#like I have these ELABORATE fantasies in my stupid little fucked-up brain

[farasen]

Werewolves AU yapping

Uuh a little context for that. This AU is solely inspired by my favorite song of Korol i Shut "Lesnik" (Forester) and pretty much all I want to do with it is to create an animatic some day (good luck to me with that because this idea has been rotting my brain for like 4 years now), so I'm not planning to develop it too much beyond that, even though I do have some headcanons on the bunch members, on which I'll elaborate further. If you get inspired by it tho, I'll leave it to your imagination.

So, basically, in the song a traveler meets a forester and stays at his place till the night comes and the forester drags him outside to feed the man to his wolf friends because he's a werewolf. And that got me thinking "what if I've created an AU where Willi is a forester (maybe a werewolf too) and feeds his werewolf friends aka the bunch."

Initially, I wanted to make each of the guys a different unholy creatures, but, like, united with one theme of transformation. However, I'm stupid with folk creatures, so I've finally decided to say "nah fuck it, they're all werewolves now." Yeah also sorry if you are informed about this stuff and I speak nonsense to you lol.

Well, as far as I'm aware, werewolves are not only about wolves, they can be any other animal basically, sooo...

But to make it more interesting, I came up with some ideas with how they became ones in the first place.

For Markus it could be a family curse. We all know that his dad is a piece of shit, so it's believable that he crossed a road with some witch that cursed his entire bloodline.

Forgot to mention that it happens in a late medieval ages or even a bit later than that, so shit like that is a thing to people and also for the vibe.

Marlon and Leon could also be cursed, but for a different reason (idk which) and it's the reason they live on the outskirts of the village very close to the forest.

Jojo and Raban could become werewolves after a bite of the other alike creature.

Deniz' family, specifically his father, is famous for hunting unholy monsters, werewolves included. And even though Erol trained him to become a good witch hunter (or whatever it's called), he wouldn't take him on any actually dangerous events. Deniz, however, felt like he's ready and wanted to prove it to his dad. One night he sneaks out from the house in order to catch his first unholy creature and comes across with a werewolf, who was one of the bunch btw. He doesn't kill it of course, but he gets bitten. Deniz tries to hide it from his dad for some time, but naturally Erol finds out about it. He's baffled and conflicted, cause it's his duty to kill him, but he loves his son too much and just couldn't do it. He lets him stay, but told Deniz to keep it a secret.

And now Vanessa. She could be a runaway from the other village, that almost died in a fire of a fierce crowd. Her parents disowned her and she had no place to stay at, except her grandma's that lived far away. She's the only person that took her in, despite knowing her curse, but the girl had to keep it a secret too.

As for Willi... He could also be a werewolf that found a convenient way to cope with his curse - live in a forest and be a forester. And once he meets the bunch, he warmes up to them and becomes a mentor for them that teaches them how to live with this curse in their blood. And feeds them people. Or any other scenario that suits you more, my imagination is too poor when it comes to fantasy stuff.

Maybe I'll draw some concepts, but I'm really not too enthusiastic about developing it. If you have some thoughts on the topic I'd be glad to hear them tho. 

[valentinoappreciator]

deranged "chat" under the cut. 

me to my (soon former) therapist: I have the urge to and fantasies of killing and eating people. I have long, elaborate fantasies of how I'll kill and prepare my (unknowing and unwilling) victims. sometimes I feed my victims to my friends in these fantasies.

my (soon former) therapist: ... so if you feel you can't control that, you call the police. ok bye

[thickenmyblood]

hey maca :)) I have sth that I’d love to hear your input on! (wall of text incoming so beware- I’m absolutely not mad if you don’t want to answer lmao). Basically it’s about how you portray women in your works and to what extent you see that portrayal mirrored in the canon books. I have noticed that a lot of writers tend to go a traditional route with for example daughters not being heirs like you also mentioned in an answer for a wtsioa ask on here. Considering the cultures Vere and Akielos are based on that’s obviously very logical and a lot of authors (including you) make it work fantastically! Yet personally I never got the vibe of Vere and Akielos being as patriarchal in canon, mostly because the Information we get is kind of confusing. On one hand damen is a walking manosphere (and. all of Akielos in general as well) without any prominent female figures in his life but on the other hand damen only ever speaks appreciatively of for example the female vaskian warriors. Both countries seem to ban women from the army yet Damen also refers to a warrior queen. The regent is a total misogynist but with the wording Laurent uses it almost seems like that is more the exception and not the general rule of veretian court life. Both countries also have ties to Vask, an exclusive matriarchy and Akielos is said to be similar to Patras which Pacat has stated is also partly a strong matriarchy due to vaskian occupations in the past. I could go on for a lot longer but I guess that damens overall positive attitude towards women and especially stereotypically spoken masculine women is what sticks out the most to me. It just seems kind of misplaced in a world that supposedly is as sexist as the original cultures from our world. Which is why I’d say both countries do have gender roles but are overall a lot more egalitarian than their respective real world og cultures. But that’s only my take and I’d love to hear more on what others think about the portrayal of women in canon and how they chose to portray it in fanfiction. Love you and your new work, hope you’re doing well❤️

HELLO!!! Thank you for asking me interesting stuff :, ) you always have the best questions and my sad little inbox is open to you any time, friend. I divided this into parts, so:

My portrayal of women: I need to work on this a lot lmao. I’m not proud of any female character I have ever written for this fandom, and I’m also not proud to say I struggle horribly when it comes to writing female OCs, especially if the story is not about a female character that is a literal projection of me. Or Bella Swan (yes, Twilight literally shaped my sad little brain and the way I write and consume fiction).

Authors writing female characters in a “traditional” way (for fantasy settings): I can’t speak for other authors but I definitely think, in my case, that using the “it’s a patriarchal society, women have no rights, women can’t be heirs, etc.” blueprint is a matter of being lazy. It’s quick, and easy, and it’s been done before so we all know how it works and a) it’s unlikely that you’ll mess it up (in the plot hole kind of way) and b) it’s obvious that most readers know how the usual system works and so you don’t have to spend paragraphs or even chapters explaining it to them. I am very lazy when it comes to world-building for fics. Why? Because when I’m writing fanfiction I don’t give two shits about the world, I just care about the characters doing Things and having Feelings. The moment you start to question these issues (a society where women can join the army, where they can be heirs, where maybe they can have multiple husbands, etc.) a billion issues arise because it’s not the “usual way” and so you’ll have to deal with “unusual problems”. See: plot holes, info-dumping, etc.

Vere and Akielos in canon: I think the books get very, very confusing at times when it comes to gender roles in that specific world. They also get very confusing about how royalty works, in my opinion. So:

Damen never mentions female influences in his life, not even nannies or wetnurses or anything. He mentions past queens and his mother, but even then… It’s always struck me as “what the actual fuck” that we get no information on Egeria. In TSP, he doesn’t even read as curious to me, especially when I think of that line that goes something like “oh, well, he’d never asked how tall she was”.

Then you have Jokaste, who is highborn and also… perhaps trained in politics? It’s unclear to me if she’s ever been directly involved in meetings or been an active member of the Council or even been allowed to study these issues. Clearly, she’s smart and capable and cunning, but like… how? Did she have private tutors? Is she a self-made woman? Like, what’s up with that? Are women allowed to engage in public politics? Are they allowed to be kyroi?

IMO, Damen complimenting the female warriors in Vask has to do with how appreciative he is of war-related stuff. Like, he thinks people with his own qualities are neat. We see this time and time again in the books—having honor, being brave, respecting one’s family, protecting those who need protecting… He compliments these things when he sees them in others, especially in Laurent. Obviously one of the big changes in Damen as a character is that he goes from being daddy’s boy to being like “well, actually… maybe war isn’t always the answer, and maybe war isn’t always honorable”. The Vaskian warriors prove themselves worthy of praise in a “manly” way, if that makes sense. (In the same way, Laurent proves himself in the Okton, not so much to Damen but to other Akielons). So, in essence, War > Any issues he may have about women doing Stuff.

Don’t judge me for this but I can’t remember the Regent talking about women. Do you have any quotes about that? I feel like Book 1 is super rich when it comes to world-building stuff and yet it’s the book I remember the least. I know he obviously has a preference for boys and not girls, but I don’t recall him having interactions with Vannes or ladies at court? I’M SORRY I’M SO STUPID but I don’t own the book so I can’t exactly word search my way out of this one, and so instead of saying stupid stuff, I’m asking anyone reading this (lol, you and my mom probably) to please tell me what canon says on this issue.

Ties to Vask: Er, yeah, I mean… They’re clearly not at war with Vask and have some sort of economic deal (there are Vaskian pets in Arles? Which makes me wonder if they, like, buy them from Vask? Or if the pets are Vaskian and turn into pets in Vere? Slaves are not like pets so I don’t know?), BUT just because they have deals with this kingdom/are on good terms with the ruler does not mean they necessarily approve? Like, maybe they’re like “yeah, it’s weird they give women so much power, but also I need that silk/leather/WHATEVER, so I’ll shut up about that”.

“Akielos is said to be similar to Patras which Pacat has stated is also partly a strong matriarchy due to Vaskian occupations in the past.” Is this in the books or is this something she said in an interview/post-releasing the trilogy? I know in the books there’s a quote that Akielos and Patras are similar because they both have slaves, but other than that I can’t quite remember anything about Patras? Like, I don’t recall Pacat giving us extensive and thorough world-building on either nation, at all. Once again, I am asking you for more explanations on this because I literally don’t remember.

4. My opinion and a Stupidity Disclaimer: As I’ve said above, there’s a lot of stuff I don’t remember and so I’m not trying to preach to anyone reading this or even saying that I hold the truth about… anything. I’m answering questions as I see fit and asking more questions when I run out of answers.

I believe world-building is not one of Captive Prince’s strong points. I will not elaborate on this because this is already long enough but there is simply, in my opinion, not enough material to reach any solid conclusions when it comes to world-building questions such as the role of women in Vere and Akielos, how compulsory homosexuality affects the development of highborn men and women in Vere, exactly what makes Akielos’ view on women different from Vere’s (if there’s any difference at all), the history of gender roles in this world and how it’s evolved up until canon, how Lamen can solve the heir issue without recurring to, once again, “the usual stuff” (concubines, bastards, marriage to women, etc.). It’s clear from what I’ve read that Pacat has come a long way as a writer and that her new trilogy has a lot more in-depth explanations to world-building questions, but this is not the case with CP, and so I’m afraid my answer to most of this is “I don’t know, and I don’t think anyone can know for sure”.

Lastly, I think I struggle a lot with understanding the role of women in this universe because I simply did not see enough women doing stuff, so I don’t know what’s permitted, what’s unacceptable, what’s illegal, what is straight-up execution worthy, etc. This is not me complaining about the lack of female characters in CP, at all, which I know is contradictory to stuff I’ve said in the past (I answered a couple asks a year ago about how I’d wished we’d gotten Vannes’ POV or Jokaste’s POV in the short stories). I’ve changed my mind, and so I think Pacat is entitled to write whatever she wants, just like I’m entitled to talk shit about KR with any living soul who will listen lmao.

To end this on a spicy note, I think sometimes we consume the wrong media and then complain because it doesn’t have what we wanted. If you’re looking for a trilogy with strong, fleshed-out female characters, Captive Prince is not for you. If you’re looking for a trilogy on female struggles and, I don’t know, defying… the male gaze… Captive Prince is not for you. There are plenty of books out there that focus exclusively on female characters, featuring sapphic relationships, and dealing with gender issues. WHICH IS NOT TO SAY WE SHOULDN’T BE HAVING THESE DISCUSSIONS. This is not about this particular question, but more about a lot of posts I’ve seen floating around… complaining about Pacat’s writing and the themes she didn’t explore.

If anyone has made it this far, thank you for reading, and know this is NOT me telling you what to think. This post is an open question that anyone can engage with, although I hope people will engage with this directly and on this platform, instead of… taking it somewhere else where I sadly can’t engage back! Unlike what happened with our awesome fat Laurent discussion, I will be replying to any questions I get on this (Note: I did not reply to most of those questions because a long time had passed and they were sort of repetitive).

[fangirlshrewt97]

Stuttered Confessions and Soft Kisses

Fandom: Sense8

Pairing: Amanita Caplan x Nomi Marks

Read on AO3

///

Nomi was walking on clouds. Well, not literally obviously, but she was pretty sure this weight-less sensation would be what it would feel like. Her heart felt like it was racing and also just the most full it had ever been. She didn’t even mind that the rain had left them stranded in under this bus stop, hell, she was ready to thank it and hope it continued for a while longer.

Here she was, nearly at the end of her fifth (fifth!) date with the single most incredible person she had ever met, and Nomi felt like she was in a dream. How was this her life?

She was not the type of girl things like this happened to. Like come on, meeting who was surely going to be the love of her life in a bookshop? Her saying yes to a date? And then again to a second one?

And yet. Here she was. As happy as all those sappy love songs always made puppy love out to be. She had always assumed that to be a load of crap. Maybe she owed them an apology for doubting the sentiment, but the music was still too sweet for her.

She did not want to burst the bubble, afraid of ruining the best thing that had ever happened to her. She had not told Amanita about …her. Not yet. About her past. Did it matter? Like, was it important Amanita know right now? What did it matter? The risks of telling the truth were far too great, and Nomi had never considered herself to be gambler.

Still. They had been on five dates. Nomi had come home from the first date of her most secret dreams, and she had known she needed to tell her. Even back then, it was obvious that Amanita was not just another person she would get to know and then move on from. Something about her was magnetic. Addictive. And also because she did not know what falling in love felt like, but she thought it was the endless butterflies in her stomach at the sight of Amanita’s smile, or the warmth that had spread and lingered through the night from her simple hug at the end of the night. Or maybe it was the perfect impression of her captivating eyes that had tattooed themselves into Nomi’s brain. Or maybe it was all of the above.

The risk though. The inevitable pain. Nomi was no stranger to pain, hell, she was more intimately familiar with pain than with this strange joy, which is why she needed to tell Amanita the truth. Because as much as it would hurt if Amanita decided to walk away, Nomi would always remember her for being the first partner she had had who had seen her. Truly seen her, and liked what she had seen.

So today.

She would tell her today.

At the end of their date.

She would tell Amanita.

Shit.

She did not want this rain to stop. The rain stopping meant they could walk to Nomi’s apartment. Meant it would be time for Nomi to confess. That Amanita would walk away.

She did not want to leave this little cocoon they were in, where Amanita was huddling close to Nomi, an arm slung across her waist, shivering slightly in the face of the rain’s chill. She did not want to walk towards her heartbreak.

Because this was her, right? In what world could she hope for a story that didn’t end with her heart broken? What frame of reference did she have for unfettered happiness?

“Bloody rains never rain when one is inside, always insist on ruining lovely days.” Amanita gritted through her teeth as she tried to wind her shawl tighter around herself.

Nomi hummed, mind still worrying over the coming confession. She glanced outside the glass of the bus stop they were standing in. “I don’t know. I always found rain to be cathartic. A way for the world to relieve itself of whatever burdens it had. I could stay comfortable in my room, inside my blankets, I slept easiest when it rained.”

Remembering herself, a faint blush painted her cheeks and she cleared her throat. “I mean , that is-”

Only to stop in the face of Amanita’s wide eyes and slightly open mouth.

Nomi ducked her head. “Sorry.”

Amanita shook her head vigorously. “Don’t apologize. That was beautiful. I had never thought of it like that.”

Nomi shrugged again, still keeping her eyes to the ground. Until she felt a soft touch to her temple, Amanita’s hand clammy where it was lightly cupping the side of her head. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I love to hear about how you see the world.”

The blush returned stronger than ever to Nomi’s cheeks.

Amanita’s lips quirked, and she leaned closer, making Nomi’s breath hitch. Just as Amanita was about to kiss her (their first kiss! Nomi’s brain was blue screening at the most inconvenient of times!) though, a car came roaring out of nowhere. Speeding down the road so fast it sprayed them with the puddle water, making them jump apart.

Nomi reached to grab Amanita’s wrist as the other woman shouted curses at the long gone car. When Amanita turned to face her, Nomi knew she must be in love. Even with dirty water dripping down her face, and eyes fuming with outrage, Amanita was the most magnificent sight she had seen.

Unable to help herself, she started laughing. Amanita scowled at her for another moment before cracking, and soon they were both leaning on each other as they laughed. When she finally caught her breath, Nomi straightened up and reached into her bag, pulling out some wipes. Passing a couple to Amanita, she wiped off her glasses, and then her face.

“And here I was thinking this date was like something out of a dream.” Amanita muttered as she threw their wipes into the nearby trash can.

Nomi just grinned, “I like this better. Because it makes it more real.”

Amanita’s shoulders dropped as she seemed to soften. “Yeah, I suppose there is that.”

Feeling brave, Nomi approached Amanita, one hand tentatively cupping the shorter woman’s cheek. Amanita leaned into her hand, eyes lighting up in anticipation.

Swallowing down the fear, Nomi leaned down and kissed her.

It wasn’t a “fireworks” or “angels singing” kind of kiss. It was soft lips on chapped lips, gentle hands cradling one another, two people sharing a connection with the potential to grow into so much more.

It was real, and it was perfect.

When they parted, they stayed close, leaning their foreheads against each other.

Nomi was afraid to open her eyes, afraid that this would all have actually been an elaborate fantasy her mind had made up. Her breath shook, and only Amanita’s wounded noise and finger brushing away a tear made her realize she was crying.

“Nomi? What’s wrong?” Amanita whispered.

Nomi just shook her head, body trembling as the words lodged themselves in their throat.

“Oh honey.” Amanita said, so gently, and folded her into her arms, Nomi clutching at her sides, trying to calm down and push down the sobs that kept rising up.

Amanita held her through it, calmly rubbing at her back, her other hand curved around the back of her head. When Nomi was able to see past the tears, she stepped away, arms wrapping themselves tightly against her chest in a gesture she had become familiar to over many years of missing touches. Amanita recognized she needed space and gave it to her, leaving another immense wave of gratitude to flow through Nomi. She did not think she could do this if Amanita was touching her. Wasn’t sure she could do it otherwise either, but if not now, then. Then, she might not survive whenever Amanita left.

“You need to know something.” Nomi said.

Amanita blinked, then nodded hesitantly.

“I-um. It’s important. It’s a part of me. And I can’t. If this can be more. And I want it to be. You need to know. Now.” Nomi stuttered.

Amanita released a breath. “Okay. What do I need to know?”

Here it was.

The moment of truth.

The moment of heartbreak.

The moment where all the love and concern in Amanita’s eyes would leave. Nomi knew her enough to not disrespect her by thinking she’d be disgusted.

“I.” Nomi straightened her spine, taking in a deep breath and exhaling. “I’m trans. I wasn’t born… I am a woman.” she finished. She was a woman. Had been one from birth. No matter whatever anyone else had to say about it.  

“Oh.” Amanita said.

Nomi’s eyes focused beyond her shoulder, heart racing with fear. She couldn’t meet the other woman’s eyes. Not until she came close enough for Nomi to feel her body heat.

Nomi fought to keep the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes from falling.

“Would you please look at me?” Amanita asked, voice gentle.

Clenching her jaw, Nomi inhaled once, eyes closing. When she exhaled, she opened her eyes. Amanita’s dark eyes were sparkling in the streetlight.

She let out a sob when she saw the same love and concern there, along with something that almost looked like pride.

“Can I hug you?” Amanita asked. Through blurry vision, Nomi nodded, letting Amanita embrace her again.

Where the last hug had felt like a desperate grasp to the last bit of comfort and affection she would receive, this one was so much more. This one felt like home.

“Thank you so much for sharing that with me Nomi. And I am so sorry that you have been caused so much pain because of that. The world is so stupid and it sucks. But I promise you. It is not a deal breaker for me.”

Nomi’s shoulders kept trembling.

“You are perfect just as you are. And anyone who has ever made you think otherwise can go fuck off. Do you hear me?”

Nomi let out a watery chuckle, and felt Amanita press a smile to the side of her temple.

“I would really like to go on another date with you. How does that sound?” Amanita whispered in her ear.

Nomi clutched her tighter. “Like a dream come true.”

Amanita laughed and nudged her upright, grinning so brightly, Nomi felt blinded. “Let’s get you home. Sooner I drop you off, sooner I can pick you up for our next date.”

This time, Amanita was the one who kissed her.

Nomi opened her eyes as soon as it was over. She did not want to miss a single moment with Amanita. Because this wasn’t a dream, and that made it so much better.

[jcfoxington]

@sambambucky​ : “pls... Pastels, Peaches and Pain??? among us first draft??? marvel meets warframe meets a bunch of tumblr posts (it’s not an au!?!??!)

hi jo !!! Pastels, Peaches, and Pain is one of those sambucky wips i have mostly fully fleshed out in my head because of one (1) extreme moment of clarity after a rogue ‘what if’ tangent thought but havent written anything of yet out of restraint / knowing i need to finish at least one of my current sambucky wips before i start it or none of them will get done

this was the rogue tangent thought: “what if Sam is haunted by Figaro’s ghost and has been since he was a kid?”. i’ve changed the ghost cat to not be Figaro but that’s the premise !

i refer to the fic as the cat fic ‘cause the whole plot is based around sam’s ghost cat companion insisting he adopts nat’s cat Liho after endgame and then Figaro later and then [insert redacted because plot spoilers but just know it relates to Alpine]. no im not projecting my feelings about cats idk what youre talking about 

here’s some note snippets just for you:

the cat, inexplicably, takes a liking to bucky, which is really annoying bc sam doesnt know how to explain to him that all the oddly soft gusts of wind are actually sam's dead cat insisting on getting pats

bucky getting shade thrown at him by said ghost cat during all of tfatws + them making up (and not out. yet)

starts when sam's a kid & follows him as he grows up w/ a ghost kitty as a companion only he can see & interact with + angst with an undertone of comedy + getting together

he whispers to ghost kitty, who simply mmrrs happily

for the among us first draft thing, what basically happened is i saw this tweet and this video and my brain latched onto these dynamics so hard i had to write about them. 

here’s a sketch of my two main imposters, Black (left) and Cyan (right):

and here’s a snippet:

The thing having Cyan pause and stare out at the asteroid field is how the colors stretch to family. When they and Black came aboard, they had thought every crewmember was an adult working on the planet-change project. That the patch of off-white with a black something-pattern-or-shape signified status. In a way, Cyan supposes it does, but just not the way they expected. They had expected it to show what rank an individual held within the hierarchy of the crew, from deckhand to division leader to captain, not to show that you're family of the crew and not actually part of the crew itself. 

There are innocents on this ship. Children. It was not something any of them had anticipated, and not something Cyan had been prepared to deal with. They and Black boarded this horrible place to eradicate a threat, believing each and single one of the humans were accomplishes and dedicated to the goal of destroying Cyan and Black's species, and their planet. But, now?

marvel meets warframe meets a bunch of tumblr posts... doesn’t have a wip title or seperate document for itself yet cause it’s been stuck in my ‘story ideas’ document since its creation. so ‘marvel meets warframe meets a bunch of tumblr posts’ is literally just me describing the vibe of an original world gjkerfkds

the world came to be for two reasons. firstly, i want to do make take on a superhero universe because the plot and complete lack of communication in both the dcu and mcu piss me the fuck off. secondly, needed a place to dump ocs with elaborate backstories or fantasy / sci-fi abilities that dont fit into any of my existing worlds

which sounds super competent but trust me, it isn’t. it didn’t gain any solidity at all until i decided to do a personal ‘how different can i make spn castiel look & still retain the same vibe?’ challenge. i have my own cas now

however, the reason i said ‘marvel meets...’ is because i’ve snagged a couple of different things from the mcu, most notably: enemies to reluctant coworkers to lovers, yes our best friend have the same name. no they’re not the same person, secret evil org is controlling the government, and the assassin that tried to kill you several times is now your best friend

warframe was added to the world because i got attached to my Volt build, gave them a name, and have some headcanons idk what to do with because i refuse to interact with that fandom. also because the friend i made through discussing warframe lore + plot dicked me over so it feels Bad to create for

the glue to this whole mess is that one “in every friend group there’s a mean bisexual, an even meaner lesbian, a she/they, a he/they, a himbo, an astrology bitch, a short king, and a token straight” tumblr post. my main group of superheroes ala the avengers consist of these people. the token straight is the only one i havent figured out who is yet

ever since i figured that out ive been throwing story / character ideas and weirdly specific aesthetics from popular tumblr posts into this world’s notes. here’s some examples:

sword grandmas

that trope where someone’s really nice and acts super well-adjusted to society but then they do something super whack and dangerous and you realize ‘oh they’re secretly a little bit insane, actually’

anti-gay group’s leader’s wife leaves him for another woman

superhero who swore to be the best hero [city / planet / solar system / continent / ????] has ever seen ever since he lost his wife. not because she’s dead but divorce just sucks & the hero-to-be is terrible at coping

dishevelled swamp witch

that one person who runs around with an amulet all the time & isn’t aware it’s cursed

an exasperated, tired superhuman assassin running after their husband and their husband's best friend. their husband and said husband's best friend both have wings. chaos ensues (yes, this one is a sambucky post)

ask me about my WIPs!

BONUS:

@sambambucky​​ : #i want to have a coffee and listen to synopses of all of these.... #i miss the discord wow #WRITING TAG #waitttt time jumping dream movie? lmao I'VE READ THIS LIST FORTY TIMES and every time i rediscover something i wanna know about #outfit doodlesss ugh i need to go

couldnt not respond to your tags because they make me go ghrkjfnerknf but in the good way. we miss you too jo !!

the time jumping dream movie was one of the first vivid dreams i had and the whole thing was so stupidly coherent and whacky i had to write it down. it grew plot, a queer love dynamic, weird sci-fi apocalypse elements, anti-military propaganda, questionable science, and a sequel while i wasnt looking and now i just. have to make it a real movie or i’ll combust

outfit djoodlles.png is only on there because my best friend sent me a ‘draw this outfit’ meme and space kitty, my current character brainrot, stole all the outfits for himself. otherwise, that file just sits there until im feeling like designing an outfit or wanna see how a stupid thing looks on my oc patrick

here’s one of the two poses-to-doodle-outfits-on of space kitty ive made so far:

and here’s one of those stupid things on patrick (that then turned into an actual outfit of his because i have no self control):

[heyjude19-writing]

Im the list anon again and boy do I have more for you but this time I also have some questions as well if your time allows and you are willing to answer of course. First with the other things I loved:

1) the fact that Ron warmed up to Draco so quickly! I genuinely think thats so much in character. Ron is not a distrustful person and as a middle child as they come is very easygoing and would for sure make stupid jokes at Draco

2) The patronus. My god the Patronus. I seriously put the phone down and made a small slow clap during that chapter. At first I was like hmmmm *insert unsure kombucha girl face* because almost all fanfics have him with a dragon patronus and leave it at that (and lets be honest at this point my expectations of you were quite high dont blame me blame your bloody brilliant writing) but then, and I dont know if you did this on purpose or not (I have a feeling you did) but the fact that the dragon was the same (pale white) wounded but still feral dragon that Hermione FREEED (!) from a bank (£££) dungeon, malnourished and used for its nature, surrounded by darkness, wealth and misery!! And it was Hermione who broke its chains!!!!! Is just *chefs fucking kiss* slow clap*

3) the way you describe sex scenes are so natural! Ive never read a fanfic or book that doesnt make me gag a little bit (I am not a fan of smut at all but ill go with it because of a good story) until I read yours. Its so simple but yet intricate and you make the entire act so intriguing and normal and intimate. Bravo.

4) I LOVE SASHA. I love that Theo fell for her head over heels and the way you portrayd her reminded me of a friend of mine who works as a sous-chef in London so I always pictured her when reading it!

5) Dracos inner voice is ON POINT. Like I genuinely think you shoud own the rights to that character now.

6) Ill say it again. I love Ginny. You should also own the rights to her character too.

7) my interest for Quiddich (even when reading the books/wathcing the movies) was on par, if not lower than Hermiones. You managed to get me interested in that too so yes another slow clap to you

7.1) Also such a clever career for Draco!! Made si much sense!

Now to some questions

A) What was the deal with Malfoy referring to Ginny as Weasly and refusing to aknowledge her Potter surname. And why did everyone kept correcting him? It was hilarious granted but I wanted to know whether the reason you included this time and time again had to do wih something deeper? Or was this included as just a funny recurring joke?

B) Why did you choose for Draco to have a “fantasy” to produce a patronus and not for example for him to have had to do that after theyd exchanged “i love yous”. Very interesting angle and i liked that it was sort of a loophole to all the ‘death eaters cant have patronuses’ but quite curious on the thought process

C) Why did you opt for Draco to remove his mark? Do you think that stands as reward for him more or for Hermione? Very smart solution by the way

D) if you have the time- Could you please elaborate a tad more on what the soul-bonding means? Why was it so taboo? At furst hand it seems like a very romantic/amazing thing to do with your partner right?

Lastly- Do you ever itch to make a second part to this? And in the most acceptable case that you dont, I always wondered what you had in mind for them in the future- because of the soul bonding thing, you mentioned that the generational curses will be erased, which means I guess that the Malfoys can have more than one child now, and girls as well. (I cannot believe im asking for this as I am the one to avoid any pregnancy fanfics but) do you imagine them with children and if yes, how many? How do they integrate muggle devices(I know youd agree wit me that Hermione would definitively bring some muggle stuff over!) and which devices would Draco really secretly like?

Pleasewriteasecondpartwhereyouelaborateyourthoughtsonthisthankyou.

Ok rant done. :D

List anon! You’re back with another amazing ask. I’ll do my best!

1.) I like to think Ron matured a lot post-war (not enough to stop making terrible jokes, though.)

2.) Regarding your beautiful analysis of my specific dragon breed for Draco’s patronus: How many points would you like for your Hogwarts house of choice? I will add that according to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, the Ironbelly’s scales are normally a metallic grey. I will also add that I subscribe more to book canon than movie canon. In the book version of events of the Gringotts escape, Harry breaks the chains and Hermione (with eventual help once the boys catch on) destroys the ceiling so it can have a way out. The partially blind dragon does the rest of the work on its own.

3.) Thank you, that’s very flattering.

4.) Does your friend also get you into fancy restaurants and can they make salted caramel bread pudding???

5.) Thank you, it was one of my favorite aspects of writing this story.

6.) Thank you, she’s so fun to write and flesh out from her book portrayal.

7.) Haha, I felt so validated by that line of dialogue in Cursed Child when Draco tells Harry he wanted to play quidditch professionally, but wasn’t good enough.

Now to some answers:

A.) It’s definitely a recurring joke. It’s up to the reader to interpret Draco’s actions here: is he doing it to be a massive troll? Or is he genuinely not retaining the information of her married name because he considers this fact so unimportant that he does not bother to keep it in his brain? Troll, snob, or both, you can decide!

B.) I’ll address the second part of this first, because it was not intended as a loophole. I 1000% do not understand the “death eaters can’t have patronuses” thing. It makes absolutely no sense. Snape has a Patronus. But beyond that… Umbridge has a Patronus (a cat). If we’re letting that woman have a Patronus, then yeah, I think Draco can cast one. As for the vision that Draco used to conjure it… up to you whether that’s a fantasy or a glimpse of a certain ritual actually working. Draco’s thoughts on the matter: “An image of such striking tangibility that he might have already lived it, or perhaps experienced time in such a way that he lived it now.”

C.) I wanted Draco to have a choice, obviously a recurring theme for him in RN. For my characterization of him, that symbol on his arm causes him nothing but shame and self-loathing (see the end of chapter 36 during his heart-to-heart with Hermione). He’d already exercised almost every known avenue to rid himself of it before Hermione entered his life (he lists these in chapter 44). Hermione already loved him (and has told him so) by the time she’s figured out how to remove it: “I love the man you are today and I will love that man tomorrow, bare forearm or not. I simply wanted you, for once, to have the choice. It’s your body.”

D.) Ooh anon, you are tempting me here. I really hate to be coy, but you might see some future writing on this very topic.

I can at least answer the taboo part: I think soul magic in general (horcruxes, the use of unicorn blood) is quite taboo in the HP universe. As no one knows what happens after death (not even ghosts, Nearly Headless Nick says as much when Harry asks him point-blank in OoTP) I think most magical folk would think the intense ritual (blending magical cores) an unnecessary thing anyway. As Draco explains in chapter 48, since no one actually knows the effects or if it works, it’s considered a bit over-the-top since it’s probably futile anyway. It is also not a Vow with a death component; Narcissa is obviously alive in this story even though Lucius is already dead. I wrote the generational curse protection theory in as a dig at Cursed Child for the way they handled Astoria’s character.

The idea of it I think is romantic, but I will stress it is very dependent upon the intent of the two participants. To quote Draco in chapter 48 again: “To twine one’s soul to another showed a willingness to not only physically tether one’s self during your time here on earth, but to commit to a blending of your magical cores, putting faith in your magic to recognize its bonded counterpart in another life. Should other lives even exist.”

If you re-read Draco’s experience during the bonding ceremony in chapter 51 (starting from this bit: “The cognizance of his own powers never felt sharper, more familiar, but suddenly another power pulsed within to join with his.”) you might find it bears a resemblance to the trajectory of their relationship.

Lastly- I’ve left Draco and Hermione to their wedded bliss. I’ve got nothing planned for them beyond where they are in the final lines of chapter 51. I don’t have that itch to write more into their future because it would feel forced. Draco laid out his two envisioned futures with Hermione in chapter 48 when they discuss having or not having children. They are happy and content in the life they chose together. That’s all I ever wanted for them.

You will see more from this story though. I have an entire series of one-shots and outtakes from the published Remain Nameless timeline that I’ll start posting soon.

Thank you so much list anon! These were fun to answer!

[brywrites]

Date Night II

Here’s the second part to a TKOW-verse “Date Night”!

Part I | The Keeping of Words

Summary: Three years after leaving the BAU, Dr. Spencer Reid has given up chasing monsters to be a part-time professor and a full-time dad. It’s all domestic bliss - until Cat Adams turns up at the BAU.

Warnings: discussions of miscarriage, abuse

........

And so he took Cat to a roller rink. It wasn’t ice skating, but it was still skating. Walking inside with her like this was all just a fun game. Her fantasy come to life. She made him hold her hand. She kept calling him Spencie and he tried not to cringe, not to snap at the sound of it. It wasn’t a term of endearment. It wasn’t even close to the way it felt to hear Bianca say his name, to whisper my love as she ran her hands through his hair, or the way it sounded when Eliza Lou shouted daddy with the biggest smile on her face. No, any form of his name on Cat Adams’ lips made his skin crawl.

He kept trying to get Cat to slip up, but she refused to answer his questions. “I don’t want to talk about that,” she said after he asked about her baby.

“I didn’t want to talk about it,” he said. “I was actually just trying to see if I could use it against you.”

Cat spun around, skating closer. “Oh, really? What about um… sex?” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his. He gritted his teeth as he placed his hands on her waist to steady himself. Her touch felt like burning, in all the worst ways. As she gazed up at him, he had to force himself not to look away. “Why don’t you use that against me?”

It was hard to breathe this close to her, with his thoughts moving too fast and the memories of Mexico, of Milburn coming too quickly. He had to stay calm. He had to play this game. It was the only way to keep Bianca and Elizabeth safe. He was doing this for them. He just had to think of them.

Cat pushed him away suddenly, and the next thing he knew she’d slapped him hard enough to knock him off balance. She skated away and he scrambled off the floor. “Cat, wait! Cat. Cat, wait. Cat!”

“I have spent my entire adult life reading men. I know when they’re thinking about someone else,” she spat. And of course he was. Of course his mind was on his daughter, on his wife, on the two people he would have gone to the ends of the earth for. The only two people who could have compelled him to go on this stupid sham of a date in this godforsaken roller rink. “Do you know what this was for me? I didn’t ask for one last family visit or final meal. I wanted this. And you can’t even give me the courtesy of your undivided attention. So thanks, but this date is over. You can turn off the stupid lights, boys!” she shouted.

“She’s not you,” he blurted out. Cat turned to glare at him. “Ever since you came into my life, it’s like I can’t get you out of my head. There’s some part of my brain, some part that you inhabit and no matter how good or – or kind or attractive my wife is… she’s not you.” And the words weren’t necessarily lies. There had been a time when he couldn’t get Cat out of his head, but because he was haunted by her – not attracted to her. And Bianca wasn’t her, wasn’t anything like the woman who had tried to tear him apart.

“Do you think about me when you fuck her?” Cat asked.

Lie. Lie and make it good. For the first time in a long time he thought of Maeve. Thought of Diane and the warehouse and how he hadn’t been convincing enough to save someone he loved that night. He wasn’t going to lose this time. He looked to the side, hoping the heat rising to his face would look like an embarrassed blush.

Cat laughed, and to his relief it was a laugh of delight. “Oh come on, Spencie. I’m gonna need you to elaborate on that for me.”

He closed his eyes so his microexpressions wouldn’t betray him. “I try not to. But it’s like I can’t help it. She just… doesn’t do it for me anymore. Not like you. And I know she wouldn’t be able to handle the things I – the things I want to do with you.” God, he was going to be sick.

But Cat was threading her arm around his. “If I’m a homewrecker, I want to make it official. Take me home, loverboy.”

Against all his better judgment, he agreed. Cat already knew their address he presumed, given that she’d had Lindsey bring his mother by the day they’d abducted her. They stood on the front porch of the little blue house as Spencer fumbled with the key in the lock.

“Wait,” Cat said, putting her hand on his. “Did you really mean what you said back there?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately. He could feel the questioning stares of Luke and every SWAT agent.

“Prove it,” Cat said. “And make it good. Because I’m this close to letting them die.”

Reid stared at those cold, dark eyes. He had to make her believe it. He had to betray Bianca in order to save her and their daughter. Just pretend it’s her. He cupped Cat’s the face the way he had done to Bianca a million times, closed his eyes and pressed his mouth to hers. It’s Bianca, he told himself. It’s Bianca. He kissed her furiously, the way he did sometimes after they’d spent too much time apart, or she was blushing in that adorable way, or she was begging him for a distraction. The illusion was a fragile one. Anger could be mistaken for passion though, and he was so angry in that moment. He grabbed at her hair tighter, he pressed the weight of his body against her, he sucked harder at her lip. He tried to believe it, but the hand on his cheek was too warm and the hair between his fingers was too long and the tongue forcing its way into his mouth wasn’t hers.

Just when he thought he couldn’t do it any longer, Cat pulled away. He wanted to vomit, but he forced himself to swallow back the bile rising in his throat. He had to make her believe it.

It was only then that he opened his eyes and realized she wasn’t looking at him anymore. She’d opened the door, and he followed her gaze to where Bianca stood in the living room, her mouth hanging open as she stared at them.

His heart plummeted.

He yanked his hand away from Cat as Bianca wrapped her arms around herself, a look of unmistakable hurt plain on her face.

“B, what are you doing here?” he gasped, crossing the room towards her. She clutched her phone in her hand. There was a pattern of bruises, dirt, scratches across her face. A burn visible on her collarbone that he presumed was from the blank that had been fired. He ached to hold her, but she took a step back when he approached.

“Where is she, Spencer? Where’s Elizabeth?” Bianca demanded.

“Get Cat out of here,” Luke shouted at the SWAT team.

“No, no! She’s the only one who knows where my daughter is!” Bianca cried. “Cat doesn’t go anywhere until I know where she is!”

Cat sauntered into the living room, a triumphant smirk on her face. “Well look at that. You’re not as boring as I thought. You’re plucky. Did it make you mad that I was kissing your husband?”

“No.”

Cat pouted. “Why not?”

“Because there are other things on my mind. Where is she?” Bianca demanded. “Where’s Eliza, where’s my daughter?”

“You’re always so serious,” Cat groaned. “Tonight’s supposed to be fun. Like all the games Spencie and I play together.”

“You think this is a game?” Bianca said. “You kidnapped my daughter!”

“The daughter you didn’t even want.”

“What?” Bianca’s eyebrows, knit together in anger, raised slightly as her rage gave way to confusion.

“Oh please.” Cat rolled her eyes, taking a seat in the armchair. “I got the transcript of the arraignment. You’d be surprised how easy it is to bribe prison guards. You didn’t want to be a mother. But boy genius here got you knocked up. I mean, you really think he’d know to wrap it before you tap it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I? He wanted to be a dad, and now here you are. Really I’m doing you a favor. You see, he’s got everyone fooled. Everyone things Dr. Spencer Reid is this nice, innocent, bookish genius who always saves the day – and has zero mommy issues, right? But he’s not. You know he said he thinks about me when he’s fucking you,” she laughed. Bianca recoiled at the words. “Does he ever get rough with you in the bedroom?”

Her face went red. “He’s never hurt me.”

“But that’s not entirely true is it? You said it yourself. He almost died in front of you. He chose drugs over you. He’s hurt you before. Maybe it didn’t leave a mark, but he’s hurt you. Maybe you know the real Spencer Reid. Just like I do.”

He bristled as she sat there in their chair, in their home, talking as if she owned the place. She didn’t belong here. She didn’t know anything about them. “Who’s the real me, Cat?” he asked.

Cat shifted her gaze to him. “The real Spencer Reid throws women against walls and hisses that he’s going to kill them. Even though you knew I was pregnant. You still hurt me.” She turned back to Bianca. “That’s right – while you painting a nursery and picking out baby names, he was throwing me against a wall and choking me. And the next day I miscarried.”

Bianca turned to look at him. The anger in his chest turned to lead, the weight of her words slamming down on him. “No. No that can’t be right. That’s not true.”

“It’s the truth,” she hissed. “Check my medical records. He might pretend to be a doting father, but he fawned over your little bundle of joy after killing my baby. He’s a murderer. Really no different from me. Or from that brother of yours.” Cat laughed sharply. “Oh, yeah. I did my research. Now that had to be fun to unpack in therapy. But it turns out all men are the same, aren’t they?”

“Bianca, I-”

“You were supposed to be different,” she said, cutting him off. She stared down at the floor of their living room. He was hurting her. He was hurting her right now. He fell back onto the couch in the living room, too tired to stay upright. “But you’re just like them. Like my father. Like Rick. Like Franklin.”

Franklin? The third name didn’t make sense. But Reid was too overwhelmed by her words to pay it much attention. She said it with such disgust and he couldn’t deny the guilt that was threatening to crush him. He wanted to sink into the floor. Had he really done that? JJ had tried to stop him but he hadn’t listened. Oh god what had he done?

“Let’s make a deal,” Cat said, grabbing the phone from Bianca’s hands. “I’ll tell you where your kid is. If you tell him exactly what you really think about him.”

Bianca closed her eyes. He could see her hands shaking. “I hate you. You’re just as bad as the others. But you hurt me. You hurt me so many times and you don’t even see it. And it doesn’t matter what I say or how much I yell at you, you’ll never see it.” He couldn’t breathe. What was happening? Where was any of this coming from? She’d only ever once spoken to him like that before. “My truth I will keep, I will not lie. You should have stayed at Milburn. It’s where you belong. Because you’re no different from any of the people you put away. You don’t deserve to be here.” She turned to stare at him. There were tears in her eyes.

And if he hadn’t known better, he would’ve assumed they meant hatred. But she’d given him a clue. My truth I will keep, I will not lie. That’s where Franklin came from. It was a line from “The Franklin’s Tale,” her favorite part of The Canterbury Tales. She’d told his mother that the day she first met Diana. It was a story she saw the two of them reflected in. Arveragus and Dorigen had a pure love based on equality and mutual respect, and when Aurelius tried to split them up, the strength of their love and their willingness to sacrifice for each other kept them together.

Bianca was trying to tell him that it was all an act. That whatever Cat was trying to do to split them up, it wasn’t going to work. Reid had to bite down on his lip to keep himself from smiling. That was his girl. His brilliant, incredible wife. He was so proud of her.

But he had to play along. “Bianca, please.”

“No. No more. I’m glad you found Cat. You two deserve each other.” She turned to Cat. “Now tell me where my daughter is, please. So I can get far away from him.” Cat typed something into the phone and handed it back. “There you go. Baby girl is alive and well. You’re welcome.”

Bianca turned on her heel and ran out to the team, leaving him stranded as he sat on the couch, staring straight ahead. Playing the part he needed play. “I win,” Cat declared. There was chaos around him as the SWAT team handcuffed Cat and Luke took off in a car with Bianca. He was loaded into the truck to sit beside Cat for the long ride back to the prison. The silence gave Cat’s words plenty of time to sink in. Regardless of Bianca’s reaction, there was a truth to what Cat had said. He’d hurt the woman he loved, and he’d done it more than once. He’d hurt so many people. And he’d caused Cat to miscarry.

He disgusted himself. It was all he could do to keep it together as Cat explained she’d just wanted to see him one last time – to make sure he wouldn’t forget about her.

She was hurting too. And maybe even scared. Her voice shook as she said, “Bye, Spencie. I really enjoyed our date.”

And then the guards were taking her away. And then Garcia and Simmons were there. “We heard you might need a ride,” Matt said. “We got Eliza. They’re both safe. We can take you to them if you want.”

“Yes. Yes, please.”

.....

He couldn’t get into that SUV fast enough. He clambered into the passenger seat, heaving a sigh.

“Rough night, huh?” Matt said, as they pulled onto the highway. Reid just shook his head.

“I thought that might be the case,” Garcia said. “Hey, boy genius. I know that you had to say some super yucky things tonight, but we briefed Bianca on it all before you went inside.”

“What? How?”

“Well, Cat had Juliette drop Bianca in the street. Cat wanted us to find her so you three could battle it out at home. The whole showdown was orchestrated – I’ll explain all the details later but to make a long story short, we figured out her endgame pretty fast. So we picked up my favorite petite poet the moment we got her location, hooked her up with a wire, took her back to your place, and told her to follow Cat’s lead and just lie as much as she had to. She would’ve made Meryl Streep proud with that performance! And then the moment Cat sent that text, we were able to swoop in and rescue little Eliza Lou from the clutches of the big bad wolf.”

“Thank you for doing all of that,” he said. “But I’m still feeling pretty horrible at the moment.”

“Is this about the miscarriage?” Garcia asked. “Because I can help you with that, too. “Cat said check the medical record and I did. She had a miscarriage, but it was months later. It had nothing to do with you. It was just a lie to throw you off. The whole team knows that, and so does Bianca.” She reached out from the backseat to put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not a monster, no matter how badly she wants you to believe that.”

With that information, Reid’s heart lifted ever so slightly. It wasn’t true. And while it would take a while to shake this terrible feeling after everything he’d heard and said, that much was a relief. And most importantly, Bianca and Elizabeth were safe. That was all that really mattered. The day had ended with the two people he loved most alive and well. Everybody lived this time.

They arrived at the hospital and the three of them walked through the maze of corridors together trying to follow the instructions of the front-desk person. He’d left his phone back at the house so Garcia was frantically trying to text Bianca for her location. Just when he was about to declare that they were hopelessly lost, a door opened and he spotted a familiar face.

“Maybe we should go back?” Simmons asked.

“Oh wait! This should be the right hallway,” Garcia said. “Just one door on the left and Bianca should be there, and we can put this whole day behind us. No more lies or games!”

But he didn’t hear them. Because Bianca was walking towards him with the most perfect smile on her face. Her cardigan hanging loosely from her shoulders, bandages and sutures on her skin and a hospital bracelet on her wrist.

“I don’t know,” Simmons said. “I mean, that kiss – that kind of thing seems hard to fake.”

“Oh Matt,” Garcia sighed. “You haven’t seen them together enough. Watch and learn.”

Reid ran to Bianca and wrapped her in a gentle hug. “Thank god you’re okay. Where’s Eliza?”

“The doctors are talking with her to make sure she feels safe at home before we can see her. But she’s okay. We both are,” Bianca said, “thanks to you.

“You were only in danger because of me. I’m so sorry.”

Bianca held him tight. “This was Cat’s fault. Nobody else’s. And it’s over now. We’re safe.” And so they were. She gazed up at him and those brown eyes were so warm. So inviting. He raised a hand to tilt her chin towards him and then shifted to caress her cheek. A smile spread across her face and she closed her eyes as he leaned in to kiss her. Slow at first, as he tested the boundaries, worried about the bruises she bore. But she pulled grabbed his suit jacket and pulled him closer, so he deepened the kiss, savoring the taste of her lips and the sensation of her fingernails at the nape of his neck. She was still too far away, so he shifted his hands to her waist, carefully avoiding the places he knew she’d been kicked, and lifted her up, holding her against him as he spun her around, never once moving his lips from hers.

He kissed her with a passion typically reserved only for their bed or the sofa or up against the wall of the study late at night, kissed her like he couldn’t get enough of her. He didn’t care who saw them. She was safe. She was alive. He loved her, and he wanted the whole world to know that.

When they finally needed to breathe and she pulled away, he set her back on the ground only to pull her back into a hug, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love you so much,” he murmured.

“I love you, too.”

At the end of the corridor, a dumbfounded Matt raised his eyebrows. “I see what you mean now.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Reid?” a nurse asked, poking his head into the hall. They both turned around. “You can come in now, we’ve finished talking with her. You’re all clear.” The relief on their faces were twin expressions as they dashed into the room together.

Elizabeth looked so small in the big ER bed and a hospital gown far too big for her, but she wore a huge smile. “Daddy, you’re here!” she said.

Reid hurried to her bedside, enveloping her in a hug. “I’m here. I’m right here.” He needed tangible proof that she was alright and to hold her in his arms seemed the simplest thing. His child was safe and sound, back with them where she belonged.

Bianca sat down on the bed and the little girl curled into her mother’s side while holding tight to her father’s hand. “You were so brave today, dear heart,” she said, stroking Eliza’s hair. “I’m so proud of you.”

Eliza looked up at her with wide brown eyes that mirrored her own. “I didn’t like the game,” she said. “Not fun.”

“We won’t play it ever again,” Reid promised her. There were no more games to win, no more villains to best. The doctor came in to assure them that they’d run a full exam on Elizabeth and had found nothing wrong. Juliette hadn’t hurt her. Bianca was given instructions to follow up if had any prolonged pain and then the three of them were on their way home. Garcia and Simmons gave them a ride back to their house, where Luke had driven Bianca’s car back to. By the time they arrived, Elizabeth was fast asleep.

They carried her into the blue house and up the stairs, tucking her carefully into bed and turning on her nightlight. Reid and Bianca hovered in the doorway just a moment longer, needing that extra space to remind themselves that their daughter was okay. They tiptoed downstairs where Bianca put a hot kettle on the stove for two cups of tea.

“You know,” Reid said, “I think Cat Adams was right about one thing.”

“What’s that?” Bianca asked.

“In twenty years, I won’t remember her name.” He stepped closer to her, lacing his fingers through her own. “But it won’t be because of Alzheimer’s. It’ll be because she won’t be worth remembering. I’ll have too many other memories – memories of vacations we took together and Eliza Lou’s birthdays and all of our anniversaries. Our life together. Our little girl. Cat won’t be anything but a blip on the radar. Hardly even a footnote in our story.”

“It’s finally over?”

“It’s over,” he assured her. “We don’t ever have to worry about her again.”

She smiled. “I’m sorry for everything I had to say tonight. I didn’t mean a word of it.”

“I know,” he said. “I picked up on that clue about the Franklin’s Tale. You were brilliant in there. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

The tea kettle began to whistle as she wrapped her arms around him. “It’s okay. We’re safe. We’re home. And we’re together.”

“That’s all I’ll ever need,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her.

[luxurybrownbarbie]

Hey, girl!!

I wanted to say that you are such an inspiration, and i appreciate your content, input and opinions a loooot, like so much ✨

Here’s a story, and i would love if you could elaborate more on it...

I met this man at a bar(he purposely walked in just to sit next to me), we started talking, he’s very handsome and smart, long story short, we ended up hooking up 4 times(he had my number)

I’m 25, he’s 44

And he was going back and forth alllllll the time, between wanting to be with me(he was fantasizing about having kids with me after knowing me for like 2 weeks??) and even told me that he loves me in his sleep on our 3rd meeting/hookup lol) and not being with me because A)”I’m too young, he can’t “grow old” with me together” (his ego talking?that i’d always be more good looking than him? idk) Said that he wants to be with someone closer to his age (bruh then don’t fuck 20somethings? Stay in your lane??) B)He thought I would cheat on him and later on leave him, find someone younger C) I would manipulate him (he’s in sales, knows all the persuasion tricks which i know too, and he quickly noticed that) D)And that i’m only after his money 🙄 Now-yes, he’s the most basic rich playboy type, with obvious trust issues (he literally couldn’t... finish with hookups, only if he had a girlfriend) and he literally spent every weekend going to bars in order to find a wife...like.... a bar...a club.... tf. He was so desperate to find a wife, but he kept seducing 20somethings because they make him feel good and give him energy and whatnot, but he wouldn’t be with them, because trust issues :) and also-before me, he also developed the same crush,going back and forth with another young girl, but she was smart, told him that her life is just beginning and he’s in the middle of his etc. So basically that’s his pattern-developing crushes for young girls(i remind you that the dude is fkn 44) and then discarding them. But...I genuinely liked him, like a lot.. and he put this family life fantasy in my head...and kept going back and forth between these two options he made (there was a lot of sexting, and then he went cold or wouldn’t text me for like a week, and then sexting and attention again, and then nothing and in circles we go) It was driving me crazy, but i didn’t give up, because i thought he might change his mind and be with me. And the worst part....I WAS CHASING HIM (STUPID BITCHH????) Like from the start he said I don’t think i can be with you because A B C reasons, but because he kept changing his fkn mind every day, i pushed him, and was calling him and giving him reasons why i would be the perfect girl for him.... stupid. Anyway, this went on for 2 months, and then he decided to join fucking tinder 💀 and... saw my sugar account......and.... basically said yea my intuition was right. Like fuck, i forgot it existed, i took almost a year long break from it, and now it just... i tried to explain that i’m not like that anymore, i want him, not his money, and he just wouldn’t believe me. After two days, i asked him if we could meet for the last time, to talk and part ways(i wanted closure) he said “I don’t have time for your games, no hard feelings, i just chose a separate path in life” and just like that he was gone. I deleted his number. Now it’s been almost 1,5 months since it happened, and it still hurts that first of all, his lasting impression of me, and what he will tell next fkn hookups(because he liked to talk about other girls in bed) is that once he met this crazy manipulative gold digger who would just keep lying to him and that i really did play myself on this one. Like, if a man tells you that he won’t be with you, don’t fkn chase him trying to prove yourself! Lesson learned the hard way... So, that’s my little story, please, give me ALL of your thoughts on this, the good and the bad, I really just want to get over him but the fact that he thinks of me that way is killing me and i can’t change it (lol i tried for 2 months) Thank you in advance, I hope you are doing well and are prospering ✨❤️ -Davina

Whew, the universe really saved you there Davina.

There’s so many red flags here I feel like I’m at the running of the bulls.

He sought you out, then told you he couldn’t be with you. He kept projecting and saying he knew you would cheat and then he... gets on tinder while going back and forth with you.

He keeps making you audition your maturity, even though he regularly seeks out women in their early to mid twenties.

He starved you of attention, making you beg him for it when we withheld it from you. He had you consistently telling him how special and important he was without his money, which he knows it what attracts and gets him these women in the first place.

And the textbook “I knew a crazy gold digger so prove you’re not her.” line. So overdone. So manipulative. So vile.

You need to be thanking tinder for not deleting your sugar profile!! I can’t believe tinder is the hero in a story for once.

Please believe me when I say this, this would not have ended well at all. You would have been stuck in an emotionally and financially abusive relationship for who knows how long.

This is the comedown that happens after toxic and abusive relationships, it’s part of what perpetuates the cycle so much. Your brain is coddling you because you’re not ready to face that yet. I promise you, you are so much better off.

Find some good things to focus on, connect with friends and chat with them about anything but relationships, and recenter yourself in positive relationships. Once you’re out of this initial fog, you’ll see how bad this was and how lucky you are. 💛

Edit: I was so caught up in that man’s toxicity I didn’t get a chance to thank you for your compliments. Thank you, you’re so kind! 💛

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. xxi

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xxi: what went we

Masterlink Post

Word Count: 15.3k

Rating: Explicit: sexual content ahead.

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, some slight gore/blood (it's very mild), the aforementioned sexually explicit content.

Notes: Hi guys. I don't really know where to begin this post, because I am incredibly emotional. It feels so very fitting and special to me that I am bringing in the last chapter of Ancient Names just as 2021 rolls in, and so yes, I AM crying, yes, this WILL be an exceptionally sappy notes section, and yes, this is going to be all about you!

There are so many people that are in part responsible for this fic actually getting finished and put out where the world can see it. @empirics, whose unending support even when she doesn't even GO here and cheerleading me through writing sprints; @lilwritingraven, who is so sweet, so supportive, so incredible and just an overall gigantic sweetheart; @faithchel, whose tags are incredible and always just give me LIFE, I love that our girls be out here really feral like that; @shallow-gravy, who not only lends me her eyeballs but also lets me complain and whine, send her memes nonstop, and participates in my very elaborate fantasies of Elliot and Diana living out their lives as dog moms on a farm (and sometimes in our unholy OT3); @baeogorath, also an eyeball-lender, also incredibly sweet, ALSO lets me send them memes, and does so good in talking me down from my adrenaline anxiety pre-posting and post-posting, was the first person to welcome me into this fandom and is also just a dear, dear friend who happens to be incredibly talented. And, of course, @starcrier. As always, this would have never ever ever been possible without you, not even a little bit, not even at all. From the bottom of my heart, to every single one of you, and the people who have left kudos, have left comments: thank you thank you thank you, from the absolute bottom of my heart. Here is ALL my love, just for you!

The emotional journey of writing this fic has been an incredible one. And a taxing one. Elliot is a character near and dear to my heart for many reasons; I pour so much of my heart into her, so when I hear people say that they love her, and love this journey, and love these things that I've created and written, I mean it when I say that it makes my whole entire day. It means so much to me. Thank you.

In the essence of time, I will not go through all of the feelings that are in my brain right now because there are SO many and I am already crying lol. Please just know you have made the experience of joining a new fandom, and writing in it, so incredible!

There is going to be an epilogue following this chapter, and then I'm going to take a short break and start in on a sequel fic, tentatively titled Witching Hour. Please feel free to hang out/chat w me/plague me with your thoughts at any time of the day; I would love to visit with all of y’all!

John was lying to her.

Or, at the very least, he was withholding information from her, which was just about as bad as lying, Elliot thought. She didn’t know what exactly he wasn’t forthcoming about—but did it matter, at this point? She could tell he was lying; he’d been all kinds of ready to leave and go and get out of Hope County, and now he was scrounging up some kind of ass-pull reason for them to stay. So did it matter? Did the distinction count?

Yes, she thought absently, as John’s fingers traced slow, lazy circles along the small of her back. Yes, I have to know what he’s lying to me about.

“Good morning,” John murmured against her neck. “How did you sleep?”

It had been three days since her baptism-gone-awry, three days of Burke occupying the bunkhouse she had been in while she had wordlessly moved into John’s space, three days of avoiding eye contact with the marshal and deferring questions about him. I don’t know, I really only knew him for a day, she’d say when John asked, or does it matter if I told him? He wouldn’t get it, the unspoken words being ‘not like you do’. She hoped, anyway.

Three days of trying to figure out what it was John wasn’t telling her.

“Like shit,” she replied tiredly as his mouth trailed along the curve of her shoulderblade. The pressure of his fingers against her sternum had her rolling onto her back to look up at him; his gaze swept over the exposed skin.

“Bruising’s clearing up,” he said, his voice low and rough from sleep. But he didn’t elaborate; he didn’t say, should we reveal your sin today, my love? the way that she thought he would try. It felt as though the gears in her head were still sluggishly turning, trying to piece together the entire picture of what was going on, a picture that she felt like John didn’t want her to see.

She knew exactly how it would go if she asked. What’s the game? she’d say, and John would look at her with those eyes, and lean in to kiss her, and he’d say, no game, hellcat, and she’d have to believe him because she didn’t have any empirical evidence that he was lying to her. Just a feeling, deep in her gut, twisting and wrenching.

It made it worse to know that John was looking at her with adoration.

Trailing a lazy circle below her collarbone with his fingertips, John asked, “Do you want to do it today?” and she stifled a sigh.

“I don’t know yet, about staying,” she replied, even though she did know: she wouldn’t. She would die before she crawled into a stupid fucking bunker at the behest of Joseph Seed. “I want to wait.”

John’s eyes flickered a little at her words, but he nodded. Elliot reached up, catching her hand with his and skimming the pads of her thumbs along his palm. The words sat there on the tip of her tongue: what aren’t you telling me? Why can’t you just tell me? Haven’t we been through enough, the two of us?

“Your heartline,” Elliot said instead, forcing her voice into playfulness because she couldn’t stop thinking about how Burke had told her to carry on as she had been. “Have you ever had your palm read?”

“No,” he answered amusedly, letting her nail skim along the curve of the line on his palm. “Are you an expert in palmistry?”

“My mama used to entertain tarot cards and palm readers with her ladies,” she replied. “So I listened in a lot. I suppose it isn’t very Godly to have your palm read.”

“It isn’t.” John’s eyes glittered. “But go ahead and tell me what mine says.”

She shifted a little against the pillows. On the floor by her side of the bed, Boomer let out a long, suffering sigh—like he was tired of listening to this flirtation already. For a small second in time, that feeling of peace swept over her, and she let herself bask in it. Elliot thought that she deserved that much at least.

“Your heartline shows your personality, and your quality of love,” she explained, skimming her finger along his heartline. “Yours comes all the way over, see? All the way across your palm.”

“Is that good?”

“Very,” Elliot said somberly. “It shows you have an abundance of love, and high expectations.”

John worked his jaw a little, clearly trying not to smile like he was proud of himself—like he had any control over the lines of his palm and how they worked. “I could have told you that.”

“And it curves upward,” she continued. “Which means you have great verbal dexterity.”

“I could have also told you that.”

“Undoubtedly,” she deadpanned. “Are you going to let me finish my reading?”

He flashed his teeth at her in a grin. “Please,” he said, “continue.”

Elliot clicked her tongue, turning her attention back to his hand. Inspecting for a moment, she said, “You have a upward split here, you see? That means you’re willing to sacrifice a lot for love.”

John rumbled his agreement at the statement and leaned down, kissing her shoulder.

“And these little forks here,” she added, pressing her thumb against them, “indicates a dispute on marriage.” Her eyes lifted to his, playful. “Are you intending on marrying, John? Palm says that’s a bad idea.”

For a second, John stared at her—his eyes fluttered, and he looked like he was collecting himself. Elliot sat up a little, frowning, but when she did it seemed to trigger whatever it was that was needed for him to come back to being present. Interlacing their fingers together, he pulled her forward and kissed her; and kissed her, and kissed her, until her lungs ached and she thought she was getting dizzy from not being able to take a full breath. His free hand slid down between her legs; when her lips parted to allow her to whimper, John’s teeth caught her lower lip with bruising force.

Already, heat was pooling in the pit of her stomach. Already, she could feel those telltale signs of desire, the way that John inspired it in her with just a few simple gestures.

“Want you,” John said against her mouth, guiding her onto him, settling her on his lap. Something was wrong, something she’d said had struck a strange nerve in him; but undeniably, it felt good, that his hands were trembling whenever his grip on her lessened a little. It felt good, because it felt like he needed her.

“Reading my palm is a cute trick, but—”

“How badly?” Elliot asked, before she could stop herself. John’s eyes, dark with want, raked over her as the sheets bunched at her hips. When she rocked her hips against his inquisitively, a low, strangled noise came out of him. “How badly do you want me?”

“You’re—in a mood,” John managed out. He opened his mouth to keep talking—something insufferable, Elliot was sure—but as he did, she adjusted and sank down against him, drawing out of him a low, vicious moan. His fingers dug into her hips and he hissed, “Wicked thing.”

She slid him out of her, and he groaned, miserable.

“How badly?” she asked again, less cloying this time. There was a strange kind of satisfaction that wound up in her, hot and humid, when John let her do this—let her take, let her sink her nails and her teeth into him wherever and however she wanted. Like he knew exactly what it was she needed and didn’t mind giving it to her.

Liar, something inside of her said, he’s a fucking liar, there’s something he isn’t telling us, but then John looked at her and said, “So badly, more than anything, Elliot,” and her chest tightened.

Her fingers found his shoulder and she tugged him up into a sitting position. Her mouth found his; she tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled just as their hips slotted together and she sighed his name in a hitching breath. The delicious burn was almost enough to fizz her focus out of existence—with so little sleep on her agenda, it was hard enough, but then she canted her hips wantingly and sparks of red-hot pleasure went racing up her spine.

“So. Fucking. Tight,” John ground out, burying his face against her neck. “Can’t believe you’re mine, El—can’t—after all of this—”

Elliot’s lashes fluttered at his words, the uneasy sprint of happiness making her stomach churn. Something else, though, wrenched around the cavity of her chest—those words. Can’t believe you’re mine.

“John,” she managed out, breathless, “I—”

“—and I’m yours.” John kissed her and guided her hips down against him until she was moaning unsteadily. “Fuck, yes, I’m—all yours, baby, just take w-what you—need from me, give you anything, anything—”

I’m all yours, he said, in the same breath as can’t believe you’re mine, and it shouldn’t have but it felt different: in that moment, having John buried into her up to the hilt and digging his fingers into her skin and sighing her name, it shouldn’t have felt different, but it did. It did, because they belonged to each other.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, on his shoulder. She thought, he’s a liar, and she thought, I’m so afraid of losing him, too, and she thought, we belong to each other.

“Please,” Elliot moaned, but she didn’t know what she was asking for; to finish, to hear him say it again, to hear him say more, to tell her the complete and absolute truth? Did it matter, anymore?

It does matter. The distinction matters.

So she said, “You’re mine,” and she kissed him, and she said it again, and again, like a prayer; until John was saying it back, feverish and panting the delicious words against her skin, I’m yours, I’m yours, all yours.

Wicked, and wretched, and maybe a liar, but all hers.

Later, tangled together in bed, John pulled her flush against him and said against her skin, “Don’t you want it, too?”

“I do,” Elliot murmured, knowing that he was talking about the Wrath he was going to put into her skin. “There’s just... A lot after that, to think about. And I know you’ll want an answer right away—”

“Is it that hard?” he asked. “To make a decision about staying or leaving?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that?”

John frowned. “I just—”

“You just want me to say yes to whatever it is you want,” Elliot snapped. “I’d like to remind you that you told me we’d go as soon as this was done.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know, Elliot. I’m just—”

And then he paused, like something wanted to come out of him that he didn’t want to say, like he’d caught himself before he’d make a fool of himself. All this time, and Elliot thought she’d never see John vulnerable, not really in the way that she wanted—he’d seen her crying and broken and grieving, and she’d seen him in intimate glimpses, but not completely.

“You’re just what?” she asked, brows pulling together.

John’s fingers traced along her sternum, spelling out WRATH, much like he had done that evening at her mother’s house.

“They’re my family,” he said after a moment. “He gave me everything.”

Something uncomfortable twisted in her chest. “I know.”

“That includes you, too.” John leaned down and kissed her shoulder. “He brought me you. I know you don’t believe, hellcat, but if nothing happens then what did we lose? Nothing. I just get to keep my family.”

Her lashes fluttered, exhaustion seeping over her bones again. It was late into the morning, but already she wanted to close her eyes.

“I told you before,” she whispered. “I told you. You can’t have both. You can’t put one foot in both worlds, John.”

His mouth pressed into a thin line. He ducked his head against her neck and kissed there, and she thought about what he’d said that night in the bar.

Outside of my loyalty to Joseph, there’s you, and I want both.

I want you too, Elliot.

We can have a place to belong.

She thought about Jerome’s voice over the radio. You don’t have to Atlas this thing, deputy.

She thought about Joey, holding her tight. I never doubted you’d be able to get me.

She thought about how, at twenty-five, she had to bury her best friend in the fucking ground.

John was lying to her about something. He wasn’t telling her everything, and maybe she had always known that it would be like this, between them: maybe, down in the marrow of her bones, she had always known they would end up at odds with each other, John trapped between two worlds that he wanted and neither side willing to budge.

Something has to be done, she thought tiredly, as John’s fingers smoothed along her hip, and I’m going to have to fucking do it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━��━━━━━━━

“You’ve gotta get them out of here, Rook.”

Burke’s words stayed there, lingering in the air between them. It was late in the afternoon, and John was with his brothers and Faith in the chapel, and she’d ducked into Burke’s bunkhouse between guard shifts to grab a quick word with him. As soon as she told him that John had been pushing to get her sin revealed sooner than the original week he’d told her, Burke’s frown had deepened.

“They’re planning on getting it over with and getting the fuck out,” he said, pacing the tiny bunkhouse room. “There’s no way I’m getting to that radio with them all here. They think the world’s going to end, and that they need to be in their bunkers to survive it. If they get locked in there, Elliot, then—”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to get them all out of here,” she replied irritably. “You do realize that I’m only—John’s the only—”

Burke waved his hand to stop her from elaborating. He’d made it clear that he didn’t want to discuss the nature of her relationship with John beyond what the base information: they had indulged in a physical relationship, and an emotional one, and now Elliot’s priorities included him. As best they could.

“He wants to do the… Ceremony,” Elliot continued, mouth twisting around the only word she could think to say without making it macabre, “soon. And I just think that if I push it all the way out, then it’ll stir up suspicion, after I told him I wanted to—”

“What if you didn’t?”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“What if you didn’t push it out?” Burke continued, slowly, pitching his voice quieter and more urgent when he noticed movement outside. “What if you asked for it to be done sooner? But just—somewhere else? Not here? Make up something about how you don’t have good memories here, and…”

“And ask for his family to be there,” Elliot finished, “so that they have to leave you here?”

Burke nodded. His gaze darted to the window again, and she knew that they were running out of time. “You’ll still be guarded.”

“I can handle a few of these fuckers,” he replied, waving his hand. “Most of them are scattered out, getting supplies. I hear them complaining about it outside all the time. I’ll get that radio, see if I can hear any chatter, and tell them where to find you. ”

I need more time, she thought, but she knew that she wouldn’t get it. Not now. Her deadline had been set for her—by Joseph, by John, and even a little bit by Burke. She was this close to being done, to being—

Free.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay, yes, I can do that. I’ll ask them to take me to the ranch, and—I can do that.”

“I know,” Burke said, and he had never sounded more confident; he planted his hands on her shoulders and looked at her, the clarity having returned from his Bliss-induced high. He hesitated, and then said, “The ceremony—”

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“I want you to know,” he plunged on, “it doesn’t matter, but I want you to know that you aren’t… That isn’t all of who you are.” His hands squeezed shoulders, the pressure welcoming and comforting and nauseating all at once. How strange, that kindness sickened her, now. “Wrath.”

Elliot paused, swallowing thickly. “I should go,” she said, because Burke still didn’t know what she’d done to Kian, still didn’t know the full extent of her body count or the way she’d felt when she killed a man. How it felt good, now—satisfying, an instant hit of dopamine centered around control.

“The back window,” Burke said, gesturing. “So the guards don’t wonder.”

“It’s all very exciting,” Elliot added. She tried for lightness, pushing the window up. “Subterfuge.”

“Just try not to say that where anyone can hear you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“We’ve nearly collected the last of the supplies,” Joseph said, pacing absently back and forth. “How long do you think, Jacob?”

“A day, at most,” the redhead replied. “They’re working quickly, without all of these interruptions.” Jacob paused, and then turned his gaze at John. His mouth twisted for a moment, and John could tell his older brother was trying not to smile when he continued, “What’s your timeline, John?”

“The same,” John replied tightly.

“A day at most?”

“No, the same as before,” he clarified, even though he knew Jacob was doing it on purpose. “You gave me a timeline and that’s what I’m working with.”

“It’s just, you sounded very confident about your ability to wrangle the deputy,” his eldest brother continued, “and you’ve always been an overachiever.”

Joseph was looking at him expectantly. John knew that they wanted him to say that Elliot had insisted on doing it sooner, that she’d fully acquiesced to staying with him, that he had fully convinced her, down to every molecule of her being, that what they were doing was right and just and undeniably truthful.

But he hadn’t. Their conversation this morning only proved that more to him. You can’t have both, she’d said, like she still thought of herself as a separate entity from him, from his family. But she wasn’t; where else would she find people who would accept her, unconditionally?

Well, mostly unconditionally. There was one condition: believing. The most difficult one for her, he thought.

“I can spend more time with her,” Faith supplied, helpfully. “Maybe she’s tired of being around you boys all the time. You can be...” Her gaze flickered, and she tilted her chin a little, smiling. “A little heavy-handed. It’s possible that a lighter touch is necessary to bring the deputy around.”

“First, you should stop calling her that,” John pointed out, and he felt a little more than petulant saying it. It hadn’t escaped his attention that Elliot was naturally inclined to open up to Faith more easily, and he shouldn’t have been surprised, but it did still bother him, sitting right in the back of his mind. Always away but never forgotten. “Continuing to refer to her as “the deputy” is only going to further cement her ties to her past life.”

“Well,” Jacob demurred, “we can’t all call her baby, can we, John?”

“If you have a problem with me enjoying the marital bed,” John bit out, “then I think perhaps you spend some time reflecting inwardly on why that’s such a—”

The door to the chapel creaked as it was pushed open. Swallowing back his words quickly, he turned and glanced over his shoulder to see Elliot, hesitating in the doorway. Boomer lingered just behind her, sat at the bottom of the stairs, ever obedient.

“I can come back,” she said, sounding uncertain.

“Not at all,” Joseph replied, before John could tell her maybe that would be best. “Please, come in.”

She did, letting the door swing shut behind her, and moved tentatively toward the front. He wondered how it felt for her—coming in here, with all of them looking at her, much the same way she had the day that set the events in motion that brought her back to them.

John wondered, too, if Joseph had known this all along; if the things that he heard and saw had shown him that Elliot would always come back here, to them. Our deputy, he’d always said, without fail.

“I want to do it,” Elliot said, as she approached. “Soon. As soon as possible.”

Silence reigned supreme for a moment, before John said, “That’s great, Elliot. We can get started with—”

“But I don’t want to do it here,” she interrupted, bringing John’s mouth to a full stop.

“More fucking demands,” Jacob muttered under his breath.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Joseph said, watching her curiously. The way they had been, he was the closest to Elliot, with a table separating her from John. His fingers itched. “If you’re worried about the safety of it, I am sure John is more than equipped to—”

“This is supposed to be cleansing, isn’t it?” Elliot asked. “Regardless of how you feel, Joey’s body was put on display here. I don’t want this to be the place where I...”

Her voice trailed off, and her gaze darted elsewhere, mouth pressing into a thin line. John said, “I don’t think going somewhere else would be a problem. Where did you have in mind?”

“The ranch,” she replied, sounding relieved. “Feels fitting.”

As John stifled a smile, Joseph said, “Well, we’ll need to clear out the bodies, but I’m sure that can be done.”

“That’s manpower,” Jacob protested.

“You were just talking about how quickly they were getting things done,” John replied. “Weren’t you? Ahead of schedule. Over-achieving, I think.”

Jacob’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click and grind of his molars, and for once, John felt a sweeping thrill of victory. It was coming together, right there, in front of him—in front of his brothers, and Faith. All of the witnessing the fruits of his labor.

“Fine,” Jacob acquiesced, at last. “But it’ll take them a few hours.”

“Perfect.” John smiled, looking at Elliot across the table, Joseph’s figure nearly eclipsing her. “Then Elliot and I will head out as soon as we hear that the bodies have been properly disposed of.”

“There’s one more thing,” Elliot began, looking uncertain, and drawing all eyes back to her again even as Joseph had moved to place his hand on Faith’s shoulder. When they had watched expectantly for long enough, she continued, “I want—everyone there.”

“Everyone?” John asked, the word souring in his mouth.

“Not—of Eden’s Gate. Just… All of you,” she elaborated.

John could feel the surprise, bubbling fresh and unexpected, between his siblings as they exchanged glances.

“Even me?” Jacob asked, and John saw the grin splitting across his face.

“Even you,” Elliot replied, dryly. “Against my better judgment, I’m sure.”

“I’m touched, honey.”

Clearing his throat, John walked around the table briskly, muttering a quick excuse us as he guided Elliot away from the front of the chapel and down the walkway a little.

“You want my family there?” he asked, keeping his voice low as his siblings chatted quietly amongst themselves. Jacob was grinning wolfishly, looking very pleased with himself, which was something John didn’t necessarily like. “Normally, it’s more of a—a private affair, and that’s how I pictured it with you—”

“This is important to me,” Elliot said, watching him. “And they’re important to you. Aren’t they?”

John swallowed. “Well, yes, but…”

“John,” she murmured, her fingers loosely tangled with his, “I’ll stay, after.”

He blinked at her. “You’ll—?”

“Yes.” Her gaze flickered over his, her voice low as she struggled through the words. “I’ll stay here, with you—and your family. After it’s done. I just… Need to close the chapter.”

I fucking did it, he thought, certain that he was going to grin like a complete maniac if he didn’t keep himself in check. I fucking got her. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe they doubted me.

“Of course,” he managed out, somehow keeping his voice steady despite the rush of butterflies banging against his rib cage. “Of course, hellcat, anything you want.”

“Okay.” She paused, and then reached up and kissed him—willingly, of her own volition, in front of his siblings, she kissed him, and then sat back on her feet. “In a day, then?”

“In a day,” John promised, their noses brushing. “We’ll really belong to each other.”

Elliot’s lashes fluttered. She looked a little more tired than before, but it was hard to tell this close; and if it bothered her at all—if it was changing her mood—it didn’t show. He felt her smile against his mouth.

“Yes,” she murmured, just the way that he liked. “Completely.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Jacob stopped by the bunkhouse with Joseph that evening to let him know they’d dispatched the men to clean out the ranch of any remaining corpses; they’d do it through the night, to better assist Elliot in her revelations. It seemed that the members of Eden’s Gate were just as relieved as the siblings themselves that the deputy was no longer and adversary, but joining them.

Which still left the matter of Cameron Burke.

“I say we kill him,” Jacob announced, glancing over John’s shoulder to ensure Elliot wasn’t there—and never before had John been more grateful for the blonde’s need to go on exorbitantly long walks out of the compound. “Quick and easy.”

“Well,” John said, “that is what I had thought you intended before, yet here we are, with him still on our hands.”

“We are lucky that our brother cares so much as to run our deputy through such trials,” Joseph interceded serenely, before a spat could break out. “And that she passed. With flying colors, I think.”

“That’s a little generous.”

“At any rate, that we’ve moved up this celebration for her is good,” the blonde continued. “I hear that the Family may not all be finished. Jacob mentioned that his scouts saw movement, out close to the Whitetails.”

John frowned. No good, he thought, but then—what about all of those dead couples he and Elliot had seen? Paired, holding hands, flowers blooming from wherever they could fit them? How was it determined which ones would off themselves and which ones stuck around?

“Now that we have all of the supplies we need,” Jacob said, “we don’t have to worry about getting rid of them.” He shrugged. “Let the apocalypse finish them off.”

“Well.” John clapped his hands together. “I’ve quite a day to prepare for tomorrow, I think. And when it’s all done, we’ll be ready to settle in.”

Joseph and Jacob exchanged looks, just for a moment, before Jacob said, “Night, Johnny,” and set off, leaving Joseph alone in front of the doorway to the bunkhouse. When he looked at John, his expression unreadable, something uneasy crawled and settled down at the base of his spine.

“I have something for you,” Joseph said. “Come with me to the chapel?”

Trying not to recognize that dread, lest he give it more legs than it already had, John nodded his head. “Of course. Though, you know you never have to…”

“It’s the least I could do,” his brother interjected lightly, waiting patiently as he closed the door to his temporary base of operations and then fell into step with him to the chapel. The evening was brisk and chilly, and when Joseph said, “And where is our deputy?” John stifled a rueful smile.

“Taking a walk, with Faith,” John replied. “And the dog, of course.”

“Of course.” He saw a smile ticking the corner of his brother’s mouth, small and almost imperceptible. “It’s nice that they get along, don’t you think?”

“It is,” he agreed, “like she was always meant to be with us.”

Joseph paused outside the chapel’s doors, reaching up and giving John’s shoulder a squeeze. “Just like.”

They stepped inside. It was cool and quiet; nobody remained. The radio flickering through channels was the only noise, and they rang empty and static, not a peep out there. He wondered if the remaining members of the Family were just looking for a place to rest, or a way to get out; maybe they didn’t want anything, anymore.

He followed his brother to the front of the chapel. On the table was the map they’d been using, a few scribbled notes in Jacob’s hand-writing, and a manila envelope.

Joseph picked up the envelope and held it out to John. He took it, and then glanced inquisitively up at his brother.

“Is this—?”

“Her file,” Joseph confirmed. “What we gathered on her prior to the Collapse. Also in there are my notes from her confession, as well as what appears to be diary entries, recovered from where Kian had tried to hunt the two of you.”

Holy shit, John thought, because sitting in his hands was the exact thing that he’d wanted from the beginning. Everything that he wanted to know about Elliot was right there: waiting to be read, devoured, committed to memory. He would know every single part of her, every wretched thing she had ever done, every loss she had ever suffered, every—

“And,” Joseph continued, “your marriage certificate.”

John glanced up at his brother. Suddenly, the envelope felt—different. Like an ultimatum. If he learned all of this about Elliot, and she got suspicious because he suddenly knew so much about her, and she asked where he found out and he told her—and he would have to tell her—she’d want to see it and then. And then.

And then.

“I think it’s time, John,” his brother said. “I know that you haven’t told our deputy about this arrangement. She is your wife, after all, before the eyes of this congregation and God.”

“Right,” John murmured, swallowing. “Yeah, of course. I planned on it. After tomorrow. It feels fitting, to tell her then.”

Maybe it would be better to tell her in the bunker, he thought absently, and then shoved that immediately away. No, fuck, no, I have to tell her. Tomorrow, after we finish everything.

“Good.” Joseph smiled, and for the first time in a long time he smiled with teeth, and the expression on his brother’s face almost unnerved him. He reached up, and his fingers brushed the nape of John’s neck, tilting him forward so that their foreheads pressed together.

Relief, hot and overwhelming, washed straight through him. They had been so at odds that John thought he might have forgotten what it was like to be in his brother’s good graces, but here he was.

“I am so proud of all that you have done for me, for our family, for Eden’s Gate.” Joseph’s voice rang in the hollow of his bones, vibrating straight through him, spiking in him a delirious rush of pride. “You have done so well, John, despite all that God has done to test you.”

Oh, there it was: everything in him said, finally, finally, finally, someone sees me, and he was reminded of why it was he owed Joseph so much. Because he gave him this.

“I’m—” John felt the words choke and stutter on the way out of him. It was almost too much—the finish line was in sight. Elliot had said, you can’t have both, but he could. He could, and he was going to, and it was here right in front of him.

Waiting.

“Thank you,” he managed out. “Thank you, Joseph. I only ever wanted to make you proud.”

“I know.” Joseph smiled, hand pressed against the back of John’s head, holding him gently. “I know.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Leaving the chapel, John was cruising on cloud nine; he had everything. Everything. Nobody was going to take it from him. No stupid cult, no last-minute hail mary’s from the opposing team—

As he passed by a window into the bunkhouse that had been Elliot’s before Burke had made it his home, John stopped and leaned against the siding of the house, tapping on the window. Burke was sitting at the table, leaned back, eyes closed; when the sound of John’s finger against the glass rattled again, he opened one eye.

John waved, and grinned. “Hi, bud.”

Burke stared at him. He gestured for the Marshal to push his window up, and after a few exasperated gestures, he did—reluctantly.

“Seed,” he said, tiredly. “Particular reason you’re not fuckin’ off?”

“Just wanted to stop by,” John replied slyly. “See how you were holding up. The impending apocalypse must be weighing heavily on you.”

Burke stared at him for a moment. He worked a toothpick between his teeth. His hands and feet were both cuffed, and the guards standing outside of the bunkhouse seemed to be concerned with his tone when he said, “Can’t wait to beat that shit-eating grin off of your face.”

“That’s not very professional,” John drawled. “Won’t that look poorly, in front of all of your little friends?”

“They’ll avert their eyes to let me give you some extra special attention.” Burke lifted his chin, taking the toothpick out of his mouth and spitting out the window, nearly landing on John’s shoes. “Promise.”

Impudent, John thought. Burke really just couldn’t let him have a moment, could he? “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Marshal,” he said, straightening up from the window and taking a step away. “I like it rough.”

And then he paused, turning on his heel like a swivel and lifted a finger thoughtfully.

“If you want some pointers on what I like,” he added pleasantly, “you can always ask Elliot.”

Burke’s eyes narrowed. “Your little brainwashed cultist? I think I’ll pass.” he asked, and John’s smile plummeted, wiped off of his face.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” he hissed. “You’re the failing party here, Cameron Burke. You’re going to be the one suffering when the End comes for you.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” Burke replied, “better get goin’, shouldn’t you?”

John’s teeth snapped together with a click, pain shooting up through his jaw as his molars ground. Petulant and arrogant, all the way to the very end, wasn’t he? He supposed that made it a little bit better that Jacob was going to off him.

He had everything he wanted, and not even Cameron Burke was going to take that from him.

John flashed a smile, all teeth, and held his arms out. “I suppose I should,” he replied. “Have a nice ceremony tomorrow to prepare. Though, I don’t have to tell you—you’ll be there for it, won’t you? A front row seat and all.”

Even in the dark of the growing evening, he could see Burke’s jaw clench. The Marshal pulled back from the window and slammed it shut, signaling his exit from the conversation; if John had been in a worse mood, he would have stormed right in there and shown Burke exactly what the consequences were for trying to run the show.

But there wasn’t time, because just as he was debating the logistics of doing so, he heard a dog barking in the distance and the sound of familiar voices.

“Hi, John,” Faith sing-songed at him, swinging Elliot’s hand in her own as they approached. “Isn’t it a bit late? I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” John replied with a quick smile, which was not necessarily a lie.

“Too excited,” his sister agreed playfully. 

As they approached, he could see the circles beneath Elliot’s eyes had darkened. She really wasn’t sleeping, was she? Reaching up with his free hand as soon as she was close enough, he brushed some loose strands of hair from her face and guided her close, his fingers tangling into her hair at the base of her skull and his mouth finding her temple. Faith giggled and waved her fingers at Elliot, breezing past him on her way to the chapel.

He asked, “Did you enjoy your walk?”

“It was dark,” Elliot replied, by way of explanation. Boomer sniffed around their feet and then cocked his head, listening while his eyes fixed on the dark treeline. “What’s that?”

“Hm?” John asked, distracted by Boomer’s sudden alertness. “Oh, the envelope?”

“No, John, this stupid fucking Hot Topic belt I’ve seen you wear all the time.” Elliot pulled back to look at him, eyes glimmering with amusement. “Yes, the envelope.”

He opened his mouth to respond, trying to decide if he wanted to be upfront with her about it or not; he was so caught up in his decision that he didn’t even have the time to be offended by her remark about his belt before he said, “We should go back to our house, don’t you think? The company here’s a little sour.”

Elliot’s gaze swept around curiously, and when she spotted Burke through the window, she said, “Ah.”

“You never did tell me how your talk went,” he added, taking her hand and beginning to pull her away. “Good? Bad?”

The blonde watched him for a moment, like he’d said something a little too suspicious. “It really bothers you when you don’t know what exactly is going on, doesn’t it?”

John feigned a pleased smile. “It’s my job to know what’s going on.”

“I thought it was your job to talk incessantly?”

“I am multi-faceted.”

They reached the door to their shared space—and that was a nice little thought, their space, like they had a place that belonged to the two of them—and as Elliot stepped inside, she said, “Burke wanted to know what had happened.”

John closed the door behind them, pausing and looking at her for a moment; he tried to glean any insight he could out of her expression, but he couldn’t. He could only see quiet exhaustion sitting on her face, just there, just within his reach.

“And?” he prompted, when she failed to elaborate. She walked into the bathroom and turned the water on, washing her face; quickly, John opened the envelope and thumbed through the documents until he found what he was looking for. He slid the paper beneath the nightstand beside the bed and shut the envelope, smoothing the metal pins out. There, he thought, like it was never opened.

“I told him the truth,” Elliot replied from the bathroom, shutting the water off. “About the Family. About—you. And your siblings.”

“Well, he did refer to you as my ‘little brainwashed cultist’, so I imagine that conversation didn’t go well.”

The blonde stepped out of the bathroom, crossing her arms over her chest and watching him for a moment. That was answer enough, he supposed—whatever friendliness had lingered between Elliot and Burke seemed to have been decimated by the reality of their situation.

“What’s in the envelope?”

“It’s your file,” John said, plainly. Elliot’s jaw tensed.

“My file,” she reiterated.

“Yes. All of the things Joseph had on you before, including your confession to him and some papers they found in Kian’s bag of belongings. Back in the woods.”

Her eyes flickered, and she exhaled, long and tired. He could tell that she didn’t like that he had it. She had so desperately tried to keep him from knowing what it was that haunted her, though he had mostly pieced it together by now—an ex-boyfriend gone bad, the resulting fallout, all wadded up into a tiny ball of trauma that sat right in her ribs. All of those times Elliot had tried to cling to those shreds of control—and everything about her had been handed to him in a manila envelope. He imagined that it was quite frustrating.

John offered, “I haven’t looked at it.”

“Why not?”

“I thought,” he began, carefully, “that you might want it. For yourself.”

Elliot looked at him warily. “You’re just going to give it to me?”

“Elliot,” he said as he closed the space between them, “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you. I’ll give you anything you want.” John reached up, brushing his fingers against the slope of her neck, feeling the way her pulse jumped at the contact. “Besides, I have you. What do I need the file for?”

He wanted it. He wanted to read her file, learn every gritty detail about her, memorize them the same way she’d memorized his scars and tattoos with her fingers; to know her, inside and out, so that there wasn’t a single dark corner of her that he didn’t have completely.

“Throw it away,” Elliot murmured. “I don’t want it. I don’t want it anywhere. Please, just throw it away.”

“If that’s what you really want,” John agreed.

“It is.”

She leaned up and kissed him; her hands cradling his jaw and pulling him there, her mouth soft and compliant against his. He dropped the envelope in favor of getting both of his hands on her, walking her back against the nearest wall and sliding his fingers beneath the hem of her sweater. Elliot’s breath stuttered and hitched prettily, but she pulled back until her mouth was just out of his reach.

Still, though her head was tilted otherwise, her fingers tugged on the front of his shirt and crowded him against her, close. If he thought about it too hard—about the way they had begun, hissing and spitting, and how they were now—he’d have thought he was dreaming, how she wanted him in her space now.

“Let’s go,” the blonde said, her voice urgent. “Tonight. To the ranch.”

“You—” John paused, watching her. “You want to go tonight? Why not tomorrow?”

“I don’t want to be here,” she murmured, “in the compound. I want—”

Elliot stopped, then, worrying her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. “I want to have some time,” she continued, “with you, before... Everything. Just us.” Her mouth twisted in what John thought could only be a playful smile. “Like old times.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, narrowing his eyes amusedly. “Which times are those? The times where you told me to go fuck myself, or—”

“I think you liked it.”

“Your mouth is one of my favorite things about you, yes.”

“So,” she continued, “can we go tonight?”

John, propped up against the wall with her caged between his arms, studied her for a moment. It wouldn’t be bad to get some time away from the compound that wasn’t some kind of macabre venture out into Fall’s End, haunting her with all of the things she used to have and had once been.

“Sure,” he said finally, “I don’t see why not. Just a little time for us.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Though he had been less than thrilled about the idea of Elliot being outside of the compound, Jacob had confirmed that the ranch was cleaned out of bodies and ready for them. When they swept past Burke in the bunkhouse, watching them through the window, John’s eyes went to Elliot—trying to see if there was anything in her expression, trying to see if there was a blink of affection or recognition.

There wasn’t. Elliot walked past without looking at the U.S. Marshal and swung into the driver’s side of the truck, and when John reached across the console to drop the keys in her hand, her gaze and expression were clear of any cloudiness.

When they got to the ranch, it was quiet; the lights had been left on, and while John knew that the bodies were gone and cleaned out, he still braced himself for impact when they walked in. The bookshelf had been righted again, and the strong smell of cleaning solution lingered in the air, but for the most part, everything was exactly where he’d left it.

It was a shame, then, that soon they’d be slipping underground.

“Bleach,” Elliot said, walking up the stairs after him. “How romantic.”

“It’s your mess they were cleaning,” John replied dryly, flashing her a grin over his shoulder. “In case you forgot.”

“I didn’t.”

He pushed the door open to the master bedroom, taking in a little breath and turning to look at Elliot. She was inspecting the room, and for a second, John almost felt self-conscious—that she was here, now, with him. In his home. Touching his things. Looking at him.

It was almost unnerving to think about; that some time ago, she had been viciously looking for any way out. But of course, she had come around. She was always going to come around, one way or another. He thought about the way she’d spit Go fuck yourself, John, the way she’d tried her hardest to be as obtuse and unhelpful as possible, how she’d said in the bar you can’t have both but here he was.

Here she was.

There was only one thing left standing in the way, and it was something he had all the power in the world to change if he wanted to.

“What are you thinking about?” the blonde asked, arching a brow at him loftily.

“You,” John said, and it wasn’t a lie. Her lashes fluttered and she almost looked shy, for a moment; when he reached out and tugged her close by the belt loop of her jeans, he added, “What do you think about getting married?”

With her hands steadying herself on his chest, she barked out a laugh. “In general? Or us getting married?”

“Primarily the latter.”

“I—” Elliot blinked, and shook her head. “I don’t... What do you mean, what do I think about us getting married?”

“Do you like the idea?” John prompted. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the slope of her jaw.

“We’ve barely been together,” she murmured. “And—you still piss me off.”

“That’s amore.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Elliot groaned, and John grinned, sliding his arms around her to pull her closer still. He hoisted her up into his arms and carried her to the bed; when he’d settled her there, on her back and with her legs looped loosely around his waist, she watched him for a moment. “I don’t know. I’ve never wanted to get married.”

John cocked his head. “Not even once?”

“Not even once.”

“And why not?”

“Why would I?” she retorted. “The only marriage I ever saw was my dad dragging my mama’s credit through the dirt and then fucking off the second he got tired of playing house. Giving up my last name to someone? Letting someone take that away from me?”

John leaned down, pushing her sweater up and pressing his mouth to the curve of her hip cutting up and over her jeans. Her breath stuttered for a moment, and she squirmed when he let his tongue slide along one of her scars.

“I know this is going to sound crazy,” he said, “but marriage isn’t all about giving. It’s about receiving, too.”

He watched the heat crawl into her cheeks, undoing the button of her jeans and sliding them down until they pooled on the floor with a whisper. She said she’d never wanted to get married, but he thought after tomorrow—after she saw how beautiful it would be, to have her sin revealed and in the open—she would change her mind. For him, she would.

Elliot let out a sharp, stuttering breath. “Come here,” she said, tugging on him a little to guide him back up to her. He obliged, and she tangled her fingers into his hair and kissed him; long and patient, lips parting beneath his and her tongue flickering playfully against his mouth. She skimmed her fingers along his chest, down until she could undo his belt and pull it from the loops, discarding it on the floor.

“Miss Honeysett,” John murmured.

“John,” she replied, as her fingers deftly undid his jeans.

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

“You did take my pants off.”

He laughed, the sound sweeping out of him just before Elliot pulled him down into another kiss. She shifted and squirmed against him, pushing and working with her fingers until they were skin on skin. There was a second, a heartbeat of time, where Elliot paused, her gaze flickering over him.

“I want—a home,” she said, her voice quiet, “with you. I don’t have one anymore, and I...”

John dragged his fingers along the exposed skin of her sternum, down and down and down, and she sucked in a sharp little breath the second he found exactly he was looking for.

“You have it,” he replied against her mouth, and a spike of heat sprinted up his spine when he beckoned his fingers against her and she whimpered. “You have it, El, I told you—”

Elliot’s nails dug into his shoulder and she said, “John,” and her voice plunged a little when she did, pitching high and sweet and just the way that he liked it; he mouthed a spot on her neck, sighing against her skin.

“Love those sounds you make,” he murmured. “So good for me.”

“Yes,” Elliot said breathlessly, turning her head so that their noses could brush, “yes, I am, for you—so, please—”

So, please, she said, so sweetly, wanting and hurting and needy as she clutched him, as her breath hitched in anticipation when John pressed up against her, slow and without urgency.

“Is this what you wanted to come here for?” John rumbled against her mouth, breathing unsteady. “So I could f—fuck you in peace and quiet?”

The blonde moaned her agreement as she kissed him. Her body arched up against his, impatient, and when he finally pressed into her all the way, she let out a sigh, her fingers twisting in his hair.

It was too good; too tight, too hot, and the way Elliot held him close, like she thought she was going to disappear if she didn’t keep her grip on him, made the trickle of heat turn into a wildfire splitting through his body. He groaned, the pace excruciating and delicious as he made sure to take each drag as slow as possible.

“F-Fucking—faster,” Elliot whimpered against his mouth, “John—”

“No,” he ground out, slotting his hips against hers tightly before drawing back out again. “You have to—I want you just like this, hellcat—”

She made a sweet keening noise and rocked her hips up, impatient; each time she did sent another sharp jolt of desire sprinting through him, and he bit out a low swear and gripped her hip with one hand.

“Brat,” he moaned. “Wants everything her way but can’t—f-fucking—behave.”

“Fuck you,” Elliot replied, but there was no real heat in her words; she said it in a broken, stuttering breath. “What if I want you faster? What if I want you to fuck me until you just can’t stand it—”

“Stop.” John gritted the words out between his teeth; if there was one thing that sent him to his undoing, it was Elliot and her filthy mouth. “God, you—fucking—”

Elliot dragged him in for a kiss, open-mouthed and slick and wanting, and she begged, “John, I want you so badly—I need—”

And her words stuttered for a moment, like she was catching herself before she could say something that she thought might be embarrassing. John’s hand came up and pressed to her jaw, tilting her face back to him so that he could see her; gazing at him through her lashes, flushed and lips kiss-reddened and eyes dreamy and dazed.

“Tell me,” he managed out, through the haze of his own pleasure. “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” Elliot moaned, “I need you, John.”

“Fuck,” John ground out. He was powerless to go against her wishes when she was looking at him like that, and saying I need you, and twisting her fingers in his hair and—

And when he snapped into her, she sighed his name like a prayer, like he was holy, and he thought that it would have been a crime not to give her what she wanted. It was almost as good as taking it slow; hearing Elliot whimper yes yes yes into their liplock as he fucked her, rough and a little unforgiving, nearly sent him spiraling.

When he slipped a hand between them, dragging the pad of his thumb across the neediest part of her, he felt her tighten; closecloseclose, it said, and Elliot made a wrecked, desperate sound and kissed him just as she came unraveled, panting his name.

His followed close behind—it hit hard, a strange, empty moment just before the ricocheting pleasure rattled around in his skeleton. John buried his face into Elliot’s neck and moaned, gripping her tight to him, and she arched up a little into him and made him hiss.

“You,” he said breathlessly into her neck, “are getting too comfortable using that filthy mouth of yours to get what you want.”

She laughed, raking her fingers through his hair. “You like it.”

“I’ve said that I do.”

“How much?” Elliot idled, and he felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

“Wicked thing, aren’t you?” he asked, instead of answering her question. Her lashes fluttered, and when John leaned down and dragged his teeth against her pulse point, she made a soft, sweet sound, squirming in his arms.

“I’m going to sleep,” she announced. Having disentangled themselves and slipped under the covers, she settled back against the pillows and he was reminded, once again, of the dark circles lingering under her eyes. “Feels like I have slept a fucking wink in the compound.”

“Fine,” John agreed, kissing her temple. “You’ll need your rest for tomorrow, anyway.”

It took some time for them to fall asleep; Elliot slept more fitfully than he, and each time she shifted or sighed or rolled it woke him up, too. Eventually, the blonde settled with her face tucked against John’s chest, her fingers absently tracing over the shape of his scar until her breathing slowed and she drifted back off.

Sometime around three in the morning, she stirred, sliding out of bed and making her way to the bathroom. John reached over to the nightstand and picked up his watch to squint at it in the dark. He heard the sink running, and the door to the bathroom was slightly ajar.

“Can’t believe it’s almost the end of November,” he said, out loud and to no one in particular, though Elliot’s head peeked out of the bathroom. She’d wrapped herself in his robe, cinching it tight around her waist.

“It is?” she asked, tiredly. “What’s the date?”

“The twenty-first.”

Elliot stilled for a moment. A strange emotion swept over her face; he thought that it was almost sadness. “It’s my birthday tomorrow.”

John set the watch back down on the nightstand. “Well, perfect timing then. I just gave you an incredible birthday present. How old are you turning? And why do you look so terribly distressed?”

“Fuck off,” she muttered when he grinned at her. “Twenty-six, asshole.” And then, like an afterthought: “It’s just that normally by now, I’m—”

The blonde cut herself off, and then shook her head, rubbing her eyes tiredly and walking back into the bathroom to turn the water off.

“Elliot?” he called. “What is it?”

“Just weird,” she replied after a minute, “being... Having a birthday. Here. Like this.”

He settled back against the pillow. “Come back to bed.”

She did as he asked, obliging him as she slid back under the blankets and covers. The robe was still on, and he pulled at the hem of it playfully. Elliot somehow looked more tired than before; and her eyes didn’t quite meet his, like she was somewhere very far away from him.

“Looks good on you,” he murmured. “Blue’s your color.”

Elliot’s attention snapped to him. “Faith said the same thing.”

“Great minds.”

She rolled her eyes, shifting to the other side in bed so that John could tug her back against his chest, burying his face into her neck. When her breathing finally slowed a little, and regulated, John felt himself finally start to relax.

I can have both, he thought, as he began to drift back off. I can, and I will.

｡☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆｡

When Elliot awoke the next morning, the first thing that she thought was, I’m late.

It hit her differently in the cold light of day, to think her period was delayed. That’s probably what it was, anyway—a delay. Lots of things could fuck around with the timing of a period, right?

The second thing she thought was, today’s the day.

Things did seem oddly calm, as they went about their morning; they showered, and John kissed her smelling like expensive soap, and his hands went to the places he loved the most—her hips, her hair, her jaw. It was like they’d fallen into a routine with each other, in just this short period of time; but then, she supposed, that was very natural to have happened, considering that they spent so much time with each other now.

“We should do it downstairs,” Elliot said as John busied himself with some coffee. Boomer had sprinted outside at the first opportunity, taking off into the treeline to burn some of his energy off.

“Downstairs?” he asked, glancing at her. “In the room?”

“Seems fitting.”

He shrugged, sliding a cup of coffee her way and leaning across the counter. “Whatever you want, baby.”

The sound of car doors closing and voices outside stirred her attention away from John’s mouth—a wholly distracting thing—but when she turned to see the Seeds walking through the front door of the ranch, she felt her stomach plummet.

“Brought a plus one,” Jacob announced, shoving Burke forward. “Hope you don’t mind.” He fixed Elliot with his gaze. “Caught him snooping around the chapel. Isn’t that weird?”

“I—” Elliot’s brain fuzzed viciously, static biting through all other noise. Burke’s lip was split and he had a nasty black eye forming. Oh, no, she thought, oh, no, no, no, no. This is so fucking bad.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I couldn’t trust anyone to keep an eye on him, so unfortunately, that is now my job.”

“No,” Elliot said abruptly, drawing all eyes on her. “I’m—I don’t want him here.”

“Elliot,” John murmured.

“Then what do you propose I do with him?” Jacob demanded.

“I don’t know, that isn’t my fucking job,” she snapped. With the siblings all looking at her, Burke took a second and very gently, very resolutely, shook his head no.

Her mind went frantic. What does that mean? Does that mean stop kicking up a fuss? Does that mean he got to the radio? Or that he didn’t? What the fuck is the plan, now?

Joseph said, gentle, “I’m afraid we just can’t afford to lose track of him, Elliot.”

She felt fingers brushing hers. John had come around the kitchen island, and now their fingers were interlaced. It felt like she was on some kind of precipice, some great, plunging cliff into a void, and all she could do was stand by hopelessly as everything pushed her towards the edge.

She didn’t want Burke to watch. She didn’t want him to see her let John carve WRATH into her skin, but most of all—most of all, she didn’t want Burke to see that maybe it would feel good, for her, a catharsis.

“Fine,” she managed out after a moment, watching Burke’s eyes flutter shut in what might have been relief. Or suffering. “Fine, whatever.”

“Well,” Joseph murmured, “shall we get started? There’s a full day ahead of us.”

As they moved down the stairs, Elliot swallowed thickly and tried to clear and compose her brain. Everything did feel just a little bit like it was too much. Joseph there, his shoulder brushing hers; Faith and John, chatting like it was nothing to have her sit down in a chair in the middle of the room where she had been kept captive; Jacob, shoving Burke into the room and on his knees.

It was too much. She would just have to pray that Burke had gotten a chance with the radio before Jacob found him.

“We’re going to have to take your shirt off,” John said, moving into her vision, and didn’t sound like he regretted that in the least. A little rush of relief coursed through her when she realized she’d be able to focus on someone familiar—none of Joseph’s prying eyes or Faith’s sweet smiles to unsettle and unseat her. Just her, and John.

“How long is this going to take?” Burke asked, his voice bordering on vicious. Jacob gave him a little jostle.

“Why? You got somewhere to be, friend?”

Elliot barely heard them. Her eyes, her thoughts, were on John; when her shirt was discarded to the side, he skimmed his fingers along her sternum, eyes bright.

“It’s going to look so good,” he murmured, and she knew that he wasn’t paying attention to them, either. He’d seemed disappointed when she asked someone else to be there, but now, it didn’t seem like it mattered at all. “Ready?”

She nodded, feeling a little swoon of adrenaline kick through her body when John left the room and returned with a knife. John looked at her expectantly. The physical acquiescence wasn’t enough.

“Yes,” Elliot said, and John’s eyes fluttered closed just for a moment before he leaned forward and kissed her—hard and open-mouthed, his fingers bruising where they gripped her shoulder.

“Fucking Christ,” Burke ground out, and John pulled away with a wicked grin.

“You and me,” he murmured against her lips, and she nodded.

John sat down. Over his shoulder she could see Burke, sitting on his knees, his face resolutely turned to the side. She turned her gaze away, too, because she didn’t want to see—didn’t want to see Burke sitting there, biting his tongue and trying not to look at her, look at her scars and the one John was going to give her and—

The sting of the first cut barely registered through the fog of her brain. It didn’t quite hit, and then her eyes flickered down and she saw the first stream of red, and it really hit, immediately slicing through the fog of adrenaline to hit sharper, harder, nastier.

Elliot exhaled a stuttering breath. It felt exactly the same as she remembered; it wasn’t so soft, on her chest like this, but it wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation to her either. Something in her brain tripped at the pain, neurons firing rapidly; we know you, they said, as John meticulously carved the W into her skin, we know you, pain, we missed you, missed you missed you missed you.

“John,” she said, because there was a burst of panic going off in her brain like fireworks. The two parts of her—the one that self-preserved, and the one that craved this exact sting and bite—wrestled with the reality of her situation: that she was both doing and not doing the thing she had tried to deprogram out of herself.

“So good, hellcat,” John murmured, his eyes fixed on his work as he started on the R. He was fixated; he was somewhere far away from her, even as close as he was. “It’s going to look so good on you.”

And behind him, Jacob said, “C’mon, Burke, don’t you want to see what your little deputy asked for?”

“Fuck. You,” Burke bit out.

The sting, the bite; the push and pull. Elliot breathed her way through each excruciating moment, and they were excruciating, these moments, because John was utilizing every second that he had her here, like this.

And that was fine. She needed him to; both for her sake, and for Burke’s. 

Something sounded like thundering up ahead, distant but out of place. It gave her a little jolt of panic. If that was what she thought it was, then—

Elliot saw Jacob’s eyes flicker up to the ceiling, narrowing; she managed out, “Slow down,” just as John paused too, to draw his attention back to her. 

“Slower?” John asked, and the way he said it felt intimate, with his eyes fixed on her and his fingers red with her blood.

“Please,” Elliot breathed. Jacob looked at her for a moment, long and hard, but she didn’t meet his eyes; only looked at John, only waited patiently for him to begin.

After a moment, John said, his voice pitched low, “Anything you want.”

“I’ll be back,” Jacob said. He dropped his hand from Burke’s shoulder; John made a non-committal uh-huh sound, finishing off the unsteady cross of the T. She hissed, squirming in her seat at the pain, drawing Jacob’s attention for just a second long before he made his way out of the room.

The H followed next. As soon as he finished, John pulled back to admire his work; there was still a bit of bruising, but most of it was up on her shoulder, not her chest, which was now doused in crimson. Wiping his hands off with a towel, he beamed at her; all teeth and bright eyes.

“What a relief, don’t you think?” Joseph asked, his voice idle and distracted as he glanced up at the ceiling inquisitively. “To have it all out there.”

John flashed a smile at his brother, clearly pleased. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said to Elliot, coming to a stand. “We’ll have to let it heal for a while to see how it’s going to scar, and then we can go back in and—”

Before John could finish his sentence, Elliot heard the sound of car doors slamming outside, and Jacob’s voice, asking something in a demand, and then a volley of responses: it was hard to hear, a floor down, but she thought they were saying get down, get down.

“What is going on?” Joseph asked, his voice verging on something other than cool and calm, and the sound of it filled Elliot with a bright spark of joy: yes, she thought viciously, coming to a stand and feeling around for her shirt while her eyes stayed on the Seeds, yes, you fucking cockroach, squirm.

“I don’t know,” John said, stepping toward the door. “Stay here.”

He only took two more steps before the sound of Jacob shouting something above them, followed by a gunshot, and then a loud cacophony of footsteps above them.

“Jacob,” Faith breathed, her eyes wide and panicked. “Something’s happened, Father, we have to—”

“Stay,” John barked out, suddenly all business as he was hauling Burke up to his feet. “I think our friend the Marshal would like to take a look first, make sure nothing is dangerous.”

But Burke was grinning when his feet righted themselves on the ground. He sucked his teeth, looked directly at Joseph, and said, “Time’s up, fuckhead.”

Burke’s words send her stomach somersaulting. So he had gotten to the radio. He had, just in time, which meant he’d been caught just after, and now—

Now he was here, and so were all of the Seeds, too.

I fucking did it, she thought hazily, bracing herself on the chair. Holy shit. I fucking did it.

The sound of footsteps storming down the stairs made John’s eyes flicker to the doorway, and he let go of Burke, gripping the bloodied towel loosely in his hands.

Her heart was thundering in her chest. It was hard to think through the haze of pain, the stinging and burning of the cuts on her chest, but it was there, if she tried hard enough to look: hope.

But Joseph wasn’t looking at John. He was looking at Elliot.

“You,” the Father hissed, as Elliot pulled the shirt away from her chest, sticky-wet with blood. “You did this. I know you did, you fucking locust, I knew it the second you stepped foot in my chapel—brought us all here, rounded us up like lambs for the slaughter—”

“What do you mean?” John demanded. “Elliot has been with me since this whole—”

Things moved very quickly, then: through the fog of pain, Elliot heard one, two, three heavy thuds against the door before wood splintered and came crashing down, the instant array of green sights set on them—all of them, her included—and the sound of voices demanding their hands go up.

Elliot watched Joseph, hands at his sides.

“What. Did. You. Do?” Joseph ground out, his voice vicious, the rage splitting across his face almost as delicious as the fear. Faith was crying, and saying something through her tears, as John lifted his hands obediently.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see one of the SWAT members hauling Burke out of the room first. She looked at Joseph and arched a brow at him, lifting her hands obediently when the order was shouted again. 

“Oh, Father,” she sighed, her voice cloying and sweet and just between the two of them, “did God not tell you about this part?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Things were going poorly.

That is to say, Jacob had a gunshot to the shoulder that was currently being patched while he was in handcuffs—“Can’t have you bleeding out on us, can we?” the medic said, a little too gleefully, until Jacob said something along the lines of I’m gonna rip your fucking face off—and Faith was crying, and Joseph was seething, furiously whispering to himself and held in place by one of the other U.S. Marshals.

Elliot was in cuffs, too, but Burke seemed to be talking furiously with the man who had cuffed her, occasionally interrupted when Elliot would try and draw his attention back to John.

This won’t do, he thought, as panic pounded through his body, as his heart hammered against his chest. All of his siblings, in handcuffs, and Elliot too; she was, too, but she looked—

Fine.

She looked fine, and he thought about what she’d said. You can’t have both, and then she’d immediately gone back on that. Of course she had. Of course, because she was wretched and wicked and clever, and she had never truly let go of her hatred for Joseph, but they were married. They were married, and the U.S. government was going to know about it before they stuck her on a stand to testify against any of his siblings.

“I need to speak to her,” John said to the officer holding him. “The woman, there. That’s my—”

“You don’t need to do anything,” the man replied sharply, “except shut your mouth and wait patiently for us to load you and the rest of your fucking brood into the van.”

“She’s my wife,” John bit out viciously. “And she’s in cuffs, I would like to speak with my wife—”

“What did you just say?”

It was Elliot’s voice, sharp and clear and splitting through the distance between them. In the chilly Autumn afternoon, John felt the spike of pure adrenaline race through him at her tone, at the way her head snapped to him and she shouldered her way past Burke. The officer had taken her cuffs off.

Burke said, “Rookie,” in warning, but it didn’t matter, John knew; they had never been able to ignore each other, in love or in war.

“I said,” John reiterated, “you’re my wife.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Elliot demanded.

“That night,” he began urgently, “that night that you were feeling unwell after your walk with Faith, and we talked about leaving—”

Elliot started, her voice hitching, “John, what did you do—”

“—we talked about other things, too,” he plunged on. “I didn’t tell you, Elliot. I didn’t tell you because I wanted it to be the right time. I was going to tell you today, after we were done—I was going to tell you that we talked about it and I asked you if you wanted to marry me, and you told me yes—”

“Stop,” she moaned, agonized. “Stop—fucking—talking—you didn’t, John, you fucking didn’t lie to me again about this thing that you know I hate—”

“And you signed the certificate. It’s back at the compound,” John finished, trying to lean around the officer. “We’re married. You and me, hellcat, just like we say, you and—”

He saw the slap coming before it hit, but it definitely took a few seconds for the pain to actually register in his brain. And oh, then it hit; Elliot had swung her hand with the same amount of force she might have if she were close-fist punching him, but her palm connected with this side of his face and sent a sharp, red-hot shot of pain blooming and blurring behind his eyes.

Dazed, John blinked and tried to focus his attention again as the officer jostled him out of her reach. He was vaguely aware of Burke moving toward them as Elliot gritted out between her teeth, “How fucking dare you.”

“Ell,” John said, and there was blood in his mouth, his lip split from the impact of her hand. “Listen to me—”

Burke, louder and closer: “Elliot.”

“No, you listen to me, you fucking rat!” Elliot’s voice was pitching higher in volume, and higher in frequency and hysteria. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! I told you, I fucking told you what was going to happen if you lied to me again—you fucking—I’m going to fucking kill you—”

John saw Burke sling an arm around Elliot’s waist just as she lunged again, seething and furious, holding her tight against his chest as she clawed at his arms to get free. His mouth against her hair, he said, “Rookie, take a breath.”

“You take a fucking breath!”

He hauled her, all five feet and four inches of her, turning her away from John, like breaking her eyesight with him would save him the trouble of having to cuff her.

“Elliot,” John called, trying to lean past the officer, “I forgive you—”

“Fuck! You!”

“—marriage is hard work, but I know,” he continued, grinning when she finally pulled herself out of Burke’s grip, “that you’re just the woman for the job.”

She stared at him for a long moment. Every line in her expression was pulled tight with fury, and yes—John thought he should have told her sooner, maybe, but if she was going to find out, what better time to find out than in front of the very men who wanted to put her on the stand?

“Don’t you remember what you said last night? You need me,” he tried again, and he could tell the officer holding his shoulders was getting tired of him leaning around all the time. “I love you, Elliot, through sickness and in health, no matter how many—”

“Oh, John,” Elliot breathed out, like she almost couldn’t get a full lungful of air, she was so out of breath. She swayed on her feet exhaustedly, her mouth twisting around the next sentence that came out of her mouth: “I want a fucking divorce.”

The words plunged John straight into a panic, the kind that made it feel like there was a feeding frenzy going on under his skin. This was not how things were supposed to unfold. This was not how it was supposed to go. Elliot was going to be upset, sure—but he had taken great pains to make sure that she knew he was the only thing left for her, after it all. She was supposed to upset, and then see that it had been for her, it was always for her, for them. Everything he’d done, every step he’d taken, every—

She’s mine, he thought, his face still stinging, dull and hot, from her slap. Burke was saying something to her. That’s my fucking wife, whether she likes it or not.

No one was going to take her from him. Not Joseph or Jacob, not Cameron Burke, not even her. No one was going to put a serial murderer and the wife of a religious group’s lawyer on the stand. He’d make fucking sure of that.

“You think you’re gonna move on from this, El?” he demanded, managing to shoulder around the officer to make eye contact with her. His voice came out tight, sharp—slowly and purposefully careening, but he hated the strike of strange hysteria that wormed its way in there, too. “I watched you slaughter at least a hundred people in the name of “justice”—you beat a man to death with a blunt object, and you liked it—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Elliot ground out. She made to move at him, nails digging into her palms, but Burke hooked his arm around her waist and hauled her back again, much like before.

“You think you’re gonna move on and meet some nice little country boy who’s gonna love you even with all that fucking red in your ledger?” Oh, he was careening—all of the control slipping out from between his fingers, like sand. “No fucking way, baby, I’m it for you!”

“Rook,” Burke said, but there was no follow-up which made it worse; Burke said one word—one tiny little pet name—and Elliot’s attention immediately snapped to him.

John had never been made to feel like he was nothing; not like this.

“Look at me,” he snapped, and Elliot’s eyes turned to him; but he saw the fury split across her face, the absolute indignant rage. “You’re going to spend one day back in polite society and come unglued, Elliot Honeysett, and when you fucking do—you’ll be begging for me to take you back, and I guarantee you I fucking won’t.”

“That’s enough,” Burke said, but he was speaking to Elliot, looking at her.

“Maybe,” she hissed, pushing at Burke’s arm as blood seeped through the wound on her chest “you should have considered how I would react to you being a pathological liar before you fucking came inside me, you cunt.”

Her words sent a strange, uncomfortable sensation sprinting down his spine. She couldn’t be, John thought, alluding to—

But she had been surprised when he told her it was her birthday, like she hadn’t realized what day it was, and had said something like, normally by now I’m, and just hadn’t finished her thought. 

“Okay.” Burke pulled her back a few more steps, his voice strained. Pulled her away from him. “We’re taking a walk. You and me, Rookie.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” John called after her, panic rising in his voice. “Elliot? Tell me what you—”

“I mean I’m late, fuckhead,” Elliot spit at him over Burke’s shoulder.

The officer pulled him back towards the truck, dragging him by his arm as Burke took Elliot around the corner of the ranch house. His stomach was lurching nauseatingly, trying to piece it together. Had it been long enough? Of course, it had—it had been over a month, probably, maybe even more because he didn’t know how to keep track of time when he’d been drugged and kidnapped and dragged around.

If she is, he thought, frantic; if she does have my child, if she’s—

“John,” Joseph said, his voice eerily quiet as he was pushed into a sitting position across from his brother. He seemed to have recovered from his outburst earlier; there was an odd grimness about his expression. “We must remain focused.”

“She—” John blinked rapidly, trying to gather his fraying, desperate thoughts. “Joseph, she might—”

Joseph lifted a finger to his lips to signal silence. Jacob’s breathing was labored but controlled, and Faith’s gentle crying had been snuffed out. She’d only been the damsel for a few minutes before she tried to storm her way out of their grip.

“The task at hand,” Joseph cautioned him. “Then, we will figure out what to do for your son.”

My son. The words echoed hazily in his brain as the van doors slammed shut, eclipsing them.

“How do you know?” John demanded. “You know? You know that she’s—with my—”

“Of course,” his brother replied, still keeping his voice soft.

“God told me.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Take a breath.”

“No.”

“Rookie.” Burke’s voice was hard. “Look at me and take breath.”

She couldn’t. Every inch of her body was screaming—desperate for a reprieve, but there was none to be had because she was still nursing her WRATH wound, because she was heaving out great, panicked breaths between ragged cries.

“I can’t,” Elliot moaned, her hands shaking, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—”

Burke snagged her hand and pressed it to his neck, just like before, but this time it didn’t do anything; this time, she just felt the spiral hit harder, the overwhelming sensation of touching and being touched sending her brain sprinting in panic.

She yanked her hand out of his grip and clutched her knees to her chest, ignoring the warm seep of blood even against the bandages the medic had patched her with and the sting of the pressure of her bones pressed up against the wound.

Burke stayed, and she noticed. He stayed, and he didn’t have to—he was done, free, could leave and go home—but he stayed sitting there with her, against the side of the Seed ranch, wherein many ways, things for her had began.

So, she cried; she sobbed into her jeans until she thought she was going to be dizzy from gasping for air, and Burke stayed, and waited until her hand fumbled for his blindly before he touched her again. His fingers gripped hers, firm and soothing.

“Is it true?” he asked, when she had stopped her crying, when she had breathed so much there was too much oxygen in her brain. His gaze flickered over her. “That you’re… With that fucker’s…”

“I don’t know,” Elliot replied, exhausted. “I’m—fuck, I’m late, and I didn’t realize until yesterday, because it’s been so fucking—”

Burke passed his free hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sorry,” and the words came out of her agonized; because she could hear the disappointment in his voice, or what she thought was disappointment. “I thought—I thought he—Burke, I—”

“I know, Rook,” Burke murmured, not unkindly. “Just focus on breathing. I know.”

A few more moments of silence passed between them, filled only with the sound of voices and out and the kick of an engine starting and pulling out from the ranch. After her breathing had evened out again, Burke said, “They’re going to be retrieving Kian’s body.”

Elliot stared at the ground, feeling numb. He didn’t have to say; she knew what that meant. Government officials were going to see what she’d done to Kian. They were going to see it, and see that she was legally married to one of them, and see that she was carrying the child of one of them, and see her history, and all of these things were going to add up.

The picture was not going to be a good one.

“I’ve gotta take you in, Rook,” Burke said quietly. “At the very least, to a therapist.”

She sniffed. I love you, John had said, after he’d lied. Lied, and lied, and lied, and used her, and lied, and if he loved her, he didn’t love her in any way that she understood.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

“Yeah.”

“I know what you’ve been through, and you know I’ll vouch for you. I saw firsthand the kind of—the shit that was going on,” he insisted. “I just—want you to have a realistic picture of what it’s gonna look like, when we get back. They’re gonna autopsy Kian’s body, and—”

She took in a long, suffering breath. “I’m really tired,” Elliot said, her voice breaking a little. “Can we—are we going straight there, or?”

Burke paused, his expression softening, and shook his head. “We’ll hit a motel or two along the way.”

Elliot nodded, closing her eyes and pressing her face back into her knees. She stayed like that for a while; it was hard to tell how much time passed, but eventually, someone came around the corner and said something to Burke, and he tugged her to her feet and walked her to the car.

The sensation of Burke’s hand slipping out of hers sent another burst of panic flooding through her; her body was so tired, so very fucking tired of managing the adrenaline, but the more she tried to calm down the more tired she got.

“I want to stay with you,” she said, feeling hazy and tightening her hand around Burke’s. The Marshal looked at her for a long moment and then nodded.

“Alright, kid,” he murmured, reaching up and squeezing her shoulder. “We’ll stick together.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Time passed differently, after that. Elliot couldn’t have said how long it took them to get to the first motel; it couldn’t have been seconds, or minutes, or months for all that she knew. She was numb when they set her up in a motel room with two beds, she was numb when they checked her scar and redressed it.

“Fucking Christ,” the medic said under his breath when he saw the WRATH wound, still hot and trying its best to scab over. “You poor thing.”

It’s not me, Elliot thought miserably, opening her mouth; but no words would come. All she could think was, I asked for this, I’m not the poor thing, please don’t.

“Hey,” Burke barked out, his voice sharp as he took in Elliot’s crumpling expression. “Let’s get it cleaned and let her sleep, buddy.”

The medic nodded, thoroughly scolded, and worked quickly after that. When he’d finished and she had swallowed two Tylenol dutifully, Burke watched her climb under the covers of the bed and said, “I’ve gotta make a call. You okay in here?”

She swallowed thickly. He was looking at her like he was wary of her. The same way Whitehorse had looked at her.

“Yeah,” Elliot murmured. “I’m fine.”

He gave her a tight, tired smile and then stepped out of the motel room, closing the door behind him. Silence lingered there for a little while; Elliot tried to close her eyes and sleep, her fingers brushing through Boomer’s fur as he dozed, but the low, murmuring sound of Burke talking just outside stirred her anxiety, and each time she closed her eyes she just saw John’s face.

John, holding her face and kissing her, You and me. John, burying his face into her neck, I love you.

John, their noses brushing, We can have a place to belong, Elliot.

John, vicious and unyielding, I’m it for you.

She lurched out of the bed, pushing her way into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her just in time to lean over the toilet and throw up whatever was left in her stomach—which wasn’t much, if the amount of dry-heaving were any indication. Bile burned at the back of her throat, and she thought if she didn’t get a breath of air she was going to fucking die.

Elliot pushed the window open and tried to steady her breathing. Rinsing her mouth out in the sink, she shut the water off and paused, looking at herself in the mirror.

The person that looked back at her was unfamiliar. A stranger. She blinked rapidly, trying to steady herself, but each time she did, she felt less and less familiar with the gaunt, sharp-faced, dark-eyed stranger gazing back at her from the mirror. Some bruises along her neck and shoulders still remained.

Who are you? She thought, tiredly. The one that killed all of those peggies? The one that killed Kian? Why don’t I recognize you?

“... understand that, sir, it’s just—if you saw what was going on...”

Burke’s voice drifted in through the window. He must have been pacing, because the volume of his words drifted and moved, as though he were walking around the corner and then back again.

His footsteps paused. “No, I have not read the autopsy report yet. I didn’t think it pertinent at this time, considering we only just—”

She heard Burke’s words cut abruptly, the sound of his breath leaving him in a sharp exhale, and then he said, “Jesus Christ. No, I didn’t know.”

Oh, she thought hazily, oh, he knows. He knows what I did.

Her body moved automatically. Something inside of her kicked—we’re not done yet, it said, ferocious and furious, sinking its teeth into her and operating her body outside of her own executive function. We’re not fucking done yet.

Elliot pulled her sweater and her shoes on. The late autumn chill drifting through the open window made her mind feel sharp, and clear, and she thought, somthing has to be done, and I’ll fucking do it.

She stuffed a couple of things that felt essential into a bag—painkillers, bottles of water from the fridge, Burke’s gun he’d left on the nightstand closest to the door—and then waited until she heard his footsteps pacing around the corner again before she ducked out of the window.

When she looked back, Boomer had already leapt through the window after her. His eyes were on her, bright, ready.

And then she ran.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

She’s twenty-six, and she’s in a bar.

Or that’s how it would go, anyway, if she was asleep. If she were dreaming, or remembering. But she wasn’t. Elliot was twenty-six, and she was in a bar, and she wasn’t waiting for her best friend to come back with a different drink, and she wasn’t making eyes at a handsome blue-eyed stranger from across the bar. He wouldn’t come over and call her beautiful, and he wouldn’t make her want to be kissed by someone whose face looked a little sharp, and she wouldn’t one day think that maybe she was in love with him.

I’m just a girl, she thought tiredly, staring at the water glass on the counter in front of her. This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

But it was. It was her life. Here she was, sitting in a seedy bar halfway to Georgia, with a U.S. Marshal’s gun she’d lifted sitting in her bag. She’d hitch-hiked a ride back into Fall’s End, grabbed what remained of her things—her ID, what little cash she still had on her, a debit card she was too paranoid to use, dog food—and then she’d taken the jeep parked out behind the Keller’s old place and drove.

And drove. And drove. And drove.

Now, she was twenty-six, sitting in a bar, and there is no Joey coming to rescue her, and there is no John to be a monster that she needed rescuing from.

I’m just a girl. This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

She left the cash for her water on the bar top, hauling herself out of the stool and back out into the parking lot. It was late; the sky was speckled with stars; if she thought hard enough, if she really thought about, Elliot thought maybe, somewhere inside of her, she was going to be okay.

As she climbed into the driver’s seat of the jeep, Elliot turned the key into the ignition and reached into a grocery store bag on the passenger seat, fumbling around for the cigarettes she’d purchased. Her fingers hit hard plastic and she glanced over.

The two little tiny lines on the pregnancy test stared back at her. Her stomach lurched, nausea welling up inside of her, and she tossed the hard plastic back into the bag and left the cigarettes untouched. Boomer, dozing in the back seat, pricked his ears forward and looked at her inquisitively.

She was just a girl. This wasn’t supposed to be her life. But it was—and there was only one place left to go from here.

Home.

[longitud-de-onda]

hello! could you do headcanons for javi and reader where they were fake dating (maybe being undercover or something idk it's up to you!) turned real dating 😊

so first of all, @themandjalorian is already writing a fic very much like this, its very good and you should totally check it out here 

i wrote out a bit of an undercover thing then i wasn’t feeling it, and i remembered the only fanfic i wrote in high school, which was this adorable fake dating thing i never published and it was based on some prompt about a character having been telling their grandparents about this s/o and them actually just being the neighbor, but then the grandparents come visit and want to meet the s/o so i’m going with something similar to that since it was kind of cute. idk how pleased I am with the final product... but it’s cute. 

You had gotten so fed up with your parents asking you if you were dating anyone during your weekly phone calls that one day you burst and said it

“Okay! I’m dating someone! Is that what you wanted to hear? His name’s… Javier”

They were thrilled for you. Their calls started ending with “how’s it going with Javier” and they expected a little tidbit every time. About Javier. Your neighbor with whom you had only shared about 10 words with.

You had a crush on him, admittedly. It was easy to fall for that charming smile you saw strutting around the embassy. And yeah, you lived in the same building, and both worked at the embassy (in very different departments) but that didn’t mean you had a chance to talk with him.

The real danger of describing the fantasy of your relationship with Javier was that as your parents began to believe it, so did you. You saw him in the hallways and your brain was flooded with thoughts of your fantastical relationship.

But you never managed to work up the guts to even say hello to him.

That is, until your parents give you a call saying they’re coming down for two weeks to visit and they want to meet Javier, how about taking the two of you out to dinner the first night? 

And you agree before realizing how bad of an idea it is.

In your panic you go running to Javier’s door because he has to agree or you’re going to have an awkward conversation with your parents.

You practically bang down his door and when he opens it, standing there, one arm on the door, hip popped out, you freeze, speechless.

“What can I do for you?”

“Um…” 

It takes a very long pause for you to squeak out, “I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

He laughs. “Did Steve put you up to this?”

You flush. This was awful. He was laughing in your face.

“No, I—this was stupid I’m sorry. I should have known. You don’t know me at all, and— you know what? Can we just forget this ever happened?”

But when he sees you retreating, looking completely shot down, he feels a little pang of guilt.

“Wait! ...You were being serious? Do you want to come in? Have a drink?”

Your heart soars. He just invited you into his apartment? Of course you say yes.

The story spills out over a glass of whiskey. When you get to the end, carefully replacing the part where you chose his name because of your massive crush with some half-assed lie about how you had seen him in the hallway the day you started the lie and he was the first face that crossed your mind, Javier sits for a good two minutes, the silence almost killing you. 

“Sounds like fun. I’ll do it. ”

Which is not the response you were expecting but you’re grateful and jumping right into giving him all the background information on your pretend relationship and your parents and Javier is just sitting back, smiling and taking it all in.

After an hour you’re both on your second glasses of whiskey and feeling a bit like you had known each other for more than the short time you had actually spoken.

You go home, smiling to yourself, because if you were being perfectly honest the whole thing felt a bit like a date and you had fallen for him a bit more.

You are fucked.

The day your parents arrive comes way too quickly and before you know it you’re sitting at a fancy restaurant, Javier at your side, and he’s lying his ass off about how you two met and you’re utterly confused as to where this Javier came from.

Where was the Javier who slept with another woman every night? The Javier who drank whiskey alone on a work night? The Javier who knew every prostitute in town? The Javier who any parent would hate to have their daughter date? 

This was an entirely different man, one who was inventing a relationship you could only dream of being part of.

The little moments when he touches your arm and smiles so reassuringly, they feel so real.

You thought this would be a good idea and now your stomach is churning at the elaborate lie you’ve woven for your parents, and the one you’ve woven for yourself.

Javi wasn’t in love with you. He hardly even knew you. And he definitely didn’t mean a single word he was saying nor action he was doing.

And it was so much worse as the week went on. 

Your parents asked why you weren’t living together, which was embarrassing enough a question on its own, but only made worse by Javier’s immediate reaction of disgust before covering it up with a cough and an excuse about wanting to take it slow. 

And one night Javier had warned you he had to leave a dinner at your apartment early, and the way he shuffled a bit and didn’t explain why was enough of a clue that he had an informant to meet. 

It was so much worse when he kissed you before leaving. On the lips. Long and much more intimate than you were expecting.

You realize halfway through your parents visit that your feelings had somehow escalated as you got to know Javier more.

You no longer had a little crush on the man. 

You had fallen in love because you had fallen for a lie.

At that point things begin to change. Your gazes become a little bit more real, and your touches linger a little bit longer. 

The day arrives that your parents are leaving and Javier joins you in driving them to the airport. 

His hand is around your waist as you wave the two goodbye. As they disappear into the crowds of the international departures, you don’t know when to let go.

Javi is the first to drop his hand. And the ghost of his touch burns on your side a bit more than it should.

The drive home is silent. It’s not until you get back to the apartment building that you say something.

“What was in it for you?”

He’s silent and you realize how rude that sounds.

“I’m sorry, I just meant—Thank you. Javier. You saved my ass.”

He gets out of the car and you follow him up the stairs. He turns to enter his apartment and you continue on, but he calls your name.

“I did it because it was nice to pretend things were normal for a bit. Working for the DEA, we don’t get nice things like that.”

And as much as it hurts to know it wasn’t about you at all, it hurts more that Javier feels that way. You had learnt enough about him and his work in the past weeks that you know how much of a commitment it is. You just didn’t know how much it took away from someone’s life.

The real pain comes that night when you hear the loud sounds of Javier fucking someone. The ones everyone in the damn complex are familiar with. The ones that feel like a bucket of ice water was dumped on your head, reminding you how not Javier’s you are.

It’s not until work the next week when Javier walks by your desk and catches sight of how dejected you look. It’s not unlike his own appearance, if you were being perfectly honest.

That night you get a knock on the door. You open to Javier who’s got a six-pack of beer.

“I don’t know why you look like you’ve been trampled over but I haven’t had the greatest week ever and honestly you’re the only person I’ve enjoyed spending time with in the past two months so I thought we could maybe cheer each other up?”

You’re so surprised that you step aside, forgetting momentarily that he’s the reason you look like crap.

Three hours later you’ve moved onto some strong liquors, and are tumbling over one another, laughing and telling stories and talking like you’ve known each other for years. 

And suddenly his lips are on yours and you’re kissing back.

You don’t remember much the next morning, but Javi and you are both naked in your bed. It’s not too much of a jump to the conclusion that you slept with each other.

He’s already awake, and you begin the process of kicking him out of bed. And out of your apartment.

“I’m sorry, Javi,” you say, pushing him out of the door. You didn’t want to become another number in his long line of women. But somehow last night didn’t feel like he was just using you.

“Wait. Tell me you didn’t want that?”

“What?”

“Am I reading into things wrong? Or is there something here?”

The change in tone gives you pause. Enough to seriously question everything you thought about Javier.

“...did you want that?” you whisper.

“I think I did—”

“You think?”

“No. I know. I know I did.” He’s staring at you now.

“So did I.” You take a step forward, pressing your lips gently against his.

[amarscollyon]

Life is an absolute joy - I may get down and feel hopeless but then that’s simply down to my VILE CONNECTIONS

Because when it comes to tasks - every single thing a true will does for love and his tribe or community is an immense pleasure beyond your grasp and there you have it

You’re a fake fraud failure of a human - whilst I am a true will who is never anything but who he truly is, and a demigod as a result - you delude yourself that your pathetic fake brainwashed scum spirit you waste your vile worthless life with only to be cursed karmically for, and as a result become a SUBHUMAN SHITFISH MORON, so of COURSE you find tasks vile

They’re a worthless waste of time and a total lie and you loathe it’s because you loathe your FAKE FRAUD SELF for being a cowardly prick liar waste of time and energy and you know it’s true in your true self you ruin and murder and rape....

What more can I say? I love life and who I am - I hate what you are as you ruin what we could have been as one - my true joy multiplied as a tribe of like minded heroes forms a real group mind and experiences joy you haven’t even come close to dreaming of!

Lol!!!

I’ve been speaking truth for years and you still lie to yourselves and OMG you never deserved the love I gave you - like the master said, it was ALWAYS more than you and your fake delusion of care!!!

Cool, well I’m glad. May you carry on loathing who you are and what you do and wonder why bullshit fake “self” love and bollochs personal truth consistently fail you!!!

Utter morons!

Once again!

There IS NO SELF

A true will is ONE WITH ALL LOVE AND THOSE THEY KNOW AND SHARE EXISTENCE WITH!!!

The truth is absolute and universal and NEVER personal or based on your own perspective and experience

And LOVE?

Love!!! You total fucking dipshit asshole loser puppet to evil you thought you could use to destroy EVIL, and puppets you, whilst you and your spirit are cursed more daily for your idiocy!!

Love DISREGARDS ALL FEARS AND A TRUE WILL THAT ACTS ONLY ON LOVE WHICH IS NEVER FOR SELF OR EGO - and ALWAYS for the best communal good and those you love unconditionally, agapically and eternally - THEN BENDS REALITY AROUND YOU LIKE THE ROW ROW ROW YOUR BOAT DREAM IT IS - always has been and always will be - to what seems impossible at times yet ISN’T and is for the true best for all spirit that eventually across all time DOES choose to become love like this

You won’t get it because you’re a loser fucktard who has been seen for the revolutionary heart that it had and targeted with the false revolution that was put in place and set up like AN ELABORATE TRAP FOR THAT EXACT REASON YOU POO FOR BRAINS RETARD WANKER COWARD- and had your mind, time and life FILLED with totally perfectly crafted bollochs and other total cunts who are in the same boat - all too stupid, deluded and afraid to learn the lesson as the pride filled bag of shit demons carefully selected from the vast crop

So do what you want you failure- I AM THE SUN - APOLLO - truth made flesh and selected for this reason with proof you CANNOT DENY

I win through in the end and you can waste your time on vile tasks becoming ever more vile inside instead and achieve FUCK ALL and regret it all so so much as you scream in agony to the end of time

Because facts are facts

You’ve been given ALL you need to get it and angels and gods NEVER make you do vile things that are NOT who you ARE, and they along with I supply truth but you are required to look at it with courage and with humility accept your fault and swallow your pride - but no being of love is required to help you against your moronic selfish deluded egoism nor your free will

Wow

Ive never seen such a perfect little series of evidence you’re just a sad little coward fart in amongst this grotesque manure pile group of sad little cowards with no hope and nothing to blame but ego

Here’s another hint - even if you manage to succeed with ANYTHING it won’t help you or the world and I’ll enjoy sticking my fingers up in your moronic face and walking away

Low road loser

You can’t ever have me

Now go make yourself sicker with fantasies or something of choking - you know that’s proof your inner being is unwell and damaged and KNOWS all of this is truth and you’re to blame

You hate yourself and your life

Your soul is aware

Omg wow this was truly wonderful

Now - wake the FUCK UP DIPSHITS

You’ve until August 25th to resolve this disgrace between us OR you ALL have your karmic debt/punishment- multiplied 7 TIMES

and yes

It is ALREADY MILLENNIA of suffering and forced servitude you’ll be hard pushed even with MY devoted love and care and help to fix in the time you have left

Let alone after!!!!

Blessings one and all

I’ll do you a reading tomorrow to explore and confirm all this too!

Love and best wishes! Look forward to the vile tasks, my curses and your loser fake friends who are all doomed and unable to give comfort more daily leaving you worth less and less

Constantly!!!!

Muah

I really DO love you

But this is pleasure as much as adoration when you touch my heart - the only reason for any of this is love, and yep, it never breaks your will whilst you’re STILL RAPING MINE UYOU ARROGANT FUCKS

may the gods be with you more visibly as you comprehend all you had before was a load of demonic pretend poop

Fools

I’ll be here to save your life and soul and love you forever- when you do me or give me a call or knock

Anything else? Go shove a giant cactus up your ass!!!

[obligatorynasty]

Read Part 1 and Part 2.

Silk and Honey, Part 3 (Stripper!Peter AU)

“So, we’re just going to ignore this then?” Rhodey asked, shifting in the lab stool to face Tony and holding up a tabloid with a picture of his friend and the words ‘Tony Stark prowls Gay Strip Club at Night’ in big white lettering.

“Yes,” Tony’s brow furrowed as he silently tinkered with some new invention, soldering two pieces of metal together with careful precision. He did this sometimes, especially after having a rough night. Escaping to the lab when things got too heavy. Too stressful. Too much his fault. Yet, despite his efforts, his mind wouldn’t erase the image of Peter’s face dropping into that confusion, that anger, that fear. It was tormenting him, eating away at his conscience like a virus. “FRIDAY’s already working on erasing it and Pep’s talking it down at the press conference today.”

“O-kay,” Rhodey pressed his lips together in a hard line, discarding the paper in the trash bin by the desk. “Then how about the spider kid? Did you find Peter?”

Tony jumped, burning his hand on the edge of the soldering iron, “Fuck!” He exclaimed, dropping the iron and slamming his fist against the work table. “No!” He let out the heaviest of sighs. “No, Rhodey. I would like to ignore this whole string of questions, alright? Thanks.”

But Rhodey just crossed his arms, shooting his best friend a raised eyebrow and a look that showed how thoroughly done he was with Tony’s bullshit. “What happened, Tony?”

With an eye roll and an exasperated hand through his short locks, Tony spoke, “I fucked up.”

“Are we talking a big Tony Stark fuck up,” Rhodey squinted, spanning his arms outward before clasping his hands together and saying, “Or a little one?”

“Definitely a big one.”

“Alright, it wouldn’t be the first time,” Rhodey gestured for him to continue. “Go on.”

Tony stood from the desk and started pacing back forth on the lab floor. His nerves spilling from his gait like an overfilled cup. “I took advantage of the kid.” He sighed, “I was looking for him, and I found out he works at a strip club, and-”

“Hold on.” Rhodey interrupted, “A strip club? Isn’t he seventeen?”

“Your guess is as good as mine on that one.” Tony shrugged before continuing. “And I saw him – you know, dancing – and I may have, kind of, possibly bought all his time for the night, and-”

“Tony,” Rhodey pressed a finger against his temple. “You didn’t.”

“I did.” Tony gave a weak nod, his solemn expression translating his severity. “And, to make matters worse, I didn’t even tell him that I knew who he was until after.”

Rhodey sighed, dropping his head into his hands, “This is the biggest Tony Stark fuck up to date.”

“You’re telling me.” Tony slumped onto the ground, leaning against the desk by his best friend’s seat. “Got any advice before I just evaporate from this state of existence?”

Rhodey pondered the question for a long moment before locking eyes with his friend, “Maybe War Machine should just publicly arrest you.” He grinned. “Along with everyone working at that strip club.”

Tony scoffed with a smile tugging at his lips, “Okay, that’s the last time I ask you for help.”

“What? It seems like your best option.” He laughed as he joined Tony on the floor. “Look, man,” Rhodey’s voice dropped to a low tone, “If you want my honest opinion, I think you just need to apologize. Explain yourself. Make it known that you recognize what you did wrong. If he doesn’t completely kick you to the curb, make some grand gesture. Flex the billionaire muscle. I don’t know- Just do something for the kid. What does he like? What does he need?”

Tony paused, absorbing his friend’s words and letting his mind race through the possibility of redemption. “You know what? Let’s find out.” He clapped his hands together, “FRIDAY! Pull up Parker’s file, would you?”

“Yes, boss,” FRIDAY’s voice activated the lab’s hologram screen and projected it to the space in front of the two men. “Peter Parker, know aliases: Spider-Man and Silk and Honey.”

Rhodey feigned a shocked expression, “Silk and Honey, huh?”

Tony laughed and bumped his elbow against his friend’s arm, “Shut up.”

FRIDAY continued, “Age: eighteen.”

“Wait a sec, hold on, FRI,” Tony interjected. “What do you mean by that? Last time I asked, he was seventeen.”

“Boss, human beings tend to age over time.” FRIDAY’s unintentional deadpan humor made Rhodey burst into laughter. “During your last inquiry, Peter Parker was seventeen, but as of today, he has turned eighteen.”

“A bit too early on the draw there, huh Tony?” Rhodey wiped a laughter-induced tear from his eye. “The very definition of just barely hitting the mark.”

Tony mirrored Rhodey’s earlier I’m-done-with-your-BS look. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to keep the mood light,” Rhodey admitted, his amusement dwindling into light laughter and a small grin. “So why’s he working at the strip club, FRI?”

“Peter Parker’s place of residence was recently acquired by a new management company. The company intends to demolish the building. So, in an attempt to evict current residents, the rent was increased.” FRIDAY explained. “Analysis suggests that Peter is attempting to meet the raised rent cost.”

Rhodey sighed, tipping his head back against the side of the desk. “He’s doing that, school, and the spider thing? Poor kid.”

Tony agreed, nodding as his brain concocted a plan to apologize. “I think I know what I’ll do.”

“And what’s that?”

“Buy his building.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes, “I guess that’s one way to flex the billionaire muscle.”

~

On the following day, Tony enacted his plan. Not only did he purchase the building but he invited the previous tenants back and even reimbursed the excess rent. It was a grand gesture, and judging by the security feed of Peter storming Stark Tower, it definitely managed to grab the kid’s attention.

Tony instructed the front desk to allow Peter up, and he waited. Mentally reciting his apology on loop. Everything from I’m sorry to please don’t hate me. He prepared himself for every possibility. If Peter hated his guts, then he would just accept it. Maybe call Rhodey; reconsider the whole War Machine arrest thing. But, if by some miracle, Peter forgave him – well, he would do everything he could to make up for his mistake.

And suddenly, without so much as a knock, Peter breached the penthouse doors. He was fuming; his anger delivered through sharp eyes and rigid gestures. “You bought my fucking building?!” He screamed, “What the hell is wrong with you!?”

Tony parted his lips to speak, to unleash the apology he so meticulously prepared, but the nerves coiling within him made it catch in his throat. He was silent for a moment, staring at Peter with a wary expression. His palms going clammy and his breath going still. Scared to say the wrong thing. Scared to do the wrong thing. Scared.

Peter squinted, his brow furrowing and his jaw dropping in disbelief. “You really have nothing to say!?”

That shoved Tony back into his plan and he hectically gathered himself to speak, “Listen, Peter, I-”

“You know what? No!” Peter shook his head and put his hand up, palm out, signaling for the older to be silent. “You’re going to shut up and you’re going to listen to me!”

And Tony obeyed, because what else was he supposed to do?

“How the fuck did you know my name was Peter? I keep thinking back on it and I can’t quite figure it out.” Peter began pacing. “Did you recognize my face? Have you seen me at my school? Did you target me because of that? Because you knew how young I was? I mean,” He scoffed. “Buying all my time was one thing, but tipping me a hundred and saying all those nice things – was that all just some sick game to you?! Was I just some sick game to you?!”

“No! Peter, I just-”

“I broke the fucking rules for you!” The kid screamed. His fists balling, his knuckles going white, and his eyes filling with tears. “I let you fucking touch me! I was vulnerable with you! And you were just lying the whole time!”

“Peter-”

“Did you have fun? Using me like that?” Peter’s voice began to tremble, as did his lips and his breath, and all at once, his emotion started to pour from his eyes. “Did you have fun making me look stupid?”

And Tony felt it; the weight of his actions crushing his very being. “Kid, I- I’m sorry.” His elaborate apology lost on him now as the moment of grief took control and pulled desperate words from somewhere he hadn’t stored them. “None of this was supposed to happen. I was tracking you, yes, but because I knew you were Spider-Man, and I-”

“Great!” Peter threw his hands up. “Just fucking great.” He sobbed, inhaling sharp and exhaling shallow, trying to hold himself together. “You knew I was Spider-Man too?!”

“Yes,” Tony breathed, his eyes beginning to sting at the sight of the kid’s tears. “I wanted to make you an Avenger. That’s why I was tracking you. I saw you go into the club, and when I went in, I swear – Pete, I swear – I was just going to talk, but then I- I saw you dance, and-”

Peter’s eyes went wide, and for fraction of a second, Tony thought he saw a flash of something that wasn’t sadness beneath all the tears. “And what?”

“And I couldn’t help myself.” Tony locked eyes with Peter. “You’re-” He paused, unsure if what he wanted to say would be right, but stepping onto the proverbial edge to say it anyway. “You’re gorgeous, kid. Absolutely the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. I got caught up in a fantasy of you, and it made me do something stupid, something I regret, and I apologize. I won’t blame you for hating me, I just-”

“Wait. You were really just there to recruit me?” Peter sniffled, regaining his composure and using his sleeve to cast away his tears. “As an Avenger? Me?”

As Peter found his calm, like a mirror, so did Tony. “Yes. That was the plan. Nothing else. I knew you were Peter Parker and Spider-Man before I knew you were Silk and Honey.”

Peter broke his gaze away, training his eyes on the floor, “And what about my building? Why’d you do that? Why’d you buy it?”

“A grand gesture.” Tony gave a soft smile, repeating Rhodey’s words from yesterday. “I found out what that company was doing – not just to you, but to everyone in your building – and I put a stop to it. I don’t want you to worry about money anymore. You won’t have to strip anymore, or-”

“I like stripping.” Peter’s interruption was sharp.

Tony flinched, doubling back on his words, “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant you can do it because you want to, not because you have to.” He took a deep breath. “Just know that I’m sorry, Peter. I’m so, so sorry.”

Peter was quiet, then, twiddling his thumbs as he absorbed Tony’s apology.

And Tony was on edge because of it. Internally losing his shit. He thought his nerves were bad before when nothing had been said, but now, they were on overdrive. Frantically rushing his body with sorrowful thoughts of Peter’s possible rejection or worse, his hatred. It was uncomfortable to say the least; agonizing to say the most. And only after a moment so silent and so long that Tony was certain he was done for, Peter finally looked up.

“Did you mean it?” The kid’s eyes were searching Tony’s very soul as if to detect any shred of dishonesty. “What you said about me being…um- g-gorgeous and all that?”

“Yes.” Tony was earnest – more earnest than even he thought he was capable of being. “Every word.”

Peter took a deep breath and ran a hand through his brunette curls, “I think we should start over.” He gave a small, fatigued smile like his emotional energy was spent.

“Hi, I’m Peter Parker, also Spider-Man, but you know that already,” He giggled; the same giggle that Tony adored. “And I’m a student, I just turned eighteen yesterday, and my birthday sucked for a lot of reasons,” He grinned and took a few steps closer to Tony, who was positively melting under the boy’s sweet words. “But this guy I thought I hated – you may be familiar with him, his name’s Tony Stark – he bought my apartment building today as a grand gesture, and even though I was confused about it at first, I think I’m starting to see where his heart’s at.” He ended with a short nod and motioned for Tony to follow along.

“Okay, kid,” Tony gave a light scoff but smiled nonetheless. “Hi, I’m Tony Stark, Iron Man, genius, billionaire, playboy – though I don’t claim that one – and philanthropist.” His voice trailed into a whisper as he closed the gap between himself and Peter, cupping the kid’s face in his palms. “And I’ve fallen for Peter Parker.”

Peter’s face exploded in a pink hue, Tony’s candid words catching him off-guard, “M-Mr. Stark!” All at once, his stutters were captured by the older man’s lips, disappearing in the torrid momentum of their spontaneous and utterly electrifying kiss.

The kiss was soft and full of feeling. Like something out of a movie, where sparks would fly and romantic music would play and, somehow, the couple would be floating into the distance as their love culminated in the final scene. It was like watching a natural phenomenon up close; the aurora borealis in the middle of the frigid arctic or the bloom of a desert rose. Like taking your first breath after nearly drowning. Like finding something lost after years and years of search. Sure, it wasn’t their first kiss but something about it held that power all the same.

Peter pulled away first, his awestruck eyes locking with Tony’s enraptured ones. “That’s not fair.” He whispered. “You can’t just kiss me like that.”

Tony wrapped his arms around the kid’s waist, pressing their bodies together. “And why not?”

“Because I think I fell for you too.”

“Fell?” Tony smirked, “As in past tense?”

“Yeah,” Peter leaned into Tony, hiding his embarrassed expression against the older man’s shoulder. “At the club, in the private room, I thought you were so hot. I mean, I kept thinking that after work, I would have to ask you out. And then when we – you know, messed around – I knew I was taking a risk but I couldn’t pass it up. I already had a crush on you by then, and I think that’s why I was so upset to think you had purposefully used me or something.”

“You flatter me, kid,” Tony squeezed, pouring his feelings into the embrace. “I’m so sorry for everything. I should’ve been able to control myself. I should’ve said something. I-”

Peter shook his head, “No, it’s okay. I can tell you didn’t mean to hurt me.” He smiled, his gaze turning seductive. “And if I’m honest, I like that I can make you lose control like that.”

Tony could feel the heat building in his cheeks, but he played into Peter’s hand anyway. “I like it too.” He pressed a kiss beneath the kid’s ear. “In fact, you’re doing it to me right now.”

“Am I?” Peter giggled and leaned back, a teasing tone sprinkled in his voice. “Well, Mr. Stark, we’re just going to have to do something about that, won’t we?”

Tony smiled, allowing himself to indulge in the kid’s beguiling force, but it was momentary, “Wait, Peter, are you sure? You know we don’t have to, right? I don’t want you thinking that all I want is sex.”

“I want it though,” Peter spoke, his hands slowly trailing down Tony’s back, around to his front and up to his shoulders. “While future me appreciates your willingness to go slow, the me right now really wants to be fucked.”

And who the hell was Tony to deny such a request?

---

Sorry to stop it there, but I’m a sucker for a good cliffhanger. There will be one more part after this, so relax my trash pandas, you’ll get your smut. Thanks for reading and supporting! I love you all!

Tag List: @starkerhowlter @readysetstarker @gracieopalxx @another-starker-hoe @strawberryparkers @lxlxsmol @carttorchdeatth @plsstopgivingpetertrauma  @problematic-sofatini @peterparkerismybabyboy @sleepy-and-depressed @silkystark @alltimehella @nymeriasutcliff @illbethethundertoyourlightning

Part 4: Here

[breathinginthevapor]

Teenage fantasy

Summary: You used to be a fan of Calum, and now you’re his friend with benefits.

A/N: Well, it seems that no one really reads my 5sos writing anymore, but I quite like it, so I hope you will give it a chance! 

Word count: 1300+

T/W: mentions of sex

My masterlist

It’s fun to think about how much you fawned over him when you were younger. How you laid in your bed at night, dreaming of meeting him and falling in love, so sure that he would be irresistible to you. How you felt sparks of jealousy when stupid magazines wrote something about a new flirt of his, when now, just a couple years later, you don’t even care which bed he’s slept in last when he visits yours.

You used to listen to his voice in songs and interviews, thinking that it would make your heart swell if you ever became lucky enough to hear it in person.

Now, his voice might often make you come, but it’s never made you fall in love, not even close.

He’s zipping up his pants when you tell him, “I always dreamt of this, you know?”

He looks back at you with a puzzled expression, raising his eyebrows as a way of asking you to elaborate. He truly is a man of few words. 

You get up on your elbow, admiring his exposed torso that never ceases to get you in the mood.

“I was a fan of you when I was younger.”

Running a hand through those thick, black locks of his, he looks surprised for a moment before shooting you a smug heartbreaker-smile that would have had your teenage heart crumbling into pieces.

“And you, of course, was my favorite,” you tell him, his smile increasing. “Until Luke started wearing glitter, because, honestly, that was a look.”

He walks back to the bed, popping down.

“I could wear glitter, too, you know. If you’re into it.”

You shrug him off, “Nah, don’t think it would fit your aesthetic.”

He laughs quietly. Outside the bed, it seems like he is that all the time. Quiet, that is.

“It probably wouldn’t. But I’d do it if you asked.”

You don’t notice the fragile spark of hope in his voice or the way he seems reluctant to leave your room, conversing with you instead of getting the hell out of your apartment like he used to do, back when this arrangement was new.

“No need. But I wouldn’t mind if you slipped Luke my number. I’d definitely let him fuck my brains out,” you say, and because you’re gone into your own dirty imagination for a few seconds, letting the image of Luke Hemmings in your bed wash over you, you don’t notice the way his jawline clenches and eyebrows furrow at your words.

Shaking yourself out of your impure thoughts, you smile at him, “Well, I’ll see you Monday, Cal. And don’t forget it’s your turn to buy condoms!”

“I won’t,” he promises, throwing his shirt on hastily before leaving your already half-asleep figure alone in your apartment.

 The next time you see him, he’s soaking wet from the hurricane-like rain outside, and you can’t believe he went outside in this weather just to get laid.

You fuck him in the shower, reasoning that he’s already wet so it doesn’t really matter, and then again, when you’ve both dried off, in your bed.

However, just as he has caught his breath and begins to get up and leave, a lightning strikes through the sky.

“You can’t go outside in this weather, Calum.”

He shrugs, continuing to lace up his boots. You place your hand on his shoulder, and he jolts, but you still tell him calmly, “It could be dangerous. Stay here tonight.”

“Thanks. I’ll just sleep on the couch,” he mutters, but you laugh and shake your head.

“No way. Your back will kill you if you do. Think we’re past the awkwardness of sharing a bed.”

He grins, too, pearly whites on display and contrasting to the warm color of his skin.

He trails behind you as you reenter your bedroom, a small smile apparent on those gorgeous features of his, and when you lay down, he looks like he wants to say something but can’t find the words.

“Goodnight, Cal.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispers after you’ve turned off the night lamp, leaving you in darkness. When you are seconds away from falling asleep, you feel his hand fumble over your body before draping itself to rest across your waist, and you can hear him take in and hold a breath until you scoot backwards to his chest and let him cuddle you. 

You wake up the next morning to an almost-naked Calum in your kitchen making scrambled eggs, and you smile to yourself and think that this friends-with-benefits arrangement just got another couple of benefits. That if everyone had friends like this, no one would feel the need to enter a relationship that would, sooner or later, make them feel trapped anyway.

 It becomes a reoccurring thing, Calum staying over and the two of you eating breakfast together in the morning, getting to know each other over pancakes and orange juice.  

And after that, he suddenly isn’t so quit anymore. He hums melodies you don’t recognize when he makes coffee in the morning, sings songs in the shower, tells you about his childhood while he traces your bare back in all your post-sex glory, shares small anecdotes from his day when taking off his shoes in your hallway and compliments you so much in bed that you sometimes just tell him to shut up and fuck you.

But there’s a nagging feeling in your chest that you’ve let it go too far, that you’ve let him open himself up to you, and that you just might have broken something that never should have been yours to break.

So, when you open your eyes one early morning to find him already looking at you like you hung the moon in the sky, you know what’s about to happen.

And you don’t want him to say it, but he still does. Of course, the man who used to say so little has to tell you the only thing you don’t want to hear.

“I’m in love with you.”

You don’t know what to respond, but you can’t not answer, not when he’s looking at you like at lost puppy with those big brown eyes.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

You yearn to look away, but still, your eyes are still glued to his face, watching his expression turn puzzled for a second before the realization washes over him and sadness and disappointment dominate his features.

He gets up, and although you can see his pace slows as he wants you to follow him, to beg him to stay, to tell him that you do reciprocate those feelings of his, you don’t. You won’t lie to him, not even to soften the blow. And you don’t tell him that it hurts you, too, that hurting him is hurting you because you actually see him as a friend, and you like him, but not like he wants you to like him. Because you don’t think it would make it easier for him.

When he’s fully dressed and about to leave your room, he turns around, just for a moment, tears streaming down his cheeks but no sobs leaving him. Once again, he’s gone quiet.

 He disappears out of your life even quicker than he entered, and if not for the old blink shirt you’ve now deemed your own and the coffee stain on your carpet that he made once, you would think this to be another teenage fantasy of yours.

But you don’t miss him like you feared you would. You sometimes wake up and, only for a few seconds, think that the person lying next to you is Calum, but when realizing it’s just another stranger, the only emotion you feel is relief. His heart isn’t yours to break anymore, not another thing giving you bad conscience.

He’s simply gone, vanished like smoke along with the rest of the dreams you had when you were younger.

[glarehand]

ranting a bit here bc as little as i interact w/ the rp community, largely due to focus issues, depression, and anxiety, i really do appreciate my mutuals, especially in light of being in different fandoms where things’ve happened and i just. Angery

so under the cut is a funny? irritating? text-wall about some star wars related stuff i’m bothered by lol

1. shipping; i like shipping. it’s fun, it’s interesting, i get to explore things in fiction that i don’t want to as strongly or at all irl as an aroace person, etc. first problem; i ship the clones bc i viewed them as, well, clones. an aggrandized version of that buzzfeed poll abt fucking clones, if u will. i view them as “brothers” in a wartime/militaristic sense because they’re... they’re clones. they’re the same person a million times that post-cloning, sought out ways to enhance their originality (tattoos, interests, etc) past their voices, abilities, personalities, and so on. they have originality but that isn’t compromised by their existence as people based off the same template. 

some people interpret them as literal brothers which is fine too! i only consider jango fett the father of boba fett/boba fett the son of jango fett, despite boba also being a clone. especially in mandalorian culture, adoption is as valid as blood, and boba fett’s relationship to jango fett absolutely strengthens this but it’s unique in that jango adopts one son/views the clones as the jedi army separate from himself and his son/dies without having any particular association with them.

but still, regardless, i can understand why people interpret them that way and i don’t have a problem with it and enjoy peoples’ differing interpretations. but when someone mentions that shipping the clones is undeniably incest (disregarding that cloning = incest is not by any means something that can be overlapped from fiction to real life so easily? it’s sci-fi so we also shouldn’t be seeking out real life parallels to things nor considering those parallels so hard proven?) it’s like... can you shut up for two seconds LOL like it... they’re... i don’t know how to explain to you that trying to draw hard lines between things unique to sci-fi and things in real life doesn’t work as flawlessly as that. if so, we could easily turn any other media into sci-fi or any sci-fi content into slice-of-life, deciding that of course the clones would be a million literal brothers and lightsabers would be 1000 degree knives and half the aliens would just be animals- like that’s stupid and disregarding the uniqueness of the media (though i adore aus- this isn’t a dig at aus or canon divergence bc that’s literally all i do)

and outside of some specific posts i’ve seen abt this, a groupchat i was in mentioned no rule abt this or any other ship related issues, meaning that i was existing inside the chat but with this heinous feeling secret? like i felt i either had to out myself for something someone else had decided was wrong or continue existing in the chat but not get too close to anyone, out of fear of a friendship being suddenly terminated over something as foolish as character interpretation (which can and should exist separately, at once).

in addition to the internal shipping/not shipping the clones debate, was clone/jedi shipping, preferred ships, and what this means in regards to what was left in terms of shipping options, if that was something someone wanted to engage in (which i do, and that they did as well)

2. for clone/jedi shipping, i understand the possible issues of a power imbalance or how the relationships are portrayed in media-only. but at the same time and as is mentioned above, we have to suspend our belief a bit for fiction, especially with sci-fi. the militaristic/war aspect of star wars is the point of that media; it doesn’t seek to glorify or mimic real life roles (ahsoka is a general at 14, amongst other things; that in particular allows for kids to feel like they’re part of the show, like they could do be a jedi and save people at age 14, because what would be the fucking point of it if we showed only adults saving the world/14 year olds with only 14 year old responsibilities? to an extent, it’s an escape and while it’s odd writing to hold ahsoka to the standards of mace, obiwan, even anakin, it should at least be a fantastical opportunity for self-insertion/daydreaming to an extent) it has a strong focus on rebellion which can be applied in non-physical/non-warlike ways, and isn’t without the fictitious aspect of fucking laser swords and telekinetic manipulation. the wartime aspects of star wars don’t need to be followed as closely as real life regulations and expectations; if done that way, even leia and han as a ship would involve a power dynamic seeing as he technically becomes a part of the rebellion under her leadership.

in terms of 3. show-only content and the above about power imbalances, that’s what fanfiction is for. in general and in relation to that chat, full of creators and writers and so on, fanfic is for elaborating on given content, filling in content that hasn’t been given, and for rewriting things you feel have been done wrong, artistically or just because you don’t like it. an example for me is barriss offee’s arc and timeline; not only does her timeline in the prequels differ from her timeline in the clone wars show but her character seemed to be thrown away so easily, her actions made out of character in addition to her fate being the opposite of what it had been in “higher” canon. there’s also the very valid interpretation of how bad it was that the show made the muslim-coded character a terrorist BUT even disregarding people’s headcanons of her as a muslim woman and just focusing on it in a sci-fi sense, it seemed very out of character, done just to create an antagonist and an opportunity for ahsoka’s development and disillusionment with the jedi/council so of course people gravitate to rewriting her arc/redoing her character/adhering to a mix of the canons, and so on. not that people who view canon as the most important aspect of a work are wrong but like, even fanfic that adheres to canon is in a way diverging from it; if what someone creates isn’t exactly how it happened on screen, canon-compliant, involves no ulterior emotions or added scenes, it’s based on interpretation. 

people who invest themselves in ships that have no basis (4) were also mentioned and that’s just as valid a part of creating. i understand in some cases, people will ship anyone together knowingly or unknowingly to fetishize gay relationships but it’s not a sin to decide you want to see two characters interacting more or want to elaborate on what canon didn’t discuss or want to create backstories and relationships out of the blue OR just outright decide you have two favorite characters and want to explore them together, even in just an nsfw sense.

so being anti clone/clone, anti jedi/clone, and anti any characters that don’t really interact is not only dictating what ships are “right” and “wrong” based on one’s own interpretation and willingness to strictly adhere to canon but what other options are you giving us to ship the clones???

again, not that nonromantic story aspects and single character discussion isn’t important but romance and romance options are important to people and if presented and possible, people shouldn’t be prevented from doing it just because people think it’s wrong with no legitimate basis OR don’t allow people to warp canon (especially canon they don’t like or think is contradictory and out of character) to suit what they wish to explore.

there was one option left though and i dislike the new association i have in my head of it now because of all the problems above, though i assume it wasn’t done on purpose: 5. disregarding in-show shipping possibilities for self inserts

i love self inserts and my love for them has been amplified by the chat i was in, making me feel more confident in doing it myself and i am very happy with that in that i can have more love for myself in writing myself and shipping myself with someone else. but it was odd that all other possibilities were almost struck down in favor of self inserts; if cloneshipping was automatically incest, disregarding that that’s not the conclusion everyone had come to? that my brain just didn’t assume it because it’s a sci-fi only situation?, jedi/clone ships were unhealthy and based off of power imbalances/characters not truly caring for one another, and shipping characters together for the fun of it had no value as characters apparently had to know one another enough/there had to be validity in it, the only option left was to rewrite canon but only for one’s own purposes, valid only in this one case.

that just annoyed my mildly and i know it most likely wasn’t intentional but overall, i’ve felt unable to have headcanons or do certain things at the risk of being visibly mocked for it; having different faves and ships and interpretations and kinks are all parts of people’s varying fandom experiences and to have people talking about how much they don’t like that on a very visible separate discord channel where i could go in and see? and just hope that something i adored wasn’t next? is not fun at all and genuinely impacted me to where i don’t really want to have fun with people i’d liked before, where i don’t really want to post and create like i was doing when i didn’t know people were deciding based on preferences what was morally appropriate.

one of the rules in the chat was essentially that anyone could have any fave character but that discourse still stood; yes but sometimes i just want to like a character or ship? without having to preface it with how i know x thing was bad and that i don’t condone it. 

kain highwind is my favorite final fantasy character- i don’t want to have to justify my love for him, in situations where i know he was in the wrong and in situations where i think the canon content contradicted other canon descriptions of him, creating two images of who they wanted him to be; i interpret him as i interpret him and it’s unique and dear to me. 

a lot of the time, i want to create and appreciate without having to make it right for someone else’s interpretation. i don’t want to approach a groupchat or even single person friendship assuming i’m going to have to defend my favorites as ultimately a representation of myself. when i do hold my favorites close to me as extensions of me, i don’t want to have to pit myself against someone else as if i’m invalid for how i feel and interpret and am.

in general, things quickly became not fun at all and i felt alienated by an entire group all at once. like it fucking SUCKS to feel like you’ve lost 6? potential friends in one place, 3 in another, in addition to having to be wary from now on when engaging with anyone else in that fandom and after losing two friends in real life over disagreements, both times because i was misinterpreted and had to then reconsider myself especially in relation to my mental illnesses and my neurodivergency. to then feel disliked for something as stupid as shipping preferences feels as it is- foolish and embarrassing and ridiculous.

i would like to make friends but i would like for friendships in fandom to stop being so circumstantial, especially on trivial things

[hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger]

Marvel Team-Up Volume 4 #3 Thoughts

And so comes the end of this arc and I guess Eve Ewing’s whole run???? Didn’t know this was an anthology team up title jeez.

Did it go out with a bang or a whimper? Well...a bit of both.

...And by both I mean there were literal bangs in the issue so the whimpers...you get it...

 Okay so for starters the cover lies again like in issue #1. The cover promises us Peter in Kamala’s body with spider powers and Kamala in Peter’s body with Inhuman powers.

And in the issue we get...the same shit from the past 2 issues, standard Freaky Friday.

It’s less bad here than in issue #1 though. Issue #1’s lie was actively reductive to the reading experience. Here it’s just artistic licence and really the idea of seeing Spidey with Kamala’s powers and vice versa is only good for a strong visual. If Peter in Kamala’s body got the same power set it’d seriously undermine the creative legs of the Freaky Friday dynamic in the first place. So a quick cover for an eye catching visual is good enough.

Moving on...this issue is kind of the weakest instalment in this already kind of shakey arc. If you turned your brain off you could kind of enjoy issues #1-2 but the creative energy in this issue was waning a lot.

You can tell this because once the Jackal, the villain of this arc, gets defeated the issue continues for over 11 pages. Over 11 pages of restoring the status quo.

And when I say restoring the status quo I don’t simply mean Peter and Kamala inevitably swap back, I mean they swap back and also forget everything that happened, leaving you wondering what the point of any of this was.

Kamala will go forward in life never knowing the impending dread of job interviews or unpaid bills and Peter Parker will never remember the pain and discomfort of a period or the sweet taste of cotton candy lip gloss...okay maybe for both parties forgetting this ever happened isn’t the worst idea.

But the issue could’ve been mitigated if Ewing had just restructured the story a little bit so that the swap lasted way less than two days. In fact even if they forgot what happened wouldn’t it raise big red flags that 2 days have elapsed within which they remember nothing?

Even putting this aside the story continues the trajectory of having a lot of small problems that add up. Some of these don’t break the issue per se but the numeracy of them adds up to an over all lack of thought and planning put into the story.

Let’s talk about one example I actually forgot to bring up in issue #2. So in the first issue when the Jackal showed up and declared Rosario’s Polly tech would be useful in his cloning experiments my first thought was ‘how’? But I let it slide because maybe the story would elaborate.

And in issue #2 it did but having Spidey throw out a theory, and in issue #3 we got that theory confirmed.

The plan goes like this. The Jackal’s wants to use Rosario’s tech alongside his cloning tech to create clones with the consciousness of another person.

When that happened my thoughts Digivolved from ‘how?’ into ‘why?’

Like...okay, the Jackal has a God complex.

OBVIOUSLY.

Even shitty BND era writers picked up on that.

This would definitely come under the remit of playing God, but even during the nadir of the Clone Saga (we call that Maximum Clonage kids) you could just about see the method in his madness. It wasn’t rationale but it added up within his warped logic. He wanted to destroy life on Earth and replace it with the life HE created.

Cool.

Now in this story he wants to...basically transfer someone’s mind into someone else’s body, but not even their actual body a copy of their actual body.

What possible purpose would that serve?

I could KIND of see it if he wanted to transfer people’s minds into clones of their own bodies. Like what happened to Xavier after he was infected with the Brood.

But into a clone of someone else’s body?

That’s some Underpants Gnome level planning.

Not to mention can’t he basically already do that?

He created the Carrion virus IIRC which genetically reprograms the infected subject into basically believing themselves to be Miles Warren. He was also able to update Ben Reilly’s memories so they’d match Peter Parker’s. If you can do that then surely you could already put someone’s consciousness into a body that isn’t theirs? Or at least the scientific leap from one to the other isn’t that huge.

Another rather significant issue with the plot revolves around the Isotope Genome Accelerator. Yeah remember that? The thing that separated Peter and Spider-Man back in Spencer’s opening arc.

Remember how it heavily implied to explode in ASM v5 #5 and thus merge Peter and Spidey back together? Apparently not. It was either undamaged or got rebuilt apparently. Even better it has plot convenience powers now. It’s used to swap Peter and Kamala again.

So just so we are clear the Isotope Genome Accelerator’s scientific applications include:

-          Irradiating shit

-          Irradiating house spiders to the point where biting people gives them spider powers which may or may not include organic webbing

-          Removing super powered mutations (see Spider-Man: the Final Adventure #4)

-          Temporarily ‘masking’ super powered mutations (see above)

-          Separating people into different sides of themselves (and also maybe creating different clothes for them too?)

-          Swapping people’s minds which is somehow an extension of the latter application

-          Copies and/or transfers the super powers of one person to another (we’ll get back to that)

Holy shit this thing can do everything short of toast bread!

Good lord...the issue tries to explain that it’s ability to separate people into two different entities is how they’re going to affect the swap but...that doesn’t make a lick of sense even by the already bullshit science in play.

How is physically separating the thrill seeking adventurer from the responsible everyman out of the one person (or in theory the man from the cannibalistic lizard monster) remotely similar to swapping the minds of two people?

What did it separate both minds from both bodies and then...they just snapped back to where they belonged?*

This isn’t even mentioning how for what is presumably a gag the Accelerator also apparently gave Rosario Kamala’s powers. How? Why? Does this mean Kamala lost her powers? Does it mean the Accelerator copied her powers into Rosario?

Never explained who fucking knows the Isotope Genome Accelerator is the plot device that just keeps on giving.

There are other lesser contrivances in the issue that are contrivances nevertheless.

Remember how I said in issue #1 how it’s weird that everyone is so concerned about destroying Rosario’s polly device because surely she has the plans to another one? Well this issue confirms she does, she has schematics to another device.

Which raises two big questions.

a)      If the device is going to make all the difference in swapping Peter and Kamala back...why do they need the accelerator? Why the drama and tension over that, they could just build another device and swap back easy peasey

b)      Why was there any tension over destroying the device in issue #1 and thus kicking off this whole arc’s premise?

Another piece of technological contrivance comes from the chip Peter off panel implanted in his brain ages ago without telling the readers. So apparently it was useless all along because it’d only work if whoever was trying to mind swap with him also had a chip.**Oh and it’s eroded away any how.

This is a mind bender this one.

We have a non-Spidey comic by a non-Spidey office establishing Spider-Man did something major that was very smart and very obvious provided it was possible (which we were never led to believe it was in Spidey stories proper). That same non-Spidey comic upon establishing this plot device then uses it as a possible explanation for the scenario it’s setting up. Then in resolving that scenario reveals the plot device wasn’t working, never was going to work, wasn’t a factor in the first place and thus paints Spider-Man as stupid.

WTF!

WTF was the point of the anti-body swap chip then?

You might as well have never had that in the comic and thereby not made Spider-Man storytellers look dumb for not considering that or made the character look dumb for not considering it enough.

Just lose that plot point altogether and nothing changes.

Everything else wrong with this issue is less egregious, it’s smaller things that further spell out the lack of attention being paid to the story.

They range from minor stuff like typos to pretentious narration at the start of the issue.

Not only pretentious by the way but pointless given how they forget what happens and it doesn’t seem to serve the story. It pays lip service to us as people accepting our good and bad traits but...that hasn’t got anything to d with this story in the first place. Also after 2 issues of talking out loud NOW thought captions are a thing?

Let’s see what other shit is wrong with this issue.

Oh right, Rosario has been tied up and conscious in her office at ESU (on a weekday no less) all night but NOBDOY heard her calling for help in all that time? Or she didn’t try yelling before Peter and Kamala conveniently showed up?

Not to mention Kamala says her spider sense (which wasn’t working in the last issue for no explained reason) is alerting her to maybe getting the right location for Rosario but...didn’t they have her office listed? Wasn’t that what they were following? And why would the spider sense (from her and Peter’s POV) tingle if there wasn’t any danger the issue implies it’s the mere fact they’re zeroing in on Rosario.

Other smaller problems include Peter complaining that teens are so mean as though this is a revelation. Peter...Parker...is learning teens can be jerks....um...did Ewing not read Amazing Fantasy #15...page 1...?

Similarly talks about how he’s learned to focus on the problems of the present and not worry about the future. My kneejerk reaction to that is to call BS, Peter clearly does fret over the future.

Final little complaints Spidey bangs on about his knees not hurting when Kamala in his older body never brings them up and seems fine. Aaaaaand there is a line of dialogue from kamala about how the Jackal doesn’t understand that humans are more than bodies and stored ideas yadda yadda yadda,. But like...from her point of view the Jackal never said any of that shit. I guess maybe she’s right but she shouldn’t know to be right if you see what I mean.

I’ll finish off with a little positivity.

The art was lovely again.

Spidey owning Jackal with Kamala’s powers was bad ass.

Spider-Man acting the older mentor figure to Kamala was awesome, just wish it wasn’t undermined by him being in her body when he was doing that.

So all in all...this arc is very unimpressive.

You know how online, maybe on tumblr, maybe on CBR, maybe on Google images or scans daily you see a selection of pages from a comic book story? Basically the highlights?

Yeah if you were to experience issue #1 and #2 like that that’s how I’d recommend experiencing this story.

Reading or God forbid buying it is highly NOT recommended.

*Shit now I think about it the way Roasrio’s device was explained it doesn’t even add up to being able to mind swap. It turns the mind into data and stores it. Okay...how does that mean we’re swapping the minds of two meatbag humans with no mechanical storage device or interface involved?

**Even though again Doc Ock DIDN’T  swap minds with Peter he uploaded a copy of his mind into his head and vice versa, Peter’s real mind was still in his body the whole time but buried.

[animebw]

Binge-Watching: Paranoia Agent, Episodes 4-6

Well, fuck. They never make it easy for me, do they?

Cuckoo’s Nest

You know, once in a while I’d prefer to get an easy anime to talk about. Between Penguindrum, Skip Beat, and now Paranoia Agent, the last few weeks have been filled with anime that regularly frazzle my brain when I try to put together coherent thoughts on them. My recent experience on this blog has been lousy with complicated, difficult, often frustrating shows that zig when I expect them to zag and go off in a million different directions I’m not properly equipped to analyze. It’s been doing a hell of a number on my brain, I can tell you that much. Next time, I hope I can binge-watch an anime that I actually feel inspired to pull meaningful ideas out of. Something that doesn’t challenge norms of storytelling or cloak its meaning in a million different layers of obfuscation, just a good time with no caveats. Because I don’t know how many more of these head trips I can take before I completely exhaust my mental capacity.

So, to recap: Paranoia Agent’s first few episodes set it up as a gritty, grounded psychological thriller/mystery about chasing down a murderous kid, but there was a clear underlying subtext that something far more supernatural was going on. The way Lil Slugger attacked his victims, coming after them at their lowest points as they begged for release from their miserable lives, he seemed more like an avatar of warped salvation than an actual kid. Imagine my surprise then, when the fucker gets himself caught before we even reach the halfway point- revealing his full face for the first time, in case the demystifying intentions of dragging him into the spotlight weren’t clear enough- and found that he actually was just a kid. Maybe. Possibly. Well, look, it turns out that I wasn’t wrong about seeing him as a divine agent come to save people from the pain of their wretched lives; what I wasn’t expecting was the fact that only he sees himself that way. The real Lil Slugger is little more than a chuuni asshole living out his LARPer fantasy in real life, imagining himself as the noble hero of a swords-and-sorcery video game as he cleanses society from the presence of the evil demon Goma. He’s not a cruel, calculating sadist or an inhuman presence; he’s goddamn Natsuki Subaru with the sanity switch flipped off. In other words, he is utterly goddamn ridiculous, and the episode that reveals this truth plays into that lunacy by suddenly transforming into a goofy, cartoonish dive down the kid’s psyche like something out of a Loony Toons short. Suddenly, the police officers are privy to the kid’s corny fantasies! And they have a waaaaacky comedy routine with the one straight man and the one who plays along? And they get pulled along on this wacky zappy adventure and there are hijinks aplenty and the faces are all ridiculous and expressive and I’m sorry, is this the same show that featured a cop’s cruel, inhuman descent into madness and tragedy of shattering masculinity as seen by his story of failure and savagery and pathetic cowardice contrasted by his attempts to frame it in the form of a macho hero boy’s manga in the very previous episode?

Yeah, I just... I dunno, what do I say about that? What kind of nonsense world is this where gritty realism can suddenly become supplanted with wacky cartoon logic like that? Who thought this tale of pain and poison and the darkness of the human spirit could sustain such a stupid, obvious joke for an entire episode without elaborating on it at all? It’s the same gag, over and over again; the one guy gets into it, the other guy doesn’t, is sarcastic and jaded, repeat ad nauseum with a muted production that is not built to handle this kind of colorful cacophony. Were these characters really built to handle this kind of abrupt tone shift that just shifts back to the status quo anyway once it ends and gets back to diving into the troubled psyches of daughters running from perverse fathers? What was the greater meaning that couldn’t be communicated in less than half the time it took for this tired bit to run its course? What was even the point of that?

What was even the point of... any of this?

...

I need to take a step back.

Window Dressing

Look, I’m not gonna lie, I’m really struggling here. I’m sitting in front of this post, wracking my brains to try and find some way to couch my thoughts on this set of episodes, and I just... cannot find a satisfactory way to do it. I ended my first session with Paranoia Agent greatly intrigued to see how it would develop from here, how it would build on its ideas to reach greater heights. But somewhere along the line, my thought process watching this show just sort of curled up and fell asleep. Try as I might, I am just not connecting with this show. I can’t bring myself to get invested in this story or these characters, to care all that much about what happens to them or what’s actually going on, to put any real thought into analyzing what this show is going for or how it’s gong about it. Flat out, cards on the table, Paranoia Agent isn’t working for me, and it’s not working on such a level that the intriguing questions I had about it early on have sort of slipped through my fingers with a half-hearted “Whatever”. And considering it looks like we’re gearing up to jump into increasingly surreal, paranormal territory with the arrival of a Jean Grey-esque character whose intense emotional needs end up summoning a storm to do her bidding- not to mention her familial connection to the mysterious old woman who’s been lurking in the shadows- that doesn’t bode well for my ability to keep this show’s pace. The weird diversion into cartoon sideshow territory is just one symptom of the issue here, and I’m not even really sure what the issue is yet. All I know is that I’m increasingly more and more un-invested in figuring out why this show makes the choices it does, and I don’t like the way that feels. Even with bad shows in the past, I’ve found merit in interrogating the direction they take and figuring out how the whole rotten mechanism falls apart. Here, though? I’m no longer certain I care enough to find the answer.

So, what the hell’s going on? Paranoia Agent’s a highly respected property from a legendary director, it’s got plenty of fans from all circles of this community, why am I not connecting with it? I don’t think my usual aversion to realism is enough of an explanation; there’s something deeper about this show on a fundamental level that just does not work for me. And while I don’t have a definite answer yet, I at least have the beginnings of an idea; a lack of internal life. The script is incredibly dedicated to using its characters and their stories as props for its greater narrative, moving pieces around to slowly tease out the grand reveal of the puzzle, but it fails to give me a reason to care about any of those pieces beyond a general appreciation of how they fit into the show’s larger point. I barely even remember the names of any of these characters, and I’m already starting to forget what issues brought them into contact with Lil Slugger. Why? Because we never get to see these characters as anything but how they fit into the story. The only things we learn about them, their wants, their desires, their living situations, all of it, it’s all just window dressing to describe why this particular person needs to be “saved”. We’re given the basic information on why every character is fucked up and how their fucked-up situation progresses, but what we don’t get to see is their humanity. We don’t see how their lives are affected by their situations, we just see the situations themselves. And as a result none of these people feel real. They’re pawns on a chessboard to be moved around according to the story’s whims, not active agents driving the narrative forward with their own wills. They’re narrative tools that are used to get to a specific point, and then their purpose is served and there’s nothing worth keeping around about them.

I realize I’m being frustratingly esoteric with this criticism, but that’s because I’m just as baffled and nebulous about this feeling myself. I can’t pinpoint any specific moment that explains what I’m talking about, any scene that really made me see the show in this way. I just know that I don’t see the Perverse Father as anything other than a perverse father, the Two Detectives as anything other than stock detectives, the Broken People as anything other than their cracks and fractures. They are their story purpose and nothing more; but with nothing more than structure, why do their stories even matter? Why should I be invested in what happens to these characters when they have so little character to speak of beyond being walking information sheets? Stories cannot survive on structure alone; with no meat, Paranoia Agent is only bones. And there’s only so many times you can gnaw on bones before they lose all their flavor.

The Holy Warrior

With all that said and done, where do we go from here? Well, like I mentioned earlier, it seems like the show is gearing up to really start bringing the trippy dream logic into play, potentially shifting into full surrealist/magical realist territory by the time all is said and done. Despite the reveal that Lil Slugger is just a deluded brat, there’s no denying that he does have some sort of power. He can see the “red glow of Goma” in people, though what that glow represents isn’t clear yet. And the power of his bat has been confirmed as a measure of relief from peoples awful lives, erasing their memories of all their hardships to free them from what pains them. He comes to broken people and relieves their anguish by taking it from their minds. But it’s also revealed that the “Lil Slugger” Sagi saw was only a figment of her own imagination; she’s the one who injured her leg. So is Lil Slugger actually just a self-imposed mass delusion, a representation of the ways these broken people flee from their pain without trying to address it healthily? But then, who’s the very real kid in custody who attacked everyone else? Was he literally born from Sagi’s self-deception? She was the first victim, after all, so was the force of her trauma enough to literally manifest him from nothing as an active agent free from her control? But also, he’s not the only supernatural force in this show; not only does the old man still have much to reveal, but the granddaughter of the old lady has made an appearance and proven than her emotion-driven rages can drive the universe to bend to her whims. And then, what the hell happened to Sagi when the cops revealed her deception to her and she was knocked over? Was she just literally thrown by the weight of the truth, or is she somehow connected to the granddaughter who got Sluggered right at that moment too? What the heck is the connection there? What the hell does any of this mean?

And more importantly, will I care enough to be excited for the answer?

I’m not sure. I’m less sure of anything regarding Paranoia Agent than anything since Penguindrum. I just hope I’ll find something worthwhile to talk about when all is said and done, because I don’t like feeling like I’m wasting everyone’s time on a project I don’t care about. Surely there’s gotta be something of value in here. I just hope I can find it.

Odds and Ends

-Good lord are the taiko drums on the soundtrack doing their best to make up the difference.

-”Get me some smokes.” “Is there a character named that?” aksjdhasdk why

-”Oh this is great, the kid’s even got his own soundtrack.” GOOD FUCKING BYE

-”Tell me the truth, you’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” Those are the eyes of a dead man.

-I appreciate how Frog-Face is an actual frog in this delusion.

Alright, enough of that. Hopefully, the next stretch will bring better tidings, yeah?