#i'm christine nice to meet you will!

[wasawattpadkid]

Housewife

Part - 1

Summery: Billy and Stu have been planning these murders for quite some time. Everything is going to plan until you show up. What happens when they meet someone who is just as mentally deluded as they are?

Pairing: Poly! ghostface x fem!reader

Warnings for this series: murder, blood, smut (will be more in depth on smut chapters), power dynamics, a dash of sexism, knives, stalking, perverse behavior, cheating,

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19

"Do you have anything you'd like to tell us about yourself?" You hated this. First days were known to be horrible for a reason. Why on earth would you want to tell a room full of strangers some random fact about you? They don't care if you have a pet nor do they want to know why you're here. The room was dead silent waiting for you to hurry up and sit down. "Umm-"

"What's your cup size?" A boy asked making the other kids in the class snicker. The dark-haired boy next to him smiled shaking his head in disapproval. "Steven I'm not doing this with you today, out." Steven groaned already grabbing his books. "But miss-" With a stern point of the finger she spoke again. "Out!" The class once again fell silent and you couldn't possibly feel more uncomfortable. You've done nothing wrong yet within 5 minutes you feel everyone staring at you with disdain.

Once the door closed behind Steven the teacher spoke again. "I'm terribly sorry Y/n. Just take Steven's spot for today and we'll figure the rest out tomorrow." A simple nod was all you could muster. All you had was a pencil in your hand and a bright yellow notebook sitting on top of your new desk. You closed your eyes trying to fast-forward time. This was the last class of the day and it could honestly not be worse. "Don't worry about him he's a dick." The note on your desk read. The boy to your left looked at you then the paper wanting you to send the note back.

With a quick scribble, you handed him the paper. A huffed laugh left his lips as he read "You are what you eat." The note was then crumpled and shoved into his pocket. That seemed to be the end of your conversation with the stranger but you pushed further. Leaning to the side you whisper, "What's your name?" Instead of saying anything he opened up his notebook. The black and white cover was scuffed showing obvious signs of use. He lifted the book showing you the inside. With a single word written in big letters. 'Billy.'

The class went on, no more pleasantries being exchanged. The bell rang signaling the tiring day was over. You were going to say something else to Billy but he was up and gone by the time you looked up. "So much for that." You mumbled as you got up. The movies always showed the new girl getting all the attention. Everyone tries to quickly mold her into their cult-like clique. Maybe it was the dress you were wearing or the way you wore your hair that made you look like a prude. Growing up with your grandparents sets you up for a life of social isolation.

The parking lot was crowded but not crowded enough to not see your bright red car. Just as visible was the short-haired boy sitting on the hood. "Get off my car." You scolded flatly. "Holy shit this is yours!? How'd you get it?" He asked bouncing with joy. "It's my dad's so I don't want you sitting on it. Thanks." You tossed your bags in the car as he continued talking. Just a second ago you were praying Billy would keep up some conversation. Now you're wanting nothing more than to get home. "Man look it's Christine!" He shouted as the girl next to him covered her ears. "Is he always this loud?" She laughed at the question shaking her head up and down. "Unfortunately. I'm Tatum, so you're the new girl everyone's talking about?"

A puzzled look fell over your features. "Who's talking about me?" Before she could answer Billy walks up to the car. "This is nice." His blabbering friend seems disappointed with that answer. "Nice? It's fucking awesome! Can we ride in it?" He turns to beg you. Billy looked over at you raising his eyebrows in silent confusion. "I don't even know you." What part of 'dads' car did he not understand? "I'm Stu, this is Billy."

"We've met." Billy says gesturing towards you. "it's nice to meet you Stu but I don't give rides to strangers." He walks over throwing his arm over your shoulder. Way too much physical contact from someone you don't know. "Well you know my friend Billy and now you know me. I'd say we're all friends here." Tatum rolls her eyes at her friend's antics. "If you two are going to harass this poor woman I'm leaving. I've got to catch up with Sydney. See ya, babe." She blew a kiss at Stu which he caught.

"Pleaseeeee." He begged. Just as Billy was about to intervene you agreed. "Fine but no food, drink, cigarettes, or really anything that could mess up this car. Got it?" You laid out the rules as you climbed into the driver's seat. Stu bit his lip nodding his head. "Yes ma'am. Come on man." Stu said as he jumped in the car. Billy stood awkwardly looking down at his feet. His eyes nervously looked around almost like he was late for something. "Go without me I've got some errands to run." Stu stuck his head out of the window. You tapped the steering wheel impatiently. "Come on man Christine is like your favorite movie." At this, Billy laughed.

"No, I think you're confusing things. A murderous car is definitely more your speed." At this point, you regretted saying yes to Stu. "Please come with us I don't trust him." Stu covered his heart in fake hurt. "If you should be worried about anybody you should worry about Billy." You seriously doubted that. Sure he was quiet and a little unnerving but he might just be shy. "Fuck it." His hands smack his thighs in defeat. Stu loudly rejoices at his friend's surrender. "Get in the back."

You figured Stu would put up a fight considering he was there first. Yet he opened the door with sad eyes and quietly got into the back. It was strange. You weren't sure how long these two had been friends but it was an odd dynamic. "Why do you get to sit next to her?" Stu whined from the back seat. "Because she doesn't trust you." A laugh forced its way from your throat. "Who said I trusted you? According to him, I should be careful around you." You pointed to the man in the back who gladly smiled. Billy propped his arm on the window shaking his head slightly. "I'm sorry but dressed like that you need to be careful with everyone."

"Gotta agree with him on that. You look like Betty Crocker." Stu leaned his head on the seat between you and Billy. "Don't get me wrong it's kinda sexy but still very grandma." With a roll of your eyes, you started the car, hearing the engine purr to life. The boy next to you cracked such a small smile you'd have to catch it on camera for proof that it happened. "This is amazing! I fucking love you, Betty Crocker." Stu kissed you on the cheek making your nose crinkle. At that, Billy actually laughed. Nothing too dramatic though. "Ew can you not touch me at all? Jesus Christ." With one hand on the wheel, you took the other to wipe your cheek.

"Now you see what I put up with," Billy adds. "Oh, so you kiss him too huh?" You drove out of the parking lot heading to the main road. "Only on weekends." Stu shrugged. You giggled but Billy didn't seem to find anything funny. "So what brings you to this hell hole?" He asks still keeping his eyes out the window. "Me and my moved into my grandparent's house after they passed. He found a good job here too so ta-da here I am" Stu leaned forward to press buttons on the dash which you promptly swatted his hand away. "What is your deal with this car?"

Stu seemed shocked you had to even ask. "It's Christine baby! The man-eating car." You blinked a few times a little confused. "You know the John Carpenter film? Came out in 1983. Same guy that directed Halloween with Michael Myers." Billy seemed interested in this conversation more so than others. His whole body seem to turn towards you actively listening to anything you had to say. "Of course, I know Halloween I've just not seen Christine." It was Billy's turn to pick at you. "You're telling me you've never seen Christine but you've got the car?"

He must be brain-dead to think you got a car based on a movie. "This is a 58' Plymouth. It is way older than the Christine movie. I've got the original if you ask me." Stu looked like he was adding numbers to fact-check your math. Billy on the other hand had the same stoic expression on his face. His eyes dragged up and down you seemingly trying to figure out something. "Say where do you two live?" Stu gave out directions to his house without hesitation. "You can just drop me off at his place." You nod in Billy's direction as you focus on the road.

"Why do you dress like this?" Billy picks at the fabric of your dress. It seems no one in this town knows what personal boundaries are. But you guess it beats the awkwardness of a new friendship. With these two it's like you jumped ahead. "I like it." Plain and simple. Billy wasn't buying it either was Stu. "It's more than just that. You know people look at you differently do you get off on that sort of thing?" The question was rude. If you had a backbone of any sort you throw him out of the moving car. Being a people pleaser however made you give him an honest answer. "Maybe. Do I notice when people look at me hatefully? Duh. But at the end of the day, I'm happy they looked at me at all. I mean you both look like every other teenage boy out there. You don't want to stand out?"

Stu liked your answer it was honestly one he could relate to. "No, we like to blend in." That was all Billy said. It was a change from the chattiness before. "Well, what about you Stu?" Billy turned to look back at the boy. Meanwhile he was happy at being included. When it was just him with some girls he could say whatever he felt like. When Billy was around things were different. Just with his eyes he could tell Stu what and what not to say. He didn't mind of course he loved Billy more than he would ever know really. Plus he knew his personality could be a lot for new people. It was nice to have someone to let him know when enough was enough.

"Like he said we like to blend in. We're not big attention whores." He laughed. You don't think the comment was aimed at you but you couldn't help but feel a little hurt by it. "What's your name?" Stu asked while he lay down in the back seat. "Y/n." Billy once again needed more of an answer. "Y/n what?" He was looking for a last name. "Wouldn't you like to know?" Stu's eyes shot back and forth between you two. "I would. That's why I asked."

"Well, you ask too many questions. Unless you're looking to change my last name I don't know why you'd need to know." Billy wasn't mad. Aggravated sure but not mad. You were smart. Not smart enough to tell two psychos to fuck off but smart enough to not hand out personal information easily. He'd have to work for it which he loved to do. "Is your place down this road Stu?" The boy perked up. A little sad that the ride was over. "Yeah just go on down."

"What are you doing this weekend?" Billy asked seeing his window of opportunity was closing. "Nothing much why?" More boring and cryptic answers. "We should come over to your place this weekend seeing as nothing's going on." Billy looked at his friend for backup. "Absolutely! I could bring a copy of Christine and we could get mad wasted!" Billy closed his eyes regretting asking him for anything. "I don't drink. Never had a reason to."

"Well, Ms. Crocker I'm giving you one." Unfortunately for these two you had self-preservation skills. Getting drunk with two men you don't know at your house is not smart. They act like you haven't seen any scary movies. "I'm not getting drunk with you two. I'll think about hanging out this weekend but no drinking. My dad would kill me if he knew I had two dudes in the house let alone drunk dudes." Billy could work with that. Stu was practically jumping at the idea to hang with you. For once he didn't have ulterior motives. He couldn't say the same for his friend who had that gleam in his eye he's seen before.

You pulled into the driveway saying goodbye to your new friends. "See you at school tomorrow?" Billy asked knowing the seat you occupied today would be permanently vacant so you could stay next to him. "Unfortunately. Bye, losers." You waved at the guys ready to get the hell home. The boys watched as you pulled away, the bright red car was easy to follow down the road. "What do you think about her?" Billy asked his friend. "She's alright man. Needs better taste in movies but I can fix that." Billy agreed but something just wasn't sitting right with him. In one day you managed to weasel your way into their lives. He wasn't sure if he wanted to watch movies with you or make you the star of one.

Part 2

A/N: I've been writing for about 5 years now but I'm new to the Scream fandom. I just recently watched the first movie and I can't seem to get these two out of my head so feedback is greatly appreciated! See ya lovelies 💞

[dried-mushroom]

Omg can you please write about Lee Russell being mean to you in front of Gamby as like a power display or something but then when y'all get home (y'all are like Secretly dating since you're just a teacher) he's all nice and romantic to apologize?

YIPPEE I found another lee Russell lover! don't judge please I'm Australian so I have little concept of American education. I hope you like it.

Warnings: Lil angsty and implied sex

Be mean to me

Lee Russell x reader (well Christine sucks so she's not in this story)

Life was pretty peachy as a history teacher in North Jackson high school, you were stuck teaching from a range of boring topics to your either half asleep, barely listening or teacher pet students, except you were sleeping with the vice principal, Lee Russell. You couldn't resist that southern charm radiating off his tongue when he spoke those words on your first day as a teacher, in the parking lot.

"Mornin' Sweetheart, are you lost? The names Lee Russell, Vice principal of this very high school and you're way too fuckin' pretty to be a high school teacher."

After taking a good look at the lanky man who called himself the vice principal, you couldn't help yourself, and after promptly introducing you to your fellow teachers, he briskly walked you to the janitors closet where you both spent all morning. Obviously, you both knew this had to be kept a secret, boss and employee dating is a no-go, although that did not stop you both from being affectionate when no was watching, sharing a peck when you went to visit him at his office or the grasp of his hand on your thigh under the table at meetings or after work, where it was safe to be yourselves and you could lay together watching borderline cheesy romcom movies whilst Lee critiques his heart out.

You sighed contently as the bell for seventh period rang, the mingled voices of your 6th period ancient history class rushed out the door to their next useless class and you could finally relax and start lesson planning for the next 45 minutes. You let your hands run down your thighs, smoothing out your new dress (this but more teacher appropriate). You brought this specifically for Lee, you knew of his love for colours, hence his usually eccentric clothing choices, you knew he'd love the pattern on you. You couldn't help but smile giddily and walk out of the classroom, you knew you could easily finish the planning later and you'd rather spend the last of the school day with Lee.

You swiftly walked down the hall to administration, smiled sweetly at Swift, because you knew how rude Gamby was to her for no reason, and she didn't deserve that, like Gamby seriously needs a reality check in your opinion.

"Afternoon Miss Swift, I hope you're doing alright and Gamby isn't giving you a hard time, I was hoping to see Mr. Russell, I had to discuss long service leave with him."

"Oh, thank you miss l/n, vice principal Gamby is albeit rude, but I think he's getting better, and of course let me get the door for you."

You knew she wasn't stupid, and you assumed she knew about you and Lee secretly dating, but it was better to come up with an excuse and be safe rather than sorry. Smith quickly opened to door and shut it behind you.

"Well, hello there honey, I was expecting you- and what's this? isn't this a pretty thing?"

He shot up from his desk chair and sauntered over to where you stood, he placed his hands on your waist and whispered in your ear.

"I can't wait to rip that off you gir-"

Suddenly the door swung open, and Lee jumped away from you, 'of course Neal Gamby, you had to come fuck everything up." you thought to yourself, now awkwardly fiddling with the hem of your dress.

"Russell. We need to talk. Why the hell are you here Miss. l/n? I thought Wednesday 7th period was your planning lesson."

Before you could reply to Gamby, Lee interjected,

"Exactly, Scram Miss l/n, I don't need nor want you here, I have better shit to do, plus what the fuck are you wearing? you look like a fuckin mess, pick a goddamn colour."

Your heart sank, an uncomfortable tightness sat in your chest as your face flushed in embarrassment. You knew Lee being a dick to you was only a ruse to throw off other teachers and admin but, fuck it hurt, it hurt so much to have him speak to you in that way. You nodded your head and headed to the door,

"Open or closed Mr. Russell?"

Gamby responded for him, responding in a curt 'Closed.' leaving you to silently shut the door behind you. You walked out of the administration office before your eyes welled with tears, but you waited until you reached your classroom until you broke, sobbing quietly at your desk. You just wished you and Lee could act like a couple instead of the cold shoulder act he'd be giving you. With the mixed signals and nausea swirling through your brain, you grabbed your left-over paperwork and bag before leaving. Usually, you and Lee would leave at the same time, but you couldn't bear to see him at the moment, all your hard work, making yourself pretty for him and resulting in him publicly humiliating you was just too much.

The short drive home eased you a little but when you had to walk up those steps of your shared home, it just brought back that sickly tension. You unlocked the door and set your handbag down (another reminder of Lee since it was an anniversary gift). You kicked off your heels and headed upstairs to your shared bedroom. You didn't bother to change and slumped into bed, fresh tears coming to your eyes, you didn't care whether you were quiet or not, sobbing yourself till you couldn't keep your eyes open.

Lee's POV:

He regretted the words as soon as they came from his mouth. He saw the hurt on your face, and he felt his stomach twist into a tight knot. He hated being a dick to you, hated it so much he hated himself for doing it. He realised he went way too far this time with you, and he really didn't want to lose you and couldn't help but fidget with his hands whilst blatantly ignoring whatever bullshit Gamby was bitching about.

"Sorry Gamby but I gotta run, not like you'd know what that is though. We'll talk about Brown tomorrow, now get the fuck outta my office."

Neal sighed, muttered some regurgitated insult but ultimately left. Lee rushed to grab his belongings and ran out the door, Smith tried to ask where he was off to in a rush,

"Sir, you can't just leave! where are you even going???"

When he pulled into the driveway, 'Thank God' he thought as he saw your car parked there. He got out, left all his belongings in the car, not a care. You were more important; you were the most important thing in his life. He opened the door and called;

"Shut the fuck up Smith, I can leave whenever the fuck I want and its none of your business where I am going."

Smith squeaked a reply, but Lee was already down the hall, he went to your classroom and groaned when he noticed a lack of you and your belongings. He ran to the parking lot, got into his car as soon as he didn't saw your car, without a doubt it was always parked next to his. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white, he shakily exhaled, he knew he had fucked up and was hoping you were at home.

"Y/n baby, where are you? I'm so sorry about what I said."

The silence was nerve-racking, so after checking all the other rooms for you, he headed to the bedroom to check. There you were, peaceful and asleep, he couldn't have been happier. He walked across the room to the side to the bed you were facing, and sat gently on the bed, softly stroking your hair.

Your POV:

You slowly awoke out of a dreamless slumber to someone touching you. You flinched when you realised it was Lee, and you remembered everything that happened today. He felt your reaction and immediately pulled his hand away. He saw the tear streaks on your face and sighed,

"Y/n I am so fuckin' sorry; I should have never had said those hurtful things to you, you didn't deserve that, God, I don't deserve you. I didn't even mean them, I need you so much, and you do so much for me, and I take that shit for granted, please forgive me y/n, I love you."

You saw the raw emotion across his face and sat up, you could see the tears in his eyes, and you couldn't help but wipe the one away falling down his cheek with your thumb. You smiled softly and leaned into him,

"I forgive you Lee, and I love you so much. I don't think you meant it but what you said really fucking hurt, and this hiding our relationship is really hurting us, so please can we finally go public and not have to worry and hide anymore?"

"Thank you so much and fuck it! who gives a shit if you and I are together? whoever doesn't like it can suck my dick, I can't lose you honey."

You smiled, finally knowing you'd and Lee would finally be able to be yourselves without having hide and sneak around.

"You aren't losing me Lee; I wouldn't do that to you. Now kiss me, you idiot."

He didn't hesitate a second before crashing his lips into yours, your hands finding his neck before climbing into his lap. His hands sneaked around your waist bringing you even closer, you could feel his erection under you, and you couldn't help moaning into his mouth. He broke the kiss to whisper,

"Well now how about I make do of my promise from earlier?"

The End

I hope this was good! please leave comments or asks if you enjoyed :)

[tuliptired]

anything w egon and ta!reader 🙏🙏🙏

Southern Skies

Pairing: Egon Spengler/TA!Reader

no more fics abt kids for 10 years cuz I'm scared yall can tell when I'm ovulating

Better formatting on Ao3!!

The newspaper was spread out over the table, frankly ignored as all four men were scrambling to get breakfast in themselves before they headed out to a call scheduled painfully early. Egon paused, hoping to get a sip of coffee without it spilling over onto his underclothes, when he spotted it- an editorial that had consulted you for a professional opinion. Mug barely to his lips as he skimmed it, Ray appeared in front of him, ready to go.

“Something interesting?” he inquired, attempting to read upside down. Ray opened his suit a tad in hopes to get some air. “Jeez, it’s hot today.”

“It’s that time.” Egon’s own words making him start to wonder something, forgetting about the mug, guessing that it’d just have to go cold if they wanted to get there in a timely manner. “Do you recognize the name?” 

Ray got a proper look, squinting and fishing for an answer in his head, shaking it twice. “Not really. You know my memories’ shot,” he patted Egon on the shoulder, all the men filing out and down the steps.

Ray’s memory must’ve been crushed, ran over, and spat upon- Egon could remember like it was yesterday. He wasn’t complaining, really, content with the recollection being something he could keep just for himself as he broke into a small and selfish smile behind his friends’ backs.

Christine brought eyes to the clouds in exasperation “You don’t know how awkward it is to see a clone of your boyfriend everywhere,” she complained as you headed back to your dormitory. 

“Side-effects of dating a twin.” You let out a small laugh at her long-distance plight with your books stacked in your arms. It was nice and bright out, the perfect afternoon for a good, long book, or an equally as lengthy nap. “Are you at least, like, friends?”

She sighed, pushing open the complex’s doors. “A bit. We’re gonna have to be, anyway.”

“It’s not all bad. No need for those pictures he sends-”

“I’m not listening !” Christine whined, squeezing her eyes shut and pushing manicured nails into her ears while you snickered devilishly. “I can’t believe you saw those.”

You put the key to your space into the door. “Relax, I’m not reading your mail. Just stop leaving nasty letters on the coffee table.” Christine groaned in embarrassment, sinking into the armchair you got in a yard sale all the way back in winter.

“Speaking of,” she toyed with a fraying edge of the lime green fabric, “He called this morning. He’s still coming- just thought we should bring a few friends.”

You made a skeptic noise as you started on lunch for you and your roommate. “Ouf. During your big reunion trip that you can’t stop talking about?” you asked over your shoulder, washing some fruit.

“That’s the one.” Christine sat up, accidently pulling some of the thread with her. “I suggested it. I just thought he deserved to see them, after being away so long.” You traded your skepticism for understanding, placing grapes in a strainer. “What I’m trying to say…”

“I would love to take a road trip with strangers while you make out in the front seat. It’d be an honor, actually.” 

 Christine snuck a few grapes and popped them in her mouth. “You’re not as distant as you think. It can’t be that bad- I’ll be there!” she punctuated herself by stealing another handful. “What happened to our summer plans?”

“If I’m only being half sarcastic,” you ended up giving her the entire colander, “wouldn’t I be intruding?” She sat on the counter, legs of her jeans swinging back and forth.

“Not at all. I’d like you to meet him before the wedding,” Christine teased you. When you weren’t entirely receptive, she poked you in the side. “If you end up with the brother, our kids’ll pretty much be siblings.”

“Not how genetics works. We’d have to be twins, too.”

“We practically are.”

“Oh, of course.” you joked as she turned you both towards the mirror on the wall. You watched her hopeful face in the mirror. Why was she always the one encouraging you to try new things, anyway? These next few months won’t last forever, admittedly, and soon you’ll be put into the real world where you can’t just drop everything for a trip out with other young people. Plus, you needed to know if her boyfriend was as cute as she said. “When do we leave?” you finally caved.

Christine jumped up, full of excitement as she dragged you to the closet. “Oh, I have to help you pack!”

“Why would I wanna do that?” Egon said into the phone, slipping into casual speech with his brother on the other end when Peter and Ray walked in, back from their lunch. “I don’t like being in a car with you on a regular day.”

“Because I’m coming home and you wanna see me,” Elon answered, unaffected by his twin. Egon sighed into the receiver at his happy tone. Out of all the things he’s had nightmares about, being stuck in a hot car with his brother and his girlfriend was the most hellish. 

“Do they know you’re coming?” 

“The last time I surprised Mom she told everyone I died. I attended my own funeral. Hey, you could bring Pete and Ray along. It’s a whole thing- Chris offered.”

“What about us?” Peter said over Egon’s shoulders, making him flinch away from his friend.

“Wanna take a trip to the shore?” Elon raised his voice so Peter could hear him, Egon flinching in the opposite direction as his ears were assaulted on either side.

Ray dropped what he was doing, now intrigued. “A road trip?” he smiled. “We’re going!”

Egon handed his roommates the phone, since they were so interested in a little excursion with his brother. What was it about the concept that sounded so fun to those three? He could drive anywhere at any time without it having to be a “thing”.

“Oh man,” Ray covered the receiver, “apparently there’s a campsite with the clearest sky for stargazing,” he beamed.

“Get pictures for me,” Egon said plainly, turning his chair back to his desk. Peter didn’t like that, apparently, spinning his friend back around with his hands on his hips.

“You’re not staying here to rot while we’re off kissing girls and looking at space.”

He ignored the pseudo-vulgarity. “I’ll manage. Besides, I have work to get ready for.” Not entirely untrue, he did have an internship coming up- they all did, just not until much later in the season. Ray frowned, seemingly catching the man in his half-lie.

“That’s so far away, Spengs. If you do this, we’ll never ask for anything ever again.” Ray reasoned, grinning hopefully. Egon sat back in thought, under a spotlight shined on him by his two friends. His legs would get tired. He probably couldn’t wear a sweater in the heat. He’d have to sleep in a dingy motel at some point. But- he’d get a rare chance to actually see the night sky without light pollution. If it rained, he’d get a moment for fungus hunting. And maybe he did miss his brother. Maybe.

“When do we leave?”

You barely had time to catch the bag your friend nearly dropped before she was sprinting towards a parked light blue car by the curb with its trunk popped open. As you got closer to the little congregation, your mouth fell open as you got a real look at the man she was clinging to.

Holy shit . This was gonna be so much more fun than you thought.

“Lonnie!” She hugged him tightly, peppering lipstick covered kisses all over his face. The face you’d come to know quite well, actually. 

“Hey, Chris,” he smiled dopily. It was jarring, seeing that face smile so earnestly. They were the exact same person, down to the length and style of their hair, height- if you were crazy enough, you’d ask if they wore the same frames. And one of them was smiling? You had assumed that everyone in the Spengler family was a sea anemone. He, Elon, held onto her waist, before catching sight of you standing on the sidewalk. “Hi,” he grinned warmly, “have you met everyone?”

You couldn’t answer before he took the reins, introducing the unfamiliar men who you had only just noticed. Elon exuded being a natural conversationalist. How ironic? “That’s Peter. Psychology.”

You wondered why he was so familiar until it finally clicked. “I know you. There’s a girl in psych who said you slept over and stole her silk robe.”

“I can’t help it if I look better in it.”

Elon stifled a laugh- that girl was good friends with Christine. “Ray’s in engineering,” he managed to get out.

“I like your jacket,” you complimented, amused at the fashion choice in such unrelenting heat.  

“Thanks,” Ray cuffed his sleeves happily, “I like your lack of a jacket.”

You laughed at that, adjusting the bag on your back getting heavier and heavier by the second. “It’s 80 degrees!”

“Car ACs are no joke.”

Elon tried peeking around the back of the car. “I’m sure you’ve met my brother. He’s just a ray of sunshine.” 

“Sure.” You smiled inwardly, watching Egon arrange luggage like there was a science to it- which, there probably was. You headed back there, slinging a backpack off your shoulder. “Isn’t this fun?” you spoke lowly. He looked miserable, but in a humorous way. At least, humorous for you.

He didn’t answer, placing it in the trunk silently. You placed Christine’s on the roomy felt flooring next to a bit of camping gear before you spoke again, unbothered by his petulance. “I didn’t know you had a twin.”

Egon moved her bag, the spot you chose apparently not optimal enough for him. “I’d consider him more of a parasite.” That made you laugh as he shut the hatch, but didn’t lock it, the latching mechanism seemingly unfamiliar to him. You reached down, doing it for him before leaving him behind to join the rest of your new friends.

“At least he’s a cute parasite.”

Elon held the door open for his girlfriend. “You wanna sit upfront?” Elon asked before she shook her head, climbing into the window seat in the back.

Christine pulled her seatbelt across her chest. “I’ll get sick. Y/N, sit back here with me.” she patted the spot next to her. Elon nodded, getting into the driver’s seat while you slid in beside your friend, cherishing the space you probably won’t get again for the next couple of hours.

“Ray? Will you be my co-captain?” Elon starts the ignition, cranking his window down a crack. Ray got in the passenger’s seat enthusiastically, almost hitting his head on the roof.

“Do I!” he was virtually buzzing as he took in all the bells and whistles in front of him. You weren’t exactly a car person, but you could say this one was objectively pretty hip- even the leather felt nice underneath you. Peter and Egon filed in next, Elon pulling off from the sidewalk as Ray couldn’t contain himself, starting again.

He ran a careful finger across the dash. “Where’d you get this from, anyway?”

“I cashed in a couple favors, traded in the beetle,” Elon paused at a crosswalk.

Peter hummed. “Didn’t know they drove like this in yodieland.”

Elon put a finger up in defense. “I got this ‘cause of my exceptional business skills.”

“Just say you’re a bad dealer.”

Eventually, your little group made it out onto the highway, surrounded by high heels and even higher trees. You had the little book you had snuck in cracked open, but there really was no need. The car was full of excellent talkers, dissolving any previous fears about if it would ever get too quiet or awkward. Excellent talkers, excluding Egon. A silent part of yourself cursed Christine for picking the window, placing you in between herself and the psychologist, away from the victim of your tortures. But, your read and your position were forgotten about, book spread open and face down on your lap as Elon shared a riveting story about roller skating.

“Now that you mention skating,” Peter turned to you and Christine, her legs thrown over your own, “you’d never believe me if I told you how good Egon is.”

You sat up, somehow even more interested. “No way.” you flashed the man over Peter’s shoulder a wicked smile as he offishly avoided your gaze.

Peter nodded. If there was trickery in his eyes, you’d have missed it. “Yes way. Absolute god, too.” Elon and Ray made a few noises of agreement up front. 

“I’ll have to see it sometime,” you say as innocently as possible, enjoying the sight of Egon’s cheeks turning pink under the attention. “No need to be embarrassed- I think it’s cool.” you sounded genuine to everyone who wasn’t either of you, leaning forward to catch his eye.

It twitched as he searched you, just like it did in your lecture hall. Who said a classroom could only have four walls? 

“Not embarrassed for me,” he kept eye-contact, “embarrassed for you when you fall.”

There was a chorus of ooo-ing as you slumped back in your seat- not embarrassed yourself, but satisfied with his ability to get you back, even when it wasn’t over a work of fiction. “Very funny,” you started, needing an iron will to refer to him with his first name as to not make things look weird, “Egon.”

At some point, Christine had her face pressed to the glass while you were stuck in midday traffic- bumper to bumper. “Check out the moose!” she gasped, shaking your shoulder.

“Moose don’t live down here,” Elon spared a look while the car inched forward. You put your play down, squinting outside with her.

“Those are two bucks.”

“And they’re-” 

The car suddenly gained speed as traffic lessened, giving the two not-moose their privacy.

At some point, as the sun was getting ready to set, the car found itself on another long stretch of highway, no other vehicle in sight as you made your way around winding roads lined with yellow-green. Elon must’ve noticed something, or someone, with their thumb out when he decided to slow down, easing on the brakes as he pulled onto the shoulder.

The hitchhiker spoke into his half closed driver side window, “Hey, man. I just need a ride to somewhere with a bus stop.” Elon nodded understandably, saying something about checking the tires before you’d go.

“Try to make a decision before I get back,” Elon spoke softly as to not be overheard by your prospective guest. 

Egon definitely would’ve rather kept going, but Ray was the first to speak. “Probably won’t see anyone again for miles,” he presumed, turning in the passenger’s seat. 

“He can’t have any ill will. Hard to kill all six of us.” you offered, not to Egon’s surprise. He watched as you turned to your friend, tapping her boot against the floor. “Christine? What d’you think?”

She kept her eyes straight ahead, arms crossed. “Whatever gets us to the rest stop the fastest.”

“Don’t worry. Just don’t think about the beach. Or the river down there. Or drinking wate-”

“Be quiet , Peter!” she fussed. He apologized when she shifted around where she was sitting, checking how much progress her boyfriend had made on whatever he was doing.

Ray unbuckled his seatbelt. “He should sit up front,” he started, before Peter put a hand out.

“And where will you go?”

He gave his friend a bemused look, cocking an eyebrow. “I’ll get back there with you guys,” he said as if he was doubting his answer.

“With that butt? There’s no space.” Egon could tell you were holding in your own amusement before your own friend spoke up, foot tapping evolving into knee bouncing.

Christine squeezed your shoulder like it was a stressball. “I’d let you sit on me, but I think I’d piss my pants if you did.”

“Glad I’m being thought of,” you kept your eyes ahead as she once did to avoid being the next puzzle piece for this little dilemma. When you heard Elon approach the car again, with no verdict reached, you sighed heavily, unbuckling yourself and scooting forward. “You don’t mind?” his wide eyes caught sight of your hand on the frame of the door. He’d say no, make you sit on the roof; that’d keep you from bothering him. So why’d he say yes?

He thought he was done with this. The things you’d do, the things you’d say- he thought all of that was done, at least until school started again and he was locked into the same routine. But now, you were on him, and it wasn’t explicit but it felt that way and he couldn’t miss the look his twin gave him before he finally decided to drive and the car was moving . He got insanely self aware insanely quickly, cursing whoever it was that convinced him to wear a dingier pair of pants.

Elon couldn’t have been more careless a driver, bumping into potholes and sticks and whatever other debris littered the road ahead as he approached a town. He only had a second to burn a stare into the rearview mirror, before his brother stopped a little too hard, sending you sliding down the length of his bent thighs and into his torso.

Egon was absolutely burning up, hands not knowing where to stay as he unconsciously encompassed the middle of your back with both of his palms, sitting up uncomfortably. “Sorry” was all she could mutter as his heart clamored to the front of his chest.

Except, you looked back at him. Smiling . “What’re you sorry for?” you asked sweetly, quiet enough so only he could hear. This was his affliction acting up again, head swimming without coherent thought. He knew that this was nothing but your poison, giving him a perfectly reasonable reaction to the toxin. Like Claudius and Hamlet. God, he was thinking like you.

So Egon didn’t say anything, planting two hands on your waist like he’d seen his brother do to Christine. He could be poisonous, too.

The car sputtered to a stop at a larger gas station outside a little town, forever tainted by the sight of Christine running inside before she could have an accident. Peter offered to fill up the tank as the hitchhiker made his way to the bus shelter, and everyone emptying out the car left only you and Egon. 

“Thanks,” you grinned, pinching the apple of his blank face before you climbed off, following them all. He knew he’d rather stay alone in the car, but Peter had yet to bring the last 8 minutes up, and he was most likely close to breaking.

Egon gave Ray a half-hearted thanks as the interior gave him much needed relief from the sun, even if it was in the form of a handful of desktop fans. He wandered off from you and Ray as you stocked up on campfire-food, his eyes drawn to the knick-knacks for sale that lined the walls of pure dark wood, wherever there wasn’t an ancient looking antique mounted. A charming kind of hospitality, Egon thought as he passed another shelf full of anything anyone would stock up on. 

There was a lunch counter facing a large window that gave patrons a wide view of the orange sunset. But, he wasn’t so much drawn to it as he was to the glass classes full of confections and pastry that garnished the benchtop, marked with differing prices. Egon’s stomach sang at the idea of a slice of cake. When was the last time he had a good dessert?

“Huh. Pegged you more of a vanilla-guy.” Egon jumped. You had to stop popping up everywhere. “Let me buy it for you.” you kept your eyes on the crystalware. 

“Buy an entire chocolate cake?”

You shrugged, arms full of packets of graham crackers. “Sure, if you promise to go halfsies.”

Egon couldn’t think of much as you started towards the cashier, simply following you. “Why?” was the only word that came to mind. You stilled, sighing before keeping on.

“Because I find you so agreeable. Now, get my wallet for me.” And, naturally, it had to be in your back pocket.

You held the wax-paper wrapped one-tier in awe, both of you fairly hypnotized at opaque swirls of brown icing pressed against foggy parchment. You handed it off, telling him to hide it while you used the restroom. Egon hardly had a moment to take anything else in before you scuttled out the family bathroom, door shut harshly with your back.

“What?” He noted the quick rise and fall of your chest as you took a few steps away.

“They really missed each other.”

You all met Peter with bags full of marshmallow and chocolate when the stranger’s greyhound pulled up, coughing out exhaust. Elon quickly ducked into the glove compartment, springing out with a small baggie that his brother missed when he bounded over to the man. From this distance, the backpacker seemed elated as Elon returned, looking pleased with himself.

“What was that?” Ray placed the last paper sack into the trunk, away from the windows. 

“Expanding my business to the east coast,” he answered confidently. His eyes went round at the sight of a police trooper against the tangerine horizon, ushering everyone back inside so they could get back on their way.

It was past dark when they pulled into the parking lot of a state campsite, virtually all for themselves. Egon felt out of place when he gandered at his reflection in the mirror of the visitor’s bathroom, t-shirt and Peter’s lounge pants replacing his normal pajamas. He was starting to miss his cap and gown- it certainly would’ve protected against prospective ticks better than the short man’s bottoms leaving his ankles bare.

Elon drove out to the lake, where Ray was put in charge of starting a fire and assembling smores. At some point during the little mass, you had stopped him passing one to Egon insisting that you see the inside. You crinkle your nose, before grabbing the bag of marshmallows and handing him one on a stick. 

“How do you eat yours?” Your tone was professorial, as if you weren’t trying to interrogate him on how he toasted a mini cube of gelatin and sugar. Egon plucked it from you, holding it over the flame for all of three seconds. You made a face, taking it back. “There’s a right way to do it wrong.”

He watched as you let it burn completely charcoal black. Before he could refuse, you put a hand up, deep in concentration. Your fingers pinched the burnt outside, meticulously sliding it off to reveal a gooey, white center which you haphazardly rolled onto your palm after sampling the caramelized shell. “Try,” you held it out to him. Egon made a face in turn, silently refusing. He cowered, attempting to nix you when you climbed over your stump and onto his, eventually forcing the treat into his mouth. Reluctantly, he chewed, and found it wasn’t all that bad- if not a bit hot. He caught his brother’s eye as you sat back, licking the residue off your fingers, and the warmth and smoke of the fire caught up with him as he frowned. This was not enjoyable. This was the poisoned goblet

When the fire was out, they could really enjoy the night sky above them. It was an inky oil spill, dappled with the light of soft stars in an uncorrupted plane, vast and never ending as it rolled on in every possible direction. “It’s beautiful,” Christine marveled, curled up into her boyfriend while they sat on the grass.

Egon kept his eyes upward to avoid the sight of Elon’s fingers dancing along the hem of her pajamas. He muttered something about a better place to see it all, and they were off somewhere in the sloping hillside. Your knees were tucked into your chest when Ray leaned over, smiling.

“Have you ever seen stars like this?” You broke out into your own smile, shaking your head.

“Never,” you clenched and unclenched your hands, appealing smaller. Egon could feel that pull in between his eyes, that involuntary darkness in his face. But it wasn’t directed at you. It was directed at his friend. Where was this coming from?

Peter stood then, shaking refuse from himself. “C’mon, Ray. I’ll grab the camera and we can go up there for some good pictures.”

Ray stayed sitting with his legs crossed. “Oh, it’s okay. You can see it great down here.” 

“Oh, you’re so much better with the camera than me,” Peter persisted.

“I wouldn’t say that-” Ray started to wave his friend off, before he was hoisted to his feet and led off into the darkness somewhere. That left only you and him.

You rose when they disappeared over the trees, unlocking the trunk and propping it open as far as it could go. After clearing the way from stray bags and luggage, you procured a blanket that hung over the backseat, draping in across the bed and settling in. Egon looked on stiffly, before you touched the space next to yourself. “Because you don’t like the grass,” you said simply.

He sat, legs dangling over the edge of the car ungracefully. You didn’t seem to mind. “Isn’t it perfect?” you venerated heavenward. Egon took in the celestial body, marbling in a color he had only seen on your sweaters. Other hues swirled and mixed with each other, creating a depth that he was sure would match your corneas. Airglow flowed out from within Andromeda, streaks of energy peeking and hiding within a dark backdrop that mirrored the flow of your hair. The stars speckled everything in sight, being everything and nothing at the same time, content with vacuity and shining in abundance. He nodded, transfixed.

“I never realized that stars weren’t just…dots. Now they’re in front of me, and they’re things .” you expressed, attempting to trace them into vaster shapes. “It’s a shame the moon isn’t out.”

Egon did the same, scanning for a constellation. “Burning groups of hydrogen turning into helium, letting out electromagnetic radiation.”

You twinkled. “Show-off.” You leaned back on your hands, before sitting back up, digging around and emerging with the cake from earlier. “You hid it back here?” you judged him playfully, stealing two forks from the glove compartment.

“One for you,” you pressed a fork down the middle of the, surprisingly undamaged, dessert, “and one for me.” Egon was wary as you took a piece from his half, bringing it to his lips. His pupils crossed as you held it between his eyes, and he held back as if it was venom. He took the fork from you instead, whatever fluttery feeling that was happening in his abdomen flying away. 

You took your own bite, and nearly melted. “What’s in this?” you said around a mouthful of cake. Egon savored some of the pleasant, treacly chocolate flavor.

“Cherries,” Egon deduced, the both of you going back for more. At some point, you had clutched his arm, eyes wide and glowing.

“A shooting star!” you pointed, the streak of light soaring through space for a mere few more seconds before it faded as quick as it appeared. “Did you make a wish?”

He sat unaffectedly, arm tingling where you had touched him. “An archaic superstition.”

You raised a brow, sitting back again. “You believe in ghosts and possession, but not wishing on stars?”

Egon didn’t have an answer, and a silence fell when you brought yourself back to the cosmos. “If I had the time, I’d look more into astronomy.” He didn’t know what forced that out, perhaps it was the vulnerability of megacosm enveloping him.

“If you had time?”

“Astrology, if I had an eternity.” Egon paused, when you let out a noise of acknowledgment. “Its connections with the paranormal are worth researching, however frivolous.” In the corner of his vision, you were sitting and staring. Eyelids low, gaze burning and expression unguarded. Poison.

“You’re not just a robotic physicist.”

He was lost for words. “To who?”

“To me, at least.” Egon’s eyes studied every bit of your face, like a robotic physicist. Eyes with a depth that matched the hues of the night sky. Hair flowing like the airglow of space. There was a beating in his ears, drowning out sounds of rustling grasses and a rippling lake in the wind. If the universe had a tangible sound, it’d be this. And it sounded like your breathing. It all created a new layer of confusion for him. This reverie was voluntary. So why could he see ether within you? The medley of matter and the atemporal shine of stars?

An indecent noise pulled him from his rumination, though it did nothing to raise his temperature even higher than it already was. “They must’ve really missed each other,” you remarked, climbing over the backseat to grab your toiletries. Egon frowned, watching your figure retreat in the direction of the visitor’s bathroom. He only followed in case you’d get lost. But his insides still felt stark.

Egon woke when your head hit the trunk door, and you winced in pain. He sat up, not quite remembering electing to sleep in the commodious back seat, but recognizing that he was no longer in the middle of a park. He clutched the blanket pooled around his middle closer to himself, feeling like an indecent woman as you got the door open. This was a parking lot. To a diner.

“Well, don’t you two look nice.”

“You left us,” you stood at your friend’s table, not nearly as chastened at being in the middle of a busy restaurant in your sleep clothes as Egon was.

Christine smiled apologetically, putting her mug down, “Sorry, you just looked so peaceful.”

You both returned to the table after freshening up in the bathroom equally as eager to eat the breakfast that was ordered in your absence. Before having anything of your own, you split off a piece of the pie Christine saved and wordlessly slid it over to Egon. He ate it just as wordlessly.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Ray started from across the table, “The book you were reading earlier- it was Liliom, right? Are you a fan of Rodgers and Hammerstein?”

You brightened. Egon didn’t much enjoy the taste of pie anymore. “Oh, yeah! I love Carousel,” you clenched and unclenched your hands again.

“That’s great! My graduating class did Carousel!” Ray leaned forward. You parroted him.

“In highschool?” You asked, awestruck. “I’m jealous.”

“What’s Carousel?” Peter wondered indolently, buttering a piece of toast.

“It’s this opera-musical about a mill worker-”

“Who falls in love with a carnival barker-”

“But he dies trying to provide for her! And he has to redeem himself for their future daughter.” you say simultaneously, breaking out into a fit of laughter. Egon felt  ill.

“You were going to see Midsummer Night's Dream, right?” The question slipped out without much thought from him, though without any resistance or regret.

He added sugar to his coffee while you wiped your eye. “Yeah, there’s a revival in this theater with the best costume design.” 

“I’m surprised you enjoy it so much. I mean, it is a parody of its audience.”

You narrowed your eyes in the same owlish way you did at the chalkboard. “A parody of the audience?”

“Lysander, Hermia, Helena, Demetrius?” he offered. “Do they not mock the audience’s romantics?”

“They’re young and in love . They’re more of an ode to the audience, if anything- look at Hermia.”

Egon clicked his tongue, watching on as your passion sparked. “Her argument in the woods speaks otherwise. It mimics the efforts of the showgoers.”

“It mimics their situation!” There was the flame. He smiled to himself. This was familiar. This wasn’t confusing.

The back and forth continued, both developing a thesis: you asserted that love was arbitrary and that’s what makes it special, and he argued that love was arbitrary and that’s what makes it fleeting. You were brought to a standstill when Elon charmed a local motel owner into letting everyone use the showers- only being let in after vowing that no one in your party was a “hippie-lunatic-drug-dealer.”

What would’ve been an afternoon to get to the beach turned into an evening, when unexpected downpour managed to back up the highways. It didn’t seem to bother Elon or Ray, as they found an indoor flea market to explore while they waited for the storm to pass. It wasn’t all bad- there were endless tchotchkes to look at and Christine had managed to haggle for some unexpectedly good donuts.

The car eventually pulled into the beach town at night, joining dozens of others in the parking lot of an ocean themed motel. It was close enough to the boardwalk that the neon signs reflected off the windows, shining in Egon’s blinking eyes. Ray looked on eagerly as you popped the trunk.

“You saw the size of that coaster, right?” he asked Peter.

“Sure did.”

“We’re going on it, right?”

“Sure are.”

“You guys coming?” He asked you and Egon, making sure he still had his wallet.

You looked around, noticing that your friend and her boyfriend disappeared, probably at the front desk. Then you noticed all the stuff left to bring in. “Don’t wait up,” you breathed out, letting the men race each other to the attractions.

Egon started to help you pull bags out, before you gasped, looking up at something over your shoulder and stopping him. “What?” he followed your gaze to the yellow-lit windows of the kitsch inn.

“They’re catching up on lost time,” you dismissed him, “let’s just-” you put everything down, shutting the door. There was a beat of quiet filled with the sounds of fun from the oceanside, before you turned to him, grinning at the absurdity of the situation. “We’re stuck out here.” 

You lead him towards the boardwalk, hands in your pockets. “I don’t suppose you’re a fan of rides,” you assumed.

“I’m not. You can go ahead. I’ll just,” he pushed up his glasses, “wait.”

“No way.” Egon was confused as you threw a few glances around, before stealing over to the edge of the wooden boulevard. “Come on,” you clutched a woven rope.

There wasn’t much for him to do but follow, cringing at the feeling of sand under his shoes. You led him rather quickly, only stopping to get a better sense of direction. “Don’t you need a license to be on the beach?” Egon put out.

You halted at the bottom of a formation of large rocks. “It’s the beach,” you made your way up them like a staircase, “I shouldn’t need one.”

Egon sighed, prudently doing as you did when you waited for him at the top. They weren’t that high, just slippery from the tide as they formed what was natural and short pier. “This isn’t safe,” he warned, anxiously watching as you teetered to the end. “There are rules against this.”

“Just look,” you pointed upwards once he cagily caught up to you. The moon was finally visible, white beams bathing everything in a dim, pale light. It seemed so close from here. “Turn around,” you patted him on the shoulder. 

Egon hesitantly agreed, only turning around when he felt your clothes hit his back and heard your footsteps running down the makeshift wharf. There was a hearty splash when he raced to the ledge, pupils dilated when you didn’t come back up. He chucked off his shirt, diving in after you.

Your head popped out above the foaming surface of the ocean, laughing madly as you wiped the water from his face. “I remembered I can’t swim,” you gasped, gleefully holding onto Egon’s shoulders in an attempt to stay afloat. He blinked away salt from his eyes when there was the sound of a whistle from down the beach, making him hold you closer to himself.

Egon regarded the way moonlight bounced off your smiling face, seawater lapping around where you held him. Poisonous.

[violetmuses]

Can't Get Enough - A. Aretas ❤️‍🩹

Title: Can't Get Enough - A. Aretas ❤️‍🩹

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe

Character: Armando Aretas

Pairing: Armando Aretas + Female Reader

Main Storyline: When Armando Aretas returns to Miami, one familiar face shows up sooner than later.

Tag List: @nelo0wesker @yassbishimvintage @nobodygetsza @peaxhygirl @superstar-t20 @adoresmiles @klssngss @deja-r @hyper-trash-panda @amethyst-loves-bucky 🏷

======

2024

Traveling around the world pulled strings for quite some time, yet Armando Aretas returned to Miami, Florida on this bright and sunny afternoon.

“What's up, man? I'm parked outside.” Detective Mike Lowrey stepped forward to dap Aretas up.

After facing many questions or encountering secrets over time, Mike would take responsibility here and stand up as Armando's biological father.

“Thanks for picking me up.” I didn't know who else to…” Armando trailed off.

“It's fine.” Mike then completely understands this point, whispering. “I'd feel better if you stayed with us anyway. Someone else might call authorities before you could even settle in.”

“Yeah.” Aretas genuinely struggled to express himself. I'm just…”

“Tired?” Mike asked.

“That's putting it nicely.” Armando shrugged before joining the classic Porsche. “Can we drop it, though? I don't wanna bum you out with my bullshit.”

“That's fair.” Mike attempted to ease the situation once more.

“Yeah.” Armando speaks up again, thankful while air conditioning chilled down the vehicle.

_______

Until further notice, Armando settled in the guest bedroom located upstairs. Very few belongings took space when Aretas organized essentials.

After taking this much-needed shower, Aretas headed downstairs and noticed that Christine Lowrey, Mike's wife, had returned.

“Hey. Did you just get back?” I didn't hear the garage.” Armando already observed different parts of the house.

Mike married this remarkable person named Christine, a physical therapist. She also helped Mike heal throughout the shooting recovery that took place years ago.

“I drove back from work early because you were here, Armando.” Christine smiles.

“What? You didn't need to…” Aretas feels shocked in a quiet way.

“Of course.” Christine then laughed for just a moment. “Ready for lunch?”

“Thank you.” Armando nodded, joining the kitchen table with Mike before Christine sat down.

Peace.

*****

“Time to work.” Driving his classic Porsche, Detective Mike Lowrey pulled up to the Miami Police Department by morning.

“That's our job Armando left the passenger seat.

“Got jokes now?” Mike laughs while entering this well-known precinct.

“No.” Armando declined, walking toward the briefing room to join others.

Right when Armando and Mike genuinely sit down together, one voice called out:

“Nephew!”

Detective Marcus Burnett, Mike's longtime partner and best friend, reached that briefing room this time. Staff members chuckled around this space.

“I know.” Even Mike shook his head.

“Habla demasiado.” Slyly pointing toward Burnett, Armando whispered to Mike and used his native language of Spanish.

“Your Uncle Marcus.” Shrugging, Mike laughs for real.

“Está loco. ¿Recuerdas la fogata?” Aretas expressed the campfire nonsense.

“Yeah.” Mike nodded, ending the conversation before Marcus sat down.

“What'd I miss?” Burnett veiled Skittles in his pocket despite showing up early this morning.

“Uh-uh.” Disappointed, Mike arched his brow toward Marcus.

For once, Armando held back laughter while observing.

When Captain Rita Secada stood behind the podium and began this meeting, everyone settled for business.

Here we go. Aretas thought.

*****

“Seeing an informant today.��� Mike gathered with Armando and Marcus in the hallway.

“Cool. Are they coming to the station?” Marcus genuinely questioned his partner.

“Going to her place.” Mike grounded location details. “It's too risky if the public learns our assignment.”

Her? Armando stood puzzled by curiosity this time around. Who could help us with this drug case?

Silent, Armando joined the car, exiting with Lowrey and Burnett to figure everything out.

______

Sunlight warmed all around Florida palm trees that lined up near gorgeous homes.

Within seconds though, Aretas became silent for once.

Navigation signaled your old address.

When that door finally opened, you emerged and sent Armando through an inward tailspin.

His expression turned unreadable for this assignment, but feelings pulled in so many ways.

“Hey, Mike.” You cleared your throat. “I didn't know that y'all would come over so early.”

“Bad timing?” Mike didn't even know what to think.

“Not at all. Just finished cleaning the house.” You declined, silently welcoming Marcus and Armando through. “What's going on?”

“Whenever you're ready, we need some intel, all right?” Mike questioned. “Pushers started running again, especially in clubs this summer.”

“Okay.” You nodded, watching your hands to set the kitchen table for guests. “Let's do it.”

_______

“You good?” Mike noticed immediately that Armando wasn't talking and excused himself from the table.

“We knew each other.” Aretas exposed new information and revealed your bond.

“What, seriously?” Gobsmacked, Mike almost clenched his teeth over Armando's connection to you.

“It's a long story, but yeah.” Aretas went on just a little more. “We met right before my mother escaped prison.”

“Damn…” Mike stepped back through disbelief right now.

“Mike!” Marcus called from the living room out of nowhere.

Returning to that living room, Mike and Armando see Marcus facing pictures on the walls.

Armando smiled, beaming like an adorable goofball throughout various photographs.

“Are y'all together?” Marcus pointed between you and Aretas.

“We broke up.” You say.

“But y'all still have pictures organized around the house!” Marcus pulled theatrics.”Might as well get a dog too.”

“My mother got in the way, but I don't wanna talk about it.” Aretas planned to work instead.

No other choice.

*****

Red and blue overcasts hit various neon hubs that grooved throughout South Beach. The police department just locked down monsters again.

That same night, Armando returned to your house and turned off the news, just grateful that you were okay.

“Can we try again?” You glanced down and realized that Aretas nearly fell asleep on your couch.

“Hmm?” Armando wakes up, grumbling to seek long-awaited kisses.

“Can..we…” You trailed off that response when his now gentle lips met yours and made up for lost time as he smiled for real.

Just when your fingers smoothed his beard, one cell phone rang.

Leaving his warm embrace, you frowned when Armando picked up the call.

“Hello?” Despite so many years passing, you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Sorry. Marcus is losing his mind right now.” Mike spoke up.

“No more Skittles?” Armando tried first.

“Uh-uh.” Mike refused that idea. “It's not about snacks. He's looking for you.”

“What's up?” Armando questioned his father while puzzled.

“He's acting really paranoid about your relationship.” Mike told the truth.

“I don't care.” Armando defended himself and only watched, concerned.

“I'll deal with Marcus. Just know that I'm happy for you, all right? Bye.” Mike hung up and left Armando with you once more.

No matter what happens next, you'll never lose each other again.

[basedkikuenjoyer]

When the Clock Strikes

Hey hey, 1125 gave us a lot of fun stuff to ponder. Starting with this. Here, we don't need to overdo it...

I'll let that speak for itself, certainly leaves us with a lot of nice intrigue around Stussy going forward which I am in favor of. There's one key thing about this chapter I have to get to and she surprisingly ain't it. Though I still love you Stussy, enjoy your ambiguous fate after an arc of a divided heart. Let's get to the main attraction:

Well well old friend, we meet again. For a good time, and a great taste...slap Garling into the open Gorosei slot. This presents a great opportunity to learn about both him and the elders. We still don't really have a clear picture of how much the average citizen really knows about these upper echelons of the government. Like...do you know who Christine Lagarde is? It's public knowledge, she's a powerful global figure. Head of the International Monetary Fund. Just because there is a fair amount of info about her available doesn't mean most people really think about her much. You probably didn't even know or consider the possibility when reading the previous sentences that...not who's in charge anymore. Her successor took over five years ago.

Point being, Garling represents an interesting shakeup. Most importantly that I will get to pester y'all with Mac Tonight jokes for many chapters to come. Emplemon has a great video on YouTube about the former MacDonald's mascot, he's a treasure that we can hopefully pull out of his brief corruption by internet racist dweebs...or make a lot funnier if Garling predictably ends up a genocidal maniac. Which, in conjunction with Dragon puts forward a really good note on Vegapunk's broadcast. This has a high likelihood of kicking off a lot of conflicts over higher ground. Speaking of Vegapunk...

It was a choice between badass Edison and the hall of Vegaparts. A very tough choice. Gets us to the title, a callback to a motif for our humble genius. What does death mean for him? Turns out not a whole lot. They don't mention Lilith having a connection like York still would, so I do wonder if hers has been fully cut. Either way, very cool final flourish for Punk Records. It floats away to go dormant until it's needed. Honestly...not unlike Toki's plan with the time fruit. And that gets me to the other big connection to those core aspects of Wano.

This fascinates me. The spoilers obscured how active Saturn was in this decision. But that's what makes it interesting. A last note of how our decisions ripple. Even ones that made perfect sense at the time.

Ultimately, hard to tell what this chapter represents. We cut away from the main cast, but that's normal to see one or two between arcs. We're still unpacking Egghead though so I can't fully say it feels finished here. If nothing else, we could bring it home by ending with SWORD finally getting to Drake. Who knows? But I'll see you next week, thankfully we won't have to wait long.

[seaoflove07]

Love Planted a Rose 🌹

~ Dark ~

• Artwork by The Drawables •

Full Art Cover and Story Description, Here.

OCXCanon. 🔪 Azusa & Christine’s Story. 🌹

Fan Fiction Written by Me.

Fandom: Diabolik Lovers.

Masterpost.

- Sunday Night -

At the Mukami’s Garden.

Azusa and Christine were walking in the manor’s garden together. After breakfast, Azusa told Christine he wanted to go for a walk with her.

Christine: “I think I’ll be spending a lot of time here in the garden this summer. It’s so peaceful.”

Azusa: “Do you... mind if... I join you...?”

Christine: “I don't mind. I actually would like that.”

(I mean it. I don't know why but I'm getting used to him…)

Azusa: “Look...! There are roses… over there...!”

As they walk closer to the roses Christine caresses gently one of the red roses petals.

Christine: “Estas rosas son muy hermosas.”

Azusa stares at her with confusion on his face.

Azusa: “Rose… did you just speak… in Spanish…?”

Christine: “Yes, I said, “these roses are very beautiful.”

He smiles and runs his fingers through her long blonde hair.

Azusa: “Among all the flowers… You are… the most beautiful… rose… I have ever seen…”

Christine: (I can feel my cheeks flushed…)

Azusa: ”Your expression is really cute… Fufu… Rose… so you know… how to speak Spanish…?”

Christine: “Yes. My family and I are Puerto Rican. I lived there my entire childhood but once I turned thirteen my parents decided to move to the United States.”

Azusa: “I see… then you can teach me… Spanish… How do you say… Rose in Spanish…?”

Christine: “I don't mind teaching you some words in Spanish. Rose in Spanish is Rosa.”

Azusa: “These rosas… smell nice like you…”

She smiles.

Christine: “Do you know you are being cute right now?”

He caresses her soft skin.

Azusa: “You are... my precious... flower... I love your scent of roses… it drives me wild…”

Christine: (This man needs to stop! I can hear my heart beating!...)

Azusa: “Give me your hand…”

Christine: “Huh? Why?”

Azusa grabbed her hand and placed a rose in it, making her close her fingers around the thorns. Blood starts gushing out of her hand.

Christine: “Ow! It hurts!”

He increases more pressure to her closed hand.

“Ah! Azusa, Stop this already!”

She tries to pull her hand away but he tightens his grip.

Azusa: “Look... your cute hand and the rose is…covered in blood...”

Christine: (He is looking at the bloody rose in my hand with fascination…)

Azusa: “It looks... really painful... Isn't it... nice...? Should I... make it hurt... more...?”

Christine: “Please no! Let’s just continue walking through the garden.”

Azusa: “I can’t help it... Haah... Excuse me...”

He starts licking the blood from her hand.

Christine: (I don't fight him. What’s the point? He is stronger than me and he will still lick and suck my blood whenever he wants. So I stayed still for him. Accepting the pain…)

- Azusa bites her finger -

Christine: “Ouch!”

(It hurts so much!…)

Azusa: “Mmm… your blood… is delicious as always…”

*Slurp*

Azusa: “Rose...”

Azusa locks gazes with her.

Christine: (Oh, no! He's leaning down and his lips are getting closer to mine. I'm not ready to kiss another man. I need to stop him…)

She places her hands on his chest, pushing him gently.

“Azusa… the weather feels warmer tonight. Why don't we go for a swim? I haven't gone to the manor’s swimming pool yet.”

He smiles.

Azusa: “I’ll go anywhere with you...”

Christine: “Great, then let’s go back to our rooms to change into our swimwear and we can meet at the pool.”

Christine took a few steps but Azusa stopped her.

Azusa: “Wait…!”

He grabs a red rose and breaks the stem. Then he placed the flower in her hair.

“… Beautiful… I knew the rose… in your hair… would suit you…”

Christine: (Why am I feeling these butterflies in my stomach?…)

“Thank you…for the flower. But we should get going now. It's getting late.”

He nods.

Azusa: “You're right… come… I'll walk you… to your room…”

*TimeSkip*

- At the Mukami’s Swimming Pool -

• Official art by Rejet •

Christine opened the door to the pool room.

She saw that it was empty.

Christine: “Azusa, are you here?”

(No answer. This means Azusa hasn't got here yet…)

Christine waited for Azusa for a few minutes but she got impatient. She wanted to swim really bad. It's been a while since the last time she swam anywhere since she was always so busy with work. Christine took off her pink summer dress and kicked off her sandals. Now she was only wearing a fuchsia pink bikini. She grabs her goggles from her bag and steps toward the edge of the pool, she flinch at the sensation of the cold water on her skin. Little by little she walks further, until the water is halfway to her body. Christine puts on her goggles, took a deep breath, and dives into the water. She was swimming deep down underwater, the feeling was so calming, so peaceful. Christine was good at holding her breath underwater for a long period of time. She never trained to do this. It came naturally since her childhood. They say the average person can hold their breath underwater for two minutes. But Christine, can hold her breath for twenty minutes. She told her family with excitement but they didn't believe her. They told her she would've drowned if it was true. Since her own family didn't believe her she kept this to herself and never told anyone else. As she kept swimming she suddenly flinched at the sight of a dark shadow figure. She closes her eyes shut thinking it’s just her imagination. But when she opens her eyes she is shocked to see an image of herself right in front of her, Christine shuts her eyes again and seconds later she opens them, She still sees the image of herself right in front of her. But she is wearing a white dress that is floating through the water with a blue ribbon surrounding her waist. Her other self was looking back at her with a sinister smile. “Soon, you will be me.” She said to Christine.

Chills ran down her spine! Christine's stomach felt a gut-wrenching feeling and her heart was beating fast. She started screaming underwater and bubbles filled her vision. Someone suddenly grabbed her by the waist and pulled her up to the surface. Gasping and coughing. Christine takes off her goggles and stares at the person who got her out of the pool. Lavender eyes were staring back at her. His expression seems worried.

Azusa: “Rose… are you okay? Can you breathe fine…?”

He cups her cheek.

Christine: “A-Azusa…”

She's breathing heavily.

“D-Did you see someone else in the water!?”

- Azusa gazes at her with a confused expression -

Azusa: “No… is just the two of us… when I got here… I saw you were deep in the water… and when… I saw bubbles coming out of the surface… I thought you were drowning…. so I went in to save you…”

He suddenly hugs her.

“Please, Rose-san… since… you don't know how to swim… next time… don't get in the swimming pool without me…”

Christine breaks the hug.

Christine: “I am an excellent swimmer. I've been swimming since I was two years old. I was not drowning.”

(It was probably my imagination, of course, it was. But why did felt so real? I'm still shaken up about it…)

Azusa: “Then you probably… over did it… with the swimming… you looked pale and scared Rose, and your breathing hasn't calmed down... Come… I’ll take you back to your room…”

Christine: “Thank you…”

*TimeSkip*

Once Christine calmed down in her room, she went to the bathroom to take a bath to take off the chlorine smell. Her mind was still a mess. Once she finished blow-drying her hair she went back to her room she tried reading a little poetry. But she couldn't focus since she couldn't stop thinking about seeing herself in the pool and how creepy she looked.

Christine: (“Soon, you will be me.” What the hell!! I'm probably hallucinating things since I’m getting my blood suck every day. I'm probably seeing weird things because of the amount of blood loss. I'm probably becoming anemic too. Either way, I should write this down in my Journal…)

Christine puts her poetry book near the bedside table and grabs her Journal. As she opens it a photo falls to the floor. She picks up the photograph, It was Mark and her together. A photo of them at a time when they were both truly happy together. A time when there were no arguments between them. A time when he kissed and made love to her and it felt like magic. A time when she thought they would grow old together. A time when she was madly in love. But as time and years went by, Mark got tired of her and started sleeping with other women behind her back and became a monster. A monster who was torturing her mentally every single day.

Staring at the picture, sadness washed over her.

Christine: (It still hurts. Everything about that relationship, the good and the bad. It still hurts…)

*Knock Knock*

Christine: “Who is it?”

Azusa: “It’s me, Rose… please let me in…”

She opens the door and Azusa walks in.

Christine: “What do you want, Azusa?”

Azusa: “I wanted to check up… on you… I didn't want you… to feel lonely…”

Christine: “Thank you. I’m doing ok.”

Azusa: “I'm glad… I see… your complexion… is back… to normal… So what… have you been doing… Rose…?”

Christine: “Not much… I was reading a little bit of poetry.”

Azusa: “I see… I don't mind sitting next to you… while you read… if you want to read me… a poem… I would happily listen…”

Christine: “You like poetry?”

She smile.

Azusa: “I don't read much… reading is Ruki's favorite hobby… not mine… but… I like your voice… and I want… to be near you…”

He walks closer to her and notices the photo in her hand.

“Rose-san, you're holding a photograph… can I see it…?”

Christine: “No, I was about to put this photo away. Plus, why do you want to see it?”

Azusa: “Because… Like I’ve told you… before… I want to know… everything about you…”

Christine: “No, I still don't want to show you.”

Azusa: “Eh…!? Why…? Then I'll take it by force…”

Christine: “Azusa no!”

- Azusa snatched the photo from her hand and stared at it -

Azusa: … ...

“… Rose-san… who is this man…? Who has his arms around you… Is he your lover…?”

Christine: (He's staring at me with sadness in his eyes and he's getting anxious…)

“He’s my ex-boyfriend. Can I have the photo back? So I can put it away.”

Azusa: “Why do you want… to keep this photograph…? If he‘s an ex-lover… Do you still have… feelings for him… Rose…?”

(Her silence, not answering his question made his heart ache…)

- He grabs her by the shoulders -

Azusa: “Answer Me…!”

He tightened his grip.

Christine: “O-Ow! Azusa, you are hurting me! Why are you acting like this?”

She tried to get out of his grip but she tripped as she was moving backward. Her back hit the floor hard.

- Azusa pulls out his knife -

Azusa: “Ah… that look of fear… in your eyes… Fufufu… I’ll make you… forget him… I will show you the most sweetest pain… Fufu…”

- He gets on top of her and cuts her near the chest -

Christine: “Ah! Stop! Let go of me!!!”

Azusa: “Ah... nice blood is gushing out... Fufufu... but it’s not enough... I want to see more...”

He cuts her again and again.

Christine: “Ah!!! Please stop!!”

She begins to cry.

“I am tired of this!”

Azusa: “… Rose... you are crying…”

He caresses her wet cheek and leans down to her chest and licks her blood slowly.

Christine: “No!!!”

Azusa: “I want you… to feel me... Rose...”

He opens his mouth wide and sinks his fangs deeply into her skin.

*Slurp*

Azusa: “Aah…This blood… is proof… that I'm alive…”

*Gulp*

Christine: “Ah! Get off of me!”

She starts hitting his chest with all her strength.

Azusa: “Haah… You hitting me while I drink your blood... feels so good... Please hit me more...”

- He bites her harder this time -

*Slurp, Slurp*

Christine: “Ah!! Azusa, please! Enough already!”

She keeps hitting and pushing him.

Azusa: “Aah… Mmm… Your blood feels so warm… It’s flowing through me…”

*Gulp*

Christine: (No matter how hard I try hitting and pushing him, he doesn't budge. He's too strong and the loss of blood is making me weaker…)

Out of desperation, she kicks his manhood hard with her knee. Azusa whimpers loudly, Christine takes the opportunity and pushed him aside. She gets up and runs out of her room.

Azusa: “O-Owww…”

*TimeSkip*

She wanted to run away but she knew they would catch up to her. Plus she doesn't know Japan and even if she would have managed to go to the police station. They are vampires and strong. They can take any human in seconds. Christine couldn't live with herself knowing that someone got killed because of her. So she went to the Rose Garden. Gasping as she walks, she suddenly hears footsteps behind her.

Azusa: ”Rose…”

She stops and turns around.

Azusa: “Rose-san… that kick felt amazing… Fufufu… Please kick me again…”

Christine: “Leave me alone! I'm feeling dizzy.”

(I feel so weak…)

“Azusa, if your plan is to kill me. Then, please do it now. I have no more strength.”

Azusa: “Eh…!? I will not kill… my precious Rose…”

Christine: “Then why do you keep torturing me?”

- Azusa cups her cheeks -

Azusa: “Rose… I’m doing this… because I like you so much… and I want you… to feel wanted and needed… That's why… I want you to hurt me… in return… I also… want to feel wanted…and needed by you… When we bleed… everyone becomes happy… We are the same kind, Rose…”

- He leans down closer to her lips -

Christine: (My heart is beating fast!…)

“A-Azusa… I don't know what to say…”

Azusa: “Then… don't say anything… lose yourself to me… Rose…”

- Azusa Kissed Her -

He kissed her passionately with all his considerable skill, slipping his tongue into her softness.

• Artwork by @yuma-mukami-garden-god •

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her. She wants to get lost in his lips and forget about everything about this crazy night, even if it's just for a moment. The more they were kissing, the more Azusa became hungry for her and started to kiss her desperately, claiming her mouth in raw need, he kissed her over and over, pulling her body closer to his as he tightened his arms around her.

Sucking sounds, heavy breathing and moans from both of them can be heard in the midnight air.

Christine was struggling to catch up to his pace. She feels her skin getting hot. Azusa moves her hair to the side and starts kissing her neck.

She gasped.

Christine: “Azusa… I don't know how much longer… I can hold on… I’m feeling really dizzy…”

Azusa ignored her and kept kissing her neck and leaving love marks on her skin. He wanted her so bad that he couldn't even think straight. Until she fainted on him. Her cheek rested on his chest. Azusa holds her tightly in his arms while breathing heavily.

Azusa: “… My Rose… I guess… I took this too far… I promise… I'll take good care of you…”

Kou: “Fufufu~ What an amazing performance Azusa.”

He said while clapping his hands.

Azusa: “Kou… I didn't feel your presence…how long have you been here…?”

Kou: “Of course, you didn't. Fufu~ You were so focused on Kujaku-chan. I've been here the entire time since she was walking alone. I was gonna approach her but you beat me to it.”

He smirks.

“I did enjoy the show.”

- Azusa gave him a sharp look -

Azusa: “Rose-san is mine…”

Kou: “Oh really? Fufu~ You have not claimed her yet and kissing doesn't count. I never would have thought that I would see the day that my baby brother would have ever had feelings for a human. Fufu~ It's cute, but I will advise you to just see her as another prey. Humans are traitors and can't be trusted.”

Azusa: … …

Kou: “I gotta go. Make sure she's in good shape before Ruki scolds you again. See ya later.”

Azusa stares at Christine’s lovely face and his heart begins to race.

Monologue

Feelings?

I do have feelings for Rose-san.

I can't deny it.

I’m obsessed with her

I want her all to myself.

This flower has a lot of thorns

Thorns that I want desperately to pierce my skin.

She's mine.

I want her to feel the sweetest pain with me.

Even if she doesn't accept me yet.

You came into my dreams, Princess.

And now

I am never letting you go...

— TO BE CONTINUED —

• Artwork by The Drawables •

[haganezukawaifu]

𝑅𝑜𝓈𝒶 𝒟𝑜𝓁𝒸𝑒 𝒞𝒽. 𝟣

Before we start, if you haven't read Rosa Dolce on AO3 yet, here are some things you want to know. I would like to say my OC is a person of color. She is black as I am black. This is her point of view, in first person and this is her story. I hope you all enjoy it and without further do, let's begin. All rights belong to Stephine Myers. I only own Christine Anderson, my created character, and her storyline. Christine Anderson

~ Masterlist~ Next ~

"La mia dolce rosa."

I heard as I began to look for the voice. I found myself in a place that I had no familiarity with. I took a step down the hall, and I saw a portrait on the wall. I wandered the hall until I stood in front of a door. What is behind this door and where does it lead to? Just when I was about to reach out.

"Christine."

I woke up at the sound of my name. "We're almost there." Where am I? Oh right, Cordelia said that we were traveling somewhere but never told me where. So here I am sitting in the back, waiting for my destination. In the passenger seat sat my brother Anthony listening to his music no less. 

"Where are we going." "Well, I have a friend that I would like you to meet. I think you might enjoy meeting her," she said as she smiled. I don't know if I would like her or not. Cordelia is my foster mother. I was in a home since I was four years old and now, I am six years old, living with Cordelia and her son.

'We must be going somewhere far.'

The location was farther than I expected. I had never seen Cordelia drive this far out before in California but soon we turned in and I felt the car stop. We must be here. Cordelia shut off the car and Anthony got out first, then Cordelia and then me. We were in a park...I held her hand as I followed her to the entrance. A short brown-haired woman and a girl who looked just like her were waiting at the entrance.

"Renée. Nice to have you here," Cordelia said with a smile. The woman name Renée gave a welcoming smile in return. "Thanks for inviting me. It would be a pleasure for my daughter to have some friends," the woman name Renée said. Then I saw the girl that was beside her holding her hand.

'She looks to be about my age.'

"Bella, this is Cordelia. A teacher I work with at the school. And this little one right here is Christine. She's the same age as you," Renée introduced us. A girl name Bella said, "Hi." So, she is the same age. I wasn't used to meeting other kids my age. I was always around older kids in the home I stayed in but once I got adopted, it was just me, Cordelia, and Anthony. 

"Christine. Why don't we enter inside, and you and young Bella can explore and play?" Cordelia suggests. I grip her dress and look up at her. "But Cordelia." "It's okay, she won't bite. If anything, we would be with you," the woman’s name Renée said with a smile.

I didn't know if I should believe her, but Renée seemed trustworthy. So, If Cordelia trusts her, I guess I can too. I walk toward Bella as we both walk inside and to the playground. As I got to know Bella, we became friends. We like almost the same things. We both did ballet and she did piano. We hung out every chance we got together but our friendship didn't last long. Soon after Bella moved to Arizona and I moved away from California, Cordelia opened a flower shop in Forks, Washington. "Aphrodite Garden" she named it. It wasn't a terrible place actually; the shop was pleasant to be around but the weather in Forks was sometimes humid in a way. I hate how it makes my hair frizz. Soon I began to help around the shop, it became the most fun place to be around. Upon turning 14, Anthony left home, leaving Cordelia alone with me. Now I am 17 years old, in my junior year of high school. I'm in no after-school clubs, play any sports, and rarely have any friends here in this boring old town. I just spend my time at Aphrodite's and reading literature. I guess you can say I spend so much time there that people at school start suspect that I'm a witch. Ironic, isn't it? Occasionally, I would daydream and return to that place I always return to. Sometimes I can hear them even when I-.

"Christine."

I looked up and found Cordelia calling my name, holding a spatula in hand, and wearing her 'Plant Mom' Apron. I must have been daydreaming again. "Are you okay? You'll hardly touch your food." I think I hardly eat anything nowadays. "How was your sleep? Did you sleep well?" She asks. I can hardly even sleep. My dream always begins to become like that place that pulls me in every night. Same hallway. Same portrait on the wall. Same door. And that same voice calling me as they are longing to see me as I am to them. 

"Christine."

"Hmmm." "Is there something on your mind? Are those kids bothering you again," she asked. "No. I'm fine Cordelia. Don't worry. I can handle myself." Cordelia sighed as she walked toward me and held my hand. "Promise me you will tell me if something bothers you," she said. "You know I will. I must go. I'll make sure to be by the shop earlier to help with the batch order."

I stood up and grabbed my bag and keys and walked out. I headed toward my black Prius hybrid (I own a Prius but it's gold but yeah) as I unlocked it and got inside, started it up, and began my route to school. Cordelia never really wanted me to call her 'Mom.' Only because when she adopted me, she told me it wasn't necessary yet. To call her Cordelia instead as I always have. Soon I made it to school, turned into the lot, and parked my car in a designated spot. As soon as I got out, I grabbed my bag and went inside. Keeping my head down and walking toward my locker in an attempt to avoid one person in mind. But.

"Hey there Enchantress."

I sighed and looked to my side, and it was Mike. I rolled my eyes in annoyance "What is it, Mike."

'It's unfair enough I share English with him.'

"Rumor has it that one of the measuring cylinders exploded during Bio. You wouldn't have anything to do about that," he said as he leaned right by my locker. "If I did, you wouldn't hear it from me. Besides it wasn't my cylinder." I continue to browse my locker getting my books for class. Trying to get out of this conversation. "Are you sure? You didn't cast any spells before class, right," he asked smirking. I slam my locker door shut as I turn to look at him. "Go away. Don't you have better things to do than annoy me?"

I walk off with books in my hand as I run my hand through my curly hair in frustration. Why so early in the morning? He has annoyed me since the school started. Like God, what will it take for him to leave me alone? I walked into my English class, and I saw Mr. Mason was on his computer. I saw the classroom was rowdy as ever. I walked to my usual seat which was at the back of the class and put my things beside my chair. I sigh. English. One of my favorite classes. Reading literature is one of my favorite things of mine. I blame my brother Anthony for that. He would read every book he could get his hands on and sing to me. Oh, Anthony.

'I wonder what he’s doing now.'

Suddenly the bell rang, and a girl came inside that I had never seen before. She had brown hair, and ivory skin and didn't seem like someone who would play sports despite the sports jersey she was wearing. I wouldn't tell. She gave Mr. Mason a paper and stood there. I don’t think I ever have seen her before besides my usual classmates like Rosalie, Alice, Mike, and Eric. The last bell rang, meaning everyone must be in their class; Mr. Mason closed the door as the classroom continue to be busy.

"Alright class. Settle down," Mr. Mason said.

The class fell silent. “Okay, Ms. Isabella Swan. You can see in the back,” he said as he motioned her to sit down. Wait, did I just hear that right? Isabella. Swan. Do you mean?

'Bella.'

[dailycass-cain]

Birds of Prey #13 ends the "second arc" of the series aka the Birds finding out who was targeting Babs. Was it a rewarding finish? What about the Cass and Spirit World?

Well, here are my thoughts on the issue.

So I'm just gonna start off with the negative stuff I have to say about the issue. #1 being I was a bit disappointed at the entire resolution of it all. It is not so much how the Birds got free from the world hoping, but more about how the arc's villain, Maia was dealt with.

She just leaves and-- I guess she goes back into the portal? I mean that's what the characters say she did but it's never really implied on the pages.

In that regard, I felt a little meh on there being no real resolution. The Birds are free and all, but Maia isn't really beaten. She could still target Babs or do something else to make the Birds' lives hard.

#2 is a nitpick but Xanthe and Constantine just don't interact with Cass at all. I get it, given she wasn't with them until after getting Cela out. And man the comic got crowded. But zero interaction left me 😞. Not even Xanthe seeing Barda which I kind of wanted to see.

This is kind of a "hope" with the new Cass series is that well if this series does do well, I kind of want to see Cass interact with these characters (and new ones).

Like how is it we've seen her meet Richard Dragon? Or seeing Bronze Tiger again in Cass's life?

We're just getting Oynx and Grace in the next arc. Both have some strong ties to Cass that I'm REALLY curious where writer Kelly Thompson goes (sides the Barda stuff).

I'm rambling so back to the issue itself.

The final nitpick is a real nitpick. Cass was just called Cass at the intro. While Babs got the Batgirl/Oracle combo bit.

Come on DC… we've got two Batgirls in this issue. Just throw us a little bone here.

So I'm done focusing on the negatives so let's talk the positives now: the Cass and Cass/Cela portions are probably the strongest bits of the entire issue.

Like, the way Cass figures out how to end the loop and get Maia to open a portal and them to escape was quite genius. She a smart small bat.

Using the Spirit World proxy to "summon" her dead sisters was a nice touch to freak Maia the heck out. It also is a nice way to touch on last issue's cliffhanger with what Xanthe was feeling.

Same goes for all the Cass/Cela interaction. Like, Cass being Cass always is an open heart to anyone, and Cela has that and other things that Cass can relate too.

Again their interaction was the highlight of the issue as you could feel Cela's hope in seeing her fallen sisters and wanting to stay in "Spirit World". Or that she left Cass, and left on the downer note with her.

In all honesty, I kind of hope we see Cela again and she isn't lost like Christine or Harper in lost female "friends" that Cass strikes up with and it's completely ignored by others.

There is potential here with Cela in that she could try and find the real Spirit World, and there's an adventure with Xanthe to be ringed in with.

Besides the stuff involving Shiva and Spirit World too.

But that's more to the point I said prior. Just see more of these connections.

This was still a fun issue with the problems. There was still more good I had than the bad. But there was a bit more compared to prior outings.

Still, the art by Gavin Guiday and coloring by Jordie Bellaire were nice.

For Bellaire's coloring did a nice job homaging the prior coloring by Sebastian Chang (colorist on Spirit World) making the colors pop. Just felt so short in this variant. I guess it just makes me want to see that place again.

So yeah, the arc concluded but it does feel kind of rushed. I don't mind it given next we get Oynx and Grace Choi.

But there is a few things I hope Kelly gives us more stuff with like Mirai Maps.

A friend said they felt Mirai Maps felt "there" and we got nothing (other than answers to her tech). I agree we do need more on Mirai Maps more so why'd she stick around.

As for Cass? Yeah, it's obvious which character Kelly does favor most given Cass steals the show again. Though I'll admit she is kind of outshining Dinah a bit too much. But I digress we got Dinah's characterization in Kelly's side story that same week.

So, here's to the next arc and whatever we get with Dinah in Green Arrow! Just wish she had another series to read. I feel like there's one but nope just Green Arrow and Birds of Prey. A real pity.

[calaverage]

Hello!

[a woman with a British accent greets Cal at work]

I should introduce myself. I'm Christine.

@mama-jagerman

Hey! I'm Cal. I run the IT department it's nice to meet you.

[gogandmagog]

For @alwayschasingrainbows. Another long-owed item! I think this is the short you were hunting up, a few months ago? I couldn’t find the original post because I’m lame, and never tag things right, so I guess I’m really just hoping this is it!

The Price, by Lucy Maud Montgomery, from After Many Days, Tales of Time Passed.

ON THE DAY when Dr. Lennox told Agatha North that she was out of danger and would soon be as well as ever, if she took proper care of herself, Agatha smiled her old, gallant smile up at him and Christine and Nurse Ransome.

"That's the most interesting thing you've said this long while," she told him. 'I was beginning to think you were stupid - your conversation has been so dull. I'm glad I'm going to get better. I want to live. There are so many things I want to do yet. And, oh, I'd hate to die and leave all my nice dishes and my open fire - and that row of tulips I planted out the day I took sick." Christine and Dr. Lennox laughed, the former with a note of heartfelt relief in her laughter. It was so nice to hear Agatha say a whimsical little thing like that again.

She had been so ill; the attack of bronchitis had been very severe, and there were complications. But all was well now; she would soon be her old self again - darling Agatha. Christine bent and kissed her impulsively.

Nurse Ransome had not smiled, did not intend to smile. Her small, pale, watery eyes expressed entire disapproval of such frivolity on her patient's part; her narrow white face seemed to Christine narrower and whiter than ever. Christine hated her; she had not wanted to have her on the case, but no other nurse could be had at the time, and Miss Ransome was certainly competent. Nurse Ransome could not hate - she had not enough intensity for that - but she disliked Christine and pretended to herself that she disdained her. She would have said that Christine was a vain, proud, selfish, thoughtless, idle chatterbox. All of this, and more, was true; but it was equally true, though Nurse Ransome would never have said it, that Christine was an exquisitely pretty, loving, winsome, sensitive creature.

Dr. Lennox was thinking this, as he looked at her across Agatha's bed. He was madly in love with Christine, as all Harrowsdene knew. They were not engaged yet, but everybody took it for granted they soon would be. A good many people thought Dr. Lennox was making a mistake. of course, Christine was a North and would eventually be the heiress of Agatha's not inconsiderable estate, including "Whiteflowers"; but then she was such a wild, laughing thing, "a pretty butterfly," Dr. Lennox's aunt called her contemptuously. She thought, they said, of nothing but dress, dances and beaus, and "spinning street yarn." She laughed and talked too much and too freely - "you always heard her before you saw her." "A doctor's wife above all things should know how to hold her tongue - she would ruin his practice." She was far too intimate with Jen Keefe and her set; she was delicate; she was extravagant; she was, in short, thoroughly spoiled.

Ward Lennox had been told all these things at sundry times and by divers people, and they had made no impression on him at all. He had loved Christine from the moment of their first meeting, and he meant to ask her to marry him as soon as he could muster up the courage to do it. In his eyes she was all but perfection; her few faults were but the faults of petted youth; the only thing he seriously disapproved of in her was her intimacy with Jen Keefe, that lady of the pale gold hair and over-large dark eyes and free-and-easy ways. But once Christine was his wife she would see no more of the Keefes. Ward Lennox fondly believed that he could mould Christine to his views in all things; he had no idea of the strength of will that lay hidden under the soft curves and behind the coquettish eyes of her youth.

Agatha smiled up adoringly into Christine's face. They were cousins, but Agatha was the senior by twenty years.

She had brought Christine up, when the latter was orphaned by the death of both father and mother in baby-hood: 'Whiteflowers was the only home Christine had ever known. She loved it and she loved Agatha passion-ately. But then everybody loved Agatha North, that busy, kindly, charitable, broad-minded, wonderful woman, who was always helping somebody or something, always planning and engineering and succeeding, always full of life and interest and zest and wholesome laughter. Why, Harrowsdene could not get along without Agatha North.

A sensation of relief and gladness went over the whole town like a wave when Dr. Lennox went away from "Whiteflowers" that day and spread the news that Agatha was going to get better and would be about in a few weeks. There had been anxiety; bronchitis so easily ran to pneumonia, and Agatha had the "North heart.”

Before he went away Dr. Lennox explained the change of medicines to Nurse Ransome and Christine.

"She is listening to him, not to what he says," thought Nurse Ransome, watching Christine covertly.

Christine was more aware of Ward Lennox than of what he was saying. She thrilled with a delicious sense of his nearness; she was acutely conscious of his tall straightness, his glossy black hair, his luminous dark blue eyes, and the passionate tenderness she sensed behind the aloofness of his professional manner. But she heard what he said distinctly and remembered it per fectly for all this. She never forgot anything Ward said to her. In all the world there was no music like his voice.

"This is her regular medicine," said the doctor. "Give her four of these tablets every three hours. This," he held out another smaller bottle, "is only to be used if she has one of those restless attacks at night and cannot sleep. Give her one of these tablets - on no account more than one - every four hours if necessary. Two would be dangerous - three fatal. I'll set the bottle up on this little shelf by itself."

It was Christine's turn to sit up that night. Nurse Ransome repeated the caution about the tablets before she went to her room. Christine listened with a slightly mutinous, insolent expression; there was no need of Nurse Ransome's reminders. She had not forgotten what Ward had said; she was not a child. She sent a glance of pettish dislike after the spare figure of the nurse. She felt that Nurse Ransome insinuated doubts to the doctor as to her fitness for waiting on Agatha; it was agony to think he might have or acquire a poor opinion of her in this respect. Christine was vain and abnormally proud; she could not bear to be looked down upon by anybody for any reason. She hated Nurse Ransome because she felt that Nurse Ransome looked down upon her. Christine would have gone to the stake in olden days, not for her religion, but for dread of the contempt she would incur from her co-religionists if she proved too weak for the test of martyrdom. The most acute suffering of her childhood had been endured when a schoolmate had publicly taunted her with a distant cousin of the Norths who had been sent to prison for forgery. She never forgot the shame and humiliation and torture of that day.

Agatha was very restless that night. At the best of times she was liable to sleeplessness - strangely so for her type. At ten o'clock Christine gave her one of the tablets and at two another. She was very careful to set the bottle back on the bookshelf. She was afraid of it. She hoped Agatha would not need it again.

When a week had passed Agatha was feeling so well that she wanted to be allowed to sit up. Dr. Lennox would not permit it. He told her her heart was not yet tit for any exertion. "You must lie here for another week yet. Then I may let you sit up for a few minutes every day."

"You tyrant!" she said, smiling up at him. 'He is a tyrant, isn't he, Christine? My heart isn't going to kill me. My grandmother had the same kind of a heart and she lived for ninety-five years. I'm going to live for ninety-five years - and enjoy every minute of them, and do a thou sand things I want to do.

She laughed up at him and Christine. Dr. Lennox laughed back - dimples came out in his cheeks when he laughed - said good-night, and went out of the room.

Christine put the green shade over the light, and sat down by the window. It was her night to watch again, but the night vigils by now were little more than matters of form. Agatha had never required the sleeping tablets since that first night. She slept soundly, seldom waking until dawn. The sinister little bottle had never been taken down from the bookshelf.

Christine at the window began to dream, looking out into the chilly moonlit night of October. She was beginning to wish acutely that Agatha were quite well. She was getting tired of the sick room, tired of the monotonous existence which Agatha's illness had necessitated. She wanted to get back to her gay round of social doings again, the dances, the teas, the dinners, all the diversions of the little town. She wanted to wear her pretty dresses and jewels again - Christine loved jewels. Agatha had given her a string of tiny real pearls and a glittering Spanish hair comb for her last birthday. She had never had a chance to wear them yet. She wanted to flood

"Whiteflowers" with music again. Next to her love for Ward, music was Christine's most intense passion, and she had not touched her piano since Agatha became ill.

She wanted to get off for a weekend at Jen Keefe's Mus-koka lodge for the deer-shooting. She knew Agatha wouldn't want her to go, but she meant to go for all that.

It was nothing but sheer envy that made people talk about Mrs. Keefe and her set. There was nothing wrong bound by silly old conventions with them; they were gay and up-to-date and not hide-

Then she let herself think of Ward Lennox - gave herself up to a vivid dream of their life together. She forgot her surroundings totally until she was recalled to them by a realization that Agatha was moving uneasily on her pillows.

Christine went to the bed. "Do you want anything?"

"I think I must have one of those tablets," said Agatha.

"My restlessness has just returned - I thought perhaps it wouldn't - I've been doing so well lately. But for half an hour now I've just wanted to toss and scream."

Christine went over to the table, took down the bottle and returned with a tablet. She moved a little absently, for she was still partially in her dream of Ward.

After Agatha had taken her tablet she soon fell asleep.

It was now eleven o'clock. Christine went back to the window and dreamed herself into a doze, leaning back in her big upholstered chair. She did not awaken until Agatha called her. It was the first time she had slept on guard.

"Would you like another tablet, dear?"

"No. The restlessness is gone. I think I'll sleep normally now - but since I'm awake, give me my regular dose. Ugh, when will I ever get square with Ward Lennox for all those hundreds of detestable little white tablets he's made me swallow? But after all they're preferable to the nauseous tablespoonfuls of liquid his father used to inflict on me."

Christine went over to the table rather stupidly. She yawned - she was not wholly awake yet. The clock in the parlour below was striking three. She counted the strokes absently as she took out the four tablets. Agatha sat up in bed to wash them down with a sip of water from the glass Christine held to her lips. She had been warned not to do this and now she slipped back with a sigh.

"I'm weaker than I thought I was."

"Is there anything else you'd like?" Christine asked, smothering another yawn.

"No, no, dear. I'm all right. It's only that I rather feel as if I were a dish of jelly and would all fall apart if violently jarred," said Agatha. "Go back to your chair and rest all you can. Sitting up like this is too hard on you - you're not strong. But you won't have to sit up many more nights. How glad I'll be when I'm well again. It will be so nice to keep my house again - and read my books - and eat just what I want - and be finally rid of that respectable female, Miss Ransome."

Christine went back, but she was thoroughly wakened up now and did not want to sleep. Agatha was soon asleep again. Moving softly, Christine turned on the light by the dressing table, screened it from the sick bed, and sat down before the mirror. Taking the pins out of the masses of her rich glossy black hair she began to experiment with various ways of hairdressing. Christine loved to do this. She was very proud and fond of her beautiful hair, and was in the habit of spending hours at her glass, sleeking and brushing it. After several experiments she got it up in a new way she liked exceedingly. She would wear it like that to Jen Keefe's next dance - with her Spanish comb in it. She slipped across the hall to her own room, and returned with the comb, and put it in her hair. How pretty she was! She leaned her elbows on the table, cupped her chin in her hands, and studied her reflected face earnestly. How very white her skin was!

What a delicate bloom was on her round modelled cheeks. How golden-brown her eyes were behind their long black lashes; her forehead was rather high, but this new way of doing her hair banished that defect. Her neck and arms were lovely. She was the prettiest girl in Har. rowsdene, there was no doubt of that. And the happiest.

And she would be happier yet - when she married Ward.

Oh, she was going to have a splendid, joyous life - ever so much gayer than life at "Whiteflowers" had been.

Though Agatha was a darling, she did not care much for social doings. But as young Mrs. Ward Lennox, she could do as she liked. Ward adored her - he would give her her own way in everything. No "settling down" for her into any poky routine of married life, looking after babies and pantry supplies. No, indeed - not for years to come. She hated children anyhow, children and housework. She was young and beautiful: she would grasp at all youth and beauty could give her. For years to come she would know the joy of pleasing the eyes of men.

She would entertain: Harrowsdene should have its eyes opened. And she would never give up Jennie. Ward didn't like her, she knew, but he would get over that. He would have to get over his strict old-fashioned notions about things. She loved Jennie; Jennie was a dear thing, so gay and good-hearted. Of course, she wasn't an old Calvinistic prude like most of the Harrowsdene women - like all of them, except Agatha. She believed in living and letting live. So did Christine.

"I'm - going - to - do - exactly - as - I - please," she nodded with every word at the radiant face in the glass.

"'I'm - going - to - have - a - splendid - time."

She touched her lovely shoulders admiringly.

"How sorry I am for ugly women," she said. "What can they have to live for? But, of course, there must be some to do the stupid drudgery of life. We who are beautiful should be exempt from all that. It is just enough that we are beautiful."

She laughed softly again, softly, triumphantly, inso-lenily, defiant of fate - the last laughter of her youth.

It was dawn now. Agatha still slept. Christine turned off the mirror light and went to the open window. The grounds of 'Whiteflowers" were very lovely in the faint, pearly lustre. The wind was whistling rather eerily in the dead reeds of the little swampy hollow behind "White-flowers," but the sky was exquisite, with white clouds floating across it.

It was going to be a fine day. Christine was glad. She hated dull stormy days. She would go to see Jen in the afternoon. She hadn't been anywhere since Agatha took ill. But there was no need to mew herself up any longer.

She turned and went over to the bed. Agatha was lying on the pillows, her face turned to the grey light. Something about it sent a strange, horrible dart of vague dismay to Christine's heart. She bent once and touched Agatha's cheek. Christine had never touched a dead person's cheek before - but she knew - she knew.

A shriek of terror broke from her lips. Nurse Ransome, who had just been coming across the hall, rushed through the doorway, followed by old Jean, the house-keeper, who had been on her way downstairs. Nurse Ransome saw at a glance what had happened, but she went promptly to work with all proper attempts at re-vival. Jean was dispatched downstairs to telephone for the doctor. White, shaking, useless, Christine was told to open the other window.

Christine went uncertainly toward the window. On her way she passed the table where the medicine bottle stood. Suddenly she stopped, looking at it. The bottle of sleeping tablets was on it. It had not been put up in its place at eleven o'clock. The bottle of regular tablets was back in the corner, half hidden by the window curtain, just as it had been at eleven o'clock.

What had she given to Agatha at three o'clock?

A hideous conviction suddenly took possession of her mind. She remembered - as if the whole incident rose out of subliminal depths into consciousness - she remembered feeling the raised letters of the poison bottle in her fingers as she counted out the four tablets. The regular medicine bottle was smooth. Her conscious mind, dulled by sleep, had not been aware of what she was doing - had retained no memory of it. But she knew what she had done. At eleven o'clock, her thoughts still tangled in the cobweb meshes of her voluptuous dream-ing, she had forgotten to put the sleeping tablets safely back on the shelf. At three o'clock she had picked up the bottle and given Agatha four tablets from it. Four - and three were fatal!

A sensation of deadly cold went over her from head to foot - then nausea, horrible, beyond expression. She fought it off, and, blindly obeying the dictates of an impulse that had no connection with reason but rushed furiously up from the deeps of being, she caught the poison bottle in her icy hand and set it on the shelf, with one wild, terrified look back at Nurse Ransome. Nurse Ransome had not seen; she was busy with what had been Agatha.

Christine felt herself falling - falling - falling - into unimagined, unimaginable depths of horror. She slid down to the floor by the table, unconscious.

AGATHA NORTH'S DEATH, coming when everyone had supposed she was beyond all danger, shocked Harrowsdene to its centre. She had died in her sleep from heart failure, Dr. Lennox said. He had known it was possible, but as she herself had said, her grandmother had lived to old age with just the same kind of a heart, so he had not been much afraid of it. There was no doubt - no suspi-cion. Everybody was very sorry for Christine who seemed, it was said - for but few people saw her - to be dazed by the blow.

When Christine had recovered consciousness in her own room, Dr. Lennox and Nurse Ransome had tried to keep her there, but she broke away from them with unnatural strength and ran wildly to Agatha's room.

Nurse Ransome was quite disgusted with her entire lack of self-control. She had screamed - laughed - implored Agatha to speak to her - look at her. Agatha had always answered her when she called before. Now she did not even open her eyes - her beautiful, large-lidded eyes.

Christine had wrung her hands and torn her hair. Mingled with all her horror and agony was incredulity.

This thing could not have happened. Agatha could not be dead - it was absurd - impossible. Why didn't they do something?

"Everything has been done - everything," said Ward

Lennox compassionately. Even he did not like this frenzy of Christine's. But she was very young and this was her first sorrow. Agatha had been everything to her, mother, sister, comrade.

Under all Christine's agony was a horror of the discovery of what she had done, and a mad, unreasoning determination that it must not be discovered. She fainted again when she was forced to accept the fact that Agatha was dead; when she recovered she was calm, spent, quiet. She learned that Ward thought Agatha had died of heart failure; no one seemed to have the slightest inkling of the truth. Nurse Ransome questioned her concerning the events of the night, sharply enough, with a shrewish glint in her eyes, as was her way, but evidently without suspicion. Christine told her tale unhesitatingly, looking straight into Nurse Ransome's eyes as she told it. She was glad it was Nurse Ransome and not Ward Lennox who asked her. She could not, she thought, have told that story unshrinkingly to him.

Agatha had been very restless at eleven - she had given her one sleeping tablet and she had slept until three. Then she had asked for her usual medicine.

"I gave it to her," said Christine unquailingly, "and then she went to sleep again."

"Was there anything unusual about her?" asked Nurse Ransome. "Did she complain of anything?"

"I noticed nothing unusual." Christine's voice was steady and even. "She spoke of feeling her weakness - and she raised herself up to take her tablets before I could prevent her.

Nurse Ransome nodded.

"The exertion may have affected her heart a little. She must have died soon after three o'clock, Dr. Lennox says. It is strange you never noticed anything before morning."

"I was sitting over by the window - I never heard the slightest sound from her. I thought she was asleep."

"Did you doze off?" Nurse Ransome was a little con-temptuous.

“No, I was wide awake all the time," said Christine deliberately.

She was tearless now, tearless, cunning, and terrified to the bottom of her soul. She shut herself up in her room when Nurse Ransome had gone and walked the floor.

No one must ever know. She would not confess. It could do Agatha no good now. And what harm might it not do to herself? She was wholly ignorant of what was or might be done in such cases and in her ignorance imagined the worst. They might not believe her - not now, at all events, after those instinctive lies of terror - they might think she had done it on purpose, that might the sooner fall heir to Agatha's money. Sent to prison - tried - she, Christine North, on whom the winds of heaven had not dared to blow too roughly. And even at the best - even if they believed her - even if nothing could or would be done to her - what shame, what humiliation, what outrage to her pride! To have it known that she had poisoned Agatha, her virtual mother, through sheer carelessness, to be always pointed out as one who had been capable of such a deed, no, no, she could never face such a thing - never. Anything, any fate, would be better than that. And she knew what her fate must be. She could never marry Ward Lennox now. Confessed or unconfessed, this thing must always stand between them. But just now in her guilt and dismay and dread, this seemed of little moment. The soul can entertain but one overmastering passion at a time.

She stood before her mirror and looked at her changed face, her white, haggard face with its horror-filled eyes.

It was as if in one hour she had passed from youth to middle age.

"I will not tell - it must never be known," she whis-pered, clenching her hands.

Her dread, and the unscrupulous determination caused by it, carried her through the funeral. People talked of her unnatural composure and her marble-white face. They pitied her, knowing what she had lost in Agatha. But in the back of their minds was the thought that she was a rich woman now, the mistress and owner of "Whiteflowers," and in due time would be wife of Ward Lennox. Back of this again was a thought, or rather a feeling, that giddy, shallow Christine was not worthy of such good fortune.

"She didn't shed a tear - too proud to cry before folks, North-like," said old Aunt Hetty Lawson. "She doesn't become her black. You'll see, she won't wear it longer than she has to. She'll make Agatha's money fly. Well, well, Harrowsdene will miss Agatha North. There aren't many women in the world like her."

Christine never forgot the agony of that hour. She had to sit still among the mourners. She had to look once more on Agatha's dead face - Agatha's lovely, placid face and know that she had killed her, had cut her off in her gracious, beloved, useful prime. Agatha, who had loved her so entirely and whom she had loved so deeply in return. She had to endure the consolations of people who would despise and condemn her ruthlessly if they knew the truth. At moments it seemed to Christine that they must know it - that her horrible inward sense of guilt and remorse must be branded on her face for all to see. Her own realization of what she had done was so intense and vivid that it seemed as if it must radiate from her to the minds of all around her. Yet she sat on like a white statue, as motionless, as seemingly calm as the dead woman herself.

It was over; Agatha's beautiful soul, full of fancy and charm and love, had gone to its own place; her ripe, beautiful body was buried in Harrowsdene cemetery and covered speedily with a loose drift of autumn leaves.

And Christine shut herself up at 'Whiteflowers" alone, refusing to see anyone, even Ward Lennox.

Her dread of being found out was almost gone. Agatha was buried. Since there had been no suspicion before, there would be none now. She was safe. But now that terror was over, another emotion rose up and possessed her soul, horror of herself, passionate, unappeasable remorse. By sheer carelessness she had killed Agatha; she had preened and exulted before her mirror while Agatha was lying dead behind her - Agatha who wanted so much to live. she must atone for it, she must atone for it by lifelong penance. Sitting alone in her room, listening to the heavy rain that she knew was streaming down on Agatha's unprotected grave, she made her enduring vow.

"I have robbed her of life. I will not have life myself," said Christine.

AT FIRST people thought the change in Christine was merely the result of grief and trouble. It would soon wear off, they said. But it did not; then they began to talk and wonder and whisper again. They talked and wondered and whispered until they were tired of talking and wondering and whispering and lapsed into acceptance of a threadbare fact.

Christine cared nothing for their talking and wondering and whispering. She was bent only on atonement - bent on dulling the sting of remorse to a bearable degree by increasing penance. Within a month of Agatha's death she had organized her existence on the lines it was henceforth to follow, and nothing - entreaty, advice, blame - ever availed to move her one jot from her elected path, until people gave up blaming, entreating, advising; left her alone, and practically forgot her. Nobody could ever have believed that, much as Christine was known to have loved Agatha, her sorrow could have had such a lasting and revolutionary effect on her. But since it was undeniably so, they accepted it, concluding that Christine's mind had been affected by the shock of Agatha's death. After all, there had always been a strain of eccentricity in the Norths. Agatha herself had been eccentric in her very philosophy of living - so gay and tolerant and vivid at the years when other women had grown sober and hidebound and drab with the stress of existence.

Christine, with her own hands, put away all the things Agatha would never wear or use more, pretty things all of them, for Agatha had loved pretty things. She hung Agatha's picture in the room where Agatha had died, that she might not see it, and locked the door. But she took the brown bottle of sleeping tablets and set it on her own dressing table before her mirror, on the dressing table from which had been banished all the little implements of beauty she had been wont to use assiduously. She had no longer any use for them, but every night and every morning as she brushed her thick black hair straightly and unbecomingly off her face to its prim coil behind, she looked at the deadly reminder of her deed.

Ward Lennox respected her grief and desire for solitude as long as he could bear it. Then he went to her, told her his love, and asked her to marry him. Christine coldly refused. He was thunderstruck; he had been sure Christine loved him. Had he not seen her eyes change at sight of him, the revealing colour rise in her lovely face?

Yet now she looked unblushingly at him and told him she could never marry him. He did not give up easily; he urged, entreated, reproached. Christine listened and said nothing.

"Don't you love me?" he asked.

"No," she said, with her eyes cast down.

Ward did not believe her. He went away at last, intending to return soon. But when he went back he rang the bell at 'White flowers" unavailingly; and no answer came to his letters. He tried at intervals for a year to see Christine; then he gave up, convinced that she did not care for him, never had cared. What he had mistaken for love had only been the coquettish allurement of a wild girl, who had been sobered by trouble into a realization that she should not so play with the great passion of lie.

Christine loved him as she had always done. For one mad moment she was tempted to confess all and throw herself on his mercy. Surely if he loved her as he said he did he would overlook and forgive. But then, to fee always humiliated before him in his knowledge of her indefensible carelessness; she could not bear the thought.

This one master dread held back the words. Without it she would not have been strong enough to put away love from her, even for atonement. All other joys she could sacrifice to her craving for remorse. But not this. If it had not been for the pride that could not brook the thought of shame she would have fallen at his feet and gasped out the truth. But that pride sealed her lips forever.

She put all her old friends out of her life. Most of them had been of the Keefe set. When Mrs. Keefe came to

"Whiteflowers" old Jean Stewart told her ungraciously that Christine would not see her. Mrs. Keefe went away insulted and never made any further attempt to renew her intimacy with Christine. When, two years later, the scandal of the Keefe divorce case, with all its unsavoury details in the matter of a certain Muskoka house party, burst upon Harrowsdene, people said significantly that it was well Christine North was not mixed up in that. But by this time Harrowsdene had accepted and almost forgotten the new Christine.

Old Jean Stewart died three years after Agatha's death, and thenceforth Christine lived alone, keeping the big house herself in the immaculate fashion that Agatha had loved. She had always hated housework. She did it all now, down to the very scrubbing and stove-blacking, taking a fierce satisfaction in these hated tasks, glad when her beautiful white hands, on which never a jewel shone, grew rough and hardened. She had to have help outside, to keep the grounds as Agatha had liked them. For this purpose she employed half-witted old Dormy Woods who pottered about all the lawns of Harrowsdene and liked to insinuate that he knew dark secrets about everybody. Sometimes the queer remarks he occasionally let fall gave Christine a start of dread; when he looked at her with his horrible filmy eyes and said leeringly, "I could tell strange tales o' some folks. she grew cold to her very heart. Was it possible he knaw and guessed her secret? No, it was not possible. But she was always uneasy in his presence, and it was for thar very reason she employed him. It was part of her pen. ance. Perhaps, too, old Dormy told her bits of unsolicited news now and then.

She gave largely and secretly to the charities that Agatha had always supported, but she never spent an unnecessary cent. When people called her miserly she said bitterly to herself, "That is better than being called a murderess." She never wore anything but severe black.

She never went anywhere save to the stores, where she did her economical buying, and to church. Every Sunday she sat alone in the old North pew, reading her Bible until the service began, never lifting her eyes. She did this because she detested reading the Bible. For the same reason she read a chapter in it every night and every morning. One month, eight years after Agatha's death, she suffered from a slight but uncomfortable affection of the eyes that was epidemic in Harrowsdene, and could not read at all. Then she discovered that she missed her Bible, that she had come to enjoy it. From that time she never opened her Bible again. Yet she had read through it so often that it had become part of her, its philosophy. its poetry, its drama, its ageless, incredible wisdom, of earth and of spirit, its unexampled range of colourful human nature were hers inalienably, permeating her soul and intellect.

Her reading was all heavy and serious now. She never looked at one of the sentimental romances she had once bivelled in. Now she read only the old histories and biographies and poems in the old North bookcases. This hoed part of the time left over from her meticulous housekeping; the rest she passed in knitting and sewing, making garments which she secretly sent to the poor of the nearest city.

She never touched her piano after Agatha's death; no one ever heard her sing again. She never spoke to anyone beyond a grave Good Day, and when people talked to her or strove to hold her in conversation she answered with brief gravity and went her way - she who had once been such a chatterbox. She had put all companionship out of her life. She would not even have a cat or dog at "White-flowers." She kept the flowers that Agatha had loved in her garden, but she never touched one. Moonlight was still a fair thing, but she would not look at it. She would not accept any enjoyment, and she never for one waking moment forgot that she had killed Agatha. The passing of years never dulled or dimmed the realization. Sometimes she dreamed that people knew of it and looked on her with horror and contempt. She would wake up with perspiration on her forehead and breathe a word of passionate relief that it was only a dream.

She did not wholly succeed in banishing all passion from her life. When old Dormy told her that he'd heard Dr. Lennox was going to marry Florence King, the high school teacher, she felt a sudden savage thrill of jealousy.

"Surely he will never marry that stiff, pedantic crea- . ture," she thought. Yet she knew Miss King was handsome and clever, and Dormy reported Harrowsdene as approving the match. That night Christine looked from her window through the gap in the pines to the light that burned in a house across the river. She knew the light was in Ward Lennox's office, and she kept an ugly vigil with pain and longing. But by dawn she had conquered it. Ward Lennox might marry Florence King. It was naught to her. She had put all that behind her.

But Dr. Lennox did not marry Florence King; he did not marry anyone, though gossip linked his name with this or that for many years before it accepted the fact that Dr. Lennox meant to remain a bachelor. He was a busy, friendly man, with a large practice; everybody liked him and trusted him. People got well of serious illnesses iust because they believed in him. His personality cured more patients than his medicine. He was no hermit. He went freely into society and enjoyed life. He and Chris. tine never met. At long intervals they passed each other on the street. He would bow courteously and Christine coldly; that was all. People had forgotten that it had ever been supposed they would marry.

AFTER THIS FASHION fourteen years passed. Christine was thirty-four years old - if anybody had thought about her age. Nobody did. Her own generation were all married and gone. To the younger she was what she had always seemed - a grave, stately, middle-aged eccentric woman, considered miserly, living her strange secluded life at old-fashioned "Whiteflowers." She was always pale, darkly and plainly dressed; yet there was a haunting, tragic charm about her that made the younger beauties seem cheap and common beside her. Christine never thought about her appearance save when, looking into her unshaded mirror over the brown bottle on the table, she saw the lines on her face and the slight hollows in the cheeks that had once been so round and delicately hued, and had a momentary impression that she was old and faded - much more so than her contemporaries. But that was part of her atonement. She had given up her beauly when she gave up love and life's fulfillment. Her atonement was becoming easier - too easy, she thought. She had ceased to have wild longings of the things she had put away from her. She had ceased to dream of Ward - ceased to desire feverishly to find open her silent piano and plunge her fingers into music. She was beginning to like her housework, her reading, even her sewing and knitting. When she realized this, she felt all the old sting of her guilt and remorse. She must not be happy. What could she do to make herself miserable?

The thought came to her that she would adopt a child.

Nothing could be more distasteful to her. She had always disliked children. Most of all she disliked ugly children.

She went to the orphan asylum in the city and brought home its ugliest inmate - a boy of eight, with a pitiful little face scarred by some inhuman attack of a drunken father. His name was Jacky Brent and he was a timid, silent little fellow - the very type which made Christine feel most uncomfortable. But she revelled in her discomfort and in all the annoyances which the care and upbringing of this child brought into her methodical existence. She left nothing undone that could contribute to his comfort and welfare. She studied dietetic tables and child welfare magazines, and vexed her soul with balanced meals and tables of weights. She helped him with his lessons; she invited his schoolmates to "White-flowers" to make it lively for him and watched over their games and their manners, and got up appropriate lunches for them. She got a dog for him and forced herself to tolerate muddy paw tracks; she played halma and dominoes with him - even ball in the backyard because she abhorred it. She helped him with his les-sons, even, she remembered, as Agatha had once helped her. She helped him build a playhouse and picnicked with him in it. She forced herself to talk to him. She had lived so long with silence that she found it difficult to talk, and more difficult still to talk to a child. But she persevered, and eventually, as they gradually built up a little store of common interests, she found it easier and easier. Jacky learned to talk too, as his timidity wore off somewhat, and sometimes his quaint, unexpected remarks prompted in Christine a desire for laughter which she had long been a stranger. She never let herse laugh. She did not even smile, but momentarily the eyes of her girlhood returned to her.

In spite of his delicacy of appearance Jacky was a healthy child, but one night, when he had been ar (White flowers" nearly a year, he was suddenly taken violently ill. Christine telephoned wildly for old De.

Abbott. Dr. Abbott was away; there was nothing to do but send for Ward Lennox. Ward Lennox crossed the threshold of "Whiteflowers" for the first time in fifteen years.

He was cool, impersonal, professional; Christine was so upset about Jacky that she could think of nothing else.

They met and talked like casual acquaintances.

Ward Lennox told her that Jacky had appendicitis and that an operation was imperative. No time must be lost.

At dawn a trained nurse was in charge of the case, and the specialist from the city had come. Christine locked herself in her room and paced the floor until the operation was over. Then they told her that the abscess had broken before the operation and that Jacky's condition was very critical. Christine went back to her room.

She did not pray. She had never prayed since Agatha's death - she had never dared to. Always in the back of her mind was the feeling that she must not pray without confession - and she could not confess. She did not pray now; she looked at her drawn, anguished face in her Blass and for the first time she was unconscious of the little brown bottle under it.

Jacky might die, and she loved Jacky!

"I cannot live without him," she said, wringing her hands. "I cannot."

She remembered with a stab of horrible compunction that she had rebuked him sharply the day before for something he had said. She recalled his grieved look, the look that always came into his poor little face when he displeased her. He had always tried so hard to please her. That very night before he went to bed, when he had seemed so tired and dull, he had faithfully hung his clothes up and set his shoes straight, and put all his little treasures tidily away in his box, as her rigid rules re-quired. Christine went and looked at them, his little tops and nails and balls and engines, his new jack-knife and the old broken one he still loved because it had been his only prized possession in the asylum, his tin pail and spade, and the dancing monkey which had delighted him so. If Jacky died . ..

Jacky did not die. He recovered. And when he was well again Christine sat down in her room on the first day he went back to school and took stock of her emotions.

She had taken Jacky for a penance. He had ceased to be a penance; he had become her delight. She loved him with all the intensity of her passionate nature. She could not give him up - she could not. Such a sacrifice she could not make. She had once given her lover up in the surge of a new horror and remorse. But that surge had spent itself. She could not give Jacky up now; neither could she keep him with her guilty secret. One must be surrendered. She must make her choice.

When Jacky came from school, running through the hall calling gaily for "Aunty," who had petted and spoiled him all through his convalescence, her choice was made. She got Jacky his supper, helped him with his lessons and put him to bed, reconciling him to its unusual earliness by the promise of a treat on the morrow. Then she went out, bareheaded, into the autumn dusk - not realizing that she was bareheaded.

She had thought it all over. The tale must be told. She did not know what the result might be. Probably at this lapse of time nothing would be done to her. People would believe that it was merely carelessness and content themselves with gossip and wonder and condemnation. Christine's pride still cringed at thought of it, it would be horrible, horrible to open up the old wound, horrible to have her long-hidden secret proclaimed to her world. But it must be.

To whom could she tell it? Nurse Ransome had died five years ago. Ward Lennox? Yes, it should be to him. Her punishment must be as severe as it could possibly be.

She would go and confess to him.

She walked steadily along the street. The world about her seemed weird and purple and shadowy, with great cold clouds piling up above a sharp yellow eastern sky.

Christine felt that it was in keeping with her terrible errand; when she passed a house through whose open windows came the sound of music and laughter and dancing, she shuddered. Tomorrow these people would be talking of her - of her, Christine North, who had poisoned Agatha. And yet they were dancing tonight as if there were no such things in the world as horrible carelessness and never-dying remorse and public shame.

She struck her hands together in her misery but she went on.

Ward Lennox was sitting on his verandah when Christine came up the walk in the pale moonshine that was beginning to silver the October dusk. His amazement could not have been much greater if Agatha North herself had come up the walk - it almost made him speechless But he contrived to murmur a few conventional words and asked Christine to come in.

"I would rather stay out here," said Christine, who fell that what she had come to say could not be said in a lighted room.

She sat down in the chair he drew forward for her. The light streaming out through the window of the room behind her made a primrose nimbus around her shapely head. In the dim light she looked very beautiful, a majestic creature with that subtly knowing, deep-eyed white face of hers in its frame of flat dark hair. The lovely line of cheek and throat rose above her black collar. Ward Lennox suddenly remembered the time he had dared to kiss that white throat - the only time he had ever kissed her. It seemed to him that he could almost hear her little, deprecating laugh as she escaped him. Surely it had been the laugh of a woman who loved the man who kissed her. No coquette could have laughed just like that.

Christine looked straight at him, sensing the vast reserve of strength that underlay his external courtesy and gaiety and charm. How strong he was! And she - she had been so weak and cowardly!

"I have come to tell you something," she said.

"Yes," he said gently.

Christine waited a moment. She must find very plain, direct words. Her hands, she found, were clammy and her mouth was dry.

"I killed Agatha fifteen years ago. I didn't mean to - but I killed her."

"Christine!'

It gave her a strange shock to hear her name again. It was so long since she had heard it. For years she had been Miss North to everyone. Even to Jacky she was only "Aunty." Under the shock she was also conscious of an enormous relief, as if some horrible darkness or weight had been suddenly lifted from her soul.

She hurried on, rather incoherently now.

"I gave her four of the sleeping tablets by mistake, through carelessness. My thoughts were wool-gathering. I hadn't put the tablets back in the right place when I gave her one at eleven - and I fell asleep - and was stupid when I went to give her the regular medicine - and then I-I- played with my hair at the glass for hours, and she was dead - I never knew it. And I could not confess, I knew I ought to - but I was afraid to. I thought they might put me in prison, or always point the finger of scorn at me. I couldn't face it, so I lied. But I am telling the truth now, and I've done penance - oh, I've done penance. But I can't give Jacky up - so I'm telling it all now. Oh, whatever they do to me, don't let them take Jacky from me."

Ward Lennox was moved profoundly. Everything was clear to him now and, oh, the pity of it! For it had all been so unnecessary.

"Christine," he said slowly. "You did not kill Agatha. The tablets you gave her were quite harmless."

Christine looked up, dazed, incredulous.

"The day before Agatha died Nurse Ransome told me that she did not think the sleeping tablets would be needed again and I took them away, wanting them for another patient, as my supply had run low. I left in their place a bottle of tablets to be used if Agatha had any return of certain annoying digestive symptoms. They were harmless - the whole bottleful wouldn't have hurt her. I remember it all distinctly. Nurse Ransome should have told you. I suppose she forgot. Agatha died of heart failure - there is absolutely no doubt of that. Oh, Christine, my poor darling, and this was why - if you had trusted me…”

"If" indeed! Christine was struggling with a whirlpool of emotion in which a still half-incredulous joy was uppermost. She had not killed Agatha - there was no blood on her hands - that was the only fact she could grasp clearly now. Later on would come bitter regret, for her folly and cowardice, for the lost, wasted years, for everything she had thrown away in insensate sacrifice to her pride and her vain hunger for atonement. Later yet again would come a wistful realization that, after all, the years had not been wasted. Vanity, selfishness, frivolity had been stripped from her soul as a garment. Strength, fineness, reserve, dignity, all she had lacked had been given unto her in those years of penance; even physically they had not been barren. In her regular, simple life the delicacy of her girlhood had vanished. She had become a perfectly healthy woman. All this had been bought with a great price, but she could never have purchased it in a cheaper market.

She stood up ... and swayed unsteadily.

"I must go home - think this out. I can't - no, no, you must not come with me - I must be alone."

"Christine!" His voice was a sharp protest. "You are not going to shut me out of your life again - I love you. I've always loved you - we must…”

"Not yet - not yet," she besought him feverishly, pushing him away from her.

He stepped back and let her pass. He had waited long- he could wait a little longer.

Christine went blindly home to "Whiteflowers." She went to Agatha's room and knelt by Agatha's bed. For the first time in fifteen years she prayed - a prayer of thankfulness and humility. For the rest of the night she sat at Agatha's window looking out into the moonlit beauty of "Whiteflowers," or walked about the dim haunted room in a mingled intoxication of joy and regret. Under all the turmoil of her mind she felt curiously young again - as if life had suddenly folded back many of its pages.

Through the gap in the pines she saw Ward's light in the house across the river. For the first time since Agatha's death she let herself think about him. A door of life she had thought shut forever seemed slowly opening before her.

[lumpywhump]

The Tool

I have no idea if I'm going to keep adding to this. This is just a little story I have and felt like sharing lmao

Cw: living weapon, recapture

Jacob is being a little bitch

It would be an easy job. All he had to do was stay in character. All Kayden had to do was to pretend to be the person he used to be. He had to be believable enough to get back to the base, then everything will be over. Persephone once described the Tool's eyes; saying they were dull and dead. That's what Kayden hoped she saw at the moment. His heart pounded with each step; each crunch of the rocks under their feet. Kayden made sure to stay behind Persephone as they drew near. They were heading for an old playground. While the slide and swings rusted, spiderwebs shimmered. It was almost poetic. Persephone stopped a couple feet away from the man they were meeting. Kayden was relieved his former handler wasn't there. Jacob would make his anxiety much worse. "You got my money?" Persephone asked, playing her character. "Yeah," the man held up a brief case. "Tool, come here," Kayden stepped towards the man, keeping his eyes in a thousand yard stare. The man twisted the poor boy's head from side to side before motioning him towards the jet. The sensation made his fingers twitch. The man pressed a gloved hand to Kayden's back as they approached the shiny stairs. He had to resist looking back at Persephone.

Jacob was the first thing Kayden saw. His red hair and freckles were unmistakable and loud against the gray of the jet. He watch his handler for his next move. "Tool," he addressed Kayden. "Yes sir?" He replied with his heart pounding in his ears. "Where were you?" "In a forest, sir," "What were you doing in a forest?" "I was lost, sir. I was attempting to find my way back when that woman found me," Jacob examined him. Watching every breath and twitch. His gaze wandered over the old, muddy uniform, from his shoes to his missing shirt sleeve. "What happened?" Kayden didn't have to lie this time. "It was used to stop my leg from bleeding." He didn't miss when his former handler reached for his belt. "Which leg?" "Left." He braced himself. BANG Kayden refused to look down. Tool wouldn't look at it. He had to focus on Jacob. He could already feel it burning and it was going to hurt a whole hell of a lot more in a minute. "Liar." He slammed his boot into Kayden's stomach, making him gag and fall. And he fell right on his injured leg. He could definitely feel the wound now. Sweat creased his brow as he lifted himself up onto his elbows. "You're not the Tool," As he panted, only one phrase came to his mind. "Fuck you," "How many of your memories did you get back?" His eyes wandered to the puddle of blood collecting under Kayden's leg. The man growled at him. Jacob grabbed Kayden's face by the cheeks. "That is an order," The man felt the words tumble out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "Not many," "Servoko," a random soldier addressed Jacob, "may I send my men after the woman?" He lifted his hand. "No," he stood up, "Christine is no traitor." Kayden perked up at the mention of Persephone's fake name. "She's given us some of our best intelligence. She most likely couldn't tell the difference. Reel your men in, we're leaving," Kayden had been waiting a while to curse Jacob out, now seemed like his best chance to do it. A nice way to air out his frustration. "You're such a bitch." He breathed through the pain of his throbbing thigh. "You uglyass piece of shi—" Jacob cut him off. He could only hear the first part of the word before his head hit the floor.

"—et," Kayden jumped up and was pulled back down to the floor. Quickly scanning his surroundings. Concrete walls and floors. One metal door. It appeared like his old storage room. Limbs restrained with metal manacles connected directly to the floor. A man standing above him. Red hair. Pale skin. Brown freckles. Green eyes. Oval head shape. Jacob. Kayden was fully alert and assessed himself. Throbbing left thigh. Aching joints. Stiff neck. He had likely been unconscious for a while. "Morning, sleeping beauty," Jacob snickered as his softly kicked the man's foot. "Found your tracker." Jacob looked like he wanted Kayden to say something. "Got rid of it before the plane moved. You've got no back up," Tears pricked at his eyes. Oh god, for the first time since he had woken up in that hospital with Persephone next to him, he was really alone. "Am I back at the base?" The man tried to suppress his emotions. "What? Don't recognize your own room?" "It's as bare as it's always been." He glared. "It's not hard to replicate. So I will ask again. Am I back at the base?" Jacob smirked, just like that bad guy in a movie Persephone made him watch. "Yes, you're home, smartass," Kayden snarled at the implications. Jacob stepped on the man's injury. With pain shooting through his leg and up his hip, he yelled. Jacob refused to move his foot. "Shit," he breathed. Cursing and breathing through the pain is how he stayed sane. It was a way of telling himself that he wasn't the Tool, because Tool barely acknowledges pain. "Look at you." The ginger twisted his foot, making Kayden cry out, digging his fingers into the floor. "Look how pathetic you've gotten." Jacob picked his foot up and took a step to Kayden's head. He was silently thankful. Kayden was pulled up by the hair as far as the restraints would let him. Jacob leaned in and pressed his lips to Kayden's ear. "When I'm done with you," he whispered, "you will be my tool. No one is going to steal you again. Not even the fucking agency. Got it?" Jacob looked up at Kayden, watching for a response. The man refused to give Jacob what he wanted. "Got it?" Jacob pulled at the man's hair. "Go to hell,"

[sunshine-embry]

A Silly Little BMC Au :D

I got lazy and didn't do any art but I'm too excited to post this.

So it's called opposite au, and I'm gonna yap about my idea a lot so press read more if you wanna be flash banged by text :)

.・゜-: ✧☾　☽✧ :-゜・.Characters.・゜-: ✧☾　☽✧ :-゜・.

Jeremy: He is now a popular punk kid. Still friends with Michael, but hates Rich and Jake - he actually bullies them - and still has a crush on Christine. Instead of his parents divorcing, his mom died. Personality wise, he's now super super mean and that's important.

Michael: BIG EMO. Still friends with Jeremy, but is now player 2 iykwim. I have nothing else to say about him :/ Also has homophobic parents while he's gay idk :/

Christine: Anti-social math nerd. Very shy, yet somehow very popular. She doesn't actually like Jeremy all that much, mainly because he bullies Rich and Jake. Also hates Michael, but that isn't plot relevant. Also very minimalist.

Rich: Nicest kid in school. Can you see the plot so far? Anyway, just overall very very nice. That's his entire personality. Also imagine his entire closet being those types of shirts that say "in my mind I am holding a frog' and things like that.

Jake: Stereotypical anti-social nerd. That's basically it. Also his entire closet is just sweater vests . Also also still best friends with Rich.

Chloe: Second smartest girl in school. Basically hella cutecore. I don't have many ideas for the girls :/

Brooke: Smartest girl in school. Also tomboy

Jenna: Prettiest and most popular girl in school. Girly-girl

.・゜-: ✧☾　☽✧ :-゜・.Plot.・゜-: ✧☾　☽✧ :-゜・.

Act 1

Jeremy likes Christine who in the mathletes. Michael manages to convince Jeremy to join the mathletes, in which Jeremy asks Christine out. Christine obviously says no because Jeremy is a bully ect ect.

So Jeremy goes to the bathroom to take a break from the nonsense math where he sees Rich washing his hands. Rich introduces Jeremy to a SQUIP to make Jeremy more nice.

So Jeremy and Michael go to the mall and buy a SQUIP for Jeremy, which need to be taken with lemon & lime Sprite. So he takes that and goes to the mall store(?) and sees Brooke and Chloe.

Since they never really talked before, and since Brooke's impressed by how nice Jeremy is, she asks to take to him on a date to Denny's (I REFUSE TO CHANGE HER TAKING HIM TO DENNY'S)

Jeremy politely accepts, even though the SQUIP tells him not to, but then ghosts Brooke.

So the next day, Jeremy goes to the mathletes meeting again and Christine tells Jeremy that she has a crush on Jake who's also there because he's a nerd.

Christine and Jake start to date, making Jeremy big sad, so he dates Brooke to get back at Christine.

Act 2

Jake throws a Halloween party at his house because he's trying to become popular. Basically everything is the same until Rich sets a fire.

Rich goes around not so politely asking if anybody has any cherry Sprite.

Of course, nobody does, so he sets Jake's house on fire. It makes sense. So the rumors go spiral like usual, blah, blah, blah.

So Rich - after he leaves the hospital - holds a sleepover at his house, inviting Jake, Jeremy, Brooke, Chloe and Jenna

So the Squip starts being not so nice to Jeremy and tries to force him to Squip his friends, in which he does.

The Play happens but it's in a sleepover scenario, Michael breaks in through the open window once Jeremy calls him, the whole thing (I kinda wrote myself into a corner by making Christine in the mathletes instead of the play so just work with me)

And yeah. I kinda didn't know what to do with the second half. that's it :/ Might write a fic about this.

[hanukkahbingo]

!חג אורים שמח

It's the first night of Hanukkah and the first night of the Panfandom Hanukkah Bingo! We have a lovely selection of fics and fandoms already this year, and I'm so excited to see what else we receive in the next seven days!

Alone in the Dark by josiebelladonna/@feverinfeveroutfic | AO3 | tumblr

He found himself trapped out in the wilderness during a power outage, and his meeting with that one strange girl proved to be a stroke of fate for him. A fic that asks “what if Alex and Christine had met in another period?”

baby namings by aelisheva | AO3 | tumblr

"She's beautiful," the nurse coos, turning to a proud Seth and Summer. "What are you going to name her?"

Bring On the Light: Snowed In by melbelle310/@perfectpurls | AO3 | tumblr

Ace had hoped to make it home for the first night of Channukah, but when a blizzard rolls through town, he and Nancy have to make do in their apartment.

broken memory (of you and me and something) by JustGail/@evilwickedme | AO3 | tumblr

“I haven’t celebrated Hanukkah since I was a very small child. Younger than you.” Jason sat down on the chair he’d taken before. He was strangely restless and excited, but he still forced himself to say, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.” “I already said I’m fine with Christmas,” Bruce said. “No, Hanukkah,” Jason said. He wouldn’t have been able to explain his stubbornness on the issue even to himself, let alone to Bruce. But he knew this is what he wanted this year. “I want… You don’t have to. But it looks nice.” // The first time Jason celebrated Hanukkah, and the first time Bruce celebrated Hanukkah in oh… two decades at least.

Eight Nights by genuineformality/@genuineformality | AO3 | tumblr

On the first night of Chanukah, Viktor lights a chanukiah for the first time in a long time. On the subsequent nights, Viktor and Jayce explore a lot of complicated feelings.

Generations by Hollie47/@hollie47 | AO3 | tumblr

Amanda is more than happy to have Spock and Jim home for Hanukkah.

H1. Dreidel - Scott Lang by aimmyarrowshigh/@aimmyarrowshigh | AO3 | tumblr

Scott is a terrible winner.

H2. Judah Maccabee - Mike Wheeler by aimmyarrowshigh/@aimmyarrowshigh | AO3 | tumblr

They will outlive this.

H3. Music - Poe Dameron by aimmyarrowshigh/@aimmyarrowshigh | AO3 | tumblr

The gas giant of Yavin hangs low in the sky, red tendrils of almost-dawn unfurling in the sky above the Dameron ranch.

H4. Tradition - Pepper Ann Pearson by aimmyarrowshigh/@aimmyarrowshigh | AO3 | tumblr

Every year, Milo eats more than his fair share of latkes and spends the next three hours lying on the Pearsons' living room floor, moaning. Every year, Nicky brings over some concoction made primarily of beets, and maybe wheat germ. Every year, Pepper Ann thinks it's the best Hanukkah yet.

H5. First Night - Snap Wexley by aimmyarrowshigh/@aimmyarrowshigh | AO3 | tumblr

Everyone else can keep their Life Day celebrations. Snap prefers this.

Hopeless Situations by abby_gaytes | AO3 | tumblr

Russians don’t wear ugly holiday sweaters. But arguing with Marcus Cole’s infuriating, ineffaceable enthusiasm has always been a hopeless situation.

Keep a candle burning by dharmashark | AO3 | tumblr

Bucky has been sitting cross legged on the floor with Steve Rogers for three hours. He feels giddy on two donuts too many, his ribs tight and hot from laughing. But mostly he feels smug as hell: he cannot wait to tell Clint how wrong he was when said this was a terrible idea. Well, what Clint had actually said was, “Are you out of your mind? Steve, as in Steve, is going to spend Hanukkah with you, in your studio apartment?” — In which Bucky can totally, definitely last eight nights without falling for his childhood best friend. Again.

miracles happen (once in a while) by aelisheva | AO3 | tumblr

By some interdimensional Hanukkah miracle, two versions of Annabeth and Percy are able to meet. The older pair proceed to embarrass the two middle schoolers as much as they can.

Pretty Hanukkah Wrapping For A Even Prettier Pussy Cat. by IndigoSun/@sweetwithheatwriting | AO3 | tumblr

May Parker was well aware that there were countless Jewish people around the world who experienced a relatively mellow and very happy cozy Hanukkah with their family and a few friends every year. She didn’t get to experience that as a general rule of thumb. I mean, don’t get May wrong, she was definitely Jewish and got to celebrate Hanukkah with the joy and company that was supposed to come with it, except her typical Hanukkah was usually brimming over with the barely mitigated chaos that came with celebrating it with her family and dozens and dozens of her friends on the world saving spectrum, Peter, Erik Lehnsherr, and the memory of what kissing Kitty Pryde had tasted like and what her dark silken curls felt like in her hands as she shakily arched her back and pleadingly mewled at he- Well. May was a bit haunted in the best way by that. She might just end up getting the girl this year if the stars aligned and she stopped sabotaging herself.

season of miracles by BettyRose/@yellingabouthistory | AO3 | tumblr

Padmé Naberrie and Tsabin Dolan have been best friends since they were international pen pals in middle school, so it was a dream come true when Tsabin came to spend a semester at Padmé's college in America. But when Padmé brings her home for the holidays, people keep jumping to the wrong conclusion. Padmé definitely loves her best friend, but not like… loves-loves. At least, she's pretty sure. Okay, so she's… maybe not sure beyond a reasonable doubt. But that's not the relevant burden of proof, because having a friendly little girl crush isn't a crime! And Padmé would know, she's president of the Otelia College Pre-Law Society!

something has to give (but not today) by skylarkblue/@skylarkblue | AO3 | tumblr

Peter Parker is struggling to juggle his family responsibilities and his duty as Spider-Man.

That We Are Alive by americanhoney913/@americanhoney913 | AO3 | tumblr

Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, shehecheyanu, v'kiy'manu, v'higiyanu laz'man hazeh. --- Shehecheyanu (Debbie Friedman melody) *** Eddie's whole family comes together to celebrate the first night of Hannukah with their newborn.

What Callie Kept by abby_gaytes | AO3 | tumblr

There are many things Callie Spengler was happy to abandon in her attempts to distance herself from the family and father who had caused her such pain in her life. Like her curly hair, and her briefly-budding interest in science, and her residence in New York City. But there are also a few things she kept - like her last name, and her Jewish identity, and the Hanukkah traditions she shared with Egon during their all-too-limited time together.

[ashadeintheshade]

I am here bearing an ask about City of Angels: what was the original timeline like? Now that all of it is out I'm dying to know. (Also hope you feel better soon!)

oh MAN the original plot 😂😂

Thanks for the ask @void-ptr!! This AMA idea was from the one you mentioned to me a long time ago!

I still have the original file with the Madeleine-still-being-alive-Sweeney Todd plot outline somewhere...

First I have to slog through every edit that I ever saved (SEPERATELY because I'm a crazy person).

Okay the original outline was a little bit unhinged. This outline document had character sketches and ideas as well as several timelines and spans 27 pages. It had gems like:

and:

Obviously Erik having a breakdown was paramount in my plot-developing process.

In any case, the original outline copy and pasted from this document was (no judgement!! under the cut because of "spoilers" I guess):

Madeleine is nice to erik, doesn’t make him wear mask. He sings and he plays. Only see his gloves. Screen.

Refuses to allow her son to be exposed. In order to continue his career she descends into bad things with Campbell

Erik discovers this when he thinks Madeleine is dead, blows up Campbell building

Opens home for orphans

Christine is there (CHRISTINE IS AFRAID OF CHANGE, OF LEAVING THE MAGGIE )

Finds Christine singing and becomes interested in her voice

Does not understand that he is falling in love with her, just does voice stuff. Spends time with her because it feels peaceful, reminds him of being with his mother

Christine has romance with raoul

Finds out who she really is

Christine has her first debut. Goes out with raoul and erik misses her

Erik begins to realize he has feelings for her but they depress him because of what he did and his face and stuff and just ANGST for erik

He stays away from her but it is painful and he realizes that she has missed his elusive presence as she calls it

Erik has angst about it

They talk a lot like angel of music except she knows he’s a real man

Her career progresses

She beings to talk about raoul and erik is increasingly jealous. Does eriky things.

Breaks his own rule and sings for her

Touches her

Understands that he is in love with her

Decides to go with the full face mask

Christine is stymied by him but this bothers him because he knows none of it is real, understands that his voice is hypnotic

Makes him sad, wants to be loved for himself

Raoul dislikes being ignored

Erik wanting to be with Christine, considering many things to make her his

Erik meets Madeleine, she is still alive

Understands that all of the horridness he has done has been for nothing

Has breakdown

Goes to Christine, [sleeps with her], begs her to love him, begs her to marry him

Has another breakdown

The next morning he feels so guilty he leaves

Angst angst

Doesn’t know what to do

He goes back to find Madeleine and she is dying

Erik takes care of Madeleine

Thinks of Christine. Mama dies.

Erik returns and finds that Christine has been trying desperately to reach him

She says that she thinks she loves him

Erik explains that he is not at all what she thinks he is, that none of him that she has seen or known is real

Tells her to go away from him, far far away.

She is crying, does not understand. Erik just wants her to go away because it hurts. He slips off his gloves, and then slowly peels away his face. Christine’s eyes glaze over.

She faints. Erik waits for her to awaken. He feels numb now. He cradles her. When she awakens she screams, but he can almost forgive her for it. She doesn’t understand. He explains. There are still tears in her eyes. He explains the last thing. That he was responsible for the Campbell building. Then he gets up and leaves.

Stays away for a long time.

Christine meanwhile has been extremely confused. Erik left her with too many secrets and she feels betrayed and let down and utterly confused

Christine sort of went back to raoul but just didn’t understand what she was feeling so he was less important.

Erik returns. Erik says he will leave forever if that is what she wants. He tells her that he loves her, desperately. But that he understands. Christine says she is unsure.

Christine’s career progresses. Erik leaves her a note saying that he will go away forever. Christine is sad. Erik is sad. He decides that without Christine he has no will to live. But he decides he needs to hear her sing once more.

He goes several weeks later to hear her sing and she notices him in the rafters. They are giving faust. Charles dance scene ensues. Christine welcomes him back

They have much loving and everyone is yay.

Sorry for it being so long, I just copied and pasted it. If I do say so myself, I think the current iteration of COA is better than this original plan 😂

The "Charles Dance scene" is the one at the end of 1990s phantom when he sings Faust with her during the performance, a scene I've always been obsessed with. The Cherik has always been strong with this story!

[starseneyes]

Spock / Nurse Christine Chapel - Star Trek: Strange New Worlds S2 Eps 6 & 7

Folks, the cross-over episode dropped, and I'm so fascinated by how much Spapel we got in it!

So, I'm going to combine these two since we had one very strong scene in 2x06, and several fascinating scenes in 2x07.

SPOILER ALERT: Like Boimler with the Future, I'm no good at keeping my mouth shut about what's going on. If you read this, it's at your own risk!

Ready to dive in? Let's play!

"Lost in Translation" AKA "Your Move"

"Your move." "I know."

Christina fiddles with the piece in her hand, plotting out her move. But Spock's already ahead of her and anxious for her to make a move.

Wow. Everything you need to know about the scene was set up in four spoken words.

Because Spock is now basking in the freedom of being with Christine. It's such a departure from Vulcan relationships where there are rituals and rules and procedures and requirements. But is it too far a departure to last?

And, duh, I understand that they're doomed. But from their perspective, they don't know that.

I also love the body language, here. Spock and Christine are facing off, leaning in toward one another. They are both fully engaged, but the game separates them.

Though they share the table, there are many moving pieces at play.

"Is that not a polite euphemism for 'make your move faster'?"

Now, if we're talking physical moves, Christine's got no problems with moving fast. But, if we're talking emotional? Whole n'other ballgame.

Christine responds to Spock's question by leaning forward, licking her lips, and quipping.

"Am I boring you, Mr. Spock?"

Ooohhh, I love this. I've always associated her use of "Mr. Spock" with her purposeful detachment and separation from Spock—a way to verbalize the space they must give one another.

This single use enriches every interaction going forward.

Using the reference of TOS, I truly thought it was always and only used as a phrase to denote the separation between them. But to hear those two words used in such a seductive manner does my heart good.

There are times those two words may seem innocuous to the outside world, but to these two are painful, beautiful, romantic, sexy... so many things!

"Decidedly not."

Well, I do declare! This Southern gal's gotta fan herself just from the delivery of that line. Seriously. This dude is whipped.

Spock has bedroom eyes. First we got tongue on the Bridge, then snogging in his Quarters, now eye-fucking in the Bar. Yeah, these two are coming along nicely.

Christine's glowing with those words, too. She's always enjoyed his attention and company, but now she knows the fullness of it. And, no, I wasn't going for a phallic reference, there, but now it's got no choice but to stay.

Christine's been fiddling with her piece, taking her time, dealing with her indecision. This scene says so much with so little words spoken.

Because Spock is a relationship guy. We all know that. Christine even knows that, and it's not what she wants. At least, not what she thinks she wants.

Because we've already seen that sometimes Christine doesn't know her own mind or heart.

Look how she's fiddling with the piece while she considers her move, how she's shifting in her seat, rocking back and forth. There's no clear path, here. It's all one step at a time for her, while Spock's got the board and pieces memorized so long as he moves are predictable.

Problem is, Christine's far from predictable.

"Your move."

This time, it's teasing. Christine meets his eyes, but before she can even return to the board, he continues.

"There is a matter I've been meaning to discuss." "Should I get a drink first? You sound serious."

She knows him. Anyone else listening in might've thought it was a casual thing, but Christine knows his inflections and intentions so well that she immediately clocks that he wants to discuss something heavy.

"You wanna tell Starfleet about this."

Watch how Christine deflates. Relationships are sticky. Relationships are messy. They're annoying, but she can handle it.

But throw in structure and formality? Christine's gonna bolt fast if you try to tie her down. That's her M.O. And a part of her knows she's not ready to bolt from Spock.

"If there is anything to tell."

I love this bit. This is such an echo of every time Christine has made space for him. He's learning from her, and finding comfort in more of his humanity through their shared time.

And this trait's a rather beautiful one to pick up, I think. He is speaking without expectation, even though we all know what he'd like to hear. He's making room for her to say whatever she is going to say. And that's important.

Christine makes a move while considering his words or avoiding them. It's hard to say. But, Spock's letting her know he wants an answer.

He counters her move.

"Your move."

He's not letting up, Christine. You gotta tell him something.

She places the piece she took on the table, letting her hand hover over it. The last move, he took a piece of hers. This time, she took a piece of his.

And while I'd argue relationships shouldn't be "taking" pieces of one another, I think that we bleed into one another through clear communication and love. Pieces of us are shared and safe-guarded by the other party.

Let me tell you, I've rarely seen my husband angry. He has a lot of patience. But when he hits his limits, it's usually been when someone was unjustly attacking me. He's a freakin' fierce protector in those moments.

Christine and Spock aren't to the point of "clear communication and love", yet (and may never be, if history holds), but they're definitely more than "friends with benefits", much as Christine might protest.

"Relationships... at least for humans, can be... quantum things."

She looking down, gathering his thoughts, but he's completely leaned in and engaged, focused on her.

And I love the body language, here, because they both have their arms crossed in front of them as protection. Christine's is a harder overlap to shore up her armor, but Spock's is still there. Some part of him recognizes she might break his heart.

"Think about Schrodinger's cat. They exist or they don't, they don't, depending on who's observing them." "That is-" "Not how quantum superposition actually works? *chuckles* Yeah, I know."

I love how evenly matched they are in this conversation. She understands him enough to know where his literal mind might be misinterpreting her signals.

And she doesn't get frustrated with him. She chuckles to herself, and redirects to ensure he understands her meaning.

I spend so much of my life doing this with my Middle son, and I hope someday he meets a partner as patient and understanding as Christine has demonstrated on this show.

"It's a metaphor, Spock. A messy one. Just like... whatever this is."

It's Spock's time to be deflating and suddenly become obsessed with the texture of the table. It's not the answer he'd hoped to hear. Because while he went into the conversation without expectation, he did go in with hope.

"My point is, if we let Starfleet, or anyone else, for that matter, look inside the box then..." "Our quantum... cat might disappear?"

I. Laughed. So. Hard. It's the delivery. The arched eyebrows on "cat" and how seriously he says it. It's so bloody brilliant, but it had me absolutely rolling.

"I'd just as soon let it live. See how big it grows."

And we're back to bedroom eyes. Because while it's not the answer he hoped to hear, she's not rejecting him. She doesn't want to end things. She simply wants to continue on without defining it.

And this has the potential to be so bad for both of them. But, at least she's being honest. That's part of her whole quest with this relationship, right? Be more honest?

"Your move."

She winks at him. Because she just set out the expectations and wants on his side. It's up to him to decide if he wants to continue as they are, or report them to Starfleet and risk losing it all, or whatever third option is likely to occur.

We don't see the pair of them together after this scene, but I think we have a really good idea of where they are—they want different things and they're pretending they don't.

I've been there. My first boyfriend wanted way different things than me. But, I really liked him and I wanted to stay with him. Until he cheated on me and it all spiraled really badly.

We have foreknowledge that Spock and Christine don't, so that filters the lens through which we view the scene.

But if we look strictly at their wants in this scene alone, it's clear they're trying to head in the same direction while not understanding one is looking through a microscope, and the other a telescope. Technically, the same direction... but not the same view.

"Those Old Scientists" AKA "Spock's in a Phase"

Let me say up top that I did not expect that much Spapel in the cross-over episode. I told Matthew as soon as it hit the app, and we made the kids watch with us. My Middle told me it was his favorite episode of Star Trek ever.

Also, I'll admit Spock's experimentation with humanity as seen via's Boimler's perspective was jarring. I was simply not expecting it, and I admit I cringed as much as Boimler.

And while it was super effective, a part of me wishes we could've seen it from Christine and Spock's perspective (or anyone who wasn't seriously weirded out by it).

And, yes, this was all used as an illustrative tool to show that our visions of our heroes often differ greatly from the actuality, especially if we try to capture the whole of their lives based on a single point in time. Star Trek: First Contact investigates this concept extensively.

But in the microcosm of Spapel, it'd be fun to investigate what Christine thinks of Spock's increased leaning into his humanity, and even what Spock thinks of it.

Christine Spots Spock

I love how she spots him from across the room and immediately has to excuse herself.

"I have to go."

As soon as Christine says it, Erica looks over her shoulder to see where her friend's headed.

Spock is beaming when he sees her. Oh my goodness, he's so happy. This time (and I didn't remember this initial shot from my first viewing since I was doing it with a 5-year-old crawling over my lap and two 8-year-olds asking repeated questions), the shot is quite lovely!

Christine's striding over to her man, and she's so bloody happy to see him, too. Of course, it's the setup for the heartache to come, but I kinda wish we could bottle this moment where they both feel so damn content with who they are with one another.

"All I know is where I come from, he is legendary for never smiling, laughing, definitely no joking. And that Spock goes on to do really important things that I very much need to have not messed up."

Oh, Boimler. He's let La'an's words get into his head (because he takes the letter of rule so bloody seriously) and now he's unloading on an unsuspecting Christine.

"I'm worried because I made Spock laugh. And I keep wondering, is that a butterfly effect? 'Cause the Spock I know shouldn't have done that." "Maybe he's just... going through a thing. Like, having fun." "No, but I've read every book about Spock and they-they mention his upbringing on Vulcan, his pet sehlat, his relationship with his mom and dad, but nothing about a happy, smiley, jokey guy, period." "Just stop. Stop, stop, stop."

Boimler has no idea how to keep his mouth shut... or the pain he's inflicting. Because Christine now knows she doesn't make any of the Spock history books. They don't make it.

And. That. Hurts. Much as Christine doesn't see herself as a "relationship" person, she's already crossing so many lines with Spock. Some she may notice and brush off, but others I doubt she's aware of, yet.

Spock is on her ship. We know with Dever the last thing she wanted to do was transfer to his ship. She and Spock actually linger in public together and hang out, play games, chat.

They're not just shacking up and only shacking up. There's a relationship at play, here—a give-and-take.

"None of this is your fault, okay. Spock was acting like this before you arrived."

Excuse me? Excuse me!? He wasn't doing it last episode, so how long has this bloody relationship been going on?!

"Oh, thank God. So this is, what, this is just, like, a phase? And-and, he'll get over it and back to his, like, serious, real self soon?"

I think it's "just a phase" that crushed her. Look at the tears in her eyes. Because, deep down, she doesn't want this to be "just a phase" for either of them.

But, as far as history knows, they never existed. That is what Boimler just told her. Not that she's a footnote in Spock's history. Not that they burned out. They. Never. Existed.

And that's what she wanted last week, right? To keep Starfleet and everyone else out of it? But is that what she really wants? I would argue Christine doesn't know what she wants.

But this hurts like hell.

"Oh. You're the one who's been influencing him, not me. I-I shouldn't have said anything."

He regrets it. He regrets everything. But, it's too late. He can't take it back.

And her realization that he's put two-and-two together is so... her. She's almost embarrassed he knows, because she doesn't want anyone to know.

Although I'm sure all her besties know... they're simply too polite to say anything (most of the time... I'm looking at you, Erica).

"No. It's, it's fine. I never assumed that I would... get to influence him forever, anyway."

She start off fine, but by the end of the sentence, she's tearing up, again. She looks away.

"Don't even want that."

That's right, Christine. Keep telling yourself that. And, I gotta offer mad props to Jess Bush, as usual, because he inflection is everything on this.

Some folks get a line and look at it, and they give one read that's flat without emphasis, or the emphasis is in a predictable spot. From the beginning, I've noted how creative Jess Bush is in her choices, and I'm just so blown away by her.

She took a character that wasn't really my favorite (I was a McCoy gal) and turned her into my favorite character of Strange New Worlds.

And, yes, I fully credit the Writers (go WGA!) with the blueprint presented to her. But, I'm mad impressed with her performance every episode. It's so nuanced and alive.

When Boimler leaves, she's alone with her thoughts. And while she's been telling herself for so long that it's not what she wants, it sucks to feel like the option doesn't even exist anymore.

With Schrodinger's cat, the not knowing is part of it, right? Now, she knows.

And, y'know, I'd like to also point out that history books don't know everything. I'm writing a script based on my grandparents. Trust me, there's a lot that's not going on the page for a variety of reasons.

I once heard the expression, "History is written by the victor". And, it's true. So much of history is omitted from what we know.

A few years ago, one of the books I homeschooled my children with was about Black soldiers during the Revolutionary War who defected to the English side. This is our national history of which I was entirely unaware.

We're still discovering more history all the time that was omitted or hidden. Which feeds into my prediction that, perhaps, there's a logical reason why Spock and Christine erased themselves from each other's lives.

I won't get into my predictions in the middle of the Meta, but skip to the end if you want my (completely uninformed) thoughts.

"Ensign Boimler, Nurse Chapel told me about your exchange."

Oh, shit. But, seriously, I'm so proud of my girl, Christine, for talking to her not-boyfriend.

Go with me, here: What is something Christine sucks at? Communication. She just isn't the best, especially at communicating her own wants and needs. Erica pointed it out to her with Devers, and also tried to help guide her towards trying to be better.

Christine, despite finding out they're doomed, communicated with Spock. I'm so bloody proud.

"She did not go into detail, but it was easy to extrapolate that there was something you told her about my future. Perhaps, I should know." "Nah."

Boimler is trying so hard not to do anymore damage.

But was this always supposed to happen? Look, most time-travel episodes change the past or try not to change the past. But, in this case, I'd argue these events were necessary, in a cyclical manner.

I mean, Pike would've gone in guns blazin' with the Orions if not for Boimler. It might've seemed revisionist, at first, but then it came around at the end to be exactly what needed to happen.

"It does not take an expert observer to recognize that my experiments in human emotion trouble you. Therefore, I must surmise my future state, the one you are familiar with, must be one in which my emotions are minimized." "Must you surmise that?"

Boimler is begging him to stop understanding him. Which is bloody hilarious, because Boimler would honestly prefer for Spock not to be so damn observational and rational and good as suppositions.

"But you did say something to Christine that upset her."

There it is. He hasn't referred to her as Christine on-screen since he was fully human. And I know it's a little thing, but I'm grateful it's here. Because we know, now, without a doubt, that he's truly concerned about her.

He drops the professionalism in that sentence. He's speaking as a concerned not-boyfriend, and it's so heartbreaking knowing it all ends in tears.

Am I hoping at least there's a satisfying reason besides, "You're meant to be something else, so we're doomed, so I'm going to be Korby's research assistant because he personally invited me"? Golly, yes. But, that's up to the writers, and I'm along for the ride.

"Look, all I said was that I'm surprised that you're so... human. Yes, the universe needs Vulcan Spock if everything that I know happens... happens." "And yet I have no choice but to stay true to the path I have chosen in this time. If you sway me, then my future will have been altered. Is that not logical?" "Unfortunately, it is."

That isn't all you said, Boimler. But, I love this peek into Spock's mindset. He's going to see this through. Whereas Christine is now feeling unsteady, Spock is more resolved than ever.

They are such very different people, but that can be sensational relationally, as well. My husband and I intersect in interest and temperament in some ways, and diverge greatly in others. It definitely keeps things interesting.

But until Christine and Spock are clearly communicating, their differences remain possibilities for upheaval.

"Do you feel lucky?"

Well? Do ya, punk? I mean, has Christine introduced Spock to Dirty Harry? Or did he pick that one up at movie night?

SIDE NOTE: I love just how many series of Star Trek have a movie night... as if a subtle reminder that even as technology changes and morphs, we still love to return to a good picture show for entertainment and comfort.

While this isn't Spapel-related, I have to call out that I loved them referencing Enterprise, the show. While neither of my favorite characters got a mention (Trip/T'Pol), it's good to see the acknowledgement and the connection.

That whole scene of turning the current Enterprise crew into super fans talking about their heroes was so well done. A reminder that none of us is immune to a little hero worship and awe... and that it's not a bad thing.

We simply need to remember that these people are still people, and that even if we've read every book available, we still don't know their whole story. Some things don't make the history books.

At the end of the episode, they're all animated, and I have to applaud whoever picked up on the fact that Christine does not know how to sit in a chair normally. I mean, in "Lost in Translation" she had one hand between her legs while swiveling at the table.

It's a small detail, but I immediately cheered when I saw it because the characterization was on point.

Alright, before I talk about Future Spock and Christine, I need to address something that really got me: Boimler and Mariner talking to Pike about his birthday.

My father has already lived past his father's age at death. My mother has lived past her mother's, and next year will live past her father's. It's poignant.

But I also love how Boimler points out that the regret Pike feels might be shared by those who love him.

Now, I don't think anyone should be convinced out of doing something that brings them joy, but I am glad they helped steer him toward community. As we saw last Meta, connection is one of Starfleet's greatest gifts.

And having just lost Cheryl a month ago, I'm thinking about how I really treasure all our little moments, even as she was reaching the end. Connection is such a powerful thing.

Also, I genuinely teared up at the Orion Scientist finding out they'd attribute the discovery to him. There is so much prejudice in this world where one sector of a society does something unsavory, and suddenly anyone belonging to that society is seen as undesirable.

It's bullshit, and it needs to stop. Because assumptions like that can literally get people killed. And to see that Orion watch as a man of Starfleet chose to see them for who they were, and was even willing to help write the history that would tell their truth... that was powerful.

Now, let's talk Future Spock and Chapel.

WARNING: Will contain spoilers for the episode AFTER next based on the promo!!

I think it's going to either completely unravel, or start to badly deteriorate next episode. My prediction is that Christine publishes her paper and Korby is so impressed he invites her to Vulcan not as a student, but as his research assistant.

This allows us to stay very close to canon without making it a creepy teacher/student relationship.

Also, I think she's going to find out she's in and sing a big heart song (thank you Zoey's Extraodinary Playlist) about it, but Spock's going to overhear something she never meant to say.

There might be a sad duet sung by the two of them, either in separate rooms, or together. But, we're heading towards a breakdown, in my opinion.

And while I'm sad to see it, it's inevitable, right? Unless they rewrite canon or give us some sneaky way these two reunited in their old age, we know how this story goes.

Whether we'll see them together in Season 3 remains to be seen, of course, but I really hope so.

Why? Because I like to imagine the reason they stay apart is because they're protecting someone or each other... that it was a shared and conscious decision by both of them to do what was necessary for the greater good.

Not because they didn't love one another (though I don't think Christine will admit it until TOS), but because they had to make a hard sacrifice.

That's so bloody Star Trek—people making sacrifices for the greater good.

Yes, I'd love to see these two crazy kids sort it out... but that's not their story. Are there a million possibilities out there that canon could support? Heck, yeah! It can still be a compelling story, even if it's a tragedy.

Think about Shakespeare. All those folks turning out to see his tragedies as much as his comedies—because the stories he told moved people.

Christine and Spock, you beautiful, doomed dears. I wish you much happiness, though I know it won't be possible the way you might've hoped.

[hobipaloozaaa]

Chapter 1

*The story takes place in Veronica's POV

"I don't wanna go" I whined throwing my head against the headrest. Sage laughed causing Nick to roll his eyes.

"Too bad, we told Big Woo we'd go." He said looking down at his phone. I groaned some more. It was Saturday and I had just wanted a full day to relax and lay in bed, meaning doing nothing but eating and sleeping.

"You said we'd go, I didn't say anything" I sassed. "If we all have to be there then why doesn't Christine? She never has to go to these things." I whined throwing myself onto Sages shoulder for dramatic effect.

"She's busy" Nick said not even sparring a glance my way. "Besides you never wanna go but as soon as we go out you start getting lit and then you're good for the rest of the night". He attempted to sway me. I groaned more. "If you were home what would you be doing? Sleeping, playing on your phone? You're better off out with your friends." He said.

Well he definitely had a point. I stayed silent knowing he was right.

For the majority of the ride me and Maru were watching TikTok's on my phone when 2  notifications from Instagram pop up.

Oliver Moy has followed you

Oliver Moy has sent you a message

"Who's that?" Maru questioned looking at me.

"I'm not sure," I answer back. "Hey do you know who this is?" I ask Sage. He peers down at my phone as we scroll through some of his Instagram pictures.

"Nah he doesn't seem familiar." He says. "Nick do you know who this is?" Sage says as he tosses the phone to Nick.

Nick looks down at the phone for a minute when he answers back with; "Some of his friends were on UTI, he's part of the Northstar boys. The ones Viet went to go apologize to this summer." We all think back for a minute that's when I remember the video.

"Oh shit, I remember now!" I yelled. "That's fucked that they took a video of it." I started, "Why's he following me now, does he follow any of you?" I questioned wondering what the sudden interest in me was.  They each check their Instagram. A collective no went around the car.

"Bitch see what he messaged you", said Maru tugging at my arm. I sighed unlocking my phone.

"Why'd the car get hella quiet," I yelled "even stopped the music and everything". Trying to take away some of the unwanted attention.

"We're nosy, tell us what he said" Maru said.

I scrolled to the message.

" Hi I'm such a big fan of the podcast! I hope to be able to meet you tonight." I read aloud.

"Oooooo, he likes youuu" Devin drags out. Making everyone  in the car start to laugh.

"I'm so glad you all think this is funny" I answer back. "He's going?" I ask "They're friends with Woo like that?" I questioned Nick.

"All of his group is going. Woo invited a bunch of different people for the party with UTI." Nick says showing me the list on his phone.

"What's this kid even like?" I wonder aloud. I take the rest of the ride to scroll through his tiktok and YouTube channel and by the time we get to the club I've come to a conclusion.

"So what do you think about him?" Maru asks. I purse my lips, and tell her that Oliver is good looking but not my type.

"Really but he's so cute!" Maru exclaimed.

I laughed at that. "He seems nice just not someone I'd be going out with. He probably doesn't even want to go out or anything. Maybe he just wants me to be in a video or something or for them to come onto the podcast." I state "Anyways I heard through a little birdie that a girlie Nick likes might be there." I tease trying to take attention away from myself.

"Who?" Nick whips around as we walk towards the back entrance. I shrug teasing him. "At least say who told you." Nick pleaded as we walked through the door. Me and Maru laughed as everyone branched out and decided to meet back up altogether later in the night.

As I looked around the room I realized there weren't too many people I really talk to other than the friends I came with. I made my way through the room hoping to latch onto Devin or Cynthia while I wait for the event to start, that's when I felt someone grab me by my shoulder.

"Veeee!" Viet shouts in my ear, wrapping his arms around me. "There's someone here who wants to meet you!" He says as he steers us to a group of people. I take notice of the group when I take in the faces of the group we're walking to. Oliver Moy is one of those faces. I turn to look at Viet who has a shit eating grin on his face.

As we get to the group they all start to smile and laugh one even grabbing onto Oliver. They worked themselves through the group introducing themselves: Sebastian, Regie, Justin, Ryan, Darren, Kane, Tyler, Bae and Angel. When it was Oliver's turn he stepped up to hug me.

"Hi, it's so nice to meet you. I'm Oliver." He said with a smile on his face. I awkwardly patted his back.

"I'm Veronica" I said taking a step back.

"They've been talking about meeting you all day" Viet teased wrapping his arm around Regie's shoulder.

"Well it's a pleasure to meet all of you, but I told Sean I was gonna stay close to him", I say finding an excuse to walk away. I turn and quickly walk towards Sean who was standing with Esther and Jeremy. "You're sticking with me tonight". I told Sean as I looped my arm through his.

"Why's that?", he questioned looking down at me.

"Cause I told the Northstar Boys that I couldn't stay to talk with them because I promised not to leave you alone all night". I said shooting him a look.

Time Skip

Time had passed and we had all had one too many drinks. Sean and me had separated a while ago so I could sit down because my heels were killing me from standing for so many hours. I was sitting down playing with my phone when I felt someone sit next to me.

"I feel like I didn't get a chance to talk to you all night". I heard from next to me. I turned to the voice to see Oliver smiling at me.