#like.... It was also okay to beat your wife in Victorian times

[graciereadshannigram]

hey fam, welcome to the May 2024 roundup of the best hannigram fics i've read this past month! i read several million words worth of fics, and these were the cream of the crop. i also managed to rewatch the show for the fifth time!! (unemployment has its perks lmao)

as a reminder: the ingredients for a five star rating typically (but not always!!) include some combination of a.) believable characterizations of both Hannibal and Will, b.) compelling plot and/or character arcs, and c.) high quality smut.

that being said, my judgment of the aforementioned ingredients is powered almost exclusively by vibes. as such, it is incredibly subjective.

you can find past rec lists below:

February March April

and if you have any recs of your own for me, PLEASE SHARE.

anyway, in no particular order, let's go!

~

Overcoming by purefoysgirl

Word Count: 547.5k Summary: A Victorian A/B/O romance in which Hannibal Lecter is the future Duke of Westvale who has been away at war for the past ten years. His Grandfather has made good on a contract made shortly after Hannibal's birth to procure him a wife. It was supposed to be easy. Naturally, with the Omega, Will, given in the place of his twin sister, it is anything but, because if there is one thing Hannibal Lecter despises, it's Omegas.

This fic had me holding back tears when it ended (after sobbing a couple different times). This was... incredible. What a fucking UNDERTAKING this author committed to, and despite this being a doorstopper of a fic, the plot did not miss a single beat. Just... wow. For the love of god, please read this.

Falls the Shadow by littlesystems

Word Count: 72.4k Summary: "You're a psychiatrist," Will says. "Between your personal and professional lives you must have met thousands of people, you must know dozens of different flavors of pathology. Do you know anyone who would take me as I am? Who would be able to love me," he gestures in a sweeping motion, from his messy hair to his stained knee, "just as I am?" "I do." Bedelia's words shock Will into stillness. “Really?” AKA an AU where Bedelia is Will’s psychiatrist instead of Hannibal, Will makes a series of increasingly questionable life choices, and no one should ever take Bedelia’s advice. Ever.

GIMME MORE STARSSSSSSSS. Bedelia as Will's psychiatrist was brilliant, holy shit. And Will understanding Hannibal and completely accepting him? This is something I see so rarely done in fics. Will always makes him be a lot less manipulative, or at least goes through heavy angst over it. But in this? Will was immediately endeared because that's just who Hannibal is.

Bram Stoker's HANNIBAL by DBMars

Word Count: 586.7k Summary: Love Never Dies. "I have crossed oceans of time to find you." Hannibal + Bram Stoker's Dracula + the classic novel = a new version of the seductive vampire legend. Count Hannibal Lecter loses the thing most precious to him -- the love of his life. God is beyond measure in wanton malice, and matchless in his irony. And so Hannibal renounces God, and becomes an immortal monster that feeds on the blood of the living. 400 years after losing his beloved, Count Lecter meets a man who looks exactly like the husband he lost -- reborn and returned. But who could learn to love a monster?

@dbmars you are a fucking genius. I am honestly still processing and figuring out how to communicate just how amazing this fic was. Do yourself a favor and go read it NOW.

the book of jonah by zipegs

Word Count: 18.1k Summary: A sudden breath of hot wind presses through the trees. For a moment, it feels fresh, alive, and then the dust—the pollen—comes along with it, a parasite hitched on the back of the breeze. Will is ravenous. --- After the fall, Will and Hannibal sojourn in a remote, decrepit cabin in South America while they await Chiyoh’s return. But something here is afflicting them, and it’s only getting worse.

Okay, bear with me. THIS WAS FUCKING AMAZING. I haven't felt this way after consuming a piece of media since I watched Guillermo del Toro's The Autopsy episode. Psychological horror mixed with body horror mixed with smut??? I guess that does it for me. I literally can't stop thinking about this fic. It's been two weeks and I am STILL thinking about it.

Wrong by HotMolasses (@snazzymolasses here on tumblr)

Word Count: 4.2k Summary: Will roughly rubbed his arm across his mouth again, trying to rub it off. Rub off the scent of Alana, after they’d kissed. After she’d kissed him. Or he’d kissed her? It was mutual. Until it wasn’t. Until Will breathed in her scent, so familiar, so Alpha, so…wrong. He’d pulled back forcibly, unable to hide the expression of revulsion on his face. “I…I need to go.” he said, sweeping his coat off the back of a chair on his way towards the door. “Lock up when you leave.” The weather was crap, and it probably wasn’t smart to drive in the snow while he was in pre-heat, but Will didn’t know what else to do. He needed to figure this out, he needed to talk to the only person who understood him. He needed to talk to Hannibal.

So ummmmmmm what do I need to do to turn this into like a whole AU?? As always, this was a total home run. Every single bit of it was perfect.

as soft, as wide as air by BlackKnightSatellite

Word Count: 193.9k Summary: After surviving the fall, Will finds he has far fewer hesitations about joining Hannibal than he would have guessed. Character death, but not Will or Hannibal.

Well shit. I read this immediately after a full rewatch of the show (in four days no less) and THIS is my new season 4 canon. It's brilliant and actually reads like a proper season would. And I love how it gives all the characters a concluded story line. Aside from Will and Hannibal. I also loved how much this explored Will's instability and how his mental state would be affected after he finally slung off all the guilt and allowed himself to fully enjoy killing. All around very good.

The Dispersal Method by @victorineb

Word Count: 16.9k Summary: It’s a normal fall day in the forest for Will Graham. Dead body in front of him, cannibal psychiatrist behind him, the usual. Then Will brushes against the wrong flower, and suddenly neither he nor Hannibal can keep their hands off each other. Now, Will must navigate his way out of the crime scene and Jack’s scrutiny while also trying not to jump Hannibal’s bones at every opportunity. Well, one out of three ain’t bad. Set nebulously in s2, post-Will's release from the BSHCI. Will’s a conflicted honeypot, Hannibal’s a (not-so) secretly-besotted asshole, and nobody has brought enough lube.

THIS IS THE BEST SEX POLLEN I'VE EVER READ. Seriously. The BEST out of pretty much any fandom (at least so far).

Between the Shadow and the Soul by raiast

Word Count: 48.7k Summary: When Will decides to stop taking his suppressants neither he nor Hannibal can deny the attraction between them. After nearly a decade of running from his biology, Will is faced with his primitive Omega urges full force. As if navigating his hormones wasn't enough, there is a killer at large with a very specific motive that seems to only be targeting preteen boys.

This might be my new favorite ABO fic? And one of the better case fics out there.

Sleepover by EarthsickWithoutYou

Word Count: 70k Summary: Set in Season 1, after "Fromage." Will is still confused about his kiss with Alana and seeks romantic advice on how to date and be more "smooth" from Hannibal. Little does he know that Hannibal is madly, passionately obsessed with him, and desperately jealous. Needless to say, Dr. Lecter is all too happy to teach Will everything he knows about love and dating.

This was pretty fluffy, tender, and fun, and it was exactly what I needed after finishing a heavier fic

Alana Finds Out by @victorineb

Word Count: 32.1k Summary: A series of one-shots in which Alana Bloom discovers, in the midst of various tropes, that her boyfriend Hannibal Lecter's feelings for Will Graham run far deeper than friendship. Basically a chance for Alana to shout at the pair of emotionally-repressed idiots whilst still indulging in much Hannigram loveliness.

Oh I loved all of this. This scratched that itch in my brain that loves when Alana realizes that Hannibal has wanted Will all along. And some of these one-shots are genuinely hysterical. Love.

Doctor's Orders by JSinister32

Word Count: 29.2k Summary: “He’s dead on his feet, Jack. I do not understand how you allowed him to come when he’s so obviously ill. There have been too many hours in service of your needs, so many that it seems to have affected any sleep that he may have gotten over the past few weeks. From what you and I have discussed, he has a difficult time shutting his mind down under the best of circumstances and this case today has clearly gotten to him.” The doctor stepped closer to the profiler, peering into his eyes as Will tried to focus. “Will? Can you hear me?” Will Graham has never been particularly good at taking care of himself. When he comes down with a severe cold while working on a string of murders, the new psychiatrist on retainer, Doctor Hannibal Lecter, offers to care for him. Will he be able to keep his feelings in check while Hannibal is in his home? Hannibal Lecter can't get the profiler working for the Violent Crimes unit out of his mind. When given the opportunity to care for him when he's ill, will his feelings for the other man come to light?

TENDER. I want like 70k more words of this. Especially Hannibal putting Jack in his place. Especially Hannibal washing Will's hair. Mmm. There's just something so good about Will letting Hannibal take care of him.

The First Condition of Immortality is Death by OneHandedBooks

Word Count: 92.5k Summary: Hannibal’s heart stopped for the first time after he’d dragged himself and Will out of the frigid ocean onto the rocky shore at the bottom of the bluff.

Oh this was GOOD. Very tender, good characterizations, and loved how Will's hallucinations were portrayed. This was just all a really good exploration of how their relationship could have progressed. This author also is incredibly good at showing the scenes in a way that I could watch them unfold in my head. This felt like a crystal clear movie.

What Do The Dead Know? by OneHandedBooks

Word Count: 7.6k Summary: He looks up at her, haloed by the sun. She could be anyone. No one. St. Abigail, patron of lilies and last chances. AU: What if Will joined Hannibal willingly after the Uffizi Gallery and they shared a few tense weeks in the world before Mason's men finally ran them down? In which Will writes, hallucinates, and succumbs to the dark side and Hannibal is a manipulative, brainwashing, bastard.

cw: Abigail/Will. But does it really count if it's a dream sequence? Regardless, this was something else, off the charts, big fan. The author NAILED the hallucinatory vibe that made this entire fic work so so well. Also, just Will working through his grief for Abigail this way made it that much more intense.

chimera of the chapel by bleakmidwinter

Word Count: 211.5k Summary: When Will Graham wakes up from a coma three months after the fall, Jack reveals that Hannibal Lecter didn't survive. Outside the realm of Hannibal's influence, Will decides to discover the full truth behind the world's sudden and seeming falsehood. Everybody seems to hold their own opinion on Hannibal's fate, but Will knows better than anyone that trust and honesty are as elusive as death.

The "presumed dead" trope might just be my new obsession. I adored this fic so much, the plot was incredible, the development of their relationship was spot on, and there were just some very tender moments.

wear my silence like a mask by bleakmidwinter

Word Count: 32.k Summary: After running into Hannibal at a Bass Pro Shop, Will is invited to a Masquerade Ball at his estate. Jack encourages him to attend for an opportunity to catch the Ripper. Extenuating circumstances tempt Will down an even graver path; Romance with the Ripper.

Three words: masked anonymous sex. That's all.

The Voices and the Shadows by darlinghogwarts, MaddyHughes

Word Count: 114.6k Summary: “The Chesapeake Ripper? The serial killer? That's a grisly thing to find at the bottom of a drink. Most people say oblivion ...or possibly sex.” Hannibal sips his wine again. “Why are you thinking about a murderer on your birthday, Will? Is it part of your degree?” “He is a part of my degree by my own choice. My supervisor didn’t approve, but…” He sighs. “I insisted.” AU where Will—a Masters student studying the Chesapeake Ripper—gets drunk on his birthday and meets an intriguing man at the bar.

Man, I wish I had had Hannibal as my thesis supervisor in grad school, hot damn. (Mine was pretty much too busy to help with anything, ended up doing it all myself – would not recommend.) This was was damn near perfect. I needed some good old fashioned angst. With a good and fluffy ending. This was a good AU!

Chasing Thoroughbreds by HigherMagic

Word Count: 42.8k Summary: After the fall, Chiyoh rescues Will and Hannibal and takes them to the Lecter home in Lithuania. When Hannibal wakes up, his memories of everything - Will, being the Ripper, everything since Mischa's death - are gone. Will's only problem with that is that killing Hannibal won't be nearly as satisfying if he doesn't understand why. Wrestling with his own feelings, or what's left in the tattered mess of them after the fight with Dolarhyde, Will stays, hoping that Hannibal will recover and give him the opportunity he's waiting for. But there are others who remember what Hannibal did, all those years ago, and they have their own bone to pick.

Ugh pretty sure I love almost everything HigherMagic writes and this did not disappoint. This was fantastic. I was absolutely captivated by Will's development through this and Hannibal was just as good.

Volto Larva by TreacleA

Word Count: 39k Summary: Will is having trouble unwinding after work. Hannibal helpfully suggests somewhere that may assist with that, with absolutely no ulterior motive whatsoever.

So ummmm I'm still blushing (in the best way) over parts of this fic because FUCK this is scorching. Anyway. That's all I've got to say LOL.

[gardenofshadcws]

Dracula Daily Day 86

IT’S THE BIG ONE 

Dr. Seward’s Diary

Renfield nooooo I’m so upset

Dracula how dare you beat my boy like this I’m in PAIN

AND NOW YOU GO AND BLAME HIM FOR THIS?  LIKE HE DID IT TO HIMSELF???

Dr. Abe this is so not an accident what are you talking about

Arthur and Quincey heard the plot needed them and who are they to refuse?

Can we save his life because he’s a human and a good bean and not just because he has information?  Like please?

HE’S ALIVE!!!  

“What’s wrong with my face?” I’m DISTRAUGHT

DON’T DIE

“I must go back to death - or worse” DRACULA HOW COULD YOU

The way Renfield capitalizes He like Dracula is a god, or on a level with God is so telling without saying much at all

Ugh this poor thing has been a victim this entire time.  And Jack just looks at him like a science experiment.

“I don’t care for the pale people” AAAHH MINA

Everything hurts and I’m dying

He tried to SAVE her BABY RENFIELD AAGHGH.

Oh cool we’ve gotten what we wanted so we’re just ditching im I guess.

Quincey I love you but I think saving her from becoming a vampire is more important than silly Victorian propriety

DRACULA GET AWAY FROM HERRRR.

It’s truly disgusting how many adaptations saw this scene with Dracula drinking from Mina and decided “romantic?  Sexy?  Soulmates???”

BUT THE SUITOR SQUAD GOT THIS FUCK OUTTA HERE

Noooo Mina ;~;

This part is destroying me

Jonathan seeing his wife distress and immediately going “I’m going to kill the fucker” is glorious

Mina and Jonathan are relationship goals

“I much touch him or kiss him no more”  “aww hell no” Jonathan is the most ride or die ever.  Given the choice between Mina or God and he chooses Mina I LOVE this sweet boy

NOOO THE RECORDS.  But it’s okay, Mina’s the best and saved everything

RENFIEEEEELDDDDD 

PTERODACTYL SCREECH

BABYYYY NOOOOO

Quincey and his bats, man.

I’m so upset

The story of Dracula slipping in to attack Mina is just as horrifying the second time around

“A little refreshment” ewww

“What have I done to deserve such a fate” NOTHING MINA YOU’RE PERFECT AND WE’RE PRIVILEGED TO HAVE YOU HERE

And there goes Jonathan’s hair

Jonathan Harker’s Journal

Jonathan stressing makes me stressed

God’s not helping you, your friends are helping you

RENFIEEEEEELLLLLLLD

He tried to save Mina and this is what he gets 

This attendant sucks at his job and now my SWEET BOY IS DEAD.

Nothing should have been kept from Mina in the first place dammit

“I shall die!” MINAAAA.

Van Helsing’s right for once, that’s not actually going to help anything. 

Yes, lockpicking, much better than breaking in.

At least Mina doesn’t have fangs yet, that’s a good sign

Way to go Van Helsing, you made Mina cry again.

And then you burned her head.  You’re handling this extremely poorly, man.

Poor Mina :(  Girl just wants to live her life

“She shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone” AWWWW.  JONATHAN YOU ARE THE SWEETEST.

This is so romantic it’s melting my black dead heart

“I have written this in the train” Just like the beginning of the book, that’s a beautiful callback.

“The place smells so vilely” perhaps that’s because you just lit a cigar, Art (yes, I know it’s Vamp Stink)

Dr. Seward’s Diary

It always seems like a long wait when we’re waiting for Arthur and Quincey.

Jonathan babyyyy

Yeah, Jack, you’ve got nothing on Jonathan I’m sorry

So, if Dracula was a scholar, are we… condemning the seeking of knowledge over faith?  Is that what’s happening here?

The zoophagous patient had a NAME, dammit

Jonathan is out for BLOOD.  And not in the vampire way

There’s Dracula, it’s battle time!

Jonathan where the HELL did you get a kukri

Damn.  SO close.

All this and Mina’s still trying to put on a brave face

Can we stop talking about Mina’s purity because that’s giving off some really icky Madonna-whore stuff

These two love each other so freaking much

Stoker’s letting his boys cry again you love to see it

I am also in tears by the way if you even care

Jonathan Harker’s Journal

I too thought today would never end

“My poor wronged darling” awww

It’s okay, guys, Quincey’s here to protect you :’) 

[crystalelemental]

Did you know that sometimes I write for stuff that isn't Pokemon? Unbelievable, I know. I'm back on MagiRevo. I've been reading the light novels, specifically got through the first three and finally received book 4 today, and listen. Listen. I am well aware that Lainie/Ilia is the canon pair. But Book 2 provided me crumbs, and I am a scavenger at heart, so consider: Lainie/Tilty.

First point! The crumbs in question largely come from how Tilty is presented, and how she acts in Book 2. This is somehow who is effectively a shut-in, does not like to interact with others, and only expresses interest in curses and the occasional Anis shenanigans. This is contrasted immediately when Lainie joins the villa, as Tilty is the one most directly helping get her powers under control, then starts showing up regularly at the villa just to check in on her. For someone who never leaves, and apparently never bothers going to Anis, this feels like a big deal.

Second point! Similarities do exist between their respective histories. Tilty has tremendous magical power that causes her to go wild when she uses it too much, the only solution to which is "never use your magic ever," making her exceedingly bitter about her own life and loss, and being the one most adamant about living for oneself. On the other hand, we have Lainie, whose powers have been a life-long curse that made people either adore her unconditionally, or loathe her based on the perceived slight of her not returning their attentions. Tilty receded into her manor due to her powers, but also out of choice. Lainie wants nothing more than to be left alone, but initially feels duty-bound to do what she can in service of others. Which is why she goes maid route. But like. You see where I'm going with this?

Third point! Okay come on, be honest with me. Tilty's basically the medical expert of the group and is super gloomy and dresses all in black and lives how she wants, while Lainie is a vampire that dresses all in white and is super mild-mannered and feels obligated to give back to people. That's a nice contrast, right? Do you feel what I feel? Are our hearts beating as one?

Probably not. I dunno. This is my first foray into specifically non-canon pairings. No all the Pokemon stuff doesn't really count; nothing is made canon so nothing is hardline unconfirmed either. This is the only time I've gone in defiance of canon for a ship. In what is, admittedly, a fairly small fandom space. I feel like if one person likes this one, I'd consider it well received. I wrote this for me. And that...might show a little. Look, I tend to write my relationships very PG, and while I wouldn't really call this anything serious, I aimed to make their engagement a little spicier than my usual fare. Which is like. "Mild curry made in the northeastern US" level spice, but I am prudish by nature and I have to build up the tolerance. I need you to understand, the first actual pairing fic I wrote where people kissed? I could not let this go while talking about it to my wife. Wife, do you understand? They're going to kiss. On the mouth. No, not with tongue, that is way too much, what do you take me for? I am a particularly repressed victorian maiden, I have to fan myself writing something like this and they're fully clothed. I'm trying my best, okay?

[possessive-venting-suggestions]

Hey quick updates: Johann hasn't been on in 35 days, I've been one shitty thing away from killing myself, bucket and I started a comp tf2 team uhhh that's about it let's all point and laugh at this idiot I got into kuro discourse with

A blog entirely about kuroshitsuji and the wonderful ship of Ciel and Lizzy

Hate is not allowed here

Lizzy is our precious sunshine goddess and no one should hurt her

                    Nav                     Home                     Ask                                              Submit                                                                                                                              Archive                     Random                     RSS                     Theme                                      

Chapter 132 and “the spare” comment

So people are flipping the fuck out over the fact that a) Frances called our!Ciel “the spare” and b) Vincent taking it all in stride, joking they may as well give up the Watchdog title should our!Ciel find himself at the Phantomhive helm. Was it particularly tasteful of them to address our!Ciel in such a blasé, brusque fashion? No. Did they mean it maliciously? No, no they didn’t. They don’t have the gift of hindsight that we as readers do. To them our!Ciel was a young, sickly child who couldn’t even go outside for fear of triggering an asthma attack—who couldn’t even have fencing lessons with Frances because of his weak constitution. (Please note I am NOT disparaging our!Ciel, but even the most devoted Kuro fan will have to recognize this actuality—our!Ciel is not the most robust child out there, as exemplified in canon by the Circus and Campania arcs.)

Furthermore, being the Queen’s Watchdog means executing orders that are both ruthless and necessary. We now know that our!Ciel can behave in such a fashion but back then when the twins were 7, 8 years old? Remember earlier in chapter 132 when Vincent took the twins to inspect the Phantomhive domain? The first thing real!Ciel says after Vincent finishes explaining the duty of a lord is that these tenants will need incentives to keep working the land—a hardline, pragmatic insight befitting a future earl. Yet our!Ciel, once he learns that a lord must “maintain his estate so tenants can be free to devote themselves to their work” worries about keeping everyone satisfied (granting their “wishes”) before wondering how many tenants live on the land. There is a startling difference between the twins in terms of mindset—real!Ciel thinks like an efficient, practical man of business while our!Ciel shows more compassion and thoughtfulness.

A more empathic, gentle approach.

…But these are the exact same sentiments that will get you killed if you’re the Queen’s Watchdog. To Vincent (and probably Frances, since she is Vincent’s sister and he has entrusted her with the training of his heir), our!Ciel probably seems far too softhearted and humane to ever fit the merciless, cutthroat role of Earl Phantomhive. I mean can you really blame Vincent? All his life (up until the fire) our!Ciel has been sweet, caring, obedient, and delicate—he’s shy around strangers, lacks the extroverted charm of his older brother, and his greatest dream is to open a toy shop so he can give joy to other young children.

Does this really sound like the type of kid who could one day kill with impunity, watch others bleed to death before him, and burn down an entire mansion filled with lobotomized children? Vincent and Frances are not trying to be spiteful, cruel, or demeaning—they’ve simply observed the twins, recognized their strengths and weaknesses, and are now discussing the very real possibility of what would happen if real!Ciel were to die. Morbid? Yes. But this was 19th century, lifespans were short and Vincent’s occupation as the Queen’s Watchdog leaves no room for error.

And, in a strange, inconspicuous way, Vincent may also be trying to protect our!Ciel. We know Queen Victoria is a dangerous individual not prone to softer emotions of forgiveness or understanding (i.e. Murder arc) and Vincent, who’s had direct contact with Victoria (thus giving him a chance to observe, catalogue, and analyze her in person), knows that the Phantomhives are disposable tools of the crown. If one of his sons were to mess up then they’d be eradicated and mercy—that odd, human concept—wouldn’t even be considered.

We as readers know our!Ciel is capable—probably more so than real!Ciel—but three years ago, when happiness was still possible and the Phantomhive twins were devoted to one another? The wickedness of what will one day come to pass seems not only farfetched but cruel—for why would you ever force a child like our!Ciel to abandon his innocence in favor of pitiless indifference and demonic power? We cannot fault Vincent and Frances for speaking of our!Ciel in those terms (“the spare”) because, in many ways, Vincent and Frances were also right. Undertaker explicitly says in the Weston arc that our!Ciel is different from his ancestors—a fact that our!Ciel proved when he rescued Joanne Harcourt even though such a task was both unnecessary and foolish. He put his life on the line to rescue Lizzy even though it meant drowning in the cold Atlantic current. Heck he stared death in the face with Madam Red, in the throes of anger, grief, and insanity was ready to stab him to death and he ordered Sebastian not to hurt his aunt.

Even after going through hell and back, there is still compassion inside our eyepatch wearing protagonist, he is still capable of pity, sentiment, and warmth. Our!Ciel has elevated himself beyond the scope of what his father and aunt thought possible, he has achieved momentous triumphs and committed unspeakable acts of horror but we CANNOT judge Vincent and Frances’s comments—made more than 3+ years ago—as hateful or heartless. In their eyes, they were assessing the shy, soft-spoken younger twin—not the tenacious, sharp-tongued, unflinchingly clever Queen’s Watchdog we know and admire.

199 notes | 12:22am 22 Sep 2017 Tagged: #vincent phantomhive #frances midford #our!ciel#real!ciel #ciel phantomhive #sebastian michaelis #elizabeth midford #madam red #joanne harcourt #chapter 132 #spoilers #in defense of papa watchdog and our badass sword queen#please be kind guys #understand where they're coming from #THEY ARE NOT TRYING TO BE MALICIOUS VILE CRUEL OR HATEFUL #they don't have the gift of hindsight that we do#mod Nina

Notes

thequeensfakedog liked this

mairiangel liked this

thelifeofrandomandme liked this

kirklandandbeilschmidt liked this

pangeasexual reblogged this from cielizzydefencesquad

princelilah liked this

eyepatch-cutie reblogged this from cielizzydefencesquad

mtt-asstial liked this

the-panda-smirks liked this

mochimucho reblogged this from cielizzydefencesquad

mochimucho liked this

le-eyepatch liked this

le-eyepatch reblogged this from cielizzydefencesquad

foureon reblogged this from her-majestys-watchdog

orangeships reblogged this from cielizzydefencesquad

blosowms liked this

silent-knives-wielder liked this

los-ositos-degoma-mandan liked this

xxnoely liked this

theoriginalgodsgirlrachel liked this

squishyciel liked this

renkocchi liked this

lavin05 liked this

mmaria2122 liked this

charmnico liked this

todomatsunos liked this

evelilianne liked this

joy511 liked this

narnia-dreamer liked this

trancytrashcan reblogged this from asthmaticastre

trancytrashcan liked this

almanaye liked this

arminstann liked this

tinybluedaydream liked this

autumnhunter1 liked this

quirkytoastcosplay liked this

artsy-jandi liked this

your-lovers-and-drifters said: I really don’t think “the spare” comment was meant to connote inferiority. It’s just the way high society/nobility operated. To acknowledge one’s second son as “the spare” wasn’t seen as derogatory—it was just a fact of aristocratic life. To us, it may look like Vincent and Frances were belittling our!Ciel but this appellation of birthright was just a product of patrician privilege. @asthmaticastre​ @fraternaltwin-andidiots​ - mod Nina

madamehaven liked this

sadlysweats liked this

brs-love liked this

anchoevies liked this

otakuforever23 liked this

lilith-artem reblogged this from her-majestys-watchdog

pastelvitya liked this

nori--chwan liked this

priscilaribeirog liked this

badkidz-and-glitter liked this

cielizzydefencesquad posted this

Show more notes

Unfortunately we just have to live with all this extra nonsense.

Okay, so first of all, let's just point and laugh at this blithering Morton who thinks that """" just cause they meant well makes it okay""" (read in the most snotty voice possible) and that "oh it was just a fact of life" and "its pokay, they didn't realize that he would grow up to be the way he is!!!"

Like, you stupid motherfucker! PH my god! The issue isn't did they mean to hurt him, or they meant well, or it was true, its that THEY SAID SOMETHING SO FUCKING HORRIBLE ABOUT A CHILD. A CHILD. at the risk of using some kinda logical galaxy, my mom doesn't "" mean"" to hurt me by insulting my friends and yet! Its still a shitty thing to do!! The issue! Isn't if they're right or not, they're still treating a child like shit! Holy FUCK

[angryinternetduck]

Lucky

hello hello and welcome to halloween !!!! in august!!!! i know it's weird haha but here's about 6.7k words of harry styles x reader during halloween. featuring a "haunted house" and a cute cat with two names. also caramel apples. enjoy!

masterlist | ask

The house was haunted.

You were sure of it.

And yeah, you thought, looking up at the ginormous mansion looming above you, you were incredibly grateful that the house had fallen to you, but the whole thing was starting to feel like the beginning of a bad horror movie.

Some old relative had died - you weren’t close with them at all, and you felt a bit bad that the only feelings associated with their death were happiness at getting their property - and left you their estates. You’d moved in a few weeks ago, and now you were hearing things.

Things like scratching in the vents, and howling in the wind, and glasses mysteriously crashing to the floor of their own accord in other rooms. The floors always creaked at night, and so did the doors, which randomly swung open and closed.

You hadn’t really wanted to tell anybody about all of this or your suspicions, fearing you’d come off as a bit crazy. Of course, the few people you had told had just laughed and given you the It’s an old house - it’s settling bullshit.

Which you didn’t believe. At all.

What did that even mean, “the house is settling”? Settling for what? Settling down, like it was some middle aged guy who was about to have kids with his wife in the fifties? Or maybe it was settling down like it was angry, and had had a tantrum, and was just settling down into a calmer state. Not that that was any more comforting.

Now, as you struggled to get your key to turn in the lock, you wondered if you could sell the house or something. Everybody you’d asked for advice had told you to wait and fix it up, that you’d regret giving it up when you had four kids and a husband and needed space.

They’d also said it looked like shit so you’d get a crappy deal unless you fixed it up.

Then again, those were the same it’s settling people, so what did they know?

You sighed, finally getting the key to turn, and shoved your shoulder into the door. Making a mental note to oil the door - again - as it creaked, you shut it behind you with your foot before stepping into the living room and collapsing onto the couch.

The couch matched the house: gray, run down, and creaky. There were patches sewn in every so often, and it smelled like old lady perfume. It did the job, though, which was very convenient in the moment but didn’t exactly motivate you to buy a new one very quickly.

You’d turn on the TV, but there wasn’t one. Instead, you stared at the empty, ashy fireplace while you gathered the gumption to get up and off the couch. After a few seconds, you heard something - a little skittering sound in the walls - and frowned, pulling yourself up and towards the stairs.

It was probably just mice, but accompanied with everything else, you weren’t about to take any chances. The stairs, like every other part of the house, creaked as you walked upstairs. You’d almost gotten used to the floorboards around the corner creaking before you got to them, but it still spooked you a bit. When you glanced around the wall and there wasn’t anyone there, as usual, you got changed into comfortable clothes as quickly as you could.

Then you collapsed into the bed. After washing the sheets a few (ten) times, you’d gotten rid of the musty smell, and the huge victorian frame and feathery mattress had become your safe haven. The whole room had become your safe place, really - you’d cleaned and swept until it had somewhat resembled a nice bedroom and not a dusty old crypt.

Once you were there, safe in your room with your headphones on, the house didn’t seem all that bad. A huge window covered the wall right next to your bed, looking out onto rolling grassy fields like something out of a Jane Austen novel.

So you listened to music, imagining a dashing stranger saving you from a twisted angle.

Soon, you were asleep.

***

“Nobody will deliver this far!” you exclaimed, talking into your cell phone as you rooted through the drawers in front of you. “I’ve tried, like, six different places, and they all said it’s too far!” Your friend on the line sighed, and you heard her slurp noodles from the Chinese take out she was eating.

“Well,” she said, “that sucks.”

“Oh, gee, helpful,” you deadpanned.

“Listen, there has got to be someplace you can go,” she told you matter of factly. You frowned, digging through a cabinet. “Yeah, well” - you gasped, jumping a foot into the air as something brushed against your leg - “shit!”

You whipped around, brandishing the pan you’d just grabbed as a weapon. “What the -”

A cat.

There was a black cat, with the brightest green eyes you’d ever seen, looking up at you innocently. It meowed loudly, looping through your legs, and you sighed. “It’s a cat,” you explained to your friend.

“You got a cat?”

You scoffed, looking at it as it jumped up onto the counter. “No!” you replied. “No, I - Jesus, of course I didn’t get a fucking cat, I just… I just moved in!” There was a beat of silence, and then your friend said, “So… there’s a strange cat… in your house.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, hesitantly reaching out. It leaned into you, purring loudly, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah,” you said again, laughing a bit. “Listen, listen,” you added, and you put the phone up to the cat.

“That’s cute,” your friend said when you brought the phone back to your ear, sounding a bit worried, “but, uh… does it have a tag, or something?” You shook your head, even though she couldn’t see you, and felt around the cat’s neck. Just fur. “Nope,” you replied.

“Are you gonna… keep it?”

You grinned, scratching its ears, and shrugged. “I dunno.”

***

You wanted to name the cat Lucky.

That night, as the crisp October wind howled outside, you didn’t hear any creaks. The house was practically silent, and you slept like a baby with the little creature curled at your feet. Plus, she - as you’d determined earlier - was black, and with the whole Unlucky Black Cats thing, “Lucky” seemed like a nice little joke.

She was gone the next morning, but you figured she was just somewhere around the house, so you went around calling, “Lucky!” as if she’d respond. It was almost two hours before you gave up, and convinced yourself it was just a fluke and you’d never see her again.

“She’s gone,” you said mournfully by way of greeting your friend as you made breakfast.

“Who?”

“Lucky!”

“Who?”

“The cat,” you sighed. “She’s gone. Wasn’t here this morning.”

“Oh,” your friend replied. “Well, maybe she found her owner!”

You pouted, sliding butter around your pan. “I thought I was her owner…”

“You cannot possibly be so attached to that thing after one night.”

“She’s lucky, though! I swear, the ghosts are afraid of her or something - I didn’t hear a single sound all night!” You could practically hear your friend roll her eyes. “A fluke. Or maybe - yeah, maybe luck. I’m sure you’ll be alright without her.”

“Maybe I should get a cat,” you mused.

Your friend sighed. “Oh, boy.”

***

She was lucky.

Lucky was lucky.

One hundred percent.

There was no doubt about it.

The floors creaked like crazy that night. After hearing it for the first time, peering fearfully into the pitch black hallway, you shut the door tight and huddled underneath the blankets. A terrifying cry accompanied the wind, one that gave you nightmares of women in long white dresses stumbling over the moor, and you woke up in a panic in the middle of the night when you heard something shatter downstairs.

It wasn’t exactly your proudest moment, but you stayed in bed, watching the clock and keeping under the covers and deciding you’d deal with it in the morning. It took forever for you to fall asleep, but once you did, thankfully, you were out until the morning.

Half asleep, you stumbled down the stairs at almost noon.

And there, Lucky was waiting for you.

She meowed at you indignantly, as if you were late, and you gasped, crouching down and scrunching her face between your hands. “Lucky!” you exclaimed. She meowed, and wiggled out of your grasp, and walked in circles around you, keeping her tail against your leg.

You were so relieved that you only got partially annoyed when she made you trip over yourself every two seconds while you cleaned up the broken mug and made breakfast. She was very talented at getting in the way, sitting in the perfect position to be as inconvenient as possible.

She wandered around when you started work, getting bored after twenty minutes of jumping onto your laptop and being pushed off, only to do it again, and again, and again. You lost sight of her but somehow weren’t too worried - if she came back the first time, she’d probably come back again, you reasoned.

Which she did!

Sometimes.

She became your companion as the weeks went on, coming every so often to bother you as adorably as possible before disappearing for a few hours again. Sometimes she’d come during the day, but you were always relieved when she came at night because, for some inexplicable reason, she really made the house quiet and let you sleep.

Sometimes you’d give her a little bit of milk, or whatever you had on you (after properly researching what was okay for cats, of course), but she never seemed very hungry, so you’d never really thought about buying actual cat food for her.

You thought about getting her a collar every so often, but between working on the house, normal work, and just… life, you never really got around to it. Plus, she always seemed to come back, so you didn’t think it was super necessary.

So Lucky hung around, and you got some work done, and everything was good.

***

You’d heard creaking. Lots of creaking. And the occasional mysteriously shattered glass. And the howling in the wind, and skittering in the walls, and the weird drafts, and the unexplained cat - all sorts of weird things.

But this was the first time you heard a voice.

A real, live, human voice.

Well, maybe not live.

You’d been cooking when you first heard it, and, in a panic, you’d grabbed a frying pan. Maybe frying pans were lucky, too; after all, one had been your “weapon” when Lucky had sneaked up on you. She was notably absent, Lucky, by the way, and you wished you had your good luck charm with you as you made your way to the basement, feeling only slightly like an idiot.

Maybe a very scared idiot.

The voice was coming from the basement, which you hadn’t exactly ventured into yet. The whole house had a bit of a creepy-basement vibe, so you weren’t quite enthusiastic to go into the actual basement, where you’d imagine the creepiness would be increased exponentially.

The voice sounded male. And British.

You pictured a British ghost - something old and ancient, judging by the rasp of the voice, although it did sound on the younger side… Maybe it had some sort of paranormal ancient youth. Maybe a sailor, who lived in the house hundreds of years ago, and died at sea… And now, he was back, to haunt you, because you’d… offended him… with your… redecorating?

The stairs were actually pretty quiet, you realized, creeping down them as quietly as you could with your frying pan and marveling at the lack of creaks. You stepped onto the floor, peering around the corner, and realized the ghost - or whatever - must have been outside since the back door was slightly ajar, blowing cool air onto your legs.

If you were being honest, you hadn’t even known that that door existed. A mini lightbulb went off in your head as you realized that was probably where Lucky had been getting in, and you wondered absently if you should get a lock or something for it.

Then your brows furrowed as you got closer and the voice became coherent.

“... you been? ‘ve been looking all over for you… Think you’re so clever, don’t you? Disturbing our nice neighbor like this… Got them to talk to you, did you? Oh, I’m sure, you charmer…” You heaved a breath, kicking open the door -

You brandished the frying pan, yelling, “Who -?!”

“Bloody hell!”

So, you realized then, it was a guy.

And not a ghost.

Very decidedly a guy, actually, from the way the pan hadn’t gone right through him but had rather clanged against his forearm as he threw it up to defend himself. His other hand, it should be noted, was holding a cat.

Specifically, Lucky.

You gasped, lowering your pan. “Oh, my god,” you breathed. “Oh, my god, I am so sorry - I thought you were -” You stopped as Lucky slipped out of the guy’s arms and weaved around your legs, purring louder than a motorboat.

“Hello, there,” the guy said, incredibly pleasant for someone who’d just gotten attacked with a frying pan. “Um - hi,” you replied hesitantly, holding the pan behind your back as if he’d forget about the whole thing if he couldn’t see it. “Hi, I’m - um, I’m sorry.”

“Hi, Sorry,” the guy joked, holding out his non-injured hand, “I’m Harry Styles. Your neighbor.”

Heat crept up your cheeks, shaking his hand as you corrected him with your name.

He repeated your name, smiling as it rolled off his tongue, and despite yourself, you felt a shiver running down your spine. He was good looking, this Harry guy. His eyes rivaled Lucky’s, bright green as he grinned at you. His hair looked a bit grown out, chestnut brown and curling slightly at his temples.

And he had dimples.

Very cute dimples.

And muscles, and -

There was a beat of silence, and you realized you were not so subtly checking him out, and even though you kind of realized he was doing the same to you, you felt your cheeks heat again. Harry cleared his throat, crouching down to pet Lucky as he said, “So, erm - I haven’t seen you around a lot.”

“Yeah,” you replied, laughing a bit sheepishly. “I’ve been… busy.”

Harry nodded, his gaze drifting around you to the messy basement. “I’m sure,” he said. “This place seems like a lot of work.” You shrugged, following his eyes and inspecting the dust and various junk cluttered throughout the room.

“Well, I have time…”

“But not for neighbors, hm?” Harry asked, a teasing smile on his lips.

“I’m… sorry,” you said again, putting your head in your hands for a second before looking back up. “I hadn’t even thought… I can’t even see your… Do you live, uh - close?” Harry nodded, gesturing vaguely out the back door. “Relatively, I suppose, although - you’re right, you can’t quite… see it… from here.”

“You’ll have to show me sometime,” you said impulsively, and Harry glanced at you, dimpling again. “Yeah,” he agreed, “reckon I will.” You smiled, suddenly unable to keep eye contact, and then let your gaze dart away after a second.

“And the, erm - the market,” Harry went on. “Haven’t seen you around there. Have you been?”

You shook your head, murmuring, “No,” and Harry tsked, shaking his head back at you, oozing disappointment. “Right, well, that’s just not right,” he said. “That we’ll have to go to sometime. ‘specially now that it’s autumn.” You nodded, and he stood up, dusting off his hands as Lucky came over to you for cuddles.

You expected him to say he was going to go, that he had work to do, or something, but instead, he asked, “Doing anything now?” and grinned, glancing down at the pan, still in your hand. “Besides attacking perfect strangers, of course.”

“I am… so sorry about that,” you said, again, laughing sheepishly, again.

“I’d say it’s fine,” Harry replied, “but, erm… It’s not.”

You felt your eyes widen. “What?”

“I think you’ll have to make it up to me, love,” he told you. You just raised a brow, and he grinned. “Maybe I’ll forgive you if you give me a ride to the market,” he said, and then you smiled. “Easy enough,” you replied, grabbing your keys from your pocket.

Harry dimpled and looked down at Lucky. “Right, then, Dee, let’s go, shall we?”

You frowned. “Dee?”

“Oh, right!” Harry exclaimed, bending down to scoop Lucky into his arms. “I think you’ve met, but this here is Demon. Dee for short.” You scoffed a laugh, shaking your head. “Demon?” you echoed incredulously.

Harry nodded, grinning ear to ear. “Yeah, look at this menace! What else would we call her?”

“You’re her owner?”

“Yup. Found her a few months ago, and she just… stuck.”

“Good at that, isn’t she?” you murmured, reaching out to scratch behind her ear.

“Has she bothered you?” Harry asked, looking sympathetic, and you nodded. “Oh, yes, all the time. In the most pleasant way possible, though, so I’m not too mad.” Harry laughed, letting her slip out of his arms and onto the ground.

She ambled out of the basement and into the grass, and, after exchanging a glance with Harry, you both followed her. “I’ve been calling her Lucky,” you told him, closing the door behind you. Harry glanced at you, hands in his pockets, and smiled. “Lucky?”

“Yeah. See, the house is -” You stopped, and Harry raised an eyebrow. “The house is what?” You laughed, a bit embarrassed, and then mumbled, “I think it’s haunted.” Harry nodded, understanding on his face. “Oh, yeah, it definitely is,” he agreed.

You laughed again. “That sure of it, are you?”

Harry rolled his eyes, a smile tugging on his lips, and nodded at Lucky. “That’s your ghost.”

“Lucky? How -?”

“She’s the one howling, and walking everywhere to make the floors creak, and knocking glasses off the tables,” Harry explained, and your jaw dropped, just a bit. “Oh, my god,” you said, as it all clicked into place. “That’s why - Well, see, I called her Lucky because the” - you put up air quotes - “‘ghost’ never seemed to be around when she was with me. Which I guess makes sense, since if she was with me, she wasn’t… anywhere else…”

“Yup.”

You frowned, glancing over at him. “So, wait - how did you know?”

“Same thing happened to me,” he replied with a shrug. “Was right convinced the place was haunted when I first moved in - was about to sell and everything. Couldn’t take replacing half the cupboard every two weeks. Then I caught her shattering one of my mugs. Then, I got a night light, and saw her lurking around and making a ruckus with the floorboards.”

“A night light,” you repeated, lightly smacking your forehead. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Took me a few weeks, too,” Harry laughed. “You’d’ve gotten there eventually, don’t worry.”

“Sure hope so,” you murmured, smiling as Lucky jumped up onto your car and started to stretch out on the hood. You opened the driver’s side door and leaned against it as Harry gave Lucky a scratch behind her ears.

“Pesky little thing, she is,” Harry said. “Always does the same on my car, and I’m always tempted to just drive with her on top and see what happens.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “How could you?” Harry shrugged, grinning at you. “I’m sure she’d land on her feet.”

“Yeah, well, let’s not test that now,” you replied, gently scooping Lucky up and placing her on the grass, where she started to daintily lick a paw. Harry got into the passenger seat, and you asked him, “Where’s this market of yours?”

“Up the road,” Harry said vaguely.

You raised a brow, but he didn’t offer any more information.

So you just drove.

***

“Halloween,” Harry said, “is not fun.”

You gasped, scandalized, and exclaimed, “What?”

“It’s too stressful!” Harry groaned. “I never know what to wear! Especially to parties, bloody hell! Like, do you go for it? Full makeup, tons of tulle, a wig? Or don’t go for it? And if it’s really go for it, and you don’t go for it, it’s like, oh, well, too bad. Or if it’s a party, and you’re invited, like, the day of, and everybody’s going for it, and you’re like, oh, I can’t, can’t go, because I don’t have time to plan it, and -” He stopped, sighing, and shook his head. “It’s a whole ordeal.”

“Yeah, clearly,” you replied, biting back a grin.

You were pulling into a parking lot, and you could already see the hustle and bustle of the market. There were booths set up all along the street and around a little courtyard. People talked and chattered, exchanging money and trinkets and smiles and waves.

You both got out of the car and met at the front, taking a moment to admire the view.

“The caramel apples are the best,” Harry told you with a smile.

“Guess we’ll have to go there first.”

Harry nodded, and you started walking. You shoved your hands in your pockets, a bit cold in the autumn wind, as a comfortable silence fell over the two of you. It was only a few seconds before you were stopped, though, when an old man behind a table covered in small wooden carvings called, “Harry!”

“George!” Harry exclaimed, wrapping him in a hug.

“It’s good to see you,” George said cheerily, his gaze darting to you and back to Harry inquisitively. Harry smiled, introducing you as his neighbor. George grinned, shaking your hand. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said.

“Likewise,” you replied.

“You must be pretty special,” George said. “Don’t think I’ve ever met any other neighbors.”

“We share a cat,” Harry explained, and George’s brow raised.

Harry glanced at you, dimpling, and then said, “Nice talking with you, George. We should catch up later - we’re headed for Mara.” George nodded. “Good boy. You know what they say! The way to a woman’s heart is her stomach, eh?”

“Alrighty, then,” Harry said, gently leading you away. “Bye, George!”

“Bye, Harry! And nice to meet you, neighbor!”

You smiled, waving at him over your shoulder. “You too, George!”

“Swear he’s been running that booth since about 1804,” Harry murmured as you walked away. “‘ve known him all my life, and he’s always looked the same. Beginning to think he’s a vampire.” You grinned, nudging his shoulder. “He seems nice.”

“He is!” Harry agreed. “He is. Like a second father. Hey, here’s Mara.”

You came up to a cluster of booths that steamed and bubbled and swirled together to smell of a blend of spices, sugar, and caramel. One of the booths proudly proclaimed Mara’s Caramel Apples, and shiny golden apples dotted the table.

The woman behind the table - Mara, presumably - lit up when she caught sight of Harry. “Harry, darling!” she cooed, coming around her table to press kisses against each of Harry’s cheeks. “Hullo, Mara,” Harry replied.

“It’s so good to see you!” Mara exclaimed, pinching his cheeks. “You should come around more often, love, you need some meat on these bones of yours.” Harry nodded, gingerly pulling her hand off of him. “I’ll work on that,” he replied, glancing at you and looking amused, if not a bit embarrassed.

“You do that, Harry,” Mara said, stealing one more pinch and making Harry wince before she turned to you. “And who is this, then?” Mara tutted, shaking her head. “Haven’t forgotten your manners, have you?”

“Never, Mara,” Harry assured her, and introduced you.

“Lovely to meet you!” Mara said cheerfully, wrapping you in a hug.

“You too,” you responded.

“How long have you been together, then?” Mara asked, making your face heat as she walked back around the table and started stirring a pot of caramel. “Haven’t seen you around, dear.” Harry coughed, shaking his head, looking as embarrassed as you felt. “Nope, no, we’re not together,” he corrected her. “Just - erm, we’re neighbors.”

“Ah, neighbors,” Mara hummed.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, she moved in where the Carlsons were.”

“Oh, the Carlsons!” Mara said. “A tricky bunch, they were - I’m glad you’re there now.”

“Yeah, me too,” you replied, smiling slightly at Harry.

Mara wiped her hands off on a cloth and tucked it on a rack before carefully grabbing two pristine caramel apples. “Well,” she said, handing you both a stick, “here you are, dears. Enjoy, now! And come back soon, the both of you!”

Harry pulled out cash, but Mara waved him off. “Oh, nonsense, Harry, you know better than that,” Mara told him. “I’ll give you the family discount, as long as you both promise to come back on your next date.”

“Not a date, Mara,” Harry mumbled, flushing red, and Mara grinned. “Of course. My mistake. Your first date, then.” Your face felt about on fire, and Harry’s was red as a beet as he said, “Right, then, nice talking to you, Mara! Bye, now.” He walked away as she waved cheerily, and you followed him.

Harry looked at you apologetically. “She’s a bit, erm - concerned, as it were,” he said sheepishly. “Haven’t exactly…” He cleared his throat. “She thinks I’m a bit lacking in the romance department.” You raised a brow, and he somehow managed to get even redder.

“I mean! I mean, I’m - I’m not,” he added hurriedly, “I’m really not, ‘f course - but, erm - she thinks…” He sighed, stopping, and shrugged at you helplessly. “So you’re not?” you said, and Harry’s brows furrowed, confused.

“You’re not lacking in the romance department?” you clarified.

Harry frowned. “... No?”

“So… Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

A bit of the red faded from his cheeks. “Oh,” he said. “Well, then, yes. I suppose I’m lacking in the romance department right now. ‘s unusual, though, I’ll have you know. But, erm - how about you?” You shook your head, glancing away from him and around the fair. “Single as a Pringle,” you told him, and you liked to imagine seeing the hint of a smile on his face out of the corner of your eye.

“Gotcha,” Harry hummed. “Right, well, how’s the apple, then?”

You took a bite, savoring it as you crunched on it, and then nodded your approval. “Superb,” you said, and Harry grinned brightly. “Wonderful,” he replied. “‘m glad you like it. Might’ve been a deal breaker if not.”

“That important, huh?”

“Oh, the most important,” Harry said seriously.

You grinned, and Harry dimpled back.

There was a beat of silence, and then he said, “Right, then. Tell me something about yourself.”

“Like what?”

He shrugged, licking caramel off his lips. “Anything. Hopes, dreams, fears, favorite color…”

You hummed as you thought, and then told him the first thing that came to mind. He listened as you talked, looking genuinely interested in what you were saying. Butterflies erupted in your stomach every time you made him laugh, and when you flipped the spotlight to him, you found yourself completely lost in his words.

Something about his voice, and his humor, and the way he giggled everytime he made a stupid joke, made the butterflies linger. It was pleasant, though. It wasn’t alarming, or nerve wracking, or even remotely uncomfortable. You weren’t self conscious, or scared to mess up, or worried you’d say the wrong thing.

You were just… happy.

The fair, you realized, wasn’t nearly big enough.

You’d walk the whole world just to keep talking with him.

***

“That was a date,” your friend declared as soon as you finished telling her what had happened. You balanced your phone between your ear and shoulder and blew softly on your hot tea. “No,” you replied, “it wasn’t.”

“Yes, it was!” she squealed. “I can’t believe he didn’t kiss you!” She huffed. “I can’t believe you didn’t kiss him!” You rolled your eyes, amused despite yourself, and insisted, “It really wasn’t a date. I was just… making up for slamming a metal pan into his arm.”

You heard her wince. “Yikes.”

You sighed, again, and took a sip of your tea. “He probably has a bruise.”

“Yeah, probably,” she snickered.

“Hey!”

She laughed, sounding way too amused at your misery. “Talk about a meet cute!”

“You are not helping,” you groaned, feeling yourself starting to laugh too anyway.

“Don’t worry,” she giggled, “he’ll think of you everytime he accidently puts pressure on it and screams in pain.” You scoffed indignantly and argued, “He will not scream in pain - it wasn’t that bad.” Your friend hummed skeptically. “I dunno about that… It was a pan, right?”

You took a sip of your tea, sighing heavily. “A tiny pan,” you mumbled into the lip of your mug, and then laughed when your friend started cracking up. “You gotta text me a picture of the bruise,” she gasped through her laughter.

“Okay, there’s no bruise.”

“Dude, it was a pan.”

“A tiny pan!”

That just set off another round of giggles, before finally, your friend relented. “Fine,” she said, “send me a picture of him, and the bruise will just be a bonus.” You agreed, and then said goodnight, and fell asleep with a smile on your face.

***

Your fingers did a dance over the screen of your phone, your lip between your teeth as you debated whether or not to send the text. Harry had given you his number the other day at the market, but you were getting a bit anxious about what to send.

The door really did need to be fixed, you told yourself, glancing down at your flirtatious-if-you-squinted text asking if he’d help you fix your basement door. Especially now, since it wouldn’t stay closed at all; you’d had to put a brick behind it to keep it shut, and even that kept sliding around. It was where Lucky had kept slipping in, you’d figured, and even though she was a pleasant enough intruder, you didn’t really want other less adorable trespassers coming through.

Finally, you took a breath, and sent it.

You stared at your screen for a few seconds as if he’d reply within the minute, and then threw your phone across your bed. Heaving a sigh, you pulled yourself away from your bed and towards the window, fidgeting with your fingers.

You lasted about ten seconds, and then grabbed your phone, and checked.

Nothing, of course, because you sent the text thirty seconds ago.

You groaned and belly flopped onto your bed.

***

Lucky came first.

She jumped up onto your bed and butted against you until you sat up and started petting her.

You pouted at her, smoothing your hand over her head. “Maybe I should’ve waited a few more days,” you murmured to her. “Maybe I made it obvious how desp- or, like, made it seem like I was too desperate.” You raised a brow, gazing down at her. “What about you, huh? Are you too desperate?”

Lucky purred and rolled over, stretching languidly.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you laughed, sliding off your bed and heading for the kitchen.

You paused when you heard the doorbell ring, glancing at Lucky inquisitively like she’d tell you who it was. She gave you a slow blink, and then jumped up, and stretched, and meandered down the hallway. You followed her, almost tripping over her when she stopped suddenly in the middle of the staircase to lick a paw, and opened the door.

“So I sort of forgot any tools,” Harry greeted you. “Hope that’s not a problem.”

Your brows jumped. “I - of course it’s not a - I just thought -” You stopped, glancing down at your phone, which showed no new notifications, and no new texts. “Sorry,” you said, “I wasn’t expecting you so, um - soon.”

Harry laughed, a bit sheepishly, and ran a hand through his hair. “Right. Sorry. I was… on the way. I mean, not on the way here, but, like - driving past. Well, not driving past, but sort of - you know, in, erm - in the area. Sort of. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you assured him, feeling yourself smile. “I’m glad you’re here.” You stepped back to let him in. “I think it’s open right now, the door - there’s kind of a draft,” you lied. Harry nodded, glancing around the house. “Place looks nice,” he said, and you smiled again, following his gaze.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

“Was a bit dreary before,” Harry said softly, letting his hand lightly skim the bright throw blanket you’d put on the sofa as he passed. “Downright dull,” you agreed, and he glanced at you, a smile tugging up the corners of his lips. “Where’s this door, then?”

“Downstairs,” you answered, stepping forward to lead him around the corner and down the steps. “The basement’s a bit creepy,” you warned him, tugging on the light. “Haven’t quite gotten down here yet.”

“Noted,” Harry murmured.

“It’s back here,” you said, weaving around a few cardboard boxes to get to the door.

It was, in fact, open, which was purely coincidental but pretty convenient. “Cold,” you said simply, shrugging at him. “Yeah,” Harry replied, “cold.” You smiled, not sure why, and then stepped outside, inspecting it without a real purpose in mind.

He stepped out too, and you gently pushed the door shut.

The lock clicked, a beat of silence, and then it swung open with a creak.

“Might be the lock,” Harry said, bending down to look at the little bit of metal against the side.

Lucky appeared as he fiddled with the mechanism, weaving through his legs, and he gave her scritches as he pushed the lock in and out a few times. “Looks fine,” he started, and then stopped when Lucky plopped down on top of his foot.

“Don’t know how she expects us to do any work like this,” Harry said with a grin, and you laughed, crouching next to him to pet her too. “She’s moral support,” you replied, and Harry raised a brow. “The most bothersome moral support ever.”

You shrugged. “The cutest most bothersome moral support ever.”

“If you say so,” Harry said, gently sliding her off his foot. He slid his hand over the door to its other side, where the hinges were, and then his face lit up. “Right, I have an idea.” He turned to you, looking excited, and asked, “Have a hammer?”

“Uhhh… probably?” You looked around the basement, then pushed open a closet door where a tool box poked out, and handed him a hammer. He nodded, glancing at the hinge again. “Er - how about a screwdriver?”

You gave it to him, and then watched over his shoulder as he gently tapped the pin out of the hinge in the middle of the door. He put it on the floor, raising the hammer over it, and you raised a brow at him. He looked up at you, grinning, and you couldn’t find it in you to tell him to stop. “I have a plan,” he told you.

“Sure, Styles.”

He scoffed, sitting back on his heels. “You know, your lack of faith is a bit disheartening.”

“I think you’re just stalling because you have no idea what you’re doing.”

He smiled, a challenge in his eyes, and then sat forward and hammered the pin, right in the middle. It bent, just slightly, and then he held it up, looking satisfied. He slid it back into the hinge, tapped it down, and worked on getting the other one out.

Once he’d gotten a curve in that one, he put it back and got the next. You watched in skeptical silence as he put that one back… and then stood up and dusted off his hands. “There you have it,” he announced.

“There’s no way that’s gonna work,” you said.

Harry just stepped back and pushed the door shut.

The lock clicked, a beat of silence, and then -

It stuck.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, pulling it out to close it again. It stuck, again, and you looked up at him happily. “Oh, wow, I can’t believe that worked! How did you even know how to do that?” Harry shrugged, fiddling with the door. “These old houses are practically identical. My bedroom door had the same problem.”

“Well, lucky me.”

He glanced at you, and held your gaze, just for a second, with a smile on his lips, and then his cheeks dusted pink. You felt heat rise on your own cheeks, realizing in the back of your mind that the whole door endeavor took a lot less time than you’d expected and now he’d probably leave.

He walked inside, making a grand gesture of holding the door open for you. “C’mon, then,” he said as you walked through and wracked your brain for ideas on how to keep him with you, “I need a tour.” You grinned, wondering if he could read your mind, and then nodded. You paused at the edge of the basement door and turned around.

“So,” you said, “this is the basement.”

“Enlightening.”

“The land of boxes,” you told him, and he smiled before following you out and up the steps to the living room. This was where you’d done the most work, clearing out the old grey furniture and replacing it with bright new pieces.

You put your arm out, gesturing widely to the room and spinning around. “And here’s the living room.” Harry followed you, making a slow circle and inspecting it. “I like the art,” he said, his eyes on the paintings you’d put on the wall.

“Thanks,” you said. “Me too.”

“Have you seen the gallery in town?” Harry asked as he followed you towards the kitchen. You shook your head, leaning against the counter. “No, I haven’t,” you answered, giving him a smile. “You’ll have to take me.”

Then, ignoring the butterflies his returning smile gave you, you went on, “And here’s the kitchen.” Lucky jumped up onto the counter next to you, and you grinned, petting her. “It’s her favorite room in the house.”

“I’m sure,” Harry laughed. He scratched her behind her ears, then walked around the room, his fingers tracing lightly on the white wooden table you’d chosen for the center of the room. “I like this better,” he said. “The Carlsons’ made the room look a lot smaller than it was.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I agree… Was too big. Made it cramped.” Harry’s gaze went out the back windows, which were floor to ceiling and looked out on the small woods in the backyard. There was a beat of silence, and then you walked over to stand next to him. “Were you… in here a lot?”

Harry shook his head. “Not really. I think they invited me when I first moved in… but that’s sort of it.” You hummed in response, and then asked, “Were you close with, uh - with the Carlsons?” Harry shrugged. “Eh. Not really. Y’know. Neighbor stuff.”

You bit your lip, smiling slightly. “Didja take them to the fair?” Your smile widened as Harry glanced at you, dimpling, and shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “But we didn’t share a cat, so I think the rules are a bit different.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mhm,” Harry hummed, looking back outside. “Yeah, there’s a bit more…” He tilted his head back and forth, searching for the right word. “Intimacy,” he finally seemed to decide, giving you a smile that tugged his lips into an almost-smirk. “We’re co-parenting a little one, after all. There’s got to be some… dinners involved.”

“Ah, yes, dinners,” you echoed solemnly. “To discuss parenting techniques.”

Harry nodded. “You get it.”

“She’s a bit spoiled, you know,” you said, watching her jump from the counter onto the table and sprawl out on the wood. “So we should probably get on those dinners.” Harry grinned. “Oh, yeah?” he asked, and you nodded. “Yeah. Definitely. Like, as soon as possible.”

His face lit up. “As soon as possible? As in, tonight?”

“Yeah,” you replied, a slow smile growing on your face. “As in tonight.”

Harry grinned back at you. “It’s a date.”

***

okay i KNOW this is weird sldkfj but it'll all make sense soon <333 hope you enjoyed !!!!!

and if you're liking this whole wrong-season-for-the-holiday thing, have no fear because there's a christmas fic coming soon!!!

masterlist | ask

[teeth-farie]

okay hold up I got distracted thinkin bout portia with nipple clamps but I definitely think all of the arcana characters would love nipple play. worship! them! boobs!

asra: put a set of clamps on him and take him from behind. the feeling of the chain connecting them lightly brushing against the bedsheets as you rock into him more than makes up for the slow pace you've set

julian: obviously he wants PAIN during sessions. bind his wrists and attach them to a hook on the ceiling, stretching his already lanky body and displaying him for you. put a pair of clamps on him and then attach weights to them. either leave him alone to stew for a bit or spank him lightly, letting the clamps tug on his nipples deliciously

nadia: secretly commission a pair of gorgeous jeweled clamps: one for each nipple and one for her clit, all connected by a delicate gold chain and covered in jewels. surprise her with it and she'll pose so prettily for you. her breasts are always so beautiful but this is on a whole new level

muriel: nothing painful for him and definitely no clamps with a chain attached, but his tiddies deserve love and attention too! lick and kiss over his whole chest and *maybe* occasionally scrape your teeth over a peaked nipple. all the while, whisper to him about how much you love him and how beautiful he is. he's surprised by how much he loves the sensations

lucio: like nadia, he'd want something decorative. get him a set of clover-style clamps (the ones that tighten when you tug them) in gold and adorned with rubies. every time he does something bratty, give them a sharp tug until he gets the idea and finally behaves. (or he likes the pinching so he'll just continue to be bad...)

portia: the aforementioned scenario with clamps attached to her collar. but she would also just like wearing them while dressing up for you. she'd wear corsets or bras that push her ample chest up and then decorate the nipples poking out. give the clamps a bit of a tug when you're making out and she tries to take the lead so she remembers who she belongs to

Anon your brain is so big I’ve been staring at this forever 👀👀

Asra’s seems so sweet/tender too omg. The little clinking chain brushing against the sheets and sending jolts up his spine. He could fall forward and lay against the bed while you prop his hips up, and the clamps will only press against the sheets harder, a newer texture stimulating his already sore nipples. Def wouldn’t mind if you threw in a little magical temperature play, keeping the metal cold against his chest

The visual of leaving Julian alone and waiting makes up for how much I’d miss toying with him hehe. Weights for sure, pulling on his nipples without relief, stretching the sensitive skin until he’s numb and tingly. But also staying to spank him!! Especially with a crop, spanking his ass and thighs, letting the frayed edges tickle over his chest before slapping his poor nipples too. He’s dripping on the floor by the time you’re finished, knees buckling against each other.

Nadia..elegant queen who deserves only the best. She gets pretty jewelry and dolled up so nicely. She puts on a show, slowly revealing the glimmering jewels and chains. But..she might need a little help with the clit clamp, won’t you help her? It’s a constant stinging pressure that drives her crazy, especially if you jerk her off before hand, getting her clit swollen and needy before you put the clamp on.

Muriel is a gentle man, most definitely. No harsh toys for him, just something soft and equally stimulating. Maybe a little temp play too? Cool your fingers or tongue before warming it up again, letting him feel it without pain. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands while you have your face stuffed in his tits so they just sort of hover over your shoulders most of the time (be careful of his chest hair, it’ll get in your mouth) but boy does he like it.

Lucio, the little brat that he is demands that the clamps and chains be pretty and expensive (and gaudy too). He won’t settle for anything less, he sneers at the notion of a cheaper gift—that is until you beat him back into submission, the ungrateful brat. He enjoys pain, but he won’t resist complaining that you’re going to rip his nipples off if you keep pulling. He wears rings without shame, flaunting his chest in public and showing off the shiny jewels.

Portia (*borat voice* my wife), Victorian style corsets are a must!! I wanna see her titties jiggle!! She gets rowdy for sure, straddling your lap and trying to grind down on your thigh before you tug on those chains and remind her who’s in charge. And pet play too, oh goodness! Keeping the chains looped around her collar so she can feel them sway when she’s walked. Give her a good tug on the leash and she’ll bite her lip, wobbling on her hands and knees—but she’s a good girl, she can stay still for you (for the most part)

[councilofelrond]

New AU idea that I will never ever write!

- basically a Nazgûl finds a Silmaril and shows it to Sauron like hey boss i found a cool thing! I tried throwing it in Mount Doom but it floated :)

- Sauron’s eyes go wide and he’s like “shit. shit. fucking hide that thing while I make a call”

(cont’d under a cut bc damn this got long)

- said call is to a very confused Gandalf, who immediately agrees that yeah hiding the Silmaril is the best idea if you can’t destroy it outright

- he then shuts off the mental connection and PANICS

- WELL SHIT TIME TO CALL UPON THE BIG GUNS

- (Sauron does not want the Silmaril. He carries it down to the depths of Barad-dûr in a box he is holding at arm’s length. Also he is wearing gloves. Also also he is armed to the teeth. Literally because fangs.)

- Back with Gandalf we learn that for some reason a crazy elf has challenged Éowyn to a duel??? And she’s willing to do it??? (Éomer is having a mental breakdown like nooo not my baby sister!!)

- (Éowyn has cut off his allowance for calling her a baby. No spears for you. Two weeks.)

- she wins somehow by the sheer power of “fuck this shit im out”

- where is the ring in all this? Sauron accidentally kicked it into Mount Doom because of Shenanigans.

- bad news for the Valar: MELKOR ESCAPED. Fortunately he immediately wound up stuck in Isengard and so is prevented from Dark Lord-ing until this 17 year old in a grown ass man’s body says he can leave. This will only happen if he helps said 17 year old kill Saruman.

- SHENANIGANS

- Estë snickering in the background like “oh yeah bitch. that is MY Uruk. have fun.”

- Said Uruk is my favorite Uruk OC of mine, Bâlhûn, who has the energy of a little old lady who can and will whoop your ass if you mess with her. Bâlhûn is a he though. Also he is the aforementioned 17 year old in a grown ass man’s body.

- Anyhow Melkor gets discovered by Saruman and locked up for Existing In His General Direction or something

- he is experimented on too this is not a very comedic au despite how im describing it

- he is Displeased by this but he can’t do anything

- UNTIL

- some undead guy breaks in and goes “hey bitch to wanna get out ofc you do listen i am going to cut my arm open and bleed on you a lot so you can then ask for a bath. I’ll be fine don’t worry. Once they’ve let you out, pull out the knife and kill whoever’s there then run like hell. K? K.”

- Melkor grumbles but he does it

- (undead guy is Talion btw bc I love that horrible man)

- they escape together and then when they find Bâlhûn again he’s like “oh i thought you were dead wanna commit murder”

- and Melkor’s like “yeah actually sounds great i get why you hate that bitch Saruman”

- and Bâlhûn goes “okay great also did you know your entire lower body is covered in blood”

- cue dramatic fainting scene

- anyway they throw Saruman off a balcony and Melkor and Talion zoom off to Mordor to exist in Sauron’s general direction. in very different ways for very different reasons. Melkor wants to reunite with him *loud Victorian innuendo coughing* and Talion wants to be a nuisance. Talion always wants to be a nuisance. Moving on

- so when they get there Sauron and Melkor reunite and this goes on for like three hours *even louder Victorian innuendo coughing*

- Talion is like “damn they do not waste time also now i miss my wife” so he runs away and is Sad™️ for a while

- Melkor is very happy to have reunited with Sauron. The feeling is mutual. *ridiculously loud Victorian innuendo coughing*

- ANYWAY away from the very vigorous activity going on there *dies laughing at how ridiculously evasive that is* the Nazgûl are bored

- this means they want to throw a party

- that in turn means there is now Intrigue

- and murder but that’s par the course for these bitches

- at this party some noble makes a snide comment about what exactly Melkor’s job is

- Melkor immediately challenges him to a duel and beats the shit out of him. It’s terrifying.

- (Sauron thinks it’s hilarious)

- (Sauron is having a wonderful time)

- (Sauron will not be having a wonderful time for much longer)

- (Poor Sauron)

[flamencodiva]

Who Do You Think You Are? 5 - Mutual Pining

Description: Y/N Y/L/N and Dean Winchester seem to bump into each other quite frequently. What happens when these two hunters rub each other the wrong way?

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Bingo Square: Mutual Pining 

Warnings: Smut, Fluff, Angst, Mentions of Child Neglect, Mentions of Drug Abuse.

A/N: For SPN Dean Bingo Round One

Divider by @talesmaniac89​ 

“7” a voice called out as the sounds of slicing filled the warehouse. 

“10,” a female voice called back. “You’re getting slow in your old age Dean.” 

Y/N laughed as she turned and sliced the head of a vampire ready to charge at her. 

“11,” she sang. 

“You’re cheating!” Dean called as he sliced two vamps back to back. 

“Could you two not turn things into a competition?!” Sam’s annoyed voice called back. “Seriously I think I liked it better when you guys were angry at each other.” 

“Shut up, Sam!” Dean and Y/N shouted. 

The trio moved their way around the warehouse. Once they determined that the warehouse was clear they cleaned up the chaos and made their way out. Y/N and Dean leaned against the Impala drinking beer as Sam watched them. He could see the stolen glances between them and the lingering touches. But he could also see where Y/N pushed Dean away, and Dean allowed it. 

“I so, beat you,” Y/n smiled as she took a big gulp of her beer. 

“No way sweetheart,” Dean shook his head and nudged her. “I chopped off more heads than you.” 

“Oh Geez,” Sam sighed. “Are you guys really going to do this?” 

“Sam,” Y/N shook her head. “You just need to get laid.” 

“So do you,” Sam retorted. 

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. He glanced over at Y/N, she looked more relaxed now than she had in months. Since that time in the motel room where they relaxed and started their friendship over. She didn’t talk much about what happened, but he heard her crying some nights. Whatever it was he wanted to hurt whoever hurt her. 

“Trust me, Sam,” She gave him a wink. “I get plenty. Especially with the battery-operated ones.” 

“Oh, geez Y/N come on!” Sam groaned. “I mean you and Dean were--” 

Sam was interrupted by the familiar sounds of Ozzy’s ‘Crazy Train’ coming from Y/N’s pocket. 

“Uncle T?” Y/N straightened her back. “Calm down, what’s going on?” 

In California, around five hours earlier. 

Nikki Sixx was returning home from his day at physical therapy. His shoulder was healing nicely and he was working hard to make sure he could get back to work. His wife, Courtney, was in charge of giving him his medications and keeping them out of reach. As a recovering addict, Nikki trusted her to keep him safe. Walking into the foyer, he found his youngest daughter, Frankie Sixx, waiting for him. 

“Hey, Frankie,” He gave her a hug. “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah!” She returned his hug. “I came to drop off something I bought at an antique store!” Frankie took her Father’s hand and led him to the living room.  

There on the coffee table sat a rosewood and jade jewelry box. It gave Nikki a weird feeling that there was something wrong with it. Walking up to it he used his good arm to let his fingers dance along the wood. He studied the small doors on the box with the jade paneling.  

“I-- It’s,” Nikki rubbed his chin as he studied the jewelry box. “Where did you find it?” 

“There was this antique store on the strip and I just thought it would look cool in the living room.” Frankie shrugged as she made her way towards the couch. 

“Thank You,” Nikki chuckled. 

The two of them talked for about an hour before Frankie decided it was time to head to her apartment. Being a freshman in college was hard work. And Nikki was proud of all his kids, even the one who didn’t want him. Once Frankie had left, Nikki found himself alone in the house. Cortney was doing a photoshoot and wouldn’t be home until later. He decided to make himself a sandwich and settle in with a movie. 

As Nikki was watching the movie, the lights began to flicker slightly. Rolling his eyes he gave a small huff. 

“Must be an earthquake messing with the power,” he looked at his dog Houdini. The dog gave a small whine, almost as if he was afraid of something. “What’s wrong Houdini?”  

The dog let out a small whine before padding off out of the room. Nikki looked around wondering if something was amiss. With a heavy sigh, he settled back and concentrated on the movie. Not a minute later and he was shivering. The room began to feel cold.

‘Thief,’ A voice called.

“What?” Nikki said as he winced, sitting up straighter and looking around. “Who’s there?” 

Nikki shivered and let out a breath. His eyes furrowed together as he saw his own breath. 

“What the fuck?” he muttered. “When did the temperature drop?” getting up from the couch he made his way to the thermostat and tilted his head in confusion. “It’s at 75°,” he scratched his head and grumbled. 

‘Drunken murderer, and thief!’ the voice wailed again. 

Nikki turned to see a woman dressed in what he could only describe as a Victorian era dress, hair pinned up and her eyes glared at him. 

“Holy shit,” he breathed as he stood frozen in fear. 

‘Thief!’ it screeched before charging at Nikki and knocking him backwards. 

He winced in pain and held on to his repaired shoulder. Scrambling for his keys he didn’t want to stay and figure out what was going on. But he needed to get out of his house. Rushing to his car. He drove as fast and carefully as he could to Tommy's house.

“He said it was a ghost?” Y/N asked slowly as she looked at Dean and Sam. 

Rolling her eyes she let out a small huff as she heard her uncle explain everything that her father had told him. 

“And why would he want to call me?” she huffed and froze at whatever her uncle had said. “Mom? He mentioned my mother?” 

Dean watched as she scrunched her face up in confusion. He could tell she was trying to digest whatever her uncle was telling her. When she hung up, she looked to Sam and Dean and sighed. 

“Do you guys think you can help me out with a case?” she asked. “But I know it’s probably nothing. Last time I got a call like this, my brother tried to trick me with an EMF generator.” 

“Yeah,” Dean said, immediately earning a glare from Sam. “Sam and I can go as FBI or as some Detectives if you want?” 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” She made her way to her car before turning to them, “Just don’t use your Motley Crue aliases, or any of the rock aliases.” 

“Any reason why?” Sam asked as he raised his eyebrow at her. 

“Let’s just say that my dad and uncle are die hard rock fans and will tell right away when something is up,” she reasoned. 

“Sounds fair,” Sam said with a smile. “What’s the address?” 

After Y/N gave them the location, Sam and Dean couldn’t help but look at one another. 

“Is it me,” Dean let out in a huff. “Or did she seem nervous about us meeting her family?” 

“I mean, she’s told us plenty of times that her dad hasn’t been the best,” Sam reasoned. “Could be that she’s doing it as a favor to her uncle. She seems to get along with him.” 

Dean hummed softly as he nodded, “Yeah, maybe.” He stayed closely behind Y/N’s car as they made their way to their next hunt. 

“California,” Sam breathed. “We were last there…” 

“Was that ghost case on that movie set?” Dean breathed. 

“Yeah, you banged that movie star,” Sam let out a chuckle. 

“Those were good times,” Dean sighed as he reminisced.

“So you and Y/N are just friends?” Sam let out as he flipped through his book. 

“Yes, Sam, just friends. Can you drop it?” Dean growled. 

“I mean, you guys were pretty hot and heavy for a while and then--” he trailed off. “Did something happen?” 

“We’re better off as just friends, that’s all. It’s no big deal.”  Dean brushed him off. 

“Dean--” Sam began. 

“Don’t,” Dean spat. “We tried the benefits thing and it didn’t work. We decided being friends is better.” 

“That’s why you keep giving her the puppy dog look,” Sam muttered under his breath. 

“I do not!” Dean said as he looked at Sam. “one, I don’t have to give her the puppy dog look. And B, we’re just friends!” 

“You keep telling yourself that Dean,” Sam chuckled. “Besides, you guys keep sneaking glances at each other. I think it’s cute.”  

“We do not!” Dean scoffed. “I mean sure she can’t keep her eyes off me, but I do not sneak glances at her.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Sam said as he lifted his hands up in defeat. “Just saying. You two are good together. So what’s the harm?” 

“You know the harm Sam.” Dean sighed. “We tried and it failed.” 

“No,” Sam argued. “You had an agreement and it failed. It is not the same as a relationship.” 

“Look can we drop it please?” Dean mumbled. 

Sam nodded and sat back in his chair. The drive to California and to Y/N’s uncle’s house was not too long, but it wasn’t a short ride either. Dean and Sam both whistled as Y/N’s car pulled up to a gate leading to a mansion. Slowly following behind Y/N, Dean wondered what kind of family Y/N came from. He knew her mom was a hunter, but she never talked about her dad being rich. Parking the cars, Dean watched as Y/N grabbed her bags and made her way towards them. 

“Okay,” she breathed. “Promise you won’t freak out.” 

“Why would we--” the question that was on Dean’s lips was answered the minute the door to the house opened and a tall skinny man with short black hair and a beard came running down the steps.

“Booger!” he called out as he enveloped Y/N in his arms. “Glad you came when I called. Your dad is shaken up. I mean he keeps talking about a ghost and I figured you could talk some sense into him.” 

“You could have called Gunner, Storm, Decker, or Frankie,” Y/N grumbled. “Why me?” 

“He insisted,” her uncle sighed. “Said that it had to do with your mom and that you would believe him.” 

Dean watched as Y/N nodded and motioned for him and Sam to get closer. 

“These are some detective friends of mine,” she said with a smile. 

“Detectives Smith and Smith,” Sam said with a smile. “No relation.” 

“Tommy Lee,” Dean let out in a high pitched choke. “You’re Tommy Lee. Your uncle is Tommy Fuckin Lee, Y/N!” 

“Yeah I noticed,” she smiled. “Unless he was taken over by aliens.” 

“Wait,” Dean pulled her back. “Your dad. You kept calling him--” the realization hit Dean like a ton of bricks. “You kept calling him Nick, holy shit your dad is Nikki Sixx!” 

“Please don’t remind me,” she breathed. “Look let’s get inside, deem it a hoax and that he’s on his pain meds and call it a day, okay?” 

Sam and Dean walked behind Y/N and Tommy making their way inside the drummers house. Dean couldn’t help but feel giddy at meeting some legends of rock. He was in Tommy Lee’s house! He was going to meet Nikki Sixx. Fuck, Y/N was Nikki Sixx’s daughter? He wasn’t sure how he should feel. On one hand, he loved the bassist. There was no doubt that his songs were hits. But then, there was the way Y/N talked about him and how she grew up. Dean stood back as he watched Y/N standing in front of her father, Nikki Sixx! But the look on Y/N’s face told Dean she wasn’t happy to be here. 

“Okay, let’s get this over with,” she sighed and looked to Dean and Sam. “Sixx, these are some friends of mine, Dean Smith and Sam Smith, no relation. They deal with this kind of thing.” 

“Y/N I was hoping that--” 

“Talk to them,” she snapped, “Whatever drug induced hallucination you got yourself into I want no part of it,” She spat. 

“Y/N your dad has been sober for years now! Trust me, this isn’t a drug induced hallucination,” Tommy said as he tried to plead with her. 

“It’s okay, Tommy,” Nikki sighed as he waved him off with his good arm, “This is my punishment for what I did to her during her childhood.” 

“Excuse us, Mr. Sixx,” Sam interrupted as he cleared his throat, “As your daughter said we are experts and we’d like to help,” he held out his hand for Nikki to shake. 

The bassist raised an eyebrow at him before reluctantly shaking Sam’s hand. “You can call me Nikki, Mr. Sixx makes me sound old,” the bassist joked, “How do you two know my daughter?” 

“Not your daughter! Only someone who shares your DNA,” Y/N huffed. 

“We work closely with her on certain projects,” Dean explained, “I gotta say, I love you band! I mean Kickstart My Heart is the ultimate get pumped song to really start your day. Also Take Me To The Top is a classic!”  

“Yeah,” Nikki shook Dean’s hand while looking at him curiously, “good to know you’re a fan. So… about my situation?” 

“Yes!” Sam said as he nudged Dean with his elbow, “Is there a place we could all sit to talk about what you experienced?” 

“Yeah, You guys can use my living room,” Tommy announced as he smiled at them, “Nikki can lead the way.” 

Y/N watched as Nikki led Sam towards the living room while Dean stayed behind. She couldn’t help but notice the look of concern over the hunters face as Tommy walked towards her. 

“Y/N, you okay?” Dean asked as he made his way towards her. 

“Fine,” she huffed, “you got follow after them, I’ll be right there.” 

“Okay if you’re sure,” Dean gave her a reassuring smile before turning around and following after Sam and Nikki. 

“He likes you,” Tommy spoke up, “And you are so crushing on him.” 

“Shut up,” Y/N scoffed, “We had a thing, it got complicated so I stopped it.” 

“Your dad is really spooked, Kid,” Tommy said running a hand across his face, “He really thinks he saw a --” 

“Ghost?” Y/N let out a small huff, “Please, Gunner got me back during his surgery and said the same thing only for me to figure out it was all fake. This is just another attempt to get me to talk to him and forgive him.” 

“Holding in all that anger isn’t good for you, and your mom--” 

“My mom died because of him,” she hissed, “He couldn’t protect me and she dumped his junkie ass!” 

“Hey--” 

“No! I brought my friends to help him and that’s it,” She growled, “I’m not here to make up with him, or be his daughter,” she clarified, “He never wanted me in the first place, and the guy you claim I’m crushing on? I’m not the type of girl he would go for in a relationship anyways.” 

Before her uncle said another word, Y/N stormed off towards his living room. She passed Dean who had squished himself against the wall having heard everything she said. Shaking his head, he took a deep breath before following behind her. Reminding himself that while she was wrong in not being his type, she was right about them trying. But then again, they didn’t really try to begin with. 

Want to be tagged in my fics? Send me an ASK!

Forever Tags: Status: Open

@crashdevlin​ @waywardbeanie​ @deanmonandnegansbitch​ @impala-1979​ @whatareyousearchingfordean​ @malfoysqueen14​ @divadinag​ @deanwanddamons​ @jensengirl83​ @erins-culinary-service​ @anathewierdo​ @superfanficnatural​ @emoryhemsworth​ @janicho88​ @talesmaniac89​ @smol-and-grumpy​ @atc74​ @msmarvelouswinchester​ @holylulusworld​ @ellewritesfix05​ @akshi8278​ @donnaintx​   @vicmc624​ @chocolateheart​ @deangirl93​ @winchest09​ @katehuntington​ @teresa-67​ @miss-nerd95​ @jawritter​ @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms​ @supernatural-love14​ 

Who Do You Think You Are? 

@spnfamily-j2​ @fantasydevil2002​ 

[daretosnoop]

Lessons I learned from the Games

Most of this is just silly, some are actual lessons.

SCK/SCK2:

If you’re going to get murdered, get revenge by leaving clues to the blackmail you have on potential suspects and hope to god someone figures it out

If you’re investigating a crime, being a random transfer student at the end of the year is probably not the way to go, but no one cares because they’re too busy with college applications.

If your niece is coming to your place to investigate a murder and you’re not there, the least you can do is set up a cage to trap any possible break-ins.

Nothing beats being able to hold a gun to the murderer #whySCKremastered???

Teens dealing with pressures to meet college and parental demands

Teens resorting to drugs

Teens dealing with sexism that’s found in abundance in college and work environments

Teachers not giving a shit about what students are going through.

STFD:

If you’re getting death threats, play it cool. Keeps the perps unhinged

Toxicity of fan culture

Throw all CEOs into the closet

Nothing beats Jazz

If you’re going to commit crime in an actor’s community, you must do it with flare

MHM:

If you’re going to buy a Victorian mansion, the least you can do is check for ghosts. And also hire a carpenter beforehand

Never invest your life’s savings into anything

Treat those who help you with basic decency (my god Rose!)

If you’re snooping on someone, don’t give them any indication that you’re onto them

If someone slips a threatening message under your door, open the door.

Victorian houses have all sorts of booby traps, FIND THEM.

TRT:

Don’t trust anyone who’s eager to be your friend

Trust the weirdos and grumpy people

Learn French

Don’t leave incriminating evidence that reveals your lies

There is no such thing as too much food

Women in history have been badly treated by (male) historians.

It’s called the past for a reason

Turn a bad situation into an opportunity to learn

If you’re going to do crime, at least ensure you have an escape route that’s not blocked by the snow

Don’t date people who pressure you to marry them/ask you to prove your love for them

 FIN:

As a woman, if you want anyone to take you seriously and help, you have to be adamant, sassy, and everything men don’t like to see in women.

If you’re a POC, the chances of the police helping you decreases

Capitalism sucks

Police suck

Misogyny in capitalism

Old theaters are amazing

Don’t trust the person who’s trying to be your friend!!!!!!

Don’t talk to suspects about your case

Have confidence in yourself

 SSH:

Colonialism still exists in the form of capitalism

The art industry is completely profit driven

Mexico and America tensions

The Mayans

They never talked about what happened to the Mayans…..

Don’t deal with shady salesmen

Sometimes saving money contributes to a bad system

If you accepted a position, take your work seriously

Don’t trust the guy trying to be your friend!!!!

Master the art of amnesia should you ever need to use it

Even if you disband a group of art thieves, it’s best to be humble

No one in life is going to help you, even if you get pushed into a monolith

 DOG:

This game is why it’s important to put your dog(s) on a leash! (insert that dog vine: “it don’t bite. Yes it do!”)

If we didn’t have uptight rangers, the parks would be burnt to smithereens

Misogyny exists in the woods

People who are just trying to do their job always get a bad rap even though it’s because of them the park still exists!

Gangsters are bad, but also low-key cool

Get back at your enemies by making a fake grave of them

Old people have interesting stories

Gold can release arsenic into water

Always check well water before using

Wood mice are bad for health

If you’re going to get tied up and tossed into your tool shed, keep a scythe on hand

Go birdwatching at night

Torque is a fancy word for screw driver

If you’re a POC, people are most likely to suspect you.

CAR:

There is no job security if you end up in hospital

Sometimes you really need a 2000 calorie sundae

If you went to jail, people are most likely to suspect you first

Don’t spy on your co-workers

Don’t trust the person who’s trying to be your friend!

Don’t procrastinate on a job

If you’re miserable in life, maybe it’s time to sign up for some therapy

If you have a sad backstory, you’re automatically entitled to everyone’s sad backstory

Mental illness: depression

Health awareness: niacin, don’t eat junk food like a 2000 calorie sundae

Don’t dump someone just because they’re not able to give you a lavish lifestyle

DDI:

If you’re going to trash someone’s boat, don’t leave your business card behind

If you’re tired of small mindedness, it’s best to just leave

It’s always handy in life to know boating skills

If you’re trying to report suspicious activity, communicating by bottles is not the way to go

Don’t feed wild animals!

Capitalism sucks

Look carefully at your environment, you never know what clues are left behind

Always make a plan B in case plan A doesn’t work

Don’t be afraid to explore

SHA:

Never trust the guy who’s trying to be your friend!!!

Always trust the grumpy guy

Horses die easily

There is no such thing as over ripe vegetables

Sunflowers should be planted near gardens so that bees come

Respect chickens

Falling in love with a criminal is difficult when your dad’s a cop

It’s handy to know how to ride a horse

Ghost towns are terrifying

Farmers work hard and should be respected

CUR:

Don’t trust the person who’s trying to be your friend!!!!!!!!!!

Don’t be a negligent parent

Before getting married, make sure your partner has a good relationship with your child

Don’t trust creepy people

America and British will always oppose each other

Talking parrots are always handy

British aristocracy was supported through colonialism #got Loulou on his Travels, uh huh

If you’re a spinster, you’re going to be the mom of something

If you’re afraid of becoming a monster, best be dramatic about it

It’s really important to have good communication between partners

Don’t stick your new wife in a room that still has pictures of your old wife and where all the furniture has covers on them

If you have a manor, you better explore it before some 12-year-old gets hurt exploring it

don’t go to great lengths to protect a rock

calling something that skips every generation a “family tradition” is just rude and exclusive

don’t leave your child alone for so long. Don’t keep them away from people their age

don’t write memories, no one wants to hear your life story

CLK:

if you’re going to presume someone’s identity, you better nail the part down hard

don’t blow up the kitchen when there’s only three people in the house and you were the closest and last one in the kitchen

emotional manipulation

gas lighting

if someone mentions stolen jewellery, putting back what you stole just incriminates you

even if you have psychic abilities, don’t be an ass bout it

no one ever tips because no one like the system. Pay your employees what they deserve!

Even though the depression’s going on, people are still dumping money in psychic lessons and dress making

No one ever gives anything away for free

Even if you’re promised money, don’t put too much trust in the promises of others

Don’t be rude to the person who’s trying to help you

If your partner is demanding to be spoiled during an economic depression, find a better partner

People aren’t as smart as you, tell them straight where you left your will.

 TRN:

The dumb blonde joke is not funny

Cops are useless and unhelpful

People are more willing to listen to adults then teens/young adults

Celebrities are much different in real life then in their celebrity world.

Don’t steal someone else’s ideaà artist theft

Old trains are super cool

People aren’t as smart as you, tell them straight where you hid your treasure

Don’t dump someone just because people think they’re dumb

 DAN:

Capitalism sucks

The fashion industry is brutal

normal size representation

Boss’s can be crappy people

Don’t blackmail people

If you promised to do work, you better dedicate yourself to it

Having a healthy fear of giving away personal information is not a bad thing

Don’t aid stalkers

Covid-precaution: cover face with mask. Act erratic to keep people away from you

Concept of older men dating younger women is actually frowned upon

Love is mysterious

Flashlight on the many women who helped decode during WW2 but largely remain unrecognized by countries today

Forgery is okay sometimes

 CRE:

Indigenous cultures continue to be badly and negatively portrayed in media

Capitalism sucks

Environmentalism

Academia is not as research oriented as one wishes it was

Daddy-issues

Native Hawaiians forced to “work with” big corps in order to survive.

Tourism industry and its affects on the environment and native population

Sometimes an upgrade is not a good thing

ICE:

Animal conservatism

Capitalism sucks

International competitions suck

Running away from humans to hide in a cabin and bonding with a wolf is not a bad thing

Never enter a sauna alone

It’s bad business to kick customers out

If your customers are falling asleep everyday in a common room, it’s probably not a good sign of booming business

Don’t be chill over bombs exploding near your hotel

Always handy to know how to drive a snow mobile

Don’t volunteer to be a maid, ever

Cops are useless

CRY:

Don’t dump your job on your girlfriend

There’s nothing wrong with being emo

Men being emotional and desiring love and affection

Men being abused in relationships

Even if your relative leaves you a ton of money, it’s no excuse for not being a good guardian/parent

Don’t trust strangers. Don’t eat food from random people

Customer service is awful. Even when the customer is trying to instigate a horrible reaction in you, you got to put on a smile

Always trust the eccentric lady

Nancy’s sad backstory allows her to hear everyone else’s sad backstory, unless you’re a guy, I guess.

A date in the cemetery is not a bad idea

If your partner demands you to spoil them, get a new partner

People aren’t as smart as you, tell them where you hid your treasure

VEN:

Anyone can help out on an international mafia case

The mafia is very creative and artistic

Capitalism sucks

Assert your independence as a young woman by dancing in a cat suit on stage? I guess?

Money can be found anywhere

Eat the rich

Don’t trust the person trying to be friends with you

Possessive relationships are red flags

Don’t steal a cheap neckless if you’re a notorious thief

Cops kind of useful for once.

HAU

Don’t pull a prank on your partner before your wedding

Don’t invite someone who used to date your partner and still has feelings for them

If your partner is missing, actually look for them instead of sitting around

Crows are amazing

Fiona might have lost her parents at a young age and her life as a hermit definitely had its side affects, but she also saved herself from the misogyny women endured

RAN:

If your friend gets kidnapped, please, at least fake some concern

Don’t waste time with monkeys

The only other person on the island is probably the culprit

WAV:

Girl bullying can be worse than boy bullying

Don’t trust the person who’s trying to be your friend!!!!!!

  TOT:

Nancy’s sad backstory allows her to hear everyone else’s sad backstory, unless you’re a guy, I guess.

Academic institutions are struggling to fund research

Capitalism sucks

Even if you hate your lead, don’t sabotage the team

Communication is important

Even if you hate your job, don’t sabotage your team

 SAW:

People who resist to change just become boulders in the way of progress

Boomer mentality is soul destroying

Emotional manipulation

Gas lighting

Depression

Sometimes you have to cut away from those you love in order to maintain your sanity

Nancy’s sad backstory allows her to hear everyone else’s sad backstory.

If you have to give your partner a gift every time you fight, you might have relationship problems

Don’t be in a relationship just because you’re used to it

Don’t force someone to adhere to your expectations in life

If you’re unable to talk to your partner and so resort to haunting her inn, you probably have relationship issues

[docholligay]

The Time Traveler’s Bullshit

@katrani comissioned me to write out my full review of The Time Traverler’s Wife, my most hated book of the year thus far, and I feel like it won’t be dethroned. nearly 3,000 words and I skipped a whole section I was going to write about, ENJOY

Three dollars and ninety nine cents will buy you a Big Mac. It will buy you four hours of downtown parking in my city. Three dollars and ninety-nine cents will buy you a latte made with burnt coffee at Starbucks. For Three dollars and ninety-nine cents, I can get a can of terrible beer and have a dollar left over for tip. All of which would have been a better choice than what I ultimately spent that three dollars and ninety-nine cents on, which was this book. 

I am careful to read hyped books out of their time, so that I’m not influenced by something that has been so lauded no book could ever hope to reach those heights. So when this first came around, and I saw many women talking about how much they had loved it, I figured I would just read it later. I buy books used, so this is generally what I do even outside of worrying about being affected. 

I finally picked this book up after a reader of mine told me it reminded them of my writing. 

After reading it, several years after all the hype, I have one question: Are women who fuck men okay? 

(“Why not just straight women, Doc?” you may rightly ask me, and I, unfortunately, am forced to answer that I know a number of bisexual women who also enjoyed this book, leading me to believe that the trouble is far worse than previously imagined.)

I found this book to be borderline insulting, and if I didn’t know any better, I would have claimed this book was written by a man. The entire way through I felt the constant assault of the idea that this reminded someone of ME. What have I been doing wrong all my life, I asked? I should probably give up writing. 

Let’s go into the book itself!

The core of the novel hinges around the idea that Henry goes through time without wanting to and with no consious conrol, and so in a sense lives his life out of order. This is a fascinating idea but for the fact that book’s main hinge is the relationship between Clare and Henry. 

Who Henry meets, as an adult out of time, when she is six. 

And proceeds to groom her to be his wife someday. 

Oh, it isn’t put that way, of course, it’s simply that they end up married and so, I suppose the author might say, it’s only natural that Henry interact with her when he comes the “the Meadow” nearby where she lives. But this sort of “things are already decided” that the author is extremely fond of does not remove this intensely squicky framework from their relationship. Henry begins with Clare when she is six years old, and it comes on VERY fast that they are supposed to get married. She is at a sleepover, still as a literal child, ELEVEN YEARS OLD, when the Ouija board spells out his name as the boy who likes her. 

The book takes pains to describe how he won;t have sex with her until she’s 18, but how difficult it is for a thirties to forties man not to have sex with her when she’s 15, 16, 17. I want to say there might be a part where he describes it when she’s 14, but I can’t find it in the book right now, so we’ll pretend it’s not there. “But they’re married in the furute!” one might say, listen if my wife had to resist having sex with sixteen year old me, and didn’t see me as a fucking child, I would think she was gross. It’s gross for a thirty-something to forty -something dde to struggle not to fuck a teenager, period, end of story. 

All of this is wrapped in the book’s idea that this is romantic, instead of the idea that Clare’s “date with destiny” is tragic. She doesn’t ever have a boyfriend, because she is “waiting for Henry”. She sleeps with one of Henry’s friends before he and Clare ever officially “meet” and bursts into tears because she feels as if she has been unfaithful. Meanwhile, Henry is out having girlfriends like no one’s business, and “Well Doc he doesn’t know” why is Clare the one who has to bear this arranged marriage? 

Clare herself even alludes to the way she’s being groomed to be the woman he wants in a way that I DO NOT THINK the author intended, as the author is desperately wrapped up in the idea that this is sexy and romantic and not deeply fucking unsettling. 

Pretentious-ass Henry is dropping German into a casual conversation with a thirteen year old so that you know he is learned and cool, and explain that it’s from Rilke, one of their (note: Not your, but OUR) favorite poets. 

Clare responds: “You’re doing it again!” 

“What?” 

“Telling me what I like.” Clare burrows into my lap with her feet. Without thinking I put my feet on her shoulders, but then that seems too sexual, somehow, and I quickly take Clare’s feet in my hands again and hold them together with one hand in the air as she lies on her back, innocent and angelic with her hair spread nimbus-like around her on the blanket. (Sidebar: I can only fucking imagine that the sort of people that are into this are the sort of people who think nothing at the idea of some Victorian gentleman marrying his attractive young ward, as apparently there’s no problem with having seen someone as a child and then having them marry you! It’s not deeply fucked up at all!)  …..

“Henry?” 

“Yes?”

“You are making me different.” 

“I know.” 

These brief asides are meant to make us feel that Henry has done enough to assuage his guilt, that we are meant to forget that what he is doing is wrong. The book goes so far as to have sixteen year old Clare be the aggressor with a 37 or so year old Henry, as a way of trying to tell us, “Oh look none of this can be Henry’s fault” and an absolutely cringeworthy section where Henry goes and beats up a kid who took Clare on a date and proceeded to assault her. (She dates him to prove she’s not a dyke wow what a great book and thank you for reminding us that Clare never wants to see anyone else for her own sake even as a teenager, very healthy)

All of which would make me a hell of a lot more mad if I managed to like Clare even a little bit. But it’s not at all surprising that I don't--Clare is hardly a character in this story so much as she’s a cardboard cutout that exists for Henry. 

Each of her desires and thoughts revolves around him, from the time she’s a child, save for minor pouting incidents when Henry either won’t tell her something, or disagrees with her. But she always caves, but for the exception of having a child, another horrible thing we’re meant to feel sorry for them in, but I, at least, never really do, as they know the problem, they know how horribly Henry’s life has been affected, and yet they persevere. I find myself asking why in the fuck they don’t use donor sperm, but I suppose that would not fulfill Clare’s real use as being Henry’s vessel. It might have been very touching to write about their experience of infertility if they were likeable at all, or the chapters were anything but flat and emotionless despite dealing with really high-emotion topics. It’s essentially Clare saying “I want a baby inside me” and having a series of miscarriages. I’ve read more compelling narratives on online message boards. 

Not to mention when Henry suggests adopting and Clare says “That would be pretending” bitch fuck ALL THE WAY OFF. I repeat: WE ARE MEANT TO LIKE THIS CHARACTER. NOTHING ABOUT HER IS SHOWN AS A NEGATIVE. 

A fair amount of time in the book is spent describing how hot Clare is, and it’s a bit cringey to read about a super hot redhead with great tits and also rich, who’s a visual artist, and then flip to the back and see a redheaded visual artist as the author. It’s not that I don’t believe that authors are ever allowed to find themselves in a character, quite the contrary, but one hopes that there would be a level of detachment or at least plausible deniability. But no, Clare is nothing but wish fulfillment for the author, but unfortunately cannot fulfill any of ours. I get the sense that these characters are far more complex and layered in Niffenegger’s head, but they fall completely flat on the page, sketches of annoying human beings. 

Clare seems to have been raised in an Austen novel, where the home is noted for its architecture and we ‘dress for dinner’ which could be intensely compelling if they ever went anywhere with it. But we don’t. Because of course Clare’s raising in a straightlaced, extremely wealthy family has no affect on her and she is a very cool girl who is laid back and likes the right music and poetry. (Sidebar: The name dropping in this novel is SO TIRESOME. Every band, artist, poet, etc has to be named and identified so your are aware of how absolutely well-read and smart and cool Niffenegger is) 

The we’re meant to feel for Henry when her family finds out that he is half-Jewish which I suppose is meant to be shocking when he doesn’t practice or isn’t different in any marked way from her family? The character has no Jewishness in him but as a side note and dare I say for shock value. Her family isn’t even written as believably against the union, as no one can resist super cool hipster protag Henry DeTamble (Even his name sounds INSUFFERABLE) 

The problem, of course, is that the very wealthy can buy their way out of many problems, meaning that an author has to have a particular deftness of hand in order to make you feel something for them. This is not that author. Any sympathy one might have for Clare goes immediately out the window when she’s complaining about having only a small room for a studio in which to create, while she’s living off the INTEREST from her trust fund, and hiring a cleaning service because neither of them is willing to vacuum. Not her trust fund. The INTEREST from her trust fund, which means there must be so much fucking money in there we all want to scream. 

Of course, Henry goes into the future and wins the lottery so they can give her a new studio, I shit you not this is a thing that happens in a novel where we are supposedly meant to identify with the characters and feel for them. They buy a nice house with a separate studio in the backyard, not even in the house, just a large brick edifice where Clare can do whatever she wants because these people don’t have consequences until Henry’s death, and by the time he dies, we’re all thanking God that at least there’s one thing they can’t weasel out of. The book has the audacity to have them, later, describe having a private box as one of their “little indulgences” friends a private box is the realm of $1,800 dollars for ONE showing of an opera, and while I am a believer in the good of occasionally saving up to do something that is an experience, there is no way I would describe that as an ‘indulgence” but these people have such wealth that they never need worry about anything at all, except the central point, which is that Henry drifts in and out of time and we would like to sentence a child to that. 

Henry himself is a collection of traits rather than a person--it is so important to the author that we know he is a real punk with great musical taste, that he knows German and poetry and Chicago--it’s all rather a laundry list of the long-haired, tall, punkish but very classically learned boyfriend Niffenegger would like to have rather than someone who has a heart or a mind.  But the luck of it all is that she clearly cares about henry far more than she does Clare, and so he gets a bit of fleshing out with a tragic anime backstory and all that, and from time to time we see bursts of real humanity in his character. 

Their love, even if it were not burdened by the exceptional trouble of CLARE BEING GROOMED AS A CHILD, has the weight of air. Henry is a womanizer with a drug problem, but then he meets Clare, hot rich redhead who proves she’s known him her whole life, and suddenly the magic swelling violins are in the background, love has found its day, and no more is ever said about it.The book refuses to get anywhere deep into how they feel about things and why, it is only glancing blows that seem to suggest an emotion rather than allowing ourselves to get into their minds.  

The bulk of the description of their love is sex. Sex sex sex. I get it, they are hot for each other, I am trying very hard to get over the fact that they are married when Clare is 22 and Henry is thirty, but you’re giving me nothing to pin their relationship on but the fact that they enjoy railing each other and Henry has been around since Clare was a child. I don’t understand the why of their relationship even once, it all seems so accidental, and I wanted there to be a lesson, or something to be said about humanity and relationships, but I found nothing save for maybe the idea that women are fully engrossed in their relationships and men basically luck into them and then drop out from time to time? But even that is far far deeper than I think the novel deserves credit for. 

The side characters are somehow worse, mainly racist stereotypes or one note characters who ALSO exist to have their lives enhanced by the protagonists. Even their friends only exist so that Gomez can have the hots for Clare for years, because Everyone Wants To Bone Clare. 

The writing itself is terrible too, written in the style of a script, almost, rapidly shifting between first person narratives in a matter of one or two paragraphs, often, helpfully telling who is talking by, I shit you not, putting “CLARE:” or “HENRY:” before the paragraphs, so we can enjoy who it is that is navel gazing and picking over the conversation without saying anything really, save for how badly Henry wants to fuck his super hot wife, who may or may not currently be a teenager, and how desperately Clare loves him, and has loved him since she was a child, for reasons that remain unclear. 

It’s padded out and ridiculous and reads like some of the drafts when I am being a complete garbage pile, and thank you to the person online who had already typed this out so I didn’t have to:

Henry:

Clare is wearing a wine-colored velvet dress and pearls. She looks like a Botticelli by way of John Graham: huge gray eyes, long nose, tiny delicate mouth like a geisha. She has long red hair that covers her shoulders and falls to the middle of her back. Clare is so pale she looks like a waxwork in the candlelight. I thrust the roses at her. "For you."

Please try to read that with a straight face and get back to me, i could not manage it, and it was early on the book, and this sort of thing goes on for pages, if you don’t like hearing about how pale Clare is, and that she has red hair, her two most dominating character traits, you are in for a very, very rough time. 

The narrative voice of the characters is identical. I mean, I suppose I should thank whatever god is responsible for this clusterfuck for the CLARE and HENRY bits because otherwise I would have no clue who was talking from moment to moment. Does NIffenegger think all people think alike? That their internal monologues are the same? It seems to me she must because I can’t figure any other way that one could write two characters and have them, even when their opinions differ, sound like the exact same person. 

I did enjoy the letter at the end of this story--and this is where I saw where my reader connected me to this book--it almost seems as if it was written for a different novel, a novel about a doomed love between two people that truly loved each other and had rich inner lives. It’s beautiful, or it would be totally removed from this novel. 

This review has, in itself, gotten to be as rambling and listing as the novel, and so I will let it rest here. I read incredibly fast. This took me something like five or six hours to read. It was a waste of every single one of those hours and I wish I had gotten a Big Mac instead. Save yourself, save six hours, save three dollars and ninety-nine cents, and read literally anything else. 

[thetravelerwrites]

Aigoromo (Fishwoman) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Male Human/Fishwoman Additional Tags: Exophilia, Fishwoman, Male Reader, Reader Insert, Sex, Fish Lady Content Warnings: Eggs, Babies, Broken Leg, Tornado Words: 3881

A commission for @redgunnit ! After a man breaks his leg and loses his house and job after a tornado rips through his town, he calls upon his brother for help. His brother lives on an island supposedly protected by a water spirit, whom the reader meets shortly after arriving. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

A surprise, unprecedented tornado had ripped through your town, taking most of the homes and businesses with it. Your own house, ten years worth of work and saving, was demolished in a matter of moments. Now, with a broken shin bone and without either a home or a job, since the factory you worked for was also crushed, you sought out help from your brother.

After sitting in a hospital bed and crying for a while, you called your brother, who lived with his wife and kids on an island called Farway. Within hours of getting out of the hospital, you were on a plane out to the island with nothing but a small bag of personal items you managed to salvage and whatever money was in your savings.

The only way to get to the island was by ferry from the mainland, so your plane landed at the airport in a city west of the coastal town where the ferry was located. You took a cab from the airport straight to the ferry. Luckily, you got there just in time to catch the last ride of the day.

You sat on the deck of the ferry, stretching your injured leg out with a tight grip on the bag that had what was left of your worldly possessions. You stared at the sky as the sun was setting, a deep, deep exhaustion in your bones. Half of the sky was a grey-blue and the other half was blood red, which seemed appropriate for your mood. If you weren’t completely numb, you were just… angry. Angry that you’re entire adult life’s work lay in ruins in a town you never wanted to see again. For the first time in a long time, you had no plan, no future, no prospects. Nothing but the clothes on your back and the kindness of family.

Your brother, Caleb, was there to meet you when you got off the ferry, and after a brief, tight hug that conveyed a bevy of emotions, he picked up your bag and helped you to his car.

“I’m so glad you didn’t get more badly hurt,” He was saying as he drove you to his home. “We watched the news about it. We heard people died, and I was scared to death when I couldn’t reach your cell.”

“Yeah, it was destroyed,” You replied. “I’m going to have to replace it while I’m here.”

“You had insurance on the house, right? Are they going to pay out?”

“I don’t know,” You said. “Our town has never had a tornado go through it, so I don’t even know if I have coverage for that.” You sighed and rubbed your aching head. “I’ll call tomorrow.”

“Maybe you should just rest for a few days first, bro,” Caleb remarked, looking at you in concern. “You look beat.”

“Maybe you’re right,” You said, reclining and putting an arm over your eyes. “I’m… I’m… I don’t even have the words to describe how I feel right now. This has been the worst day of my life.”

“I know, bud,” He said with sympathy. “It’s gonna be okay. We’ll figure this out. In the meantime, you’re welcome to stay with us as long as you like.���

“Becca won’t mind?” You asked. Becca, Caleb’s wife, didn’t have the highest opinion of you. You sort of made a bad impression on her when you first met, and it’s colored every interaction the two of you had since then.

“She’s agreed, too. Whatever she thinks of you, you’re still family in need. I love my wife, but you’re my brother. I’m always here for you.”

You clap a hand to his shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

He nodded. “No worries. The space above the garage is empty, so you can have free use of it. There’s already a fold-up cot in there, but we can get you a real bed.”

“Nah, the cot will be fine. I don’t plan on living up there long.”

“Suit yourself. Hungry?”

“If I wasn’t so tired, yeah, but right now, I want to sleep for three days.”

“Gotcha. We’re almost there.”

Caleb had moved to this island three years ago, but you’d never actually visited it. If you hadn’t been half asleep and in a considerable amount of pain, you’d have noticed what a beautiful town it actually was. Most of the buildings were painting pleasing shades of blues, greens, reds, and whites. The streets were symmetrical, even, and clean. Beautiful cast iron streetlamps lined the roads and the sidewalks were cobblestone. The buildings somehow looked decades old and brand new at the same time.

Caleb made a quick stop at the drugstore to drop off your prescription for painkillers and picked up some over the counter stuff, then a short drive brought you to his house. It was a two story Victorian style place with a detached garage, the space above which had an outside set of stairs. Oh, fuck, that would be an obstacle with your leg, but you’d figure it out. The house was blue and white and had a short pier on the water down the hill behind a fence in the backyard.

Thankfully, the boys, Jake and Jack, were already in bed for the night. You loved your nephews, but they were five and a lot to handle all at once if you weren’t ready for them.

Becca greeted you when you came in.

“Hey, hon,” She said, giving you an uncharacteristically friendly hug. “How you holding up?”

“I’m alive, but that’s about it,” You said, your voice rough with exhaustion.

“I bet,” She said with a sad smile. “The cot’s all set up for you. Do you need anything.”

“No, but thanks, Becca. I appreciate you guys putting me up until I figure out what to do,” You told her.

“Think nothing of it,” She said.

“Do you need help getting up to the apartment?” Caleb asked.

“No, I can make it if I’m careful,” You said. “I’m lucky it wasn’t my femur, so I can still bend my knee, otherwise I’d be sleeping on the porch. I think I’m going to lay down, though. It’s been a hell of a day.”

Your brother patted your back and you made your way back outside. Climbing the stairs was arduous, but eventually you made it up into the apartment. It was sparse; there was a cot, a small bathroom with a shower, and a sink and counter with a microwave on it. It reminded you of your college dorm, strangely enough, and you felt comfortable in it immediately.

Falling face-first onto the bed, you were asleep within seconds.

The next morning, you awoke and had breakfast with the family. Your nephews were nothing short of ecstatic to see you, though they were confused by your sudden appearance. You tried to explain the destruction of your life and livelihood to them in terms five-year-olds could understand.

“So now my house is broken and can’t be fixed,” You told them. “It’s just bad luck.”

“You should go talk to the fish lady then!” Jake said emphatically. His twin nodded so hard, you thought he might get whiplash.

Your head rocked back and and an amused smile formed on your face. “Fish lady?”

“Yeah-huh,” Jake said. “I saw her out in the bay. She waved at me. She’s good luck.”

“I see,” You said, and then looked to your brother for an explanation. He snickered.

“It’s a local legend,” He said. “Aigoromo the water spirit. It’s supposedly why this island has such an ideal climate. It rains when it needs to rain, it’s sunny when it needs to be sunny. There’s never huge, crushing waves or bad currents. There’s always fish, year round. It’s like this island is the only place on earth that has perfect weather all the time.”

“I should have bought my house here, then,” You grumbled bitterly.

“Sorry,” Caleb said, wincing. “I didn’t mean to rub it in.”

“No, man, don’t listen to me. I’m just being salty,” You assured him. You turned to your nephews. “So how do I get good luck from the fish lady?”

“You gotta make her like you,” Jack said. “When we saw her, we threw flowers in the water.”

“Nuh-uh!” Jake protested. “We were feeding the ducks!”

“You were feeding the ducks! I was throwing flowers!”

“Flowers are stupid! She liked that I was feeding the ducks more!”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Boys, that’s enough,” Becca said.

“So to get her to like me so that I can get my luck back, I give her flowers and/or feed ducks?” You asked with an indulgent smile. The boys nodded their head at the same time. “Well, I guess I’ll have to try that, then.”

Caleb laughed and shook his head and Becca herded the kids upstairs for their baths.

Later that night, you were having difficulty sleeping. The pain-killers that you’d picked up that day helped dull the sharp pain in your lower leg, but it made you feel itchy and extremely restless. You fought your way down the staircase, into the backyard and went to sit on the pier, stretching out your leg.

You looked out over the water, sort of mulling over your recent bad luck. It was pretty here, with the moon rising over the bay. Looking down, you noticed a little stack of flowers, nothing fancy, just wild daisies and dandelions. Sniffing a laugh out of your nose, you picked the little bundle up and laid them in your lap, picking up one of the daisies and just plucking the petals off and blowing them out in the water, honestly for something to do that wasn’t just sitting there, feeling uncomfortable and anxious about your future.

You heard a splash in the distance that caught your attention. It was dark, but the moon was out and over the water. After a minute of squinting, you didn’t see anything, and you relaxed.

Until you looked down into the water at the edge of the dock and saw wide eyes looking back at you.

Your leg prevented you from scuttling back on the pier like a startled crab, so you were frozen in place as the eyes rose up out of the water and stared at you. The eyes were set into a face that was light blue with purple contours, orange stripes, and no nose. There were large frilly gills around its neck that were thin and membranous. It swam closer and placed it’s webbed hands on the pier, staring at you curiously.

“Holy shit…” You whispered, not sure what you should do. It’s mouth was open, and you could see teeth, but they were like ridges, one on the bottom and two on the top with a gap between them. It chittered at you, as if expecting something. Looking around you, you saw the flowers still in your lap. Unable to think of anything else to do, you scooped them up and handed them to the creature carefully, concerned it would bite you or attack with the claws on its hands.

It reached out and took the flowers, and as your fingers grazed its hand, you were suddenly flooded with emotions and thoughts that didn’t belong to you. It left you reeling and dizzy, and by the time your head stopped swirling, the creature had disappeared.

Your heart was racing and you stared out over the water, expecting to see it again, but you didn’t. You stayed out there for two hours, but it didn’t return.

Your leg wasn’t hurting anymore and the itchiness had subsided, so you decided to try and go back inside and sleep, hoping when you woke up, this would have just been a dream.

You did dream, in fact, about underwater worlds and strange creatures similar to the one you’d seen, slowly fading away, until there was only one left, and you awoke feeling an intense sensation of loneliness that you couldn’t explain.

For the rest of the day, you were distant and unfocused. Your brother blamed it on the pain-medication, but you actually hadn’t taken any since the day before. The sharp pain that was in your leg had faded to a dull ache.

Around dinnertime, you got a call from your attorney:

“Good news,” He said. “They’re going to pay out your insurance.”

“You’re kidding me!” You exclaimed, overjoyed. “You said it could take months to get an answer, and even then, they might not pay out!”

“Well, it looks like it’s your lucky day,” He said with a smile in his voice.

Lucky, huh? “Yeah, I guess so,” You said.

That day, you made a special trip to the florist under the guise of buying Becca some flowers to thank her for being hospitable, which was partially true, but you also bought a bouquet for the creature in the bay. You wondered if it ate them, or just liked the look of them. Either way, you chose flowers that were both pretty and edible and hid them in your apartment above the garage.

After presenting the bouquet to Becca and taking the family out to celebrate, you told them all that you were exhausted and retired to the apartment, but in reality, you felt anxious and impatient, wanting to test how far this “good luck” was going to get you.

Caleb and his family finally went to bed around eleven that night, and you hobbled your way down the steps of the apartment with far more ease than the night before. You had the bouquet in your hand and sat carefully arranged your legs on the pier into a comfortable position, waiting.

An hour passed, and there was no sign of it. You took out one of the flowers, an orange nasturtium, and flung it out into the water. One by one, you took a flower from the bouquet and tossed it into the waters of the bay.

Then, it appeared in the distance. Your heart jumped up in your throat as it came closer. You still had a number of flowers left, but you wanted it to stay for a while. You wanted to try and communicate with it. As it came closer, you scooted back a little and took out a peony, holding it out. You were enough of a distance away that it would have to come up on the pier to get it.

It trilled, reaching out for the flower, but you motioned for it to come up on the pier.

“Come on,” You coaxed. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”

It was hard to gauge its facial expressions, but you thought it might be confused.

“Can you understand me?” You asked slowly, but the look of confusion remained. You sighed and scooted closer, holding out your hand. “You communicate in a different way than me, don’t you?” You asked.

The creature seemed to make a decision, and pulled itself up to sit on the pier. Oh. Well, now you knew it was female. She was muscular and had no breasts, but there was very clearly… lady parts… between her legs. She had blue scales with orange ridges and frills like the ones around her neck flowing around her waist, as well. There were also patches of white scales around her belly and shoulders.

You held out the flower, but she knocked it away and took your hand. Suddenly, you saw yourself, saying the words, “Can you understand me?” but it was harsh and garbled and sounded like an animal attempting to speak. You could barely make out what it was supposed to sound like and only had the flower in your hand as a context clue.

Then, you saw a world underwater, and the sounds of other creatures communicating with each other, the words like a song. You couldn’t understand what was being said, but you felt the emotions through the creature.

“I see…” You whispered.

The creature tilted its head, and you felt a question come from it and flow into you. It wasn’t words, not exactly, but you understood the gist of it. Who are you? Why are you here?

In your head, you ran through the memories of your house, how hard you’d worked to buy it and how it had been destroyed in a matter of minutes, leaving you injured and homeless.

She felt your sorrow and absorbed it. In return, she flooded you with comfort and ease, showing you beautiful light and waving fronds, giving you the feeling of a gentle wave, like rocking a child to sleep. Peaceful.

You were lost in the flood of sensations and emotions she poured into you, and by the time you came back to awareness, dawn was breaking. Surprised by the sun on the horizon, you looked at her and smiled in thanks, trying to convey it wordlessly while the two of you were still connected.

Several weeks passed, and she came to visit you every night. During this time, your leg healed twice as quickly as it should have, the insurance company paid out nearly half a million dollars, and you’d taken a job with the butcher in town near the florist. A house by the wharf came up for sale, meaning you could buy it and move there. It even had an enclosed boat dock attached to it so that Aigoromo, which you’d taken to calling her since she couldn’t tell you her name even if she had one, could come and visit you without being seen.

Aigoromo was a constant presence since the day she revealed herself to you. Even during the day, if you looked out at the water, you could see her now and then, just watching you go about your day, and you would smile at her, feeling warm and tranquil. She would smile back and disappear under the water.

When you got the key to your house, she came to visit you the same day, coming up out of the water inside the boat dock. She seemed anxious about something.

You reached for her hand. What’s wrong?

She filled your mind with a flurry of images. It was hard to sort them all out, but you saw one picture very clearly: eggs. You suddenly understood. It was mating season, and she had no one to mate with.

She had shown you a while ago that most of her kind had either left this region when humans began to settle here, or died off when the humans began to over fish, before laws were put in place to stop those practices. As such, she had been alone here for many years.

You were sympathetic, but you didn’t know how to help. What can I do?

She took your hand and pressed it to her cold slit and trilled at you, spreading her legs and laying down on the wet wood of the dock, the frills around her entrance waving like the fingers of an anemone.

Your heart began to race and you looked at her in alarm. It’s true, sharing your emotions and memories with her had made you feel very close to her, and you felt a great affection for her, but… could you do this? More to the point, did you want to?

Aigoromo seemed to sense your uncertainty and took your hand, flooding your mind with an emotion: love. It was stronger than saying it out loud could ever have been; you really felt it in a way you never had from anyone else. It warmed the body and eased the soul.

“I didn’t realize…” You said, softly, knowing that talking too loud was grating to her ears. You tried to convey it silently, and she nodded in understanding. In your minds eye, you showed her a picture of people kissing followed by a questioning feeling. She rose up and pressed her lips to yours. This was a good start.

You began to remove your clothing, and she watched with interest. She’d communicated that she didn’t understand the purpose of clothing, and you tried to help her understand that humans didn’t deal well with cold and, well, there were laws. She understood the cold part, but not the law part.

After you had disrobed, she looked at your body curiously, using her hands to explore. She seemed mighty interested in how your length throbbed and grew as she touched it. She spent some time enthralled in how your body reacted to her touch, and you couldn’t help but groan in pleasure. She looked up and chirruped questioningly. Since she was touching you, you were able to convey wordlessly that it felt good, so she continued.

She lay back again, and you climbed over her, kissing up her body. You could feel it from her perspective and could perceive how she was feeling as you did it. She liked it. A lot.

It was a little strange, as she had no breasts to lavish attention on, but you made up for it by just touching her, which she seemed perfectly happy with.

As you moved to meet her lips, the tip of your cock touched the frond-like frills of her opening, and they seemed to guide you inside, creating an incredible suction around you that was mind-blowing, and you gasped. She trilled in response, feeling what you felt.

You began to move, pressing your warm body close to her cool one, kissing her neck and caressing the frills around her head. She clawed at your back, which drew blood, but didn’t hurt and seemed to heal immediately, heightening the sensation.

Your pace quickened, and she gurgled in response. The shared pleasure between the two of you made the experience unlike anything you’d ever felt before and you were bathing in it, drowning. You raised up on your knees, grasping her waist and thrusting hard, your body slapping wetly against hers, and she looked at you with her huge orange eyes, drawing her claws down your chest.

She was squeezing tightly from inside, and you could feel a ripple as she began to crash into the wave of ecstasy. You came at the same time, releasing deep into her and moaning over and over again.

You spent weeks with her during her mating period, making love over and over. Most people assumed you were taking the time to put up your house, but in reality, the house was still bare inside. Soon, mating season ended, but she still came to see you, to share her experiences and converse with you in the only way she could. You’d go swimming with her sometimes, and you had to admit, you’d never been happier.

A year passed. A new legend had popped up among the townspeople, one that said the water spirit had found her mate, and that there were now little Aigoromos living in the bay. People swore they had seen little heads the size of small children bobbing out of the water, only to disappear when people called out to them.

When you heard these stories, you’d smile and laugh. Then you’d buy a bouquet of flowers and head to your boathouse to make tiny crowns for your little visitors, due to come with their mother after the sun went down.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience!To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[dontshootmespence]

Through the Pages

Chapter 18

Hesitantly, Alfred grabbed Eleanor’s hand and walked them through the door in the wall. “I don’t understand,” he said. “How could this be possible?”

“I don’t know, Sir.”

Alfred stood frozen in place, eyeing Spencer with a mix of relief and disbelief. Glancing down, he caught sight of his outfit – a pair of tan work pants and a blue button down shirt. “What am I wearing? What are you wearing?” He asked, taking in his wife’s calf-length blue dress, complete with matching heels. “Eleise, what are you wearing?”

His eyes went wide with horror. For a family man from Victorian England it was probably scarring to see his only little girl in a knee-length, strapless pink dress.

“The dress code here is much more relaxed,” Spencer chuckled half-heartedly, hoping her parents wouldn’t freak out and turn tail back to their home.

Eleanor started patting her new clothes, going into a panic about being so exposed in front of other people. The only person who’d ever seen her so vulnerable was her husband. Without a word, Spencer ran to his room and grabbed blanket, offering it to his hopeful future mother-in-law. “Thank you,” she said meekly. “This….this is what happens to you?”

Before anyone could start examining modern clothing to closely, Spencer flashed the small family a weak smile and motioned toward his small yet cozy apartment. “This is where I live.”

With pensive hazel eyes, Spencer followed Eleise’s parents around the room, watching as they ran their hands over pieces of furniture they didn’t recognize, materials they’d never felt before and sights they’d never imagined in their wildest dreams. “Is this the kitchen?” Eleanor asked.

“Yes.” He showed off his stove and refrigerator and microwave all to the amazement of Eleise’s mother. While the stove had been around in various incarnations since 1742, the microwave didn’t come into being until the mid-1940s. “This is a microwave. It’s an electric version of the oven that cooks food by exposing it to electromagnetic radiation in the microwave frequency range. This induces polar molecules in the food to rotate and produce thermal energy in a process known as dielectric heating.” Alfred’s and Eleanor’s eyes widened at the onslaught of information, but Eleise just stood near the couch, her smile soft as she shuffled her foot against the floor. In their many private conversations, he’d let this side of himself out, the rambling one that never knew when to shut up. But she loved him all the more for it.

“What about those…cars?” Alfred asked suddenly. “Do you have one? Does everyone have one here?”

“Not everyone. But many people do and I have an old run-down one because I don’t use it that often. I use the train to get to work more often than not. But I can take you for a ride if you’d like.”

Looking back toward his wife, Alfred waited for her input before nodding. He wanted to see what things were like here, but not if his wife wasn’t comfortable with it. “I’m…curious,” she said uncertainly.

Spencer grabbed his keys and told them all to let him know if things were getting too overwhelming. So much was going to be new to them and at times it even overwhelmed him. He couldn’t even imagine what would be going through their minds. 

At the bottom of the stairs, Spencer pulled out his keys and unlocked it with the keypad. “It made a noise.” Spencer chuckled under his breath at Alfred’s matter-of-factness.

“That’s because I unlocked it using this.” He was going to attempt explaining how a keypad worked, but it was excess information that they really didn’t need and would probably confuse them so he decided against it. “There’s also a horn in the middle of the wheel,” he said as opened the doors for them all to get in. “If someone is rude to me on the road, I can use it to get their attention.” 

“Why would you want to do that?” Eleise asked.

Spencer stared ahead blankly. “Actually, I don’t know. To yell at them? Make them mad? We’re…we’re a little weird here honestly.”

He pulled away from the curb with a satisfied smile. Obviously, he had no idea how things were going to go from here on out, but at least he’d gotten her parents to venture through the door. If he could only prove to them that all he wanted for Eleise was happiness, no matter where that might lie, then hopefully he could have their blessing.

Silence overtook the small, beat-down vehicle as the small Victorian family took in the wonder around them. Other cars passed them by. Women walked down the street in pants, trousers to them, which was such a rare occurrence at home. Stoplights directed traffic. Mobile phones were abundant. Both men and women walked home from work. Though Eleise was working in her time, she was a rarity – in every sense of the word, Spencer thought, smiling to himself.

From the back seat, Spencer heard a grumble. “Hungry? We can go out to eat.”

“Please Mother? Father? I want you to see Spencer’s world.”

“Won’t people notice us? In an unfavorable way?” Alfred asked.

People would probably obsess of their accents, but that was about it. In 2011, a lot of people seemed to be too into their own thing to pay much attention to anyone else outside their circle. “Probably not. They will like your accent though.”

“We don’t have an accent,” he replied. “You do.” The corner of his lip ticked upward. Eleise couldn’t be happier that they were teasing each other. “But yes, we can have something to eat.”

In Washington DC, they could grab anything from pizza to sushi to Mexican food and anything and everything in between, but culture shock still sat at the forefront of Spencer’s mind, so he decided on a diner-type setting.

As they approached the diner, a waitress eyed them and grabbed some menus. “Table for four?”

They were seated and given water while they looked over the menu. Spencer had to explain almost every item and what foods were in it. Eleise decided on a Belgian waffle with blueberries on top.

“What are these numbers by the descriptions of the food?” Her mother asked.

Spencer ran his fingers over both sets of numbers. “The first number is how many calories are in the food. People pay attention to those numbers if they don’t want to gain weight or if they want to lose it. The second number is the price in American dollars.”

“This is too much Spencer,” Alfred interrupted. “We can’t have you spending this kind of money on us!”

“This isn’t an expensive restaurant. I promise.”

With a couple more explanations, Eleanor decided on a pot roast and mashed potatoes dish that came with roasted vegetables and Alfred picked a bacon cheeseburger. Beef and pork were more of a luxury to them and if Spencer said it wasn’t expensive and he would pay then Alfred was going to indulge.

They placed their orders and quietly asked Spencer about all the goings on around them. What kinds of work could women do? How had electricity come so far? What were relationships like here?

Spencer explained it all with a childlike exuberance that made Eleise happy. Seeing him so excited made her heart swell. When the food came to the table, Eleanor leaned toward him and whispered. “Are you sure this isn’t too much?”

“I promise, Mrs. Griffiths. I want you to enjoy yourselves.”

Eleise and her mother started out delicately cutting their food and taking small bites. “This is delicious,” Eleise giggled. “I want waffles all the time.”

“I can’t tell if this is more delicious because I’ve never tried it or because I didn’t have to cook it.” Eleanor reveled in the dish she had before her, eyes closing with each bite, taking it all in.

Alfred had to get used to the idea of eating with his hands, but the moment he tried his burger, he started inhaling it with a frenzy Spencer hadn’t seen from him before and the four fell into sated silence. Once they were done, Spencer paid the bill and they made their way back to his apartment. Again, they rode in silence, too stunned by their surroundings and too full with food to do anything else.

When Spencer opened the door to his apartment, the traveling door reappeared, as if it knew that the family of three intended to return home for the time being. “Well,” Alfred started as he looked between the door and the man his daughter loved, “I thought you were insane, but-“

“I know,” he replied softly. “Thank you for giving me a chance. I only want what is best for Eleise. Her happiness – regardless of what that means.”

Not used to talking out of turn, Eleanor interrupted as Alfred was about to speak again. “Just…no matter what happens, be good to her.”

“I will. I promise.” Four words said in earnest.

With a nod from Eleanor and a handshake from Alfred, Spencer bid them goodbye as they walked through the door. Eleise followed closely, but stopped in her tracks when Spencer called to her.

“I love you, Eleise.”

Her parents were within earshot, but she didn’t pay it any mind. “I love you, too, Spencer.”

The door closed behind her and disappeared from sight, leaving Spencer standing alone in the middle of his living room with only one thought in mind. Eleise was his forever.

-

In the office the next day, he confided in his team that he was officially planning on proposing and he needed a ring, so they made plans for the weekend to go out and look for the picture perfect engagement ring for the woman Spencer loved more than life itself.

As they walked into the first jewelry store, Penelope walked in front of them, backwards, yet somehow steering clear of every obstacle that sat out of her sight. “Okay, this needs to be the perfect ring and since we haven’t met her yet,” she chided, “Tell us about her. Do you want a diamond? Or another stone?”

“I’m not sure. Either a diamond or something with pearls.”

“What about her personality?” Hotch asked. “Outgoing? More reserved?”

“Definitely more reserved.”

“Reserved, traditional,” Penelope said, turning around to focus her attention on the perfect place to start searching. “What kind of traditional? Like modern traditional, maybe a simple ring with something about it that stands out, or old traditional, like Victorian England traditional.”

“Victorian England traditional. Definitely.” He hoped there wasn’t a hint of irony in his voice.

“She sounds perfect for you,” Morgan said, clapping his best friend on the back.

“She is.”

Honing in on a particular spot, Penelope guided them toward the corner of the store where an employee asked how she could help. Ever the love expert, Garcia took over, telling the woman exactly what Spencer was looking for. After figuring out how much he was willing to spend, she pulled out a number of different rings but none of them spoke to him. Everyone else seemed to like one of them for one reason or another, but they all seemed to fancy for Eleise. He wanted something simple yet stunning. “You’re not feeling any of these are you Pretty Boy?” Morgan asked.

“No.” Spencer stared blankly at the rings before him. “Do you have anything with a purple stone of some kind, thin band and a few diamonds embedded in it?” Suddenly, he saw exactly what he wanted in his mind, following the employee to the other end of the store where she pulled out two amethyst rings. One had a squared off stone, surrounded by diamonds and a plain white gold band and the other was a circular stone with intertwining thin bands and a few small diamonds embedded within them. “I think that one. 

Turning toward his friends, Spencer asked what they thought.

“When you see this ring, what do you picture?” JJ asked, her hands clasped in front of her face, eyes watering at being part of such a happy moment in her best friend’s life.

“I can see her eyes sparkle. I can picture it on her finger. I hear her saying yes – hopefully. Oh my god, what if she says no?” He asked, the panic creeping into his voice for a second before his the team calmed him down.

“You love her and she loves you. She won’t say no,” Rossi assured him. “If you can picture all that, that’s the one.”

One ring, one woman, one lifetime together.

As the employee cleaned up the ring and placed it in its box, Spencer focused in on it, his friends’ excited mutterings fading to the background as their uncertain future cemented itself before his eyes. Here or there, wherever they existed, he didn’t know. But they were happy and to him nothing else mattered.

@remember-me-forever-silent-angel @veroinnumera @alixcharmedworld @kitsch-i-might-be @sharon6713 @gaylemonshark @zombies-bunny @spencerwreid @ophila-archie-l @theatre-mom @too-music @illegalcerebral @madduhsen @rayreids @criminalnoodler @princesswagger15 @followingmyowndirection @kawhgi @astridstark13 @extremeobsessions101 @pretentiouslisp @meghanll @jillthekill @coffee-and-stories​ @thekatherinewinchester @courtneymarieroseee​ @ashley2197​ @tbhm1a​ @fl0werb0nes18​ @professional-fangirl-2002 @everyday-imfangirling @bookaddictlove​ @stunudo​ @spencer-is-too-perfect​ @meganlpie​ @rawritsmolly​ @sebba-hiddles​ @spookyshyguy @rt8815​ @badbitsh13​ @epicstepic @queenanneslace4​ @giddybeater​ @chilloutbitchx @teaspoon-full-of-sugar​ @transparentmilkshakefury @sunflowerscratches @mad-maximilian​ @antoheartit​ @sallangel @moonlightrose18​ @confused-and-really-hungry​ @reallyshypeanut​ @clockworkballerina​ @youknowisay @niall2017​ @were-skye​ @generouslyuniquestudent @forcingsmiles247​ @weirdgirlwithproblems @saraisthoughts​ @louis-writings​ @flannelparker​ @nadpug​ @pastroptard @pandacraz09​ @kitten863 @simitten​ @xxm3xxj​ @just-antiyou​ @whaaatthefuuuuck @thatnerdygirljudy​ @notes-in-a-bottle​ @wkxicnrueiiejjf @catherinechatzi​ @fernicusb​ @princessjae92​ @original-criminal-fanfics​ @teamwolf2411​ @piotreknawrot @aligre-blog @call-me-meh @donnacif-blog @lastfallenstar @crimeshowtrash​ @grenae18​ @annexoeh​ @captswann​ @the-unloved-person @april1535​ @stupidmenina @chloereidjonesellessar​ @imaginativedaydreams @bbkenna @immundusspiritu @karouwinchester @thelateliterary @sassyspacedust @spicy-quarius @emilyshurley @gooberforgubler80 

[originalhybridloverfics]

Rememberance Ch12

A/N: Alright, this story is taking another turn for the weird. Traveling to a past life. If that's not something you really like feel free to skip this chapter.

There is definitely some time period inaccuracies and historical inaccuracies. I apologize in advance if that is something that bothers you. Again, if that is the case feel free to skip this chapter.

I'll admit I had this chapter ready for two weeks but I'm nervous about introducing past lives. I'm hoping you won't totally hate it.

Felicity’s heart pounded painfully in her chest however the beat of her heart somehow slower than it should have been, her breath caught in her throat, her chest constricting, struggling to keep her breaths regular.

Was she having a panic attack?

God, she couldn't focus. She stared at Oliver's unmoving form. This was so wrong. She should have been the one to take the potion.

What if they couldn't bring him back? What then?

Oliver couldn't stay dead. No, it wasn't an option.

“How long has it been?” Her voice didn't sound like her. It was empty.

“38 seconds,” Sara answered immediately, she kept watching the timer on her phone ticking down the seconds.

Had it ready only been 38 seconds? It felt like an eternity to Felicity.

Felicity slid down to the floor, leaning against the couch, her energy practically draining from her.

Her palm rested against Oliver's chest, directly over his heart and for every second that she couldn't feel his heart beating was a new crack in her heart, like tiny little fissures.

She wasn’t going to last the two minutes without going insane and she could swear she could feel her energy draining slowly or maybe she was imagining it. Maybe she was just deluding herself.

“Felicity,” Sara said in concern moving to crouch in front of Felicity. “Are you okay? You’re really pale.”

“I’m fine.” Felicity dismissed, her breaths becoming shallow.

“I don’t think you are.” Sara reached out placing her hand against her friend's neck, her brow creasing in worry. “Your pulse is slowing down.”

“Is this supposed to be happening?” Sara shot a look over her shoulder at Talina.

“It’s the bond, her half of her soul is suffocating without Oliver’s half,” Talina stated and Sara’s eyes grew wide. “However she’ll be fine when Oliver is brought back.”

Sara’s eyes shot back to her friend. “Great. Just another 32 seconds before we find out if this dying crap isn’t permanent,” she responded sarcastically.

Talina shot her a look. “You may be skeptical right now but by the time you leave here you won’t be.”

“I find that hard to believe.”  Sara removed her hand from Felicity's neck and stood slowly, taking a step back as to not overcrowd her friend.

Felicity’s breath hitched in her throat, a burning sensation seizing her chest and she instinctively moved as close to Oliver as she could, her other hand landing against his neck, her eyes never leaving him.

“Oliver, I’m here. I’m here.” She needed him to know that she hadn’t left his side even if she knew rationally he couldn’t hear her. “I’m still here.”

Oliver’s eyes snapped open and he found himself in a field surrounded by men hovering over him. “Lord Jonas? Are you alright?”

Oliver pushed to his feet and shook his head to clear it. “Jonas? Why are you calling me, Jonas?”

“That is your name my, Lord." A man dressed in what looked like farming clothes. "Sir, did you hit your head?”

“Jonas!”

Oliver’s head snapped up at the sound of Felicity’s voice, she was moving toward him quickly wearing one of those old heavy historian dresses and her hair was brown instead of blonde and longer with spiraling curls.

“Felicity, what are you wearing?” Oliver couldn’t help but wonder as the men working in the field parted for her, making her way to him clear.

“Jonas, the men said you fell unconscious. Are you alright? Should I send for the doctor?” She reached her hand out, cupping his face.

Oliver leaned into her touch instinctively but tensed as he felt a presence in his mind that was his but wasn’t.

The man ached for Felicity’s touch, her concern, her kindness, her attention but he also sensed that the man resented that he needed her presence like he needed air to breathe.  

It was confusing as fuck and he didn’t know what to do about it.

Instead, he chose to ignore the presence in his mind and focused on Felicity, the only thing that was making sense to him.

“Felicity,” he murmured his hand reaching out to cover hers.

Felicity, however, jerked her hand back as if burned and her once concerned gaze was now hard like stone. “I know you have your other women but I would appreciate it if you would remember your own wife's name.”

“What?” Oliver’s eyes widened. Other women? Wife? “What the fuck are you talking about Felicity?”

“Why do you keep calling me that?!” Felicity snapped,  ignoring his foul language. “Have you for some impossible reason forgotten my name is Megan? I swear by the Gods, Jonas!” She turned away from him with a scowl. “To think I was concerned for your well-being for even a moment! Honestly!!”

“Feli- I mean, Megan, wait.” Oliver moved to follow quickly behind her, his eyes widening as they moved through a beautiful garden drawing closer to a large Victorian house standing in the distance.

Oliver’s steps faltered as Felicity quickly disappeared into the large house. It wasn’t the size that was giving him pause. The Queen mansion was a lot bigger. His family home was a castle.

No, what gave him pause was that the place looked like something out of the history books.

Where the fuck was he? The names? The clothes? This house? The other presence in his mind? The beautiful brunette haired Felicity who wasn’t his Felicity but Megan who was married to him but not him-him?

God, this was so confusing and the only explanation that made any kind of sense was when he drank that potion and died, he somehow woke up in another time and was sharing a body with his past life self.

It was completely insane and should not be possible but what other explanation was there?

Oliver moved closer to the house his eyes shifting to a richly brown carriage that waited in front of the steps and felt the other presence, Jonas he assumed, cringed.

Whoever the carriage belong to it was not a good thing they were here. Jonas was dreading it.

“What’s wrong?” Oliver found himself asking but Jonas refused to answer and instead he felt like Jonas just threw up walls between their conscious minds. “Fine, don’t tell me. I will find out myself.”

Oliver headed up the steps and pushed his way into the large home and heard the sound of voices, tense and feminine, he followed it, pausing in the entryway of a parlor room when he saw Felicity speaking to a woman in a dark purple dress, her hair pinned up, with curls framing her face, the dress was low cut, the top of her bust filling her dress.  

Oliver’s brow furrowed, she looked vaguely familiar which was strange seeing as this was the past but still he could swear he knew her from somewhere.

“Sorry to interrupt but Feli-” Oliver fell silent as Felicity whipped around toward him. “Megan,” he quickly corrected. “I would like a moment alone with you.”

“Oh but you have a guest,” Felicity spoke sweetly. “Your lover of the week has come all this way to see you. Best not to keep Isabella waiting the way you do your wife.”

Oliver’s eyes bugged out of his head. His what now?

The other woman stepped toward him with a smile, her hand reaching up to touch his face, her red painted lips drawing near his. He recoiled back instantly. “What are you doing?”

“Jonas,” the woman protested. “What’s the matter? Are you not happy to see me?” she frowned. “I thought I would surprise you and you would be happy, was I wrong?”

Something clicked as he looked at her recognizing her as an intern named Isabel who had gotten close to his father two years ago.

“I..” Oliver's eyes looked past her, seeking out Felicity and it was impossible to see what she was thinking her expression guarded, her blue eyes were cold. Still, he may not be able to tell what she was thinking by looking at her but he could feel what she was feeling and it gutted him.

He felt like his chest was cracking wide open exposing an emotionally battered heart and he felt like he wasn't enough.

He hated what he was feeling because it was what Felicity was feeling right now.

What his past self had made her feel.

God, he was a fucking asshole in this life.

“Jonas?” Isabel questioned.

Oliver couldn’t pull his eyes away from Felicity. “Isobel you need to leave.”

“Jonas, don’t you think we shou-”

“Leave. Now.” Oliver ordered.

He barely took notice as an older gentleman stepped forward, escorting her out.

“I can’t believe you invited her here into our home.” Felicity shook her head, her eyes meeting his with a look of betrayal.

“I didn’t,” Oliver interrupted. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Felicity laughed but it was not a happy sound. “Jonas, how many more ways do you wish to hurt me?”

He felt Jonas’s guilt, his regret vividly but Oliver couldn’t focus on him when he felt her pain, pain that Jonas, that he caused. “I don’t,” he stepped forward. “I don’t wish to hurt you. Why would I ever want that?”

Felicity's eyes scanned every inch of his face as if she was searching for something, he assumed she found it as she curled her hand around the nape of his neck and arched into him, pressing her mouth to his.

The second he felt her lips on him, Oliver was consumed with intense longing, for her touch, her breath, her taste, her nearness. For her.

He wrapped both his arms around her waist, swallowing her up in his arms, holding her as close as he could, his lips moving over hers. He coaxed her mouth open, walking her backward until her back was pressed against the wall, he pressed his hips tightly against hers.

He licked the roof of her mouth, groaning as his hands moved over his backside, squeezing, drifting further down, one of her hands moved through the strands of his hair tugging sharply and he ripped his mouth from hers groaning. “God, I want you.”

He didn’t understand the look of surprise that over overcame her or the hope shining in her eyes.

How could she not know how badly he wanted her? How he ached for her touch?

He could hear Jonas in the back of his mind, telling him to stop that this was pointless, being with his wife wasn’t possible.

Oliver ignored him because clearly, he had been an idiot in this life. Why bother with another woman when he was married to someone as amazing as Felicity?

Oliver kissed across her cheek, his lips skimming down her jawline, pressing open mouth kisses to her neck, his teeth grazing her soft flesh.

His left hand traveled up, cupping her breast in his hand, massaging, feeling through the fabric of her dress as her nipple hardened.

Her quiet moan was like music, encouraging him to want more.

He felt her hand slide down his chest, moving to cup him through his pants and he frowned expecting to feel himself harden but that wasn’t the case. He wasn’t hard at all. Which didn’t make sense when he ached to be inside of her, to feel her wrapped around him. He wanted to connect with her in the most physically intimate way two people could connect.

“Why have you never wanted me?” Felicity’s hand fell away from him. “Do you hate me because you don’t find me attractive? Is it the reason why you are unfaithful? Because your repulsed to be with me the way a husband and wife should be together?”

Oliver recoiled stumbling back from her words, the sheen of tears in her blue eyes a blade twisting in his chest. “What? No, of course not.”

“Then why? Why is it never me? Why have you never been with me?” Felicity questioned.

Oliver had no idea how to respond, he tried to focus on Jonas wanting to know what the hell Felicity was talking about.

I’ve never been able to make love to her.

He could hear Jonas in his head as if he was speaking directly to him.

You have no idea what kind of hell it is to not being able to make love to your wife who you love with all your heart.  What’s worse is knowing that the woman I love has been with other men who are not me and everyone knows it too. She has made a mockery of me.

Oliver shook his head. None of this made sense. Felicity wasn’t like that. She wasn’t.

Her name is Megan and I both love and hate her. I hate that she’s a reminder that I’m a man who can’t be with his wife. I hate that I had to find in other women what I couldn’t get from her and I hate that she got her revenge on me by sleeping with anyone that finds her attractive and the whole town believe I’m married to a whore. I hate that I'm still in love with her as the day I first saw her.

Oliver felt a wave of disgust hit him so strongly. Disgust for himself. He cheated on his wife because he couldn’t perform. He took his falts out on her having one affair after another and then he had the nerve to condemn his wife for doing the same.

How could he even possibly claim to love her when he treated her so terribly?

He was a hypocrite and didn’t deserve his wife.

God, no wonder, Felicity and he were cursed in the future.

How the hell did the two of them live their lives this way? It was horrible.

Shut up, just shut up, he screamed at Jonas in his head.

“Are you gonna say anything?” Felicity’s voice cracked.

Oliver focused back on her. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It’s not you. I promise. The problem is me.”

“I don’t understand what that means.” Her brow furrowed. “I thought all of this was because of me.”

Oliver seriously wanted to kick his own ass. “No, you’re perfect. There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. Don't blame yourself because of me.”

If she was perfect, she wouldn’t be sending out love letters to every man she fucked, making our business public!

It took everything in him not to snap at Jonas.

He hated Jonas. He was the reason for the pain embodying Felicity, the hurt in her eyes when she looked at him.

It was unforgivable. Unacceptable.

Jonas did not deserve her. He didn’t deserve to be married to her, he didn’t deserve to have her in his life and he sure as hell didn’t deserve her tears.

The self-loathing he felt for someone who was supposed to be him was overwhelming.

He wanted to protect her from ever feeling like there was something wrong with her. He wanted to protect her from the pain she felt.

More than anything all he wanted to do was protect her even from himself.  

He looked back up feeling her watching him, she held her arms around herself like a shield.

He cursed Jonas in his fucking head, he reached for her his hands grasping her face. “Look, we will work this out. I just need a moment to gather my thoughts and then we’ll talk and we’ll start over.”

Felicity’s brow furrowed. “Start over?”

“A fresh start.” Oliver pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. “Just give me a few minutes.”

“Okay.” Felicity nodded.

Oliver smiled softly and brushed his lips against her cheek before turning, making his way out of the room.

He wanted to go outside find somewhere he could rant and yell at Jonas where no one would see him because he didn’t want to look like a crazy person, yelling and arguing with himself.

However, he scowled when he stepped outside. Isobel was there leaning against her carriage, waiting.

“I told you to leave.” Oliver glared.

“What is wrong my love?” Isabel asked, joining him on the steps.

Oliver visibly cringed at the endearment and he honestly felt like throwing up.

“I thought now would be good a time as any to tell Megan the truth and then we can start our life together.” Isobel's hand landed on his arm and he jerked back from her touch.

“Start our life together? What the hell are you talking about?!” Oliver demanded sharply.

“I want to know the same thing.”

Oliver whirled around and saw Felicity standing there looking so uncertain but guarded at the same time that it had his chest constricting in pain. He hadn’t heard her come outside. “I don’t know what she is talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” Isobel stepped forward. “Oliver is divorcing you so he and I can be married and start our life together.”

Oliver blanched as Felicity paled considerably.

“What?” Felicity asked in a shaky tone that had Oliver’s focus completely on her.

“I can explain,” Oliver said immediately. He had no idea how he was going to explain. None of this was his doing. It was Jonas and Jonas, that guy was a fucking idiot and asshole.

“I can’t believe I actually thought things would be different.” Felicity shook her head before spinning on her heel and disappearing back inside.

“No, wait!” Oliver protested, he barely took a step before he felt Isobel grab his arm.

“Let her go. Soon you will be free of her.” She murmured, drawing closer to him.

Oliver snatched his arm away from her. “I don’t want to be free of her. I want to be free of you. This,” he waved a hand between them angrily. “Whatever it is, is done. We are done.”

Isobel’s eyes widened, her jaw dropping in shock.

Oliver didn’t wait for a further response as he headed back inside calling over his shoulder. “Leave! Now!”

Oliver caught a flash of blonde hair and ran to catch up with her. “No, wait,” he caught her arm just as she turned to head up a spiraling staircase.

She whirled around, wrenching her arm back out of his grasp. “Don’t you touch me.”

Her voice was flat, cold but all he could see was the wet sheen in her eyes and the way her bottom lip trembled, the way her breaths were shaky.

“Please, I’m sorry. I -”

“You're sorry?” Felicity demanded. “Why did you even tell me you want things to be different? Why kiss me like you actually care about me when you are planning on divorcing me?”

Oliver faltered. He knew why he kissed her because he wanted to but he couldn’t fathom how Jonas could even consider divorcing her.

“Do you love her?” Felicity demanded.

“Who?” Oliver asked.

“Isabella?!” she snapped. “Or anyone else you happen to enjoy being with more than trying to have a real marriage with me.”

“No, of course not,” Oliver answered immediately but it wasn’t just him he was answering for. He could feel that Jonas despite being unfaithful only loved his wife.

A tear slid down Felicity’s cheek. “Somehow that’s worse. You know, I will be ruined when you divorce me but still, you’re going to do it. Do you really hate me that much?”

“No, no, no. Of course, not.” Oliver shook his head but she jerked away from him.

“Stop, just stop, Jonas. I’ve heard enough,” she said lowly and he stopped, she sounded so defeated so unlike the Felicity he knew. It was clear to him being married to his past self had broken her spirit.

He watched her go, wanting to go after her but not wanting her to be hurt more by him.

She stopped suddenly near the top of the steps. “Feli- Megan?” he called out.

Her hand shot out for the banister, her finger’s just grazing the wood as she stumbled back her foot slipping off the edge.

“Felicity!” he ran up the stairs to catch her but he wasn’t fast enough, she hit the stairs, her body spiraling down, crashing into his sending them both down the flight of stairs.

Oliver instinctively felt his body wrap around her trying to shield her as much as he could. They landed at the bottom of the stairs in a tangle of limbs.

“Felicity?” Oliver quickly disentangled from her and rolled her gently onto her back to find she was unconscious. “Baby, C’mon. Wake up.” he cupped her cheek. “C’mon, you’re fine.”

“My lord, what happened?!”

Oliver’s head snapped up to see one of the house staff. “Get help! Now!”

“I’ll send for the doctor right away!”

Oliver looked back down to Felicity, placing his fingers to her neck, relieved that her pulse was steady and strong.

Still, he couldn’t feel relief Jonas was panicking and terrified for his wife.

Oliver thought he deserved to feel the fear, maybe then he would wake up and realize everything he was losing.

Oliver paced outside the master bedroom Jonas shared with Felicity or Megan as her name was in this life.

The doctor was inside, looking her over, she had regained conscious right before the doctor arrived only to get sick, Oliver had rushed to hold her long hair back to not get puke in the strands.

When the doctor arrived he had her moved to the bedroom so he could examine her thoroughly and find out what was making her ill.

Jonas was on edge in the back of his mind. He was convinced Felicity was pregnant with another man’s child because this wasn’t the first time she became faint and lost consciousness.

Oliver was tempted to find some booze in the hopes of calming his nerves and shutting Jonas up.

If she was indeed pregnant with another man's baby he only had himself to blame for not being a better husband.

It was almost an hour before Dr. Whilmer stepped out from the bedroom closing the door behind him.

“How is she?” Oliver asked immediately stepping forward.

The doctor looked at him. “I had thought by the frequent dizziness and how she was getting sick that she was with child but that’s not possible.”

Oliver's eyes narrowed as the doctor looked at him like something was wrong with him and not Felicity. “What do you mean?”

“Your wife is untouched.” Dr. Whilmer looked at him like he was a freak. “A virgin.”

Oliver didn’t care what Whilmer thought of him all he could focus on was that Felicity had not been unfaithful like Jonas had believed.

Jonas who had fallen silent in his head, Oliver felt intense regret coming from him in waves.

Jonas had been wrong about his wife. She was not unfaithful, everything he thought he knew about the kind of wife he believed her to be was a lie. And he was not taking it too well.

“If she’s not pregnant? What’s wrong with her?” Oliver questioned worriedly.

“She is ill. I believe she-”

Oliver pushed past the doctor upon hearing she was sick, pushing the bedroom door open and moving to Felicity’s side, he brushed her hair away from her face.

Her eyes fluttered open as his knuckles brushed her cheeks. “Hey,” Oliver murmured softly.

“Please,” she whispered.

“Anything.” Oliver didn’t know what she was asking but he knew he would give her anything she asked for.

“Don’t divorce me.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I would be ruined, don’t do that to me, please.”

“I would ne-” Oliver choked off, suddenly it was like he couldn’t breathe his vision blurred as he felt a vicious pull from deep in his chest.

“Oliver, come back.” he could hear Felicity’s voice like a faint whisper in his ear. “You have to come back to me. Oliver, please.”

He was helpless to her plea, he looked down at the Felicity in front of him, at Megan and pressed his lips to her forehead just as he felt like he was yanked out of his body into nothing, everything going black, losing all sensation.

Felicity pressed her hands harder over Oliver’s chest. “C’mon, Oliver. Don’t do this. Come back to me.”

Tears filled her eyes as nothing changed, he wasn’t breathing, his heart wasn’t beating and he wasn’t opening his eyes.

Sara watched, her chest tightening, she sunk against the floor.

Felicity had been trying for what felt like forever but really was only a few minutes but with every minute he was gone she grew weaker and more desperate.

“Oliver.” she thrust her hands down over his chest. “Please.” she pressed down again, harder, faster. “Please, I am begging you, please.”

Felicity felt him on a level more than physical just seconds before his mouth opened on a gasp sucking in air, his eyes shooting open.

Felicity's breath left her in a rush, the feeling of relief so overwhelming that she felt like crying and laughing in honest relief at the same time, her lips trembled as she cupped his jaw gently in her hands. “Hi,” she breathed softly.

Oliver sat up slowly, his eyes never leaving Felicity, her eyes were shining with unshed tears, and he could feel she was struggling not to cry, her soft 'Hi' had warmth spreading through him.

Seeing her brought everything he just experienced rushing to the surface, that he had somehow been transported briefly into his past life who was a fucking asshole and he had an amazing wife who he was on the verge of losing.

It was such a relief to see his Felicity and not see her eyes filled with resentment, pain or hate.

All he saw in her eyes was concern. For him.

“Felicity,” he reached up cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing her soft skin as she leaned into his touch.

Felicity placed her free hand over his on her cheek. “Welcome back.”

“You brought me back,” Oliver murmured. It was her voice calling him back to her that broke through everything.

“I would do it again.” Felicity's voice was firm, despite the way he could feel her shaking beneath his touch. She was still afraid of losing him despite the fact that he had come back to her.

He couldn’t stop himself from surging forward, his mouth crashing against hers. The second his lips touched hers it felt like coming home and he never wanted to let that feeling go.

A/N: Let me know what you think. Thanks for reading!

Tags: @6i66leserna @angelamccauley15 @almondblossomme @ilikethebackofyourneck @omglovechrissie @erika-amber @rainbowuniquern @scu11y22 @msbeccieboo

[manifestoonmoralmanlove]

Soulless Riffing: Brainless Ch.14

I got a supernatural action/romance book series as a gift that’s just riddled with stuff that I hate….and as a steampunk Victorian London action romance story filled with werewolves and vampires…it’s yeah gonna be easy to poke fun at.

I just want to say, it’s totally cool if you like this story or ones like it!  It’s certainly a better caliber than a lot of what I make fun of…however…I can’t help but want to make fun of it.

Over here for the 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7+8, 9, 10+11, 12, and 13.

AAAAAAAA FUCK IT HERE GOES!

Chapter 14

HOW DOES LORD MACCON GET OUT OF BEING STRANGLED BY A MALFUNCTIONING MACHINE!?

He’s safe in 2 short paragraphs.  Akeldama wipes it’s forehead with a hankie and that’s that.

Alexia gets all indignant about HOW WAS SHE SUPPOSED TO KNOW HOW TO SUBDUE IT!? Even though Akeldama told her outright how to subdue it like 10 pages ago and she did a shitty job.

BUT WHAT ABOUT HITLERHUFF VAN BRAUN!?

Within 3 pages it’s revealed that Lord Akeldama’s harem of fabulous servants/blood banks show up with a knocked out FAILEDCLIMAX SHITPACING!

Faps, I thought you were using Nazi/villain jumbled words for his name?

THIS TERRIBLE WRITING FEELS LIKE A CRIME AGAINST HUMANITY OKAY!? I STAND BY IT!

So they heal Lord Akeldama and begin to like do that boring shit after a crime scene has been neutralized. And lord this writing is fucking bad.  She spends round bout 8 pages trying to wrap this scene up but there’s a lot of talking in circles about shit that nobody really cares about. “What about those other vampires?”

“Some were questioned but most of them needed to go get blood.”

“What about the other werewolves?”

“They were questioned and sent home.”

“What happened to them Draculas?”

“They needed to get blood, but they helped illuminate what the bad guys were doing.”

OKAY LIKE, WHY ARE YOU MAKING THIS ENDING TEDIOUS!?

They also set some time aside to talk a few times about getting Lord Maccon clothes. He started with a cloak but then they found pants.  Also Biffy fixed Alexia’s hair.

WHY ARE YOU MAKING THIS ENDING SO FUCKING TEDIOUS!?

But eventually Prof. Lyall drags a sleeping Alexia home.  Alexia’s family is upset and wants to know what happened. Prof. Lyall IN HIS INFINITE WISDOM instead of telling the truth tells her mom she was visiting Lord Maccon.  So her mother goes to beat the tar out of her sleeping 26 year old daughter cause I don’t know if you have gathered this or not but she’s a BAD PERSON!

The good professor prevents this from happening and at that very moment…fucking QUEEN VICTORIA SHOWS UP! Her mom faints, cause of course she does.

Queen Victoria is like,

“Sup my good bitch, we’ve been watching you since you were born cause you’re a soulless.  Are you getting married to Lord What’s-his-face or what?”

Alexia responds that they’re planning on it.

Queen Victoria is relieved because she wants Alexia to be the muhjah for the SHADOW COUNCIL and like you can’t be single and on that cause like WHAT WOULD PEOPLE SAY!?

Allow me to interject just as things are happening for a complaint.

This book spends a decent amount of time on WHAT’S PROPER for a lady of WEALTH.  But to me a lot of this shit is just bigoted, tedious, misogyny. Do people really get aroused at the prospect that if the angle of your curtsy is off you’ll be disowned by your family and friends!?  

Faps, reign in the sass! This is a fantasy where the readers get to indulge in the fun stuff. Suffocating dresses, being rich, and going to balls.

IT’S TECHNICALLY FINE, BUT I CAN’T RELATE TO THIS APPEAL, AND AS A BITTER AMATEUR HISTORIAN I’M ANNOYED AT HISTORICAL TIME PERIODS BEING MISREPRESENTED AND GLAMORIZED FOR FRIVOLOUS AESTHETIC PURPOSES! HURUMPH!

So Alexia basically remarks that the shadow council is ½ military styled Werewolves, and ½ vampire political advisors.  Which…apparently is a huge insult?  Prof. Lyall scolds her, and we’re supposed to act shocked when Queen Victoria reacts with bitter amusement rather than getting angry.  Huh? How is this an insult? I think the implication is that average folks would consider it a BAD THING that the government is using SUPERNATURALS to their advantage???? But like they’d be A class morons if they didn’t? I DON’T UNDERSTAND! THIS IS ALL VERY DUMB!

Anyway Victoria wants her to be the muhjah, which is the Soulless peacekeeper between the werewolves and vampires.  

Alexia asks, “Why me?” Which is apparently her being ~difficult~ Prof. Lyall even says that she’s being difficult out loud.

Are we at the Mary-Sue stage that the protag questioning why she’s being handed immense power on a silver platter is her NOT GETTING HOW GREAT SHE IS!?

The queen says she seems suited for the position because she’s ~well-read~ and ~a talented investigator.~  The fuck did she investigate?  She was invited to a vampire den (which she didn’t need to do anything to receive) and the matriarch just blabbed shit that other investigators already knew without much prompting from her. Also she got kidnapped.  Well read? She’s a raging ninny and at this point I don’t need to count the ways. HAHA whatever!

She’s got her dream job and is marrying her dream man. OH HAPPY DAY!

We leave off this ~last~ chapter with how MacDougall stole her umbrella during the genocidal lock-up, was super sad she got married, moved back to America and “He married a veritable battle-ax of a woman and happily allowed himself to be bossed around for the remainder of his days.”

Dude is living the dream! But like, book? Are you just fine with the fact that he was helping torture people to death to learn the secrets of how to genocide?  Were you just mad he’s not a Chad and therefore unfuckable to NORMAL women?

I don’t get you, and I’m kinda glad I don’t.

Say something Nice Faps:

Despite my confusion on the topic, I’m glad they wrapped up MacDougall.  Like since the story doesn’t take the genocidal stuff seriously, it’s hard for me to.  So MacDougall, wherever you are, please sandwich me with your perfect battle axe wife. <3

The queen wasn’t characterized as humorless and insufferable

It’s almost over

[la-knight]

BOOKS I (RE)READ IN 2018: FURTHERMORE BY TAHEREH MAFI

"Alice Alexis Queensmeadow, 12, rates three things most important: Mother, who wouldn’t miss her; magic and color, which seem to elude her; and Father, who always loved her. Father disappeared from Ferenwood with only a ruler, almost three years ago. But she will have to travel through the mythical, dangerous land of Furthermore, where down can be up, paper is alive, and left can be both right and very, very wrong. Her only companion is Oliver whose own magic is based in lies and deceit. Alice must first find herself—and hold fast to the magic of love in the face of loss." "Red was ruby, green was fluorescent, yellow was simply incandescent. Color was life. Color was everything. Color, you see, was the universal sign of magic." "Love, it turned out, could both hurt and heal." "Narrow-mindedness will only get you as far as Nowhere, and once you're there, you're lost forever.” "Alice was an odd girl, even for Ferenwood, where the sun occasionally rained and the colors were brighter than usual and magic was as common as a frowning parent." "Making magic is far more interesting than making sense." So I actually read this book a few months ago and then recently reread it via audio so I could remember all the details for this review. I was first introduced to Tahereh Mafi’s work through her book Shatter Me, her debut novel. Ironically, it wasn’t through any of the ways I normally hear about books - Booktube, Goodreads, my best friend, Booklr - but from my husband’s aunt. She runs - or used to run, not sure if she’s still doing it - a book review blog. And she posted a review of Shatter Me and I was like, “What a weird, interesting writing style, lemme check this out.” At this point the entire Shatter Me Trilogy plus novellas had been published and I devoured all of them (still need to review those, too). So when I heard Tahereh Mafi was writing a middle grade book, I got super excited! Especially because this was during a time when I was too stressed out to read any YA, since most of the YA I like involves having to save the world and all the stress that entails. I need to lay out some trigger warnings real quick: the main character, Alice? Her mom is incredibly abusive, both emotionally and physically. It’s treated as not such a big deal in the book, which is honestly the story’s only real flaw, but it’s bad. It took me seven tries and resorting to an audiobook (and even with a fantastic narrator, that short audiobook took me almost a month to get through) because the abuse was so bad. So:

TRIGGER WARNING: THIS BOOK CONTAINS EMOTIONAL AND PHYSICAL ABUSE OF A CHILD BY THEIR PARENT

Let’s get started, yo! First of all, the setting. OMG. See, I love tthis thing called Victorian fairy tales, which is something you can find in books like Mary Poppins - these super fantastical bits of whimsy that just warm your heart and make you grin because they’re so creative and fun. In the Mary Poppins books, you can jump into chalk drawings and go to a circus amidst the stars and make friends with a woman who sells living candy-cane horses. In Catherynne Valente’s Fairyland series, there are shadow balls and talking phonographs. And in Furthermore, there’s light raining down from the sky in literal drops, sticks of magic you use like money, and forests full of invisible berries. The way the world is put together and described, so full of color and imagination, is awesome and beautiful and I could picture it perfectly. It reminded me in all the best ways of books like The Phantom Tollbooth (one of my favorites). But I wouldn’t want to live there, because Ferenwood is full of colorism and ick. Alice, the female lead, is an albino in a world where color is important and the darker you are, the more magical you’re considered to be. So Alice gets treated like garbage. 

Also I think Alice may be autistic, but I don’t know if she’s deliberately coded autistic or if Tahereh Mafi did it by accident while trying to make Alice eccentric, but she comes across as autistic. I’ve actually begun to pay more attention to that sort of the thing in recent years, being autistic myself, and I see it a lot - authors giving their characters autistic characteristics, often without meaning to. I just touch on it here because Alice is already treated badly for being albino, but she’s also considered a freak because of the way she behaves - like an autistic preteen. And I wonder if Tahereh Mafi did that on purpose as a sort of commentary or not, because while Alice is treated badly by the people of Ferenwood for her behavior, the Narrator (who is an actual character in the story; love when that happens) always sides with Alice in this regard. The storyline is sweet and I love it. Alice tries to compete in the magical testing all the preteens do on their twelfth birthday, and so she dances. And her dancing is magical but it’s not Magical, you know? So she fails the test. Well, turns out a boy who passed the test the year before, Oliver (the brat), needs Alice’s help fulfilling a quest - rescuing Alice’s missing dad. So they go on a quest together, although Alice hates Oliver (and rightly so, he’s rude). They go to a dozen different and cool places, all of which are dangerous and all of which are different. I wish we could’ve spent more time in those places but I understand why we didn’t. The only annoying thing is there’s an origami fox on the cover but it only pops up in one of the worlds for like two pages and then it’s gone and I thought we could spend more time both in that world and with that creature since it ended up on the cover. But alas, not. I understand why - middle grade is often cursed to be short, especially if it’s the author’s first MG novel ever. Once you get big and bad like Rick Riordan you can start tossing out gihugic tomes like Son of Neptune or Blood of Olympus on the regular. Oliver’s reason for needing Alice was one I didn’t see coming, nor was her magical talent - a talent they hint at throughout the book but never explain until near the end, at the perfect moment. I thought it was an interesting commentary on how young girls perceive themselves, that Alice hates this marvelous, amazing talent she has of bringing color into the world from nothing...because she can’t use it to change how she looks. Society has trained her already, by the age of twelve, to discount something incredible about herself because she can’t use it to make herself into what society wants her to be. That’s pretty impressive for a book this short. I loved some of the more deliberate messages in the work - the thing I mentioned about society’s pressures on young girls, and also that it’s okay to tell boys to screw off if they’re mean to you, and to have hope and to look for second chances (Alice thinks she only has one chance to pass the test and believes her life is over when she fails, only to find out she can try again the next year). I love all of that, and the lyrical and whimsical quality of the prose, and the world building is so creative and also makes me a bit hungry (people eat magic in this book, among other things; I wonder what it tastes like). Now...let’s talk about the abuse. That’s my biggest issue with the book. Alice’s mother is a total bitch. And not in a cool, kickass way like the lady in the show Empire. She’s vicious, she’s cruel, and she’s abusive. Alice knows - and the Narrator confirms - that she turned bad when her husband went missing, and apparently the worry for him and the strain of raising four kids on her own is making her hard and sad, but I don’t give a shit. I was hoping Tahereh Mafi would’ve gone all Hansel and Gretel on this lady and when Alice comes home with her dad, the wife’s dead or something. She beats Alice (at one point she beat Alice for chasing a boy out of the place where she was sleeping, even though he kept staring at her in her sleeping clothes, because apparently the boy - Oliver - had the right to break into their barn at 3AM and ogle Alice???), she verbally abuses Alice, she sends her to bed regularly without dinner, is constantly criticizing, won’t hug her or kiss her, and - this one really got me, for some reason - forces her to do illegal things. Those invisible berries I mentioned? Alice can find them and bring back whole baskets because of her magical gift, and so her mom sends her out to pick them all the time. If she brings home enough, her mom smiles. If she doesn’t, her mom yells and calls her names and sometimes beats her. Guess what? Picking those berries is illegal. We don’t find this out until much later in the book, but it is. The thing I didn’t like about the berries is that Oliver, who’s thirteen, is less concerned about Alice’s mother beating her for not picking enough contraband berries and instead focuses on how her ability to find the berries in the first place means Alice has really impressive magic. NOBODY seems to care how much Alice is being abused, not even the Narrator. The Narrator sympathizes with Alice’s hurt feelings and despair over her missing Father, but it’s never objectively stated that her mom is abusing her AND SHE IS. Yeah, her mom is sooo glad to have her back after Alice almost dies on her trip with Oliver, but so what? My roommate’s mom is so abusive that my roommate’s clergy leaders, doctors, and psychological therapist all said my roommate needed to cut ties with said mom, even though my roommate’s mom has also exhibited the same kind of “oh baby I’m so sorry, I love you so much” bullshit. That’s what abusers do. So I hate Alice’s mom. She literally makes her daughter feel like if she doesn’t risk her life numerous times AND bring her father back, there is no chance her mother will ever love her. And if she pulls that stuff off (which she does), then MAYBE her mother will love her. Nuh-uh. Nope. Hate that bitch. Other than that, I really loved this book. The characters felt real (Alice is me, but without my anger), Even the ones I didn’t like were still REAL, and well-drawn. The world building and word choice is fantastic. Basically, if you can get past the evil mom, read this book. World Building: 1 star Realism: 1 star Word Choice: 1 star Plot: 1 star Characterization: 1 star - ¼ star because Oliver Newbanks is an obnoxious little creep - 1 star because the mom is AN ABUSIVE EVIL BITCH - ¼ star because NOBODY DOES ANYTHING ABOUT THAT +½ star because Alice is amazing and has a genius brain and I love her Total score: 4/5 stars Would I Buy It: Yes! I own it and loved it enough I got the sequel for Christmas (in...2017...I've been sitting on this review for months...)! Would I Recommend: yes, but with trigger warnings. Again, highly abusive evil bitch mom who somehow doesn’t die.

[sweetnestor]

the end of infinity with you | septic egos

previous: the last of the real ones

other works of mine

“you were too good to be true

gold plated

but what’s inside you?

but what’s inside you?”

After a very long month, Jack was transported to another hospital, on Dr. Schneeplestein’s orders. This hospital would be better for Jack, but it was just a little too far away and visitation was limited. Meaning, Chase couldn't visit every day like he used to.

Work had gotten a lot more demanding over these last few weeks. Bro Average had been picked up for a third season, which meant that Chase was on set almost every single day. Sometimes he had to bring his kids with him on the weekends. It's not really how he wanted to be with his kids, but it's better than nothing. Besides, the kids were fascinated by the big cameras and the bright lights. They liked to brag that their dad was a big star, and the crew adored them.

That was only sometimes. Other times, Stacy had to keep them over the weekend because Chase was a little too busy at work. He was quite taken with the flask he would bring with him. He knew he couldn't let the kids see that. He couldn't let anyone see that.

Other than that, Henrik got in contact with Chase again. He was put in charge of Jack's case, so he was constantly updating Chase on the situation. Lately, though, there weren't any drastic changes. Jack's blood count went up and down every day. His heart was going from good to great, from great to bad, and so on. His kidneys weren't working one day, his liver always threatened to give out. It was never anything major. There was no sign of Jack waking up, nor was there any sign of him never waking up again.

This was starting to feel like the beginning of the end.

It was another day of Chase sitting in his Bro Average dressing room. It was the middle of the week, so his little ones weren't running around the set. No one was keeping his mind occupied between takes. Typically, Chase would be chatting with his co-stars or FaceTiming some local magazine for an interview. But instead he was sitting in front of the vanity, anxiously checking his phone. Waiting on any kind of news about his comatose friend was getting to be exhausting these days. Of course, the worst news was sticking out in Chase's mind more than anything. He didn't want to wake up one day with a new text saying-

“Brody, we need you on set!” called the assistant, Jan. Third one he's gone through this month.

With a sigh, Chase put down his phone and put on his signature grey hat. He looked at himself in the mirror, trying to remember some vague but powerful quote to get him going again. Then, he cracked his head from side to side, only to feel a sting… on his throat?

Chase swore and placed his hand over the base of his neck, examining the skin in the mirror. That sting didn't feel like a sore throat, it was like…

He looked down at the palm of his hand. The scar was still very visible. The things that came after getting that cut were more vivid. Red lights in dark rooms still haunted his dreams at night.

“Okay,” Chase said to himself. He reached for the bottom drawer of the vanity and opened it up.

At this point, he didn't even read the labels on these tiny bottles. He just knew they would help.

~

Not surprisingly, Stacy had no problem keeping the kids for the third weekend in a row. She also didn't have any problem with not letting Chase talk to them over the phone. He knew he had to go visit Jack in London, but he didn't want the kids to feel left out because of it. Stacy always had to keep them to herself, and she wondered why Chase was so angry at her all the time. Always playing the victim.

The cab ride to London took ages. Chase wanted to sleep the whole way there, he even had some wine to help with the process, but to no avail. By the time he was actually in London, he was very glad he wasn't checking into a hotel. He would not have done it coherently.

Henrik had been kind enough to let Chase stay in his massive home. He was too kind, actually. He told Chase that the place would be empty, apart from the staff.

Yes, staff. Henrik owned a fucking mansion in a gated community of more fucking mansions. Apparently, he owned more in different parts of the world.

That was a little weird to Chase. He knew Henrik had a wife and child in Germany. Wouldn't he want to stay with them? Did they ever visit? Henrik was a strange man.

The Victorian style home was eerie once Chase was actually inside it. There was a certain vibe within the walls that made Chase’s hair stand up. This place was probably haunted. Maybe it was haunted enough for Bro Average to come and do a spooky Halloween episode. Upon that thought, Chase wondered if he could sleep at the hospital.

“I'm too drunk for this,” he mumbled as he followed one of the butlers up the marble staircase. The portraits hung on the wall were watching him. He held his backpack closer to himself, like the people in these portraits were going to jump out and rob him.

“I will have someone fix you a cure for that,” said the butler over his shoulder. They walked onto the second floor and opened the first double doors on the left of the hallway. “Here are you quarters, Master Brody.”

That only thing that was a master was the bedroom. There was a massive four poster bed between two large windows that had an incredible view of the neighborhood. There was a small chandelier hanging from the ceiling as well.

“This is awesome,” Chase muttered. Maybe he should be a doctor instead of a TV personality.

“The car will be here shortly, Master Brody,” the butler told him. “I know you are wanting to see your dear friend.”

Chase got a pit in his stomach again. Right. That's why he was here in a bougie ass mansion.

Once the butler had gone, Chase dropped his backpack on the floor and went to lie down. The bed was soft and very comfortable, especially in his intoxicated state. It was like being a cloud of ducks wrapped in pillows…

“Still… here…”

There was a flash of red light, and then Chase jolted awake. He was sweating, and his heart was pounding. Such a short dream, but he felt so put off by it.

“Mr. Brody?” called a female voice from the door. “May I enter?”

“Uh, yeah,” he called back. “And uh, please just call me Chase.”

A woman in a powder blue maid’s outfit walked in, holding a glass of clay colored… something. She smiled warmly, pretending not to notice the sweat dripping from Chase’s face.

“This will put you right,” she said as she handed him the glass. “If you drink it all now, you’ll be sober by the time you get to the hospital.”

“Thank you.” Chase accepted the glass, but he waited until the maid left to set it down on the bedside table.

He didn’t really want to be sober right now.

~

It was dark outside by the time Chase arrive to the hospital. Still, he was itching to see if his friend seemed any different than when he last saw him. Chase all but ran up to Jack’s room, ready to speak to him and catch up. Just as he approached the doorway, he heard other voices.

“So then what would this card be?”

“A joker?”

“Wrong! It’s the king of diamonds!”

“What do you mean?!”

Chase heard two voices, but he discovered four people when he entered the room. Henrik was checking Jack’s vitals, but the other three were quite the sight. Chase could barely take them in before Henrik started talking at him.

“Ah, look who has finally showed up!” he said as he went to shake Chase’s hand. “Welcome, my friend!”

“I, I didn’t know you would be here,” Chase said. “Thought you only worked in Brighton.”

“I am all over.” Henrik smiled. “Come, meet the others.”

The other three men came forward. The first one to offer his hand was a dapper looking guy in a white button up, blue vest, and a black bowler hat. It was like he was plucked straight out of a Charlie Chaplin film.

“This is Jameson Jackson,” said Henrik, placing his hands on the man’s shoulders. “He prefers to be called JJ.”

Chase shook JJ’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

He smiled wide and nodded. Then he let go and signed something to Chase.

“He said he likes your hat,” interpreted one of the other guys. He was in a bright red hoodie with the hood up, and he wore black skinny jeans and blue converse.

“Oh. Thanks, dude,” Chase told JJ.

“Anyway, I’m Jackie,” said the red hooded guy.

“Huh. Jack and Jackie.”

“I know right!” He sounded a little too excited, given the circumstances.

Then came the last guy. He had on a purple button up, black skinny jeans, and boots very similar Chase’s. This guy also had a man bun, and he had a cape hanging over his arm. There was also a cat mask with little designs attached to his belt buckle. To top it off, he was fiddling with a deck of cards in his hands.

“Hey, I’m Marvin,” he greeted. “Wanna play fifty two card pick up?”

Chase cracked a smile. “I play that with my daughter all the time.”

Once all introductions were made, they all turned to Jack. Still in a coma. Still unknowing. Still beating. The heart monitor was the only bit of reassurance that he was still there. JJ returned to his chair right next to the bed, and he looked sadly at Jack. Marvin leaned against the wall next to the door, still shuffling his cards. Henrik stood at the foot of the bed, hands in his pockets. Jackie went over to the window, staring out into the night.

Chase thought he would have been sad all over again to see Jack like this, but he was just numb. “Are we still on the waiting game?”

“Yes,” Henrik answered, “but he hasn’t gotten any worse.”

That numbness went away pretty quickly. Chase couldn’t control his tone. “So then what was the point in moving him further away?”

However, Henrik wasn’t fazed by the change in attitude. “There are more doctors, better doctors. More great minds to try to figure out what to do.”

“But aren’t you the best there is?” Chase was getting angry. “Why would you move him if he was just going to stay the same? Why aren’t you being the good doctor you say you are?”

Jackie decided to step in. “Hey, he’s doing his best! It’s a really tricky situation, especially since we don’t know exactly how he got this way!”

“Yeah, you’re not the only one who’s pissed at the situation,” Marvin added.

Chase only felt angrier. “Who the hell even are you guys? Jack has never talked about you guys before! I never saw any of you at the other hospital!”

Marvin looked him right in the eyes, a hard expression on his face. “You know, he never mentioned you either.”

“That’s not true… We’re best friends!”

“Never seen you before, never heard of you.” He looked at JJ and Jackie. “You guys ever heard of a… what was it again? Chad?”

“It’s Chase…”

JJ and Jackie didn’t say anything, they were just looking back and forth between the other two men. Meanwhile, Henrik was staying out of it and pretending to check on Jack some more, walking up to check his eyes with a mini flashlight.

Marvin shrugged his shoulders as he turned back to Chase, still mocking. “I wouldn’t know. Jack’s never talked about you before.”

It felt like lead was falling over Chase’s shoulders. Was Marvin telling the truth? Had Jack never talked about Chase to anyone else? Was Chase not important enough to be talked about?

“Guys I think his feelings are hurt,” Marvin said to the others, only adding to the humiliation.

“Hey, come on now,” Jackie said as he turned away from the window. “Jack has loads of friends. I’m sure he’s mentioned all of us at least once.”

“Then how come I’ve never seen any of them at the hospital in Brighton?” Chase shot back. “How come only me and his family would come see him and everyone else just sent cards he can’t even read?”

JJ tapped his shoulder to get his attention. Chase watched him sign a speech, but Henrik interpreted.

“We were all planning to come visit. We just didn’t know we were all going to be here at the same time. The timing is strange, if you ask me. But please, don’t be angry. Jack is everybody’s friend.”

Chase wasn’t so sure about that anymore. Here he thought Jack was his best friend. He thought he had an effect on Jack like it was the other way around. Chase thought he finally mattered to someone. But maybe Jack only hung out with him out of pity. They did meet in a bar when Chase was completely hammered. Maybe that’s why Jack hid him like a dirty secret.

So then why was Chase wasting his time here?

“It’s true, though,” Jackie spoke up. “None of knew the other person was coming here today too. I don’t know about you guys, but, uh, my schedule is really busy at the moment. Really unpredictable. I didn’t think I would find the time to get here.”

“My round of shows in Vegas were pushed to next week,” Marvin said. “I figured now was as good a time as any to visit my friend. You know, before there is no time.”

“I got a random free weekend,” Chase told them. “It’s weird, I just started shooting the new season of my show, things were tight. No time for breaks or vacations.”

“But your superiors told you to take the weekend off?” Marvin guessed.

Chase nodded. He thought only Henrik’s house gave him skin crawling chills. Then, he turned to JJ, who was sitting down again.

“What about you?”

This time, instead of signing, he pulled a notepad and pen from under his hat. He quickly scribbled on a clean page and showed Chase.

“I was in the neighborhood,” he read out loud. “What does that mean?”

“He travels a lot,” Jackie explained. “He comes and he goes. We don’t really know where he came from.”

“So you all know each other, then?” Chase asked.

Jackie and Marvin shared a look.

“I have treated Jackie in the past,” Henrik spoke up. “I have treated him many times, actually. I met JJ and Marvin only today.”

“Yeah, we go way back,” Jackie added. He rolled back the sleeve on his hoodie, revealing his pale arm. “See that? There’s nothing! Would have been an ugly burn scar if Doc over here hadn’t helped me.”

“I have treated Chase as well!” said Henrik a little too gleefully. “Look at us, we all have common ground!”

Chase only nodded curtly. He didn’t really want to get into the time he was in the hospital shortly after the divorce and custody battle. “So how do you all know Jack?”

JJ went first. He wrote on his notepad again and passed it around. “We met on Halloween! We were pumpkin carving!”

“Jack always did love carving!” Henrik said with a laugh. “A little too much, I think!”

“I met him when I was doing street magic,” Marvin said, still leaning against the wall. “He was really fascinated with it. He encouraged me to keep pursuing it, to throw myself into it. So I did. Wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for him.”

“He saved me from getting jumped,” Jackie recalled. “Scared some guys out of an alley to keep them away from. He had a pocket knife and all. Now, I try to help people as much as I can.”

Chase felt a little sheepish now. These guys were doing great things because of Jack. Chase could barely function these days. He was still a little intoxicated standing in this hospital room. He wasn’t anything special. He didn’t do anything worthwhile. All he’s done is fail.

“I met him in a bar,” he said. “We really hit it off. We’ve hung out a lot.” Truth is, that was probably where the drinking habit began. Not because of Jack, though.

“Well,” Henrik began, “Jack helped me when one of my patients went under. We made a great team. Then, he needed my help. He was attacked, someone slit his throat. I almost lost Jack, but he is very strong.”

Chase suddenly remembered the weird sting in his throat from earlier today. He had never gotten injured like that before, and he had never know about Jack’s injury. There wasn’t even a scar to show for it. Yet, Chase could clearly imagine the blood seeping from the fresh wound… It went towards him… it came closer…

All five men jumped when Chase’s phone started ringing. Who the hell even calls him these days?

Stacy, apparently.

“I gotta take this,” Chase said as he went out into the hallway. Then he pressed his phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“You wanna tell me why there's so many empty liquor bottles in your flat?” Stacy's shrill voice said on the other line.

Chase froze in the middle of the corridor. His blood ran cold, and it felt like the ground under his feet disappeared.

“Uh - Why the hell are you at my flat?” he shot back.

“The kids left their Switch. What's your excuse?”

“I, uh, I had people over.”

“When? You don't have any friends!”

“You don't know that!”

Stacy sighed angrily. “You know, I thought your drunk voicemails were a one time thing. I was nice enough to let it go, I let you have the kids on the weekends-"

“You didn't let me, the court ordered it!” Chase spitefully reminded her.

She scoffed. “Well, the court will change their mind, won't they? Once they know what you do during the week-"

“Stacy!” he interrupted, getting desperate. “Stacy, I swear, it's not what you think.”

“Don't lie to me. I called your show producer. You're drinking on set.”

This couldn't be happening. This was not real.

“What do I have to do?”

“There's nothing you can do.”

Suddenly, a group of nurses rushed past Chase. He quickly got up against the wall to avoid a traffic jam, especially after seeing one nurse pushing a crash cart. To make matters worse, Chase saw the nurses run into the room he had stepped out of.

He heard Stacy's voice yelling over the phone, but the sound faded as he let the device slip out of his hand. Everything went in slow motion as he ran back to the room. All other sounds disappeared, the only sound was Chase’s blood pounding in his ears. Just as he made it to the doorway, he collided into Marvin, JJ, and Jackie. That was when everything came back.

“H-He, his heart…” Jackie tried to explain, while JJ frantically signed with teary eyes.

“The heart monitor went crazy,” Marvin explained, sounding shaken. “We heard the long beep, then the thing started sparking. Then, Jack started seizing. Nurses told us to get out.”

They all heard Henrik’s frantic yelling from the room, ordering to hit Jack with however many grams of whatever medicine. Then they heard something like, “We're losing him!”

“Come on, man,” Chase mumbled. He peered into the room, but only saw the backs of many nurses.

Soon enough, they all backed up on Henrik’s orders. He had the defibrillator ready.

“Clear!”

The paddles barely touched Jack's chest before he sat up. Jack literally sat up in the bed, scaring the hell out of the people surrounding him. His eyes were wide and alert like he wasn't asleep for months on end. He stared right at the four men at the door as he reached for the tubes in his mouth.

“Jack, no!” Henrik yelled. “Let me, let me!”

He tried to reach for Jack, but he was suddenly knocked off his feet, along with the nurses. It was like an invisible force pushed them back.

Jack pulled the tubes out of his mouth, still staring at the doorway. Then, he spoke in a clear voice:

“I remember what he did to me.”

Blood started coming out of his mouth. He choked and coughed, spitting blood down his front, and then he finally fell back again.

~

Chase, Marvin, JJ, and Jackie were sent to the waiting room while everything got resolved. Eventually, Henrik found them and updated them on the situation.

“I am very sorry…”

JJ responded by taking off his bowler hat. Chase did the same with his snapback.

Several phone calls were made after that. All the guys sat together and alerted Jack’s family, girlfriend, and close friends. After that, they were just sitting and trying to process what had happened.

“He’s really gone,” Jackie muttered, like he was thinking out loud. “Never gonna see him again, are we?”

“What the fuck?” Chase wondered. It still hadn’t properly hit. “What the fuck?”

“Why did his last words have to be so cryptic?” Marvin sounded more annoyed than sad.

JJ just sat with his head down and his shoulders slumped.

“If that fucking demon wasn’t there…” Henrik trailed off.

So they all saw it.

“I should’ve known,” Marvin spoke, rubbing his temple. “I told Jack how I… He told me he was desperate for change. He wanted a way out. I told him what I did. Didn’t think he would do it.”

Chase tilted his head. “You told him to use a Ouija board?”

“I told him I… called upon things outside of this realm.”

“Who’s the cryptic one now?” Jackie said rather harshly. “Jack was found unconscious in front of that board. If you told him to summon a demon or whatever the fuck, then just fucking say it!”

Marvin looked him in the eyes and said nothing. The two had a silent conversation before Jackie turned his eyes to the floor.

“I thought he was done with that stuff,” Henrik spoke after a while. “I thought the neck injury was the last straw for him.”

Chase absentmindedly rubbed at his throat. “I used a Ouija board not that long ago. Whatever came through, he took my kids for a day.”

“Just one day?” Marvin asked.

“Hey, when you’re a parent, losing your kids for even a minute is fucking scary.”

“Were they okay?” Jackie asked, concerned.

“Yeah. They’re perfect. They don’t remember a thing.” Chase remembered the phone call with Stacy. “I made a deal with this thing to make sure of it. The kids were to be unharmed, and I would lose everything else in return.”

He paused and waited for one of the guys to lash out. If Chase’s deal was to lose everything, then technically Jack dying was his fault. That’s what he waited for one of them to say. But they were all quiet.

Then, JJ took his notepad and wrote something. He showed Chase the page.

“He doesn’t like being called a thing.”

______

tags: @ninjasversuslife @modicumofmotivation