#like “these are priceless artifacts that could help us learn so much about the past!! wtf man!!!”

[puppyeared]

fake ep idea + doodles

[starculler]

Whumptober 2021: Day 5

Word Count: 6042 || Read on Ao3

Tags/Warnings: Star Wars, Anakin Skywalker, Sheev Palpatine Ahsoka Tano, Rex, Mace Windu, Violence, Implied Torture, Fake Death, loss of limb (fingers)

Another one in by the skin of my teeth lol.

Anakin nodded at the pair of clones, red and white clad troopers from the Coruscant Guard, stationed in front of the outermost doors to the Chancellor’s suite as he strode past and inside to the office they’d always met in. The grand room, and the hall before it, looked as it always had during any of his visits: haloed in the sun’s light and filled with any number of priceless artifacts and fine, if simply constructed, furniture. And all of it painted a bright, rich red from floor to ceiling that gave way to the raised, warm gray flooring nearer the windows. He stopped before that raised section, hands fisted and trembling beneath the larger sleeves of his dark brown robe, and looked up, past the stairs and chairs and desk at its very center to the Chancellor himself, smiling placidly down at him.

“Anakin, my dear boy,” the Chancellor greeted, pleased, and it was all Anakin could do not to scream. “I wasn’t expecting you, but please come. Take a seat. I always have time for a friend.”

“My apologies, Chancellor,” he said neutrally. He offered a shallow bow, jaw clenched as he ground his teeth. It hurt to breathe, a vice wrapped around his chest and squeezing his lungs so painfully tight he thought he might suffocate on the spot. “We just got back from a” — horrible nightmare, he thought and only a hitch in his breath to give it away —“campaign in the Outer Rim. I thought the resupply was also a good excuse to give my Padawan and I some time to rest planetside. I hope I haven’t interrupted anything important.”

“Not at all.” Pal— The Chancellor, shook his head, smile still in place, if a little tighter when he gestured to the chairs in front of his desk and said, again: “Please. Sit. How is your padawan doing? Last we spoke, you sounded quite frustrated. Understandable, of course,” he said, amiable and sympathetic. “Teenagers, especially her age, can be difficult, though I have no doubts that you’re doing your best.”

Anakin walked up the four steps to the platform and not an inch closer even as he offered a tight smile of his own. He tasted sour bile in the back of his mouth to hear the man so much as mention Ahsoka, even if he’d kept her name out of his mouth. Still, he bobbed his head in acknowledgment of the question and answered.

“She’s doing good, Your Excellency. I think we’ve come to understand each other a little better since the last time I was able to speak with you.”

“Oh, how wonderful,” said the Chancellor, sounding, to Anakin’s ears, just a fraction displeased at the news.

“Yes,” he agreed. “It is.”

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

They’d lost so many men.

Ahsoka hadn’t been able to purge that haunting sight from her since they’d hobbled back to the Resolute, victorious but silent. The bodies of men she’d slowly grown closer to lived on the backs of her eyelids, there to see every time she closed her eyes. All of them left behind like so much trash, unburied and with no time to mourn them as they hurried on to the next planet. The next battlefield. The next slaughter.

She shuddered, huddled up in a deserted corner of the ship — so deep in that she’d lost track of where exactly she’d walked — as far from everyone else as she’d been able to manage. Misery clung to her, sticking and ugly, and she knew. She knew it was worse for the men who’d lost their brothers. Their friends. So she sat alone, the tears long-dried on her cheeks, not wanting to interrupt or take up space she didn’t deserve. They weren’t her brothers, but they’d been her men for almost a year and she cared. More than she probably should.

“Hey, Snips.”

She jerked, eyes wide, not having heard her master coming down the corridor. He smiled, a wan, withering thing. Nothing at all like the usual bluster and brightness he showed off in front of everyone. She said nothing as he sat, legs crossed and elbows resting on his knees, in front of her. He looked so tired. Stressed. He hadn’t been the neatest or most put-together looking Jedi she’d ever met, but he’d grown slowly worse since their last trip to Coruscant.

“Hey,” she said, voice duller than she’d meant it to be.

“How’re you holding up?” She considered the question. Considered lying, but…

“Not… not great.” Anakin hummed, but didn’t interrupt. She didn’t dare look at him as she spoke, not wanting to see how he felt about what she admitted. “I just— I don’t know—” She hooked her fingers into the thick, white fabric of her leggings and pulled her legs in closer. “I wanted to be a Jedi so bad.” She hated how she choked on the words, fresh tears welling in her eyes. “I still do, really. But. But there’s just so much—

“It’s awful,” she whispered and startled when an arm settled over her shoulder and pulled so she was pressed tight to her master’s side. Wrapped up in her roiling emotions as she’d been, she hadn’t even noticed him move. She sniffled, turning to hide her face in his dark tunic. “There’s so much death, master. So much pain. I feel it all the time and I. I don’t know how to—”

The words died in her throat, smothered by an awful sob half-muffled by her master’s warmth. He rubbed her shoulder as she cried, pulled in as close as either could physically manage.

“How do you do it, Master,” she croaked once she’d mostly calmed. “How do you not care so hard?” She felt him still next to her, almost a flinch. Before she could apologize, take the words and this moment back and flee to her room, he answered, his own voice low and soft. Gentle.

“You never stop, Snips. You just … learn. You put it aside when you’re needed, and work through it when you’re not.” He sighed. “I’m not— Well. You know I’m not always great with my emotions, not like Obi-Wan or some of the other Masters.” She nodded in the lull, waiting for him to gather himself. ���But the worst of it, the parts that’d only hurt you or the men to see? I keep it locked in a little box with an old fashioned lock and key, stashed away until I have time to meditate or process or even just when I work on a ship or droid.

“Every time we come back from a campaign and I count how many we’ve lost, I feel it so hard I think I’ll never breathe again. Usually, I’ll rely on Obi-Wan if it’s bad enough and he knows he can lean on me if he needs it. You, my young Padawan, can come to me any time you need to,” he said, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze. “Anytime. Any reason. Even if it’s just to sit quietly together.”

Ahsoka nodded, not feeling better but not quite as alone either.

“Can we meditate?” She asked, voice trembling and tiny.

“Of course,” he said. Neither of them moved, not just yet.

“Hey Skyguy?” Anakin hummed a response. “You can count on me too, if you want.”

He said nothing for a long moment, and she saw his other hand twitch from the corner of her eyes — a brief motion, there and done.

“I know,” he murmured, so quietly a human wouldn’t have heard him even though her montrals picked the words up easily. “I know.”

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

Anakin sucked in a deep, bracing breath, willing himself to be still and patient for just a little longer despite how every second he stood there only fueled the pit of anger coiled tightly in his gut. It had been easier, on the Resolute — in space and among his men where he didn’t have to look at the face of a man who’d lied to him for as long as they’d known each other. A man he’d defended against criticism and let whisper in his ear. A man he’d let slowly poison him from the inside until the rot had settled deep in the core of him, a permanent fixture he looked upon with shame and regret. And anger.

“I’m afraid I haven’t come just to visit an old friend, though.” His voice, miraculously, didn’t so much as waver, the words flowing as smoothly from him as they never had.

The Chancellor’s eyes seemed to narrow for a moment — so quick he almost thought he’d misinterpreted it, a trick of the light and nothing more — before he spoke, his tone even and jovial. “And what can I do to help you then, Anakin? Or have you come as Knight Skywalker? On behalf of the Jedi, perhaps,” he said, not a question. Anakin shook his head in answer regardless.

“I’m not here on behalf of the Jedi, Chancellor, but I am here as a Knight of the Order though I act alone.” He swallowed and carefully, slowly, reached down to his belt where his lightsaber hung, singing to him so faintly at that moment that it could have been miles away. The Chancellor didn’t move, didn’t so much as twitch, as he pulled the cool, metal casing from its clip and held it, unlit, in the palm of his flesh hand.

“What have you come here for, Knight Skywalker?”

A chill seemed to settle in the air between them that set every nerve in Anakin’s body aflame, alive and electric through his limbs so that he felt even the faint, phantom pain in his prosthetic. He curled his mechanical fingers into a fist, clenching and unclenching them for a few tense seconds the way he sometimes did before battle, when he worried that very pain might get in the way and cost more of his men their lives. His shoulders strained with the tension creeping into him, and he struggled to keep let it go.

“Chancellor Palpatine, I accuse you of being a Sith Lord and traitor to the Republic.”

The Chancellor laughed like Anakin had told a particularly funny joke, and said: “My boy, I am an old man who has dedicated his life, and a decade already as Chancellor, to the betterment of the Republic. How could I possibly be a-a Sith?” He asked, just the right amount of incredulity saturating the question. “I fear, my boy, that you are tired — this war has taken its toll on us all, and with you needed so often on the front and so firmly in the thick of the worst of it. Well, it hurts, but I’m unsurprised to find even a young man as impressive as you, my friend, might be swayed by this cruel joke under the circumstances.”

“It isn’t a joke,” Anakin snarled, finally losing the firm grip he’d kept on his anger. “I saw you.” The man stilled, thin lips pressed together in a grim line as he sat back in his chair too peer at Anakin like he were a bug. “I saw you,” he said again, breathing heavily, almost panting. “In your office, your private office, just before the 501st shipped out last time. Talking to Dooku.” He spat the name like a curse, filthier than any other word in his vocabulary.

“My boy, whatever you thought you saw—”

“He called you Sidious. He called you Master.” He bared his teeth at the man who’d been his friend, white-knuckled grip on his saber’s hilt tightening almost painfully. “You’ve betrayed the Republic.

“I am the Republic!” Anakin staggered when The Chancellor’s eyes flashed, bright yellow instead of deep brown.

“You’re a traitor,” Anakin bellowed back, finally igniting his lightsaber at his side. “You’ll turn yourself in, or I’ll bring you in myself. It’s my duty as a Jedi,” he said, not at all the confident declaration he’d meant it to be.

“Just as it was your duty to — what was it again? Eschew attachments?” Anakin flinched, but grit his teeth, determined. “My boy, Anakin, please see reason.”

“Reason? What reason? You’re-you’re a Sith!” He widened his stance as the Chancellor finally stood up from behind the desk, leaning forward on his hands against its smooth surface. His gaze burned into Anakin’s, boring in with such intensity he feared the man saw right down to the deepest, most vulnerable parts of him no matter how hard Anakin might try to keep him out. “You were my friend,” he said, nearly a whisper and not at all what he’d meant to.

“I still am.” The Chancellor smiled, but Anakin felt none of the warmth from it that he used to. “I can help you, Anakin. I can help you keep your loved ones safe in these awful times. I can give you the power to keep them safe with your own two hands. Power the Jedi could only dream of.” He paused, eyes gleaming bright and greedy as he said: “I could give you the galaxy.”

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

Rex watched his general putter about the camp, looking more a mess than usual. He seemed not unlike a droid, his every move mechanically rote as he went about his tasks and his gaze distant in that way Rex sometimes saw on shell shocked shinies. He pursed his lips, grip on his bucket tightening a fraction. Their last campaign had been rough: heavy losses and a victory won by the skin of their teeth. He’d seen how it had left the Commander, much as Ahsoka had tried to hide it, and the next one was gearing up to be just as bad or worse if the 212th were held up.

General Skywalker, however, had been worrying him since long before. He didn’t know how much his general thought he was fooling Rex — and it rankled that he might have if not for little moments like this — but he wouldn’t fool anyone if this went on much longer. He’d heard troopers talking, spotting Skywalker up at all hours of the night, amiable enough but also mumbling to himself when he thought no one would see. Rex had done his best to keep the worst of it under wraps: making up reasons for the general’s wandering, erasing the occasional unauthorized flight on his personal junker of a ship, filling in reports that skipped his notice or forging them altogether.

What he couldn’t hide, Rex waved away as a symptom of how busy Jedi generals were in general. Easy to do when the only ones to work consistently closely with them were the Commanders — and Rex, considering he filled the role for the 501st.

He’d considered telling Cody at the very least, if not General Kenobi himself, but he’d put it off. Every time he came across evidence that something was wrong, he’d brushed it off. At first with assurances that the general was just stressed. That he’d course correct on his own and all would go back to how it had been. When it worsened, Rex had asked his general directly, needing to know if whatever had happened would affect his performance — if it would put men’s lives in danger.

Anakin had looked him in the eyes that day and promised he had it handled.

Whatever “it” was.

Rex trusted his general with his life. With his brothers’ lives. So it hurt, a physical pain in his chest, to know his general didn’t trust him enough to let him help. For his general — his friend — he’d do anything, even if it got him decommissioned. Had already, to some extent.

“Captain,” a shiny said, prying his attention away from Skywalker and back to the bustle of setting up camp. “Commander Cody’s on the line for you.”

Rex nodded and shoved his bucket back on his head. He spared one last glance at his general before following the trooper back to the hastily put together command tent, wondering all the way there if this was a sign for him to speak up.

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

Anakin swallowed, mouth dry as the desert planet he’d been born on. The part of him that would always be nine and scared, then nineteen and mourning, found the offer compelling. Power to keep everyone safe: Padmé, Ahsoka, Obi-Wan, Rex and his men. To have the galaxy fall in line so wars like this one never came about again. To break the chains keeping sentients fettered, abused and terrified. To do what he wanted without the constraints the Jedi imposed upon him and all their members. It appealed so well to that not-insignificant part of him that hated his own fear and weakness and the uncertainty of the future.

It scared him, how enticing the offer was and how tempted he was to forsake everything he knew and everything he’d been taught in exchange for that promise. All that held him back was the single, nagging feeling itching at the back of his skull. He probed at it, poking at what lay below the desire and fear until he found th rest of him — the parts the darkness didn’t call to so strongly.

The parts of him molded by the people he loved, nurtured by what he’d been taught at the Jedi’s feet, and built on the foundations his Mom had laid down for him in his childhood. The parts that whispered to him to be cautious. To be vigilant. To remember that nothing so golden, so perfect, came without a cost.

What was the price to be paid for the Chancellor’s offer?

What would he lose in exchange?

Everything, that tiny part of him whispered.

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

Obi-Wan smiled at Ahsoka as she skipped back towards her and Anakin’s troops, all of them nearly finished with the necessary preparations needed to leave this Force-forsaken planet. He watched the troops mingle, chatting and catching up as much as they could. Even his commander had loosened up in the afermath of a hard-won battle, leaned against a crate of supplies as he spoke with Rex.

The only person he hadn’t been able to find in the organized chaos had been his former padawan.

Anakin seemed to have disappeared entirely, not a trace of him anywhere which seemed odd to him. He turned toward Rex and Cody, intent on asking where he might find the wayward knight, only to slow and then stop altogether when he caught the tail end of their conversation.

“—know. But it’s … something.” Rex frowned, hands balled into tight fists at his side. Cody sighed.

“If he’s breaking regs,” Cody said archly, but didn’t finish the thought. Rex, in Obi-Wan’s humble opinion, looked rather much like he wanted to punch the other man.

“I’m not turning him in,” Rex hissed, low enough that Obi-Wan had to strain to hear him. “The general’s just … he’s in a bad way right now and I don’t know how to kriffing help if he won’t let me.”

Obi-Wan pressed his lips into a thin line, drawing back before he heard Cody’s response. He hadn’t known Anakin had been doing poorly, though in what capacity he wasn’t yet sure. He’d hardly spoken to Anakin at all the last few months, busy as they’d both been. Still, if the captain was so worried, enough to bring it to Cody, then. Well.

He made a mental note to himself to check in on his former padawan. He knew the 501st were due for leave soon, a quick resupply over Coruscant that would give Anakin and Ahsoka both time to visit the Temple. Perhaps after, he’d make the call, or better yet: find some time to get their two battalions together outside of battle.

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

He breathed out, a single slow, measured breath, and set his jaw. When he looked at the Chancellor — at Sidious — his choice had been made. Sidious scowled even before Anakin spoke, wrinkled and severe and not a hint at all of the man he had trusted.

“No.” He brought his saber up into Djem So’s opening stance. “I am a Jedi, and I’ll do what I must.”

“So it’s treason, then,” Sidious sneered, pulling a lightsaber of his own from his robes. Anakin felt the last dregs of his hope drain when the blade lit, its blood-red light casting Sidious’ face into eerie relief as the lights in the room grew suddenly dim.

Anakin nodded once, a short, sharp jerk of his head. He breathed in, taking a brief moment to steel himself as the room’s tension and chill grew bloated and oppressive. For a moment neither of them moved. Coruscant itself seemed to freeze, from every sentient on-planet to its very rotation in space. And then, all at once, life exploded back into action.

Sidious leaped out from behind his desk at the same time Anakin surged forward. Their lightsabers scraped each other mid-air, the barest, buzzing touch as he kept that ominous, red blade from slicing at his shoulder. He spun quickly on his heel to meet Sidious’ offensive attack from behind. Their sabers clashed, properly locked and spitting as each of them tried to over-power the other.

He threw the entirety of his weight into every attack, pressing forward and pushing Sidious back. But nothing landed. Anakin growled, moving faster. Pushing. Pressing. But nothing. Fucking. Landed. Sidious whirled, inelegant but effective. Power bolstered by experience and skill. Every slash blocked. Every thrust parried. Every move economical and calculated and a near perfect counter to Anakin’s own aggressive style.

“You have such potential,” Sidious crooned at him, their sabers locked once again, the energy buzzing and crackling loudly in Anakin’s ears. “You could be so much more than you are, my boy.”

Anakin dug his heels in the carpet and pushed, shoving as much of the Force as he could into it even as the effort left his gasping for breath. Gasping, but victorious when it at least shut the Sith up and sent him sailing across the room if not into the wall like he’d wanted. He grinned at Sidious’ responding glower and merely adjusted his grip on his lightsaber with a shrug. Taunting Dooku’s master as much as he dared.

“Join me, Anakin,” Sidious said, unmoving from where he’d landed and looking somehow unbothered behind the anger radiating from him. “Join me and cease this foolishness.”

“Never,” he hissed, and leaped forward with help from the Force.

They clashed. Separated. Clashed again. Neither gained ground, even as Anakin found himself tiring, slowly but surely. He winced when a glancing blow caught his arm, searing and slicing a neat, shallow line from elbow to shoulder. Anakin managed a nastier slash at the Sith’s legs, and nearly laughed when he caught Sidious’ ankle as he leaped and watched him stagger on the landing.

Fury, thick and startling and like nothing Anakin had felt before even on the front lines, oozed from Sidious then. Anakin, sweating and exhausted, stilled. Tense and suddenly nervous. Something slick and malicious wrapped around his throat, and before he’d even registered that it was the Force — Sidious using the Force — it squeezed, cinched closed and cutting off his air.

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” Sidious said, sincerity dripping like poison from his words. “I had a plan, you see. A place for you at my side, and. Well, it might be earlier than I’d hoped, but I’m nothing if not accommodating. Don’t you agree?”

“Shut.” Anakin gagged, the invisble vice squeezing ever tighter as the seconds ticked past. “Up.” He fumbled for the Force as dark spots dotted his vision, but felt it slip through his fingers like sand. “Sith.”

Sidious hummed, paced calmly closer to Anakin like they had all the time in the world. And maybe they did. Those were clone troopers out front, and Anakin had paid a slicer more than enough credits in his attempts to gather evidence against Sidious for at least the vague confirmation that they, specifically, could be controlled. He had no doubts, now, that Sidious, among those involved in this conspiracy, could and would do just that.

The Force squeezed a fraction harder — any more and his neck would snap — before easing, just enough for him to gasp, coughing and spluttering as fresh air returned to his burning lungs. He fell to his hands and knees, blinking back tears and the graying haze that had crept into his vision. He barely noticed when Sidious stopped in front of him and bent to pick his lightsaber up off the ground where he didn’t remember dropping it.

“What a tragedy,” Sidious said, laying a withered hand on Anakin’s head like a child needing comfort. He would have tried to bite the old man’s fingers off if he hadn’t still been struggling to catch his breath, just enough pressure still on his throat to keep him from fully recovering. “The disappearance of Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker, The Hero with no Fear who tried so hard to defend the Republic’s beloved Chancellor from the Separatist assassin, Ventress. Who took off in pursuit when she fled, without backup despite the Chancellor’s pleas — always a hothead, that one.”

“Shut up,” Anakin croaked, pain straining his voice. The hand in his hair tightened, not painfully. Not yet. A warning to keep silent — a warning to be ignored as soon as he could fucking breath again.

“What a shame,” Sidious continued, “how the young man was caught unawares.”

Anakin’s stomach dropped, fear like ice crawling through his veins as the meaning behind Sidious’ monologue finally started to register. He moved and the pressure on his throat worsened in response. He shouldn’t have come. The thought hit him like a blaster bolt to the chest.

He shouldn’t have come. He should have told someone. Should have tried harder to gather evidence against the Chancellor, even though he’d lost sleep over it for months — trying and failing and trying again only to come up empty-handed every time. Sdious was smart and his plan had been in motion probably for longer than Anakin had been alive.

Even if they’d never believe him, he should have told someone.

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

“Padmé.” Anakin said her name like it was the sun itself and he a man without its light all his life.

She smiled, held his face between the palms of her hands, and pulled him down into one of the softest, gentlest kisses they’d shared since the war had started. He practically melted against her, boneless if not quite relaxed. She pulled back first, brow furrowed and lips pursed as she studied his face. He hadn’t looked great the last time they’d talked over a holo, but now he looked worse.

The bags under his eyes were deep, dark smudges that looked like bruises in the dim light of her apartment. He looked drawn, paler than a man on the front lines more often than not should be, with dry, chapped lips and a gauntness to him that might have been as much a trick of the light as the early signs that he’d not been eating well. His hands trembled against her waist, a fine tremor she felt through the thin nightdress he’d caught her in. She hadn’t expected him to come by, not so late at night and certainly not looking half-dead.

“Anakin, what’s wrong? Should I call a healer?” she asked, smoothing a thumb over his lips, his cheek, under his eye. He shook his head, turning so he could kiss her palm. He ran so warm normally that it scared her to feel him so cold. Like death, she thought and it sent a foreboding thrill down her spine.

“I love you,” he murmured against her skin, his bright, blue eyes never leaving hers. She’d have found it romantic if not for how much it scared her just then.

“You’re scaring me, Anakin. Please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“ ‘M sorry.” He lifted one hand told hold hers, the same one he’d kissed, and brushed his lips over her fingers. “I’m sorry,” he said again and Padmé thought she might cry from how wretched he sounded. “Don’t leave tomorrow.”

“What?”

“Don’t go to work. Stay here.” He didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

“Anakin, I can’t just— just skip. There’s an important bill we’re trying to pass and if I’m not there—” He squeezed her hand, not painfully but not gently either, and she snapped her mouth shut. “Anakin?” She moved to touch his face again, but he drew back. She gasped, a quiet, hurt noise pulled from her lips.

“Just tomorrow,” he said, sounding desperate. Scared. “Just tomorrow, please Angel. Please.” She swallowed, wide eyed and trembling now herself, but nodded.

“Alright. Alright, I promise, but only if you tell me what’s going on. Okay?” He hesitated, but acquiesced.

“After,” he said and she said nothing else before pulling him to bed by the hand.

He curled up beside her, pressed as close as physically possible with his head pressed to her breast as she kissed the top of his head and smoothed a hand through his unruly hair. She didn’t know how long they laid there, silent but awake before sleep claimed her. When she woke, he was gone and the place in her bed where he’d lain had gone cold. In his place were a note and a datastick.

I’m Sorry, the note read, written in his slanted, messy cursive. Padmé felt tears prick at her eyes, something thick and awful and nauseating curling in her stomach as she picked the datastick up and moved to plug it into the datapad she kept on her nightstand.

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

He closed his eyes, let the pang of regret flow down and into him, then, finally, out. It came so suddenly easy, feeling what he needed before letting go, that he wanted to laugh. Wanted to cry. All his time as a Jedi he’d struggled, and he chose this moment to finally embrace — understand — what it was they’d been trying to teach him all along.

“Get to the point,” he said, trying to sound brave and not like he could fall apart at any second. The hand in his hair pulled, jerked his head up so he could look at those ugly, Sith eyes and Sidious’ grotesque grin. He’d spit if he could, but the Force tightened on his throat like Sidious had plucked the thought from his mind.

“The point,” the Sith hissed, “is that I will not waste the years I spent molding my perfect Apprentice.” Sidious crooned the word like it should mean more to Anakin. Like it shouldn’t make him sick to his stomach. “There is a place for you at my side, boy, whether you are there willingly or not.”

Sidious let him go, so suddenly he nearly fell on his face. Anakin blinked, confused as he pushed himself up, and caught the edge of that same, awful grin. Saw Sidious raise a hand, fingers splayed and pointing at him, and then nothing at all as he crackle of electricity and his own screaming filled the room.

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

Mace’s head throbbed, the same pounding pain that had lingered in his temples for months now. A shatterpoint, he knew, but any specific knowledge about it had remained firmly out of reach. Regardless of his headache — he’d had long years of practice managing it — he strolled into the Council’s Chambers, calm as a Jedi Master should be despite the urgency of the emergency meeting called. Problems, it seemed, just loved to pile up. First, an attack on the Chancellor in his own office the week before, then the disappearance of Knight Skywalker, and now whatever new event had cropped up.

He sighed, taking his seat among the mix of present Councilors. All of them, he was surprised to note, though most had called in via holo. Once he’d been seated, the room quieted and every eye turned to Master Yoda who’d called them together. The old troll’s face looked grim, his ears drooped as he all but hunched over his gimmer stick. Slick, icy dread slithered down Mace’s spine, knowing he wouldn’t like whatever the old Master had to say.

“Master Yoda?” Kenobi’s voice, mildly tinny over the holo, broke the silence when Master Yoda failed to speak up. The old Master seemed to wilt even further.

“Received a recording, we did, from Dooku.” Every Jedi in the room jerked, though none looked more than serenly alarmed at the news. “A datapad, he sent, early this morning. And another a gift.” Yoda’s voice wavered on the last word, just enough to be noticeable.

“May we see the device?” Plo Koon tipped his head to one side as he asked the question, a request made more for Yoda’s benefit than because any of them had any real need to see Dooku’s message for themselves.

Yoda shook his head and said: “With the investiators, it is. Work, they will, to see if a trick this is not. Deceiving us, Dooku may be.”

“Deceiving us?” Master Kolar leaned forward in his seat, a frown marring his features. Master Yoda nodded.

“Bring news, he does, of our missing knight.” Mace saw Kenobi jolt at the statement, wide-eyed. His fellow councilor had been devastated at the news of his former padawan’s disappearance. A few of the other Master’s spared Kenobi a sympathetic glance, before returning their attention to Master Yoda. “Claim, he does, that Knight Skywalker’s death his assassin, Ventress, is responsible for. Chased, he says she was, after thwarting an attempt on the Chancellor by young Skywalker she was.”

“Anakin,” Kenobi started, voice strangled. Mace frowned, rested his elbows on his knees, and steepled his fingers as he closed his eyes. “Anakin has fought Ventress many times, and come out unscathed before. To claim she killed him…” he trailed off.

“A gift, Dooku sent as well,” Yoda reminded.

The earlier chill in Mace’s spine solidified into a pit behind his stomach, a near physical weight as he said, low and pained: “Proof.”

The room was silent. Still. Their combined dread and anticipation thickened the air until it grew hard to breathe.

“Yes.”

Mace opened his eyes. He looked first to Obi-Wan, lips thinned but otherwise wearing a perfectly blank mask, and then to Master Yoda’s own grief-stricken face.

“His prosthetic and saber I have kept here to show you, but the rest. To the Healers for tests it has gone.”

“Healers?” Obi-Wan’s blank facade cracked. Mace was sure Obi-Wan’s face would have been pale as a sheet if not for the blue-tint of he holo-image projected onto his chair. Yoda said nothing for a long time, though Mace didn’t know if it was reluctance or grief that stalled him. “Master,” Obi-Wan whispered, and Mace felt sympathetic tears prick at his eyes for all the grief he could hear in that word alone. “Please.”

“Fingers,” Yoda said, grave and bland and disgusted. “Knight Skywalker’s, the Healers confirmed not long ago.”

Mace heard a few of the Masters’ gasp, and Obi-Wan’s own strangled, horrified noise, but Mace kept silent. Let his eyes slip closed once more, and bowed his head as a wave of bitter grief swept over him.

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

Anakin never woke for long, but when he did there were always two constants: pain and Sidious.

And hope. Always hope.

That Padmé had read what he’d left on the datastick — not enough but a start, and she’d always been so much smarter than him — and forgave him for the lie. For leaving.

Hope that Sidious would choke on his food and die, even if it meant Anakin rotted away in this cell.

Hope that the apologies he’d written to Ahsoka, Rex, and Obi-Wan made it to them, even if he hadn’t included half as much information in them as he had in his Angel’s.

And hope that maybe, one day, he might be saved. That Sidious’ attempt to deceive everyone would, at least this once, fail.

“How much longer will you remain disobedient, my Apprentice,” Sidious said as he slipped into the cell. Anakin closed his eyes for only a brief moment before turning a glare on his captor.

“Dunno,” he croaked, “how much longer ‘r you gonna live?”

Sidious hissed and repaid him with a blast of lightning in response.

Anakin screamed.

[painfulbass]

☾ ˚⊹  ❛❛  GENERAL QUICK CROSSOVER GUIDE

So crossovers are usually difficult for a lot of people. So, because I tend to think about these things, I thought I would make this comprehensive list/guide to writing crossovers with me. This isn’t anything in concrete, but to get the ball rolling or to help make it easier for both sides to contribute to plotting. It can be hard when you don’t know the fandom.

FNF, or Friday Night Funkin’ is a rhythm based game around rap battles. The Protagonist (known as BF) is trying to prove himself and win over his Girlfriend’s (GF) Dad, and it spirals from there. Gameplay style, it is very similar to Dance Dance Revolution, and the music is a fast pasted dubstyle/chiptune soundtrack.

What a lot of people know FNF for, however is the Mods. Due to it being on Newgrounds, and the creators having it be open asset, many creators are able to make their own “weeks” for players to challenge their skills in. Ruv, and those within Mid Fight Masses, are one of those mods. You can find most of their lore scattered in the scenes of their week, or by going on their official FNF Wiki.

Now, what does this mean for crossovers? I put it under a read more, simply because this is going to be a lot. I’m going to explain crossover verses I have. How I make them, and how YOU could have your character be in the FNF verse quite easily. So go under the read more to continue reading.

☾ ˚⊹  ❛❛  RUV IN OTHER UNIVERSES

Here are some just ideas that I came up with. While not EVERY interaction will work with these, they are ideas. They’re meant to kick start ideas and inspirations. I do not consider these full verses until I’ve talked with the other mun to make sure that they are okay with it. These can easily be changed, and swapped out for different things. My main goal here is to try and keep Ruv down to his core elements while fitting into a new setting.

POKEMON- Ruv, along with Sarv run the church- which she has turned into a sanctuary and a Nursery. Much like in Canon, Sarv is supernatural, and Ruv as a run away criminal vowed his life for all eternity to protect her. With church’s going out however, the next next step would be a PokeNursery.           Ruv acts as protector of the Nursery from trainers and groups alike. He usually is seen sitting on the roof, throwing pebbles at kids or passerby’s who irk him in some way. You can always find his Onix, his Low-Key Toxtricity, and his Absol around him or the nursery at all times. He does still have his strength, speed, and other abilities. The “face” he has is also a mask- an attempt to hide his identity as the wanted criminal.

OWL HOUSE- Ruv was a wanted criminal for the longest time. His magic, due to where he was born was a lot less like those around him. He could fit into the covens, but anything he did reflected back on him. Living alone, and learning to just modify himself he became a wanted criminal with a bone breaking shout.            However all of those times soon came to a stop as he met the winged mistress he stays with now. Protecting her (though she is much more than capable of protecting himself) she runs one of the many sects in the area. It isn’t the best building, but it’s out of the way and he usually isn’t spotted. However, unfortunately his past comes back to haunt him. He has no choice, and begrudgingly assists the Guards to repay for his crimes.           Tied to Sarv through magical bonds, he has made it clear to those in charge and to her- should something come between his duty as a guard or her, he would chose her a million times over.

DUCKTALES- Ruv is the petrified remains of the guardian of St. Sarvente. Awoken as the earth was shifted off of it’s orbit and forced into something it’s not, the callous guard is in search of the one he calls Sarvente, whom he claims is the Ruler of Souls and the one he Vowed to Protect. He is, 100% made of stone.

TOONTOWN- Stickfigures aren’t uncommon drawings. One’s as complicated as he and Sarv though usually get a few eyes. Not only that, but video game characters are always treated differently in Toontown. Maybe it’s because of a developers history, or lack there of. The story of Ruvyzvat being a heartless killer however spreads like wild flower, and while he and Sarv will primarily stay at the church... sometimes curiosity becomes too much.

KINGDOM HEARTS- FNF is it’s own world. Keyblade turned into a microphone, Ruv & Sarv are some of the first that would be met. Despite their challenge, they are rather distanced from the troubles of the Darkness and Light and would be semi-good companions. 

THE BLACKOUT CLUB- Ruv is a 16. Any day will be the day that a voice will end up taking over, merging with his mind. That’s fine. Much like how Seed-The-Grudge would want, he’ll just get revenge.

HAZBIN HOTEL / HELLUVA BOSS- Ruv ironically enough is one of the few in Hell who does not make him dead. In fact, in some cases that can make him extremely rare. This crossover he IS able to accompany Sarvente into the Underworld, and follow her on her treks through it. While most assume he is a dead sinner, he usually just doesn’t answer. However something about being here and meeting those who reside within the land sets him off. He’s a tad more feral, and a tad more willing to go to the violent answer.

PORTAL- Violence core. What else is there to say? Alternatively, him being a test subject would be fascinating, especially if he was grabbed post-vow. The man is immortal, and therefore would have messed with the tests just by the fact that there is only way for him to die. Death isn’t the worst thing to happen to a man however, and he does still feel pain.

RWBY- Ruv has the ability to manipulate sound waves, specifically his own). Trained with great strength and and even greater speed, his form of combat is continuously dodging as he looks for a weak spot. Weapons of choice are shot gun snow boots, and his sickle that doubles as a short sword.

DOCTOR WHO- Sarv has the ability to create portals. While they are MEANT to be used to intergalactive travel, but instead parallel world travel that in of itself is monumental for a lot of DW plots. Ruv and Sarv can easily go from one universe to the next, however chose to stay in the church. Not to mention Ruv’s skills in target elimination and his abilities would make for some individuals to repurpose him into a weapon. While they have been approached by UNIT on several occasions, they always refuse. However, enough time has passed that they’re starting to notice that the couple in the church aren’t aging...

FNAF- RUVYZVAT and SARVENTE were creations of Fazbear Entertainments as karaoke machines... if we want to go the robot route. If we want to go the normal person route, Ruv was hired by Fazbear’s because it’s one of the few places that doesn’t do a background check, and when he said he wanted to wear a mask as part of the work outfit they were all for it. He runs the karaoke machine though. Stays away from quite literally everyone. While he isn’t the infamous killer of children here, he does have a reputation of his own that he is running from, and that does tend to make him silent.

BATIM- Criminal on the run stumbles into the wastelands formerly known as Bendy’s. Actually enjoys it at first because the cartoon was popular when he was a child. ALT. Stickman drawing of one of the artists come to life. Usually pretends to be Lost One, but when he’s alone with another (Sarvente) they turn into their stickman version selves. Has the ability to jump between 2 and 3 dimensions, but none of the strength or voice.

PSYCHONAUTS- Agent Ruvyzvat, Russian sector. Ruv is working for the Psychonauts in some weird, turning event. Mainly because the sole woman that he trusts and saved his life, Agent Sarvente brought him in. The two are inseparable, and despite Sasha and Nein being infamous for their clinginess, these two take it to a whole knew level. Ruve’s “loud voice” is actually a psychic ability he can use outside of the mind to jumble and confuse thoughts and has no damage on anything physically in the present.

GRAVITY FALLS- Sarvente is a Demon, much like Bill. Where sa Bill desires nothing but chaos and madness, Sarvente is trying her best to keep the world like it is and preserve it’s beauty. Seeing such beauty in a runaway criminal, she and he run to the forests of Oregon. Throughout Weirdmageddon, neither managed to be captured or turned to stone, however Ruv seemingly gained his incredible voice abilities. Now, they live in a semi-collapsed church out in the forest. Sarvente always asking those who come her way to join their church, Ruv is suspicious why such events would happen in such a small town, and is distrusting of most everyone he sees.

DETECTIVE CONAN / KAITOU KID / ANY ANIME OR SERIES LIKE THAT- VERY infamous criminal. Take his “Wanted Dead or Alive” that exists in all other verses, and ramp that up quite a bit. Usually wears a mask whenever he is committing a crime. He does seem to be in it for the fun, though it’s hard to tell with the stoic and expressionless looks. That being said, he does seem to have a very clear goal of what he wants. There are no patterns to where he hits, or what he takes. From wallets of people off the streets, to priceless artifacts. He’ll find where Sarvente went, and how they were able to change her mind in such a way.... how they could corrupt her.

MODERN / NON-EXTREMELY FANTASTICAL- Ruv is honestly a rather down to Earth individual, in some terms. He is untrusting of EVERYTHING, but also due to his own strengths finds little that fear or challenges him. Keep him mind he did make a deal with Lucifer (or his Lucifer) for Immortality for protecting her. While he will always be doing things on his own, a lot of his end goals and motives will come back to her. Without her involvement, he is a walking, talking, machine of destruction with no sway on which side he decides to tear apart.

☾ ˚⊹  ❛❛  GENERAL STOPPING POINTS FOR WANTING TO PLOT

DON’T KNOW THE WORLD YOU’RE FROM / YOU DON’T KNOW MY LORE. - That’s fine. I can get my hands dirty. I can research. In fact I usually would love nothing more to. I love learning about new fandoms, or new media to get into. You shouldn’t be afraid of that. As for mine- It should take someone less than an hour to get through all of the links I have posted in the RESOURCES tab in my bio. I’ve timed it. So if you have an hour to spare, or 15, or just enough time to read his wiki that’s fine. He’s not from a long running show, or anything like that. You can catch up extremely quick.

WELL WHAT ABOUT A BOOK/COMIC? HOW WOULD HE FIT IN?- If we are talking about Super Hero comics, then it depends. 90% of the time I will just play up his wanted status a lot more, and make it more of a reason for an interaction. You just ran into a man who has killed hundreds. If your muse is a super hero, or a vigilante? Would you let him go? What a villain? That might make a good partner.

TV SHOW? LIVE ACTION?- Again, it depends on the type of show. Superhero follows the same above. If it’s investigative, have him be a witness. Or a falsely accused man who can prove he isn’t the guilty party. Is it more supernatural- well he did make a deal with Lucifer and is an immortal now from it. There are a million ways to spin it. Don’t look at making him a big character. Quite honestly, side characters that you pass in the street have just as much backstory, and as long as there is a plausible chance of interactions then we can work it out from there.

☾ ˚⊹  ❛❛  GENERAL IDEAS TO BE AWARE OF THAT MIGHT HELP

HE IS A WANTED CRIMINAL.- Meaning his name Ruvyzvat is known. Despite his crimes going on for decades, he is on the run and never stopped. Several city, state, countries, and possibly nations are looking for him, and looking to take him in.

HE IS ALSO AN IMMORTAL.- While he hasn’t been around forever, and nearly not as long as Sarvente has been, he HAS been around for at least 100 years, give or take some. He can be injured, but even fatal injuries heal in an almost Deadpool like way.

HE ALSO HAS SUPERNATURAL POWERS.- His speed and reflexes alone is not something to be taken lightly. He does train and fight with Lucifer on what used to be a semi-regular basis. He has moved and adapted to be able to make sure no one but the singular person he trusts is able to lay a hand on him. That isn’t to say you can’t catch him off guard. You also have his inhuman strength to worry about, but most of all his voice. His voice which could completely demolish a building, and that isn’t the full strength. He has an amazing control over it, but that certainly isn’t a trait of his to ignore.

HE IS NOT ALWAYS IN THE CHURCH. I MADE SURE OF THAT WHEN I MADE MY BLOG.- He goes on walks, and he goes on errands. He also goes to the Gym on occasion, though not as often. He enjoys walks on the beach far earlier than anyone should be awake at. What I’m saying is running into him OUTSIDE of the church is possible. That being said, meeting him IN the church is your best bet for him warming up quicker. He feels safer in the church, and therefore usually wishes to stay there.

DOESN’T FIT THE STYLE OF CHARACTERS/WORLD? - If he doesn’t fit, then I can work to adapt him into something that WOULD fit. What characteristics about him doesn’t work. This is when I would need plotting help. If, lets say it was an all animal world, we can talk about what he is, his traits, and other such things. I am always happy to not use my icons- I just like to because I think they’re neat and I worked hard on them.

WHAT WOULD HE BE DOING?- Any number of things. He likes throwing pebbles at people. He mainly guards and protects Sarvente and her things, but I know we’re talking besides this. He cannot cook, but he does actually sew, and he does read quite a bit. Working on his fist to fist fighting would be a big one. He likes secluded areas, which especially work for explorer’s and people who walk off the beaten path.

IS THERE ANYWHERE HE COULDN’T BE?- He wouldn’t be at a bar. Ruv doesn’t drink, at all. I also don’t see him at any parties unless Sarv dragged him to them. Writing starters or plotting around those are perfectly fine, but do not expect his muse to be comfortable while he’s there.

HE SEEMS OVERPOWERED.- At times, he certainly can be, but only when he feels it’s necessary. He doesn’t flaunt his abilities, and most he has are out of self preservation. If you as a mun are worried about him and what he can do, the best thing you can do is read my information, look into his wiki, and then come and talk to me. Ruv isn’t someone who will 100% abuse what abilities he has, especially since now he is trying his best to be better for her since it makes her happy.

☾ ˚⊹  ❛❛  GENERAL IDEAS TO HAVE YOUR CHARACTERS IN HIS UNIVERSE

LOCATIONS?- The Church, the back alleys, the karaoke bar (that primarily does rap battles), the Alternate dimension that Sarv made so that he can be loud and not retrain his voice.

MOTIVATIONS?- If your muse is in the FNF world, then be ready for some sick beats to be dropped. Your muse could be rescuing someone from the BBEG and going through the slew of minions to sing against. There’s always the alternative side of this of “what the hell is going on?”

MY CHARACTER ISN’T FROM THERE, SO THEY WOULDN’T FIT IN.- Well I do have a “main” verse which replaces raps with fists. Looking for someone important to them, in the search of a deep and hidden artifact within the search, the rumors of a man born 100 years ago- theres a lot to be found in the library if you looked.

WHAT DOES THE FNF WORLD CONSIST OF?- It consists of Demon Daddies, Singing Skeletons and Pumpkins, Tankmen, a Demonic Lemon Demon, Sentient Video Game Characters, and if you take the mods in you also have Demon, Angels, Ghosts, Deadly Ex’s, Bomb Headed Men-- I promise your character will fit in at the end of the day.

ISN’T HE EXTREMELY AGGRESSIVE AND HARD TO TALK TO?- He can be. He talks in very short sentences, however I do my best to give my reply enough that you can reply to. Actions, and I chose to be very descriptive with his expressions in this case. Ruv spend many years alone, and sometimes with him, actions speak louder than words. When you or your muse figure that out is up to you.

WELL WE CAN’T DO AN ENTIRE THREAD IN A CHURCH.- I never said we had to. He is more than happy to leave the church should he want, and should there be a reason. Usually, (despite what it seems) he does like helping people, so you can lure him out that way ;)

[kaurwreck]

my @lgbtincomics​ secret gift exchange gift for @augustheart​! 

Thomas Blake woke from a fitful sleep begrudgingly. His mouth felt sticky, and his eyes burned as he pried them open with the enthusiasm of a man hungover, without any of the fond memories of drinking. 

A glance at the ungodly hour on the decrepit, ornate grandfather clock across the room and Thomas was almost sure he hadn’t slept very much at all. He couldn’t be entirely sure because the clock, like much of the House of Secrets, operated on its own logic, but he was sure enough to feel ornery over it.

He groaned, rolled over, and curled in on himself beneath his quilt.

He waited.

He uncurled himself.

He waited.

He flipped his pillow over.

He waited.

He rolled onto his stomach.

He waited.

He kicked away the blanket, only to scramble to pull it back over his naked body because what the house lacked in charm, contemporary amenities, sense, and taste, it also lacked in insulation and Vermont winters were unforgiving.

Still, he couldn’t fall back asleep, no matter how terribly badly he wanted to be not awake.

It wasn’t just that he hadn’t slept much the night before. He felt uselessly cantankerous for several reasons, most of which revolved around the emptiness of the vast, damnable house that only felt like home when the only people he loved were around.

But Sue and Ralph were on vacation somewhere warm. Scandal, Knockout, and Liana had their own home, and their own family. Bane was likely in Gotham, snapping at the Bat’s heels again, while Dead Shot was working. The last Thomas had reached out, Jeanette, Porcelain, and Ragdoll were running some grift or another. Or they were grifting each other. One of the two. Or both.

Black Alice was… somewhere, Thomas was never sure where she went when she went away, but she certainly wasn’t with him. Once, she’d tried to explain to Thomas the finer complexities of her role as a magic user in the broader web of their universe’s structure, but Thomas didn’t much care to try and understand magic users after the messy business with Etrigan and Atlantis.

It wasn’t Thomas’s place to tell his pride where they should go and what they should do.

Even if it was January, and even if January was cold and uncomfortably liminal and empty without them.

Thomas cut his losses and rolled out of bed. He couldn’t sleep, and so he’d make himself breakfast instead, and maybe find some priceless historical or magical artifact in the House of Secrets to irreparably damage for his own spiteful amusement.

Clothes irritated his skin, but he tugged on a pair of socks to acknowledge the chill. He padded across the wood floor and opened his bedroom door, closed it, and then opened it again until it led to a hallway and not a yawning chasm, as the rooms were wont to do in the House of Secrets. It only took forty-three more minutes before he found the kitchen.

Thomas liked eggs. They were tasty, they were a valuable source of protein, and they were easy to cook. Unfortunately, they were easy to cook. He needed something to occupy him a little more fully than eggs usually could, and so he compensated by cooking each egg individually. He was frying his third egg when he heard a soft scratching from the kitchen entrance. He froze and jerked his head to the sound.

There stood Strix, in a pair of overalls. She held a notepad, which read:

‘I WANT EGGS 2’

Despite the frigid house, Thomas cracked a smile.

“Sure thing, Strix. How long have you been here? I didn’t hear you come in.”

Strix returned to her notepad. When she held it up again, it read: ‘BIG HOUSE. GOT LOST.’

Thomas nodded sagely. “It’s tricky. You get used to it though.” He glanced around himself, at the high rafters and ambiguously dated kitchen appliances. “Sort of. Never mind. Grab a seat. How do you want your eggs?”

Strix cocked her head, and Thomas huffed.

“I don’t only make scrambled eggs. I can cook them in other ways too. Fried. Basted, probably.”

Strix smiled and climbed up onto the counter next to the stove. She perched there, glanced at the pile of fried eggs Thomas had already prepared, and pointed.

“Fried it is,” Thomas said. “Good choice.”

Thomas felt warm, with Strix there. He stood over the stove and chatted with her, updating her on things while she scrawled her responses and offered her own goings on. He made more eggs than either of them could eat, because he worried that when she finished eating, she’d leave again.

He was on the last egg in the kitchen when there was a shriek.

“Oh, my god,” Liana shouted while Knockout and Scandal burst into laughter from the kitchen’s threshold. “You’re naked! Why are you naked?”

“It’s my house!” Thomas retorted defensively, although he couldn’t help his smile. He’d thought they’d be home, with their newborn baby of only three months. They looked great, for all that Thomas heard about parenthood. They looked wonderful, even. 

“Oh, it’s your house now,” Scandal snorted. “Hey, there, Blake. Strix, he’s feeding you something better than just eggs, right?”

Strix, looking terribly indignant on behalf of Thomas, wrote, ‘I ASKED 4 EGGS!’

“I stand corrected,” Scandal said. “Maybe there isn’t anything better than Thomas Blake’s eggs.”

“Is there anything to eat other than eggs?” Knockout asked, breezing past Thomas and Strix to sling the door open. Thomas scratched the back of his head as she appraised the shelves, empty but for a single takeout box from three weeks prior, a bottle of horseradish, and an unidentifiable, sticky substance smeared on the shelf.

Knockout rolled her eyes, but she was grinning stupidly enough that Thomas knew she’d missed him too.

And then she touched the sticky substance, and Thomas, Liana, and Scandal shouted, “No!” in unison.

“I’m only trying to identify it!” Knockout insisted, while Liana scrambled over the kitchen island to snatch her wrist from the offending goop. There wasn’t a reality where Liana should have been able to make a former Female Fury do anything, but such was the peculiar power of love, Thomas supposed, as Liana dragged Knockout to the sink to wash her hand.

Scandal nudged Thomas with her shoulder. “We haven’t heard from you in a few weeks. Or you,” she looked pointedly at Strix who shrugged sheepishly.

‘BIZZY,’ Strix wrote.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Thomas muttered, as he shoved the burning egg around in the pan. “How’s the baby?”

Scandal rolled her eyes. “You’re not a bother. I’d be lost without you to occasionally punch around. And our kitten’s doing well; Bane’s got her for the weekend, in Santa Prisca.”

Thomas whistled. “That’s a big step. It’s got to be the first time you’ve been away from her since she was born, right?”

Scandal bit her lip and nodded. “We want them to have a relationship, and of course I trust him with her. But I got a little anxious, so my loves thought it would be a good time to be close with family while I work on letting go a little.”  

Warmth blossomed in Thomas’s chest. He decided it was heartburn. 

Thomas turned off the stove and made a face at Scandal. “Nah, don’t do that. I don’t think I’d like you as much if you learned to relax. Yeah, I think I’d hate you, actually. But I’m happy to keep you company, as long as you promise to stay full of piss and vinegar.” 

“For you?” Scandal mused. “Always.” 

He took out a few more plates and began divvying up the mountain of his and Strix’s eggs. At Liana’s insistence, they moved to the parlor, each clutching a plate of eggs. Or they tried to move to the parlor, given the mutable nature of the House. It took a few attempts at a few different doors, but when they finally found the room, the fireplace was already crackling with heat and Jeanette and Kani were lounging on the chaise.

“Well, it certainly took you long enough, darlings,” Kani purred, and Thomas felt her familiar gaze like a favorite blanket as she playfully glanced at him up and down. “Thomas, have you gotten prettier since I last saw you?”

“Yes,” Thomas said definitively, glancing behind him, towards the kitchen, as he realized they didn’t have enough plates for everyone.  

“Settle, Thomas. I’m sure we’ll be gifted by your culinary prowess later, but it’s not important for now. Come, have some cheese,” Jeanette said, gesturing to a characteristically pretentious charcuterie board she must have arranged on the table between the chaise and the fireplace.

“I mean, feel free to put some pants on first,” Liana said, breezing by him to flop onto an overstuffed loveseat across from Kani and Jeanette. She plucked a piece of egg from her plate and tossed it in her mouth.

“And deprive us the view?” Kani winked. Thomas rolled his eyes with a grin he couldn’t quite repress and grabbed a throw blanket to toss around his waist.

Strix glanced about, a touch nervously, at the cozy but cramped interior of the room. Knockout noticed and left her plate with Scandal before collecting a small mountain of volumes of what must have been priceless books from a shelf set into the wall. Then, she dragged a chair over by the room’s window. She stacked the books beneath each leg of the chair, until the chair towered high enough that Strix perked up in delight. Strix scrambled up the makeshift perch and settled into it happily.

‘THANK U,’ Strix wrote.

“Of course, little owl,” Knockout replied, before finding her place on the love seat, with Scandal and Liana. 

Thomas sunk into the chaise at Kani and Jeanette’s insistence, and almost immediately Jeanette was tsk’ing and fussing over his hair while Kani launched into stories from the con she and Jeanette had just finished pulling over Ragdoll. 

Thomas relished that there, in that moment, within that early morning, the House of Secrets felt like home.

[tees-sawggy-blog]

Spoilers for Faith in Three Kingdoms so please dont read if your a player in the campaign!!

For context for Faith/ Fuc in my main campaign:

She is just a rogue.  She has always been one to just flow with whatever problem comes her way.  She’s never had the ability to really fix anything, bc what could she do when she lived and grew up without magic or political power.  Earlier on in her life she was never able to have children and she HAD come to terms with this fact at the time, like how she would with everything.  But then there was a spark or hope, she had found documents leading to some form of a wish granting artifact.  This ended up being a entity of some sort (not a god, but nothing mortal by any means) and ended up making a deal with it.  This backfires.  So the one and only time she ever tried to changer her fate in the slightest, it was turned into a curse that followed her wherever she went. Now the party she is with is a talented bunch that are all magic users or have priceless knowledge/ lore pivotal to the plot.  And there is definitely a part of jealousy but more importantly frustration that she cant be as helpful as them.  However, as of recently, Faith has come across a magical artifact that was made with the severed pieces of a god.  Very helpful, yeah?  Now obviously any remnant of a god is going to be powerful, and its been slowly been alluded to her many times (i.e. every time she uses it) that this power is almost addictive in a way.  It doesnt force the character to “bend to its will” but, its the type of artifact that makes you think “wow. i want to feel like this... all the time.” which could probably be damaging to fuc but anyways.  So in the last session that we had, an entire city that the party was in was almost leveled from a bomb, but was thankfully protected by a magical field.  However the city was forcibly removed from the land and basically turned into atlantis.  There was a click in her as a character.  Almost a realization of some sort.  They were stuck at the bottom of an ocean (we presume), one of the other PCs has lost their memory, and now all that faith can think right now is “I dont know how to fix this, but I wont accept standing to the side to watch this unfold anymore.”  And here is where the fun stuff begins:

(this is all stuff im copying pasting from my messages with my DM bc im too lazy to type it all out) she has never REALLY had control or anything she’s done in her life.  she’s tried and it backfired and kills those she’s cared about.  she’s just a simple rogue whose smart and HAPPENED to be unlucky enough to find some papers about a demon deal.  And all these years go by and, she meets these amazing and powerful people like sabrina and lake and crow, even fucking mario, and there are multiple situations where she just feels helpless if there’s an emergency! we will be stuck and all she know is the stuff she’s learned from living basically alone for a lot of her life.  then she begins to cast these spells as a bard, and it’s a sign to her.  she finally feels like she can help when things might get rough.  but then... she gets this ring of tyverius and she’s like, “what if i can be more than just help? what if i can protect them? what if i could fix this? what if i could make the pain go away, all of it?”  which is very damaging thinking but she’s getting a taste of this literal god power and she can’t help but think “i know there’s more, i want more” and she’s blurring these lines between justify this with wanting to protect people and wanting more power so she can finally have control.  she’s thinking things like “if i put tyverius back together maybe she will help me (which is dumb bc the priestess ha stye same mindset) and if she cannot be restore i will always have the strength of all of her artifacts anyways”  in faiths mind she could maybe be more powerful than it if she has tyverius’ power.  These were literal thoughts faith was having when we were underwater in tylian, like the most helpless you can get in that scenario, hundreds of thousands will die, the only people she cares about will die etc etc.  and there’s nothing ANYONE can do this time.  that’s why she turned to bell, a dormant god, to try and wake them up even though she knows they can’t do anything!!! they can’t remember ANYthing!! but tyverius is even more powerful than bell.... sometimes it helps to have the power of gods i dunno !  sometimes faith wishes she could hear tyverius talking in her mind or showing her where the rest of the artifacts are in dream to her she faith can have more direction.  Not to mention a lot of good natured moments shes thought of a ways to take advantage of it or use it but it’s never been an option just always a side thought but now seeing these “mortals” like ysme making herself like a prophet to the good followers of bysthyn, like lyla (which we don’t need to deep dive into), like the abernathys ... she starting to realize, she can be like that it’s not exclusive to just gods. that’s just selfish for them to keep all that power to themselves

Essentially, I dont want a villain arc for faith, and I dont think she is inherently evil at all!  But I do think that after all this time shes starting become obsessed with the idea of control and fate, and trying to bend destiny.  And she was like this far before obtaining the ring, she’s a selfish person.  It’s hard to tell is she even knows it, or if she even wants to recognize it.  She can put on the disguises, help out as many 13 year old boys on the the street, She can play pretend hero all she wants.  It doesnt change how selfish she is internally.  And it’s at a point where she doesnt want to recognize this version of herself that is flawed.  This version that will always want more, the version that was thinking of ways to work with one of the evil characters as a way to get ahead.  Shes far from perfect, and maybe too flawed, but shes not irredeemable.  I think that she has so much potential that has been viciously derailed, and shes getting to a point where she wont want family anymore.  And her “human” parts are slowly starting to leave.  She’s reverting to murder more comfortably than she should and even though shes killed people before, shes never been one to revert to it when she has the chance.  Im surprised that the party isn’t more alarmed by this.  There were literally points at the very beginning of the campaign where she didn’t want to even physically torture a man for information.  mannnnn i just hope that this is getting recognized soon, but to be fair, no one notices anything.

[wolf-zer0]

everything not bolted down is fair game (too bad no one told you who else is playing)

Category: Gen Characters: Dream Relationships: None Summary: Dream's been running jobs since he was tall enough to reach locks and fast enough to scale a building sub-fifteen minutes. There's no one else who knows the game as well as him. (Technoblade might beg to differ, but no one asked for his opinion). He's slicker, he's smarter, he's just all around better than all these morons who somehow think they're in his league. When he decides to steal the Manberg Emerald from the Museum of Natural History, he thinks it'll finally show the world who the top dog really is.

(Turns out, there's already a pack of top dogs. And they're all too willing to knock him down several pegs.) AKA Dream's a cat burglar and an arrogant asshole who gets dunked on by a bunch of children AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29952117

“...We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming with a breaking news report. Police have announced their findings that Nightmare, one of INTERPOL’s most wanted, is most likely behind the recent robbery at the National Museum of Art...”

“...Nightmare’s true identity remains a mystery. Despite years of activity and dozens of burglaries attributed to him from across the world, no leads have been found. The only evidence authorities have is his signature smiley face symbol spray painted on the wall next to the space where the stolen painting, valued at around $155 million USD, had previously hung...”

“... Investigators believe that his next target is the Manberg Emerald. The massive gemstone, estimated to be worth nearly a quarter million dollars, is currently on display at the Museum of Natural History…”

“... In order to stave off the potential theft, museum officials have moved the Emerald to a secure containment facility within the building, far from public access…”

“...The police are asking the public to watch for any unusual persons near or around the Museum, and report any suspicious activity immediately…”

The night air is cool and crisp around him as he stands at the very edge of an office building’s roof. The city hums beneath him, thousands of feet down. Headlights glimmer against the black of the pavement as people go about their night, mindlessly chattering to one another. They continue their lives without a single glance up.

His silhouette blends seamlessly into the moonless sky. The wind is calm, ruffling the edge of his hoodie just slightly. The smog and bright lights of the big city hide all hints of him from view. It’s the perfect night for a felony. Cocksure grin painted behind the blank smile of a mask, he pulls down the edge of his hood, tilts forward over the edge, and drops.

The wind whistles past his ears as he falls, office windows flickering before his eyes on the way down. The dull roar of the city sharpens. He doesn’t flinch as the lights on the road grow brighter and brighter.

The line clipped to his harness pulls taut. There’s a sudden, sharp jerk as he reaches the end of the rope, and all movement stops. He hangs headfirst in the space between earth and sky, just above the roof of the Museum. With a deftness born only from years of practice, he releases the carabiner and drops safely down onto the roof. Footsteps near silent, he creeps closer to the grating. Strains his ears for any sign of trouble. Nothing. Not a soul notices anything amiss. Perfect.

There’s a reason Dream’s the best in the game. Not a single person could be considered a contender, let alone a real opponent. (Technoblade’s the closest thing, but the guy’s about as easy to rile up as a brick wall. With the social skills to match.) He pulls up the grate he’d found and loosened during his recon and slinks down into the vents.

He loves his crew, he really does. He and Sapnap have been running together since they were kids. They learned how to pick a mark together, how to stitch a wound together, how to run circles around the competition together. Dream honed his sticky fingers, Sapnap taped his fists. They clawed their way out of obscurity, covered in blood and sweat and tears. They took in the view from the top, and they laughed.

George was a recent addition, but not an unwelcome one. Sitting behind his many screens and fingers dancing over the keyboard, he worked his magic in ways neither of them could even imagine. He barely breaks a sweat busting through the most robust security programs. The three of them are a well oiled machine, breezing past crew after crew on the race to infamy.

Dream really loves his crew, they’re his family. But sometimes he thinks he loves running solo even more.

The rush of the chase, the thrill of the hunt, the danger that comes with dancing on the razor’s edge of success and failure where a single mistake can send him plummeting to the ground. It’s fucking addicting and Dream is hooked.

He doesn’t do it often, just often enough to satisfy the itch under his skin. Sometimes, he makes it interesting by letting his crew in on the hunt. George will try to sabotage the security systems, Sapnap will stalk the halls ready to strike. They’ll even recruit help from other crews to add the extra adrenaline he craves.

He’s running without help or hindrance tonight. His only help if things go south is the gear on his back and his ability to get the hell outta dodge. Of course, there’s no real chance things could ever go south.

As Dream soundlessly shimmies his way through the ventilation shafts, his mask’s heads-up display maps out the twists and turns leading towards the Museum’s storage area. It’s honestly kind of pathetic how easy it is to get to the vault. He thought a place with so many priceless artifacts would pose more of a challenge. He may need to find another mark that poses more of a challenge, but first he needs to get what he came for.

He finds the vent he needs quickly, and gently removes the covering. Dropping down from the ceiling, he checks the security camera feed in the corner of the HUD to make sure no one’s watching. All he sees is the lone security guard snoring in the breakroom, teetering dangerously in his chair with his head thrown back. It’s just too easy.

He picks his way through the restricted area of the archives, careful to stay out of camera sight lines. He doesn’t touch a single thing, doesn’t dare leave a tangible mark that he’s been here. Sapnap calls it paranoia, George calls it perfectionism. He calls it pragmatism. Makes the chase that much more enjoyable, watching the authorities scramble for even a fragment of evidence. It’s not fun anymore if he’s not in control.

The vault is massive, with thick steel walls and a shiny control panel. Dream snorts at the laughable protections. This is just so sad. The fact that they thought this thing could keep him out? Hysterical. He could crack it in his sleep. He has before. It’s fucking child’s play.

It barely takes him a minute to get inside. He grins. Add one massive emerald to his stash, thank you very much. He swings open the door with a flourish.

The vault is empty.

Empty, except for a single sheet of lined notebook paper.

The piercing shriek of the alarm drowns out his screech of outrage. In his camera feed, the security guard jerks to awareness, eyes wild and limbs flailing. A warning pops up on the HUD telling him the police are on the way, ETA 5 minutes or less. The paper flutters to the floor as he turns on his heel to make a very quick escape.

Rage bubbles in his chest as he leaps through a nearby window and into the starless night. Running through the alleys and leaping fences, he spits curses at whoever decided to mess with the king.

The sheet of paper lies hidden where it slid beneath a locked supply closet door. As the authorities search the building for any signs of the thief, they somehow overlook the sliver of pristine white under dusty boxes of records. Scribbled on the abandoned sheet is a single line of writing, scratched letters and dark ink mocking in their simplicity.

git gud loser >:3

Far from the museum sits a warehouse. It’s been vacant for years, slowly rotting away as the world continued on without it.

It’s not vacant anymore.

Light from nearby streetlamps streams through the dusty windows, casting watery shadows across a surprisingly comfortable living space. A large, dark wood table takes up most of the room, surrounded by five mismatched chairs with the contents of a first aid kit scattered across it. The kitchen is a mess, with dishes left in the sink, take-out boxes piled around the trash can, and notes like “Whoever ate the last of my yogurt, I’m coming for your eyes dipshit!” and “Please don’t forget to grab some milk at Sam’s, we’ve been eating dry cereal for almost a week :(” stuck to the fridge. The living room has a massive couch, blue fabric worn soft from use and stained in several places, set up in front of a huge television set. Some kind of animated movie is playing, all bright colors and high energy musical numbers.

Climbing gear hangs on the wall across from the kitchen, harnesses and ropes and winches carefully sorted and organized for ease of use. A wall of computer screens sits nearby, mounted over two desks covered in the remains of caffeinated beverages and scraps of circuitry. A closet is tucked into a corner, uniforms and wigs and all sorts of accessories spilling out onto the floor. A well loved punching bag swings slightly next to a dented lead pipe that leans against the wall, gloves and hand wraps nestled into nearby cubbies.

Rather than using the couch, the warehouse’s current occupants are tangled together on the floor in front of the TV. It’s hard to tell where one starts and another ends in the pile of limbs and snarky comments. A lanky blond with fading bruises on his cheekbone and a bandage across his nose is squashed in the center, grousing about some stupid line and earning a pinch from a shorter brunet curled up against his side. Another blond in a deep purple hoodie snorts as he types away on his phone, head pillowed on the brunet’s thigh. A girl wearing a green t-shirt snipes back as she runs her fingers through the two-toned hair of the boy stretched out behind them.

A half-open backpack lies across the kitchen counter, carelessly tossed aside in the mind-numbing high that follows a successful job. The brilliant green facets of a fist-sized emerald nestled inside the fabric glitter in the light of the TV screen as the five jeer and taunt the characters.

Dream may think he runs the game, but he’s not even a player. A single King can only win so often before they’re forced to fold.

And nothing beats a Royal Flush.

[chiagappy]

- A continuation from the previous au-

They had a long journey ahead of them, still the travel felt less fatiguing since they kept each other company. With the small fortune they both were able to carry and the sword Josuke had hidden underneath his cloak, Josuke and Rohan trailed through darkened woods and discovered a windy road headed through the outskirts of the town. They followed it for a few hours before retreating back to the forest in fear of the chance of being noticed.

As they both continued on their path, Josuke couldn't help but consider himself lucky that if it wasn't for Rohan he would have been murdered on the spot without exception. Even so, he doubts that he'd get a second chance after kidnapping the clairvoyant this time around; 'they might have already placed a bounty over my head by now', he thought to himself grimly.

Still the samurai hadn't regretted his decision, he managed to rescue Rohan from the imminent danger in the shrine, and especially now watching how content Rohan seemed to be with all native species of plants and animals surrounding them. They decided to take a break by a river bank that followed up to the mountains. If he had remembered correctly, he was told by the prisoner that all they have to do is cross over the mountain until then reach a small town outside the emperor's rule. This town was known to welcome refugees and foreigners, he needed to find a man named Avdol. He never received the prisoner's name but he can tell but his silver hair and blue eyes that he was a foreigner himself; as for his reason for being imprisoned he had broken a priceless artifact from the Shrine and was waiting for his comrade to pay for his release, but had given Josuke tips on how to sneak out undetected.

As much as Josuke wanted to reach the mountain as soon possible he knew that he couldn't force Rohan to push himself, more so with the injury, so he decides it would be best to salvage food for the both of them, but when he turns around to tell the clairvoyant, he sees that he had disappeared. In a panic, the samurai called out for him only to find Rohan crouched down by some nearby bushes collecting berries and herbs telling the taller man to be quiet before they get caught and how he was finding food for them; Leave it to Rohan to assess the situation they were in rather quickly.

Josuke should have suspected his lov- partner wasn't in any real danger but still he warns Rohan to stay close just to be sure. Rohan jokes that he's being treated like a child and that he could have survived out here longer than Josuke would have, as he watched Josuke pick some poison ivy next to him. 

It wasn't an ideal situation to be in the woods during nightfall, so they both continued their trek and discovered a small tavern at the base of the mountain. Relieved to find a warm shelter before sunset, they both hurried to it without a second thought.

From the outside it looked pleasant, rustic and homey. Soft wooden planks and marble stones make up most of the building's outer structure. Although the windows were covered by curtains, they could see a soft glow of light illuminating and faintly hear a traditional melody playing from within. Enticing them to go in.

The tavern was cozier than anticipated, almost vacant, saved for the bartender cleaning a wine glass at the countertop and a worker wiping off the tables. It was safe to assume the bartender was in charge so both walked up to her and asked if she had a room available to stay in, informing her that they were simply travelers heading to the next town over. The bartender eyed them cautiously, her stern cobalt eyes looking over Josuke's for a rather long time before she gave a collected sigh and accepted their payment, warning them not to cause too much trouble as she called over her worker to take them to the guest room. 

Josuke and Rohan never thought a woman with such beauty could be so intimidating but they assumed she must have dealt with suspicious people coming to her tavern frequently. On the other hand, her worker, Suzie Q, was delighted to have them as guests as she fawned over the two, telling them how much of a cute couple were. They both immediately became flushed, Josuke being the first to protest her claims before Rohan did, however Suzie Q had a strong suspicion about it and only giggled at them before she took her leave, leaving the two to mull over what she just said.

Were they actually a couple now? Sure they both eloped together, and shared a few kisses here and there but that was in the heat of the moment. They haven't done anything else beyond that. And besides, it wasn't like they knew how to go 'that far,' right? Then it finally dawns on the pair that they were alone in this room with nothing but a lantern and large futon with two pillows, creating just an awkward atmosphere for the two. After a brief moment of silence, Rohan was the first to speak and tells Josuke they should share the futon, how it would be warmer with the both of them there, while Josuke rejects it completely, insisting he can sleep on the floor with just a pillow. It wasn't that he was embarrassed he just respected Rohan's space and wanted him to get better.

Rohan rolled his eyes but didn't press him further, telling him he's headed for the restroom down the hallway. 

By the time Rohan returned, Josuke was acting even more self-conscious, finding the idiot ruffling his own hair as if he was being tormented by an evil spirit or deep in his thoughts. Rohan had attended several ceremonies of marriage and read stories of romance in his studies before but he couldn't help but find Josuke's reaction rather charming. He would have never guessed the other man would be so vulnerable to love, not that it was surprising given he could read the other like an open book. 

To save his love from his inner turmoil, Rohan pulls at Josuke's robe to come join him in the futon, insisting that he needs help with placing the new bandages on his wound. Josuke reluctantly followed afterwards.

Josuke made sure he was careful around Rohan as he delicately wrapped the bandages around his injury and chest, while trying his best not to ogle at Rohan's skin for so long. It was soft and if it wasn't for the wound marking his skin, Rohan would have been flawless. Unfortunately for him, Rohan had caught on to his lingering stares and leaned back against the samurai just to tease him, causing the taller one to gently push him away, and try to dress Rohan back. Of course, Rohan didn't make it easier on his behalf and decided to cling to him in retaliation and ended up pushing Josuke to lie on the futon. 

The sight of Josuke's face was enough to make Rohan burst in laughter, he's never seen someone so red, almost like a freshly picked tomato while Josuke only pouted, looking away from the object of his torment while he tried to peel Rohan off of him. But the clairvoyant was very stubborn and after some struggle Josuke gave up, with a cheeky Rohan smirking triumphantly as he laid against his chest.

They spent the night talking about their past, about how Josuke and his mother joined the shrine, everything, and Josuke finally learns about Rohan's childhood. How Rohan was raised within the palace where Josuke's mother had once lived, Rohan's mother served as an oracle there before she was caught in an accident alongside her husband. Thankfully for the king, he had no worries as he discovered Rohan's gift early on and soon he was deemed a replacement for his mother. His parent's funeral was a short one, with only the king and a few royal subjects attending and offering condolences to the young child. He vaguely remembers spending his days in the palace with a pinked haired maid who would offer him sugary confections and journals during his private lessons and being prohibited from stepping outside. He was given his own room where he would offer his prophetic readings to the King and the nobles who requested his presence- extending to feudal lords and military dictators as well. He distinctly remembers the strong smell of cigars and alcohol that filled his room as he offered his readings. He always had to feign ignorance otherwise it would cause conflict, but he knew deep in his heart he wanted nothing more than to quit because he could sense how corrupted these individuals were. But for the sake of survival, he continued on.

Then he was sent out to various shrines to offer his services before arriving at the Kishibe Shrine to continue his studies, however not welcomed as the first son of the Kishibe household who lost his family but still the prophet whose purpose was to bring prosperity and wealth to the Shrine. Just a pawn to use, Rohan described bitterly to Josuke as he buried his head closer to him.

Josuke wasn't certain of what to say, instead he pulled Rohan closer, wrapping his arms around him tightly, reassuring him that he would never let that happen to him again. And on that note, they both fell asleep.

---

The bartender smiled to herself, as she walked past the couple's door and made her way back to the bar.

She couldn't quite place her finger on it, it must have been curiosity that made her keep a close eye on the pair- or maybe Suzie's eccentric chatter falling into eyeshot when she warned her to keep it down during the evenings. 

She sat in one of the empty chairs by the countertop and pulled out a folded sheet of paper from her pocket. This man look awfully familiar to the photo she received earlier that day, recalling how two police officials visited her inn to warn her about a prisoner who kidnapped some priest, and before she was able to address it, Suzie appears right next her and looks over her shoulder to say,

"I'm surprised you didn't send them out tonight, considering the hefty bounty over their heads; you do know you could be suspected of treason for helping a criminal, right Lisa Lisa?" 

"You act as if I'm doing this for the first time, but yes, I do. And I can tell that they are good people too."

Maybe she should offer them breakfast before they leave.

[michelles-garden-of-evil]

Episode 36 Review: The Séance

{ YouTube: 1 | 2 | 3 }

{ Synopses/Recaps: Debby Graham | Bryan Gruszka }

Welcome back to my Garden of Evil and thank you for patiently waiting for me to return to reviewing Strange Paradise. It’s been a wild and chaotic past few weeks and I’ve just gotten around to returning to the course of events on Maljardin. And Great Serpent, this time we have one hell of a wild episode!

Because I already miss the bad puns in the earlier episodes.

Of all the episodes of this show, this one is my #1 favorite. It embodies everything I love about Maljardin-era SP: it stars Colin Fox as both Jean Paul and Jacques, features some delightful Jacques scenes, and is genuinely suspenseful and scary. There are also unintentional laughs as usual, but somehow none of them detract from the frightening moments. If I had to introduce SP to someone who had never seen it before (say, my mom, who only knows a little about it), I would use this episode, not the pilot which (IMO) is less scary and far more ridiculous. The magic of Ian Martin’s SP is on full display here. Although he doesn’t leave the show immediately after this episode, it feels like a last hurrah, and a spectacular one at that. You know you want to read about this episode, so what are you waiting for?

We open with Vangie napping on the couch shortly after the events of the previous episode. Over her, Jean Paul and Alison are arguing about whether to go through with the séance to contact Erica. Alison begs him not to because of the risk of death, but Jean Paul insists on pushing through with it anyway because, as Raxl recaps, “The Conjure Woman didn’t see her death, only [Jacques’].” Jean Paul interprets this as meaning that he himself might die, but it’s not clear if he truly believes this or if he’s trying to cover up his frequent possession by the handsome devil.

Vangie recovers and announces that she plans on going through with it, no matter what happens. Still angry from last episode, Matt protests and Jean Paul gives him this nasty smirk that reeks of passive aggression:

Either that, or Colin is trying hard not to laugh. I can’t tell.

“This is not your concern, Reverend,” Jean Paul spits, and Vangie agrees with him. Although she knows that she will one day die on the Island of Evil, she feels that the séance is her duty as the Conjure Woman.

Matt once again reveals his status as the Fool (or, rather, le Mat) when he remarks that Jean Paul and Jacques are indistinguishable “except by [their] manner of dress.” Evidently, he hasn’t considered the possibility that THE DEVIL JACQUES ELOI DES MONDES can possess Jean Paul and thus wear the exact same clothes as him. In fact, Padre, he’s worn that same extremely flattering blue suit before when talking to you, and you don’t even know it.

Jean Paul orders Vangie to begin the séance and we get a lovely overhead shot of the glass-top table. I’ve already posted high-quality photos of the table, but I love it so much that the laws of obsessive fandom require me to post it again:

Oh, how I love that table and those chairs. Actually, I love the whole Maljardin set.

Jean Paul volunteers to help Vangie, Raxl, and Quito set up, which seems to surprise them because otherwise he spends no time cleaning up after himself and all his time brooding, throwing glasses at priceless artifacts, and--of course--getting possessed. Elizabeth and Holly see them setting up, and the former heads down the stairs to watch.

Elizabeth is wearing this fabulous ensemble with a checkered dress and a red scarf pinned with a brooch in the shape of a dahlia. It most likely came from her actress Paisley Maxwell’s own wardrobe, as she mostly wore her own clothes on the show and even provided some costumes for the other actresses. (LINK CONTAINS SPOILERS THROUGH THE END OF MALJARDIN)

A shot with a better view of her brooch.

Vangie tells Jean Paul that the room needs to be dark, and that the only light in the room during the ceremony should be candlelight. Cue Jean Paul glancing up to the chandelier precariously suspended directly over the glass-top table:

If this isn’t painfully obvious foreshadowing, then I don't know what is.

The chandelier even sways ever so slightly as he stares at it!

Holly asks if she, her mother, Dan, and Tim can attend, and Vangie tells them no! According to her, they are all “disruptive influences” who will derail the séance, which will likely be too frightening for her anyway. Jean Paul tells Elizabeth to go, too, which she takes as a personal attack because Jacques has tricked her into believing that he’s in love with her.

LMAO

They are almost ready to begin the ceremony, but first, we need more blatant foreshadowing! We need Jean Paul to glance up at the swaying chandelier again, apparently without thinking of the slight chance that it might fall and cause an accident:

Seriously, Jean Paul? You have an IQ of 187. You should know better.

This is some heavy-handed foreshadowing, even for a show that constantly reminds us that Jacques Eloi des Mondes is THE DEVIL and cuts to close-ups of him every other time THE DEVIL is mentioned. I think you can guess what will happen about halfway through this episode. I normally try to avoid spoilers and to warn about any that I include or link to, but let’s face it. You know that chandelier is going to come crashing down at some point in the episode, because of all the emphasis that the script and the cinematography have already put on it. It’s a foregone conclusion. And I’m sorry, but Jean Paul with his alleged super-genius IQ has no excuse. Move the table! Have Quito tighten the chain! Replace the chandelier with a single candle or small candelabrum on the table! Do something to lower the chances of the accident that we all know is coming!

Vangie begins the séance to contact Erica.

After commercial break (hence the lack of the Drive-In Classics logo), the séance begins. We have Jean Paul, Vangie, Raxl, and Quito, plus Alison and Matt and an empty chair for Erica’s spirit. It’s a marvelous scene with just the right amount of eerie atmosphere, which Vangie’s hypnotic voice only enhances. They bridge the divide between the worlds of the living and the dead and all seems like it will succeed, but then

The third one is my favorite.

Jean Paul contorts his face again as he tries to resist Jacques’ possession of him, but ultimately his efforts are in vain:

Jacques’ beringed hand attacking Jean Paul. This also means that the chain created when the séance participants joined hands has been broken.

Matt asks Jean Paul what’s wrong and Jacques answers. “Everything is under control now,” he whispers with evil relish.

“No! Not now! NOT NOW!” Vangie screams, and then comes the inevitable:

Well, there goes one of Jean Paul’s astrological sign tables. Good thing he has another in storage.

I’m not going to lie: the first time I watched this scene, I shouted “No!” when the chandelier fell, even though I could see it coming. Somehow, despite the foregone conclusion and Jean Paul’s ridiculous headache faces, the scene creates enough suspense and horror to be effective. Plus, if you’re like me, you care about Vangie and don’t want to see anyone hurt her, even if that someone is 6′4″ with amazing cheekbones, a devilishly sexy smile, and the most beautiful hands on any man living or dead.

The power also goes out at the same time, and the handsome devil denies all responsibility for it despite his history of screwing with the electricity:

Classic Jacques sarcasm.

Conveniently, the lights come back on a moment later. They come just in time for Alison and Matt to tend to Vangie, whom the chandelier has knocked unconscious:

You can tell her injury is serious even before her close-up, because the Reverend is in shirtsleeves.

A close-up, showing the blood on Vangie’s forehead.

Jacques tells Holly that there was nothing seriously wrong with the electricity, and Dan flips out on him, insisting that “one day you’re going to blow us all up.” (Does he suspect that Jean Paul is somehow playing with the lights?) Jacques insists that even he can’t afford to buy a nuclear weapon. The fact that he knows what a nuclear weapon is serves as yet more evidence that he’s really the Devil and not a ghost from the 17th century (although, if he were a ghost, perhaps he would have overheard Jean Paul talking about nuclear weapons before).

I think that this is one of maybe two times that I ever envied Holly.

Vangie stands up, but doesn’t say a word to any of the characters, just stares blankly ahead of her. She doesn’t even react when Alison slaps her. Jacques cruelly snaps his fingers in front of her, which Alison demands he not do because it might cause her to be “destroyed, locked into a world of darkness, less living than dead.” She adds that “[she] can’t help but thinking that what happened to her is so like [Quito],” and turns to face the zombie who is watching the now cataleptic Conjure Woman, horrified:

It makes you wonder what sort of traumatic memories from Quito’s human life the sight of Jacques turning Vangie into a zombie evoked. Also, we never learn who turned Quito into a zombie in the show canon, but this scene shows that Jacques knows how and is therefore a possible candidate.

This is yet another point where the plot of the aired episodes differs from the original story as indicated in the Lost Episode summaries. In the original Episode 36, Vangie would have revealed Jacques’ possession of Jean Paul to all the participants at the séance, thus confirming for Raxl that Jean Paul is two different men. I suspect that Matt would refuse to believe it because of his lack of belief in devils and Dan because it sounds irrational and like a cover-up for Jean Paul’s alleged crimes, but Raxl, Vangie, and possibly Alison would have the evidence they needed.

Anyway, Jacques and most of the others leave Quito to clean up the mess while they have some drinks in the dining room. Mostly, it’s Jacques trying to pressure everyone into drinking while trying to gaslight them into believing that there was a storm outside even though there wasn’t. They’re not buying it, least of all Dan, who now has yet another reason to be suspicious of him.

I should also add that Part 3 of the YouTube version of this episode (which contains this scene) is out of sync, meaning that most of the subtitles are combined with the wrong shots and the wrong characters. Sadly, we don’t get anything on the level of “NO NO NO YES YES YES,” but the out-of-sync audio does make Dan’s accusation almost look like Jacques is confessing to making the chandelier fall:

YES YES YES

He offers brandy to both Matt and Holly, but Matt tells him not to give it to either of them, so Jacques brings the glasses he just filled over to Elizabeth instead.  He starts talking about how no one was hurt, meaning that she has to remind him that Vangie was injured. Still, “she wasn’t really seriously injured,” so I guess for him it doesn’t count. He sends her away and starts to drink, which I guess lets Jean Paul recover his body because he de-possesses him, finally letting Jean Paul see the mess he left behind.

I already posted a lot of headache faces in this entry, so here I’m just going to include my favorite from this scene.

For a moment, Jean Paul looks like he’s going to cry, but his sadness turns to shock when Quito shows him the writing box. The wooden box which previously only held sand, now bears a message written in grains of rice in the shape of the symbol of the Great Serpent. Quito appears terrified by the message, but sadly he can’t translate it for Jean Paul. Raxl, too, freaks out when she sees it and says it’s “from the Conjure Man, but he needs the Conjure Woman to translate it and she’s still in a trance!”

Apparently, the Conjure Man communicates in grains of rice.

Although she can’t translate the whole message, she can tell Jean Paul, “It tells of more accidents. Spirits are very angry...with you!”

This final scene, like the scene with the crashing chandelier, is genuinely chilling, resulting in one of the scariest episodes of the Maljardin arc. This is one of SP’s finest episodes and certainly one of Ian Martin’s finest from his nine-week period as headwriter. I’m not certain what led the producers to decide to have Vangie enter a trance instead of revealing Jacques’ possession to the other characters, but most likely it was to increase the suspense and the terror. Also, I’m starting to wonder if perhaps Quito isn’t actually undead, but instead is an immortal like Raxl (and Vangie?), but stuck in a magically-induced trance. Perhaps when he recoiled in fear over Vangie’s transformation, it was because Jacques (or perhaps the Conjure Man) did the same exact thing to him three centuries ago.

Coming up next: Jacques continues to meddle in affairs on Maljardin while Raxl struggles to interpret the writing box. (But before then--hopefully--the next part of my review of Shadow Over Seventh Heaven.)

{<- Previous: Episode 35  ||  Next: Episode 37 ->}

[ron-stepupable]

So: fanfic about victor noticing Sarah and Nina’s similarities. The setting is after victor and sweetie confiscate the amulets but in this version Nina was wearing that pearl bracelet Sarah gave her after she died and victor also took that. Also FYI Nina came kind of overly aggressive in this so....warning? (I guess it’s not that out of character 😂) also format is shit I didn’t want to do a link.

During history, I could barely function. All I could focus on was how on earth would we get our amulets back from Victor, and fast. We could never find them mask with one amulet, it just wasn’t feasible. But Victor would never let the amulets leave his sight now, so the only way to get them back would be in plain sight.

I knocked on his door.

“Enter,” Sweetie granted diplomatically. On his desk, were several plastic bags with items of jewelry in them and student’s names on the outsides of them.

“Ah, hello, Nina, there should be a bag with your name on it somewhere...feel free to take a look.” Was this how we interacted now? Straight denial? Were we to pretend as if nothing ever happened, like he hadn’t just de-railed our entire quest. I perused the plastic bags and frowned.

“My name’s not here,” I gestured to parcels. Sweetie looked up and removed his spectacles.

“Hmm...Victor must have taken Anubis resident’s parcels. I’d check with him.” He seemed unphased, like none of this mattered, and to him it didn’t. I didn’t say a word in response as I left for the door. Then, halfway through the door turned around glared at him.

“You know what you are?”

He looked at me blankly.

“You’re a pawn,” I didn’t even feel guilty about saying it. “Victor is the chess master and you are his pawn. He is more headmaster than you are.”

And I left. He stayed behind spluttering pointless words. Someday I might harbor respect for that man, but certainly not now.

In Anubis house, I found two bags on the dining room table. One for Amber and one for Patricia, but not one for me. Damn him. He was a thief. That’s what he was, a manipulative, lying thief. How dare he pocket something like that? Something Sarah had given me—the last thing I had as a token of her love and care—and he pocketed it and acted like it was meant for him. It made me want to scream. He could steal the amulets, he could act like nothing had happened. But not that. Sarah gave that to me and not Victor for a reason. All the way to the top of the stairs I huffed, and then realised he wasn't there. So I huffed all the way to the bottom of the stairs and found Vera in the kitchen with her hands in a bowl of mashed peas.

“Vera?” I asked. She sighed exasperatedly but plastered on a seemingly genuine smile.

“Yes, dear?”

“Has Victor gone out?”

She thought for a few selective moments.

“Yes, I believe you just missed him, I should think he’s headed into town for some supplies.”

My face could have done one of two things: either gotten softer or harder and more murderous, I honestly have no idea. “Did you need something?”

“Yes, but I’m sure it’ll keep,” I lied and promptly left the room. Victor had crossed the line and now I would too.

Like a ticking bomb, two hours later, the front door to Anubis slammed open and in stormed Victor. I jumped at once from the sofa and hurried toward the foyer. Victor beat me to it.

“Nina Martin? A word in my office.” He turned and left. Let’s just say I followed. In his office, Victor was in his prime, he held authority in this postage stamp office. There was no way I’d ever win an argument here.

“I have something of yours,” he said calmly, putting his hand into his trench coat pocket. My spine tingled and only intensified as Victor retrieved the small pearled bracelet from his pocket. He cradled it like a priceless artifact and lifted it slightly into the air, but carefully as not to risk any chance of dropping it. A slight wave of guilt washed over me. I didn’t treasure that piece of history like he did. I didn’t hold it close to my chest and appreciate the artisan. He held his wrist out and gestured me to do so. I held my arm out cautiously and kept still while Victor fastened the clasp around my wrist with his wrinkled fingertips.

“Louisa always wore this.” He said with just a slight hint of bitterness. “I never saw her without it—ever. She was talented like that, with art. But that wasn’t what was so great about her.” He smoothed his thumb over the glass charm and dare I say he smiled? “She was ridiculously brave and I’ve never met anyone who loved as much as she did.” He let go of my hand and I returned it to my side. The bracelet now felt like a led weight. Victor’s eyes held memories too painful to comprehend. Somehow I needed to lighten them.

“I have something for you,” I blurted. “Wait here.” The door clicked behind me and I hurried off to my room. In the box of Sarah’s things hidden away in the passage, I retrieved a small leather bound notebook inscribed with RFS on the spine. I thumbed through the pages until I made sure this one had what I was looking for.

November 11th, 1919,

I am freed. We are all freed and soon we will go home. I count the minutes until I will be reunited with Louisa, and Sarah. You, non-sentient journal, couldn’t possibly fathom how deeply I miss them. It has been two years since I saw them last. I do feel some guilt my brothers fought for six long years while I served only two. But when these bouts of guilt come I should remember I was doing more important things than fighting for some land and a new democracy.

Sarah has written me about the boy who now occupies my house. And she writes so vividly of who he is, I feel as if I already know him. Of course I know of his father, though I haven’t spoken to him in years. Often I wonder if I’ve made the right choice in asking him to help care for Louisa and Sarah in my absence. Louisa has written that she dislikes him and would rather live with Satan himself. But how could I leave his little boy, Sarah’s new found “soulmate” so she says alone with the man Louisa has described? I have a duty of humanity to that little boy. No, the Rodenmaars will not be leaving Anubis house anytime soon.

It astonished me how much Robert cared for Victor before he had even met him. I do wish I could have met Robert, his writing mesmerizes me and his love for his family struck the same chord I lived on. I picked up a second journal and flipped to the end.

December 9th, 1921

I want Rodenmaar out of my house. I offered him all the money in the world to leave this house and never return, leaving Victor behind. I assumed a man of his stature would jump at the chance but he refused. What an arse. He is not the kind of man to nurture even his own son. What ties could he have to a seven year old who’s birthday he doesn’t even know? He must be onto us, otherwise he would have no reason to stay. To make things worse, the other night Rodenmaar spoke with Victor in his office again. Victor left crying. When I asked what had been said to him, Victor shook his head and ran outside to the park with Sarah and Rufus. On the face of that little boy I see such strength. I haven’t decided whether it is because he is a child and problems of this caliber sometimes lose their weight, or because he has learned and adapted to such power. Either way, he inspires me. I want to tell him that whilst trying to sleep under the weight of this daunting duty of mine or when my heart begins to flutter with the fear I know I shouldn’t feel I think of him and how indestructible he is, even at age seven. He doesn't deserve that man, especially not after all he’s done for us; making Louisa and I cry with laughter or give us the opportunity to to tack our crack at raising a son. And he’s so very good to Sarah. That boy is the heartbeat of this household. And his suffering breaks my heart into a million little pieces.

Ps: Rodenmaar, if you are reading this, know that you will never find what I have hidden. No matter how hard you seek. Give up now and leave your son with me. Also, you sir, are an asshole and I hope you burn in hell.

I had read this entry before and it never seemed to resonate with me. Maybe because I thought it didn’t resonate with Victor, but clearly I was wrong about that. And if I was wrong about that, what else was I wrong about?

I snapped the journal closed and hightailed it back to Victor’s office where he waited with an intensely confused look on his face. I handed him the journals.

“I think you’ll find page 15 and 29 interesting.” I turned to go but he waved his hand and I stopped in my tracks. He read each entry carefully, about three minutes each. I had trig homework calling my name but I didn’t dare rush him, and I didn’t dare leave. Finally, he sighed and closed the journals.

“I am sorry,” was all he said.

“For what?”

“I have judged you harshly, chosen one. You are more like her than I had thought.”

I was about to open my mouth and ask who but then I noticed where his eyes were focused. On an old brown photo on the right side of the wall. It was on the front porch of Anubis. There was a man there, and a woman too—Robert and Louisa. On Robert’s knee was a little girl with a fierce stare and ribbons as long as America itself attached to her braids. On Louisa’s thigh, hidden by a flowered skirt (appropriately ending just past the knee) sat a tiny, skinny little boy. But that little boy was smiling to his ears, looking at the little girl to his left. No one else in that photo smiled, but he did. There was so much joy in those round brown eyes. And yet four months later it would shatter.

“I miss her,” I couldn’t help but say. I cursed myself for speaking. Victor stiffened and cleared his throat. It was the wrong door to open but there was no turning back now.

“I…” his hand hovered by his collar. The string of an amulet was poking through his shirt. My heart beat four times faster. If I keep this ball rolling could I manipulate his focus into giving them back? Never, but it was a nice thought. His fingers latched around the black string and he began to pull up, then he froze.

“She gave so much of herself to help me find my path,” I cut in. It might have been the wrong door, but boy would I knock it down.

“I—” his fingers let go of the string and his hands returned to the side. “You may leave now, miss Martin.” My fingers crunched like my parents' car around that telephone pole. I swallowed a mouthful of rage and nodded curtly. Then I left. How The Frobisher-Smythes ever held adoration for that man-boy is the greatest mystery this house has to offer. But then I think of moments like that—where he let his humanity take control. For a moment he was real, and for that moment he was something other than just the enemy—he was, like Robert had said, the heartbeat of the house.

[lilacmoon83]

Finding You Always

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 214: Worlds Collide, Pt 3

Summer was growing exhausted, as she kept nullifying Mephisto's fireballs by putting them in her bubbles and extinguishing them, while her siblings fought off his heavily armed gang.

"We have to make sure they don't destroy the museum. We can't let all this history be destroyed," Eva feared.

"Yeah...we need to draw them out of here for sure," Emma agreed, as she blasted more of them back.

"He's definitely given these guys an upgrade in fighting skills and power," Leo said, as he breathed heavily, following a fist fight with one of the thugs.

"All right kid, you're our resident powerhouse. What do you suggest?" Emma asked her baby brother.

"An earthquake is the last thing we want in the museum, Emmy," he argued, but then smirked.

"But I think I have a new trick up my sleeve that I've been working on with Mr. Gold," he said. Rumple nodded.

"Now would be the time, lad," Rumple said, as three more of the thugs dropped dead, thanks to the Dark One snapping their necks.

"So much for not killing," Eva said uncomfortably.

"They're thugs...he just saved a ton of lives by killing them. They would have gone on to kill innocent people," Leo reasoned.

"He's right," Regina agreed, as several more dropped, thanks to her. It was drastic, but the stakes were too high. They were already going to be blamed for all the property damage and being the cause of it. But if they had civilian casualties, it would be far worse.

"I won't be surprised if the Major loses the battle with her government and we have them threatening to have the National Guard invade the United Realms," Regina said.

"Mom and Dad will wall us off before they let that happen," Leo assured. She sighed, hoping he was right. Snow and Charming were notoriously forgiving, but after the experience with their darker halves, she hoped they had learned that there were times that the tough decisions had to be made.

"You really think you can take me on, brat?" Mephisto questioned, as the fire in his palms gave the entire room a glow and yet Bobby didn't back away from the intimidating display.

"Considering I can do that too...yeah I think I do," Bobby retorted, as fire came alive in his hands. By now, most of the innocent bystanders had been evacuated, but there were still a few reporters and camera people that were braving the spectacle in order to get in on video.

"And I can do way more than that...like this," Bobby said, as he grabbed Mephisto's wrists.

"I may be able to wield all the elements, but I still specialize in earth powers," he said, as they disappeared with a jade green puff of smoke.

"Look!" Leo called, as they saw something burrowing beneath them through the ground and followed it outside the museum. There was another puff of jade green smoke, as the two emerged from the ground and Bobby tossed Mephisto onto a parked car.

"Ooohhh…I hope they have insurance," Emma commented. Mephisto was seething, as he pulled himself off the wrecked car.

"If you think for a second that this is over, brat...you have another thing coming," Mephisto growled, as disappeared in a fiery display of flames. His four older siblings descended upon him at that point, patting him on the back and ruffling his hair.

"That was awesome!" Leo exclaimed.

"Yeah...he was pissed. Good work, kid," Emma congratulated him. Bobby looked down a bit shyly.

"Thanks," he said.

"Come on...we need to find Mom, Dad, and Grandpa Xander," Eva said. They all agreed and with the rest of their family, they ventured back inside the museum to try and discern where they could have gone.

~*~

Snow and David chased them through the Museum, but when they followed them into the Ancient Egypt exhibit, they found the room empty.

"We lost them," Xander hissed.

"No...there's no way out of this room other than the way we came in," Snow realized.

"She's right," he said, as they willed the chalice forth in its joined form and used it to scan the room for any residual magic or portals. There was an ethereal glow on the replica of the Giza pyramid and they exchanged a glance.

"That's why no one can ever find them. They're using this exhibit to portal somewhere else," David said.

"But this land has no magic without the two of you in the vicinity," Xander said.

"No...but would creating a portal with some of Clayton's technology be impossible?" Snow asked and he sighed.

"No...that's very possible," he agreed, as the chalice glowed and the magic opened up the portal from the residual trail left by whatever technology they had used to slip away.

"We have no idea what we're walking into," Xander warned.

"No...we don't. But we don't have a choice. We have to stop them and it looks like we're the only ones that can," David said, as he looked at Snow.

"The kids will find us too…" she assured them. They nodded and walked through the portal.

~*~

"Wow...this is a really old book," Tink mentioned.

"It is and it was really hard to find. That's why I think it might be important," Rose replied.

"But I thought you were able to catalog everything in the library?" Neal asked.

"I was...that's why this one is so unique. This book is not in my catalog," she replied.

"The plot thickens," Tink said, as she flipped through it.

"Because new books literally appear all the time, that's happened from time to time, but I just have a feeling that this one had help appearing," Rose replied.

"You think it was being hidden, my angel?" Fandral asked.

"It's possible. I don't know who is suddenly helping us or maybe it's because Blue has committed the ultimate crime," Tink replied.

"The murder of another fairy," she said.

"Not to mention a human, even a deplorable one," Fandral added.

"Who did Blue answer to as Head Fairy?" Neal asked.

"Zeus himself," Tink replied, as he took the book.

"And who do you answer to now that you're Head Fairy and Zeus is dead?" he asked.

"Well…I've had no formal meeting with any other Gods, except Aphrodite. I suppose it would be Athena, but she has yet to formally meet with me," Tink replied.

"And if Zeus, for some reason, forbade Athena from interfering, she might use other means to get the information to us," Rose deduced.

"It's entirely possible," Tink agreed.

"Did Blue ever answer to Hera?" Neal asked.

"No…Hera would have never had any authority over the fairies. She may have been Zeus' wife, but they hated each other. He didn't trust her," Tink replied.

"That was probably wise...look at this," he said, as he showed them an image on the page.

"That's Blue...and Hera," Tink said.

"Standing over the unconscious body of Aphrodite," Rose added in alarm.

"Can you translate this?" Fandral asked. Tink nodded and used her wand to translate the book from Greek to English.

"We best start at the beginning," Rose said, as she took the book and began to read.

~*~

Flashback

The young blonde girl cried, as she looked out over the ocean, tears glistening in her eyes, as the sea foam bubbled to the surface of the crystal blue water.

"It's time, my precious one," Zeus called, as he stood behind her.

"Why Daddy?" she asked.

"Mother has been gone but a few weeks and you are getting married again!" Aphrodite shouted.

"You know it's not my choice, young one," he admonished.

"I am the God of the skies. I must have a Queen...it is one rule I cannot break," he said, as she stood up.

"And it is time for you to learn of your duties. You are the Goddess of love and beauty, daughter of Dione and you will fulfill her vision of championing true love," he announced, as an item appeared in his hand.

"Mother's chalice," she said in awe.

"Your chalice now...its magnificence and power is now yours," he corrected.

"What do I know about true love?" she asked bitterly. He smirked.

"You will, my sweet girl," he assured, as he kissed her forehead.

"Hera will not like that she does not get mother's chalice," Aphrodite said wearily.

"She has no claim to it. You are our pride and joy and she wouldn't want anyone but you to have it," he replied.

"It's a big responsibility…" she said with trepidation.

"One that your mother knew you would excel at. After all, who better than to choose the truest loves each millennium among the mortals than a product of true love herself," he said. Aphrodite smiled and hugged him.

"I miss her, Daddy," she said.

"Me too, sweet girl," he replied. They were both unaware of Hera's blistering gaze upon them from the shadows.

~*~

"Are you sure they're okay?" George questioned, as he looked at the pair. The moment James had given Aphrodite true love's kiss, the curse on them shattered, but as a side effect of the complete unlocking on Aphrodite's memories, they collapsed into unconsciousness. Neither Zeus or Dione seemed alarmed though and Nyx had magicked a bed to lay them upon.

"They are fine...this is part of it. They will only awaken when they have relieved their entire past," Zeus assured.

"What kind of curse is this? And who cursed them?" George asked.

"You will know that soon...but not before them," Dione replied and they went back to waiting for them to awaken.

~*~

"These are exquisite," the man said, as he examined the artifacts.

"These are genuine Olmec Terracotta's...they're priceless," the woman next to him added, as she looked them over as well.

"Everything has a price...getting these wasn't easy," Natalie commented.

"Yes...they are nearly untouched, despite their age. How did you find these?" the woman asked.

"I'm not an archeologist that plays by the rules, so to speak. But I know what I'm doing and able to excavate certain sites that have forbidden said excavation," Natalie replied.

"Clayton always did hire the best. It seems you have surrounded yourself with the same skillful people that your father did," she commented, looking to Johnny. He smirked.

"I was groomed from birth to step into his shoes," he agreed.

"And I do manage to find the best, however, our previous translator passed and we need a new one for this," Johnny mentioned.

"Oh a quipu...is this the one you've been hoping for?" she asked.

"We'll see," Natalie replied vaguely.

"Well…I may know of someone that can translate this for you. But I expect you to give me a deal on these beauties," she said.

"Then I assume you and Dr. La Guerra are interested in the jade as well?" Johnny asked.

"Normally, I would pass on the jade, but the condition this is in is rare," the doctor replied.

"Then you had better be prepared to pay a pretty penny," a new voice said, as Natalie turned.

"Mother…" she said in a warning tone.

"You'll let these real treasures slip through your fingers on the off chance that another silly quipu will lead you to a grander one that might not even exist," Thalia argued.

"I can't believe you discount the existence of Cibola or El Dorado when I was born in freaking Atlantis," Natalie argued back.

"Clayton was hundreds of years old and knew some of the best explorers. He even knew her ancestor, one of the greatest and most ruthless conquistadors in history," Thalia argued, gesturing to the woman.

"And he still never found it," she finished.

"It's real mother...and I'm going to find it," Natalie snapped back. Thalia sighed.

"You and finding things," she muttered under her breath.

"What?" Natalie asked, but her question was interrupted when Snow, David, and Xander appeared in the secret meeting place.

"Well, well...you found your way here, after all," Johnny said, as he tapped his glass.

"Ladies and Gentlemen...the illustrious Snow White and Prince Charming themselves, in the flesh, along with the chalice of Aphrodite!" he announced, instantly drawing the entire room's attention to them.

"My father's murderers!" he continued, with a hiss.

"We didn't murder him. His own arrogance destroyed him," David snapped back.

"Your chalice...it was all I ever heard about growing up, you know. Father was always a bit miffed that he knew about such an object, but it was the one thing he couldn't collect. Thus why he decided to collect the pair of you," Johnny retorted, as he looked to Xander.

"You remember the stories. I still remember those nights here and there where father was too busy to deal with me and the nannies were at their wits end. But you would get me calmed down and put to bed," he recalled, with a bit of fondness.

"All while you knew you abandoned your own son and your granddaughter that was out there in some group home," he added with a vicious smile.

"Shut up, you little prick," Xander hissed, which only amused the sadistic son of the Collector.

"And you," he said, with reverence, as he looked at Snow.

"Father always was enamored with you the most, because of your resemblance to the Goddess. She was his original obsession," he revealed, surprising them both.

"Oh, didn't know that, did you?" he said.

"I suppose you wouldn't, since the Goddess has had her memories scrambled more times than even you two," he retorted.

"Yes...he almost had it all. He made you crush his heart to cast a curse and he would have had the chalice. And you...but then you know that part. It still haunts you," he leered.

"Shut the hell up," David growled, as he pulled Snow even closer to him.

"And you...the hero Prince Charming. He wanted to be you, in a way, just without all the selfless heroics. The people's Prince...the husband of the fairest of them all. The truest loves. I came to loathe your story," he said bitterly.

"It's not our problem that your narcissistic father didn't hug you enough. Trust us...we never wanted his kind of attention," David retorted.

"Oh, but you got it...every bit of it," Johnny replied.

"We're here to retrieve the stolen items that you took," Snow said, as she looked at Natalie.

"Including the quipu. It's not yours," she added.

"Oh and I suppose you're going to take it from me, Princess?" Natalie challenged.

"Don't tempt her. That's not a fight you'll win," David challenged, as blue eyes met blue eyes.

"I think I can handle more than you know," she challenged back.

"Thinking you have any advantage here would be unwise," the older blonde woman next to Natalie said.

"Who the hell are you?" David asked. She smirked and looked at Xander.

"He is definitely yours," she replied.

"Long time no see...Xander," she purred.

"Thalia," he said stiffly.

"You know her?" David asked.

"Oh he knows me...quite well, in fact," she replied. Snow's eyes narrowed and she looked at her father-in-law.

"How well?" she asked, watching him swallow nervously.

"It only happened a couple of times," he assured.

"Oh my God…" David exclaimed in outrage.

"David...your mother had been gone a long time and I was struggling," he tried to explain.

"Yes...he was. The alcohol...the guilt with you laying in a hospital bed and his granddaughter in an unhappy group home," Thalia revealed.

"Stop it," Xander growled.

"Yes...to be fair, you wanted to reunite your family then, but Clayton convinced you that it would be a mistake," Thalia said.

"I've made a lot of mistakes and I wasn't always a good man. My son knows my shortcomings," Xander insisted.

"Apparently not with the way he's looking at you right now," Thalia said.

"Oh and I suppose your daughter knows everything about you?" he challenged. She frowned.

"Not everything…" Snow interjected and the older blonde glared at her.

"Stay out of this, princess. It's none of your business," she retorted.

"David is my business and I have a feeling there's something that she doesn't know about you," Snow challenged.

"Snow?" David asked, as he watched her look at his father. He sighed. He had known Snow long enough to know that she wouldn't let this go until she had answers for her husband.

"Is she mine?" he asked and Natalie looked alarmed by that question.

"What? Mother?" she asked.

"We're not doing this…" Thalia hissed, as the three of them cried out and a shield appeared around them.

"Ray shields...I think you'll find them quite impervious to your magical chalice," Thalia said, as they tried to use it to nullify the shield, but it didn't work.

"The auction is over for tonight!" she called, as they could only watch, as most of the people dispersed through portals that seemed to be catacombed within the strange chamber.

"Where is this place?" Snow wondered.

"We're hundreds of feet underground. Trust me, no one is going to find you," Natalie refuted.

"Underground?" David asked, as he and Snow shared an amused glance.

"You're going to eat those words," Snow said.

"What about our deal?" doctor La Guerra interjected, as there was suddenly a rumble beneath them and a huge plume of jade green smoke, as Bobby burrowed to the surface with his siblings and Regina, while the others waited on standby on the surface.

"That was the weirdest thing ever, but really cool," Leo said.

"There is a ton of dirt in my hair," Regina complained, as she started trying to brush it out.

"At least your hair is dark enough not to show it," Emma grumbled.

"Mom! Dad!" Eva called, as she ran to them.

"Careful honey...we don't know what this shield is, but the chalice couldn't break through," Snow warned. Regina waved her hand over it.

"It's not any magic I know," she said.

"Maybe it's not magic at all," Leo said, as Eva spotted a control panel on the wall.

"Not one step, princess," Thalia warned, but was shocked when Leo used a lightning bolt to fry the control panel, destroying the shield.

"Let's go…" Johnny growled, as he grabbed Natalie's hand. She spared another glance at them, as Johnny escaped with her and Thalia. The doctor and his companion weren't so lucky.

"Freeze!" David warned, as he pulled his gun on the mysterious pair and they were forced to put their hands up. Emma waved her hand and cuffs appeared on their wrists. David holstered his gun and they used the chalice to create a portal back to the surface.

"No idea who you two are...but you're gonna tell us," he said, as they gathered the stolen artifacts, except the quipu, and filed through the portal.

~*~

Flashback

Hera stormed into her Temple and huffed, as she sat down in her Throne.

"For someone that just got married to the All Mighty Zeus...you don't seem very happy," Blue mentioned, as she emerged from the shadows.

Zeus had created the fairies to be messengers between the Gods and mortals. For some reason, the mortals saw fairies as a symbol of good and did not fear them like they did the Gods. Mortals had their reasons to fear the Gods though, since the past was filled with bloodshed between the monarchs of Mount Olympus and humans.

Reul Ghorm had been chosen by him as head of the fairies, but as it often did, power slowly began to corrupt Blue and just as bitterness had set in for Hera, it had for Blue as well.

Blue wanted more power and control over mortals, but Zeus had long forbade it. She had even tried to endear herself to Dione in hopes of having a hand in choosing the truest loves. It was a vision that Dione had and never realized. She planned to select two mortals, who represented the epitome of true love, to bestow the power of her magical chalice to.

The chalice was forged by Dione's mother, Gaia herself, from the essence of the earth she loved so much and all its elements. She gifted it to Dione and she wanted to do good for mortals with it. But the recent Titanomachy had given Hera the perfect opportunity to eliminate the woman that had the Throne she wanted. Dione had been mortally wounded, but it was not what it appeared to be. Hera had colluded with the Titans to topple Zeus and Dione, promising them positions of power if she was crowned Queen if they killed Dione and her precious daughter. Naturally, she betrayed them all and they were cast into Tartarus with her secret remaining unknown. The end result was that Dione was dead and she was Queen now. However, their offspring lived and the coveted chalice now belonged to Aphrodite.

"He gave the chalice to his daughter!" she hissed.

"Then perhaps we need to arrange an accident for the little blonde bimbo," Blue suggested.

"You know that's impossible. The war with the Titans distracted Athena enough that she could not see our deception, but now it will not be so easy," Hera reminded her.

"True and if Zeus loses the apple of his eye...well, there will be no Earth to rule. He would smite us all and the mortals just in sheer blind rage," Blue agreed.

"Yes...and even as Queen, I am still overshadowed by Dione's precious little flower," Hera complained. Blue smirked.

"If we can't kill her...then we can certainly manipulate her," she suggested. Hera's interest perked at that.

"What do you have in mind?" Hera asked.

"I will befriend the empty headed beauty and help her choose her champions," Blue replied. Hera smirked.

"Champions that we select...champions that ultimately could lead to our control of the chalice," she deduced. Blue nodded.

"Precisely," she said and Hera tilted her head.

"You already have a pair of mortals in mind, don't you?" she asked. Blue smirked.

"Yes...and they will serve us well. The man I have in mind will do anything for power. Faking true love with some woman will fool the little twit and when she gifts them her chalice...it's as good as ours," Blue replied.

"Then this is our plan. Proceed...and do not fail me, Blue," Hera said.

"Never, my Goddess. Zeus may think my loyalty is to him, but we know that you are my Queen," Blue said, as she became small in her fairy form with a Blue glow and descended back to earth.

~*~

"Wow…" Tink said, as Rose finished reading the beginning passages.

"So Blue has really been loyal to Hera all along and was working for her," Fandal said.

"That's heavy...but something tells me more happened later between them. I mean, this explains why Hera hates Aphrodite, but this implies that Blue was only doing Hera's bidding at first," Neal said.

"He's right...somewhere it became personal for Blue too," Rose said, as she closed the book.

"I'll read more when we get home and then we can discuss more tomorrow," she said. Tink smiled and used her magic on the book, duplicating it.

"Now we can both read...because I have to know more. Then I think we can finally bring her down," Tink said. Rose nodded and smiled at her.

"Guess we're doing more reading when we get home instead of other stuff," Neal muttered. The blonde smirked.

"Behave and you might get more than reading," she teased, as they joined hands and left the diner.

"I'll round up the children," Fandral said, as he kissed her cheek and went to get them from the table where they were playing a game.

"Mom...what if the Blue Fairy realizes you're reading her story and she tries to stop you?" Carina asked worriedly.

"I won't lie to you, sweetie...she very well may try. But your Papa will never let anything happen to me," Rose promised.

"Your mother is right," Fandral agreed, as he took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

"The Blue Fairy may have magic, but this Asgardian warrior will not let her silence more people," he promised, as they left the diner to head home for the evening.

~*~

"Dammit...you two were careless! And now we lost a fortune worth of jade and rare terracotta's!" Thalia roared.

"Relax...the quipu is what we really wanted, especially if it is the one my father sought. The key to Cibola or El Dorado. They have enough treasure to command power over the entire world," Johnny replied.

"Or it's just another ancient series of knots and strings full of riddles! Taunting the truest loves was a horrible misstep!" she cried.

"They already knew exactly who we were!" Johnny snapped.

"That woman...the Major has them chasing us like her own personal team of fairy tale agents," he added irritably.

"Pack up...we're leaving. Back to the Athens base," Thalia ordered.

"Oh no...we're not doing that. It's time for offensive measures," Johnny refuted.

"Johnny...that's not a good idea," Thalia argued.

"I'm in charge of this operation!" Johnny snapped.

"I am my father's heir!" he added.

"Besides...the cowardly doctor will talk. I have no illusions that Prince Charming and his brats will interrogate the truth right out of him," he said. Thalia sighed.

"Then you better work on getting that thing translated and hope that it's what we need," she said.

"Not until you tell me what you're hiding," Natalie interjected.

"Natalie…" she started to deflect, but her daughter cut her off.

"Were you and Xander...involved?" she asked.

"Of course they were," Johnny answered for her.

"Stay out of this, Junior," Thalia snapped.

"Mother…" Natalie pressed and she sighed.

"It only happened a couple of times," Thalia insisted, stunning her to silence. She was almost afraid to ask her next question, because somehow she knew the answer.

"Is…is Xander my father?" she asked. Thalia turned away in frustration.

"Mother...is he my father!?" she shouted and her silence spoke volumes.

"Wow...that I didn't know, but I guess it makes sense," he said.

"You knew they were together at one time?" Natalie asked in an accusatory tone, but he shrugged.

"We were never together…" Thalia refuted.

"I remember seeing them together here and there as a child. When my father wasn't pulling him out of the bottle...your mum was. Honestly, I never really put it together, but it makes sense," Johnny said, as he started to laugh then.

"Father must certainly be laughing now...you're a Charming!" he exclaimed to her.

"Well...half Charming," he teased.

"Shut up!" Natalie hissed.

"Mother…" she growled.

"It's true...Xander is your father," Thalia revealed.

"You said that my father died…" Natalie hissed.

"I lied...and it was for the best! Xander was gone most of the time, on missions for Clayton and when he was around, he was drinking and wallowing about the children he had already abandoned. He would have abandoned you too," Thalia said.

"That wasn't your choice!" Natalie hissed.

"Xander is a traitor...and our plan remains unchanged," Johnny said, as he loaded his gun with a clip.

"We cannot count on Malina's source to translate the quipu...but I've located a back up. Let's go…" he said, as Natalie glared at her mother and had a moment of pause.

"Natalie...are you coming?" he asked. She looked at him and then nodded.

"Yes," she replied. The revelation that Xander was her father and she had this huge family out there was jarring. But she didn't know them and they certainly wouldn't want someone like her. No...this didn't change anything.

~*~

After returning to the surface, they escorted the two mysterious captives back to the Boston FBI headquarters for interrogation. Agent Green and Agent Brooks insisted on taking the first crack at their interrogation. Some of the other agents began processing the recovered artifacts, while David observed the interrogation from the glass, along with the Major. It was late, so he insisted that everyone go back to the hotel to get some sleep, but he wasn't surprised when Snow came in and put her arms around him. She could see the questions in his mind and knew his father was probably waiting in the conference room for him. But he didn't want to think about any of it right now, because he knew he knew lashing out in anger wouldn't get them anywhere. He wanted answers, but knew he wouldn't like hearing any of them. So for now, he was focused on the two potential investors in the next room. Snow managed to get a bit of his frustration to ebb away, but it was growing since the two agents weren't getting anywhere.

"How much more time are we going to let these two waste?" he asked impatiently.

"The lab is running their prints. If we get a hit, then I'll let you go at them both. But I'd rather you go in there with something, because they're not giving an inch," the Major replied.

"It's going to be okay," Snow whispered to him, as she kissed him gently. He sighed and pressed his forehead against hers.

"You figured it out before me…" he said.

"The bitterness rolled off that woman in waves and when I saw that it was directed at your father...it wasn't much of a leap after that," she replied, as the Major came back into the room with a file and Xander followed her in.

"We got two hits…" Patricia said, as she put the file down on the table in front of them.

"Did we even need to?" David asked, as he looked at his father.

"Do you know them too?" he demanded to know.

"Yes...I know of them. I only met them a handful of times," Xander said. David gripped the metal table, his knuckles turning white and probably the only thing that kept him from raging at that moment was Snow's hand on his arm.

"The man is Dr. Hector La Guerra. He technically had his medical license revoked in 1945 and he fled his homeland of France for the United States," Patricia said.

"Funny...he doesn't look that old," David commented.

"None of these people are what they seem. He was born in 1918 and worked for the Nazis during World War II," she continued.

"Oh wonderful...a real life Nazi," Snow said.

"He lost his license for human experimentation and specializes in working with disease and poisons," Patricia continued.

"Clayton recruited him after the war and brought him to Atlantis. He introduced the doctor to all the magical plants, herbs and substances he had in his collection. It was Dr. La Guerra that created the youth potions. He was able to synthesize the water from the fountain of youth with his own mixture of magical herbs and created a way to utilize the water without tying the user to Atlantis," Xander explained.

"Boy, the good news just keeps coming," David deadpanned.

"We never saw him in Atlantis...but I spent a lot of time in the infirmary with Eva during that time. There were many rooms sealed off to us and I can still remember the screaming of people coming from some of those rooms," Snow recalled, as she got a haunted look on her face. Xander nodded.

"That would be him. There is other things I could tell you about what he does to people, but it's too horrific and I'm not going to do that," he added, as they looked at him.

"I'll tell you everything you need to know, but I will not tell you the specifics of what he does to people, even children, inside those rooms. You won't be able to handle it," Xander said firmly. Snow shuddered and David let that lay, as he turned his head back to the window.

"Enough about the sick bastard...what about her?" he asked.

"She is Malina Pizarro, born in Spain and if you know anything about the history of the Conquistadors, yes, she is of that Pizarro bloodline. The conqueror of the Incas was her ancestor and she has continued her quest to pillage and destroy indigenous cultures all over the globe," Patricia replied.

"Born in 1936 to her powerful and wealthy parents in Barcelona, she followed in her family's footsteps and led many expeditions that resulted in the destruction of ancient sites, their history, and complete pillaging of their cultures," Patricia added.

"How are evil pieces of crap like this not in prison already?" David hissed in frustration.

"You know why, David...that's the reason you and your family are here," Patricia reminded him. He turned back to the window in frustration and then stood up straight.

"They're not getting anywhere...I'm going in," he said, as he walked out of the room. He drew his sword and barged into the interrogation room.

"Excuse me...we're in the middle of an interrogation," Agent Green argued.

"And for normal perps, your methods might work...but not for this evil scum. Get out," he ordered. Agent Green huffed, but when Patricia entered the room and motioned them out, they reluctantly obeyed her order.

"Uh oh Malina...Prince Charming is here to intimidate us," the doctor goaded and she smirked back at him. David responded by kicking his chair out from beneath him. The man cried out, as he fell to the floor, but not before he hit his chin on the table on the way down, causing him excruciating pain. Blood leaked from his mouth from busted teeth and he glared up at the Prince.

"You ignorant brute…" the doctor hissed.

"You're going to tell me where Junior is off to or you're not going to live to see another day," David warned. The doctor chuckled.

"Right to the death threats…" he laughed.

"Believe it or not, your Highness, you don't scare me. I've done things that would make you double over and retch where you stand," he warned.

"So I've heard," David retorted.

"Oh no...you haven't heard the details, because you're still standing," as he turned his attention to the window. It was one way glass, but somehow he must have known she was there.

"I remember seeing your lovely, fair wife in Atlantis...your children too. None of you ever saw me, as Clayton forbade me contact with you, for he knew I wouldn't be able to help myself," he goaded.

"Specimens like them...now that would have been a glorious experiment. Magical blood...I begged him to let me at her, but alas, it didn't happen. I imagined her tortured screams though and watching her red blood slide down her white, delicate skin…" he said, as he licked his lips. David lost it at that moment and picked him up, before slamming him against the wall.

"Last chance to keep breathing. One more word about my wife or children and it's over for you," he warned.

"If you want information...then we want a deal," Malina said calmly.

"Not happening...the only deal you're getting is life in prison and not a needle in your arm. Your list of crimes is extensive," Patricia replied. She smirked.

"Then do your worst, Major Donovan. My family is powerful...I won't spend one day in your jail," she said confidently. But it was Patricia's turn to smirk.

"Oh, it won't be an American prison if you don't cooperate," she revealed.

"Your crimes in other countries have them clamoring to prosecute you. I just put out the word that I have you in custody, thanks to my newest and very special agent," she said, referring to David. She frowned.

"The American prison is at least humane. You'll get meals and a bed and even a few privileges. But the other countries prisons won't be so nice, but not even those are the ones you have to worry about, because if I turn you over to the people that your family has destroyed for centuries...your life is done and your death will not be swift," she threatened.

"You can't do that...your court system does not work that way," she countered.

"It does in this case...do you really want to test me or him?" Patricia said.

"Fine...those in the states that can still translate a quipu are all at Universities, which would be too risky now. So Junior is likely going to Peru. That's about the only place where you're going to anyone that can still read them and even then that's going to be difficult. It's a dead language, as are the Inca people. But I know of one family near Cusco...and so does he. That's where he'll go," Malina revealed.

"And this family? Will they tell him willingly?" David asked. She smirked.

"Definitely not...his father helped the Conquistadors destroy their ancestors, as well as countless other cultures. But like his father...Johnny will get what he wants, one way or another," she replied smugly.

"It's too bad...I'd love to participate in the coming torture," the doctor said.

"Reminding me that you're still breathing isn't wise," David snapped at him, as he walked out.

"We're leaving aboard the Jolly Roger in the morning and those two are going to lead us to them," he said to Patricia. She nodded.

"I'll have them put down in a holding cell until then. Agent Green and Agent Brooks, you and your team will be responsible for transporting these two to the Harbor and joining us. We're going to Peru, O six hundred," she ordered, as she saw David pull Snow into his arms and kiss her. Some of his stress melted away at her kiss and her touch, at least in those quiet seconds.

"David…" Xander interrupted.

"You tucked Clayton's son in at night while your granddaughter was alone in a group home!" he roared.

"It wasn't like that," Xander insisted.

"He was a neglected child that grew into the shadow his father left behind," he added.

"You worked with these people!" David shouted.

"You ate with them! Talked to them! Hell...you even slept with some of them!" he ranted.

"And I hated all of them! And mostly myself most of the time, but Clayton was very convincing! You have to believe me! I wanted nothing more than to get Emma from that group home and bring her to you! But he told me it would be a disaster!" Xander insisted.

"He lied," David growled.

"Yes...and I realized it far too late. I helped him destroy people, because he promised me that in the end, it would lead me back to you and my family," Xander replied. David snorted.

"Well...he was right. Too bad it took you almost thirty years to get to us when you knew exactly where we were," he said, as he took Snow's hand and started to walk away.

"David please...you have to forgive me," Xander pleaded. He stopped and turned to him partially.

"No…I don't and I'm not sure I can," he said.

"David…" he begged, with tears in his eyes.

"How many times?" David asked.

"What?" Xander asked.

"How many times did you stand over my comatose body in that hospital!?" he roared. Xander swallowed thickly.

"Too many," he answered and David shook his head.

"You could have brought Emma to me...hell, you could have brought Snow to me too and you didn't! You were too busy working for that psychopath and sleeping with his operatives," David hissed, as he turned away again and Snow cast a glance behind her, as they walked away from him. She was torn, for the last thing she wanted was for her husband's relationship with his father to implode. But her loyalty was to David first and he had every right to be angry.

~*~

Flashback

The village burned with roaring fire, making it certain that it would be wiped off the map when the flames died. A tall man of Greek descent emerged from the fire and approached his team.

"Did you get it?" he asked, as one of his excavators unwrapped the cloth and presented the jeweled necklace to him. He examined it, but his hope faded and he tossed it back at the worker.

"This is fake!" he cried.

"I'm...I'm sorry sir...the chief finally revealed its location after hours of interrogation. This is said to be the necklace of Harmonia," he replied.

"It's a fake replica! Costume jewelry!" he ranted, as he tossed it into the fire.

"I need that necklace! It can give me eternal youth and find the treasure I seek," he growled.

"The necklace of Harmonia is with Zeus...you'll never obtain it," a voice said, as there was a blue flash and a woman appeared before him.

"A fairy…" he said with intrigue.

"Yes...and you are the man known as the Collector," she replied.

"Sirius Clayton…" he introduced himself.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I must continue my quest for another source of eternal youth if I am to make sure I live long enough to find Atlantis," he said.

"I can help you do that...and more. I can make your entire bloodline for centuries to come...legendary," she offered. He stopped and turned back to her.

"I am not a good man and you are a fairy. Why would you do that?" he questioned.

"Because I want power...just like you and I need a mortal to get that power," she revealed.

"But don't worry...you'll have the ultimate power too," she said.

"Tell me more…" he inquired.

"There is a chalice, created by Gaia herself and gifted to her favorite daughter, Dione. In turn, Dione has gifted to her precious one, Aphrodite," Blue explained.

"Goddess of love, beauty, and desire," he recalled.

"That's the one...the apple of Zeus' eye and instead of giving the chalice to his new wife, Hera, he has given it to his naive, virginal daughter that still thinks that true love is real," Blue said.

"Fascinating...and where do I come in?" he asked.

"Before Dione died, she intended to gift the chalice to a true love pair that she deemed worthy of it to champions of love and heroes to mortals. But she never discovered a pair that she deemed worthy enough," Blue explained.

"Her daughter is determined to keep those standards, but she is wildly more naive than her wise mother," she continued. He smirked.

"You want me to find some woman and convince your naive Goddess that we are the pair she should gift her chalice too," he deduced.

"You are sharp...but it can't be just any woman. It has to be someone convincing and able to pull off the act," she replied. He smirked.

"I think I know of someone," he said.

"But what kind of power are we talking about?" he questioned.

"Unlimited power and eternal youth," she promised. He smirked.

"Where do we start?" he asked.

~*~

Xander sat at the hotel bar and hadn't even bothered to go to his room that night. It was almost two in the morning and they would be kicking him out soon. A glass of scotch sat before him and his stare burrowed into the amber glass of liquid, as a blonde climbed onto the seat next to him.

"Please tell me you haven't touched that, Gramps," Emma said.

"Don't worry...I'm just looking at the thing that kept me from my family for so long," Xander replied.

"You know, I don't blame you, right?" Emma asked. He snorted.

"Your father does...maybe you should. I could have spared you years of unhappiness, Emma. When the Swans sent you back...I should have told Clayton to go to hell and took you straight to your father," he replied.

"You know Clayton would have stopped you or tried to. He might have killed you," Emma surmised.

"And you know Dad...he'll come around. He's almost as forgiving as Mom," she reminded him.

"I don't know, Em...I've never seen him this angry," Xander replied.

"Mom will bring him around...she always does. Just give him time," Emma assured him.

"I hope you're right…" Xander replied.

"Go up to your room and get a little sleep. We're leaving early," she suggested.

"I'm not sure David wants me there," Xander said.

"Yes he does...and you know Clayton's operation better than anyone. Not to mention that you now have a daughter out there that's on the wrong side. You can either stay here and wallow in self pity," Emma said, as he looked at her.

"Or you can fight for your relationship with my Dad and maybe even one with your daughter," she said.

"Her mother has poisoned her against us," Xander replied.

"And we thought George and later Clayton did the same thing to James and now I call him Uncle James," Emma reminded him, as she pushed the glass toward the bartender.

"He won't be needing this," she said, as she threw some money down for it. Xander sighed and followed her to the elevator.

"We always tell you how much like your father you are, but you are every bit your mother's daughter too," he mentioned fondly. Emma smiled.

"I know...I've seen the hope thing work for her time and again, so I took a page from her book on this one. Dad will come around," she assured, as they got in the elevator.

~*~

Snow awoke in the middle of the night, noticing that the warmth of David's body was gone. She got up and padded out to the outside balcony of their hotel suite in her long, white silk nightgown. She found him there, staring off into space and slipped her arms around his waist, before resting her head against his naked back.

"Oh baby…" she murmured, as her heart ached for him.

"I just got used to having a brother...and now a sister…" he muttered.

"A sister that was raised in Clayton's world," he said.

"Not all the people in his network are killers," she offered, as he took her in his arms and kissed her hair.

"I hope...I mean, the stealing I can get passed," he said, looking at her fondly and she smiled back.

"You do have a thing for bandits," she teased.

"Except you were stealing to survive. She steals...for treasure," he said bitterly.

"Then it's your father that's mostly bothering you," she surmised.

"I knew he had killed people...I mean, I've killed people too. We're not so different...at least that's what I told myself," he said.

"But if I knew my grandchild was out there, somewhere alone, being abused...I would have moved heaven and earth to get to them!" he said fiercely.

"I know...I know, my love…" she soothed.

"What if Merlin hadn't nurtured her belief by giving her the book? It would have been ten times worse for her, Snow," he fretted.

"At least the book showed her how much we truly loved her and how we didn't choose to be separated from her. It gave her hope…" he continued.

"But my father could have walked into that adoption agency, submitted to a DNA test, and proved he was Emma's blood. But instead, he was sailing around other realms that weren't frozen by the curse, collection things for Clayton! Treasure and gold and inanimate objects over our daughter!" he stressed.

"Over you...you can say it, my love. He chose those things over you and it was wrong," she said.

"You are a much stronger, braver man than he is. You are your mother's son," she said fondly. He sighed.

"The killing...I can get past as surprising as that sounds. I got past it with James. He was raised by a tyrant. It would have been a miracle if he didn't become a killer," he said.

"But what else has he lied about? There could be so many things we don't know about him. I knew that...and I ignored it. I can't do that anymore. I need to know everything," he added.

"And you will," she assured him, as she led him back inside.

"Until then...we should go back to bed," she said, as he sighed.

"You know I can't sleep now…" he replied. She smirked and gently let the thin straps on her nightgown fall away and it became a puddle at her feet.

"Then let's do some...not sleeping," she replied. His eyes glazed, as he drank her in. His beautiful wife was a master at distracting him and though he knew they would have to deal with all of this in just a few short hours, he welcomed this distraction. He walked to her with purpose and kissed her passionately, while cupping her face in his hands. She mewled into his kiss and then yelped in excitement, as he lifted her up and she hooked her legs around his waist. He carried her to bed and for those few hours, they became lost in each other...

[charmedglass]

Drabble/Headcanon

                                         This was a confrontation long overdue, as he leans close to the doorway, with wings tightly tucked to his back. Molten steel burns in his gaze, and a single ember remains caught between his fingertips. The silence drapes across them all, until the woman, Mother, Jainil, approaches. Her hand is outstretched, and an apology drips from her mouth.

                                            Yet he does not wilt to her, smacking the hand away as though it were a personal offense. In truth, that was exactly what it was to him. Pretending as though she may care, and, perhaps the worst of it all, was the fact she may very well believe her own lies.

                                                                          A snarl breaks the other man's mouth, father, Aouli. His voice is low, rumbling like the engines of the airships. Soft, before bellowing into a sudden roar, a spark given way to flame.

                                             For how dare he act out against them? They wanted to talk, just to understand why he left, to become a service man of all things. That alone gives reason why they will never understand, and, it was all the better for it. Avros sees these two people, people he once called mother and father ( and still catches himself doing so to this day ), and he sees their greed. He sees how living in the lap of luxury has tainted their view of the world.

                                          "I dared?- I do this because my skills are needed." Jainil approaches again, with a wobbling lower lip, light blue eyes misty and wet. It garners no sympathy.

                                         "But, there are others, much more qualified! You're not needed out there-!" Jainil's voice gives way to sniffling sobs, truly, it seems like she does not understand. The Black Swan knows this is not so far from the truth.

                                                                                             "We paid for your lessons, helped you grow, the money to your name is because of us- and you repay us, for plucking you off the streets, with your broken wings and body, you repay us by spitting our favor in our faces?" Aouli's voice drags against the air, to which Avros's only response is to take another long drag off his embers. 

                            A wave of smoke is exhaled to fill the space between him, and them. Just the way he wanted it to do so.

                                                "Repay you..." It would seem, being around wolves for the last set of years has done something to his voice, his voice a low growl that reverberates throughout the entire room. 

                                  "For buying me from a desperate woman? A winged faunus, such a pregnancy is rather taxing, dangerous even. You scoured the lowest streets, looking for a priceless artifact-"

                                           "And so what if we offered that woman payment for you? You were both better off."

                                             Jainil's speaking again, indignant, with cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. Yet, there's a sharp shiver that doesn't go unseen from his eyes. Perhaps she would be correct, even right in her words, if not for the fact that he was never sought out because they wanted a child.

         "Why do you hate us so much? What did we ever do to deserve this?"

                     Aouli stands before his wife, placing himself between her, and Avros, as though he would ever raise his hand against a civilian.

                                                   "I, was nothing more than a shiny new object. I am not daft nor slow- the prejudice against faunus are bad now, and were worse then. I doubt my birthmother was a faunus, not if she were so desperate." Both pairs of eyes are watching him, light blue and jade green.

                             "You've already had your children, and the divide between us has always been apparent. Especially with a gap of ten years. Do not think for a second that because you raised me, you were my parents, that I owe you anything."

                               When Aouli slammed a closed fist into his jaw, was when the conversation was over. Even if Avros had seen it coming, in the jumping of muscle round his mouth, the slow motion his arm seemed to raise in. Even with all of this, Avros let the man strike him, openly now, without the pretense of punishment for misbehavior to protect his actions.

                                    'All those years, of questions, of whys, of open palmed strikes- they were never for being strict'

                                "You were always spoiled. Speaking back to your betters, you were always better off than the rest of your kind." Avros can feel an ache blooming in his jawbone, and while Aouli was no Huntsman, he was still a well kept, hefty man. Likely, he would bruise.

                                            Avros raises his hand then, grabbing Aouli's wrist, and shoving him back. The last dying embers of the cigarette are dropped, carelessly to the floor.

                                                         "We're done here."

                  Wings unfurled, the windows broken to shards in his escape.

                                  All the while, anger and hurt nestled their home within his ribcage. Some things, it seemed, would never change. Yet, for the first time, for all the shattering of glass in his chest, and the bleeding heart that licked it's wounds, it was... a relief.

                                                For all these years he had convinced himself that he was just looking at them from a bad angle, that what had happened wasn't what he suspected.

                                                 He wasn't crazy-

                                                He had been right.

-

Headcanon

To elaborate on the prior drabble, Avros's parents were not openly abusive. In this drabble, we see ( as much as I was comfortable writing ) the attempts of guilt tripping, gaslighting, and verbal/physical abuse.

Guilt is tried to be invoked in Avros by way of questioning why he hates them, why he's throwing back at them what they've paid for him to learn. Trying to imply that who he is, is entirely because of them, and that Avros owes them. When this doesn't work, we see some of the gaslighting, some denial as to why they 'adopted' Avros.

They try to direct the conversation as doing him and his birthmother a favor- but it was in actuality for their own selfish interests. When Avros deflects this with the truth, they quickly cave in to verbal or physical violence.

When growing up, manipulation for the latter was easily done. That he deserved to be slapped around, and, since nothing major was ever done, only bruises, Avros never questioned it. So when he lets his father actually strike him here, this adds in the final nail in the coffin about his home life.

So I need to point out, yes. Avros's home life was abusive, he doesn't often talk about it, but he does think about it. He was something shiny to show off, and something to be molded into something of a fancy object. If he broke those restrictions, he was undesirable, or unwanted. Oftentimes punished.

To add the final thing, no, if domestic abuse is not something you're comfortable with writing, it need not be brought up. It is a core part of his backstory, but he has moved past it as best he can. If asked about it, he will never delve into the thick of what happened, rather just state he had been bought and molded into a fancy doll to show off.

Which is all that's needed. Avros is in his forties, and had his team help him do the majority of the coping. Come current time in Atlas is when this drabble occurs, so it will be fresher in volume 7 timelines. If need be he may discuss it with possible close friends or lovers, but it's not necessary since given enough time, it'll just be a wound finally healed.

Further proof comes from the ending lines, were Avros is finally set at ease, without any more doubts or second guessing of if he was remembering correctly.

( Note this drabble is the second encounter with his parents in Vol. 7, not the first. The first was actually in a public restaurant, where no one could really act out. )

[walking-true-to-style]

She || J.M.

Pairing: Joe Mazzello x Pregnant! Reader

Words: 5.05k

Warnings: ANGST CENTRAL. Medical topics, blood, death, pregnancy

Gender: Cis Female

Request: I merged two anonymous requests:

“Can i request angst with joe? like him losing his wife at childbirth and he only has their daughter left? Sorry im really feeling the angst today”

“Im a bit scared to ask, but could you write a fic with joe where after the readers due date extends past 2 weeks, they both get really scared but finally their daughter is brought into the world? And the daughters name is Josephine Francis to match her daddy's name? ❤❤ thank you!!!” 

(I’m so sorry btw 2nd anon this is not what you wanted I’m sure)

Synopsis: You and Joe have been trying for a baby for forever. Now that she’s on the way, she is stubborn and won’t come out. This can lead to some complications. Nevertheless, you and Joe will try to stick it out as much as you can for little baby Josephine. He’s gonna be a great dad.

A/N: I just wannt point out. Dr. Fahmy is a real person in NYC dealing in pregnancies. I used his name to make the story a little more realistic.This is in no way a reflection on him or his work. He’s rated as a 5-star Doctor, and I’m sure he’s amazing. 

“(y/n), I know this is scary, but you need to come back to bed.”

“Joe, she’s two weeks overdue! How can I just fucking come back to bed?” you stare at your husband exasperatedly before continuing to pace around your bedroom. Joe watches you from the bed with a clenched jaw and worried eyes. He bites the inside of his cheek as he listens to you ramble.

“God, maybe this is a sign. Maybe we AREN’T ready. What the fuck is going to happen to me? To the baby!” Beads of sweat trickle down your face. You feel a slight kick inside you, causing you to stop in your tracks. You look down at your belly and set your hands on it.

“You HAVE to come out. PLEASE. What is taking you so long?!” you beg. Tears stream from your eyes, and you hide your face in your hand, shaking.

At this point, Joe can’t bear to watch you panic more. He sighs and shakes his head.

“Alright, alright. That’s enough, babe. We need to think rationally about this.” he comes up behind you and snakes his arms around your midsection. He leans into you and sets his head on your shoulder, planting small pecks on your neck. You stand there and sob, taking in your husband’s scent. He comes around to face you, and you bury yourself into his chest. He holds you gently, careful not to squish your stomach at all and rubs your back.

“It’s gonna be okay, (y/n). I promise.” Joe whispers to you sweetly. You sniffle and whimper, holding him tighter. He moves from stroking your back to your head, letting out a small sigh.

“I won’t let anything happen to you. I love you.”

“I love you too…” you murmur.

You aren’t really sure how, but Joe seems to have superpowers in calming you down from panic attacks. The moment he touched you, a sense of calm already washed over your body. It was as if he were a warm lavender bath every time he engulfed you in his arms.

The house begins to still and time speeds back up for you after a moment. As you calm down, Joe pulls back and looks at you with complete admiration. You flush slightly under his gaze. He rubs your blotchy, tear-streaked cheeks. You lean into his touch and take a long breath through your nose in a futile attempt to clear it.

“There’s my beautiful girl.” he grins. You scoff at him playfully and clear your throat.

“Even when I’m a gross, snotty mess?” you ask him weakly. He snorts at your question and kisses your cheek.

“Even when you’re a snot monster, (y/n).” Joe smirks and sits you down on the bed finally, kneeling in front of you. He rubs your thighs lovingly, and you bring a hand to his cheek. He moves to kiss your palm a few times before using your thighs as support to get up.

“Feeling better?” he inquires. You nod, earning a kiss on the knuckles from him.

“How ‘bout I make you some warm chamomile tea. Doc said you can have just a little right?” you chuckle at the mischievous little smile playing on Joe’s lips and the subtle shoulder shimmy he’s doing.

“Sounds good, babe.” you smile back, exhaustion evident in your face. Dark bags lay thick under your eyes, and your cheeks are still blotchy and wet. Still, your husband looks upon you with a doting gaze. Joe plants a kiss to your hair and goes to the door. Before he exits he turns back to you.

“I’ll be right back. I’ll miss you.” He says the last part with a silly voice, earning a snort from you with a playful eye roll to follow.

“Miss you too, Joey.” he lets out an amused snuff at your reaction and disappears down the hall. You watch the door for a moment before your gaze shifts about the beige walls of the room, over the shelves with various knick-knacks, including Sledge’s old pipe, and photos of you and Joe through various points in your life. You giggle at the one from the night you first started dating, remembering how Joe couldn’t take his eyes off you in the car after Rocky Horror that night.

You’ve both come such a long way since then.

Your eyes finally fall onto the mirror, reflecting your form on the bed. Your gaze fixes onto your swollen belly in the reflection. Setting a gentle hand on top of it, you rub your abdomen over the fabric of your shirt. You breathe deeply and exhale.

“We’re gonna be okay, Ms. Josephine Francis…” you whisper.

As if on cue, you hear the teapot squealing and a “SHIT!” from Joe, followed by a calamity of dishes clamoring together. You snort and shake your head, letting out an amused sigh.

“That is, if your daddy doesn’t kill us all first.”

A few moments later, Joe appears with a mug of tea and a sheepish smile. You cock a brow at him in questioning, though, you have a feeling you know what happened.

“Burn yourself, Joe?” you smirk at him. He feigns insult at you and laughs.

“I don’t have to answer that.” he jokes as he sets the mug on your nightstand, steam flowing out. You chortle and press your lips together.

“Your silence says a thousand words, my love.” you tell him. He leans down and plants a kiss on your lips before helping you get your legs up and then coming around to settle in beside you.

“We’re gonna call Dr. Fahmy tomorrow first thing, I promise.” Joe yawns as he snuggles into your shoulder, hot breath from his nose fanning over your neck and collarbone. His arm finds a way over your midsection, still careful about where his arms end up. You always admired his delicacy with your body. He treated it like a priceless artifact that must be treasured at all times, even when making love, which you’ve both abstained from since you learned about your pregnancy. Still, he remains just as physical as before, even if it is more gently and carefully. Truly, he is the man of your heart and you are always sure to return the favor to him.

You nod and take the mug of tea from the nightstand, blowing on the top to cool the water. You take a few sips and set it back down. Joe rubs your arm gently and peers up at you through half-lidded eyes.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” he inquires breathily. He kisses your shoulder and snuggles you closer. You turn to him and press a kiss into his forehead.

“Only every day, but I like the reminders.” you reply snarkily. He hums and closes his eyes. You reach over to turn off the light and settle down, laying your head on top of his. You close your eyes, already feeling your exhaustion catching up to you.

“I love you, Joe. Thank you so much.” you yawn out before dozing off.

“I love you too, beautiful. Sweet dreams.”

The next morning, you wake up to an empty space beside you and the mug missing from your nightstand. Peering over at the clock on your wall, it reads 8:37 AM. The smell of food is wafting into the room, piquing your interest. Your stomach immediately growls at the scent, demanding you investigate. Your hips contract slightly, causing you to grunt from the sensation. You settle your hand on your belly and tsk.

“Alright, lighten up there, Francis. We’ll get you some food in a sec.” you tell your unborn daughter. You shift out of bed and hoist yourself up. Slipping on your slippers, you make your way to the kitchen where Joe is setting out plates of fruit and chocolate chip pancakes with peanut butter. Queen is playing as he moves about the kitchen. You’d think he’d be tired of it by now, but you’re so glad he isn’t.

“What’s all this?” you smirk at him. His head jerks up to meet you, obviously spooked by your silent entrance.

“I figured you would want to have a good breakfast after last night.” Joe says sweetly. He sets down the silverware and makes his way over to you, wrapping his arms around the small of your back and kissing you. You chuckle at him and and peck his cheek again.

“You should really not let me give into my cravings, dork.” you chuckle at him. He sways you gently and says, “Yeah, but how can I not spoil the most beautiful woman in the world? Besides,” he bends down to kiss your midsection. “You’re still eating for two.” You scoff at him jokingly, though, you nod. Joe pulls out the chair for you and pushes you in.

“Hopefully not for too much longer…” you bite the inside of your cheek, not meaning for it to come out so bitter. Joe ushers an “I know.” to you and pours out some water for you.

“How are we feeling this morning, by the way?” he asks. You shrug at him.

“Not bad. Glad I was able to sleep in a bit. Oh- I need to call Dr. Fahmy.” you remember suddenly. You pull out your phone and look up the number, Joe shakes his head.

“I already called this morning. He can take us at 3 today, if that works. That’s the soonest he had.”

“That’s perfect, you’re the best.” you grin. He leans down to kiss you, which you reciprocate happily.

“I know.” he snorts. You laugh in return.

As Joe sits down, he pulls out his phone to check news and social media for any BoRhap fans’ DMs. You do the same, humming to the music playing and sit in a comfortable silence as you both eat. The sound of your silverware and the music in the background are the only sounds in the otherwise peaceful home. To your surprise, Joe actually did quite a good job making breakfast this morning. Nothing was overly burnt or undercooked. You’ve taught him well since moving in together.

After you’ve finished your meals, Joe clears the dishes, despite your complaining that you can do it yourself. Afterward, you both chill out until you need to head down to Fahmy’s office. Joe helps you into the car and comes around.

“Hey, Joe?” you start.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“What’ll happen if… something goes wrong? Like, we lose the baby or something?” you bite your lip nervously. Joe watches you with concern. He starts the car and looks at you assuringly.

“We’ll figure it out. If we do lose her, though, I certainly won’t mind trying again with you.” he winks. You push him and exclaim, “Jesus Christ, Joe!”  You know he was only trying to cheer you up, but damn. Joe pecks your cheek and chuckles.

“Sorry, sorry. But in all seriousness…. Dr. Fahmy is a good doctor. I doubt anything will happen, babe. And I’m going to be with you the whole time, okay?” he squeezes your hand and you nod your head at him.

“Okay.”

At the office, you and Joe sit in uncomfortable anticipation in the waiting room. You are laying your head on his shoulder as he fidgets with his wedding ring. There are other women in the room looking at you both. You don’t know if it’s because your husband is a celebrity or what. Either way, you really wish they’d stop. You pull out your phone to scroll through emails and texts to distract from the staring. Nevertheless, you feel the eyes on you.

A breath of relief escapes as you finally hear the nurse call the two of you back. You check vitals and get seated into the room.

“Dr. Fahmy will see you both in a moment. He’s finishing up with another patient.” the nurse tells you before exiting the room.

Great… more waiting.

“Hang in there, babe. This is gonna be over soon.” Joe soothes you. You lick your lips and sigh.

“I know. I’m just worried."

After about 20 minutes, Dr. Fahmy finally pokes his head in.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Mazzello. How are we doing today?” he asks you. You both exchange pleasantries and go through your vitals.

“So, from what I’m seeing by your last ultrasound, things are going smoothly.” he tells you. It gives you some relief.

“When was your last visit?”

“About a week ago.” Joe speaks up for you.

“Okay, so what I’m going to have you guys do is do a few tests while you’re here. We’re going to do another fetal heart rate monitoring and an amniotic fluid volume assessment. Are you aware of how those work?” he asks. You nod.

“Done it before.”

“Okay, wonderful. I’m going to take you back now if you want.” You nod and get in the wheelchair provided and head into testing rooms. Joe follows close behind.

After the tests, you are brought back to the room you were previously in. You hope the results are good.

After another agonizing passage of time, Dr. Fahmy returns with a clipboard and results attached. You squeeze Joe’s hand as you sit on the observation table. He looks at you assuringly.

“Thank you for your patience, Mr. and Mrs. Mazzello. I’m just reading over your results, everything is pretty normal with the exception of your babies size. She's bigger than most as it is. What we can do from here are a couple of things. First, we can either wait and see what happens- it’s very possible the reason for your post-term pregnancy is just a miscalculation of your last menstrual cycle. However, given your daughter’s size from the ultrasound last week, I may recommend doing a few things to induce labor. Now, we can do this a couple of ways. One is to take a medication to induce contractions. Usually the most common is….”

As he speaks, you’re just in a whirlwind of emotions. You sincerely hope Joe is getting this because you can hardly focus on what is going on due to how tired you are and coming down from the adrenaline of it all. All you can think about is all the “what-if” scenarios raging through your head. What if he’s wrong? What if there are complications during pregnancy? What if, what if, what if…

You look at your husband for support and he lays his head on your shoulder, rubbing your back with his free hand- the one you don’t have in an impossibly constricting death grip.

“...It’s really your call at this point, (y/n), but I wouldn’t wait much longer to make your next appointment.” Dr. Fahmy finishes, pulling you back to your senses. Joe and Dr. Fahmy look at you with anticipation for you answer.

“Uh- I think I’ll wait and see.” you say without thinking. Truthfully, you don’t even know if that was the right thing to do, but it felt right.

“Sounds good, Mrs. Mazzello. I’ll do a follow up with you in a week to see how everything is going. If you do end up going into labor beforehand, please come in immediately.” he tells you.

You head out of the office after checking out. At this point, the sun has already sunk behind the horizon, and stars were out.

“Jesus, how long were we in there…” you groan. Joe checks his phone.

“About 6 hours. Had to do all those tests and wait.”

“Jesus…. Let’s get food and go home.” you whine. Joe chuckles at you and grabs your hand as you walk back to the car.

You end up going out to eat at a vegetarian place Joe found good reviews on yelp for. Though not overly filling, it was deeply satisfying. On your way back home, you and Joe chattered amongst yourselves idly. Once home you both decided to watch a movie until you fall asleep. He let you choose tonight, and you threw on Jurassic Park.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Joe moans. You laugh at him as he plops down next to you.

“It’s what I wanna watch. Look how cute you were!” You point at the TV. Joe rolls his eyes at you, though, he smiles at your compliment.

“I really hope she has your eyes, Joe. And hair. And nose.” you coo. He chuckles at you as you settle in under his arm.

“Honestly, your nose would look wake cuter.” he replies with a grin. He boops your nose which you make a disapproving sound at, earning a laugh. He attacks you with kisses and you giggle and squeal at him. You finally catch him in a sweet, loving kiss and sigh into him. His body completely melts into yours.

After the affection fight dies down, you both turn your attention back to the movie, and Joe explains small pieces of trivia throughout the movie. Even if you’ve heard it all before, you love listening to him talk so passionately about his experience on set of one of the biggest blockbusters out there. It soothes you into drowsiness as you fight to keep your eyelids open. However, you can no longer fight it, and you drift off.

A few days later, you’re up once again. Joe is asleep beside you, snoring lightly. You wish you could just fall asleep, but your hips and back ache terribly. You’ve tried to ignore the pain in your lower body, but it’s all you can think about. Finally you decide, fuck it, and get out of bed for the umpteenth time tonight. You pace around quietly, taking deep breaths to keep yourself calm. You dare not glance at your phone, scared of what time it may be. However, curiosity gets the best of you and you switch on the screen.

3:47 AM. Fuck me gently with a chainsaw…

You grumble to yourself as you make your way into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. You lean against the granite counter, the coldness of the stone sending a shiver up your back. Looking over at the couch, you see your labor pack. It gives you some sense of relief. Just then, your hips contract violently. You grunt from the pain and sigh, counting the time between this one and the next.  About 10 minutes pass before the next contraction. You cock a brow and count again.

8 minutes.

6 minutes.

You take a few swigs of water, downing the bottle

5 minutes.

3 minutes. You make your way to the bedroom again and breathe.

2 minutes.

Oh it’ll be soon...

1 minute, 30 seconds….

Boom.

As if on cue, your water breaks, the fluid dripping down your legs. You probably should’ve woken up Joe already. Suddenly, your contractions become much more painful, you almost cry out. You begin to shake your husband violently.

“Joe, Joe, wake up. It happened. We need to get to the hospital. Joe please.” you ramble.

“Wh- Wha? (y/n). What’s going on?” he yawns, rubbing his face.

“T- The baby- It- She’s coming” Your frantic tone brings Joe to full alert and he is immediately up.

“Well- shit, okay, okay. I’ll get the pack and get the car ready. You okay?” he stammers.

“Do I look like I’m okay?!” You screech as another contraction rips through you. Are they supposed to be this painful? Joe nods in guilt at his question and runs down the hall and gets everything. You look down at your lap.

Is… there supposed to be this much blood?

Finally, Joe comes back to help you up. You cry out as you make your way to the car. Joe reminds you to breathe, which earns an exasperated groan from you. No fucking shit. He doesn’t seem to notice the blood stains on your sheets as you exit the room and make it to the car. Once in, Joe puts on a playlist you both compiled together called “Oh shit, (y/n)’s pregnant.” The first song that plays is Ariana Grande’s “Breathin”. You roll your eyes. Must’ve been one of Joe’s picks. Still it does remind you to breathe.

Luckily, there is almost no one on the road at this hour, so you can make it to the hospital fairly quickly. Though to you, it feels like an agonizing eternity. The whole time, Joe is assuring you that everything will be fine. You somewhat wish he’d just shut up and concentrate on driving, but you do also appreciate that he’s trying his best to be supportive.

The rest is a blur and suddenly you’re on the table, legs in stirrups with nurses telling you want to do. You squeeze Joe’s hand until it’s blue, crying out.

“Please, god give me more painkillers, something, anything!” you scream. The doctors disregard it, telling you you’re doing fine. However, one notices the abnormal amount of blood coming from your core. Your screaming breaks Joe's heart, but he kisses your sweaty temple no less.

“The fetus is in distress and there’s excess bleeding, we’re going to need to do a c-section.” one of the nurses barks.

“We need your permission to do the surgery.” One of the masked nurses looks at you. You bring a hand to your forehead, hair plastered to it, drenched in sweat. You cry out again.

“God, do whatever you need to do, just get her out of me!” you scream. Joe squeezes your hand and kisses your forehead.

“They’re gonna take good care of you. Both of you. I promise.” he assures you. You look at him through teary eyes and nod, choking back a sob.

“I love you.” you manage out between cries. Joe’s heart nearly shatters at your desperate tone.

“I love you too, (y/n). With that, the nurses take your bed into a surgery room, telling Joe to wait there. He clenches his jaw and fists as your writhing form is wheeled away. How could he just wait? He paces anxiously back and forth, scratching the back of his neck raw. He forces himself to lean against the counter and try to calm down. Still, he doesn’t shed a single tear, even while he’s completely alone. Though, a few do prick his eyes. He can’t even try to sit he is so tense. He continues to pace some more, still hoping and praying you’ll be okay. He thinks back to the day you first met in college. How he was in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you. To all those nights you both spent watching movies, the night you began dating, the day you moved in together… the night he asked you to marry him…. God you were so beautiful that day. You were always smiling in front of him, even on your worst days. Seeing the fear in your eyes when you went into surgery was enough to completely destroy him.

Please…. Please be okay.

At some point, he is told to vacate for one reason or another, so he goes into the waiting room. Still unable to sit down, he paces around the main area of the hospital. His mind is reeling, but he can’t exactly make out any thoughts. Just your name over and over again.

After an eternity, a woman calls over the intercom, “Joseph Mazzello to suite 531. Joseph Mazzello to suite 531.” Joe looks up from the floor and out the window. At this point, the sun is rising. He is exhausted from the night’s anxiety, as is evident from the dark bags under his eyes and dry mouth. Nevertheless, he rushes back to the suite.

“Joseph?” the nurse asks as he walks in.

“Is everything okay? Please tell me she’s okay.” he begs. The nurse bites her lip and opens the door for him.

“Come this way please.” is all she says. Joe’s eyes widen at her reaction.

“Is- is my wife okay!? Please, god, tell me she’s okay.” The nurse doesn’t reply, but her silence confirms complications. Dr. Fahmy is at the door with a solemn look. Joe’s heart is racing at this point.

“What’s going on? The nurse won’t tell me anything.” Joe pleads. Dr. Fahmy lays a hand on Joe’s shoulder.

“Your daughter was born, very healthy, but very large. The surgeons were able to get her out safely, but... “ Dr. Fahmy stops. Joe stood mouth agape, shaking violently.

“But WHAT?”

“There were several complications during surgery. I will spare details. I’m…. so sorry.

Joe’s entire world crashes around him as he stares blankly at the doctor. Fahmy licks his lips and clears his throat.

“Your daughter is currently in the nursery getting cleaned up and ready to take home. In the meantime, I will let you say your goodbyes.” he steps aside to allow Joe to enter. He walks in wordlessly. The air has a thickness to it and the silence bears heavily down on Joe, and he almost feels sick looking upon your corpse.Your form lays limp on the bed under a white sheet. Joe creeps over slowly to the bed and brings the sheet down just under your collarbone. Your eyes are shut with a bandage around your jaw, your cheeks are pale with streaks of tears still on them. Your hair is wild and drenched with leftover sweat. Nausea builds in his stomach as he looks over your lifeless structure. Somehow, despite your unruly look, you still remain absolutely peaceful- as if you were simply sleeping. Joe takes your hand out from under the sheet and holds it to his heart. His body is heavy. He brushes a shaky kiss on your knuckles, your hand still warm, even with the coldness of the hospital.

He lets go of it and it falls limply back down. This is the point that breaks him. Tears well up and fall like a dam breaking. Tears gush down his cheeks and-

He laughs.

He cackles maniacally as tears gush down his face. It’s just some sick joke. That’s all this is. Right? You’ll wake up any minute and say “ha ha, fooled you.” and you’d laugh about this in years to come when you tell the story.

No, no you’re gone, And as reality sets in, Joe collapses onto your stomach, choking out “I’m sorries” and “Oh, god, Oh (y/n)s” He snivels and clenches the sheets on the other side of your body, crying out, shaking violently. At some point, he gets up and desperately kisses your lips, praying that maybe you’d kiss back, but they’re cold, and you’re not coming back. He knows he doesn’t have a lot more time with you, so he just…. Talks to you.

“(y/n), I’m so sorry. I didn’t know this is what would happen.” he chokes out. “God, you’re such an amazing person, and I don’t know what I’m going to do without you… You’re my best friend- my soulmate- my everything.” he snivels. “I- I promise. I’m gonna be the best dad ever. You’re going to… to look down on us and say “wow. My… my husband and daughter are great together. What a team.” And… and we’re gonna make you proud. And she’s gonna grow up to be just the most amazing woman you’ve ever seen. And she’s…. She’s gonna make you proud.” Joe looks at your face one more time, new tears welling up in his eyes as he strokes your cooling cheek.

“You know...? I think you and my dad are gonna get along so well. He’s gonna.... he’s gonna love you. God, (y/n), I love you so much. I’m sorry…” he dissolves back into soft sobs, still hugging you close.

A few moments later, a nurse opens the door carefully. Joe shoots up and immediately wipes his tears, attempting to look as if he wasn’t just a mess a few minutes prior.

“Your… baby is ready for you if you’d like to see her.” the nurse speaks quietly. Joe looks at him, still shaking but nods. He looks at your face once more, giving your cheek a stroke and a kiss.

“I love you.” he says again before walking out with the nurse, leaving you in the darkness. The nurse attempts to make some conversation, likely unable to take the thick silence.

“So… do you have a name picked out?” he asks.

“Yeah, uh yeah we do… did? Yeah, she has a name.” Joe licks his lips, trying not to cry again.

“It’s gonna be okay, Mr. Mazzello. We’ll get things straightened out. We’ll call your home in a few days about an attorney.”

“Thanks.”

“No worries. Well, uhm. While I grab her, if you could fill out the papers, we can getchya out of here much faster.” he says awkwardly. Joe takes the papers from the nurse and files into another room to work. As he finishes the last of it, the nurse returns with baby in hand. Joe looks up at him blankly.

“Here she is. Little baby…” he trails off. Joe clears his throat.

“Josephine. Josephine is her name.” he replies

“Well now, say hi to your daddy, Ms. Josephine.” the nurse coos. Joe takes the infant in his hands and new tears well up in his eyes. She is a spitting image of you, with the exception of sharing his hair and eyes. Otherwise, it's you through and through. Joe stares at her in awe and holds her tightly to his chest.

“Could you… uhm. Give us a minute.” Joe says. The nurse nods and heads out. Joe turns Josephine over and she coos at him, much calmer that what she probably was before.

“Okay… Josephine Francis Mazzello…” he says. She smiles at him and attempts to make grabby hands at him. He smiles weakly at the baby girl.

“You’re pretty cute, you know that? Almost as cute as your mommy is.” he jokes. The mention of you sends an ache to his chest as he deflated slightly.

“... was. Right, you’re not gonna get to meet her.” he sighs. Josephine looks at him with confusion.

“It’s okay. You’re gonna get to know her through stories and photos. I have a million for you! Yes, I do!” he tells her, bouncing her very gently.

“We’re gonna make her proud,” he gives her a chaste kiss on the forehead. She giggles and grabs his face on either side of his cheeks, earning a smile from Joe.

“I promise.”

Taglist:

@littlemisscaptainfandom | @jiswoogannon

[trndsttr0961]

Rogue - Chapter One

Bend and extend.

Rise and jump.

Turn.

Turn.

Turn.

Bow.

“очередной раз!“ She instructed

Again

And so we did. Again and again. it was always the same thing. I began to lose track of the time, had it been minutes? hours? days?

I didn’t know anymore.

If you made a single mistake, it would earn you a swift hit from her cane to the leg, causing you to crumple to the ground. In order to avoid torture and possible death, you had to get back up and complete the rest of the routine without falling back down. Only I have been able to fulfill her requirements when it came to getting back up and completing the steps. Me and a certain redhead.

There was a strict schedule she had us follow.

Everyday, wake up at precisely 4 am.

Eat breakfast.

Dance.

Dance.

Dance.

Dance.

Combat.

Sparring.

One Death.

Studies.

Bed.

Repeat.

I lived for four years on one meal a day, being a Stark, I questioned it.

But I quickly learned to never question Madame B.

~ Flashback ~

2006

“There will be one meal a day, every day. For those of you with luxurious lives, this will be a drastic transition for you. It will be hard. You will struggle. You will fight for your lives, and some of you will lose. Unfortunately, only three of you will graduate and be selected for the KGB program. I will not tolerate any disrespect. Remember, it is a great honor to be here. We have hand selected you for the Red Room, and one day three of you will become soldiers of the KGB. After you complete your training, you will know how to lure foolish men and women into your webs. You will be able to use your skills of deception to steal priceless artifacts from even the most encrypted safes. You will be able to kill without so much as a flinch, it will become a second nature for you. You will be Hustlers. Assassins. Thieves. But most importantly, you will be Widows. Black Widows.” She instructed us in her near perfect English.

“Madame, why do we only get one meal a day? How are our bodies getting the nutrients and vitamins they need to function, much less train for twelve hours a day?” I asked her once she had finished.

The moment her dark pitch black eyes locked with mine, I felt a chill run down my spine and I somehow knew that I had already done something wrong.

“Let Miss Stark be an example to you all; never question your superiors in the Red Room, KGB, or HYDRA. Ever.

As soon as she’d finished speaking, I felt two pairs of cold arms encircle around mine and drag me out of the room and down into a dark, cold, cellar.

“NO! PLEASE DON’T HURT ME I’M BEGGING YOU! PLEASE, LET ME GO! HELP! I’M SORRY, PLEASE DON’T- ” I was soon cut off by my body being thrown down the dark stairs.

As soon as my back hit the floor, the dark figures grabbed me once again and pushed my face into a metal pole. They cuffed my hands in front of me, and I could make out the faint red nail polish chipping off. I decided to focus on that instead of the pain that I was sure to endure.

“мы должны ждать мадам б?”

“береженого Бог бережет,”

Should we wait for Madame B.?

Better safe than sorry.

This proceeded with them ripping the back of my shirt open, with my back facing them. I could hear them opening a case or crate, but I didn’t know what. 

Then I felt it.

The cold, barbed teeth of a whip sliding gently (so far) across the skin on my back.

I began to whimper and plead once more, which lead to a smack to the back of my head, causing it to harshly bang against the pole.

I could soon hear the clicks of a woman’s heels as she walked slowly down the steps. I could make out her speaking Russian to her henchmen through my heavy and loud sobs. 

“Please, please don’t- ” I started.

“Here’s what’s going to happen Octavia dear, you’re going to count the number of lashes out loud. If you lose track or do not satisfy me with your performance, then you will start from the beginning. Do you understand.

“No, please I beg you! I won’t do it again I promise, please just don’t hurt me!” I pleaded, tears streaming down my face.

“сосчитать.” 

Count.

And so I did. I counted. I never once stopped or stalled, I just did it. That’s when I first got a taste of real pain. Physical pain, and trust me, being whipped on your bare back is not fun. At. All.

After my first (and only) whipping, I passed out and woke up chained to a metal bed post inside a cold, damp room with no windows and one thin blanket to cover myself with at night. I first discovered I was chained when I tried to get up and lay on my stomach instead of my wounded and bloody back. I moaned in pain and struggled in vain to sit up and turn over. Unfortunately, my current predicament with the chain was not helping at all. That’s when I noticed that there were other girls in the room as well, all with one wrist chained to the bed. 

All but one.

She was staring straight at me, with piercing emerald green eyes; scrutinizing my every move. She had her chain laying on the bed next to her, along with a tiny bobby pin she must’ve snuck past the Red Room’s security. 

“Hi,” I grinned, masking my pain.

“Hello.” She faintly said back with a slight accent. 

“I’m Octavia, but you can call me ‘O’.

“I’m Natasha. You can call me Nat.” She smiled back with those ruby red lips.

~ Flashback Over ~

2014

678 confirmed kills.

87 successful cons.

14 flawless heists.

12 years.

She was arguably the best agent the KGB had, some might say she’s even more prominent than the Black Widow herself. After all, she certainly could take the Widow down. She was equipped to handle any “situation” the KGB had in any way possible.

To the rest of the world, she was known as no more than a shadow; a ghost.

Her face had never been seen by someone who had lived to tell the tale, the story goes. She was something like a femme fatale; no one knew of her affiliation with HYDRA. Or Abraham Erskine. Or even the Red Room and KGB.  And especially not her father, Tony Stark.

Ever since her infamous Kremlin Heist of 2010, she became somewhat of a hot topic with the rest of the world. This heist where all of the Kremlin’s billions upon billions of dollars mysteriously disappeared and numerous organizations focused towards helping youths lead a healthy and full life as well as many hospitals were donated a generous 500 grand the next day gained a lot of publicity on Social Media. Somehow, #Rogue became a trend on Instagram, Twitter, and FaceBook.

Unfortunately with fame comes paparazzi, and paparazzi for her just so happened to be the Agents of S.H.E.I.L.D.

Of course, being the expert ex-KGB agent she is, Rogue was able to avoid most S.H.E.I.L.D. agents, with the exception of her ex “classmate”, the Black Widow.

This is why she was currently in a standoff with Natasha Romanov on the rooftop of an orphanage in Washington D.C.

~ Rogue’s POV ~

“Rogue.”

“Widow.”

We stared blankly at each other for a moment before I finally broke the silence.

“So what brings you here, Widow?” I asked in an icy tone.

“Rogue, we need your help. Something’s happened. We need you. I need you.” She persisted.

“Natasha, I needed you four years ago. Why should I help you now?”

“Please, Octavia. I need you, Fury- Fury’s dead.

“Oh Natasha...” I trailed off, noticing her wipe away a stray tear from her eye.

“Please, I- I don’t know what to do anymore! Someone killed him, and he was like a mentor to me, he was like a father to me,” I visibly winced at the word father. She looked up. “We found a flash drive, and we can’t hack into it. You’re the best hacker I know, and this file could tell us why they killed Fury.” Natasha presses.

“I don’t know Natasha, I can’t just forget about what S.H.E.I.L.D’s done to me, to my mother. I’m sorry.” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“Octavia, this isn’t just about me and you, or even you and your mother. This is about the rest of the world! We can’t do this without you, now are you going to be selfish and let the rest of the world suffer because of your stubbornness!

“I’m going to regret this.”

“Octavia, please- ”

“Where’s the fire?”

A familiar smile graced her ruby red lips.

[huntertales]

Part One: Looking In All The Wrong Places. (Goodbye Stranger S08E17)

Episode Summary: After a few months of silence, Castiel reappears in the reader and Winchesters' lives telling them Crowley has unleashed several demons into a small town to search for Lucifer's Crypt, which hold a valuable asset. While interrogating a demon, the four of them have been torturing Meg, who knows the exact location of the Crypt the king of hell is after. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 6,077.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

You and the boys had been calling the Men of Letters bunker your home for the past few months now and slowly reinventing it your own. There was still so much you needed to do in order to declutter and figure out what you had on your hands after the past owners mysteriously abandoned the place. You stumbled up plenty of objects and weapons you’ve never seen before. Instead of putting them back into storage and forgetting about them all together, you decided to go through them and see if they might be useful to you on a future hunt...if you knew exactly the weapons you were looking at.

You were told by one of the last remaining Men of Letters that their bunker was home to every supernatural artifact collected over thousands of years. You had a feeling a few of them would be rolling around in their graves if they saw all of their precious and priceless cargo collected over the past several hundred years was reduced to their boxes being stacked up on top of one another in the library,  hopefully not scuffing up their wooden floors. You were particularly fond of them, it’d be a shame if they got ruined because of this.

The brothers were the ones who pulled all of this stuff out after you discovered it while searching through the bunker, wondering what kind of rooms other rooms they built during their stay here. It was the perfect hideout layer for a hunter. You had a fully furnished kitchen to make actual meals and enjoy them. A shooting range if you wanted to practice your aim and a gym you used a few times to remind Dean that, while you were pregnant, you could still kick his ass if provoked. There was even an infirmary and morgue, luckily no dead bodies were found. And so many other rooms you felt like you haven't even touched yet. This place still managed to make you feel like you hit the jackpot on having the best home ever.

You and Dean had been going through the boxes for the past hour, not finding much of anything interesting to catch his attention while you had been at awe with everything. You felt like a little kid at Christmas from all the artifacts and history you were going to learn about these old things. Dean pushed back the top to another wooden crate he found and pulled out something peculiar that caught his eye. It appeared to be a weapon of some kind that was ancient for sure, but what it was and why the Men of Letters had it didn’t interest him.

“What the hell is this?” He muttered to himself, discovering a rectangular box that held a spear from the looks of it. He shifted around the box and found a small title card telling him what this thing was supposed to be. “Spear of Destiny? What is this—God’s toothpick? You know, would it have killed these asshats to label these boxes in something other than hieroglyphics? It's ridiculous."

“Already one step ahead of you.” You made your way around the pile of boxes with your phone to take pictures of the wording on the side of the box after placing post-it notes labeled with a number to give you a system to work with. Dean watched as you intently worked on taking the picture after labeling another box with a number, a quiet chuckle escaping his throat at the sight of you so diligent to get this for. You rolled your eyes from his reaction. "What? We need to know if these things are spell protected. And what all of these artifacts used for.”

“‘Artifacts’? Please. This is a bunch of junk at the most.” Dean said. He put back the next object he’d been observing in search for another that might be the slightest more interesting from the last one he observed. He watched you work for another few moments, your face full of concentration on what you were doing. “Let me guess, this is your kind of fun. Stuck with a bunch of dusty knick knacks and hours of research ahead for you. And here I thought Sam was the biggest nerd between the two of you.”

"Yeah, well, this nerd somehow saved your ass a few times. I might have not got a lot of action in my life, but I did get myself pregnant with this really handsome, but not all there in the head guy.” You teased him, smiling when you caught his reaction at your comeback. Dean reached for another priceless artifact that appeared to be a red and gold Faberge egg. You rolled your eyes when he made the mistake of opening it up and taking a whiff, only to flinch at the dusty odor. "It won't hurt us to see what we got on our hands. And get some kind of filing system down of our own. See what we’re working with and if we could use in the future. After all, our kid’s gonna inherit this stuff.”

“That’s you and Sam’s job. Right?” Dean asked his brother, expecting to hear a response that sounded like he was the least bit excited for the tedious work ahead for you and him. All Dean got back as a response was silence. When he was left hanging without an answer, Dean looked over to see the younger man was engrossed with his laptop, too caught up in his typing for at least some kind of verbal answer. "Hey. You listening to me?"

Sam looked up from his laptop at the sound of his brother's aggravated tone of voice from being ignored. "Yeah." He agreed to whatever it was that the man was talking about, hearing snippets of the conversation while he worked to not have a clue. "You should probably write it all down in your journal for the archives, you know?"

"Yeah, thanks." Dean muttered underneath his breath. "You're a lot of help."

You worked for another minute of labeling boxes and taking pictures to help ease your workload when you had to stop for a minute. You felt yourself coughing a few times from a sudden tickle in your throat. Thinking that it was done, you tried to go back to what you were doing, but it started back up again. Even worse than before. You felt yourself suddenly having a coughing fit that wouldn't stop. You made your way down the steps and to the table where Sam was sitting, grabbing a tissue when you felt something come out from your throat. You covered your mouth before it could escape and make a slight mess.

"Hey, little Miss. Tuberculosis," Dean called out to you when he noticed you were starting to sound pretty serious that made him grow a bit concerned. "You all right over there?"

When you felt yourself under control once more, you pulled the tissue away from your mouth to examine what you caught, expecting it to be nothing more than saliva or phlegm. Sam looked away from his laptop and to you when he heard the coughing fit that sounded like it took a bit out on you. While you appeared to be calm, you felt a rush of anxiety come over you at what you saw in the middle of the once stark white tissue—blood. Little droplets of red. You crumbled up the tissue and threw it into the trash, pretending like what just happened was nothing more than you having a coughing fit. Your lungs had a strange burning ache when you tried to take a deep breath before speaking.

"Yeah. I'm fine." You reassured the boys. "I just think I'm coming down with something."

Dean took your word for it, deciding to continue on going through the boxes to see what else he could find while you decided to take a break and a quick drink to help your throat. Most of the things he found was junk had no use for and would eventually end up forgetting about. He pulled out a folder from one of the boxes and discovered something that was worthwhile all of dragging out these boxes from storage. Dean hit the jackpot—retro porn.

Before “Busty Asian Beauties” there was a little magazine called "Voluptuous Asian Lovelies." Dean couldn't help himself when he started to flip through the magazine to see what kind of lovely women posed for back in the day. He felt a smirk slowly starting to spread across his lips at all the seductive faces.

"These Men of Letters weren't so boring after all." Dean said. He decided it would be wrong if he kept this find to himself when he headed over to you and his brother to tell you what he found, thinking you were going to be excited as he was. "Hey, check this out."

"What do you have?" You asked out of curiosity, thinking he had something actually important to show you. When you saw the cover of the old magazine he was holding his hand, you scoffed and rolled your eyes. You should have known better than to believe it wasn't going to be about something perverted. A room full of historical and priceless artifacts verses scantily clad women were no match for him. "What is wrong with you, Dean?"

"What is wrong with me? You kidding me? This is a first edition, sweetheart." Dean said. You leaned back in your seat and raised your brow, wondering why you should care about that fact. "You know what this would go for on eBay?"

"No. Why?" You asked. "Do you?"

Dean looked up from the magazine when you asked him a question, breaking his concentration away from the pretty ladies. You crossed your arms over your chest and have him a curious look as to what his response was going to be. He smiled slightly, as if he was trying to lie. "No. Maybe." Dean responded. You nodded your head slowly, biting your bottom lip to keep yourself from laughing at how terrible he was lying. And how caught he was. You didn't care, you just thought how adorable he got when he was embarrassed. "Shut up."

"Never gonna happen." You said, reaching for the other half of Sam's untouched sandwich he'd been ignoring for the past ten minutes while Dean pulled out a seat for himself. "Did you find anything interesting for us, Sammy?”

“I did, yeah—dead bodies showing up all over the midwest last week. Benton, Indiana; Downers Grove, Illinois; Novi, Michigan; and then again last night in Lincoln Springs, Missouri.” Sam said, listing off a few cities that didn't seem like they were anything special. Dean wondered why all of these cities were connected in your kind of way. "Because each of the victims had severe burns around their eyes, hands, and feet, puncture wounds through the backs of their hands, eyes and internal organs liquefied."

Dean smacked his lips and nodded his head, knowing well enough that it was the right amount of crazy to catch his attention. “That sounds like us.”

"Yeah. Also, no link between any of the victims.” Sam said, as if you needed more information to get you interested in the case. “Uh, one was a real-estate agent. Another was a local historian. Woman killed last night was a teacher.”

“So, chupacabra.” Dean sarcastically guessed what might to be blamed for all of this. "So what do we got? Power tools got rogue? Wait—are we talking a 'Maximum Overdrive' situation here?"

“I don’t know.” Sam admitted. “Worth a shot, though.”

“Sounds like it’s gonna be a fun one. I'll grab my gear. We should probably leave in five. And you might want to make another sandwich for the road, Sammy." You said between the last bite of the sandwich before swallowing it down. Sam only noticed now that you had polished off his lunch when you mentioned it, you gave him a smile at how annoyed he look. You got up from your seat and grabbed the plate, Dean continued to sit where he was with his full concentration on the magazine. “Unless of course, someone needs more time with Miss October.”

“What?” Dean asked, not sure what the conversation topic was anymore with his complete and total concentration on the magazine. He noticed you standing up with a hand on your hip, giving him a playful dirty look at what he was doing. "Yeah. Make it ten."

“You’re such a pervert.” You told him, knowing it was nothing new. It was part of Dean's charm that you enjoyed when the moment called for it, and grew to get annoying at times if you had to be honest. You smiled and walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and leaning down to give him a quick peck on the lips. “Good thing you’re cute, lover boy.”

The both of you smiled at one another before you headed off to pack a bag for the next few days and gather the supplies you might need. Dean flipped through a few pages before he decided he should get started on packing as well. He threw the magazine to the table and leaned in his chair to get himself back up to his feet. In doing so, his gaze casually glanced over the trash can. noticing crumpled up pieces of paper and notes written over the past few days. Dean found his attention focused on something that stood out like a sore thumb.

“Hey, Sammy.” Dean called out to his brother. The younger man was passing by and heading to his bedroom, only to be stopped for a strange sounding question that seemed like it came out of nowhere. "You get a bloody nose or something today? Paper cut?"

"No." Sam said. He made his way back to his brother, wondering what the questions were prompted by. When he noticed Dean was still holding the trash can, he peered down to see what he was staring at. Sam spotted a crumpled up tissue on the top of the papers, with something suspicious on it. "Wait. Is that—"

"Blood? Yeah." Dean muttered the response he didn't want to say out loud, because it meant what he'd been staring at for the past few seconds was real. He dropped the trash can back to the ground and let out a heavy sigh, knowing it came from you. Back when you had that coughing fit that wasn't the start of a cold. "Something's going on with Y/N. I know there is."

"It could be nothing. I mean, she's been coughing pretty badly over the past few days. She could be coming down with something. Maybe she cut her lip." Sam tried to suggest a possibility to help ease the worry he could tell was starting to come over his brother from what he saw. It didn’t. "Don't you think if she was feeling off she'd tell us?"

"Would you if you were in her situation?" Dean questioned his brother, knowing well enough what his response was going to be after he fell silent. If Sam was the one who was doing the trials and coughed up a little bit of blood he'd say nothing about it. Because that's how all of you functioned. You ignored a problem until you were near the edge of death, or...well, dead. "I knew this entire thing was a bad idea. She's been acting all sorts of weird lately."

"Yeah. That’s kind of what’s to be expected with everything going on lately. And besides, she seems to be acting fine since we got back. Maybe all she needs is a little time alone." Sam said. "Besides, if there was something serious going on she'd tell us. She's reckless, but she'd never do anything to put the baby in danger like that. I mean, after all, that's the reason why she's doing the trials in the first place."

You had been acting a bit more normal lately after you disappeared for a few when all of you got home from the drive back. Dean tried asking you where you went, you reassured him that you just needed some time to think. You were okay. Dean wasn't convinced that a little self therapy could solve the deep rooted issues that had been plaguing you for months. And seeing the bloody tissue made him feel even worse about this entire situation. It wasn't the first time you put on a happy face and said everything was okay, only in the end you were doing your best to tame the inner beast inside of you from coming out. And even that you couldn't do all the time.

Something was going on with you, and he needed to get to the bottom of it before it was too late. He wanted to confront you about the bloody tissue and figure out what caused it, even though he had his suspicions. But Dean knew that if he got too over the top you'd shut him out. Every part of hm was trying to remain calm about the situation. He decided the only thing he could do was sit back and keep a better eye on you, waiting for any kind of unusual behavior to pull the plug on this whole operation. Dean knew how much doing these trials meant to you, they were the chance at giving your child a better future all of you never had. But he couldn't do it at the expense of your own health—and the baby's as well.

+ + +

The next morning you and the boys were in Missouri, speaking to the widower of your latest victim to have died under suspicious circumstances that lead you here in the first place. Mr. Morton still seemed broken up about the unexpected passing of his wife, which made him willing answering any sort of questions the FBI might need answered. Anything to figure out what might have caused his wife to go out the way she did. Sam lead with the questions while you and Dean casually let your eyes roam around the home, trying to find anything that might explain what lead to the death of Ann.

“We just have a few routine follow-up questions about your wife, sir.” Sam said. Mr. Morton nodded his head in complaisance. “Did she have any enemies?”

“Ann? Honestly, I can’t think of a soul who’d want to hurt her, even after everything that happened.” Mr. Morton said. You found what he lead with a bit curious. You repeat back what he said to you, wondering exactly what he meant by that. "About a week ago, something changed in Ann. She was out of sorts, not herself at all.”

Personality changes was always a red flag for you, it meant the person Ann was and who her husband married might not be exactly who he remembered. Either she had someone riding around in her skin controlling her every action, or you were dealing with an invasion of the body snatchers here. “Out of sorts how?” Sam asked the man.

“It’d be better if I show you.” Mr. Morton said. You and the boys followed him down to the basement to what he found that was the first thing telling him something was wrong with the woman he loved. "She stopped sleeping. She stopped eating. She went out in the middle of the night, going God knows where. I tried to talk to her, but...she would just mutter to herself."

At first the basement looked like any other one you been in; old junk stored away, tools neatly put away for when the couple might need them, bikes hanging up. There was no indication that Ann was secretly a serial killer or keeping a prisoner, but she was up to something. You noticed a scale model of the town on full display, something that had to have taken someone a very long time to complete. If you cut out sleeping and her day job, it would give her endless amount of time to create an exact replica. You bent down to inspect the craftsmanship, Ann went as far to add little people to make it more realistic. It was unsure if she did this on her own, or the person pretending to be here did.

The most troublesome thing you noticed wasn't the model township she did in her free time, but the little bags of dirt that were hanging from the ceiling. You reached out to grab one of the little baggies, pushing on the contents to wonder what it was. Guessing from how it felt, it was dirt You heard of people collecting a small amount of sand from beaches they went to, collecting dirt was a strange habit that wasn't normal. You let the bag of dirt go, causing it to swing slightly in the air. You directed your attention back to Mr. Morton, wondering what Ann muttered to herself.

“Something about an orchard? Finally, I just followed her one night, and she went to the playground. Over here—the elementary school.” Mr. Morton pointed to a spot on the map where you spotted a little playground with trees and people, even toy cars as well. “And she started digging. She would leave with these little bags full of dirt. Hung them here. All these bags represent holes that she dug in the ground.”

“Were these holes, I don’t know,” Dean took a wild guess of how Ann worked and how far she went to find something from digging. "Six feet deep?"

“No. She dug for hours. She never broke a sweat. Straight down ten, maybe fifteen feet.

"Did you notice anything else?" You asked, hopeful there was more evidence to shine a light on the woman's odd behavior.

Mr. Morton fell silent from your question. Your expression softened from the thought that came to his mind, something that sounded like it would come from a crazy person. You didn't need to say anything for him to hesitate. Every little bit of information helped figure out what happened to his wife. All it took was a nod of reassurance that you wouldn't judge him for what was about to come out of his mouth.

“I didn’t say anything to the cops ‘cause I didn’t want them to think I was crazy.” Mr. Morton admitted. “After Ann came home, I came down here to confront her, and she was on the phone.”

“Any idea who she was talking to?” Dean asked.

“No. But I know what I saw. And it wasn't my Annie. After I called her out, her eyes...they turned black." Mr. Morton told you something that sounded like it was a trick of the mind. You and the boys knew that it was a direction into what was going on here. You felt your jaw tightening from the thought of having to deal with demons. "Now, I know I must have imagined it. I know I did. But I left. I went to the bar, probably had too much to drink, and by the time I came back...my Annie was…”

Mr. Morton let out a heavy sigh, not needing to say about what happened to his wife. It was the reason why the three of you were here in the first place. It meant while he was gone someone was already onto what Ann was, broke into the house and did your job for you. "I should have stayed. I should have protected her.” Mr. Morton mumbled, feeling guilty for all what he could have done to save his wife. “I’m moving into my sister’s place today. I can’t be here anymore.”

"Sure. Too many memories." You said, nodding your head at what the man was feeling at the moment. You gave him a sympathetic smile from the unexpected loss he was going through, and the list of unanswered questions he would be burdened with for the rest of his life. "Thank you very much for your time. We're all very sorry for your loss."

You and the boys excused yourselves out after saying a formal goodbye to Mr. Morton. You had an idea from what was going on here. And you weren’t sure how to feel about it. Demons were always a pain in your ass with their sketchy plans to complete some sort of project their king wanted done without having to get his hands dirty in the first place. Crowley had been quiet for a few months now after you busted his plan of torturing that poor angel. After you murdered his pet you knew it a matter of time until you came face to face with him again. The question was what him and his goons were doing, and how someone was killing them.

For some reason that little detail was bothering you the most. You followed behind the boys out of the house and to the Impala parked on the sidewalk, just a few feet away. You placed a hand on your chest from the burning feeling slowly creep into your chest. You presumed it was just heartburn, one of the many fun things about pregnancy. You had it a few times before, but it never quite reached your lungs like it had yesterday. You made your way down the steps, taking in a deep breath to compose yourself after the pain passed by.

“So, somebody’s killing demons. Well, that is awesome.” Dean said. He sounded a little too enthusiastic about hearing the news that shouldn't be possible for hunters. There were only two weapons for someone to kill demons from what you knew. And one of them was always in you and the boys’ possession. Dean didn't seem to linger on the details, he was just happy someone was helping carry the load. "I feel like we should send a card or flowers. What kind of flower says 'Thanks for killing demons'?"

“Yeah, but who’s killing demons? And why?” Sam asked, sounding confused as you were from what was going on here. Demons were the type of monster who liked to possess people and get their hands dirty by torturing and killing to get what they wanted. Not in the sense of getting down on their knees to dig for something. "And, by the way, since when does a demon possesses someone, then go all 'Beautiful Mind' and digging in the dirt? Does any of this seem right to you guys?”

"I like the part about killing demons." Dean said, giving no help. "That sounds right."

You rolled your eyes from the lack of help he could give on the insight of the case and what you might be trying to stop here. You opened up the backseat door and slipped yourself inside, knowing there was still one more lead you had to chase along with a few phone calls you needed to make on the way to the next house on your list.

Sure, it was nice someone was going out of their way to take down demons. It made your job a little easier from the number of possible enemies working on this little project of theirs. That part really wasn’t bothering you. It was how they were going upon it and icing off demons that was making you feel saying thank you to the person helping. You had a feeling it wasn't a hunter who was taking down the common enemy the both of you shared.

+ + +

On the drive to the next house, you made a phone call to another victim's spouse to see what she could tell you about her husband's sudden passing and if she had to say the same as Ann's husband did. You listened to what she had to say, jotting down notes about the same behavior Ann had inhibited before her passing. When you felt the Impala slowly coming to a stop, you looked out the backseat window to see that the three of you arrived at your next destination. You tucked away your small notepad into your jacket pocket and blazer's pocket and opened up the door with your free hand, all while finishing up your conversation.

"Of course. Well, thank you very much for all your help. I really appreciate the time. Alright. Goodbye." You ended the phone call, slamming the backseat door with your hip and stepped onto the sidewalk to join the boys and tell them what you found. "So, the real-estate guy's wife said he was acting weird. Historian's hubby said the same—just got all obsessive and weird. No one saw any black eyes, but still, where there’s smoke, you know…”

"I wonder what they're all looking for." Sam said. You shrugged your shoulders from the lack of any lead you had going for you and the boys, heading up the porch steps and to the front door.

“Well, Wendy Rice here was the last person to speak with Ann so let’s see if she can tell us.” Dean said.

Sam knocked on the door as you pulled out your badge from your pocket, making sure it ready when you saw it open a few moments later. You saw a woman who looked to be in the middle of getting ready from the curlers in her hair answer the door, only to be bombarded with three badges to greet her. "Special Agent Lynne." Sam introduced himself to Wendy, along with his brother and then yourself. "These are my partners Special Agent Tandy and Special Agent Koerner. We'd like to ask you a few questions about Ann Morton."

"Oh. Uh, uh, uh, of course. Please come in." Wendy nervously chuckled at the sight of two handsome faces on her front porch, when she wasn't the least prepared to look her best. She smiled and softly played with her curlers to make sure they were in place before welcoming you into her home. She ushered you to take a seat in her living room and came back with four cups of coffee to discuss the reason why all of you were here in the first place. "I had never met her before she called the other night.”

“Now,” Sam smiled at the woman when she handed him a cup of coffee, asking her a question that might lead you one step further into what was going on. “Why was she calling you?”

“She was looking to find an original map of the city.” Wendy said.

“Did she say what for?” Sam asked in hopes for more specific information.

“Well, she didn’t, but she did mention an old orchard that had gone missing.” Wendy went on. You raised your brow slightly from what she said, wondering what caused it to disappear in the first place. “This town was wiped from the earth by one of the river’s hundred year floods. It was rebuilt. But all of the original records were lost. I’m—I’m a PhD candidate.”

Wendy nervously chuckled once again as she played with her curlers. You sat on the love seat next to hers, knowing well enough the school girl giggles was because of how accomplished she sounded to the boys, who she was facing while the conversation went on. You subtly rolled your eyes. Wendy got up from her seat to grab a binder from her desk to show all of you what Ann had searched out for. You put down your cup and scooched out of your chair to inspect the detailed map Wendy had created and laid over the coffee table.

"And this is my research. My dissertation is on the history of this town and its connection to the underground railroad and whatnot.” Wendy went on, smiling at her accomplishments she got to brag about. She pointed a finger at the stop in which Ann was talking about. “I've been working to re-create a map for years as part of my research, and this is the old Jakubiak orchard there. I found out yesterday it’s where Downey meets Bond street.”

“Now, did Ann say why she was looking for the site of an old orchard?” Sam asked the woman.

"No. We set a time to meet, and she never showed. Then I read about her in the paper. It's just tragic." Wendy said, falling silent for a moment from the unexpected turn of events she never saw coming. "Ann's assistant called this morning, though, asking if I still had the map."

You and the boys exchanged a glance from hearing about this assistant that Mr. Morton never mentioned, and found a little odd of why Ann would have one in the first place, considering she was just a high school history teacher. All of you got up to your feet and followed behind Wendy when she answered the door, revealing this so called assistant. You were expecting one person to pick up the map, not three men to do a simple job.

If you already had your suspicion any of them being Ann's so called assistant, you were proven right when they showed themselves for what they truly when you saw three pairs of inky black eyes in your direction. You had beaten them to what they wanted. But it seemed nothing was going to stop them from getting what they came here for.

One of the demons grabbed a hold of Wendy and threw her across the room as if she was nothing, knowing she was no more than a bystander in the fight that was about to break out. If it was a fight they wanted, it was one they were going to get. You thought you were still more than capable of defending yourself against anyone who wanted to pick a fight with you, even in your condition. You were waiting until a demon crossed your path again. While the brothers were drawn into a fight, there was still one that was unaccounted for.

You saw the third one trying to grab the map from the floor, where an unconscious Wendy laid. You managed to beat him to the piece of paper before he could get his grubby hands on it. While you were ready to do anything you needed to make sure it stayed that way, you didn't take into consideration he wasn't going to go down without a fight. And the knife that could kill him was currently in Dean's hands. You felt a sudden rush of pain in your face from the punch the demon threw, making you stumble back slightly. Any other day you would have been able to defend yourself in a fight, but for some reason you were off your game today.

You felt the map slip out of your hand when a grip around your throat came out of nowhere, cutting off the supply of oxygen that you needed to breathe. Normally a punch to the face and a hand around your throat was nothing more than adding fuel to your anger from how the demon was trying to pick a fight with you. You were all set to kick his ass, but you were more concerned with the fact that you couldn't breathe. The demon dragged you over to the nearest wall and tried to keep this fight going with you, however he didn’t take into consideration that there was someone else wanting to pick a fight with him.

Sam thought he managed to subdue one demon long enough to throw the one off you before he could choke you to death. Dean was about ready to stab the demon he was fighting against, but before he could, he watched as he slipped out of his meat suit in favor for Wendy. Everything happened so quickly after all. You saw one of the demons somehow manage to escape with the map while Sam tried to fight the one you went up against. The younger Winchester managed to only throw a few punches before he found himself being blinded by an unexpected burst of light.

When the air began to come back in your lungs and the room stopped spinning, you noticed that Wendy was subdued and the demon that attacked you were dead. His eyes burned out of his sockets. The person who saved your life was somebody you hadn't seen in a good few months after he disappeared under strange circumstances—Castiel.

[Next Part]

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[fly-pow-bye]

Powerpuff Girls 2016 - “Watch It!”

Written by: Haley Mancini, Jake Goldman

Written & Storyboarded by: Alicia Chan, John West

Directed by: Nick Jennings, Bob Boyle

Yeah, this show should watch it.

Our episode begins at the Townsville Art Museum. Townsville seems to have fifty department stores and about a hundred science conventions, but this art museum that was featured in Man Up 3: The One That's Even Worse Than The First One gets to be featured again. This Art Museum proudly displays art that's good according to that sign. Or maybe it's just a sign saying "Art: That's good!". I can't really tell.

Dame Elsbeth, presumably the owner of this museum, has called the Powerpuff Girls for an emergency. Buttercup immediately assumes a red bee is the problem, and tries to hit it with a rolled up newspaper until Elbeth protects it. See, it's not just a bee, and it's not just a ruby, it's a Rubee! Get it? Someone doesn't, and it's no surprise which one.

Bubbles: Uh, I'm confused. But that happens a lot, so it's okay!

I would chalk that up to Bubbles being written like Patrick Star again, but I tend to get confused by what happens in the reboot, too. The Powerpuff Girls were called because this priceless artifact, the most valuable item in the entire museum, is completely unprotected from potential thieves.

They did have a high-tech security system in place, but someone shoved a meatball sub into the control panel, causing it to malfunction. I have read so much Not Always Right to tell you that nothing is unrealistic when it comes to people ruining technology in unique ways. Oh, if only if there was some other way to protect valuable pieces of art. Like, I don't know, some sort of glass box surrounding it like that Anubis thinker right next to the security guard? Maybe it's just too powerful to be in one? I don't know.

The head of the museum decides that three six year old girls are perfect candidates for protecting this artifact. They are superheroes with really, really big eyes, but the former does cause a problem. What if something bad happens in Townsville, and the Powerpuff Girls have to stop it? Monster attacks seem to be pretty high in this season, though that's not that much of an accomplishment.

This episode is no exception, and it's even something that isn't a silly monkey with a silly hat or someone who sounds just like him. Cat-Thulhu has risen, destroying the city and eating 1d3 pieces of catnip every turn. If you wanted to hear the Mayor call something "eldritch", this is your episode.

Blossom comes up with a plan: one of them will keep a close eye on the Ru-Bee, the other two will fight Cat-Thulhu. Buttercup is excited to answer that call to Cat-Thulu to avoid having to learn anything, until Blossom tells her she's going to be the one to watch the Rubee. Buttercup tries something to get out of this, and it's confusing to say the least.

Buttercup: Come on! Let's decide by age or something.

Blossom: Fine! Bubbles and I will fight Cat-Thulu, Buttercup, you stand guard.

Buttercup: Wait, Bubbles isn't older than me!

Blossom: I'm counting mentally.

The joke requires enough brain cells to realize she's indirectly calling Buttercup less than intelligent, but not enough to remember that the Powerpuff Girls were born at the same time. I can see what kind of joke they were going for, but it just doesn't work in the context of this series. Even of the context of this episode, judging by that "I'm normally confused" line from earlier.

Once again, PPG 2016 does another three shorts episode, focusing on how each Powerpuff Girl would protect a priceless ruby. Buttercup starts out by looking around for any suspicious people, and her eye manages to spy a Steampunk Waluigi laughing maniacally. Buttercup reacts accordingly.

Buttercup: Sus-piiii-cious.

Bloo said it better, needless to say. She confronts this, and he says he's just a gem afficinado, and thieves are just. Buttercup decides to take this rather suspicious man's word for it, and grabs a baby who happened to be crawling around where the Rubee is. Before she can punch out a baby, another guy shows up to be in awe over the Rubee.

This leads to Buttercup giving a slideshow beatdown to a bunch of people who just happened to be wandering by the Rubee, using the baby as a weapon! The baby doesn't seem to care, which was probably the best case scenario with this entire "joke."

Meanwhile, we get a most shocking twist. You will never believe this, this is a scene I could not see coming.

Get this, Blossom and Bubbles are tied up by Cat-Thulu, absolutely helpless without the help of that rascally little green princess that normally takes on giant monsters like they're nothing! What an unpredictable turn of events.

While the two girly ones are struggling against the giant monster, the boyish one set up this airline security system. Don't think about it too hard; the show barely mentions how this would have solved the problem of the episode and just disappears after Buttercup's plot. It doesn't even attempt to explain how Buttercup managed to get said security system on a 6-year-old's allowance.

This new security system leads to another problem: namely, Buttercup being way too suspicious. She ends up arresting Barry for the crime of carrying a piece of gum with him, because he could have reshaped it into a Gumblebee that can be used for Indiana Jones-style swiping. Heh, Rubee, Gumblebee, their use of bee puns is as good as it can get. She then has the baby arrest him so they can make this joke:

Buttercup: You've been cuffed, son! Take him away, baby.

Get it, because it's a baby. That’s all I got; the baby doesn’t even really appear after Buttercup’s part with one little exception, which is not that much of a missed opportunity.

Buttercup gloats that nothing can get past her, and she almost catches a rather familiar looking crook until Blossom gets Monster Punch Girls Downed into the museum. This ended up being enough of a distraction for that familiar looking crook to nab the Rubee, and Blossom has to tell Buttercup someone is stealing it. I'll give you three guesses on who it is.

Yup, it's Discount Jojo. Again. They really waited until near the end of the Season to dump a lot of his episodes, didn't they? He doesn't even have a good reason to steal the Rubee, he's just doing it because he's evil. Buttercup just throws a vase at him. Leave it to Buttercup to irreparably damage the property of the museum while trying to protect other property. I guess that Rubee was just that valuable for nobody to notice.

Blossom, knowing that she couldn't defeat Cathulhu with Bubbles, decides to let Buttercup fight the monster, while she looks at the ruby. It's her turn. Don't think about the "mentally" joke here, because that only existed for that one scene.

Blossom's part is pretty simple. While she watches over the Rubee, a tour guide shows up to talk about its history. Blossom then gives that tour guide a "well, actually" and gives the true story of the Rubee. She then becomes the new tour guide, guiding these people to another part of the museum. Rubee be damned, she just can't help herself but express her knowledge.

...that's really about it for Blossom's part of the plot. It's kind of a sad theme with these three plots episodes; when all three sisters are involved, Blossom always gets the short end of the stick. She had the worst part in The Squashening, she had the worst part in Splitsville, she had the worst part in the Small World special, and she had the worst part in Checkin' Out. The only episode I can think of where she didn't get the worst part was in Memory Lane of Pain, and that's only because Bubbles' part was just telling her how useless she is as an actual superhero.

If there's any positive thing I could say, it's that there's nothing offensive here. In fact, there is this one scene where Dame Elsbeth comes back and asks Blossom if her sisters are looking over the Rubee that she totally forgot about. Blossom looks back, and realizes that the Rubee is missing again, and she has to distract Elsbeth...by grabbing her and throwing her out of the room. I don't know why I chuckled at that, but I did.

This would have been a good opportunity to use different villains. I'd think the Fashionistas would have loved that Rubee on their fashionable rings, and I bet it was probably shiny enough for Pack Rat, a villain that hasn't made a major appearance since Season 1. Unfortunately, well, maybe somewhat fortunately for the latter case, that wasn't in the budget.

Instead, Discount Jojo just continues to steal it again and again, just evilly laughing about how he pulled off this perfect heist. At least there's some variety in how he's stopped. In this part, Blossom eye lasers a Gem Foot to kick Jojo right in the rear, causing him and the Rubee to fly across the room. A good visual, but leave it to Blossom to irreparably damage the property of the museum while trying to protect other property. I guess that Rubee was just that valuable for nobody to notice. I'd argue that boot should probably be more valuable than that ruby. I mean, look how huge it is!

As for Buttercup, surprisingly, it turns out that Cat-thulu was too powerful for her, too. Well, that might not be entirely the case. The reboot does make sure to show that Buttercup probably could have taken this eldritch abomination on if Bubbles wasn't trying to pat its tummy! Yes, they're seemingly going with the "Bubbles is grossly incompetent" angle that was also used in Memory Lane of Pain and a few other episodes.

At least she's not incompetent to show up just in time to grab the Rubee from Jojo's hands. Blossom asks the Cathulhu-scratched Bubbles what happened to Buttercup, and she says that Buttercup said she can handle this monster all by herself!

Buttercup: (in Cathulhu's maw) AAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!

Bubbles: I believe in her!

After the umpteen times Buttercup had to save her more feminine sisters, this is not entirely a Patrick Star Bubbles joke, even if it was most likely intended to be one. I'm sure they would use different terminology for it, but you get what I mean. Blossom tells her she will go help out Buttercup, and Bubbles should look at the Rubee, and...

Blossom to Bubbles' ears: Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah...

Bubbles also can't focus on anything, never mind a Rubee. I did not have high hopes for Bubbles' part in this story.

...and that might have been a good thing in the end, actually. Maybe my standards are getting pretty low, but I actually really liked Bubbles' part of the plot, where she just tries to entertain herself from this boring job of watching something that doesn't move or talk. Even George, the security guard that was trying to fix the security system by using other sandwiches, manages to be useful in this plot by being the person that tells her after all of her actions, she only spent ten minutes watching the Rubee. Bubbles goes mad from boredom.

Literally, as, much to the surprise of Bubbles, the Rubee comes alive. It's clearly a hallucination by Bubbles due to her boredom. I wish the scene could have implied the seemingly obvious without outright saying it, but I guess they didn't think of their audience that highly to assume they wouldn't figure that out without the bee saying "no, I'm just an hallucination, tee hee!" Show, don't tell.

Honestly, that's my only real complaint about this part, and it's a minor one. There's a musical number where Bubbles transitions to several different scenes with this personified Rubee, and it's pretty cute. I even like how Jojo comes in as a pretty good transition out of the musical number, and his method to play along with Bubbles' delusions in this part's "Jojo steals the Rubee" scene. Maybe it's in contrast to the other two parts, where he just yoinks it when the other sisters are away, but I thought it was clever.

Blossom and Buttercup end up beating up the monster, crushing all of Discount Jojo's bones. You'd think they'd be more careful after that Silico incident. Also, I can't help but see some sort of meaning to how Bubbles was involved in both of the times they weren't successful, and how she wasn't involved when the monster was defeated.

The episode ends with a callback to how Steampunk Waluigi said that a thief would be the one you would least suspect. At least, that's the most charitable explanation, and that alone makes it better than most of the reboot episode's endings.

Does the title fit?

The Powerpuff Girls do have to WATCH IT.

How does it stack up?

While not my favorite of the three shorts episodes, I expected a lot worse out of this one. I could see this as a decent Season 5 & 6 episode and a fourth-rate Season 1-4 episode, so that puts it up pretty high by reboot standards!

Next, the return of Donny and Man-Boy. May they have mercy on our souls.

← Drama Bomb ☆ Man Up 4: The Donnyest Game →

[macabretrees]

Summary: The brothers make amends.

@gabriel-seven! You wanted something w/Fingolfin! Hope you didn’t mind me adding Feanor! Angst with a happy ending! Set in the 4th Age in Valinor. also i’m my own beta so beware! please reblog if you liked it!

He had never stepped foot into Feanor’s forge before, not until now at least.

Though to be fair,  he was never allowed to, as Indis had feared he and his siblings would sustain some kind of freak injury. As a child,  he’d always thought it was dark and full of fire, like his brother (that was after his childhood dreams of working beside Feanor had been crushed with the older elf’s obvious dislike of him).

Adulthood hadn’t changed his perception either, certainly not when the Silmarils had been created and all but his son’s had been barred from entering the workshop. Consequently he’d adopted his mothers same mindset, and had attempted to  keep his own children away from the Forge as long as possible.

It didn’t work of course. Fingon got attached to Maedhros, and Aredhel wanted to hunt. They’d done what they could to dispel the myth about Feanor’s Forge, but Fingolfin had never bought into their reassurances.

Not until today, at least.

Fate must have led him to his brother’s workshop, because he wouldn’t have come on his own accord. Of course there was the fact that he’d been yearning for a confrontation with Feanor  the moment he’d found out he’d been reborn. There was so, so much to talk about. The boats...goodness the boats, their childhood...there were so many thing Fingolfin needed to--as his son said-- ‘get off his chest.’

It was clear that his brother would not move to make amends, and in the past Fingolfin would have been bitter, but things had changed.  This new age was about peace and forgiveness. All in Valinor, old wounds seemed to heal over, old enemies embraced one another like brothers.

Yet Nolofinwe and Curufinwe couldn’t even dine with one another. In all honestly Fingolfin was tired of it.   

So he steeled his nerves and squared his shoulders as he stepped up on his brother’s doorstep. Come in, say his peace, and leave. He repeated this mantra over and over again, musing how he was more nervous at the prospect of speaking to his brother than he’d ever been on the battlefield.

The door seemed to open before he could even knock, the heavy wood creaking slowly and revealing sparking light in the dark corridor. He peaked his head in slowly as the rest of his body followed, and announced himself with a ‘hello’. There was no response, but the enticing demeanor that fell about the workshop was enough to make up for that. Fingolfin found his hands tingling with the need to touch the jewels on display, and some unforeseen force gradually lured him deeper and deeper into the work station.

It was like being in a museum of priceless artifacts, and he elf found himself completely entranced. Time passed slowly as he wove himself deeper and deeper into the maze of art

“No wonder Feanor spend hours in here,” he observed  “It’s hard to get out.”

“And he spent time in here because it was one of the few places he could call home.” From behind an empty station--or at least what was an empty station--stood Feanor, hair up and apron tied around his body. If the stains on his apron said anything, he’d been there for hours.

Only Fingolfin hadn’t heard him, and had just now noticed him.

“It’s a spell.” Feanor answered his brother’s question, “I use it to keep….people out.” He averted his gaze then, and returned to the ring he was making.

“I see…” Fingolfin muttered, catching the hidden meaning, “It’s very effective.”

There was a pause that stretched about them, and Fingolfin watched as his brother pretended to return to work. He was no doubt waiting for him to leave. When he didn’t, Feanor sighed.

“Tell me why you’re here?” he demanded, “You’ve never visited before. In fact I didn’t even think you were allowed to come here.”

“I’m no longer a child, The younger elf leaned against one of the cool workstations and crossed his arm, “And is it wrong to want to visit my brother? It’s been years now, and we’ve yet to speak to each other.”

“We spoke together in Mandos,” Feanor reminded him, “We made amends.”

“More like we were forced to speak together, we didn’t make up, we hardly made amends,” Fingolfin hopped off of the table and made his way slowly to his brother, “If we really made amends, then why did your Forge try to keep me out?”

Feanor groaned and let his tools clank on the table, “What do you want?”

“I want to get to know you, the real you,” he said the words without fully processing them, catching the look of shock on Feanor’s face, and feeling his own heart skip a beat. Well, there’s no use in stopping, he thought to himself, you’ve put all your cards on the table now.

So with his brother’s full attention, he continued.

“It’s been years and we are still as close to each other as we were when you threatened to kill me that once. Every day, Elrond tells me of what an amazing elf you are, and if not Elrond, than Fingon. If not Fingon, than Aredhel,” he cried, “But me...I’m the only one who’s not allowed to know you, because for some reason you loathe my--”

“I don’t hate you--” Feanor was quick to interrupt him, much to Fingolfin’s surprise, “I have never hated you. Or your mother or siblings for that matter.” The older elf looked very disturbed at the mere suggestion that he could hate another elf, and  his dark brows furrowed against his tan skin as his eyes gleamed with worry. No doubt it conjured up old wounds,

But nevertheless, the younger elf persisted.

“Then if not hate, what?” Fingolfin tried again, “You’ve always seemed lament our very existence.”

“I didn’t ‘lament your existence’,” Feanor explained as he looked towards his brother, “I was grieving.”

“For our entire lives?” The younger elf raised a brow, “When father died, I grieved, we all grieved. But--”

“When father died we were adults and heads of our respective families,” hissed the elf, “We had our families and our friends to rely on. Even with father dead , you had your mother. When my mother died, I had no one. Father was too concerned with wedding your mother to aid me like he should have, I was supposed to move and and act like nothing happened. Can you blame me for acting how I did? And I apologize for how it might have made you, but I won’t apologize for grieving.”

He turned quickly back to his work, though his hands shook with rage and sadness, and he worked quickly and harshly.

The taller elf’s heart dropped. He hadn’t meant to taunt his brother like that, nor had he meant to unnerve buried feelings that should have been left forgotten.

Feanor was right, and he supposed if their situations had been switched, if it were Indis whom had died and he’d been forced to life alone and cope by himself, he would have acted the same. He wanted to slap himself for how stupid he’d been. They’d both been clouded by grief, and had unintentionally hurt the other.

“Fean--” “Please leave my Forge,” he cut  him off, expecting his younger brother to protest, “I don’t have the energy now.” “Then you won’t need to use it,” Fingolfin said, “I’m not going to argue or negate what you said. I just want to apologize....apologize for what you went through. I don’t think anyone apologized to you, did they? I think you were forced to accept things too quickly, when you weren’t ready.”

“Thank you, but it’s not your mistake to apologize for.” He grumbled, then added, “But I really am sorry for how I made you and the rest of your siblings feel. I was grieving, but you were children. I never intended to direct my anger towards you all. And if your children are a testament to who you are, it’s a shame I never got to know you. I’ve been blessed to have known Fingon, Aredhel and Elrond as much as I do.”   He was honest and sincere, though reluctant to show it. He bowed his head, using his work as an excuse to hide his blush. Yet Fingolfin couldn’t help but smile.

“I can’t speak for them, but I can speak for myself. Knowing what I know now, I wouldn’t have acted differently,” he said, honestly, “but nevertheless, I accept your apology. Though I wish there was something I could do to alleviate what you went through.”

No matter how Feanor had acted towards him, Fingolfin had a happy childhood. In fact his brother’s relationship with him had been a small part of a happy life. Though knowing what the older elf  experienced, he sought to help how he could.

Part of him debated on having a serious talk with his mother and father, though figured Feanor wouldn’t take well to the two being reintroduced into his life. Since he came back, he’d cut them off completely. Though he was never fond of Indis to begin with, his distance from Finwe was unexpected.

The older elf simply nodded in understanding,  and went back to his work--or attempted to.

“That’s really pretty,” Fingolfin said, eyeing the metal work that his brother tended to, “looks hard.”

Feanor smiled brightly, “It’s actually quite simple. If you’re not busy...I could show you.”

Fingolfin’s heart nearly stopped in his chest as he looked at his brother in disbelief. As a child, he wanted nothing more than to work beside Feanor and learn his craft. As he grew older though, and Feanor’s opinion of him had become obvious, it became silly fantasy.

But now, his brother stood, inviting him to work with him. Genuinely wanting him to work with him.

Fingolfin couldn't help but smile.

“Of course,” he grinned gleefully.

I almost named it after one of Ben Howards songs , but I wanted to save the title for something else. anyway relog if yall liked it!