soon. 

Practically running behind Changkyun, they burst inside the Soldier's room, where the Generals and the King himself were in a meeting. 

“Prince Jimin, why such ruh? Did anything happened to Y/N or yourself?” The King walked towards them, deep frown between his brows. Jimin breathed out, ignoring the throb of his head, eyes searching frantically around the room, only finding an empty table at the center.

“First I need to see the assassin's body, then I'll explain. It's really important, King.” maybe his face was desperate enough, because after just looking into the prince's eyes for a long second, he just turned to one of the - big - men under his command and nodded. 

“Follow me, we have him in interrogation room.” The bulk man clad in light protective gear nodded back, and turning to Jimin he made a gesture as to be followed. Interrogation room? Why is the body... 

“So he did survived this long? I've got to take notes of that. Have you got any information from him?” Changkyun piped in amused, fumbling with his vest, taking out a small piece of paper and a tiny baton of coal. The other two men side-glanced him, then quickly looked at the prince, that had a confused - if not shocked - expression on his face. The man's alive? But Y/N stabbed him in the throat, and I'm sure I saw him die... 

Jimin opened his mouth to ask, but then the white-haired man leading the way moved open the heavy metal door connected to the room they were previously in, revealing another chamber with stone walls and void of windows - looked more like a torture chamber, if he took in consideration the numerous tools scattered around. In the center of it, the man that had attacked you and Jimin hours prior sat strapped to a chair, bandages around his neck as he breathed raggedly. Heartbeat picking up, he felt all the blood leaving his face as recognition hit him.

“You son of a-” If the other soldier didn't hold the prince back, surely he'd make sure that time the assassin - no, he was sure the man was a spy - was really properly killed. By my own hands I'm going to rip him a new one!

“You know this man, prince Park?” Kihyun stepped in front of him, blocking the smirk the spy slowly threw back at him as he accessed his surroundings. Before he could nod, the spy coughed, clearing up his throat and calling the smaller's attention again.

“Prince Jimin, such an honor be in you presence again... It's been long, you grew a lot, Majesty.” The voice made Jimin clench his teeth, and he tried to shrug himself off from the General's grasp. 

I knew he was a bad person, but I'd never expect him to commit treason, and work for Sonhyun of all things.

“And you... You've proven to be the piece of garbage I've suspected you to be, bastard!” He spat, having Kihyun's hand press into his chest so he'd pay attention and calmed down. “King Kihyun please execute this man, you have my total consent for it!” growled Jimin, angry eyes turning to the ruler. 

“Hyunwoo, let's step away with prince Jimin for a minute, he needs to take a breather.” Kihyun ordered his General with a sigh and apart from his protests, Jimin was dragged out of the room, not ignoring how the spy barked a laugh, telling he'd send his regards to you when he went to hell. 

“What is going on, why- How is that man alive?” Jimin inquired, as who he then got to know as Hyunwoo freed him. They were back at the Soldier's Room, and the king walked to the table nearby, leaning on the edge of it. 

“That is classified for now, prince. It's a study Changkyun is holding, though it's still on initial stages.” The man started explaining, and then Jimin realized the younger was still there with the other soldier in the neighbor room. “Who is that man, prince?” Calmly he asked again, but Jimin could see his patience wasn't going to last much. Expected, since the attack happened in his own kingdom. He needs to access the situation as fast as I do. 

“Won Hanjae. He was part of the council before we had a corruption scandal and placed Sonhyun, the former Commander and right hand of our late General Gun,” sighing, Jimin closed his eyes, the throb on his head making itself noticeable again. “I had an idea that Sonhyun was behind all this, but would never expect this man, of all things.” 

“Wait a minute, you knew this was going to happen? I'm not following.” Kihyun frowned, as did the Genereal Hyunwoo, coming with pottery cups filled with water for all. Downing his cup of water, the prince bit the inside of his cheek. He felt like somehow he was running against time, but this king needed to know what was going on. 

“Look, I'm going to explain all from the beginning. But first I need your Majesty to get something from Hanjae, and it's really important.” slowly Kihyun nodded, waiting for him to ask for whatever he needed to. “At his back there's a tattoo, it's a pierced heart. I need to have that cut out, independently if he's alive or dead. It's valorous proof and I'll tell you why.” at the request the king's eyes went wide and he swallowed hard. Still, he turned to the soldier beside him, nodding softly.

“General Son, ask to switch places with Hoseok, and help Changkyun have this done.” 

One of your eyes fluttered open, and immediately you felt like someone had bashed your face with a wooden rod. I don't remember being hit thought? Frowning slightly you tried to roll to your side, only to have a sharp pain shoot through your whole body, irradiating from your hip. 

“What the actual f...” Holding the curse you then looked down your body, chucking the covers off your torso the best you could, even through the numbness of your hands, only to be greeted by the sight of your lower abdomen wrapped in cloths, some paste pressed to your skin - you could see it leaking from the edges of the bandage - with an unpleasant smell, but that must have been doing a good thing, since you were still alive. I was stabbed after all... 

Oh lord, what about Jimin? Is he okay? Despite the pain, the thought made you sit up with urgency, grunting from the pain as you looked around. The last thing you remembered was his face, his desperate eyes and hands pressing your wound as he tried to shush you till someone would come to help. 

“General, you shouldn't be moving!” even if meant to scold, Changkyun's voice was actually soothing, and his hushed tone made you grin softly as he rushed inside the room, placing the things he was carrying by the table next to you, pushing your shoulders back down so you'd lay again. “Your wound is fresh, and was really hard to stop the bleeding.” Explained, while also covering you up almost to the neck, since you were only in the flimsy and thin undergarments that were placed under the dress. 

“Where's Ji... The prince? Is he unhurt?” You managed to ask, noticing how your tongue was dry, and more yet by the sight of a water bowl beside the bed. As if reading your thoughts, Changkyun embed a thick square of gauze in the small bowl he brought, bringing it dripping to your lips, just like a mother would do to an ill child. 

“Your prince is having a talk with our king about the whole situation. Besides a big bump in the head he's fine, so don't worry General,” You wanted to roll your eyes at the "your prince" quip, but had no strength for it, so just settled for nodding lightly, face scrunching at the bitter taste of the liquid the healer was squeezing into your mouth. “Now now, you took a stab like it was nothing, surely you can drink this potion, even if it's bitter.” Chuckling at your reaction he then switched gauze to squeeze some pure water. Swallowing you grimaced before clearing your throat. 

“I have to be informed of what is happening too. I can only recall the prince telling me something about a plot, then we were attacked.” You explained, and Changkyun nodded, sinking the respective gauze once more in the acrid medicine. 

“You will once you recover. Meanwhile the king, our generals and your Majesty are taking the necessary measures. Now drink up.” The boy sternly asked, and breathing out frustrated, you opened your mouth to receive the remedy. 

After you had finished the whole bowl - it wasn't so big but still was very unpleasant to the taste -, Changkyun instructed to keep still, as he'd go order to have some food prepared for you and notified the royals of your awakening. But not half an hour after he left the room you pulled yourself back up again, shaking your head at his illusion that you'd stay on the bed. 

Throwing your legs off you supported on the nightstand to get up, holding your stomach as to not start bleeding out. Your legs trembled as you tried to stand, telltale that the amount of blood you lost was really big. You knew you should just lay back in the bed, but in this situation you should actually be moving in your position as General and taking action. You weren't so hurt that it was impossible to move, so might as well do something. Reach Jimin and understand what was going on. I don't think the security of this kingdom could have been breached this easily, so I'm sure this is a well-orchestrated mission, and probably wasn't bound to fail like this.  

First though, you had to find some clothes. Looking around, you quickly noticed a black coat laid in a chair at the other side of the room, blood stained and crumpled, anxiety dooming over you when recognizing the clothing as what the prince was wearing at the party. Slowly, you dragged your feet - trying to be as silent as possible - through the wooden floor, and taking purchase of the coat you put it on and closed it - being instantly enveloped by Jimin's scent, a mix of sandalwood and musk, something soothing and at the same time unique -, successfully covering your whole exposed torso - Changkyun's previous care in covering you made you realize that your breasts were perfectly visible behind the thin cloth. Now I should be fine to walk around and find the men. Nodding to yourself you twirled in your feet, wondering what the hell that medicine had, since you felt a little hazy. That kind of pain was supposed to jolt your whole senses awake, but since you drank that potion of his, each hit of pain was like a thud, a dull punch that spread numbing on your flesh. Anyways, if it's letting me move, I'm not complaining. 

Stealthily slipping out of the room, you looked to each side, trying to figure where exactly you were and the direction to the Soldier's Room, recalling how Hyunwoo commented the previous day that the King spent most of the time with them at that room, chatting or even doing some actual work, and that was why he didn't really needed counselors, as he worked directly with the main forces of his kingdom, almost like they reigned together. That is actually really wise of him. 

As you chose a pathway, you made the wall your support, knowing that at least you should try to not bleed out while on your way, since it seemed to have taken a lot of work to keep you alive. While you padded slowly through the hallways - following your instinct through that unexplored maze that was the floor you were in - you took the time to look at the walls, some decorated with paintings, but most had at least a little vase of delphinium, in any range of the blue hue that it sported, receiving the tinted light that came through from the stained glass in every other window. Another thing that caught your attention was how empty the halls and rooms were, not even on that floor, but mostly in the castle itself. Sure, it was a new kingdom, but the king should at least have some close relatives and people of the court living in the castle with him... Right? 

Finally reaching stairs, you knew you'd find Jimin and the others once you reached the bottom floor. The challenge was: getting down to it. 

“Seems like we're bound to meet each others at the top of stairs, huh?” A sigh followed the weirdly familiar voice as the person spoke to you, and as you turned around, slim fingers gripped your arms steadying your staggering body. 

“Mr. Chae, surely you're bound to startle me every time,” you quipped back at him as you were freed of his grasp, breathing out tiredly. The walking around was taking a toll on you and the medicine wasn't helping much in terms of quickness - though it provided painless movement -, but you were keen on the task of reaching the Generals and your prince to know what the hell was going on. The lack of knowledge and action from your part was going to drive you insane. “Thank you for the support, I'm afraid I'm not in my best shape.” You still managed to show courtesy, bowing your head slightly. The man - looking strangely sleepy, if you took in account it seemed to be midday approximately - in front of you snickered softly.

“My apologies for that, General. I was informed of your injuries a little late last night, and was actually about to go ask of your state right now, among other things. I didn't expect you to be in your feet yet though?” Hyungwon tilted his head, looking genuinely surprised, and you smiled back at him sheepishly. 

“Officially I'm not allowed to be out of bed, but...” You trailed off, having the king's best friend - as he had said himself - nodding along in understanding. You, for some reason, knew that the man was a player, even worse than Jimin could ever be, but still had the sense that Hyungwon didn't represent any danger to you or to the prince. No one close to the King does anyways. The feeling in your gut confirmed that, also telling you that something had been misplaced even before this trip to Yoo was made. 

“As a General you need to know, and you're the only protection of Park's prince, I understand.” He pondered for a second, then walked up to you, and as he did hours prior, offered the curve of his arm for support. Seeing your amused head tilt, he shrugged. “Well, I could always tell you to obey to what Changkyun said, but I have a feeling it would fall in deaf ears, and you'd try to head downstairs anyways... So I figure that is better to at least help you.” Explained with a nonchalant flick of his hair and an indulging smile. 

True to his word, the man guided you carefully down the stairs, and reached the Soldier's Room in a mild pace, cracking some light jokes along the way and making you chuckle, reminded you of Seokjin back at Park, and his love for that sort of diversion. I wonder how's the situation there, I know Jin is really responsible and efficient but I can't help to worry. 

Arriving to the Soldier's Room you frowned, finding the quarter empty. 

“Wh... The others should be definitely here?” Hyungwon turned is head and body around, searching for the people that were supposed to be there, as a bad feeling started to prickle at your skin. “Maybe they're eati-”

Hyungwon wasn't able to finish the sentence, as a pained scream interrupted him, coming from the corner of the current place they were in. It was the man's turn to frown while you both turned towards the source of the sound, you hand clutching his arm, before you decided to stumble forward and follow to where you could barely see a door slightly gaped open. Your companion hissed for you to stop, rushing to grab you, but in some way you managed to dodge his hands and push the door open as another shrill echoed through the hallway. Hyungwon reached you the next second, and was about to say something to get you out of there, when the apparently suffering man started talking. 

“Okay, okay! Please stop!” Supporting yourself to the wall, you could clearly see Jimins' back turned to you - head bandaged and still dressed with his party clothes minus the coat your were currently wearing - as he leaned on a wall, looking distressed, while the Generals Wonho and Hyunwoo were in front of the man probably sat in a chair before them, blocking your vision as to whatever they were doing. “Sonhyun trusted me with this mission, but I guess that I'm good as dead right now, so I'll speak. He had all handed to him till now, might as well drag him down with me.” At the mention of King Park's counselor, your blood ran cold, and you almost moved to enter the enclosure. Once again, Hyungwon's hand reached for your elbow, this time capturing it securely. Glaring at him, you noticed his eyes were also glued to the scene in front of you, and he motioned to keep quiet and listen. 

“Sonhyun is a very ambitious man, and has been planning on climbing to the very top, even more than you all could figure. See prince, your current General wasn't put in the spot by pure fate. Sonhyun was expecting to replace late General Gun, that's why he ordered for the natural process to be...  Hasten. For his surprise Park's foolish king named the daughter for the position.” the spy scoffed, and Jimin turned to growl at the offense against his father.

 “Prince, calm down. Hasten, you say? Word told General Gun passed away from a very high fever that took place after a storm...” Kihyun came into view, arms uncrossing as he placed a hand on Jimin's shoulder. His stance, even thought Yoo's king wasn't too tall to begin with, showed he was completely calm and controlling the situation. 

“Yes, do you really think a man like Gun would have died from a simple fever just like he did? Sonhyun ordered his death. His Commander, no less. It seemed to be in vain when little Y/N was put in place, but even then he had a plan,” the man stopped to breathe for a second, grunting as one of the Generals hurried him to resume talking. “Pray, what would you, King Yoo do, if discovered the woman you've been wanting as your Queen had to do with your family's death?” you felt dizzy and your head buzzed, but had time to see the way Kihyun's mask of tranquility crumbled, a soft ‘what’ leaving his lips. The assassin coughed a laugh, tilting his head as the other shuffled on his feet, and only then you could see who was the one blurting out truths through a busted lip and swollen face, voice strained as his neck was wrapped, probably because you had stabbed him earlier on. Hanjae. How the fuck is this man alive? 

“That is right, Sonhyun had everything orchestrated. In this trip the Park prince was supposed to be killed, since convincing him of  marrying any other princess to make an alliance didn't worked... Due to the obvious infatuation he has on his precious General. At the same time it would make way for the war he always wanted to happen, since after General Y/N supposedly killed herself after being unable to do her duties and protect her beloved prince, Sonhyun would take place as General like he wanted, only to command the army in a mission to take Park's throne to himself.” Turning his glance from a livid Jimin he then looked back at Kihyun, a smirk playing on his lips. “Of course, not before taking possession of this feeble kingdom, and finish what he started with the murdering of Yoo's royal family.” He talked like ruining several people's lives was amusing, and you couldn't doubt he actually did thought it fascinating. You trembled, be it from exhaustion or pure fear and sadness. 

“Good thing you're as bad assassin as you were a counselor. I don't know what Sonhyun promised you, but I hope it was worth it, because you will rot in Park's dungeon for what you'd done to Y/N. I'll make sure of that.” If you hadn't snapped your eyes away from Hanjae to look at Jimin, you'd never figure the rage-filled and honestly scary voice belonged to him. You kept staring as he walked forward, this time having no one to stop him due to the permanent stupor set on the room from the prisoner's words. In a fluid movement the prince drew his arm back, swinging his fist forward violently and hitting the man square on the nose. He was about to just turn and probably leave - check on your state and perhaps tell you some half-truths about the whole situation - when realized you've been audience to that part of the discussion, face falling and eyes widening greatly. “Y/N, what are you...” 

Only then you realized that his eyes staring back at yours would always be your breaking point. Legs giving out under you, the other people present in the room had little time to catch your figure as you fell, sinking back down into unconsciousness. 

Worried was an understatement, when applied to what the Park prince was feeling. It's been two days already.

Two days of constant worry and making sure Chasgkyun had stabilized you, that your bleeding didn't start again... Two days of praying - Jimin never was really religious - at the foot of your bed and watching over you the whole night, mostly because he couldn't catch a wink of sleep after all he heard. Two days of waiting, but he'd wait a hundred years having the certainty that you were still alive. 

“Being quite honest, I was expecting General Y/N to not abide to Changkyun's recommendations, she looks stubborn like that. I just... Wished she didn't have to find out some things like that.” Kihyun scoffed by his side, running a hand through his hair in distress. Jimin only nodded beside the king in acknowledgement, not feeling exactly chatty, stomach churning as he waited once again for the healer to come out of the room where you've been carried back a couple of days back, and didn't give any sign of waking up since. Must have been quite a shock for her.

“Still no changes?” Hyungwon - as the man that was accompanying you that afternoon introduced himself - muttered, rising from the wall where he was supporting himself previously and talking to the healer that tilted his head to the sides as he left the room, closing the door behind his back. 

“She's been talking on her sleep more frequently, and has no signs of fever. Must really be stress and the loss of blood hadn't helped her case at all. The general needs to eat as soon as she wakes up.” Changkyun explained, and three sighs were heard afterwards. It irked Jimin to see Hyungwon worrying as much as him and Kihyun about you, but he surely had other matters to worry more about than his jealousy. Of course, it's a lot to have Kihyun pinning for Y/N, I didn't needed another man wanting her attention too. 

“That is good then. We need to get back to what we're doing. There's a letter from your Commander, prince Jimin.” Wonho called their attention, walking up the hallway towards them, envelope in hand. Breathing out in relief, Jimin picked the mail from the Marine General's hands, opening it quickly - fumbling as he discovered two pages together, not from the same sender - as the others gathered around him. 

‘Dear Prince, the news of your injuries and the General's death were received with deep sadness here in Park's kingdom. It pains me to see your parents this way, your mother is inconsolable. Though I am aware that the secret must prevail till further notice. 

Commander Kim is already in action after receiving the package, as he will explain in the attached letter in this one. I can completely understand why he is your General's right hand, he surely thinks fast and is efficient. 

Sonhyun fakes his displeasure well, but I heard word that he's planning a small celebration - the word used was tribute, but we all know his true meaning - in favor of the General's death. I send my wishes and pray that she recovers fast and well, and hope you maintain your well-being. 

                                Always your dear friend, Tok Mina.

Ps: I've probably discovered something about Commander Kim that interests us, but will only tell you once I make sure to be right and you're here safe in Park again.’ 

A small smile tugged at his lips hearing form his friend, nodding to himself as he finished the letter. I knew I could trust Mina with this. Jimin had sent a letter a day ago with a package attached to it for Mina, instructing her to hide it till she found an opportunity to talk to Commander Seokjin, so he could help. She's the person Sonhyun would least expect to carry a secret for me, since he - and apparently everyone else - thinks she's just a playgirl of mine. 

Shifting the letters he then went to look at the next, paper so thin her could see the shadow of his fingers behind it and reveled on the Commander's intelligence, because he did so to make the letter almost unnoticeable to the eye. 

‘Your Majesty, I've received the letter from Miss Tok's hands, and the package attached with it. Dare I say I've never thought I'd see that symbol this up close. But I can tell you that our General and I have been doing some research on it before, and as you suspected, the symbol on the skin piece is what the followers of the counselor Sonhyun have branded into their skin. 

They are a secret sect that apparently - most certainly since what Your Majesty has informed me - has plans of dethroning your father and rising as Kings themselves. 

You must be very careful with whatever you are planning, since the General's death caused a lot of havoc among the court, and we have Grief State in Park for the week. Still, my font has said that Sonhyun is planning to try and take her place as a first step, since having the army by his side would be ideal for corrupting the throne efficiently. 

About Hanjae, he was a man that was disposable. Hoseok My font also discovered he was to be killed off either way, since he was an alleged corrupt in the kingdom. It was going to serve as proof that the King had himself been corrupt and deceiving the people all this time. 

I will be waiting for further orders, but meanwhile will keep as Your Majesty promised. 

Commander Kim SeokJin.

Ps: Please take care of her, Prince. We both wouldn't survive.

Pps: I shouldn't be asking this, but... Is Miss Tok by any chance Lord Ken's daughter?’ 

His heart was aching with anger so much Jimin almost ignored the last postscriptum, making a mental note to confirm that fact later. Maybe he found out something about Mina being his correspondent? Scoffed. He knew, of course Jimin knew, but keep it to himself and let them both find each other was much more interesting. 

“So, good news?” Kihyun asked, looking anxious. Sighing, Jimin nodded slowly, passing the letter to the king. 

“Apparetly Sonhyun will cooperate with our trap. He's acting just like we predicted, even more excited than we thought. I think he had the idea that Hanjae wouldn't make it, and for sure had we paid a little more attention, he wouldn't have.” Jimin stated, as the king nodded, eyes reading through the Commander's letter. 

“I'm really sorry about that, our guards were practically all securing the ball.” General Hyunwoo apologized once again, but the prince dismissed him with a wave. 

“Don't worry about it, I understand perfectly. Perhaps if I hadn't took so long upstairs...” He trailed off, feeling his face grow hot at the memory of why he had came down later to the ball. “Either way, in the future, don't hesitate to send a letter to our kingdom when in need of more man.” Clearing his throat he shot a small smile at the general, that nodded, mimicking his gesture. Kihyun breathed in deeply, handing the letter back to Jimin. 

“Well I have the intention of merging our kingdoms soon one way or another, so perhaps with time we'll have a more prepared army than Park.” The implicit insinuation wasn't ignored by Jimin, even if the chuckle he gave indicated that. He didn't have the heart to argue or be jealous, he just wanted you to be okay and wake up. Either way, Hyungwon lightly bumped his side to cut his silliness, and General Hoseok pinched his nose a little embarrassed. 

“What out king meant is: Thank you prince Park, we'll surely contact if the occasion appears,” With a small bow, the white-haired man sighed. “And be sure that even if our forces are still little, we also offer our forces, if needed.” Completed, and Jimin bowed back, solemn. By his side, Changkyun cleared his throat. 

“Well then, if you all excuse me, I'm going to get back to the room. I've got to keep an eye for the General and stop her from getting up this time. Once I deem okay for her to take visits, only then I'll call you Majesties.” The last sentence was said pointedly, the healer's eyes widening towards his king. Kihyun pouted but then nodded, glancing to the floor rather embarrassed for the silent reprehension.

“Since we'll be having this extra time, I think it's better for all of us to retreat for a bit and rest,” the king then announced, turning to Jimin, that had a scowl forming on his face, a little stuck on not having much authority in the kingdom so he could at least demand for them to hurry and help him. “Prince, I understand you must he in a rush to work things, but I think we're all no good without proper care, and the two of us had our fair share of lost sleep. You need to recharge as much as I do.” A smile was shot towards the smaller, and with a sigh the prince felt in the obligation to agree.  

Still, Jimin couldn't help the anxiousness eating at his insides, even when he sank on the warm water tub that had been prepared for him, with an infusion of relaxing herbs on the water - with Changkyun's regards. The urge he had was to run back to his kingdom and slice Sonhyun's throat for what he was planning, but also knew things couldn't be handled that way, even if he was a prince. He must be judged by the people too. 

Getting out of his bath, he dried and headed for bed, but since it was still early and sleep hadn't arrived for him yet, he decided to give a headway for his plans. Not having further orders for Seokjin he then decided better to write to Yoongi, since the prince was unaware of all that happened till there, and having him knowing of the events was really important for the case of needed men power. Then after, he wrote for Mina, sounding as casual as he could with the letter, almost as if nothing happened, but warning clear in between lines or pure and unfiltered rant, pouring as much as he could while having Mina as his most trusted confident at the moment.

Jimin still had a lot on his chest, even after writing three pages of feelings and coded messages - back and front . He wanted to write for his mother too, to ease her of the grief, but knowing the importance of having his parents with genuine pain for the time, even if it hurt him to think of them crying over your death. It almost made him cry too, the pain inside his heart almost unbearable. 

Without thinking much, he then decided to write a letter for you. It was an old habit, where he would try to put into words whatever he thought about you, usually how wonderful it was the ache he felt while loving you but being so far. Like the others he wrote he didn't deliver it, keeping the pages in a small chest under his bed. It had been a long while since the last time he wrote, and it was made noticeable after Jimin finished the back of a fifth page and realized he had no more paper to write with. Clicking his tongue, he dropped the feather and closed the writing desk, deciding better to seal the letters by the morning. 

As soon as his head hit the pillow, even if he didn't deem himself tired at all before, Jimin's eyelids got as heavy as if weighted a ton. Relaxing his muscles, he breathed out resigned and let himself fall asleep soundly, lulled by the light rain that decided to grace the summer's night on Yoo, the pit pat of raindrops completing the spell. 

Sleeping dreamless was usual for the prince, being the only exception that afternoon on Min almost a week back. Still, he found strange to be awaken deep into the night, heart racing by the feeling of being observed. One eye peeked around, trying to see anything without making any moves, but found nothing in the visible expanse of the room. 

“Is it true?” The whispered words didn't feel real, mainly because of how aware he was of them being said in your voice. Still, Jimin turned his body around slowly, more prepared to face the void space beside him on the mattress and confirm his mind was playing tricks on him. 

“Y/N? What are you-” He tried to croak, but had the words stuck in his throat, frown taking over his expression as he locked eyes with your distressed and quietly sobbing figure and sat up as fast as he could, trying to also preserve his own modesty. You were sitting at the head of the bed by his left, using a nightgown and hair loose, tear-stained face flushed - or so he saw, since the only source of light was from the moon, light coming from a window by the other side of the bed - as you looked at him.

“My father, Jimin. Is it true what Hanjae said, that Sonhyun m-murdered him?” The sobs broke your sentences, and your eyes glanced down in embarrassment of being seen like that. The prince's heart tightened and he tried to reach out for you in an attempt of soothing you but stopped midway, hand dropping back in the mattress again. I don't want to have her take it the wrong way. 

“I... That is what he said Y/N, but we can't know for sure. But it is most likely to be true, the whole circumstances of your father's death...” Jimin wasn't able to look you in the eye as he spoke, not bearing the sight of such pain in your face. It had been so long he'd seen you cry - or demonstrate any other emotion in front of him besides indifference - that it made the prince feel raw. 

He only felt the heat of your body a second later, and for a moment was scared you had collapsed again, but your uneven sobs against his chest and fingers clawing at arms made him realize you had indeed leaned for comfort. Hesitantly, he placed his hands on your back and head, looking down thunderstruck to have you seeking him for comfort. For the second time. Thought years ago, when we received the news, Y/N didn't shed a single tear, rather asking me to make her forget... If only I knew it would be the last time. 

“I'm calling his sentence.” You decided with a shuddering voice, dry mouth even thought you were crying so much. You twisted your body, as to sit in a position that still let Jimin's arms hold you. “My father said that if he was to die, to not waste tears. He made me promise, because he was sure he'd die from old age, even if not so honorable for a man in his position, according to him. I didn't even had the chance to say goodbye but still... I didn't cry. You remember that, don't you?” Teary eyes looking up at his face and with a hard swallow the prince nodded quietly, trying to stop his head to go into detail about that day.

“You can cry those tears now, if you wish. I'll also make sure you're the hand holding the sword, once we get a hold of Sonhyun. I promise.” Your lip trembled at his proposition, but a grin still tugged at the corner of your lips. 

“If you lend me your shoulder I will, my prince. But I don't wish to kill him, even if your father decides fit. I rather have him rot in the dungeons and die forgotten by everyone, as he so much fears. Still I do ask this favor, to be the one to read the verdict.” Explained and with a sad smile, Jimin agreed. It was a simple demand and could be arranged easily, but what impressed him the most was how mature you sounded, even in your pain. He hadn't stopped loving you for a single second before, but at that moment he started to love you even more. A small 'thank you' left you, before your lips quivered once more, and your face was once again flush against his naked chest, while you resumed sobbing, all the tears you weren't able to and the ones you had held for all those years. 

At the thought, the prince clenched his jaw and buried his face to your hair, tears flowing quietly as he once again took in your unique scent, chest aching at the notes of sun and wild greenery.

[captainjetrocketboy]

Cold Breeze [Dawson’s Creek - Jack and Doug]

Doug jolted upwards in a panicked state as he awoke from his restless sleep. The sheriff found himself to be perspiring heavily. His elevated heart rate and shaking hands didn’t help, either. Another bad dream, just as expected. He was quite used to the horrible events that would take place in them by now, but the one thing he’ll never adjust to is the aftermath; the unexplainable anxiousness and fear that he’d be left with. He knows Jack will be okay. The doctor had said as much. And yet, there was still that tiny, annoying voice in his head that whispered he wasn’t; that Jack’s condition was only temporarily stable and that he’ll bite the dust sooner rather than later.

Adjusting to the barely lit bedroom, he noticed it couldn’t be past six in the morning. Visiting hours don’t start for while, and Doug wasn’t going back to sleep any time soon, so he decided to start a pot of coffee. Slowly, he undid himself from the tangle of sheets, his sweat making the covers slightly stick to his muscular figure. The room he and Jack shared was messy from their latest night in, which almost felt like weeks ago. Doug hadn’t the heart to clean it up, despite his tendency for tidiness. In the worst possible scenario, he had wanted a way to remember their last good night together.

So Doug refused to fix anything, even if it bothered him to no end, because it made it feel like nothing had changed. As if he’d walk into their kitchen and see his man drinking milk straight from the carton. Doug would chastise him with no malicious intent behind his raised voice, the growing smile betraying his tone. Jack would look back with the brightest grin Doug had ever seen come from another man, and he would approach cheerfully, placing the milk down on the nearest countertop. Doug would stretch his arms outward, inviting his lover into a warm embrace. They would then kiss with such fervor, breakfast an idea left far behind.

But there was no Jack this time. No hug or kiss to greet him good morning. Doug entered the dark kitchen, just illuminated by the peeking sun above the horizon. Eyes still groggy from his lack of proper sleep, Doug felt around for the container of coffee, hoping Jack and he still had enough left for one more pot. His fingers grazed the cold glass of their coffee jar before being pulled back into reality by a ring of the doorbell.

Caught off guard, Doug flinched at the blaring sound, both intrigued by who had rung this early in the morning and annoyed by the prospect of a visitor. He didn’t feel up to putting a fake smile for some empathetic Capesider. Doug stood still for while, hoping the lack of a response would discourage whoever was at the front door to leave him alone. Another ring had suggested that tactic wasn’t going to work.

Eventually Doug acquiesced, too deprived of energy to put much more of a fight. He lumbered towards the front door of their house, and clumsily unlocked it only to be greeted by the familiar presence of his younger brother.

“Pacey?” Doug would have been lying if he said he wasn’t surprised. His brother had quite the record of sleeping in until a questionable hour in the afternoon. “What are you doing here so early?”

Pacey revealed an Ice House takeout bag from behind his back. “I couldn’t go back sleep when I woke up, so I decided to be a good brother for once and bring some breakfast. Can I come in?”

Doug stared at the bag of food for a few seconds before turning his attention back to Pacey. The unexpected act of kindness from his brother was, well, unexpected to say the least. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t grateful, however.

“Yeah, sure. Come in, Pacey.” The other man gave a small nod in thanks, and strode into the house. Doug closed the door and made an attempt to quickly follow Pacey back into the kitchen. He had already opened the boxes filled with assortments of various breakfast foods and spread them across the dining table. “Did you make all of this?”

“Yup.” Pacey answered without turning his head. “I’ve been kinda restless with everything that’s been going on with… well, y’know.”

Doug didn’t need Pacey to finish his sentence to know where the conversation was heading. He hesitated before speaking up. “Have you… heard anything from the doctors?”

At that, Pacey turned to face Doug, but without completely meeting his questioning gaze. “No. They haven’t said anything yet.” He looked up at his brother just in time to see the hurt and disappointment that flashed across his face in response to his answer. “B-But, that could be a good thing, Dougie! At least it means that Jack hasn’t gotten worse.”

The mention of Jack’s name made Doug reel even more. He crossed his arms in an attempt to hang on to the warmth of his shirt, which Pacey noticed was one of Jack’s. “But it also means he hasn’t gotten any better.”

“Look, I know things don’t seem so good right now, Doug, but I promise you that Jack will make it through this. You should know better than anyone that he’s pretty damn tough.”

Doug smirked lightly at that comment. It was true, Jack was the bravest, most strongest person he’s ever had the pleasure of knowing. Plus, he had Doug at his side to support him, no matter the circumstances. “Yeah… I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course, I am. Now c’mon. Let’s get some food in you before we head over to the hospital.”

The morning air had brought with it a chilling wind, but neither Doug nor Pacey had paid much mind to it. They arrived at the hospital a few minutes before visiting hours properly started, but the nurses noticed the restlessness in both men’s eyes before letting them through. Doug was few strides ahead of Pacey as they walked through the fluorescent white hallways. He was eager to be back in the same room as Jack, desperately wanting to be by his side and to feel his warm touch once again. Soon enough, they stopped before the right door. Pacey had spoken up first.

“I’ll give you two some time. I’ll be just outside in case something happens, alright?”

Doug turned to face his brother as he leaned in to give a small hug. “Thanks. I really appreciate- ”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get too sentimental on me now, Dougie. Save that for Jack.” Pacey chuckled as Doug gave a light punch to his shoulder.

“Okay, here goes…”

Doug pushed gently on the door, as if to not disturb the quiet peace of the small room. He stuck his head in first, noticing how still Jack looked, his only motion coming from his slow but steady breaths. It wasn’t long until Doug fully entered, letting the door close on its own with a barely audible click.

“Hey, honey…” Doug spoke to no one in particular. The use of the endearing term came natural to him, even if he wasn’t so keen on using it at first. “Y’know, you’re getting everyone pretty worked up. Even Pacey, if you can believe it. Jen called this morning on my way here. She’s hoping for a quick recovery, like the rest of us. She also said she’s sorry she couldn’t be here, but she thinks that me being by your side is more than enough.”

Doug pulled a stray chair closer to Jack’s bed when he noticed his legs were shaking, steadily settling himself down before continuing. “I’m not leaving your side, you know that right? When you wake up, I’m going to be right here for you. Once this is all over, we’ll go wherever you want. Let’s take a break from Capeside and have a well deserved vacation. I don’t care if it’s local or across the Atlantic. As long as I’m there with you, I know we’ll have a great time.”

He shifted forward, taking one of Jack’s hand and holding it within his own. Doug placed a soft kiss atop the other man’s fingers. “I promise things will be okay. I love you, Jack.”

The day proceeded as uneventful as one could expect, much to Doug’s dismay. He let Pacey have a turn to be alone with Jack, though he didn’t stray too far from the slightly ajar door, just in case something happened that he should know about. Eventually they switched positions again, with Pacey waiting outside while Doug remained with Jack. He had turned on the television for some background noise, but barely paid much attention to it. The images on the screen had little relevance compared to the one of Jack resting peacefully in front of him. The man’s features were all but present, which highlighted just how fragile and young he appeared, even with all that he’s been through. Doug only found it to be more endearing, as if he was constantly given more reasons to love Jack.

Later, Pacey had volunteered to get some food from the Ice House for lunch and dinner, and Doug was grateful that he didn’t take no for an answer. The two of them ate in content silence in the hospital’s cafeteria.

Soon enough, the sun began its descent below the skyline, shades of orange and yellow seeping through Jack’s windows. Pacey had decided to retire for the evening, saying that he couldn’t handle another night without sleep in anything other than his own bed. Doug had promised to contact him if anything happened, and they said their goodbyes.

Doug felt the pull of sleep tug on his eyelids, and eventually even he succumbed to the exhaustion of having to wait for something, or anything, to change.

“Doug…”

The quiet, familiar voice sent jolts through Doug’s body. He opened his eyes just enough to see the most beautiful man stare at him with an equally tired expression. “Jack? Oh, Jack!”

Doug had practically bolted from his chair and to Jack’s bedside. The sting of tears threatened to be released as he spoke. “H-How are you feeling, honey? How long have you been awake? What-”

Jack only laughed at Doug’s frantic nature. “Doug, if I’m being honest, I still feel like shit, but with you here, I’m a lot better than if you weren’t.” His voice was still raspy and coarse, but it was still lovely for Doug to hear. “And don’t worry, I’ve only just woken up a few minutes ago. I wasn’t about to wait any more than I had to for me to see your face again.”

Doug sighed a breath of pure relief. He couldn’t help it, and soon enough the repressed emotions of the past few days all came out through his tears. “Jack… Jack I’ve missed you so much. I really thought that… that…”

“Shh… I know, but I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.” Jack weakly reached for Doug’s hand, and the other man eagerly met him halfway. “I’ve missed you, too, y’know.”

Doug bent down carefully as to not aggravate anything on Jack, and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend.

“I love you, Jack. I hope you know that.”

“Of course, I know, Doug. I love you, too.”

[freezingwintah]

Blackmail

The precarious star of Underground was on his way from studio to meet with his soon to be boyfriend Papyrus. You see, Mettaton and Papyrus got together because of Frisk who… introduced them upon the skeleton's constant nagging. Needless to say, sparks flew between the two and romance was in the air. Alphys and Undyne (because of her lover she agreed, but wasn't exactly happy about the idea) gave the TV star their approval and some tips about dating for real with someone.

But then, he was always there, butting in or making up excuses why his little brother isn't available for Mettaton at this or that moment. He even sabotaged Mettaton's calls to the skeleton's personal cell phone. He was beyond angry at this point. If he keeps getting in their way, then he and Papyrus will never progress with his interfering. Why, just yesterday he told him that Papyrus wasn't ready yet and made him listen for three hours to his babbling about a family history book. And when he actually called his little brother over, it turned out the damn older brother tricked him. Him, Mettaton the star of the Underground! The gall of that skeleton. Instead, Papyrus suggested they head to Grillby's for dinner. Of course, his brother would be there, too. Spying on them.

And so they went, but Mettaton was raging on the inside. This can't go on. He has to dig up some dirt on Sans or he'll never leave them to have a proper date, alone. As far as he knew, Sans didn't have a crush on anyone or any other embarrasing secret… wait. If he has any, his brother should know about it. Sans was sitting by the bar and they had a rare moment in a secluded corner of the diner, Papyrus doing puppy eyes at him, blushing and fidgeting. He was so precious. Oh, my. No wonder I fell head over heels in love with that adorable skeleton, Mettaton thought. His less adorable brother was talking to the bartender who didn't care much for his antics. Or at least it seemed so to the robot TV star. Hmm… intriguing. He'll ask Papy…

"So, darling... ," he started, shifting his gaze from his soon to be boyfriend to his annoying brother who was chugging down… ketchup? Papyrus leaned over the table, excited. "Yes, Mettaton?"

"Do you know why your brother frequents this bar so much? What's so good about it? The restaurant at the hotel is so much better… but also pricier, but that's beside the point. Is there a reason?"

Papyrus conspiratorially looked around before he leaned even more in, almost whispering. "I don't know for sure, but he comes here ever since we moved here. He's friends with the owner, Grillby." He motioned toward the fire elemental who cleaned the glasses and occasionally stopped to get an order from the patrons. His lips formed a smile. That's very interesting. Mettaton's suspicion got even more affirmed when Sans's voice carried over to their table and he caught the last words. Bad skeleton puns. Again. Then, something caught his eye. He could swear that the elemental chuckled. The ever stoic bartender who was rumored to be emotionless. And the… intimate feeling around them all the more confirmed it for the robot. Oh, he's got some… material to work with. Finally, I'll get the older skeleton brother for getting between me and Pap, Mettaton thought, smirking.

The robotic star enjoyed the evening with his cute cinnamon bun as he secretly called him to the fullest. But all the while, he kept tabs on Sans and his behavior around Grillby. The two were chummy. But both were afraid to take the first step. Why, Papy was the one who made the first step in their case, but what's slowing them down?

He has retired for the evening, but not before he kissed Papyrus on the cheek. His brother scoffed and dragged his little, adorable brother away. "We'll meet up when I'm done at the studio. Toodles!" Mettaton sent his soon to be boyfriend air kiss and the skeleton almost fainted from the overwhelming love he felt. "See ya later, Mettaton!" Papyrus said before he left with Sans in tow. The robot sighed as he went back to Hotlands. While he slipped in his bed, his mind forged a devilish plan to stop Sans for good. Papy will be wholly his.

The next day, he awoke and did his routine showbiz work involving looking good and showing off his legs. He couldn't wait until his work is done as he counted the minutes and hours before he could proceed with his plan. When he broad - casted the cooking show and he was told they were done today, he squealed and ran to Snowdin as fast as he could. Mettaton pulled out his cell phone, huffing all the time when he called. He expected Sans to pick up as he always did and this time was no different. " 'up mettaton?"

"Oh, nothing, dear. I just wanted to talk with you. Come to Grillby's, okay?"

"what's this about? i could get papyrus for you, this is his cell after all."

Mettaton stopped running, his breathing ragged as he yelled out inside the microphone receiver on his cell phone. "JUST COME!" and he hung up and sighed heavily and walked the rest of the way to Snowdin.

He stopped before the outskirts of the snowy town, taking in the fresh, chilly air. It was a good thing he was a robot or he'd freeze over. Mettaton walked over to the famous and only bar in the area and opened the door. He saw Sans seated exactly where Papyrus sat yesterday. Mettaton approached him and sat down, a grin settling on his features. Sans shrugged, but the robot star saw through the skeleton – he was nervous. Oh, he had a good reason to be nervous. After all, Mettaton knew his secret he tried so hard to hide, but failed in the end.

Mettaton made himself comfortable and crossed his legs, smirking at the overprotective skeleton. "I've called you here for a reason. Listen up, you bag of bones. I'm not gonna let you bully me anymore!"

Sans cackled. "oh yeah? how so?"

"You see, I just happened to come across some SCANDALOUS information that I don't think you'll be keen on me spreading –" Sans interrupted him with his cackling, but he pretended the skeleton never cut in. " – so here is the deal. If you don't give me and Papyrus some space for us to do our thing…" His complexion got totally worried, awaiting the robot's further words. "I'll tell Grillby EXACTLY how you feel about him." The robotic star of the Underground couldn't help but laugh at Sans' misfortune. Why, he was the source of his misfortune!

Sans got all blue in the face and Mettaton knew he had him where he wanted – cornered. Ha, take that! No more getting between him and… The skeleton stood up and Mettaton grew anxious. "Wait… where are you going?" he asked as matter of factly, but the skeleton didn't pay attention to him. He walked towards the bar and when he reached his usual seat by the bartender, he halted and talked with him over something. Mettaton couldn't make out the words due to the jukebox, but then bartender grabbed the skeleton and kissed him fiercely, gaining cheering and applause from the patrons.

Now it was Mettaton's turn to turn blue, but in despair. He wanted to blackmail Sans, not help him confess! This is a disaster, now he has NOTHING on him again. Ugh, he was so stupid! Sans came back to the table, chuckling like crazy as he sat down like he didn't just kiss his longtime crush. "hey, this was your plan? grillbz has been dating me since last year, mettaton. thanks for the opportunity to come out, we've been waiting for the right time."

If Mettaton could, he would strangle the skeleton, but he'd never do it. Papyrus would never forgive him for hurting his brother. He just didn't get it. He wants some happiness, but he won't allow his only brother to experience the same thrill of romance?

"Sans, I don't get you. You don't want Papyrus to be happy?"

"i do."

"Then let me make him happy. He's everything I could ever want."

"fine. it's about time i dropped the obnoxious older bro act. i just wanted to see how far you would go for him. you'd even blackmail me for his sake. you're something, i'll give you that."

Mettaton blinked, confused with sudden revelation from the skeleton. The robot star slammed the table, pointing at him. "You did that on purpose!" He settled down when everyone turned their attention on them and Mettaton was embarrassed by his outburst. When the patrons resumed with their rambling, Mettaton exhaled deeply, collecting his thoughts. So all those times in the past, he did that for Papyrus? Not his selfish desire to protect his baby brother?

"I get it, you're a funny guy. And cool brother."

"nah, papyrus is cool."

Mettaton chuckled at that. "He certainly is."

A newcomer came in, looking around. He went for their table. "Aha! There you two are!"

Mettaton blushed when he saw Papyrus. "Oh, Papy! You looked for us? I am sorry we didn't tell you. We just had a… family chat."

"family chat?"

"FAMILY CHAT?!"

Both brothers shouted, appalled.

"Why, of course. Not now, but it's going to happen one day."

Sans coughed nervously, his left eye blinking. "uh, i'll leave you two alone. grillbz didn't hear my knock knock jokes yet."

He went to the bar and ordered his drink, still in shock.

But looking back at his brother who laughed earnestly with Mettaton, he found himself chuckling as well. Papyrus found a good match.

If he however ever hurts his bro… he'll regret ever crossing him.

"welp, grillbz. the cat is out of the bag. how about we head to your home after your shift is over?"

The fire elemental nodded and Sans sipped on his drink, content at last.

Things turned out nicely for everyone.

Everyone was happy.

[talesfromthefade]

“I wish I didn’t have these feelings, but I do.” for tonight's DWC?

Fenris x Anders for @dadrunkwriting

Hawke buys him a notebook when Fenris begins learning how to write as their reading lessons together progress. The elf does his best to impress upon his companion the ridiculousness of the gesture: he’s only just started writing, can barely spell anything, much less compose anything worthy of putting in a journal, but as often happens when the rogue is seized by an idea, she won’t let it go. That is not the point, she says, he deserves this- to have a place to put down his thoughts.

It’s a well-meaning and thoughtful enough sentiment Fenris eventually gives up trying to discourage her. He doesn’t tell her there were other opportunities to learn these skills in the past he’d turned down. He doesn’t try to explain how with Danarius thoughts were dangerous. And to put them to paper and ink? Unthinkable. Taking one’s life in their hands.

The book sits empty on his table for some time after Hawke gives it to him. She doesn’t ask, never presses or pressures him about it, for which the elf is immeasurably grateful. It probably shouldn’t be such a surprise- since his escape, Fenris has always taken some level of perverse pleasure in anything Danarius forbid and would have punished him for doing- but when Fenris finally does open it and put a quill to page it is nothing short of thrilling.

Of course, he’s no writer- still struggling with spelling, doesn’t know nearly enough words to express whole thoughts as Hawke’s own journal, or Varric- or even Isabela’s ridiculous- stories do. So he starts simple. He puts down his name on the inside cover, carefully making sure the ink is dry before closing the book, and periodically opening it again to remind and reassure himself his mark is still there. His name. In his own hand.

Later he begins making lists. It’s not perhaps the way most, or more literate individuals would use a journal, but the words, even as few as he knows how to read and to write evoke images and feelings- if only for him- and there’s a sense of pride flipping through pages as the weeks pass, seeing his lists and the words in them growing longer and more varied as he continues to improve.

He shows Hawke her list. Because he wants her to know he’s using her gift, to thank her both for the lessons and everything she has done for him before and since and let her know what she means to him. Because he can’t think of a better way of doing so, and he knows she won’t laugh at its simplicity or any errors.

-Hawke-friendprotectspatientpeaceloyalkindquick(And in significantly larger writing) Family

She cries, and for a moment Fenris worries he’s made a mistake before he’s suddenly enveloped in a fierce hug. She kisses his cheek and tells him it’s beautiful. Fenris carefully tears the page from the book and gives it to her, and finds it carefully and lovingly pinned in a place of honor above her desk the next time he visits the estate.

He starts making lists for the rest of their companions. There’s some overlap, of course, with a growing but still somewhat limited number of words at his disposal, but eventually, each begins to grow and branch out.  He even adds to Hawke’s sometimes when he’s visiting and happens to think of a new one. Every now and again he asks Hawke, or one of their other friends for help with a word for someone’s list, though unlike Hawke’s he keeps these largely to himself. Not all of the lists or at least some of the items on them are positive ones, and though it probably wouldn’t seem so to anyone else they’re rather personal. None more so as time passes and the lists continue to expand-to the elf’s great surprise- than Anders’.

The healer’s list had, from the very start, vexed him the most. Most of the words he knew being too neutral to convey quite what he wished to. Fenris is forced to simply recall or imagine the intense dislike with which he generally uses the word ‘mage’ and ‘abomination’ when he writes them at the top of Anders’ list. He adds ‘dangerous’, then ‘fear’ which he immediately crosses out, then writes again, because it’s true, and it’s not as though anyone else will read this. Hawke is right, he should have a place for his thoughts, even if he voices many of them now that he’s free. He reluctantly adds ‘useful’ after the mage patches them all up after they kill the high dragon plaguing The Maker-forsaken Bone Pit. ‘Funny (sometimes)’ after one amusing night of Wicked Grace in Varric’s room. ‘Gentle’ after Fenris see him helping to heal and comfort an injured child.

Anders list continues to grow and to fill itself with contradictions, until- for reasons the elf can’t entirely explain- it well outstrips the length of any of his lists for his other companions, and features many things crossed out only to be rewritten shortly thereafter. Bafflingly unexpected words like: ‘handsome’ (three times crossed out and rewritten). Fenris writes ‘fear’ again on the line after that; he feels it’s justified given the way the list is going. It isn’t until later when it’s Anders that is injured on a trip to the Wounded Coast, Anders they all help take turns carrying back to the clinic, until he sees the healer sprawled on one of the cots for his patients and shakily accepting and downing each potion his assistant brings that Fenris realizes just how much.

Still, he never actually meant for Anders to find out. Fenris opens his journal a few weeks later to add an amusing joke Isabela had shared with him only to be greeted by unfamiliar words in a hand that is definitely not his own. Anders, he thinks, recognizing it from the various copies and drafts of the mage’s manifestos he’s seen around Hawke’s mansion. She must have purchased a similar such journal for Anders. Which means, the elf realizes with dawning realization and horror, Anders must have picked up his notebook at the end of the night playing cards by mistake.

It’s late. Anders keeps long hours, but Kirkwall is hardly the safest place to travel alone after dark these days, even as well armed and armored as he is. And surely, barreling into the mage’s clinic in such haste so soon after departing his company would only arouse suspicion and curiosity about what the elf might be so keen to keep private. But if he waits… Fenris thinks anxiously pacing the length of the foyer as he debates the matter with himself. Perhaps the healer has already retired for the night? Maybe he could just sneak in? Switch the journals before Anders is any the wiser?

Fenris stalks across the hall and throws open the front door of the mansion only to startle the same man occupying his thoughts, Anders’ hand raised on the verge of knocking, a familiar notebook tucked beneath his arm.

“Venhedis!”

“Oh,” the mage manages, amber eyes going wide. “Fenris, I, um-” he stumbles awkwardly, gaze dropping to his boots and the cobblestone beneath them. “I believe this belongs to you,” he says finally, thrusting the journal forward awkwardly.

“Yes,” Fenris nods, taking the book back as quickly as he can manage without seeming overly eager to do so. It is almost certainly his notebook, but the elf takes a moment to flip through the pages, breathing a sigh of relief and drawing comfort from the sight of his hand on the page, of the book once more safely in his possession.

Does he know? He’s acting… strange. But, then, the elf supposes in retrospect, Anders has been a bit different with him for a little while now. The barbs the two of them used to trade back and forth have become progressively less sharp, and increasingly less frequent. He can’t recall, in fact, the last time the two had an ugly enough argument Hawke felt the need to try and step in, or worse yet, make them apologize to one another. They’re not friends, at least, not the way he is with Hawke, Varric, or Donnic, but they don’t seem to be so antagonistic as they once were either.

“We seem to have accidentally traded,” Fenris offers finally, gently closing the book once more. “-come in,” he adds thoughtfully. He is still technically squatting here after all, and with Anders status as an apostate, it wouldn’t really do to be seen together on the streets just outside the mansion. “I’ll go and get yours.”

Anders nods, moving into the foyer and waits, rocking gently back and forth on the balls of his feet, hands folded behind his back as he waits for the elf to return with his own book. The mage seems especially set on trying to look busy studying the decor, except there’s little to speak of, Fenris hasn’t changed much or bothered to put anything up since moving in that would suggest someone lives here. He’s not been in any rush to do Danarius or anyone else any favors should they come to try and retake the place.

Fenris does his best not to flinch or recoil as Anders hand accidentally brushes his when he returns and hands the healer his notebook back, but it’s a near thing. Anders seems to notice anyway, frowning slightly.

“You really are afraid of me,” Anders whispers softly.

“You read it,” Fenris growls, eyes narrowing on the man in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” Anders apologizes, and for once it sounds as though the mage actually means it. “I shouldn’t have, I know, but I saw my name and I was curious.”

“It’s nothing personal.”

“Of course not,” Anders nods, awkwardly, though Fenris can tell he doesn’t actually believe him.

“I fear and distrust all mages,” Fenris continues, “You know that.”

“Yes,” he nods again. “Well, thank you for looking after this for me,” Anders says, holding up his book.

Fenris watches as the other takes his leave, before feeling a sudden clench in his chest, a hand abruptly darting out to catch the other’s wrist before he can pull the door open. “Anders,” he calls, voice scarcely louder than a whisper, slowly letting go of him as the blonde turns around to face him once more, a puzzled expression on his face. “I- I don’t know enough words. Even if I did-” he shakes his head, pulling the book back out and flipping quickly to Anders’ list, a lyrium lined finger tracing down the page, stopping at the first list of the word fear, crossed out and rewritten. “I am afraid of you,” he admits softly. “But-” he continues, finger tracing further down towards the bottom of the page where the word appears again. “Not as much as before. You- you make me-” he shakes his head again, no, this isn’t what he wants to say. “I’m afraid of myself around you,” the elf manages finally, green eyes slowly lifting to meet the stunned golden ones that stare back at him. “Of the things I feel when I’m around you. Or not around you. Or- fastavass- thinking about you,” Fenris continues, frustratedly, drawing a steadying breath before continuing softly. “And I’ve been afraid of what you might say or do if you knew.”

Anders blinks, still slack-jawed. Then suddenly he’s laughing, shaking his head. Fenris frowns bitterly. Really, he should have known better. He did, but the knowledge doesn’t do much to soften the blow.

“Goodnight mage,” Fenris frowns.

“Wait,” Anders interjects, sobering quickly as he catches sight of the other’s expression. “Fenris, no, I- It’s not that. It’s just you obviously didn’t read mine,” the mage offers with a small half-smile. The elf shakes his head, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Why?”

“Because if you had,” Anders smiles softly, one hand gently reaching out and cautiously taking Fenris’ in his own, “you would have known you don’t have to be afraid of that, or- that we’ve shared the same fears, at least.”

“8th of Harvestmere,” the mage recites, amber eyes never leaving the elf’s green ones, “Maker, help me, there’s no way this can end in anything but disaster. I don’t know how or when it happened, but I think I love him. I-”

The door to the mansion slams shut with a loud thud as Fenris shoves Anders back against it, crushing his lips to his before the other can say anything more, or the elf can think twice about it, both notebooks falling to the floor temporarily forgotten as arms and hands wrap around one and clasp one another.

Waking early the next morning just as the sun begins to peak through the slats in the windows, Fenris takes a moment to admire pale, freckled shoulders on the opposite side of the bed, strawberry blonde hair fanned out across the pillow, and the peaceful expression on his newfound lover’s face before carefully slipping away to pad downstairs. He collects the books, taking care to place Anders’ on a nearby table before retreating with his to the nearby desk with his quill and ink and begins a new page.

-Anders-protectscareshealsgentlefunnyhandsomesmart (And in significantly larger writing) Love

[smartgirlsaremean]

The Wedding Planner - Chapter 11

Fandom: OUAT

Pairing: Rumbelle, side of Swanfire

Rating: N/R

Summary: Wedding planner Alan Gold doesn't have much faith in romance, and little to none in marriage. A chance encounter with sweet librarian Belle French has him almost reconsidering his beliefs until he receives a nasty shock: she's the bride in the most important wedding of his career.

AO3

Chapter 11: Gold has a few strange conversations, and thinks that finally, FINALLY things might start to go his way for once.

“The...movie guy?” Gold asked weakly.

“Belle told me,” Gaston said. He sounded slightly stunned. “I mean, she didn’t tell me it was you, but she told me she...met someone.”

“That could be true of anyone, Mr. Lefleur.”

“Anyone who likes Westerns and knows more about my fiance than I do, sure. But that’s a pretty short list.” After a brief silence, during which Gold still couldn’t quite muster the courage to look his former client in the eye, Gaston huffed. “So...this isn’t a thing for you, is it? Getting all cozy with…”

“No!” Gold exclaimed, startled into meeting the younger man’s stare. “It wasn’t... we weren’t...it was...just a movie.” Gaston crossed his arms, and Gold’s hand twitched on his cane. “You’ve no reason to believe me, but...nothing happened. It didn’t...mean anything.”

“I saw you two days later,” Gaston said flatly, “and you were still all moony over her. And when you met her as Izzy you didn’t say anything. If it didn’t mean anything, why lie?”

Gold sighed and pushed one hand through his hair. “It seemed...impolitic to mention it. You clearly didn’t know, and it wasn’t...my place.”

“Right. Why would the wedding planner want to talk to the bride and groom about their relationship? Totally not your business at all.”

“My job was to get you married.”

Gaston raised his eyebrows, and something in Gold snapped. He was so damn tired of pretending, of acting like he hadn’t hated every moment of the last two weeks, of smiling and nodding and carrying around the weight of a secret that was, apparently, a secret no longer. And after all, what could the boy do to him now? Fire him?

“Fine,” Gold growled. “It wasn’t nothing. I liked her, a’right? I had every intention of seeing her again until she appeared as your fiance.” He stalked around the desk and approached Gaston, his temper bubbling when the boy merely looked back at him, a faint smirk on his face. “It drove me crazy, watching you bulldoze your way through this wedding, ignoring what very few suggestions she felt comfortable making. She nearly cried at the cake tasting because she didn’t know what you wanted. She damn near passed up her dream wedding dress because it wouldn’t match the theme you’d decided on.” He took a deep breath, feeling a bit of savage satisfaction in the way the light in Gaston’s eyes had dimmed somewhat and his smirk faded. “That day at the vineyard? She didn’t wander off the path. She was pulled off of it by the groundskeeper and very crudely propositioned, and you were so busy ogling the proprietor you didn’t even notice she was gone.” Gaston’s eyes widened and he tried to interrupt, but Gold held up one hand. “She’s been miserable every moment, and I was the one who saw it all, who was dressing her for the moment she would walk down that ostentatious aisle in that gigantic park in front of five hundred strangers and promise to love, honor, and cherish you until death did you part. So you’ll forgive me,” he finished with a sneer, “if I’m not exactly keen to discuss her with you.”

“Easy,” Gaston said quietly. “I know I was a jerk, okay? But I didn’t do anything to deserve the two of you sneaking around behind my back.”

 “We weren’t sneaking around,” Gold snapped. “Nothing…”

“... happened.” Gaston shook his head. “You both keep saying that, but it’s not true, is it? Something definitely happened. Maybe nothing major - like, I know you didn’t get physical or anything - but something. We wouldn’t be standing here otherwise, would we? We’d be laughing about the coincidence and moving on.”

An image of Belle’s tear-streaked face and glowing eyes swam in Gold’s head for a moment and he blinked. “I…”

“You fell for her, didn’t you?”

Gold rolled his eyes. “I thought we’d established that.”

“No, I mean you fell for her. You’re in love with her.”

Taking a deep breath, Gold prepared to deny it, but one look at Gaston’s face told him that would be fruitless. “Yes,” he said.

There was a moment of silence, and then Gaston started to chuckle. “Man, this is the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had.” The chuckles turned to genuine laughs, and Gold couldn’t help a small smile despite everything. Twenty years in this business, and he’d never had a conversation quite like this one.

When Gaston’s laughs died down, the silence in the office seemed much less thick and thorny, and Gold breathed a little more easily. The boy didn’t seem as if he were about to threaten to sue him for breach of contract or blacken his name in the business, and if he could just convince him to leave before he asked anymore awkward questions…

“So what now?”

Like that one.

“What do you mean?” Gold asked.

“Belle made it sound like you weren’t into her, but obviously you are, so…”

“What exactly did she tell you?” Now that it seemed she hadn’t divulged the worst of their secrets, he was less wary of what she’d said.

“That she’d met someone she liked a little too much, considering she was supposed to be marrying me, and that she’d seen him since but ‘nothing happened.’” Gaston punctuated the last two words with air quotes, and Gold rolled his eyes. “And she said the guy didn’t want her but she knew calling it quits was the right thing to do. Why does she think you don’t want her?”

“Perhaps because you were my client and I wasnae exactly broadcasting my feelings for all to see?” Gold asked dryly.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” Gaston scratched his head. “But since you do…”

“No,” Gold said quickly.

“Wait. You don’t?”

“Don’t be daft, of course I do. But she doesn’t.”

“She...doesn’t? How do you…”

“Well, for one thing, if you’re her type, I most definitely am not,” Gold pointed out. “For another, she...she was unhappy. And I was...there.”

“So?”

“It wasn’t real.”

Gaston shrugged. “Look, I’m obviously no expert on Belle’s feelings. I don’t know for sure that she’s in love with you, but you don’t know for sure that she’s no .” He shook his head when Gold made to argue. “Take it from me, man, it’s not a great idea to assume you know how someone else feels.”

That brought Gold up short. The boy had a point. Gaston nodded once when he realized he’d won that round and finally, blessedly, turned to leave.

“Just so you know, I’m not letting this go,” he said as he opened the door. “That Blue chick said some seriously messed up stuff, and I don’t think you’re the only person she’s done this to. If I can scare up some more evidence against her, would you testify?”

Gold began to nod, but then hesitated. “Actually, my daughter-in-law might be of some help,” he said. He scribbled Emma’s name and number on the back of one of his own cards. “She’s a bailbondsperson and she mentioned that she had some information. Mind you, I don’t know how much of it was legally obtained, but perhaps she can at least get you on the right track.”

“Awesome.” Gaston pocketed the card and held out his hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, Goldie. Next time I get married, maybe I’ll look you up.”

“Don’t bother,” Gold said dryly. “If I never plan a wedding again, it’ll be too soon.” He grinned as Gaston walked away, the sound of the younger man’s laughter echoing in the empty lobby.

Alone in his office at last, Gold felt the last of his energy drain away. He slumped in his chair and stared at the open door, watching as his colleagues - soon to be      ex    -colleagues - began to trickle in. Each face came with a name, but Gold realized suddenly that he didn’t actually know any of them. Stefan was from - Italy, perhaps? He had no idea, and never had. Tink’s accent gave her away as Australian, and there were a few other planners and assistants who could have hailed from other lands. He recalled Blue’s threat from a few weeks ago to deport Stefan, and he shuddered. At the time, it had seemed like a joke, but now...how could he be sure?

Gaston, at least, would follow through on his promise to investigate Blue’s business practices. If there was one thing Gold had learned about the boy, it was that he was impossible to shake off when he got an idea in his head, and Belle had intimated that his good intentions and passion for justice were qualities she admired, and Gold hoped she was right. Suddenly, simply leaving Fairy Tale Weddings and never looking back wasn’t enough. He wanted Blue to suffer.

“Mr. Gold?”

Gold looked up to see that Astrid, Esther’s timid, pleasant assistant, was hovering just outside his door.

“Yes, Miss Novak?”

“Ms. Blue asked me to bring you this.” She entered the room and held out a thick file. Gold took it and flipped through the contents briefly.

“Thank you, Miss Novak,” he said. “I’ll have them ready for her before noon.”

“Are - are you leaving us, Mr. Gold?” Astrid asked, her eyes wide.

“I am.”

“Wow,” Astrid whispered. “I’ve never known anyone to quit Fairy Tale Weddings before!”

Gold paused with his pen over a document. “Never?”

“No! I’ve been Miss Blue’s assistant for ten years. Either people retire or they’re - uh - let go. But no one ever quits.”

“Well, I have,” Gold said. He filed that information away, determined to drop Gaston a line. A business was expected to lose employees occasionally, wasn’t it? He looked up when Astrid still hovered above his desk, her face a picture of nervous solicitude. “Yes?”

“What will you do?”

Gold raised his eyebrows. “Whatever I want to do.”

“Whatever you want,” Astrid sighed. “That sounds wonderful.”

He hesitated, and then took Gaston’s card from the small file on his desk. “Miss Novak, if you need...assistance of any kind, or perhaps a friendly ear, do give this gentleman a call.”

“Gaston Lefleur? Wasn’t he the groom in the wedding you - I mean - the wedding that got canceled?”

“Yes.”

Astrid’s fingers hovered over the card and she met his eyes, her expression troubled. “Are - are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Tell him Goldie sent you.”

“Goldie?”

“It’s a very long, ultimately uninteresting story.” He gave the card a little shake. “Take it, dearie.”

Her hand trembling a little, Astrid took the card from him and tucked it into her jacket pocket. “I’ll be back at noon for the papers, Mr. Gold. Good luck.”

“Thank you, my dear. The same to you.”

  Two Weeks Later  

“Not bad, Rumple. Not bad at all.”

Gold looked up from his draft table to see that Jefferson was turning in a slow circle in the middle of the sales floor, admiring the set. As the shop was for custom couture, the ready-to-wear section was sparse, but a few of the simpler designs he’d created over the years were arranged on mannequins, and he’d had several of the photos of his previous wedding gowns magnified and framed so that they took up most of one wall.

“Do you have it?”

Jefferson grinned and made an elaborate gesture with his arms, beckoning him outside. Rolling his eyes, Gold rose and followed the younger man out to the front of the store, where a large wooden sign leaned against one of the display windows. It was draped in a white sheet, and Gold knew Jefferson had carefully planned this little production.

“Well?”

Jefferson frowned down at his phone and shook his head, holding up one finger. Gold huffed and reached for the sheet, but Jefferson slapped his hand away. “Patience, Rumple!”

“Yeah, Pops, what’s your hurry?” Neal grinned when Gold whipped around to see his family and Jefferson’s daughter Grace walking toward them. “What? Like we’d miss the big unveiling.”

“Golden Hat, though?” Emma asked, wincing. “I mean, no offense, but who in the world is going to go to a dress shop with a name like…” She cut off when Neal elbowed her. “But I mean...I guess those incredible dresses in the window might change their minds.”

“Ye of little faith,” Jefferson said, shaking his finger at her. “I’ll have you know Rumple and I had many a long, intense conversation about just what to name this little enterprise, and we came to an amicable compromise.” Off Emma’s disbelieving snort, he added, “Of a sort.”

“Can we please get on with this?” Gold asked. “Unlike some I could mention, I have work to do.”

Jefferson pressed one hand to his heart, his expression wounded, and Gold bit back another sigh. If Gold’s leaving Fairy Tale Weddings had caused a stir, Jefferson’s resignation had caused a positive maelstrom. Unlike Gold, however, Blue had no hold on Jefferson whatsoever, and so he had swanned into her office half an hour after Gold’s paperwork had been filed and given his two week’s notice. Her ire had been something to see, if Jefferson and Astrid were to be believed.

“Alright,” Jefferson said at last, frowning again at his phone. “I suppose we can get on with it. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, it is our distinct pleasure to welcome you all to…” He whipped the sheet off the sign. “The Spinning Wheel!”

Gold blinked. “What...That isn’t what we agreed.”

“I know, but...you were right. Golden Hat was, to use Grace’s words, a dumb name.” Grace giggled when he ruffled her hair. “And anyway, this shop wouldn’t exist without you, so...The Spinning Wheel it is.” He crossed his arms and grinned. “Surprised?”

Gold nodded, an inexplicable lump rising in his throat as he took in the wording on the sign. It was in the shape of a single drive spinning wheel, “The Spinning Wheel” emblazoned on it in elegant script. Below, in smaller letters, were the words “Gold & Bucket.”

“It’ll do,” he said at last. Neal and Emma protested, reassuring Jefferson that the sign was beautiful and would draw in the very best customers, but Gold was distracted by the approach of a large van ambling down the street. The sides of the van were painted with the logo from Game of Thorns, and he wondered where he had heard that name before. The van’s brakes squealed as it pulled up in front of the shop, and the driver leapt out and strode purposefully around to the back of the van. Moments later he emerged with an enormous bouquet.

“Any of you named Gold?” he called.

Dumbstruck, everyone pointed at Gold, though technically nearly all of them could answer to that name.

“Here ya go,” the man said, holding the vase out to Gold, who took it automatically. The van had rattled off down the street before any of them had recovered from their surprise.

“That’s an...interesting combination of flowers,” Neal said, poking at an orange rose. “Weird color choices. Orange and purple?”

“Maybe let him put the flowers down before we grill him about them?” Emma said, brushing past Gold to open the door.

Gold walked into the shop and set down the vase, suddenly wishing that all of them would teleport back to their homes, because he had just remembered that Game of Thorns was the name of Belle’s father’s florist shops, and he would really rather not react to his first contact from Belle in weeks in front of his nosy, dramatic family. Neal and Jefferson were studying the bouquet with very serious expressions, and Emma was watching them, a look of fond exasperation on her face.

“Maybe whoever sent this just thought the flowers were pretty,” she said patiently.

“Nope, no self-respecting florist would combine these flowers for aesthetic,” Jefferson said, pointing out a pink camellia. “These flowers are sending a message.”

“So what is it?”

“I don’t remember what orange roses are for,” Neal said thoughtfully. “But we’ve got purple hyacinths - those are for apology - and irises - those are for ...courage?”

“They mean a lot of things,” Jefferson said. “Courage, hope, friendship…”

“And pink camellias, which mean,” Neal looked up and raised his eyebrows at his father, “longing.” Gold felt his face heat up. “What are orange roses, Jeff?”

“‘Proud of you.’” Jefferson grinned at Gold, his eyes gleaming. “I know who these are from,” he said in a singsong voice.

“So do I,” Emma said.

“What? How do      you     know?” Jefferson sounded very put out.

She held up a small white envelope. “I found the card.” With a smile she handed the card to her father-in-law. “Who’s Belle?”