storiesofwildfire

[ni-kol-koru]

Drew something as a little gift for @transmasckagami ❤️✨️ This is a way of me saying 'Thank you' for all the nice things you said about my art, I hope you will like it ❤️

[seasonofthewicth]

A Groovy Kind of Love - Chapter 12

AN: guys the gif is a total spoiler but I couldn’t not... enjoy

masterlist - ao3

--

Rowan drifted away from Aelin, under the excuse of serving another customer at the end of the bar, when he saw Aedion and Lysandra approach. He still wasn’t exactly sure what had been said between her and Lysandra, but the soft smiles they gave each other now told him that all wasn’t lost. 

He had meant to ask earlier, after he had given his own apology and done his grovelling for forgiveness, but Aelin had surprised him and forgiven him easily. She hadn’t even wanted him to apologise and he was grateful that she had seemed to have understood that he hadn’t been a willing participant in keeping the secret from her. 

That said, he was more than glad the secret keeping was finally over. 

He hadn’t been expecting the hug she had thrown at him, the way she had flung herself into his arms had shocked him, but it had most definitely been a welcome surprise. The sensation of her cradled against his chest, her hair tickling his cheeks, the soft pressure of her arms around his neck.

It had felt far too good. 

He had allowed himself to get lost in it. Wrapping his arms around her small waist and pulling her into himself even tighter he had allowed himself to breathe in the scent of her hair. She was divine. He was struggling to forget about it, or to even stop thinking about it for a moment. 

He shouldn’t be so excited over a hug. He was calm, honestly. But it felt different than it did at the wedding, when they were playing pretend to show Lyria he was over her. And gods if that didn’t feel like a lifetime ago, Aelin had been almost a stranger, only having lived with them for a few weeks.

 But now this was Aelin, and Rowan was in such deep, unending shit. 

“They seem to have made up now, thank the gods,” Aedion said, looking over to where Aelin and Lysandra sat, as he slid in opposite Rowan where he stood polishing glasses. He nodded at his friend, not even needing to take his order at this point. 

“Lucky for you,” He said and Aedion bit back the grin he knew threatened to bloom. 

“And seemingly you too, you looked pretty cosy when we came in,” Aedion raised a brow. 

“Yeah,” He said, he couldn’t deny it. He felt as if Aelin had a sort of magnetism to her, one he could never resist, that always pulled him into her orbit. 

“Yeah?” Aedion asked, disbelief clear in his tone. “No denial this time?”

He rolled his eyes, but it was probably better to play it safe. “There’s nothing to deny.”

“Of course not,” He grinned and stood to pull his phone out of his pocket when it buzzed. “Lorcan says he’s bringing his boss.”

“Here?”

“Here.”

He laughed. 

They had all been waiting to meet the captain since Lorcan first brought up his irritation with the guy. Aedion had bet them that by the end of the month Lorcan would have requested a transfer to a different department in order to escape, but Fenrys had countered, in fact raising the bet, wagering that Lorcan would be transferred before he could even ask. The anger the man seemed to incite inside of their friend left no other option. 

“Should be fun then,” He said to Aedion who was busy tapping away at his phone screen, likely replying to Lorcan with some teasing barb if he knew his friend at all. 

His own phone buzzed and he pulled it out to see a message from Lorcan himself.

shut the fuck up both of you

He snorted. He definitely knew Aedion well enough, and Lorcan’s own reaction was more than predictable.

Still shaking his head, he turned to look back over to where Aelin and Lysandra sat. They were finally embracing and he couldn’t help the sigh of relief that spread through him. He knew the expression he wore when she looked over, as she and Lysandra turned to join them, was far too soft. Far too loving to be looking at a friend. But after their hug, some of the strands of restraint he held himself in had snapped. 

The sight of Lorcan appearing in the doorway off to the side drew his attention and he nodded a greeting before spotting the woman following behind him. The woman had long, thick hair, almost impossibly darker than Lorcan’s himself and pale, almost translucent, skin with the softest of pink blushes gracing her angular cheekbones. 

She was tiny, the top of her head barely gracing his friends shoulders, and slight in stature as she stood completely dwarfed by their friend. 

He thought Lorcan was bringing his boss?

A glance at Aedion told him he was thinking the same thing. 

He had texted only a minute earlier that he was bringing Captain Lochan. 

“Can you even be a police officer if you’re that small?” Aedion breathed at his side, and he knew the conclusion he had drawn was correct, as impossible as it seemed. He couldn’t reply, could only stare, trying to close his mouth, as Lorcan and his guest approached. 

When they reached the bar Lorcan spoke. 

“Meet Captain Elide Lochan,” He held a hand out to the woman at his side. “Captain, my roommates, Rowan and Aedion.”

Rowan blinked and he knew Aedion did the same. This was the boss Lorcan had been moaning about? The pain in his ass, the reason he didn’t want to get up in the morning. This tiny woman?

“You’re Captain Lochan?” 

Maybe it was rude, but he couldn’t believe this stunning woman was who Lorcan had been complaining about. Unless… Damn. She was exactly Lorcan’s usual type; dark-haired, pale skinned and petite. 

He glanced up at the male. His expression as he stared down at the captain was not one Rowan would expect given the speeches they had received about her. 

“I was expecting a guy,” Aedion said, sounding stunned. At Lorcan’s glare he said; “No offense.”

Captain Lochan only raised an eyebrow at his friend as she slid onto a bar stool. Even with the boost that gave her Aedion still towered over her, yet she still managed to look down at him. 

“Any reason for that?” She asked, and her voice was gentle and peaceful before she said, “Other than sexism?”

She raised a dark eyebrow and stared at Aedion with a look that Rowan knew could wear down hardened criminals in a matter of seconds. Aedion began to stutter an apology and Rowan could only stare, his mouth slightly ajar at the whirlwind that was this woman. He was impressed she managed to have Aedion speechless so quickly. 

She let him fester for a second longer before grinning, a wicked, mischievous thing. Lorcan wore a matching grin of appreciation as he watched his boss.

“I’m only fucking with you,” She laughed and turned to Rowan who barely dared to let out a slight laugh, almost a giggle. “Two beers please. You can put them on his tab.”

She gestured to Lorcan who had slid onto the stool on her other side, who only nodded to Rowan. He turned, grateful for a moment of privacy to process, just as Aelin and Lysandra approached the group. 

-- 

She could hardly believe that the slight woman perched on a stool next to her cousin was the Captain Lochan that Lorcan had been slating for weeks. She had only had a second to school her expression into anything other than shock when they were introduced, and the look of mild panic that Aedion flashed her told her he felt the exact same. 

She wasn’t what Aelin expected from a tough police captain, and it made her realise she really needed to stop making assumptions on things. Elide was stunning, her face was fair and her hair was glossy and shiny where it fell in thick dark waves. 

Her plump, red lips twisted into a wicked smirk as she whipped Aelin’s roommates into shape with barely a handful of words. Aelin liked her already, and the way she riled Lorcan was only part of it. 

She could also handle her drink, for a woman of barely five feet tall she knocked back as many pints as Lorcan and it was hardly noticeable past a slight flush in her cheeks. 

Aelin was not handling her own so well. Rowan had handed her her first drink with a grin, tucking a tiny pink umbrella into the side that he knew she liked, but by now, if she wasn’t so buzzed, she would suspect her drinks were getting weaker and weaker. 

He drifted over to her, lightly bracing his arms on the bar in front of himself and across from her, and she smiled widely up at him, the sounds of her friends’ lively conversations fading into the background. She had long since stopped contributing, content to sit back and watch the whirlwind that was Elide Lochan, but she was more than happy to be faced with Rowan, especially when he was smiling at her in such a way that brightened his whole face. 

“Hey you,” He said, his voice soft. “Had enough to drink yet?”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” She slurred, her voice creeping up at the end. Shit, maybe she had had enough to drink. She’d never back down though. 

His smile widened at her, his eyes crinkling in a way that she couldn't help but stare. She loved his smile. Sober Aelin could unpack that later. 

“You want to know what I think?” She asked him, cocking her head.

“Do I?” He laughed, and at her unimpressed glare he said, “Go on.”

“I think,” She walked her fingertips across the bar until she poked an index finger into the top of his hand. “I think the bartender is being stingy with me.”

“Right,” He laughed. “Maybe you should call the police,” A nod towards Lorcan and Elide. “I’m sure there are laws about how much alcohol free drinks have to contain.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed again. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” She pouted and moved to pull her hand back to her chest. Rowan snapped his own hand off the bar and grabbed her fingers, cradling her hand in his own against the bar. 

“I’m not, I promise.” He told her with a smile. “I’ll have a word with the bartender.”

She grinned at him before pulling her hand back and slapping them both onto the bar as she pushed herself off her stool.

“I need the toilet.” She announced, far too loudly. “Ladies?”

She turned to Lysandra and Elide. She had been to the toilet with Lysandra more times than she could count, they always did when they were out, and she had drank enough that she was unfazed by the idea of bringing the relative stranger that was Elide. 

Aelin liked her now, that was enough. 

--

Running her hands under the cold water at the sink was helping her to steady herself and she swore it was helping her sober up. She didn’t usually get so drunk in nights at the bar with the guys but the energy was high and Elide was a fantastic new addition to the dynamic.

Aelin wanted to keep her for herself, fuck Lorcan, he didn’t have to like her; Aelin liked her more than enough. But even her drunk mind suspected that Lorcan’s complaints were more than they seemed, the way his face softened when he looked at her was something she hadn’t missed, no matter how many drinks she was in.

She looked up at herself in the mirror, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were glassy, but her smile was wide and she looked happy. 

She thought back to where she had been only a few months ago, waiting for Arobynn to return, the only other real person she had as a constant that she had in her life was Lysandra, and while she loved her friend, she had never wanted to bother her. 

It had meant that all the times she had felt low she had let it sit and fester. That was different now. Getting rid of Arobynn had lifted a weight from her chest that she hadn’t realised had become so cumbersome. 

Moving in with the guys had completely changed her life and she felt almost back to who she was before Arobynn. She was carefree again, she had friends again, and she hadn’t realised how much she had allowed Arobynn’s dislike of her having male friends to affect her. 

Gods, she was weepy when she was drunk. She blinked back the tears and turned the tap off before spinning around to dry her hands. She found herself faced with Lysandra and Elide who were shouting at each other over the noise of the hand dryer. 

“I don’t know why he didn’t tell us,” Lysandra yelled, she was also drunk, just not quite as much as Aelin.

“Who? And tell us what?” She yelled back, her voice shockingly loud when the dryer cut out. 

Elide laughed, a sweet sound that fit more with her appearance of jeans and a loose chiffon top than the clever jokes that had passed her lips so far this evening. 

“That Elide was a woman,” Lysandra spun to her, her green eyes wide. 

“Oh,” She turned back to Elide. “Yeah, it’s Lorcan though, none of us can explain why he does any of what he does.”

Elide laughed as Lysandra snorted and slung an arm across her shoulders, the mesh of her puffy sleeves scratched slightly against the side of Aelin’s face. 

She cocked her head at Elide, “What is he like with you?”

She could only imagine that Lorcan was even less friendly at work than he was with her, and she knew at this point that they were definitely friends, it was just what he was like. 

Elide took a breath, and Aelin swore a flush of blood rushed to her cheeks, gracing the planes of her face with a pretty pink tint. 

“Can I confess something to you guys?” She asked.

Aelin grinned at Lysandra. 

“Please,” Her friend whispered conspiratorially as they both leaned in towards Elide. 

“I thought when he invited me here that it was a date,” Elide twisted her hands in front of herself nervously. 

Aelin gasped and heard Lysandra do the same, yanking her arm back off Aelin’s shoulders. 

“No,” She whispered as she heard Lysandra mutter ‘why is he like this?’ by her side. 

“What did he say, exactly, when he invited you here?” She asked. 

Elide bit her lip, still blushing as she looked between Aelin and Lysandra. “He asked if I wanted to get a drink with him.”

She cursed the man still sat at the bar, he was more than stupid if he hadn’t realised how that would sound, and she looked towards Lysandra. Not that she wanted to meddle, but she could sense that Lorcan might be the kind of guy who needed a little push, and she knew she and Lysandra were more than up to the task. 

Lysandra grinned back and she was grateful they already seemed to be over their fight, already back to scheming. 

“He’s an idiot,” She said apologetically. “But if it makes you feel better he definitely seems to like you; you’re all he’s spoken about for weeks.”

“Really?” A pretty smile took over Elide’s face. 

Aelin nodded and she could feel Lysandra doing the same before Elide let out a nervous laugh. 

“What does he say about me?” 

Aelin pursed her lips, the alcohol still coursing through her veins had somewhat smashed through her already flimsy filter, and she turned to Lysandra who cleared her throat.

“Um, nothing bad,” She began experimentally, and Aelin nodded along dramatically, but Elide surprised her by laughing.

“It’s about the reforms isn’t it?”

“How did you know?” She asked.

Elide flipped a hand through the air in front of them, “He hasn’t kept his thoughts on them a secret from me.”

Aelin sighed in relief. “If you know that you have absolutely nothing to worry about, and from one lady to another, I think you’ve got a pretty good chance of landing that date.”

She looped her arm through Elide’s and led the way back out to the bar. Her eyes scanned the three males at the bar and she remembered, only a little late, that Fenrys was missing. She tapped out a quick message to him and his reply was almost instantaneous. 

At the loft. Bring everyone back here :)

That she could do. 

-- 

“Are you sure though?” Aedion rested his head against his fist, his elbow braced on the slightly sticky top of the bar, but he didn’t seem fazed by the fact. 

Lorcan shook his head around a swig of his beer. “I’m sure. Even if I did like her-”

“Which you do,” Rowan interrupted, sharing another grin with Aedion. Lorcan glared at him but continued. 

“Even if I liked her, she’s my boss.” 

“So?” Aedion asked, as if the answer was clear. Which, if you asked Rowan, it was. 

“I can’t date my boss.” Lorcan stated simply. 

“You don’t need to.” Aedion explained, all of his marketing skills were out in full force. Rowan even felt himself being persuaded. “Date her, it’s clear you want to.”

Lorcan didn’t deny it and Aedion continued. 

“Then all you have to do is switch departments. You hate being under her anyway, you’re constantly moaning about all the things she makes you do, so it can only be a win-win.”

“I don’t know,” Lorcan began, but Rowan could tell he was sold. He only hoped Elide returned the desire, but from the way she had sat all night, leaning into Lorcan’s side, he doubted that she wouldn’t. 

“Do it,” He said firmly. 

“As if I need to take dating advice from you.” 

He narrowed his eyes at his friend, but hissed at him when he spotted the girls heading back over from the toilet. “Whatever. Shut up now.”

Aelin looked far too good he decided as she picked her way through the tables dotted across the floor. Her skin was glowing and her smile was bright where she led Elide and Lysandra back over to them. The outfit she had on was one he was struggling with, her top was cut low in a deep v-neck, and he was struggling to pull his eyes away from the cream skin that was exposed. 

He composed himself just in time for her to throw herself onto the stool in front of him. 

“Hey,” She said, almost breathless. “What time do you get off?”

He checked the clock behind himself. Excellent, not long until his replacement got in.

“Ten minutes,” He told her and couldn’t help but smile back when she grinned and clapped her hands. 

“We,” She waved a hand around the entire group collected at the bar, “Are taking this back to the loft, Fenrys feels left out.”

She pouted overdramatically at the end and he couldn’t help but think she looked adorable with her lower lip pushed out and her big blue eyes looking up at him.

“Alright,” Aedion cried, slapping a hand against the one Aelin held outstretched. “Finally a good fucking drink.”

Rowan flipped him off but grinned, now he could finally catch them up. 

-- 

He should have known that heading back to the loft, with his roommates in the state that they were would get messy. Fenrys’ level of general chaos only played off the inebriation of the others and he wasn’t surprised they had ended up sat in a circle in their living room playing another game of truth or dare. 

They needed to get a new game, for gods’ sake he was almost thirty, but he couldn’t deny that it was enjoyable. He had managed to choke down a couple of Fenrys’ specials and was now feeling pleasantly buzzed, nowhere near the level of Aedion or Fenrys, but similar to Aelin next to him, attempting to sober up.

She had collapsed onto the sofa beside him and tucked herself under his arm that rested along the back of the seat. She laid her head back so it was resting on his bicep, and his hand had almost gone numb, but he couldn’t push her away. 

Aedion glanced up from his phone screen, “Lysandra, change your shirt with the person on your left.”

Lysandra groaned, “You are so predictable.” 

But she leaned forward to pull off her top in one swift sweep and Rowan carefully averted his eyes as Aelin whooped.

“It’s all part of the game, sweetheart,” Aedion grinned fiendishly as Fenrys tugged off his own shirt to swap with Lysandra. Elide whistled and Rowan felt, more than heard, the cackle that Aelin let loose. 

Lysandra looked fine in Fenrys’ green t-shirt, but Fenrys in Lysandra’s mesh top was a sight to see. It stretched across his shoulders in a way that was visibly uncomfortable but he took it in his stride, throwing back another mouthful of whatever was mixed in his glass. 

“Backfired maybe?” Lorcan asked Aedion darkly. “Or was it your intention to get your girlfriend in another guy’s shirt.” 

“Shut up,” Lysandra scolded. “Your turn then Mr Salvaterre. Stand up.”

“I didn’t say dare,” He replied. 

“Fine.” She narrowed her eyes. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” He grinned at her and she flipped him off. 

“Stand up.” She instructed. “Aedion your jacket please?”

Rowan frowned, not quite sure where the dare was, but the look Aelin was giving him from his side told him it would be good. It was a mischievous smile, pure Aelin, and he couldn’t help himself from returning it when she shifted her weight so her head lay more against his shoulder. He let his arm drop from the back of the couch so his hand was resting on her hip and she was firmly tucked into his side. 

He was buzzed enough to enjoy it, rather than worrying about what came next, or the looks that Aedion kept flashing him. 

Lorcan stood and Lysandra walked towards him with Aedion’s jacket in hand and stretched up onto her tiptoes to tie it across Lorcan’s eyes. “Wait there,” she said with a hand to his chest. 

She slipped to his side and bent down to whisper in Elide’s ear, who blushed but nodded slightly. Elide stepped up until she was standing on the spot where she had been sat and brushed her hair behind her shoulders. The top of her head almost came to the height of Lorcan, still standing by her side. 

Lysandra grabbed Lorcan’s hand and dragged him in a small loop before positioning him again in front of Elide and resting his hands on her shoulders. 

“Guess who this is,” Lysandra instructed coolly. “Only using your hands.”

Rowan grinned, so this was where Lysandra was going. It seemed Aelin and Lysandra had the same idea as himself and Aedion; they had just got there faster. 

Aelin let out a soft squeak of excitement as Lorcan’s hands began to move and he grinned, tightening the arm he held around her. 

--

Lysandra was a genius. Lorcan’s hands were skimming Elide’s sides and the blush on the woman’s face was delightful. Aelin grinned at her friend, who only raised her glass as she took her seat back on the other side of the circle, and she felt Rowan chuckle beneath her head.

She hadn’t sat next to him with the intention of cuddling him, especially not in front of all of their friends, but it felt too good to pull back. His palm was burning an imprint onto her hip where it rested, and she wanted to shift slightly in the hopes that skin would meet skin, but she managed to reign herself back in. 

The alcohol was clearing from her system slowly, and she was happy just to sit here buzzed and enjoy Rowan’s warmth. 

She watched Lorcan’s hands trail back up from Elide’s hips until they lightly brushed the underside of her breasts. He jerked his hands back sharply and yanked the jacket off his eyes before turning around to glare at Lysandra.

“I’m sorry,” He said, turning back to Elide and offering her a hand to step down from the seat. 

Aelin watched as Elide took his hand, stepped down and grinned back up at him. She could only hope that smile would kick her friend into gear, but then again, it was Lorcan. 

He turned to retake his seat and face the group, rubbing his hands together as he chose his target, but Elide interrupted.

“I’m taking this go,” She said, her voice clear from her perch next to Lorcan. “Rowan, truth or dare?”

The angle of her eyebrow had something stirring in Aelin’s stomach, she had already been able to tell that Elide had a wicked side. 

“Dare.”

She knew the cocky grin he wore as he sat forward, his hand slipping from her hip as he balanced his elbows on his knees as he met Elide’s challenge. She missed the pressure of him against her already.

“Rowan,” Elide said with a grin. “I dare you to kiss Aelin.”

She jerked in her seat, unable to believe what Elide had said. She was aware of Rowan completely frozen at her side and she blinked, unsure whether Rowan would go through with the dare. 

She knew she wanted him to, she was past the point of denial. She wanted to feel the pressure of his lips against her own, wanted to feel his fingers twisting through her hair. Her only hesitation was that their first kiss would be in front of all of her drunken roommates, but… She wanted him to kiss her. 

She ignored the jeers of her roommates, and focussed only on Rowan where he turned to look at her, but she felt her face fall when his eyes met her own. 

He looked panicked, like a deer caught in headlights, and she swallowed. The sensation that had begun with Elide’s demand now twisted into something like dread. 

“No,” He laughed awkwardly. 

“Do it!” Aedion cheered him on. 

“I-”, Rowan stuttered, but his voice grew more serious, losing the trace of laughter it had previously held. “No.”

He shook his head. Aelin felt her mouth drop open slightly and the atmosphere in the room shifted from something warm and jovial to something more delicate and somewhat uncomfortable. 

“Um, who’s next?” Fenrys asked, trying to recover the atmosphere.

“I think I should probably get going actually,” Elide stood and began to collect her things, Aelin nodded, not trusting herself to speak. 

She sharply avoided Rowan’s gaze, though she knew he was desperately seeking her out. She couldn’t take the rejection right now, and she didn’t even want to hear his excuses. She wished she was still as buzzed as she had been before, it might have made it easier to take. 

She bid goodbye to Elide quickly, exchanging phone numbers with the woman and promising to text each other, before slinking off to her room without so much as a word. 

--

She was struggling to sleep. She had been tossing and turning for at least half an hour at this point, wondering over and over why Rowan hadn’t kissed her. He couldn’t have thought she didn’t want him to, they had been sat cuddling all night and she had enjoyed it, so he couldn’t have thought she didn’t want to be that close to him.

She also knew they were friends and that they were at a level of comfortability with each other that, even if a kiss didn’t mean the same to him as it would have to her, he shouldn’t have felt too uncomfortable pressing a brief kiss to her lips. 

It could only mean he hadn’t wanted to kiss her. And that fucking hurt. 

She sighed, pushing her covers back off herself. She was never going to sleep like this, maybe going to get a glass of water could help her reset and try again. 

She shuffled towards the door before swinging it open and stepping into the hallway. She took a step down the hallway before she heard Rowan’s bedroom door open behind her. Perfect. 

She turned around to face him and noted that he was in pyjamas, even as upset as she was she couldn’t help but notice how good he looked. Even with the nervous expression plastered across his face and the way his teeth worried his lower lip. A part of her hoped he took note of how she looked in one of her favourite nightgowns, a pale pink number with an almost sheer overlay that fell to mid-thigh, but she knew it was probably unlikely. 

“Hey,” He said softly as he leaned one shoulder against his own doorway. 

“Hey,” She returned quietly. He had clearly heard her door open and come to seek her out so she crossed her arms across her chest and waited for him to speak. 

“Aelin, about before,” He took a pause and she sighed.

“Why didn’t you want to kiss me Rowan?”

She was sick of dancing around each other, she knew how she felt and that she wanted him to have kissed her, and his rejection had left her with nothing to lose. 

He ran a hand nervously through his hair as he pushed off from the door jam and stepped towards her. 

“I- Aelin, I didn’t want-”

She sighed. She had changed her mind. She didn’t want to hear his verbal rejection too. She turned, her glass of water forgotten, and headed back towards her own bedroom but Rowan darted forwards and wrapped a firm hand around her wrist, pulling her back into him. 

He pulled her against him, curling his fingers around her own, and tucked his other hand into the hair at the base of her neck as he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. 

His lips were firm and warm against her own as his hand slipped forwards from her hair to cradle her cheek. She felt her eyes flutter shut and her lips parted against his as she let out a soft sigh at the contact. Rowan kissed her again, this time with more intent and the pressure was heavy, but his lips were soft and smooth where they brushed against her own.

He tilted her head up to himself, with the caress of a thumb under her chin, for better access as his other hand slid around to hold her waist. She lifted her own hands up over his shoulders to twist through his hair, holding him firmly to her. 

She couldn’t let go, she needed him closer.

She leaned into him as his tongue swept into her mouth, powerful strokes that had a heat building deep inside her, and she gasped each time they parted, her breaths rasping down her throat. The scent of him filled her head, the addicting pine and a hint of snow intoxicating her. 

His kisses became harder and more intense and she clung to him desperately as he claimed her mouth with his own. She stepped impossibly forward into him until the line of her body was pressed against his own and his arm around her waist tightened in response, tugging her even tighter against him. 

She couldn’t help the soft moan that slipped out of her as the arm he had wrapped firmly around her waist slipped lower, only the faintest graze of his hand down her backside, until it slipped lower and bunched the fabric of her dress. His fingertips brushed the skin of her thigh and the contact seemed to shock Rowan back to his senses. 

He pulled back gently, but not before pressing another feather-light peck against her lips. Her eyes fluttered open to look at him where he stood, still so close to her his chest brushed against hers as it heaved with each of his deep breaths. 

He seemed to take a moment, his eyes flicking across her face before he smiled slightly and loosened his hold on her. She knew the smile she wore was just as delicate as she slid her hands down from his hair to his shoulders. 

He pressed a final kiss against her temple before releasing her fully. He took a step back and turned to head back into his bedroom. 

“I didn’t want the first time I kissed you to be for some stupid game.”

--

tags:

@jesstargaryenqueen

@maybekindasortaace

@slytheringalathynius

@http-itsrebecca

@morganofthewildfire

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@fictional-horan

@tottenhamboys20

@dressedindustandshadows

@sleeping-and-books

@perseusannabeth

@ireallyshouldsleeprn

@superspiritfestival

@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

@spyofthenightcourt

@jlinez

@queen-of-glass

@booknerdproblems

@sjmships

@elriel4life

@bamchickawowow

@woollycat22

@claralady

@illyrianwitchling

@SHINYA-HIIRAGI

@fangirlprincess09

@darlinminds​

@bookittothelibrary

@thenerdandfandoms​

@danibutterr

[childofthenight2035]

In Which The Protagonist Is A Dumbass

A/N: i honestly dont know why i wrote this but based off something that happened once upon a time why did i write this it has zero plot anyways

Pairing(?): gn!Reader x Felix (ft. Jisung)

Summary/Prompt: You’re stupid. And you have the same phone as he does.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: None

-

It wasn’t even summer yet, but it was hot. Too hot.

Finals season. That couple of months at the end of the academic year when kids and teachers alike were stressed as fuck. Kids, because they didn’t know shit, and their teachers, well, for the same reason. Students often forget that teachers depend very much on their pupils’ performance.

Finals season was when you would see the morning buses loaded with kids and their unnecessarily heavy textbooks in one hand as they tried to balance themselves standing up with the other. It was also when you saw those same kids on the bus back home at noon instead of the afternoon because their exams were over.

Finals season was when dorms were quietly chaotic. Tempers ran high, lights were never off at night, and a chilling sort of hush fell over the building after dinnertime, a silence everyone was scared of breaking. People escaped the four walls of their room as much as possible, going up to the roof and explaining to the clouds what antibodies were, or pacing around the block in circles until they got dizzy and found themselves in the warden’s room diagnosed with dehydration. After two similar incidents, none of the students were permitted to spend too much time outdoors. It was simply too hot. Global warming was a real thing.

Following that rule, you chose to spend your time in the study hall next to the coffee shop on campus that shut down during finals, because no one was free to take orders or man the machines. The students had to settle for the cheap instant coffee from the mess hall across the campus.

You had made the table in the corner yours at a particular time every day. Someone was there before you, and someone came after you, but you didn’t mind. Despite not knowing who they were, you found the taking turns system convenient. It also helped that one of the two plugpoints in the entire hall was near your table.

Your exam was tomorrow and you pitied the ones who had theirs in less than two hours. You could see them, sitting on the edges of their seats, grouped together but not interacting much—that point had passed. Occasionally one of them would ask another for an answer, but the time for group study was not now. Now was the time for cramming—each to his own. Their legs bounced up and down, impatient but dreading the exam at the same time. Open books were scattered around them, trying to absorb as much information as they could at once. Their fingers tapped their pens against the tables, but you forgave the annoying sound it made—this would be you tomorrow.

You flipped through the seventh chapter of your biology textbook, wondering if you could possibly finish studying the next fourteen chapters before the next afternoon.  You wished you would have started studying earlier but it was too late to think all that.

You glanced at your phone when it buzzed, alerting you that you had a message from your friend, reminding you to email your chemistry professor to ask him what the answer was to questions 16-28 on page 142, chapter five, because she didn’t know his email id. That’s a task for later, you thought. You wondered why she was so bothered by chem when your biology final was the next day. Oh, right, stupid, she doesn’t take bio. The exam stress was seriously making you lose reason. You pressed your charger deeper into the socket and rechecked that the switch was turned on. You had once gone the whole day without realizing that you hadn’t actually switched the power on so your phone could drink some electricity.

Someone plonked a textbook onto your table, making you jump. As you looked up, a handsome young  man (baby faced young man, are you sure he’s not a high school student?) slid into the seat opposite you.

“Sorry,” he said, pulling out a phone and you leant back in your seat, taken aback by the deep voice issuing from between his pretty lips (waht the fcuk). “It’s just, my phone’s probably gonna die, and I have an exam soon and I can’t plug it anywhere else….”

Oh wow, you thought, mesmerized by the richness of his vocal cords and his soft blonde locks. You could sit here charging your phone forever. I would charge your phone for you. Just keep talking.

Unfortunately, he fell silent, looking at you expectantly. You realized he wanted permission.

“Oh! Yeah, sure,” you offered, gesturing to your charger. “Totally fine.”

He flashed you a grateful smile, carefully unplugging your phone and replacing it with his own. Switching it on, he set his phone beside yours.

“Oh!” He exclaimed, then laughed, pointing at the two phones. “They’re the same!”

You followed his finger to where your phone and his lay side by side. He was right. Your phones were the same. Same size, same brand, same model. A smile broke across your features at that.

“What a coincidence,” you remarked, turning back to your textbook. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to continue talking to this person about the phones, it’s just that you had an exam coming up in less than twenty-four hours and you needed to focus. You heard a muttered ‘right, shit, get to work’ from the boy opposite you.

A moment later, he was frantically turning pages, pen between his teeth, shaking his leg, just like the others in the room that had their exam today. You thought better than to interrupt his uploading of information into brain. He checked his watch with an expression that gradually became more horrified.

You turned your focus back to your book, to the world of tissues and cells. You vaguely saw him shuffling around but you paid no mind.

The tension in the room grew slowly higher and higher. The hour mark had been crossed, and the students were near hysterical.

The study hall supervisor couldn’t seem to stand it either. Within five minutes, she was shouting at the exam students to get up and leave. No use cramming so close to an exam, she said to them. Use this time to calm yourself and recollect what you’ve learned.

Standard teacher advice. The boy opposite you stood up hesitantly, not tearing his eyes away from the book, two of his fingers pressing into his neck.

“Good luck,” you offered. His gaze met yours and the creases in his forehead disappeared.

“Thank you,” he said, still looking nervous as he slowly packed his bag. You stood up as well, deciding to go to the mess hall for some food. As he bent to cram his textbook into his bag, you reached over to remove his phone and take back your charger. You slipped your phone that was lying on the table unplugged into your pocket and handed him his phone. He thanked you again, distractedly.

You patted his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, just calm down. If you get anxious, you won’t be able to do well. So relax.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll relax.” He took a deep breath.

With another word of reassurance, you sent him along his way, packing your own stuff and exiting the study hall.

“Ugh, I’m so hungry,” you groaned, wondering if your friend was available to join you. You brought out your phone and turned the screen on.

You stopped in your tracks.

On the screen was a photo of the blondie who had just been sitting opposite you, with another dark-haired boy asleep on his lap.

You cursed out loud, startling some passers-by.

Oh! the boy had said. They’re the same!

You were stupid. You were so stupid.

But wasn’t his phone the one being charged? And yours was unplugged? He must have switched them back once he was satisfied with his phone’s percentage.

But why didn’t you have the basic sense to check if the phone was yours? You could call your own phone, right?

The campus clock chimed one o'clock. His exam must have started. There was no point in trying to reach him now. At least not until four.

You turned the screen on again. This time fixed on the numbers asking you to enter the password. You couldn’t call your own phone even if you wanted to.

You eyed the emergency call button. Did he have the police entered, or a friend’s contact? You shoved the thing back into your pocket, deciding to just wait. You didn’t even know his name. You didn’t know what exam he had. You didn’t know where to find him.

You were screwed. But hey, food.

The macaroni and cheese was crusty and gross as ever, but as you had learned during the year, you don’t say no to food. Gross or not. You never knew when you would get it again. Money is a fickle thing. It never stays with one person their whole life.

A loud, strange sort of music erupted from the device in your pocket. You jumped. His phone was ringing. Hoping against hope that it would be someone you knew, a mutual friend, you took it out and looked at its screen. It said Sungie (^.^). Would this person be able to help? Hesitantly, you pressed answer.

“Yo, Flixie, shouldn’t you be writing an exam? How are you answering your phone?”

“Um…hello?”

You heard a distant ‘what the fuck’. “Hello?”

You didn’t recognize the voice and certainly not the nickname. There must be dozens of people on campus with Sung in their names. “Yeah. Hi.”

“You’re not Felix. Who’s this and why do you have his phone?”

He spoke with such authority that you were sure this was either his best friend, his brother, or someone else very close to him. You weren’t about to get beat up over a mixed up phone. “Listen, I can explain!”

“Please do.”

“You see, the thing is, your friend—Felix?—and I were sitting at the same table in study hall,” you rambled, “and he asked if he could use my charger to charge his phone and I said yes so he plugged it in, but when we both got up to leave, our phones got switched.” You drew in a breath. “It’s my fault. I should’ve checked the phones before I gave it back to him.”

You could hear the person on the other end laughing his face off. You relaxed a bit. “Wow, nice going. So you can’t contact him and neither can he. And I can’t either, huh?”

“I suppose not. Do you know where he’s taking his exam?”

“I think it’s in Hall 3…” he trailed off, thinking.

“So I could just wait there for him, right—“

“…It could also be in Hall 1,” he continued, “or maybe even in Hall 2. Or it could be in the library…”

A sudden thought struck you. You had heard his voice before somewhere. This joking, self-satisfied sort of tone. “You’re Jisung, aren’t you? Han Jisung?”

He abruptly stopped spouting out suggestions. “Uh. Yeah?”

“You won the prize for the Monoact this year, didn’t you?”

“Oh. Huh? That. Yeah, I did? That’s how you know me? Cool.” You could almost hear his head filling up with air. Change the topic.

“Hm. So you don’t know where Felix is?”

In the pause that followed, you understood one thing: he did. He was just not going to make things easier for you. “You know what? Give me your number. I’ll contact you after his exam and tell you where to go.”

You rattled off your number to him reluctantly.

“So, I have your number,” he began, his voice dropping lower, “is the next step asking you out on a—“

“I’m hanging up now.”

You pressed the end call button over his protests.

 .

You tried to focus on your textbook back at the dorm. You really did. That’s why you went to the dorm in the first place. But anxiety was slowly creeping up on you. You were replaying your day, trying to remember what Felix had been studying.

His lockscreen was cute, though. You wondered if the boy asleep on his lap was his boyfriend. Maybe. Maybe not. Since it was his lockscreen, then maybe he was. Either way, whoever it was had a place of honour.

The clock ticked slower and slower, inching to four o'clock.

At three-forty-five, you couldn’t concentrate. You closed your book.

Twenty-five minutes later, his phone rang.

You snatched it up, barely registering the name Sungie (^.^) and sliding the answer button. “Hello?”

“Right. Felix is waiting for you at the mess hall.”

“Oh, okay, tha—“ A beep sounded. You stared at the phone. Okay, that was straight to the point.

You dashed out of your dorm room.

…and you forgot the phone, jeez, Y/N, what the hell?

Take two.

 .

It was too hot to be running to the mess hall again, but at least it had dropped a degree since noon.

You glanced around the large semi-open space, hoping to see a shock of blonde hair that would catch your attention. And one did.

One very sun-kissed young man with neatly combed blonde hair was waving at you. Your heart leapt.

…Obviously not at the sight of him, particularly, but He-Who-Had-Your-Phone.

My generation has succumbed to technology, you thought.

“Hi,” you said awkwardly as you climbed into a seat opposite him. He returned the greeting equally awkward, but managing to smile tiredly. You noticed he had a smattering of freckles across his cheeks and nose. Cute.

“I’m Felix,” he offered, sticking out a hand. You took it.

“I know. I’m Y/N.”

You set his phone on the table and he mimicked the action with yours. The two of you exchanged phones, giggling nervously at the mix-up.

“Sorry,” he started to say, but you shook your head.

“I’m the one who should be sorry, I took your phone thinking it was mine.”

“Well, I don’t blame you,” he assured (whiplash, you forgot how deep his voice was). “I connected your phone to the charger once mine was okay without telling you.”

“We can play this blame game back and forth all day.”

He laughed, his voice lightening for a second. “True.”

You gestured to his phone. “Your wallpaper is really cute. Is that your boyfriend?”

He blushed, snatching up his phone and sliding it into his bag. “No,” he replied a little too quickly, in a tone that told you maybe he was lying. “Speaking of wallpapers,” he continued, tapping your phone, “isn’t that 3racha’s radio promotion poster? Maybe specifically, CB97?”

You could feel the heat rushing to your cheeks. “So? What about it?”

Felix broke into a smile. “You didn’t recognize SpearB from my wallpaper?”

Your mouth fell open. “Wait, that’s him?! I didn’t recognize…”

He nodded. “And you didn’t know J.One? I thought he told you to come over here?”

You slammed your fist onto the table. “Are you kidding me?”

Felix started laughing.

“So that’s how I know him!” you exclaimed. “It wasn’t the monoact prize, it was this! I’m so stupid!”

He laughed even harder at your pout. “It’s okay, I won’t tell Chris.”

“Please don’t.”

After a minute, in which he held  back his giggles and you pouted harder than ever, he spoke up. “So, hey, let me treat you. I sure am hungry.” He gestured vaguely around. “How about some gross instant coffee?”

-

again why did i write this

[sleepyfan-blog]

aa,,, yes, im a sucker for isward ngl and uh- could I request some isward angst-? (but if you wanna do fluff then thats cool too) im just,, hh ily writing so much,, :>>

Fandom: IBVS by @onebizarrekai

Characters and pairing: Isaac Beamer, Edward Quinton, Drew Jovel, Nevin Jovel, Barry Price, Xavier Jackson, Christopher Jackson, Charlie Jackson, Isward

Warnings: major character death, Blood, angst

Word count: 2,566

Summary: Can the Supernatural Investigation Club figure out what’s been making people disappear?

“Ten people have gone missing in three days. Why has no one but the five of us noticed this?” Isaac muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing as he stares at the cafeteria, his arms folded over his chest “And that’s just this week. Another twenty have gone missing in the past month.”

“I-I don’t know.” Drew stuttered, pressing a little bit closer to his twin brother and shivering a little, his golden-brown eyes flickering over the rest of the student body “I… A new student transferred to our homeroom a week before the disappearances started.” He’d been pulled into the supernatural club - despite Nevin’s initial protest - due to the other’s healing ability… And the fact that the four of them were kind of terrible at keeping secrets. Well, Edward and Isaac were. Nevin and Barry were better at keeping secrets, though practice.

“But they’re never called on in class. Like - their name is called on for roll call and that’s it.” Nevin rumbled, scooting a bit closer to his brother, trying to shove the clawing paranoia down. “Neither of us can remember their name, even moments after it’s spoken.”

“Hmm… That’s… Really weird. Barry, have you heard any chatter from your contacts who like trying to summon eldritch bullshit that they’ve been up to their shenanigans again?” Edward asked, glancing at his childhood friend, shifting a little and wishing that they were meeting in his secret hideout - but the cafeteria was centrally located and all of them had separate classes after this.

Barry shook his head a little “If they have, no one’s told me about it… I’ll ask a couple of them but… Three of them have gone missing, and their friends don’t seem to remember the people who vanish. It’s like… It’s like when they disappear, they’re erased completely.” Just then, all five of their cellphones went off at the same time.

The five teens blinked and pulled out their phone. The number was 6̥͈͕͓͍͘1̵3͚͍̺͕̼͕̱-̙̞̘͖̦6̡̮̳̥̳4̹̱̘͉9̢̹-̡6͙͍̭̯́4̛̖̱̰̤̦̭4̵̳̹3 to all of them, and it read [Qrngu vf bayl gur ortvaavat. Rira gubhtu guvf vf whfg bar tnzr bs znal. Znlor lbh pna fgbc zr, yvggyr urebrf orsber v jva? Be jvyy lbh snygre naq or qribherq? Abj gur tnzr unf gehyl ortha.]

“Hoookay, so who just sent us a bunch of random bullshit? My phone’s glitching out a little.” Edward grumbled “Did you guys get the same string of nonsense?”

“It’s not nonsense.” Drew murmured quickly, glancing around the room, biting his lower lip and quickly wrote something quickly and shoved it at his brother, before pulling out another sheet and starting to write something down on it, pausing after he was done, shaking a little. The others leaned over and…

Nevin swore quietly under his breath and muttered “We need someplace private to talk. Right now.” It was written in cursive… And Spanish, which none of them could read that well. “Delete the message from your phones. At best someone’s fucking with us.”

Edward nodded “I’ll take you to one of the hidden rooms in the school.” He frowned a little, but quickly took the others into his main lair. He turned and demanded to both of the sophmores “Alright, spill.”

“The message was sent to us in ROT-13. I decoded the message and wrote it in Spanish, to decrease the chances of… Whoever sent it to us reading it over my shoulder.” Drew explained, shifting uncomfortably. “It says: Death is only the beginning. Even though this is just one game of many. Maybe you can stop me, little heroes before i win? Or will you falter and be devoured? Now the game has truly begun. … Also only the first letters of each sentence are capitalized - none of the rest of the letters are - including the single I with i win… Which spell out DEMON when put it together.”

“That’s… Kind of fucked up and weird? But that’s not exactly a reason to get all riled out. It could just be someone trying to fuck with us… Although our phones all glitching out at the same time is weird.” Edward responded, shaking his head a little. They needed to focus on the missing people problem - this possibly prank text was something that could be dealt with later.

~

“Nevin… We forgot someone.” Drew murmured, voice suddenly full of fear, his eyes widening in shock.

“I.. Oh fuck. Chris! I haven’t seen him at all today… Have you?” Nevin hissed, his eyes widening. How could they have possibly forgotten him?

“No, I haven’t… He lives two houses down from us… We should go check up on him while we’re on our way home from school.”

“You’re right - hang on. I’ll text Barry and tell him where we’re going. we’re supposed to meet with him, Isaac and the King of Morons to figure out what sort of creature we might be dealing with. I just wish that they’d take your warning about the text more seriously.” Nevin sighed, shaking his head a little.

They arrived at C̷̯̤͖͈͍̮r̼̖̣̮͓̗͢ó̬̬̖͔̲̮̝s͈̯̮͠ͅṣ̫͝ͅͅ'̳̬s̳̝̳̯͝ home, knocking on the door. A tall stranger answered it, his eyes glowing violet. “We’ve been expecting you.” His voice echoed strangely, and both of the g͞u̴̯͓̣̖a̶r̖̯͓͕̻d͈͈̀i̷͙a̦̘͍n̙͈̩̣͙̹͖ twins immediately fell unconscious.

~

Edward and Isaac were trying to look up what sort of supernatural creatures who could make you forget their name when it was spoken by someone else. More people had gone missing. Edward stared at a picture of himself and someone who Isaac didn’t recognize, frowning a little “Hey… Ed, what’s wrong?” He leaned against his boyfriend, pressing a light kiss to the other’s cheeks.

“I… I don’t know. I have pictures of this guy - like I’ve known him since I was Geno’s age, at least. But I don’t… I don’t remember him. But he’s important to me… Does that make sense?” Edward answered, confused.

Isaac was about to respond when their phones chimed at the same time, the number was one they didn’t recognize and couldn’t see, their phones glitching so badly. [I HAVE THE LOREKEEPER, THE LIGHT, THE SWORDSMAN, AND THE SHADOW. CAN YOU FIGURE OUT WHAT’S WRONG, PROTAGONISTS? THE OTHER HEROES ARE SUPPLEMENTAL, BUT PERHAPS THE MAIN TWO WILL BE ABLE TO SAVE THEIR PARTY, AND WIN THE DAY.]

“That’s… Fucked up and weird. It’s always just been the two of u-” Edward started, blinking twice as he clutched his head, cursing under his breath as memories suddenly burst forth into his head with the fury of a sledgehammer. Not all of these memories were pleasant.

Isaac stilled, groaning quietly “I… Oh no. They can make us forget our own friends… The… They’ve got…”

“Shit. They’ve got the others. At least I was able to convince my folks to send Geno over to Reuben’s place… Both of the kiddos have powers, and I really fucking hope that Reuben lives far enough away to be out of this bullshit. No matter what the type of demon - which D̯̮̲̘̰̀r͖͙͇̼͕̼e͔̹̙̮a̹̫̖͎ͅm is probably right salt, a religious icon of your choice, and holy water will work to subdue it from everything I’ve read.” Edward growled, a determined expression appearing on his face.

“Which is all well and fine… Except that I don’t believe in any sort of organized religion - the only one of us who might have is Drew, who’s been captured. I’m pretty sure that sort of iconography requires some sort of genuine belief that it will work in order to work.” Isaac murmured, a concerned frown appearing on his face as he crossed his arms. What did he think could stop a demon?

“… Well, fuck. You’re right about that. Salt and holy water it is… Along with my strings to bind the demon in place so we can tell it to fuck off this mortal plane.” Error responded, a determined expression appearing on his face “… And yes, I’m looking up on my phone how to get holy water.”

~

One quick trip to the local church supply store - which apparently existed, not that they had known that until a quick look up on their phone - they had as much holy water and Purified Salt as they could carry - having managed to somehow sweet talk the store owner into giving them most of it for about ten bucks, the rest was given freely. Not wanting to question their bit of good luck, the pair of them sat down on one of the benches in the park. “Okay… So, we’ve got the stuff… How do we find and fight the demon?” Isaac reflected, a small frown appearing on his face - the sun was just beginning to set, and a sense of urgency was pushing at him. Something awful had happened - and worse was going to continue if they didn’t stop this as soon as possible.

“I… I don’t know. Do you know where C̷̯̤͖͈͍̮r̼̖̣̮͓̗͢ó̬̬̖͔̲̮̝s͈̯̮͠ͅṣ̫͝ͅͅ'̳̬s̳̝̳̯͝ or D͍̞r̘͇̖̭͍͖e̘͓͢a̮̳̮̪̕ͅm̨̖͓͚̩̲ ̴̝͙̘̹̙̣a̱̠n̯͓̘̯̮ͅd̴ ̫̞̰̜̞̕ͅǸ̮i̫̮͘g̮͈̱̫̕h̖̼ṭ̱͍̩̻͟m̲̤a̤̣͙͍̹̣r̯̬̞͓̪̀e̵̲̗̻̞̺̘ͅ live? That might be a good place to start. We already checked Bl͕͇̘̪͕u̹̭͎̯͎e̶̫̦͉̜'͓̭͍͖͘s home and no one lives there right now. It’s like it’s been completely abandoned for years.” Edward asked, shifting a little and trying to keep calm. He was feeling distinctly restless. Were they missing something?

“I… I think I’ve been to Chris’s place before…” Isaac answered with a frown, leaning into his boyfriend, grateful for the other’s steadying warmth. Both of the teens stood up, with Edward following close behind his boyfriend as the other led him to a nondescript looking house.

Edward hesitated for a moment before opening the front door open a crack and taking a peek inside. He cursed quietly and shut it. “So, there are strange, purple symbols glowing everywhere in the inside of that house. It’s really fucked up and spooky looking. Also I’m pretty sure I saw blood splatter and long gouges in some of the walls. But we’ve got friends to save. You ready for this, Isaac?”

Ink nodded, a determined expression appearing on his face “Yes. Let’s kick demon ass. It’s not like we haven’t done that before.” With that the two of them entered the house. Isaac stopped dead as he stared at the symbols - which weren’t in Latin or Greek - or any other ancient, unspeakable tongue. “Great. We’re dealing with some sort of New Demon - or one with a fucked up sense of humor.” he muttered quietly to his boyfriend, rolling his eyes a little. If it weren’t for the weird forgetting his friends thing, he’d have thought this was an elaborate - if kind of shitty - prank.

“Why?” Edward asked, staring nervously at the symbols before keeping his eyes firmly fixed ahead - he didn’t want to lose his sanity by having eldritch symbols burned into his brain or something equally awful “We gotta keep moving, Isaac.”

“Because, the.. The symbols. It’s wingdings. Like the crazy font?” Ink mumbled, frowning a little. Something pressed at the back of his mind. Something very important about the font - why it was much more ominous than it should be, as a joke font.

“Okay, I agree. That’s weird. Maybe the demon we’re dealing with is trying to confuse us to death.” Edward started. He looked like he was about to say more, but was cut off when a blood-curdling scream shattered the tense silence. Both teens sprinted to the door - Edward using a couple of strings to yank the door off of it’s hinges. The stairs leading down to the basement (of course it was a fucking basement) were bathed in more ominous purple light as they ran as quickly as they dared down the tight, rickety steps.

Barry, Drew, and Nevin were tied to the wall, with Chris in the middle of the basement, his hands and feet pinned to the floor with silver daggers, blood still dripping from the wounds. There was some sort of symbol painted beneath him - but neither Isaac nor Edward were focusing enough on that to really tell what it was. Nevin was the only one of the four of them conscious, and a strange, black substance was dripping down his face as he continued to struggle against his bonds, his eyes glowing a furious cyan “LET US GO, YOU MISERABLE OLD FUCK! I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU THINK YOU HAVE TO GAIN, YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO FUCKING TORTURE US LIKE THIS!”

“On the contrary, I have every right to do so, Ǹ̮i̫̮͘g̮͈̱̫̕h̖̼ṭ̱͍̩̻͟m̲̤a̤̣͙͍̹̣r̯̬̞͓̪̀e̵̲̗̻̞̺̘ͅ. Besides, it’s not as if you have any room to talk, considering…” A tall, stern looking man called out, a dark smirk on his face as he stalked towards the both of them “And you two have arrived, right on schedule. I was wondering if the two of you were going to be late - or try to flee. But I see that allowing  you all to form positive social bonds has made catching you so much easier. Come forth and help me, C͏̪̫̫͙h̻̜̪̻̗͙͠a̷̠r̡̻̠̤a̵̼͙̳̤.”

A small, pale spirit rises up from C̛̖̳r̞̙͙͔͍͍o͈̮̳̼̪̠͉s̪̟͓̦͉̻̯s'̮̟̜͔̱́ś̪͍̠ body. It turns to face them, their eyes a bright, glowing red, a strange black substance - not unlike what currently is pouring from Nevin’s back and face - and it hisses “I̪̬̰͎͚̯̼ h̷̯̣͔̼̣ͅͅa̜̥̞̳̣͝t̘̼̥͖̗̬͓e̴͚̰ ̗͍̤͚͟y̳o̦̗̫̣͘ͅu̻̥̹͘ ̺̹̗̝̮ś̜͓̯ó̬̝̻̠͈ m͈͙̙̟͡u͔͚͈̱c̥͍͙͚h̟̣̠͖͍̦,̸̲̘ ͉͇̺̥̘̀G̪͇͔̦̟͔a͍s̷̖̱t̙̦̞̺͖ͅe̼͇̱͇̟͖r̪͓͘!ͅ ̝́I̤̜͇͡ w̙͟i̙l͟l̨͔̝̦̳ ͍̠̱̭͍̟k͖̦̗̺̼̪i̳̻l͓͎͇̫̺̳l̻̜͉ ͍̬̞̯͖̣y͖̜̯͘ou̜!̦͉͍̟"̯̟̩͠ screeching angrily at the man who had called it forth from their friend.

“I don’t care that you hate me, Demon. You are bound to my will, and I command you to kill E̥̞̖̥͔̟̙r̸̹̪͇̫r̬̟̗o͏̼̼̲̣̗̝ŕ̹̮̙̹ ̯̥͢a̮͙͓̙n̳͝d̰͔̱ ͙̺̬I͔̟̗͉n̻̠̜̭̞̩̮k̨̦̞, bringing me their souls. After that take Blue’s soul and then the emotive guardians’ together, as can only be done for them. Cross will be last to be harvested, and then we can begin this experiment anew.” The man ordered, smirking a little as the demon howled in rage, but threw itself at the both of them nonetheless.

Exactly none of the holy water or salt did jack shit to the demon - and as Ink desperately used what little paint he had brought with him to fend off the attacks from the angry spirit that kept throwing itself at him with a relentless determination. He dodged, swiped at them, rolled to avoid another swipe of their knife. “Ed! Do you have Nevin down yet?”

“I’m trying. These cuffs are resisting my strings! I-” Error choked and collapsed, clutching at his chest, his eyes returning to their normal color, before starting to dull. The strange man was standing directly behind him, another glittering, silver knife in his hands, this one stained with bright, fresh blood.

“Edward!” Ink screamed as he raced over to his boyfriend, kneeling down as he desperately tried to shake the other “No… No no no. You… You have to stay with me… P-please you can’t… Y-You can’t die on me now…”

Error coughed wetly, a weak smile on his face “Hey… ‘s okay… We fought him hard… Jus… Just go… I think he has to kill us all or it won’t work… R-Run… Love… F-For me?”

“No! I won’t leave you…Leave our friends to die! I… I’ll-” Ink’s eyes had a manic gleam as he used his paint as a barrier to block both the man and the tiny DEMON’s attacks “I’ll kill them both, and find a way to save everyone. I-I will!”

The man chuckled as he raised something in his hands “So predictable.” something clicked in the man’s hands, and Isaac’s world went dark, Edward’s weak “Noo!” and Nevin’s loud cursing the last thing he heard as the shadows stole his sight, his body limp and numb.

[peterporkerpeter]

Code Red — Part Three [Peter Parker x Avenger!Reader]

MASTERLIST//CR MASTERLIST

WC: 2.900

Y/N shuffled into the black car, Tony sitting in the front with his hand steadily curled around the steering wheel. Clint happened to be conveniently placed beside him, his eyes continuously darting towards the rear view mirror to glance back at the two teens.

The car ride was absolutely silent—at least for the first half of the ride. Y/N was too anxious to make any half-assed quick-witted remarks, and Peter was too concerned with consoling her. His hand gently rest upon hers, the warmth of his fingertips radiating onto hers. A part of her was put to ease by the simple gesture, but that certainly didn't distract from the waves of anxiety crippling her every limb.

On top of that, she was hoping Clint would keep his big fat mouth shut, but that was unlikely. The archer always seemed to enjoy being a chaotic human being, so he was entirely unpredictable. Y/N despised that about him. She hoped that maybe he did know how to shut up, otherwise she was in for long ride and an earful from Tony.

"Why is no one talking?" Tony cut the silence with a knife. He spared at glimpse at the Clint then flickered his eyes up towards the mirror where he made eye contact with Y/N.

"Because I'm trying not to hurl," Y/N groaned, slouching back.

She blinked away fearful tears, not wanting to appear weak. She kept forgetting she was still a child, but Natasha's words kept ringing through her head. Now was not the time to act like a kid. It was important to remain structured and intact for the mission, as much as it pained her to do so. Y/N didn't realize how hard that was. Natasha seemed to do it so fluently like undercover work was merely instinct. Then again, she was a trained assassin.

"I think we should call this off," Clint added, pondering on his little conversation with Y/N earlier. He couldn't stop thinking about the miscellaneous Prom question. Why would she ask that?

"No!" Y/N shouted, sounding a lot harsher than she intended. Everyone shot her concerned glances before she relaxed, calmly shaking her head and adjusting her tone. "No, Clint. It's fine. I can do this. We've gone too far to give up now."

Time to grow up.

"Y/N, I'm sorry, this is going to bother me the whole night. Tony, I walked in on—"

"No!" Peter cried.

"Clint, I swear to God, you say one more fucking word I will throttle you! I. Will. Kill. You."

"Language!" Tony hissed. He looked skeptically between his three team mates, a muddled look in his whiskey brown eyes. "What the hell is going on?"

Clint was squirming in his seat like a five year old just desperate to tattle on Y/N and Peter. He kept fidgeting with his hands, making silent conversation with Y/N through mouthed words and violent hand gestures.

"I will kill you. Hold off for now. Do it later."

"Do what later?" Tony was starting to get antsy. "Someone tell me what the hell is going on."

"Nothing!" The three chanted in sync.

Tony pursed his lips, rolling his eyes before settling back into his seat. "Whatever. You guys are children. Ridiculous children. I'm gonna' bitch about this moment to you later during the drive home, FYI."

"You did not just say 'FYI' like that," Y/N winced. "You sound like a total dad when you do that. Soon enough, you're going to start saying 'LOL' out loud to fit in with the cool kids."

"You're very snappy tonight, little miss. You're lucky I don't hate you, otherwise I'd be yapping your ear off like a Chihuahua about how much your getting on my last nerve."

"I'm getting on your last nerve? Are you joking? Tony, I've pretty much had it up to here with you," she used her hand to show how fed up she was with him by furiously shoving it high into the air, "and the night has barely begun! You're practically throwing me into a fucking war zone to die! Give me a break!"

"Y/N, it was a joke! Jesus, kiddo!" Tony argued. "Remind me to never get on your bad side."

Y/N thought she could hear her own heart loudly thumping against her chest. She could certainly feel it too. There was a giant lump in her throat, limiting the accuracy of her breathing, trembling, shallow breathes puffing past her lips. She slumped against the corner of the car, her arms wrapped around her body as if to protect herself from the cruel world. Slowly, she sank into a silent panic attack, shutting her eyes to hide herself from the people in the car.

"Y/N?" she noticed Tony's voice, but this time isn't wasn't dripping with sarcasm or aflame with a fiery remark. It was soft and soothing, full of uncommon sincerity. "You've gotta' stop thinking so much. All you're doing is freaking yourself out. You have five of us in there with you. Five. They'll have eyes on you the whole time, they're going to keep you safe. Nothing bad is going to happen."

Y/N used the pad of her thumb to blot away a tear that managed to appear on her waterline. She didn't want to ruin her makeup—another reason why she hated wearing it so much. Tears were bound to happen eventually, and she did not want to be walking around with mascara tracks stained onto her cheeks. She drew out a shaky breath, then swallowed her fear.

"Yeah," she replied. "That's what they all say right before something bad happens. I don't want to talk about this anymore. Let's just get it done."

"Sounds good, Hermione," Clint sighed.

Y/N grinned.

Eventually, the car pulled up to the front of the location. The gala was located at an art museum in the center of the city, which Y/N found to be quite the glamorous place for such a luxurious party. She noticed all the women entering through the entrance wearing long, elegant gowns with their handsome dates locked like a chain around their arm. The jewelry was flashy and the cameras were clicking. She could hear conversation carrying fluently across the sea of expensive color rolling in through the grand front doors.

"Good luck, Y/N. You got this kid. And you look like a million bucks," Tony turned around in his seat to face her. "Also, no making out with Parker. At least, not during the mission. I don't care what you do afterwards. Make sure your comms are on."

"Love you," she said quickly, not even thinking before the words came flying out of her mouth. Subconsciously, she supposed it was a good time to say it, seeing as there were a million different ways—good or bad—that this thing could go. She didn't want to take any chances.

Her hand found Peter's as he escorted her from the car, and immediately the folding red hot waves of anxiety succumbed to the tenderness of his touch. Y/N let out a long breath, collecting herself before forcing the fakest smile onto her painted features. She wanted to apologize to Peter for how clammy her hands were, but he didn't seem to care in the slightest. With ease, he extended his elbow towards her, and she took it graciously.

"You okay?" Peter asked. Y/N hadn't even realized they were already up the whole flight of steps.

"Yeah, just flustered. I can do this, right?" Y/N whispered, breathing in how attractive he looked in his suit. She wondered if they looked good together from afar.

Peter smiled daintily, brushing a messy strand of hair from her eyes. "Definitely."

She flashed her friend a dimpled grin before lacing her fingers with his. They poured into the museum, the hum of classical music instantly filling her ears, drowning out the harsh clamor of perturbation. She heard the steady taps of high heels rapping against the sleek marble tiles, men's shoes clicking aimlessly as they trailed behind their dates or danced with them enthusiastically. Chatter hovered at an even pace throughout the tall halls, wine glasses clinking together in an epiphany of joy and gathering.

Y/N glanced up towards the massive crystal chandelier dangling from the sky like a star. A large mural painted the ceiling with reds, blue, beiges and greens. The colors seemed infinite. Art littered the walls, surrounded by engraved golden frames. The place was absolutely stunning—it reminded Y/N somewhat of a building she'd see in France or Greece. God, how she wished she could see those wondrous places.

"Wow!" she gasped, absorbing the view for all its worth.

Peter shared a similar awestrucken expression as his date. "I see Natasha and Clint. Wanda and Steve should show up by the bar any second now."

Y/N nodded, ignoring the brisk stares from adults silently commending her dress. She made the smile on her face relaxed, trying to keep her appearance more inviting by standing up straight and keeping her brows subtly lifted.

"Testing, testing. Ground control to Major Tom. This is Tony Stark—AKA Iron Bitch. Do you copy?"

"Oh, my God. Stark. Shut the fuck up," Clint groaned.

"Affirmative."

Y/N giggled, Tony's ridiculous commentary settling her nerves and making the situation appear less frightening than it initially seemed.

After everyone checked to make sure their comms were working, the plan was in motion.

Peter stuck out his hand, blinking nervously. "Uh, wanna' dance? I-I mean, we kind of have to, but . . ."

"Spider-ling shoots his shot aaaaannndd . . . he fails. Quite dramatically. Better luck next time, pal."

Y/N bit down on her lip, repressing a cheeky smile. She graciously accepted his hand, entwining their fingers together. A gleeful chuckle flew from her lips and Peter felt relaxed by here sincere reaction, escorting her to the dance floor.

"Fair warning, I-I don't really know how," Y/N warned.

"It's okay. Me neither. We can just follow what everyone else is doing and hope they don't judge us."

She extended her arms, trying to follow what the other adults in the room were doing. She clasped her hand onto his shoulder then threaded her other soft, manicured hand with his, moving their arms outwards away from their bodies. His available hand looped around the girl's waist, lying firmly against her back. He pulled her closer, their bodies pressed together. Y/N could feel his breath on her lips, her heels providing enough height for her to be eye-to-eye level with him.

"I kind of want to kiss you right now, but Tony's in my ear and that just makes me feel dirty," Y/N said, staring at his lips, annoyed that she couldn't close the agonizing gap between their faces.

"I don't know whether to feel relieved or uncomfortable."

"Wait, are they kissing? Should they be doing that?" Definitely Steve.

"Ha! I walked in on them kissing in Peter's room." Clint. The rat.

"Way to keep a secret, Clint. I'm never telling you anything anymore!" Y/N hissed under her breath.

"Sorry, Mr. Stark!"

"I'm sorry, they what in Peter's what? I'm offended I didn't know that. Is that the secret you three gremlins were fighting about in the car? It definitely was. I don't care. I want the details. How was it?"

"Y/N made a vow to not fall in love with Peter, and she broke it barely thirty minutes in."

"You made a vow to not fall in love with me?"

"I thought she broke that vow like a month ago!" Steve felt confused. "Or was that a different one?"

"That was the one where she vowed off chocolate milk."

"Ohhh," he understood. "I remember that."

"Yeah, you're an old man so you wouldn't remember those kinds of things, Steven."

"What?! Everyone shut up! Focus on the mission, stop talking! You're stressing me out!" Y/N muttered, her tone thick with irritation.

"Yikes, I feel like I'm listening to a soap opera."

The conversation finally died down, and Y/N just wanted to curl up beside Peter and take a long nap. Her exhaustion was nearly enough for her to ask to call of the mission, but she decided that was rather a ridiculous reason.

Y/N slid her arm around Peter's neck, resting her chin on his shoulder. His arm tightened around her waist, large palms resting flat against her bare back. Her skin was cold against the pads of his fingers. He felt electrified by her. The scent of vanilla soon wafted towards his nose, and he closed his eyes, their hands still absentmindedly entwined, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

For a moment it felt like they weren't on mission. It was just Y/N and Peter, swaying away in the middle of a ball room, bodies pressed together, undoubtedly young and in love, unbeknownst to it. It felt like they were normal—like Y/N didn't have powers and Peter wasn't enhanced. They weren't Avengers or superheroes. They weren't challenged by the everyday horrors of the real world. They were just stupid teenagers with a lot on their plate and diverging paths, with broken vows and shimmering promises.

Reluctantly, Y/N opened her eyes, settling back into reality, removing her hand from Peter's and placing it smoothly onto his shoulder. He snaked his hand down towards her waist until his arms locked around her. Peter started to scope out the area out behind her, attempting to identify Axel Klein in the crowd. Y/N's eyes skimmed past anonymous faces until finally they did a complete rotation around the entirety of the room, her eyes recognizing the blonde haired boy meandering through the hefty crowd with a glass of champagne.

"I've got eyes on the subject," she mumbled, taking one last moment to press her mouth against Peter's shoulder. She inhaled the scent of his cologne, closing her eyes to bask in it.

"Go for it, Y/N. Your time to shine."

Y/N felt the anxiety slowly creep back, but she couldn't turn back now. She was brave. She could do this.

"I loved dancing with you, Peter Parker," Y/N always loved to say his full name. It rolled so pleasingly off the tongue, by now it was a habit. "Please tell me I'm not going to fuck this up."

Peter half-smiled at the girl, rubbing her shoulder gently. "You're not going to fuck this up. And I liked dancing with you, too."

"Ugh, cringe . . . Sorry, did I say that out loud? I would say just kiss already, but that would blow the whole operation. So Parker, kindly stop staring at Y/N's lips, please and thank you. Good luck, kiddo."

Y/N started to walk, but she couldn't leave yet. She didn't want to leave Peter. She already felt alone without his hands caressing her back like she was the most important thing in the world to him. She turned around to face her friend, eyes practically pleading with him not to let her go.

Peter himself had no clue how he felt. His heart was racing, his palms were sweaty. He felt like he would pass out at any given moment. All he wanted to do was protect Y/N, but he knew deep down that she needed to do this. Something inside of him stirred at the horrific thought of this being their final interaction together. He wanted to be with her forever. He would love to be with her forever.

"I-is Axel looking?" she asked, pressing her lips into a thin line.

"W-what? No? He's uh, he's turned around talking to some man."

"Good," Y/N breathed, lurching forward to grab his face. She pressed a quick kiss against his lips, basking in the moment as short lived as it was. Her thumbs laid gently on his cheekbones, as if Peter himself was the most delicate, precious thing in the world to him. She wanted just one more memory of Peter Parker, just one last part of him to hold onto. She just wanted to taste him one last time.

"Oh! Shit! She shoots! She scores!"

Muted colors rained down upon them from the mural painting the sky, violins humming softly in the distance, the deep groan of a cello bouncing like an echo off the walls. The kiss was short but more passionate than the first. It said everything that needed to be said without the interruption of unnecessary words threaded together into unnecessary sentences. It was everything all wrapped up into one pretty, defective bow.

"Thanks for the dance," she whispered, turning around quickly, not taking the chance to see the look on his face. She was afraid if she did she would never leave him.

"Woah. That was . . . pretty intense." Clint took a long sip of his drink.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Hormones."

"Is it just me or am I feeling way too many emotions? I'm literally drowning in teen angst. This is horrible, I feel like I'm in high school all over again," Tony added, sinking back into the seat of his car, the laptop balanced on his lap.

Y/N casually walked through the crowd, fixated on getting Axel's attention. An idea burned bright in her mind, a smirk growing confidently onto her red lips.

She strutted over in his direction, keeping her shoulders back and chin high. Just out of the corner of her eye she could see Steve and Wanda watching intensely.

Once when you're in the car. Twice in the house. Three times in case of an emergency. Three times in case of a code red. Once. Twice. Thrice.

TAG LIST: @reallyconfusednowpt2 @-thatgirloverthere- @mca-attack21 @high-functioning-fangirl02 @yourwonderbelle @printedpeterparker

[laschatzi]

The Man You Want To Be

Sort of a missing scene, set after Dark Waters, this was triggered by a conversation with @ohmakemeahercules. It's not exactly a sequel to  Unhappy Beginnings, where Killian told Emma about his childhood, but it kind of refers to it.

title: The Man You Want To Be

summary: Killian tells Emma story how he found out that he had a little half-brother. Yeah, painful.

word count: 2,5 k

rating: G and SL for a bit of self-loathe

also on: ff.net and ao3

Fresh air seems like a good idea after the claustrophobic hours spent aboard the Nautilus, and so they leave Emma's bug where it is, parked in front of the hospital, and walk home where Henry is waiting for them. They stop for a moment at the diner to pick up some of their favorite food and have a drink at the bar while they're waiting for it. Killian smiles a little smile to himself when he recalls the lad's words spoken to him before – See you at home – the message in them evident. It was their home, and he was as welcome there as he was in their family.

“Did you know you had a half-brother?” Emma's voice startles him from his pleasant, peaceful thoughts, and his heart sinks a little. He hoped he could avoid this talk a little longer, even if he knew the moment would come when Emma would ask him about this.

He averts his eyes and hesitates for a moment, before he finally admits, “Aye.”

“How?” she simply asks, and again, like before when he told her about the Shears, there's no reproach in her voice, no Why have you kept it a secret and never spoken about him? His Swan is making damn good on her promise to always see the best in him, but alas, not even she will be able to find anything good to see about him when it comes to that sad and shameful tale.

He scratches behind his ear and draws a deep breath. “Are you certain you want to know?” he ascertains, hoping she's going to let it go, but she doesn't.

Emma is determined to support him, whatever he may reveal; she's aware it can't be a really pleasant story, and judging by the shadows on his face, it's just another proof of the long gone villainy he can never forget. All the more important, she knows, that he talks about it and shares his burden with her.

“Yeah, sure,” she replies firmly and puts a reassuring hand on his arm.

Killian nods and licks his lips nervously. “Remember what happened with my father, when Liam and I were boys?” he begins. “What he did?”

How could she ever forget that horrible story? “Of course! He...” She falls silent and swallows hard, can't bring herself to say it out loud; too unimaginable the crime Killian's father had committed against his sons when they were only children.

He nods again. “And how I told you I saw him one more time later, and that it wasn't... pleasant?” He ends his sentence with a little sigh, dreading the inevitable. The last time he'd left it at that, but he knows that this time, he'll have to lay all the cards on the table.

“Yeah,” Emma replies, “Was that when you learned about...” Again, she lets her voice trail off without finishing the sentence. It feels strange, almost wrong, to say the name of the young man they just left at the hospital; too weird is the thought that Killian's younger half-brother carries the same name as his older, deceased brother.

“It was,” he confirms and sips at his rum while a long silence stretches between them. It's not awkward or uncomfortable, but clearly painful, and Emma wishes she could take away something of it.

“Tell me what happened,” she finally encourages him softly.

He sighs and rubs his hand over his mouth, as if he's trying to keep the words from spilling out, disgusted about the man he was all those years ago. “Before the curse,” he starts, “Regina... the Evil Queen... sent me to Wonderland to kill Cora, to have her out of the way.”

“Yes, I know,” Emma replies, “You told me that already.”

He tilts his head. “What I didn't tell you is that before... entrusting me with that task, she wanted to... test me. To see if I had what it takes, if I was the right man for that murderous mission.” He finishes the rest of his drink and puts the glass on the bar very slowly, before he looks up at her again hesitantly. “She wanted me to kill someone.” Emma frowns, obviously not understanding, not drawing a connection yet, so Killian explains. “My father.”

Her eyes widen. “What?!” she gasps. “But how... how's that even possible?” she shakes her head in disbelief. “He should have been long dead by then?”

“Aye, he should have.” Killian draws a deep reluctant breath, bracing himself for the unpleasant story he's about to tell. “Long story short, when I found him he told me he was put under a sleeping curse shortly after he'd... left us, and he was awakened by True Love's kiss.” Emma is taken aback by that revelation; for the life of her she can't imagine that someone like that would find True Love at all, could be deemed worthy of it by fate, the Gods or whoever makes these decisions. Killian sees the doubt on her face and tilts his head. “Swore he'd changed and that he'd always regretted what he'd done to us.” Emma snorts. “The woman who'd saved him had died,” Killian goes on. “I... I'd been determined to kill him,” he admits and shrugs, “but I... I changed my mind when I realized that we'd both lost so much already.” Her face softens. “Told him I'd procure a letter of transit for him and that he had to disappear, so the Queen would never know that I hadn't done her bidding.” He pauses for a moment and swallows. “That's when he told me he needed two.”

“For his son,” Emma assumes. When he nods, she asks softly, “What did you do?”

He looks down into his empty glass and is tempted for a moment to order another rum, but then he decides against it. Today, he's sharing his pain for a change, not drowning it. It's not something he's very much used to, but it feels much more relieving.

“That same night,” he finally continues, “I came back to the tavern he was running, with two letters.” Emma's eyes are fixed on his face as he's telling her his story, even if he isn't looking at her, anxious not to miss one single expression of his, to follow every frown and every narrowing of his weary eyes. “I saw him tuck the boy in, and that's when I heard what he named him.” Killian lifts his gaze to Emma's, his eyes red and weary. “Liam. As if my brother... his eldest son... had never existed.” He rubs his hand over his face and knits his brows together in the effort of recalling every detail of that fateful night, the soothing tone of his father's deep voice being everything the worried little boy needed to fall asleep – like every little boy on the world, like the little boy on that ship centuries ago. “The boy... Liam... he was scared,” he tells Emma, and she frowns sympathetically. “And my father,” he goes on, “he soothed him when he tucked him in. And he used almost the exact same words like when he soothed me, that night on the ship, before he left.”

She reaches for his hand and curls her fingers around his. “Oh, Killian,” she sighs, not less sympathetically. “That must have been a shock.”

He tilts his head. “I asked him if my brother had really been that easy to replace. And I told him that he'd been lying to his boy, just as he'd been lying to me all those years ago.” He feels the bitterness well up again, can almost taste it in his mouth and grimaces in disgust. “He swore that wasn't true, that he'd called his son Liam to honor my brother, to honor both of us.” He snorts. “And that he'd never leave his boy.” Killian's gaze drifts into the void and waits for the anger, the cold fury, to wash over him again, but it never comes.

“But he'd left you,” Emma states gently, the sadness in her voice maybe best expressing what he's feeling right now.

His eyes fly to her, half surprised and half relieved that she seems to understand what haunted him back then. But then, how could she not? They're kindred spirits, after all. And many, many times during her restless, loveless childhood and youth she'd felt the same he'd felt back then: not being worthy of love, not good enough.

His voice is on the verge of breaking when he speaks again. “I was so outraged that I even hated that poor boy. Because he got what I never had.” He stops, staring into the void again for a moment, then he refocuses and draws a deep breath, his next words coming out almost matter-of-factly. “I drew my knife, and I stabbed my father. When he fell to the ground, he reached for me and told me that I, too, could change, that it wasn't too late...” He pauses and swallows thickly, his eyes brimmed with tears now. “But it was.” Without noticing, his fingers close around Emma's in an almost painful grasp, but she doesn't mind, is grateful that he turns to her for support with that little gesture. “I stood there and watched him die,” he finally says. “And I took his bloody shirt as a proof for what I'd done and walked away, leaving that boy to his fate and not wasting a second thought on it.”

Even with the buzzing of voices and noises in the diner around them, the silence seems almost oppressive now. Emma has listened quietly, Killian's tale not really shocking her, because she dreaded, almost expected, something like this. She can almost physically feel his pain and guilt, because the sentiments are not completely unknown to her. Even if what her parents did to her of course couldn't be compared to what Killian's father had done, even if she never had violent tendencies... she knows the feeling of resentment she had for her parents for a long time, because they put something else – some greater good – over her chance to grow up with them.

It took her a long time to get over that feeling, she could admit to that now, and when she finally started to feel like a daughter... they suddenly had the desire to have another baby, so they could make up for what they'd missed with her... only that she could never have that chance; nothing would ever take away the pain of having had to grow up as an orphan. Instead, her baby brother got everything she'd been robbed of. She loves her brother, and yet... even if it was just for a fleeting moment, that resentment – she felt it.

Of course, she never had the wish for vengeance when it came to her parents, but Killian... he had been through worse, in a much darker place than she could ever think of. So yes, she understands, and she can't even judge him. A tear is rolling down her cheek, shed for him and both his brothers, shed for herself and her parents, and even for Killian's father who had received the worst punishment – being forced to abandon yet another son, one who he wanted to do right by this time.

“No, it wasn't too late,” she says in a tear-choked voice, “it was too early. You weren't ready to forgive your father.”  

He tilts his head. “No, I wasn't,” he agrees, “ but Liam... he was an innocent child, and I took away everything he had. He's so lucky that Nemo found him and saved him.” For a moment, his gaze gets lost again, but then he looks back at her and draws a deep breath, the surprising ghost of a smile, a proud one, gleaming in his eyes. “And my little brother,” he starts, affection clear in his voice, “he found it in him to end the spiral of hate and vengeance our father had set in motion. He had a knife at my throat and could've easily killed me, and he was about to.” Without being aware of it, Emma squeezes his fingers that are still laced with hers, the thought of losing Killian again almost unbearable. “But when he saw that your boy came back for me,” he continues, “and that he cared about me... he stopped. He said he couldn't plant the seed of hate and vengeance in another boy's heart.”

Despite the circumstances, Emma is blown away by the sense of family that binds two of the three most important men in her life – she has heard the story from Henry and knows that Killian was ready to sacrifice his life for the sake of getting her son back to her, but what she didn't know yet was that Henry went back to save Killian's life in return.

Then her thoughts drift back to Killian's half brother, and she smiles tentatively. “So, you made peace?”

He swallows and nods. “Sort of. We still have a long way to go, obviously,” he muses and adds, “I'm so glad he has Nemo by his side again, he can help him find himself again. He's a father figure to him.” A shadow of guilt flies over his face again, and Emma reaches out with her other hand to cup his cheek.

“That's great,” she replies, “I'm happy you found each other.”

And there it is, at least briefly, Killian's smile. “Aye, me too.” He shakes his head and snorts a little incredulous sound. “I have family.”

Emma raises her eyebrows at him. “I know what you mean,” she concedes, “but... you know you already do have a family, right? One that would literally go to hell and back for you.”

He averts his eyes and scratches behind his ear. “I know how lucky I am, Swan.”

She knows that he adds in his mind, even if I don't deserve it, and she vows to herself to make him understand that he does deserve it, that he deserves all the love and loyalty her family – their family – has to offer. Before she can think of anything to say, Granny puts a big paper bag with their order on the counter in front of them.

Emma thanks her and slips from her stool. When she grabs the bag, she doesn't let go of his hand. “Let's go home?” she suggests softly.

Killian snaps out of his musings, it takes him some effort to shake off the sadness and the guilt when he thinks of his half brother, feelings that will probably never vanish entirely. But he knows, just like his own father learned – he understands that now – that it's a vain toil to wallow in self-loathe and guilt about the past one cannot change anyway; all one can do is try and make amends by not repeating past mistakes, try and make one's future better than the past. If he's lucky enough to get the chance, he shall try and do right by his younger brother – and if he doesn't get that chance, he knows there will be other ways to prove himself; it's like he told Liam back in the hospital: he has something to live for now.

See you at home, the lad had said.

Killian smiles and brushes a kiss on Emma's temple. “Aye, let's.”

[chocolatequeennk]

Forever and Never Apart, 36/42

Summary: After taking a year to recover from the Master, the Doctor and Rose are ready to travel again. But Time keeps pushing them forward, and instead of going back to their old life, they slowly realise that they’re stepping into a new life. Friends new and old are meeting on the TARDIS, and when the stars start going out, the Doctor and Rose face the biggest change of all: the return of Bad Wolf.

Series 4 with Rose, part 7 of Being to Timelessness; sequel to Taking Time (AO3 | FF.NET | TSP)

Betaed by @lastbluetardis, @rudennotgingr, @jabber-who-key, and @pellaaearien. Thank you so much!

This fills the general Doctor/Rose prompt on @doctorroseprompts

AO3 | FF.NET | TSP

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10 | Ch 11 | Ch 12 | Ch 13 | Ch 14 | Ch 15 | Ch 16 | Ch 17 | Ch 18 | Ch 19 | Ch 20 | Ch 21 | Ch 22 | Ch 23 | Ch 24 | Ch 25 | Ch 26 | Ch 27 | Ch 28 | Ch 29 | Ch 30 | Ch 31 Ch 32 | Ch 33 | Ch 34 | Ch 35

Chapter Thirty-six: Just a Phone Call Away

There was one very important call Mickey had to make before he could ask control for the shift he wanted. He switched the radio to the private frequency designated for use between himself and Pete.

“Tin Dog to Gemini,” he whispered. “Gemini, come in.”

“This is Gemini,” Pete answered only seconds later. “Have you located the target, Tin Dog?”

“Negative, Gemini. I’m going to T3 to get help from Captain Jack, but I wanted to give you an update first.”

“Understood. Sitrep?”

Mickey looked up at the sky, filled with planets and Dalek ships. He heard a Dalek rolling down the street and ducked behind a trash bin, waiting for it to pass before he answered.

“Not good, Boss. We’ve got Daleks on the ground.”

He heard his boss suck in a breath. Pete had the same nightmares of Daleks and their grating voices as he did. “Understood. Do you need backup before you find the TARDIS?”

“No. Hold your position until you get the all clear from me. As soon as I find the TARDIS, I’ll turn the beacon on so your hopper will lock onto me.”

“Roger that. Gemini out.”

After ending the radio conversation with Pete, Mickey changed it back to the all-comms channel. “Agent Smith calling control. Come in, control.”

He winced when a buzz of static came over the radio first, followed by a voice. “This is control. Go ahead, Agent Smith.”

“Can you lock me onto Torchwood Three in this universe?” he asked. “Straight into their Hub.”

He waited, hearing the faint sound of keys clicking. “Locked and ready for transport.”

Mickey shifted his weapon so it was at his back, hopefully making himself look non-threatening enough that Jack and his team wouldn’t shoot him on sight. “Go.”

Using the dimension cannon as a teleport was a hell of a lot more comfortable than flying through the Void—and a lot faster, too. He held up his hands as he felt himself appear in the Hub.

“Don’t shoot!” he called out.

“What the…” Jack was sitting on the floor ten feet away from where Mickey had materialised, but he jumped to his feet when he heard the new voice. His eyes widened when he saw who had joined them. “Well, if it isn’t Mickey Mouse!”

Mickey grinned at his friend, relieved that he’d made it and avoided being shot. “You can talk, Captain Cheesecake!”

Jack laughed and swept him into a hug. “It’s good to see you—and that’s Beefcake.”

Mickey groaned and pushed away from Jack just as another man cleared his throat. He looked over Jack’s shoulder to find a surprisingly familiar face. “Well, the parallel version of Ianto Jones,” he said, feeling a little off-balance. Even after five years, meeting a parallel version of someone he knew in a different universe threw him.

A perplexed look crossed the Welshman’s face. “You seem to be implying that you’re from a parallel universe, but multiversal theory suggests that if other universes exist, they are completely separate from each other.”

Mickey snorted. “Definitely parallel Ianto. Yeah, that’s the way it’s supposed to be, but when reality starts to fall apart, well, apparently the walls between the universes are the first things to go.”

Jack stepped back and gestured between the two men. “Ianto Jones, meet Mickey Smith. Mickey and I go way back, to my days before Torchwood.”

A string of beeps interrupted the conversation, and then they all heard another voice echo through the Hub, this time coming from the computer monitor.

“This message is of the utmost importance. We haven’t much time... Can anyone hear me?”

A woman Mickey didn’t recognise came out of a dimly-lit alcove and walked to a computer terminal. “Someone’s trying to get in touch.”

“Yeah, and I know that voice,” Mickey said as they all moved closer to the computer.  

Harriet Jones held up her ID. “Harriet Jones, former Prime Minister.”

“Yeah, I know who you are,” Mickey and Jack said in unison.

Behind them, Ianto and the woman were whispering to each other, asking how this was even possible. Mickey didn’t have a clue, honestly, but this was the first bit of hope he’d had since he’d heard the Daleks.

The screen went back to static for a moment, then it focused again, only this time it was split into four quarters—one for Harriet, one for Torchwood, one for Sarah Jane Smith, and a fourth that was still static.

“The fourth contact seems to be having some trouble getting through,” Harriet said. “I’ll just boost the signal.”

They waited anxiously, and Mickey blinked a moment later when a gorgeous woman appeared in the fourth quadrant.

“Hello?”

Jack laughed and rocked back on his heels. “Martha Jones. Martha, where are you?”

Martha shifted in her chair. “I guess Project Indigo was more clever than we thought. One second I was in Manhattan, next second…” She gestured at her surroundings. “Maybe Indigo tapped into my mind, because I ended up in the one place that I wanted to be.”

An older woman entered the frame and wrapped her arm around Martha’s neck. “You came home. At the end of the world, you came back to me.”

Martha smiled at the woman Mickey assumed must be her mum, then turned back to the screen. “But then all of a sudden, it’s like the laptop turned itself on.”

“It did,” Harriet confirmed. “That was me. Harriet Jones, former Prime Minister.”

Mickey covered his mouth to hide his laughter. Harriet never had quite gotten used to the idea that people knew who she was.

Humour lit up Martha’s dark eyes, and the shared amusement drew Mickey to her. “Yes, I know who you are,” she said.

“I thought it was about time we all met, given the current crisis. Torchwood, this is Sarah Jane Smith.”

Mickey grinned. “Oh, me and Sarah Jane go way back.”

Sarah Jane smiled. “Not just a tin dog any more, Mickey Smith.” She raised an eyebrow. “But Rose and the Doctor told me you were in a parallel universe.”

Mickey nodded. “Past tense. I came back to find them when the stars started going out.”

“That’s what we are all here for,” Harriet interrupted. “Though I admit I didn’t expect to find you, Mickey.” She redirected the conversation back to the introductions. “Mickey Smith, friend of Rose Tyler and defender of the Earth at the Battle of Canary Wharf.”

“Rose told me a little about you,” Martha said. “I’m Martha Jones. I travelled with them for about a year.” Her gaze shifted away from him. “But how did you find me?” she asked Harriet.

Harriet smiled. “This, ladies and gentlemen, this is the Subwave Network. A sentient piece of software programmed to seek out anyone and everyone who can help to contact the Doctor and Rose Tyler.”

Fear sliced through Martha. There were Daleks everywhere, certainly monitoring Earth’s communications. Harriet had put a target on all their backs by drawing them together.

Her mum stood up, and Martha leaned forward to whisper into the mic. “What if the Daleks can hear us?”

Harriet shook her head, an eager smile on her face. “No, that’s the beauty of the Subwave. It’s undetectable.”

“And you invented it?” Sarah Jane asked.

“I developed it,” Harriet corrected. “It was created by the Mr. Copper Foundation.”

“Mr. Copper, huh?”

Martha looked at Jack, who was rubbing his jaw.

“I’ll have to tell the Doctor that he kept his word.” Then his expression turned serious. “But what we need right now is a weapon. Martha, back there at UNIT, what, what did they give you? What was that key thing?”

Martha swallowed and held the disk up. She knew at least Harriet would know what the Osterhagen key was; she didn’t know what her opinion of it would be. “The Osterhagen key.”

She found out Harriet’s opinion quickly enough. “That key is not to be used, Dr. Jones. Not under any circumstances.”

“But what is an Osterhagen key?” Jack pressed.

Martha started to answer, but Harriet interrupted. “Forget about the key, and that’s an order. All we need is the Doctor.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow. “Bit backwards, innit, you tracking down the Doctor? After all, he was the one to depose you. I was there, remember?”

Martha gladly accepted the cup of tea her mum brought out and studied Rose’s Mickey. The easy confidence in the way he talked to Harriet didn’t match the stories Rose had told of their growing up years, but she guessed time had changed them both.

Harriet pressed her lips together and nodded once. “Yes you were, Mr. Smith. And I’ve wondered about that for a long time, whether I was wrong. But I stand by my actions to this day, because I knew, I knew that one day, the Earth would be in danger, and the Doctor would fail to appear. I told him so myself, and he didn’t listen.”

The way Harriet framed the Doctor’s actions sounded so unfair to Martha. She didn’t know what the former Prime Minister had done that had led the Doctor to depose her, but she knew he wasn’t staying away today because he just didn’t care.

“But I’ve been trying to find him,” she countered. “I’ve been calling Rose, but I keep getting sent straight to voicemail. And her phone is never outside of range, so there’s definitely something blocking the call.”

Mickey held up a phone of his own. “Yeah, I’m not getting through either,” he agreed. He looked like he wanted to say more, maybe about what Harriet had done before, but after a second of hesitation, he clamped his jaw together and shook his head.

“That’s why we need the Subwave,” Harriet said. “To bring us all together. Combine forces. The Doctor’s secret army.”

And then Martha understood. Because if Harriet didn’t understand the Doctor well enough to know he would never want an army, their falling-out made perfect sense.

Jack’s voice pulled her back to the present. “Wait a minute.” Jack turned and looked at Gwen. “We boost the signal. That’s it. We transmit that telephone number through Torchwood itself, using all the power of the rift…”

“And we’ve got Mr. Smith,” chimed in the teenager standing with Sarah Jane. “He can link up with every telephone exchange on the Earth. He can get the whole world to call the same number, all at the same time. Billions of phones, calling out all at once.”

Jack cackled. “Brilliant. Who’s the kid?”

“That’s my son,” Sarah Jane said proudly.  

“Excuse me. Sorry. Sorry. Hello.” Ianto pushed his way past the other Torchwood employees to address Harriet directly. “Ianto Jones. Er, if we start transmitting, then this Subwave Network is going to become visible. I mean, to the Daleks.”

“Yes.” Harriet nodded. “And they’ll trace it back to me. But my life doesn’t matter. Not if it saves the Earth.”

Jack straightened to attention and snapped a salute. “Ma’am.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Martha marvelled as not even a smile cracked Harriet’s stoic demeanour. “But there are people out there dying on the streets. Now, enough of words. Let’s begin.”

Mickey watched Jack and his team jump to action, getting Torchwood ready to transmit a billion phone calls all at once. Jack typed a command into a computer terminal, then leapt back and spun around. “Rift power activated,” he called out.

“All terminals coordinated,” Gwen replied from another computer.

Then she jogged over to a storage bin Ianto had opened. Together, they pulled out a thick cable, which Ianto carried over to the tall column that gave them access to the national grid.

The cable sparked when he plugged it into an open port, and the familiar ‘whoosh’ of electricity slowing down echoed around the hub. “National grid online,” Ianto said. “Giving you everything we’ve got.”

Mickey turned back to the computer screen connecting them with the rest of the Doctor and Rose’s friends. “Sarah Jane, I’ve got Rose’s number when you’re ready.”

She smiled and shook her head. “Thank you, Mickey, but I’ve got her number myself and I’ve already given it to Mr. Smith.”

Mickey blinked. He’d imagined Rose and the Doctor flying around in the TARDIS without any real connection to Earth, but looking around at the group of people all working to help them, that didn’t seem to be the case. He shrugged and stepped back to watch the action. Sarah Jane and her son were talking to Mr. Smith, which was apparently some kind of computer.

“Opening Subwave Network to maximum,” Harriet said.

Sarah Jane stepped back from her computer and pressed her hands together, palm to palm. “Mr. Smith, make that call.”

“Calling Rose Tyler,” a computer voice replied.

“And sending.” Jack turned a dial, and a pulse of energy went up the column, through the ceiling of the Hub where Mickey knew it would continue resonating through the Water Tower, transmitting through the rift itself.

“And now we wait,” he muttered.

oOoOoOoOo

Twenty minutes had passed since Rose had declared that they only had to wait for someone to call them. For the first few minutes, they’d all stared at the phone, sitting on the console, and willed it to ring. Finally, Donna had slumped in dejection and gone around to sit on the stairs. Jenny had joined her, and the Doctor and Rose were on the jump seat.

Rose’s head ached, and she couldn’t tell if it was the constant awareness of time swirling around them, or if her ponytail was a bit too tight. She let her hair down and sighed when the pressure on the back of her scalp disappeared.

The Doctor combed his fingers through her hair, massaging away the sore spots. Are you sure they’re going to call us? he asked as he worked.

Martha called us for the Sontarans, she reminded him as she leaned into his touch. Do you really think she won’t call us for Daleks?

I didn’t think of that.

That’s why you have me. Rose winked at him, then took the strands of hair that liked to fall in her face and clipped them back with a barrette. Her head didn’t ache anymore, but the timelines were still distracting. It was almost…

Her phone rang, the cheerful ringtone bouncing around the cavernous console room while the vibrations had it dancing perilously close to the edge of the console.

“Phone!” the Doctor shouted, scrambling for it and pressing the accept call button. “Martha, is that you?” But instead of a voice, he just heard three beeps, over and over. He recognised it right away—a homing beacon. “It’s a signal.”

Donna looked from the phone to his face. “Can we follow it?”

The Doctor pulled out his stethoscope and pressed the bell to the phone, listening for the signal. “Oh, just watch me.”

Come on come on come on, he begged, not knowing if he was talking to the TARDIS or the universe at large. Timelines were tightening around them, making him itch with the need to do something. And Rose seemed to be sensing something he couldn’t see, which made him even more nervous than usual.

For once, the universe seemed to be listening, because it was only a minute later that he got a solid fix on the signal and was able to punch the coordinates the signal originated from into the TARDIS.

“Got it. Locking on.”

oOoOoOoOo

Jack couldn’t be sure, but the plan seemed to be working. At least, Torchwood’s part was. The power was going out along the rift, just like they’d discussed, and carried in the transmission were millions of phone calls, all trying to find the TARDIS.

He didn’t say it out loud, but the universe must have known he’d mentally broken the rule to avoid any thoughts like, “What could possibly go wrong?” Because just when he dared to feel optimistic about their success, Gwen spoke up.

“Harriet, a saucer’s locked on to your location. They’ve found you.”

“I know. I’m using the Network to mask your transmission. Keep going.”

“Exterminate.”

Everyone winced when they heard the sound of an explosion and shattering glass come over the network. Then they swallowed and worked harder.

“Captain, I’m transferring the Subwave Network to Torchwood,” Harriet said, her voice still absolutely calm. “You’re in charge now. And tell the Doctor from me—he chose his companions well. It’s been an honour.” Jack swallowed hard and offered another salute.

Harriet nodded, then stood up and moved out of range of the camera. In the background, Jack could hear the electric hum of Daleks moving into the house. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mickey reach automatically for the powerful weapon he had strapped to his chest, even though it wouldn’t do Harriet any good.

“Harriet Jones. Former Prime Minister.”

“Yes, we know who you are,” a Dalek replied.

“Oh, you know nothing of any human, and that will be your downfall.”

“Exterminate.”

Jack flinched and tried to ignore the way the top left quadrant of the screen went dark. “All right people, look lively,” he ordered. “Let’s make her proud.”  

She was Harriet Jones, former prime minister. He knew who she was, and he would make sure everyone knew what she’d done.

oOoOoOoOo

The TARDIS shuddered and rocked as she followed the signal through the Vortex. When a bit of electrical wiring came loose and sparked a fire, Rose frowned—seeing the console room on fire seemed familiar, somehow. She shook her head and grabbed a fire extinguisher, putting it out and soothing the ship as she went.

The Doctor was watching their progress on the monitor by the navigation panel, and once the flames were under control, Rose joined him. “Where is she taking us?”

“We’re travelling through time,” he hollered over bangs and crashes as more wiring came loose. “One second in the future. The phone call’s pulling us through. Three, two, one.”

Rose watched the external monitor as they followed the signal forward through time. As they got closer, the planets appeared, one by one, until they were in the centre of the arrangement they’d seen at the Shadow Proclamation.

Everyone took a deep breath when the ship stopped rattling, then Jenny jogged over to look over her shoulder.  “Twenty-seven planets. We did it!”  

Donna was the last to join them. She brightened when she spotted the familiar blue-and-green sphere on the monitor. “And there’s the Earth. But why couldn’t we see them?”

“The entire Medusa Cascade has been put a second out of sync with the rest of the universe,” the Doctor explained. “Perfect hiding place. Tiny little pocket of time. But we found them.”

Feedback squealed and crackled over the monitor, and they all turned around to look at the computer terminal again. “Ooo, ooo, ooo, what’s that?” The Doctor turned a dial slowly. “Hold on, hold on. Some sort of subwave network.”

A moment later, the screen split into four quadrants. They were in the top left corner, with Jack and Mickey in the top right next to them. As soon as the picture resolved, Jack started yelling. “Where the hell have you been? Doctor, it’s the Daleks.”

Rose pointed at the screen. “Look, Doctor. It’s Mickey, just like I told you.”

He waved. “Hey, babe. Long time no see. I’ll explain everything properly when we’re actually together.”

“Right,” the Doctor agreed. “So tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s the Daleks,” Sarah Jane said, echoing Jack. “They’re taking people to their spaceship.”

“It’s not just Dalek Caan,” Martha added.

The Doctor looked at his friends proudly. “Sarah Jane… Who’s that boy?” he muttered, pointing at the teenager standing with Sarah. He moved onto the next group, Jack and his friends. “That must be Torchwood. Oh, they’re brilliant. Look at you all, you clever people.”

“That’s Martha,” Donna said, pointing to the bottom right corner. “And who’s he?” she asked, pointing to the Torchwood frame.

Rose laughed. “That’s Jack.”

Jack leaned towards the monitor, a welcoming grin on his face. “Captain Jack Harkness. I look forward to meeting you face to face, Ginger.”

The Doctor groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

Jack opened his mouth, but before he could protest, like always, that he was just saying hello, the screen went blank. The Doctor reached automatically for the dial, trying to bring it back. A second later, he realised what was happening. “Oh.”

“What happened?” Jenny asked.

He frowned and pounded on the top of the monitor. “There’s another signal coming through. There’s someone else out there. Hello? Can you hear me?”

He was expecting another old friend, the Brig maybe. But the voice that came over the Subwave Network was a gravelly one the Doctor hadn’t heard in centuries. The Doctor stumbled back in shock and reached blindly for Rose’s hand.

“Your voice is different, and yet its arrogance is unchanged.”

Rose took his hand as the static faded into a dark screen. A blue light slowly moved closer to them, and finally, they saw a withered man, sitting in a wheelchair that looked like the bottom half of a Dalek.

“Welcome to my new Empire, Doctor. It is only fitting that you should bear witness to the resurrection and the triumph of Davros, lord and creator of the Dalek race.”

“Oh, my God,” Rose mumbled. She’d seen Davros in the Doctor’s memories, but he was supposed to be dead. How could he be here? The Doctor squeezed her hand painfully, but she didn’t flinch.

“Dad?” Jenny whispered.

Rose looked up at their daughter and quickly shook her head, urging her to stay off screen. She didn’t know if it would be possible to conceal her existence from the Daleks, but she was bloody well going to try.

“Have you nothing to say?” Davros taunted.

Rose moved to stand directly behind the Doctor, putting one hand on his shoulder and looking at the nightmare face on the screen as she tried to reassure her bond mate.

We’re all safe right now, in the TARDIS, she reminded him. I know how horrible it is to see him again, but this is just a message.

That seemed to shake the Doctor out of his stupor. “But you were destroyed. In the very first year of the Time War, at the Gates of Elysium. I saw your command ship fly into the jaws of the Nightmare Child. I tried to save you.”

“But it took one stronger than you,” Davros gloated. “Dalek Caan himself.”

The camera panned over to reveal an open Dalek casing chained to the floor. Tentacles waved as Dalek Caan sang his story to them. “I flew into the wild and fire. I danced and died a thousand times.”

The camera focused back on Davros. “Emergency Temporal Shift took him back into the Time War itself.”

“But that’s impossible,” the Doctor argued. “The entire War is timelocked.”

“And yet he succeeded.” Davros cackled. “Oh, it cost him his mind, but imagine. A single, simple Dalek succeeded where Emperors and Time Lords have failed. A testament, don’t you think, to my remarkable creations?”

“And you made a new race of Daleks,” the Doctor spat out.

“I gave myself to them, quite literally. Each one grown from a cell of my own body.” Davros pulled back his tunic to reveal his bare skeleton, free of flesh.

Rose shuddered when she realised what he meant, but at the same time, she felt a timeline slip into place. This was important, somehow—the fact that the Daleks were identical genetically. She filed the information away and listened to the rest of Davros’ speech.

“New Daleks. True Daleks. I have my children, Doctor. What do you have, now?”

The Doctor’s anger and pain burned brightly, and Rose didn’t try to stop him. Not yet.

“After all this time, everything we saw, everything we lost, I have only one thing to say to you.”

He slowly reached for something on his right, and when Rose realised what he was doing, she grabbed onto the console.

“Bye!” the Doctor shouted as he threw the dematerialisation lever.

The TARDIS spun through the Medusa Cascade, dancing around the planets until she came to the Earth. And on Earth, there was one place she liked to land best, one city that felt the most like home.

“Doctor, Dalek Caan,” Rose whispered as the TARDIS locked onto London. “The last time we saw him, I said… I said he was falling through time. And that it would cost him his mind.”

“I know,” the Doctor bit out. He sighed and pinched his nose. “I know, Rose.”

“But how did I know?”

The Doctor pulled her close. “Does it really matter? You were right. You… you saw this, somehow. And you were right.”

oOoOoOoOo

They say you never hear anything good when you eavesdrop, and listening in on the conversation between the Doctor and the creator of the Daleks certainly didn’t make Jack happy. He’d overheard Sarah Jane’s whispered pleas too—whoever this guy was, his presence was clearly not good news.

The audio cut out when the Doctor shouted his final goodbye at his old adversary, but Jack knew the signal was still transmitting, putting a target on Torchwood’s back. If he was going to get to the Doctor and be any help at all, he had to get out of there before the Daleks found them.

In the eerie silence that filled the Hub, Jack swung his coat around his shoulders and pulled his Vortex Manipulator out of the drawer he’d stashed it in. It had been hard to keep his promise to the Doctor over the last year and not use it to fix every little thing. But right now? Having a teleport? This was why the Doctor had left it operational.

“Jack!”

He spun around and looked at Ianto as he strapped the wristband on.

“Dalek saucer heading for the bay. They’ve found us.”

Jack swallowed hard, but before he could answer, his phone rang. He flipped it open after a quick glance at the caller ID. “What do you need, Martha?”

Martha exhaled loudly in his ear. “Jack. You’ve got a teleport. Can you tell me anything about how it works? I need to use Project Indigo, and I can’t keep hoping it’ll just read my mind.”

Jack nodded. “Open it up. Lift the central panel; there’s a string of numbers that keep changing, right?”

“Yes. And we could work out some of them, but the fourth one over…”

“It keeps oscillating between two numbers.” He looked at his device as he set the coordinates for London. “Should be a four and a nine.”

“Yes!”

“That’s the teleport base code.” He heard her take a sharp breath. “You know how to work it now, don’t you?”

“Yeah, thank you Jack. And good luck.”

“Good luck, Martha Jones.” Jack snapped his phone shut and slid it back into his pocket.

Jack looked at Mickey as he locked his coordinates, making sure nothing could pull him off course. “I’d offer you a ride, Mickey, but something tells me you’ve got your own transportation.”

Mickey nodded. He was already pulling a radio from his belt. “Control, this is Agent Smith. Can you lock onto the TARDIS?”

“Locking onto the TARDIS now, Agent Smith. Good luck.”

“Thanks. And tell Pete I’m turning the beacon on.” Mickey saluted to Jack, then pressed a small button on his waist and disappeared.

Jack took a deep breath and looked back at his team. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was abandoning them, even though he didn’t really have a choice.

“Look, I know the Daleks will be here any minute, but I swear I’m not running away,” he told them. “I’ve got to find the Doctor, but I’m coming back.”

Gwen handed him the most powerful hand-held weapon they had. “Don’t worry about us. Just go.”

“We’ll be fine,” Ianto promised.  

Jack winked at him. “You’d better be.” He pressed the button on his teleport, then slung the gun around so he was ready to use it as soon as he landed. A moment later, the Hub disappeared and he was on a London street.

oOoOoOoOo

“Jackie!”

Jackie froze for a moment, then took a deep breath and turned around slowly. She could hear Pete running up the steps, and she kissed the top of Tony’s head while they waited for him to reach them.

The door to the nursery burst open, and he peered inside. “I just got the call. Mickey’s found the TARDIS, and I’m going through to help him.”

He held out his hands, and Jackie set Tony down and let Pete pull her in for a hug. “It’s almost time, love,” he whispered in her ear. “Keep the radio nearby so you hear me call when it’s safe to come through.”

She was glad he couldn’t see her face, because she couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the ridiculous notion that she was just going to sit around and wait. She turned her face into his shoulder and nodded.

“I will,” she lied.

Pete kissed her temple, then let her go and scooped Tony up in his arms. Jackie pressed her lips together to hold back tears as he said goodbye to their son. Whatever was happening on the other side of the Void, they both knew Pete might not come back. It was possible he might never see Tony again—no, that they might never see Tony again.

Which is why I have to go, she reminded herself as Pete reluctantly set Tony down. I’ve got two children whose lives are at stake. I can’t just sit here and wait for someone else to save us.

Pete kissed her quickly, then jogged away from the room as if he were afraid he would lose the will to leave if he didn’t move fast.

Jackie picked Tony up as soon as Pete was gone and cuddled him while she paged the nanny. He squirmed in her arms, not appreciating being held when he’d been playing with his trains.

“Wanna play, Mummy!” he finally insisted, kicking his legs slightly.

Jackie pressed a kiss to the top of his head, then put him down just as the nanny entered the room. “Ah, good. You’re here,” she said, walking towards the door. “I have some shopping to do in town. I don’t know how long it will take; I might eat dinner out, depending on how late it gets.”

Ella nodded. “Will I need to feed Tony and put him down tonight?”

“You might. Pete has an important meeting with a few Torchwood officers, so who knows when he’ll be home.”

Ella got down on the floor and started playing with Tony. “Not a problem, Jackie,” she said easily. “Me and Tony will have plenty of fun, won’t we kiddo?” She set up an extra length of track, and Tony cheered and sent his train over it. “Say goodbye to Mummy.”

Tony shot her a bright smile and waved with his free hand. “Bye, Mummy!”

Jackie spun around and left the room before she could burst into tears or change her mind. Her and Pete’s room was next door, and she grabbed a denim jacket before going to Pete’s office.

She trod cautiously, uncertain if he’d left already. If he caught her, he would definitely try to talk her out of her plan.

But the room was empty. Jackie reached into the still-open desk drawer and pulled out the second hopper. For the second time in her life, the yellow button was draped around her neck. She took a deep breath and pressed the button, and the mansion disappeared around her.

Pete landed in the prime universe, poised in a crouch. He hadn’t done much travelling with the hoppers before the Cybermen and the Daleks, but he knew a lower centre of gravity lessened the chances of toppling over.

He blinked into the darkness and adjusted the hold on his weapon. Mickey hadn’t mentioned it was night when they’d talked on the phone. He glanced up at the sky and swore softly; it wasn’t night. There was just no sun to shine its light onto the planet.

The beacon on his hopper flashed, and he knew he was less than a mile away from the TARDIS. He nodded once and started jogging, but he’d only gone a few steps when he heard the whoosh and pop of another hopper.

Pete knew who it was without turning around. “You couldn’t just wait, could you?” he said, resignation his first reaction. “No, of course you couldn’t. You couldn’t trust us to take care of this for you.”

“Well if you’re going to lecture me, at least do me the courtesy of looking at me.”

He turned around slowly and looked at his wife. She was wearing a denim jacket over her shirt, and he realised she must have been ready and waiting to follow after him.

That sent a rush of anger through him, and his hands tightened around his weapon. “You just left Tony behind to come through and do what? Annoy the Daleks to death? Well, you’ll do a bang-up job of that.”

Jackie’s face went pale. “Daleks?”

“Yes. That’s who’s been messing around with reality, making the stars go out. This is dangerous, Jacks.” Pete pulled out his hopper and swore when he saw the red flashing light. “As soon as these recharge, you’re going home.”

Her spine stiffened. “Oi, you listen to me, Peter Alan Tyler. I’ve been married to you twice and I’ve never let you tell me what to do. I know this is dangerous. Why do you think I’m here?”

Pete ground his teeth together. “And what if we both die? Tony will be an orphan. Have you thought of that?”

Jackie planted her hands on her hips. “If we both die, then I reckon it means we failed. And if that happens, Tony is gonna die too, isn’t he?” She glared at him. “I might not have caught everything in that lecture the other night, but I know the stars going out means everything is going to end.”

Pete opened his mouth to argue, but the sound of tires squealing interrupted him. He turned and gestured for Jackie to follow him as he jogged silently towards the noise.

“All human transport is forbidden.”

Pete shuddered at the distinctive voice of a Dalek. A moment later, he heard a woman, clearly frightened.

“I surrender. I’m sorry!”

“Daleks do not accept apologies. You will be exterminated.”

Pete growled softly. He wanted to lie low and get to the TARDIS, but he couldn’t let this woman die. Without looking at his wife, he hefted his weapon and crept carefully out of his hiding place.

oOoOoOoOo

Sarah Jane stared at the map Mr. Smith was displaying. Harriet Jones had been targeted, and now there were Daleks flying directly for Torchwood. They were being picked off, one by one.

Davros’ voice had been straight out of her nightmares. If he was behind this—the stolen planets, everything—then everyone would die if they couldn’t find the Doctor. Martha, Jack, and Mickey were all trying, and maybe one of them would succeed. But she was a companion of the Doctor, too, and she wouldn’t cower at home and hope someone else did the hard work.

“Mr. Smith!” she said, her voice tremulous. “Where is the TARDIS landing?”

The map shifted to focus on a part of London, instead of Cardiff. “TARDIS heading for vector seven,” the computer said. “Grid reference six six five.” She scanned the map and memorised the location, then spun around and ran to the door.

“But there are Daleks out there,” Luke protested as she grabbed her leather coat from where it hung on the wall.

“I know.” She scooped her keys up from the desk. “I’m sorry, but I have got to find the Doctor.” At the door, she turned around and pointed at her son. “Don’t move. Don’t leave the house. Don’t do anything.”

“I will protect the boy, Sarah Jane,” Mr. Smith promised.

Angry desperation welled up in Sarah Jane. If she left, she couldn’t protect Luke, but finding the Doctor was the best way to save him in the long run. Still, she felt her bottom lip wobble as she looked at him. “I love you. Remember that.”

Luke nodded, and she took off down the stairs before she could convince herself to stay. The TARDIS wasn’t far away; she could get there in her car in less than ten minutes.  

The tiny car peeled out as she tore around a corner, and then she caught a glint of light off metal, and a shape that she would never forget. She slammed down on the brakes, not wanting to know what kind of special punishment she’d receive if she actually ran over a pair of Daleks.

The Daleks turned slowly until their eyestalks were pointed at her. “All human transport is forbidden.”

Sarah Jane held up her hands. “I surrender. I’m sorry!”

“Daleks do not accept apologies. You will be exterminated.”

“Exterminate. Exterminate.”

Sarah Jane hid her face behind her arms, knowing full well it would do nothing to shield her from the Dalek’s death rays. She thought of Luke, sitting back in their house with Mr. Smith. I’m sorry.

“Exterminate! Exterminate!”

She heard two separate shots from a laser weapon, one right after the other, and flinched instinctively. But instead of feeling searing pain, she heard two explosions. Maybe… She blinked and carefully lowered her arms, and when she saw two smoking Dalek casings, she looked around for her rescuers as she climbed out of the car.

A slight man with thinning strawberry blonde hair holding an enormous gun stood on the right side of her car. Sarah Jane had never seen him before, but she did think she recognised the blonde woman standing a few feet behind him.

She blinked, trying to place the face. “You’re… I know you.”

The woman nodded once, and the fire in her eyes was familiar enough for Sarah Jane to make the connection. But before she could say anything, Jackie introduced herself.

“Jackie Tyler, Rose’s mum. This is my husband Pete.” She stepped forward and put her hands on her hips. “Now where the hell is my daughter?”

[nolimitsongrace]

February 6: Do You Know the Role You’re Supposed To Play?

Do You Know the Role You’re Supposed to Play?February 6, 2020

I have planted, Apollos watered; but God gave the increase. So then neither is he that planteth any thing, neither he that watereth; but God that giveth the increase. — 1 Corinthians 3:6,7

When I was growing up, my pastor, Brother Post, was like a hero to me. He was a master Bible teacher who taught the Word of God with intelligence, conviction, and passion. His intense enthusiasm for the Bible deeply affected me, and I am certain that my love for the Word of God today and my desire to mine the Greek New Testament for these Sparkling Gems is directly connected to the way he taught me the Bible.

Wednesday night church services were my favorite because that was when Brother Post would dig deep into the Word and feed us richly! However, I must admit that I also loved Wednesday nights because our church hosted a supper for the entire congregation each week before the service began — and at those dinners, we got to eat Bobbie Jo’s awesome shiny, butter-covered rolls! Bobbie Jo was our church cook, and no one made bigger, better, or more delicious rolls than Bobbie Jo!

Each week as Wednesday drew near, I grew so excited to think I would soon be eating those big fluffy rolls! I’d consume as many as I could before my parents would rebuke me for eating too much. Then I’d head across the street with a full stomach to the church building for the Wednesday night service where Brother Post would fill my spiritual stomach with masterful, thoughtful, in-depth teaching from the Word of God.

*[If you started reading this from your email, begin reading here.]

Brother Post was the only Bible teacher I personally knew until I attended college as a young man. There is no way to exaggerate the biblical foundation that he laid in my life. During my college years, I was exposed to other wonderful Bible teachers, and not long after I left the university, I took a position as an associate pastor in a large Baptist church under a godly pastor named Dr. Bill Bennett. This man was as knowledgeable as any person I’ve ever met in my life. He read Greek; he knew history; he had a doctorate of theology. In my opinion, he was and remains one of the most brilliant Bible teachers I’ve ever met anywhere in the world.

For several years during my earliest period of ministry, my chief role was to serve my senior pastor. I carried his books and traveled with him as his assistant. I relished every minute of this season because Dr. Bennett spent time speaking to me from the Word of God and helping me establish my thinking in sound doctrine. I tremendously respected his knowledge, his teaching ability, and the godly life he led. Working at his side and serving him as I did was one of the greatest honors that God ever gave to Denise and me. God used that man to set me on a solid biblical foundation.

When I look back at the roles Brother Post and Dr. Bennett played in my life, I can see that both were vital to my spiritual development. One planted and another watered my spiritual development — just as the apostle Paul told the Corinthians, “I have planted, Apollos watered…” (1 Corinthians 3:6).

As an apostle called to the city of Corinth, Paul was responsible for starting the church in that city. However, he also served as their first pastor until God raised up another pastor to take his place. This replacement was a well-respected, highly educated man from Alexandria in Egypt named Apollos — and soon after Paul’s departure, he became the senior pastor of the Corinthian church. History tells us that Apollos was a gifted orator who was renowned for his eloquence.

In Paul’s absence, the Corinthian believers naturally began to compare the different speaking styles of Paul and Apollos. Some who had been in the church from the beginning and were extremely affectionate toward Paul apparently didn’t like the style of the new pastor. There were others in the church who loved Apollos and asserted that his preaching was superior to Paul’s. Yet the message Paul and Apollos preached was the same — they just had different styles.

When Paul heard of divisions forming in the church of Corinth over the issue of his and Apollos’ different styles of ministry he wrote to them and said, “I have planted, Apollos watered…” (1 Corinthians 3:6). Let’s take a closer look at the Greek in this statement to see exactly what Paul meant.

The word “planted” in this verse is translated from the Greek word phuteuo, which is a form of phuton, the Greek word for a plant, and it simply refers to the act of planting a plant. By using this word, Paul was metaphorically describing his role in Corinth. He was a planter. His task was to penetrate the darkness of the city and plant a church there. There is no doubt that this city had some of the toughest spiritual ground he had ever encountered. It was surely one of the most difficult places to minister in the ancient world.

Like a neglected garden overrun with pests and weeds, Corinth was infested with demonic powers. In order to plant the Gospel in people’s hearts and firmly establish the Church in that tough environment, he had to press forward and till the ground with the power of God; then he had to get on his hands and knees and pull the weeds. This was hard work! Yet for one and a half years, Paul poured his life into this pioneering job. When he finally left Corinth to pursue his apostolic call in another city, the Corinthian church had not only been planted — it was deeply rooted and producing good fruit!

Paul described his role in Corinth as a planter; however, he was fully aware where his responsibility ended and another equally important responsibility began. That is why he continued in First Corinthians 3:6, “I have planted, Apollos watered.…” The word “watered” here is from the Greek word potidzo, which most often means to water or to irrigate. It is the very word that would have been used to depict a farmer watering his garden to provide nourishment to his plants so they could grow. It can also be translated to imbibe, which in this context would convey the act of a field becoming soaked or saturated in water.

By describing Apollos’ role in Corinth with the Greek word potidzo, Paul actually gave Apollos a great compliment. It is as if Paul said, “Apollos didn’t just water you; he saturated you….” In other words, Paul acknowledged what a wonderful, vitally important job Apollos played in the Corinthian church! Paul had pulled the weeds, chased away the pests, planted the seed, and established the new growth of the young plant. Apollos then nurtured that plant, watering it regularly with the Word of God and thus contributing equally to the great increase that happened in that church. The roles of both ministers were absolutely vital. One was not better than the other; rather, each played a significant role in the spiritual development of that church.

Paul continued in First Corinthians 3:6 by saying, “I have planted, Apollos watered; but God gave the increase.” This word “increase” is the Greek word auxano, which means to cause to grow, to cause to increase, or to cause to become enlarged. By using this word, Paul was teaching us that we are always dependent upon God to provide growth and increase — even if we do everything right as we plant and water our crop. Or to put it another way: We can carry out our different roles of planting and watering, but only God can provide the sunshine and weather that allows it to grow. If God doesn’t intervene and provide His part, all of our planting and watering will be in vain. Therefore, as we carry out our roles as effectively and efficiently as we can, we must always be conscious of the fact that we’re not responsible for growth and success. If growth comes, ultimately it is God who gives the increase.

I am thankful for my first pastor, Brother Post, and for Dr. Bennett, the pastor whom I later served. One firmly planted the seed in my life, and the other watered that seed until I was saturated with the Word of God. Both of these men were vital to my early growth as a man of God — but, ultimately, it was God who made me grow. These two men were part of the process, and I’m so thankful to Him for what they invested in my life. But the One who caused me to grow was God Himself.

It’s right for you to acknowledge and thank the people who have played a major role in your life. But don’t make the mistake the Corinthians made and get so fixated on personalities that you forget that God is the One who really makes seed grow!

Also, as you play a God-given role in someone else’s life, let me encourage you to do the very best with what He has entrusted to you. Till the ground, plant the seed, and pour on the nourishment required to make the seed grow. God expects you to do your part. But never forget that He is your greatest Partner. You are completely dependent on Him to do the part you cannot do for yourself — increase and growth!

MY PRAYER FOR TODAY

Lord, I sincerely want to take just a moment to say thank You for the people who have played such an important role in my spiritual development. So many people have helped me, corrected me, assisted me, and taught me. When I think of how many people have made investments into my life, I am amazed and grateful that You would love me so much. Holy Spirit, help me express my gratitude to these people whom You have used to develop me. Most of all, I want to thank You for providing all the other ingredients that no one else could provide. Even though others invested so much in me, I know that You are the One who is responsible for the growth, increase, and success I am experiencing in my life. Without You, none of this would be happen- ing today, so I want to say thank You!

I pray this in Jesus’ name!

MY CONFESSION FOR TODAY

I confess that God is using me to play a significant role in other people’s lives. Just as others loved me and invested in my spiritual development, God is now using me to help others. I consider it a privilege to plant spiritual seed into other people’s lives. It is an honor to tend that seed with love and care and to nourish it with the water of the Word of God. All around me are people with great potential who need someone to help them. Because the Holy Spirit is working in my life and making me more like Jesus Christ, I am willing, ready, and desirous to be a blessing, just as key people have been to me. God has given me a role to play in the spiritual development of others, and I will faithfully do exactly what He has asked me to do.

I declare this by faith in Jesus’ name!

QUESTIONS FOR YOU TO CONSIDER

Who are the people who have played the most important role in your spiritual development? In what ways did they affect your spiritual growth?

Have you ever taken the time to call, write, or make a personal visit to those people who helped you along the way in your walk with God? Have you expressed how profoundly thankful you are for the role they played in your life? If you haven’t done this, why not? Don’t you think it is right to go out of your way to say thank you to someone who had such a dramatic influence in your life?

Who are you helping spiritually develop right now? Are you planting seed in someone’s life? Are you watering seed that has already been sown in another’s life? God has a role for you to play in helping others, so take a good look at your life and ask, “In whose life am I making a difference today?”

[rexylafemme]

day five of being alive another year and basking in the afterglow of it. embracing the preciousness of my own life, as i can so easily and readily do for others. last night, tres and i sat around a patio table in his backyard, too late too late to be awake, but running off of post-performance endorphins, fumes, relation. talking about the powerful communal bonds that exist in our lives, the sense of possibility and potential we all bring each other, that gratifying feeling of nourishment, empowerment, creativity, change. on a day like today, i’m glad we had last night. today has been one of sitting with contradictions—despair, grief, gnawing rage after what happened with healthcare today and that trash executive order, too. to walk around and see children laughing anyway. to walk around and for mundane nyc conversations to be happening anyway. holding onto those small appreciations, despite the grip of fear/anxiety/rage, that clawing. letting myself feel that, letting myself sit for a minute in the grass with the sun on my face, listen to a song and give some space to the fluttery butterfly feeling in my stomach, the feathers ruffling in my little heart.

i got off work after 11 on friday night and stopped over at tres and tanya’s. we were all so sleepy, but so happy to see each other, heart-friends. they said i was glowing, bright-seeming lately. yeah. we had one shot of whiskey at midnight and had a mariah carey sing-along. their advice for me: go all in, surrender to the feelings you have. we can never know what’s going to happen, what comes down the line, which is why we should go for what we want. to trust what we want and what feels good, enjoy it, follow it. to believe in what you’ve built and the work and intention you’ve put into getting where you are now and where you want to go.

i said go big or go home. and then i did go home. laughing on my bike, cruising down the wide dark avenue parallel to greenwood, the smell of grass and so-sweet blooming trees riding on the invisible waves of wind hitting my face. i thanked basquiat. i made it through. i was alive. a few days before, it was gray and misty all day long, but i was restless. i walked to greenwood and took tons of pictures of all the new plants and flowers and trees and bushes, graves. i decided to visit basquiat’s grave and do a ritual there. i offered him flowers i picked, i drew him, and i wrote him a letter. i was thinking a lot about my 27th year coming to a close, living with the irrational fear i would die. having at one time or another been obsessed with many in the 27 club: amy, jimi, kurt, janis, jean-michel, and jim. all the pain we shared. not wanting to be frozen in time, wanting as much of it i can get my hands on, as much time and life and love and abundance as i can get my hands on, as much i can give back and multiply. the difference between desire and avarice hinges upon giving and receiving, tending, not taking, or expecting, or entitlement. nothing i have i own. nothing i want is mine. everything shared.

so, i sat on a damp marble bench behind basquiat’s grave, white sunlight through the dense white sheet of sky cast over everything bright and green and wet and colorful; verdant and juicy and creating such a contrast against the starkness. and, yes, mistakes and, yes, death and, yes, uncertainty, and, yes, wounds, and yes, questions. but, mostly hope. mostly a will to continue, power forth and forward and thoughts on upward spirals, the ascending staircases arranged in fractals that my spirit follows. all the doorways and the windows to walk through, being up from the cellar now. or the bomb shelter, or the panic room. the safe i kept my heart locked up in. the body that was itself a cage where all the broken, feral parts were stored away. the power they had, though, motivating such a craving to escape. do whatever you can. get out. times maybe i was close to following a bad habit down the road to my own death. the week before having watched the rose with femme blood family, thinking of the thorns we’ve all been. thinking of the three little children we were inside these oversized human suits. the ones that aren’t satisfied with anything less than brilliance. the ones that have been drawn to recklessness, excess. always wanting to feel something else, wanting us to be something else. did i forget we were cut from the same cloth? did i forget we mourned the same people, same times? i have held their choices against them, i have held their lives against them, at times, while expecting them to never do that to me. so bratty, so childish. and to them i will always be young, but also the infant with ancient eyes, as they said when i was born.

how much we say without speaking. the things we tell each other underneath the stories. things like i see you, things like i know you are hurting, things like don’t be ashamed, things like i know you. things like i love you. i think we’ve spent so much time feeling heartbroken for each other. so much desire for someone to be safe and healthy and happy and whole, you don’t know what to do with it. it just sloshes around in your blood pumped out from your sore heart. our. we feel each other.

when i got home after tres and tanya’s, it was officially my birthday. tyler and i sat in the living room on the couch together. he did a reading of my solar return chart for the year. my subconscious is a huge focus and a hotbed of activity this year—in a kind of wild, creative way from influences of aries and sagitarrius, but stabilized and slowed down by taurus and venus. i’m being told to face and unleash what i repress through creativity and embodiment. that my body is an instrument in my own healing. and so is whatever i make with it. i’m being told to realize that what i create spiritually and what i express has wider influential reach to others. he said i bring out the spiritual warriors in others, especially through my work. that i’m drawn to the fight in others and in myself and i have connective power. moon and node placements move me to trust my intuition and integrate it into everything that i do. this year is a good year for learning new skills and how to keep living differently. it’s a good year for pursuing dreams and big collaborations. new ways of being. new ways of being with others. the process of growth and learning will be exciting, welcome, and transformative. i’ll grow a lot emotionally and a lot will get released. i will lose and gain myself through my work and what i create/contribute. i desire balance. i want everything, but i have to take it one step at a time and trust i will achieve my goals and get what i desire.

what this says to me, also, is to sink into the ways things feel new and different. that i shouldn’t always be waiting for the floor to fall out from under me, just because i am used to that sort of thing. i put down the floor, i built the foundations and they’re solid. feel good. trust in me. trust what feels true and real.

in the cemetery, after my ritual, i shed some tears, not nearly as many as i need to shed, but i was grateful for a little release. i saw eyes patterned on trees. i stood still and made eye contact with a groundhog. as i was leaving, i stood in the grass with about 25 of the greenwood parrots around me, in the grass, on the trees. they swooped past my face. they were boisterous and yelling at each other and moving too much, i couldn’t get a good picture. sometimes you just have to be there, be in it, take note in yourself.  

i want to go into the magic of the in bloom show, but that feels like it needs its own space. i do want to share two of the poems i read from that night, though, because they feel related to all the life/death, shadow/light, bloom talk.

gently through my shadow

sometimes i walk the streets

of my home city, beer bottle glass crunching

under feet, graves to my right, trains

to my     left    wondering   why   i am

here,    & not living

in a one-room box i built myself   in the forest

no one can reach—gridless ,     me   with just atlas, a tape deck, some lace

& paper flowers, a notebook, upside-down herbs

lining all the walls, & Stevie Nicks

in the background as i am

all Misty Day twirling in circles

with my scarves swirling around me, craving

a tribe, but knowing what we humans do, so

don’t come for me, don’t call to me,

but do   come for me, call to me?—conflicted,

sea-of-love-drowned, downcast androgynous

femme radagast, friends with all the animals

& plants, misanthropic old-soul / baby-face, speaking to creatures like st. francis, but more

prophetic, less catholic &   now   here

i go    again,   i see the crystal vision    i keep

my visions to myself—

write a poem about them instead—poet

of my heart—self, never change & don’t you ever stop—      drowning? in dreams

i remember

how to breathe underwater, sometimes i am so far from the surface, i can almost find happiness there   in my element amidst sunken ships, schools of fish, &     just me    floating— how long ago did you lose yourself— an echo travels backwards through walls of timeless ocean and asks again—how long? your scales so smooth & beautiful, years, iridescent, hexagonal pieces of you— it’s like you’ve always been this gone, this mysterious deep sea creature— is it in your skin or is it a defense mechanism, hiding— do you know? the difference, intricacies of your makeup and what it means to you when an eye casts itself upon them? & didn’t you know fins for swimming evolve into wings eventually? & haven’t you been waiting to take off? go away isn’t the initial message i transmit, not the gut influence i get, but then i did say  i was a cave-dweller & i wasn’t kidding—holy hermitage—oh mirror in the sky, is total solitude the same as bringing safety home with you?

i don’t know, i don’t know   is it

some attempt at human care services, step by step metamorphosis, getting closer to being  taken by the sky, no, but we do get ourselves there, somehow, don’t we?    always overthinking—did   she/he/they   make you cry, make you break down, shatter your illusions of love? yes, and,   but,    is it over now? do you know how to pick up the pieces & go home? all i’ve known is evil witches: lousy lovers pick their prey— Fiona Goode burned the Myrtle Snow in me at the stake for my honor, self-defense & killer fashion sense—it was all control & morbid jealousy, rulers make bad lovers    and other descendants: Madison Montgomery said she was my friend, called me a gutter rat, & then stole my beloved covering before throwing me into a coffin underground,

& when they dug me up & revived me for whatever reason, i spit up inky blood & thick mud, my own death, & said fuck this institution—feeling, competition, & who the supreme is—i won’t give a shit anymore, & i never did. in the stillness of remembering   i’m better off dancing alone, i think     like a cat in the dark and then    i am    the darkness—knee-deep

in the swamp—sewer channels of asheville, oakland, queens, or brooklyn, i am a dragon & then    i turned around and the water was closing all around me—writing poetry & communing with crocodiles, black widow spiders, wearing a live snake stole and a cape of slime & ivy wrapped around me with micah swathed on my eyelids, majesty you can call me. but…

stand back    stand back   in the middle of my room if you touch me, i’ll scream. if you touch me, i’ll tell someone. if you touch me, i’ll never be the same again,   i say it like it can only be a bad thing, & it isn’t,   but it is   the risk.   i worry about  feeling anything & coming up for air from within myself for someone to face me    while Stevie sings  have no fear, only love & i try to

listen to that advice, more than the   thunder

only happens when it’s raining, players only love you when they’re playing—but i’m stubborn, full of memories, venom,   like a scorpion: i keep to myself, & i sting when cornered, but there are humans who are healing & open, i know because i am, & i can’t be the only one.

bloom wave

the trees are blooming in greenwood  my favorite

graveyard    playground, the sun is hitting

the glitter on my eyelashes, projecting pixels

in the periphery of my vision     what a feeling,

serotonin and kinship all over  the place, at home

here in brooklyn finally   silver linings

are aware to me   and anxiety is just a state

of consciousness i  pass through on the road back toward

the center of myself, home, breathing doubt out

into fifty-three degree breezes on 40th st. walking

toward sunset park where i will sit and gaze at red hook

across the east river where my family was born

on conover st, end of the docks

on the waterfront     where brando coulda been

a contender and my grandfather watched the lionhearted

majesty of my grandmother in the sun:  a curious feeling

of wonder on a day like today, maybe

everything is kinda charmed and timeless, maybe eternity

looks on me  and smiles, maybe infinity is inside me and

my heart is some prismatic thing that reflects and refracts

light off in a million directions and it won’t ever die again

in my beautiful trash heap of a city   where people struggle

and fall in and out of love again and again with the streets they grew up and re-find themselves on   every day   years 

later  resonating   their own histories in the present moment: a new gift

given back to old ancestries   when people are sweet

to each other like peaches (but less vanilla)—

& on the corner, you can get the treats you want

from the bodega: honey buns, hershey’s kisses,

whatever suits yr preference, or down the block in all five boroughs

mr. softee transmitting his tin-tin ice cream truck music and italian ices at lemon ice king of corona in queens, all things   signaling spring and inspiring all kinds of cuteness—children laughing,

clowning   spraying each other in water fountains   and

playful whirling down the slide into the arms of

april—

feeling like a teenager, all silly riding my bike

in the afternoon up and down hills round the neighborhood,

my thoughts on expanse, abundance, and chance,

saying to myself sometimes someone

says something    really small    and it just fits

right into this empty place    in yr heart—

acting all sentimental, all poor trans adult   angela chase with my messy bottle-fire hair, attempting tiger beat jean jacket pretty dreamboat in a hand-me-down striped ralph lauren sweater, leo/juliet, romeo/claire all in one

hand in my pocket &   singing  i’m lost, but

i’m hopeful and when you have rickie, rayanne, & other-kin

like yrself     who needs anyone     unavailable, too-cool, or

mostly straight—those withholding heartthrobs  always

leaning   away from you    on brick walls blocking yr walking   away in the halls of some sludgy stress dream where you never reach

where yr going & the face you touched was just an image

from the past that disappears

as yr waking— tired and wanting, unrequited—

the jordan catalanos who hated you secretly

for feeling, or who they couldn’t be for you as they wanted you only

kinda/sorta, singing    s/he’s a place to rest my head, a suggestion  

it coulda been you, but really their red wasn’t yr hair, it was a car  

driving away to the desert—  no bye cuz guys like them just    go    &

try to call you months later from a parking lot payphone—i’m wrong

and i’m sorry,   baaaaaby? making you cry alone   in yr bedroom,

& having  you ask constantly  why   are you like this!    all distant,

dumb-founded (huh? like what?)

…like…

                 like…

                                 like…    

          how    you    are?

and the answer always a shrug   in the silence

between us.

going my own way and taking ownership of it—

so many spirits flow over

me and i love it    oh, to be so pleasantly haunted

& embraceable for being true

is the actual thing

i’d always wanted.