#p. perennial

[halfawitch-willow]

We'll Have Tomorrow ❁ WSoH Epilogue

After the events at the Garden Grove on Halloween night, the ragtag group make their way to Eilonwy's house to recover. There, Willow explains exactly what the hybrid plant was and how it ended up in the restricted greenhouse in the first place. As well as reveals the truth about herself and her own origins... Takes place October 31st (Nobody look at me, okay) Willow Shop of Horrors Finale and Thread List @eilonwy-notjustgirl, @foreverydinger, @edward-andalasia, @blight-magic, @winndeavor, @thegcldenguard, @darius-dues, @ianthedisastrous TW: mentions of blood, mild gore, injury, neck trauma, abusive dynamic with a plant, mentions past child abuse and bullying, triggers, Willow Has Goop Trauma ((LOOK. There are 9 characters in this thread and it's nearly 30 pages long, it took forever to wrap up. But it's done, it's here, and thank you again so much to everyone who participated and helped with this monster - heh- plot!))

WILLOW

When they made it to Eilonwy's house, Willow sort of just let herself be moved around. Winston carried her in and to the master bath at Eilonwy's directions, and Eilonwy and Amity stayed with Willow to help her clean all of the blood off and get her wounds washed and wrapped. She could feel the pixie dust getting washed away as well, and by the time she was wrapped up warm and dry in some of Laurel's old pajamas -- including a pair of tattered sweatpants that Eilonwy promised Laurel wouldn't want back, so Willow could tear open a hole in the back seam for her tail -- Willow felt almost empty. All of her strength had disappeared down the drain, right as she was about to face the hardest part.

They were going to have questions. And she was going to have to answer them.

Eilonwy and Amity helped her out to the living room, where there was a weird sort of energy amongst those who were gathered. Like they hadn't quite worked off all of the adrenaline, but now there was nothing to put it towards. The three girls made their way to the couch and the moment Willow was seated, she reached out for one of the potion bottles Hunter had placed on the coffee table. She cracked the wax seal in an easy, practiced motion and knocked half of it back before anyone could blink. The blood loss was making her head pound, and her whole body felt like one big gash.

She set her bottle down with a small sigh, before opening another bottle with the same blue liquid and gesturing to Eilonwy. "It's a Lesser Healing potion," she said, voice still rough and croaky. "It'll help with pain and any minor wounds, and there's four doses in each." Willow looked around the room. "Who else needs some?" she asked, scared of the answer. If anyone had gotten seriously injured because of her mistake, she didn't know what she'd do. 

"We probably need some glasses..."

EILONWY

It probably wasn't exactly a good thing that Eilonwy was relatively used to ignoring her body's pain signals at this point, but considering it kept coming in handy, she was the last person to complain about it. Remnants of adrenaline and sheer will got her back to the Lightfoots house where she let everyone in so they could start cleaning up Willow. 

She told Tony to raid Ian and Barley's closets for clothes for the boys and figured they would make themselves comfortable as she and Amity went up to care for Willow. She grabbed sweats of her own for herself and Amity considering they were close in size and then she focused on each step. Getting Willow clean. Getting her new clothes. Getting her downstairs. Getting food and tea into everyone. 

Her left arm and her side were pounding dully in a way that she knew she would hate later, and she didn't realize she had pulled her arm in close to rest along her side. 

As they walked in, she had to comfort herself with little touches - a hand on Hunter's arm as she walked by, a squeeze of Tony's hand, a moment of leaning against Edward - and then got Willow to the couch. The question made her jump back up again, too fixed on needing to take care of everyone else. 

"I can get some glasses." She moved back towards the kitchen and began to pull them out to carry back over, using her light to make a sort of floating tray since she didn't trust her left arm right then.

TONY

Tony had already profusely apologized to Ian, knowing that this was precisely the kind of thing that Ian hated. People he cared about running off and getting themselves in danger without him able to help. "Hey, at least I didn't actually get hurt!" Tony had hoped the sentiment would help but he wasn't entirely sure it had landed the way he wanted it to.

Willow was being cared for by others and Tony raided Barley's closet for some items (making sure to be choosy and pick dark colors in case anyone was still bleeding) before grabbing some food out of the pantry.

"I can cook some warm food too, if anyone wants," he announced as he set crisps and cookies and all manner of snacks down for people to grab. "Laurel must've just gone to the store before this so we're in luck." There was also a lot of Halloween candy still laying about but sweets and junk weren't exactly the best for everyone here.

"Any allergies?"

IAN & EDWARD

Ian hadn't taken long to get to his mom's house once he knew what was going on, and spent most of his time, post-outfit change, with Edward in tow, since the latter was unharmed, or at least already healed if he had been harmed, and helpful, with a little direction. 

Most of that had involved redirecting Edward to where things in the house were that the people who were injured needed. 

"Catch your breath and please sit down for a minute," he reminded Eilonwy in passing, because the slight flicker in her light was too familiar for Ian not to notice and she wouldn't, in fact, slow down otherwise. 

"Blazey, bed," he mumbled in passing with a scratch at the dog's ears, sending her off to her bed in the corner of the living room with Cai trailing behind while he pulled open the closet door in the hallway and handed off a stack of pillows and a few blankets off to Edward to take to the couch. 

"It's fine, don't worry about it right now," he pressed a kiss against Tony's, vaguely dusty, hair and absently untangled a leaf from it. He never won the 'stay out of trouble' conversation, with either Tony or Eilonwy, and as unsteady as he felt right then over the situation that was really a sidebar to the bigger problems right then. 

He wanted to suggest Tony sit down too, but didn't, he wasn't injured and cooking would, hopefully, calm some of it. 

"Okay, mom isn't going to be here for a while," Ian returned to the living room, glancing at the collective group of misery occupying the couch and surrounding area, "but Edward's-" where was Edward? Ian glanced around, spotting him in the kitchen getting bottles of water for people, right, okay, "has the first aid kit, mom has an Arcadian first aid kit too if you need more than your potions." 

Otherwise, most of it was just damage control, wasn't it, and giving everyone a chance to relax after...well, Ian still didn't know what had happened but he figured he'd ask later.

AMITY

"I don't need any," Amity said quickly when the offer came. She gently nudged the potion back toward Willow. "You can have my share."

She wasn't without injury, persay-- but the worst of Amity's pain was all internal. Her own shame, her own guilt gnawing away, like a splinter embedded deep within the skin. She couldn't help but think about the ways she could have prevented this if she had just been fucking smarter. She hadn't seen the danger in the hybrid. She hadn't realized how much pain and fear Willow was still holding inside. Or maybe...she hadn't wanted to see it, because she knew so much of it had been Amity's doing. She still hadn't made up for it. Would she ever? 

She probably should have just gone back to the dorms. 

But Amity was selfish, and worried, and couldn't leave Willow alone (not again.) And so she'd gone with her, along with Eilonwy and the rest. Though she knew she was a stranger in this house-- not part of the family like Eilonwy or Tony or even Edward-- she stayed planted next to Willow's side. She'd stay quiet, nearly invisible if she could manage it. Only there for Willow.

WILLOW

Willow shook her head, and the moment Eilonwy came back with the glasses, she gently tugged the other girl down to sit with them on the couch and set the glasses down herself. "Both of you need some," she whispered, trying to ignore the shaking in her own arms as she tried to pour out some of the potion into the glasses. Winston quickly came over to help hold her hands steady, and she gave him a tiny, grateful smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Winston helped passed the two glasses to the girls while Willow picked up her own bottle and curled up on the couch between them, her tail curling around her feet. "Papa still makes it with scaberry extract," she told Amity, "so the taste isn't as bad as they normally are." There were still two glasses on the table for anyone who needed some, and a few more unopened bottles besides.

She took another sip of her own bottle and leaned against Amity's side, hoping that she'd at least have a little more time for the potion to work on her throat before she had to start talking in earnest. She'd gotten a look at herself in the mirror earlier and the bruising was... gruesome, so say the least. Some of it still peaked out over her bandages.

HUNTER

"I'm fine," Hunter said reflexively.

Hunter was fine. He was always fine. That was his job, right? To be fine, to wear the helm of the Golden Guard with his head held high? He was fine. He had some bruises, but nothing serious. He'd had far worse scrapes. He wasn't about to let anyone see him as anything less than capable. 

(His heart wouldn't stop racing. He didn't know why. He couldn't get it to stop.)

Not for the first time, he felt like maybe he shouldn't be here. He didn't belong here. He barely belonged here. 

He stood at a distance, back pressed against the wall, watching everyone. His eyes flickered to Amity and Willow on the couch, and he wondered what his life might've been like if he'd gone to school with them. He dismissed that thought quickly, and shifted his weight from one foot to another, wincing slightly. Perhaps he'd sprained something, or just got a bad bruise, but he could take care of that later.

DARIUS

Well, it's not like he'd been doing anything else for Halloween. He'd gotten dressed up, as per the custom, but wasn't planning on participating in any other significant way. No, he was just planning for a night in, looking fabulous, grading mediocre papers.

And then he got a text.

First, was the arduous task of decoding what was either a ciphered message or just a slew of typos. He managed to get as far as "Garden Grove", heading over there to try and assess the situation. What he found was...concerning to say the least. The fact that there was no Hunter, along with nobody else, was doubly concerning. Then it was another stretch of time of doubling back, asking around, and tracking, before he finally found the abode he was fairly certain was housing the young Golden Guard, along with anyone else who got caught up in this unfortunate scenario.

He ascended the porch stairs two at a time before knocking, sharply. He didn't bother waiting for an answer before knocking again and calling in, "Hunter?" It wasn't often he used his name outright, but this seemed like a situation that called for it.

When someone finally bothered to open the door, he looked to them before over their shoulder. "Is everyone alright?"

WILLOW

Willow wanted to protest -- no one who ever said they were 'fine' was actually 'fine', Willow would know -- and try to get Hunter to come to the couch and take a dose. If he even wanted to be near her. He hadn't said a word to her until that short reply, and Willow knew it wasn't the potions that made her feel squirmy and sick and guilty.

The knock at the door interrupted her before she could even begin to speak, and Willow quirked her head curiously until the familiar voice called for Hunter and she went deathly pale. Horror splashed across her features and Willow grabbed the sleeve of Eilonwy's shirt in a death grip as she sunk further against Amity's side. Praying to a distant Titan that Head Witch Daemonne wouldn't notice her. She was trembling like a leaf, and the few house plants in the Lightfoot's living room -- who had gone quiet after Willow had ignored their attempts to sooth her -- started to writhe and fluff up defensively.

EILONWY

Eilonwy was concerned. She couldn't leave Willow, not with the way the girl was pressed up against her, but she didn't like Hunter being so far away and sounding so distant either. She looked towards Edward and tilted her head towards Hunter, hoping he would be able to go over and bring him in closer so they could see if he was really all right. Amity at least she was planning to just shove the potion down her throat if she had to (she was better at enforcing care for other people than herself.)

But the knock had her head whipping around towards the door as she began to reach for one of the glasses. The name had her looking back towards Hunter, and she was about to say something as Ian pulled the door open when she felt Willow gripping her tightly. 

In the corner of the room, Cai came to attention at the same time she did, motes of light rushing towards her as little bits began to spark again along her hair. She didn't know who this man was, but Willow was scared. That's all she needed to know. 

"Stay back," she barked at the stranger. Yes, she was in pajamas with her sore arm curled against her side, but that didn't change the steel in her tone as she glared at him. "Who are you and what do you think you're doing here?" She hadn't directed her light - yet - but she was ready to shove him bodily back out the door if she didn't get answers soon.

TONY

Tony started toward the kitchen, beginning simple things like mac & cheese or some soup that was sat frozen in Laurel's freezer. Easy and warm, Tony could handle making a spread that would feed this motley crew. It helped with his own nerves to get away from the rest for a moment, to focus on a task once again.

Ian would handle things in the living room, this was his home after all, and Tony doubted that anyone here would be reckless enough to leave when they had only just arrived.

He heard the sound of a door opening, an unfamiliar voice following that, and finally Eilonwy's demand filling the air. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he tried to listen in, still standing at the stove.

IAN & EDWARD

With all the motion in the house Edward had opted to remain in the living room after seeing to what all needed to be gathered. And while Willow had a cluster of attention at the time looking after her his gaze quickly searched everyone else, who by the large looked well enough, except Hunter, unsteady on his feet. 

"Perhaps you should sit," Edward coaxed, gentle in his approach given how tense Hunter was, lifting a hand slowly to the other's arm to, hopefully, ground him a bit. "Are you alright, I think-" his words were cut short by that knock, and moreso Hunter's name and the sudden shift in the mood in the room, his gaze instinctively drawn to the door with a step between that direction and Hunter, just in case, given Willow's reaction and Eilonwy's outburst. 

Ian, already at the door, stood there, what was initially a passive expression thinking this was simply another person involved in the situation quickly shifted to scrutiny of the brightly-costumed individual standing there. He didn't know exactly what all was going on but he wasn't too eager to let anyone inside until he knew why everyone was so upset over the newcomer. 

"I really think that's a valid question right now." Ian regarded the stranger evenly, remaining in the doorway for the moment; nearly half the people in the house were already injured, he wasn't taking a chance on letting just anyone through that door. Which was why his hand twitched faintly, easily overlooked but a pointed gesture, while he waited for an answer.

AMITY

Titan's tit-- "Darius Deamonne?!" exclaimed Amity from inside the house. 

But how? No, that was a dumb question. Why? Was it the same reason that Hunter Belos was now in Swynlake? What about Lilith Clawthorne? Dread, as cold as ice, washed through Amity. Once, Darius would have been one of the sorcerers that she'd want to impress but now all the Emperor's crows were flocking to Swynlake, one by one, and there had to be a reason.

Naturally, Amity's paranoid brain thought first of Odalia.

But Odalia and Darius Deamonne fucking hated each other. 

Whatever-- first, Amity had to deal with the fact she'd just blurted his name and now everyone had looked at her. "He's-- he's the head of the Abomination Coven," she said, feeling her cheeks colour. "I have no idea why he's there though."

DARIUS

Alright, he'd clearly stepped into something here. Hunter had barely given any information in his poorly composed text, so he'd not been expecting such a large crowd to be waiting for him, not to mention waiting to pounce.

He put his hands up innocently to show he meant no harm. Luckily, he didn't need to introduce himself, as it seemed to be done for him. "Thank you, Ms. Blight," he said, nodding in her direction.

"I was summoned with a message warning of a "minor disaster"," he said, air quotes and all. "I'm merely here to make sure everyone is alright. Help heal any injuries. Subdue any threats. Though it seems that's been taken care of, if the state of the Garden Grove is any indication..."

His eyes flickered between all of the children, taking stock of their injuries and general state. His gaze settled on both Willow and Hunter for a bit too long before he looked to the only other adult in the room. "Is this your home? I don't mean to say you don't have the situation handled, but I'd like to help, if at all possible. Some of these children are under my care," he explained, despite none of the children referenced knowing that.

HUNTER

In this time, Hunter had forgotten that he’d texted Darius. 

It had been in a panic. There had been no other adult that he felt could handle this caliber of magical disaster. Mistress Clawthorne resented him, after all. He did not know the other sorcerers in town. So, Darius it was.

But he shouldn't have had to ask anyone at all! He should’ve been able to handle this, a simple plant!

Now, Darius was here and Hunter was embarrassed, but he had to save face.

“Darius!” It came out like a squeak. He cleared his throat. “I mean. Master Deamonne. Welcome! I, uh, texted him.” This was for the benefit of everyone else in the room. “On the way to the Grove, before we knew the extent of the damage.”

He turned back to Darius. “But, as you can see, we are all in one piece, albeit a little battered, so we clearly handled everything and you can definitely not mention this in any reports you might be giving.” 

He swung his arm jauntily, the visor of his helmet falling on his face as he did so. Quickly, Hunter scrambled to shove it back up, before his breathing started quickening again and he flashed an all-too-bright smile to indicate just how well he was handling this situation!

WILLOW

Willow had watched everyone react to Darius with the stunned, horrified silence of someone watching a train wreck. How the fuck had she managed to drag them all to this exact moment of time!? It was a nightmare. 

She bit back a squeak when Darius looked her over, wanting to disappear, but he glanced away quickly to look at Winston who was already shaking his head and gesturing instead to an annoyed-looking Eilonwy. Before that situation could devolve any further, Hunter jumped into the conversation.

Her heart jumped to her throat when it started to sound like Hunter might get in trouble for texting Darius. To save her pathetic ass from a monster of her own creation. Hunter looked like his face was about to crack from the force of his smile, and Willow was scrambling to lean over the back of the couch before her brain could catch up.

"It was my fault!" she croaked, voice wrecked and eyes wide and scared. "I'm the one who made the plants go crazy at the Grove. They just came to help bail me out when I lost control. They saved my life, please just-" Willow was horrified and embarrassed to find more tears trailing down her cheeks.

"Please don't report this, o-or tell my dads," she begged. "They don't know."

EILONWY

It appeared at least a few people in this room knew who this man was, and Hunter apparently trusted him enough to text him for help, so she would have to take that as a recommendation. Even if he did call them 'children'. 

Although she didn't care for the sound of reports one bit.

As Willow began to cry again, Eilonwy reached out to wrap an arm around Willow's shoulders from where she was standing, expanding the light around her so it provided a gentle warmth and pressure on the other girl. 

"This is my home. You are welcome inside," for now. "Willow had already gathered some healing potions that everyone will be taking," she gave both Amity and Hunter mild glares at that because she knew they had a tendency to downplay things, "and then if you feel up for it Willow, you can tell us what happened with the plants. But only if you want to." 

She turned to look back at him. "As you said, the issue at the Grove has been handled. Which means I'm assuming the reports in question won't be an issue." She raised one eyebrow, assuming he would get the message. 

Or Ian could still kick him out of the house pretty easily she was sure. Head Witch or no.

DARIUS

Oh boy. There was a lot happening here. He watched Hunter and opened his mouth to reply before he was cut off by Willow's cries and the blonde's remarks. His lips tightened in annoyance but he took a deep breath before replying calmly.

"Nobody needs to worry about any reports. It wasn't even in the question." He did not, however, make any mention of Willow's fathers. To promise that he wouldn't tell them in this instance seemed… irresponsible at best. At least, until he learned more about the situation.

Still, he was granted entry, so that was something. He stepped inside, the heels of his boots clicking against the floor. "Now, I have the capabilities to deal with any cuts, open wounds, sores, lesions, or damage directly to the skin, if needed. Don't be humble, I didn't come here to just stand around and look pretty."

WILLOW

Willow leaned a little into Eilonwy's embrace, being sure not to put too much pressure on her ribs and tried to wipe her cheeks dry. If she had been in her right mind, she would have caught how Darius had dodged the topic of her dads, but the relief from his reassurance was so great Willow visibly relaxed.

At Darius's offer, Willow looked around the room to check everyone. She knew, objectively, that her injuries were the worst - her blood loss hadn't made her that fuzzy. Hunter's armor meant she couldn't get a good look at him -- and wow, it was weird seeing him in the armor she knew so well from watching the news with her dads -- but everyone else was mostly in pajamas and costumes now, so she felt pretty confident she was the only one at risk of bleeding out any time soon.

"I think the three of us need the most help," she admitted softly, gesturing to Amity and Eilonwy. Hunter was still breathing kind of fast, and after a moment of hesitation, Willow held out her bandaged hand towards him in invitation.

"Come get some healing potion, Lony's orders," she said softly, voice almost a coarse whisper. "Sit with us, please?"

HUNTER

Hunter was fine.

He was fine.

Darius was here and he was fine. 

Everyone was looking at him now. 

He took a deep breath.

There were no reports, Darius said. Eilonwy said he should drink a healing potion. Willow agreed. Hunter didn’t want to do that, because he never liked the taste of healing potions. Not that the flavor itself was bad, but because the feeling down his throat was a reminder of —

What was it a reminder of?

Hunter couldn’t remember. His head was fuzzy. He was tired. He wanted to slump down on his knees and lean his head on someone’s chest.

He didn’t do that, of course. He shuffled forward slightly and took a hesitant seat on the edge of the couch.

“Pass the potion,” he said, holding out a hand.

DARIUS

Darius kept an eye on Hunter as he moved over, recognizing the nauseous look on his face. The kid was more wound up than Adrian's hair piece (on a good day) and he was fairly certain that a single mishap at this stage would completely unravel him. So he merely needed to keep things calm.

Looking over the three indicated ladies, he nodded. "Right. Before we begin, I want to preface by saying this is a perfectly sanitized procedure and there are no untoward side effects." With that explanation out of the way, he raised his gloved hands, and from underneath his cape, a stream of purple ooze shot out, suspended in midair before splitting between the three. It hovered before spreading and wrapping around the scratches and cuts, stopping any bleeding and healing the skin. Unfortunately, any internal injuries and pain would remain.

For Eilonwy and Amity, the process would be fairly quick. Willow's wounds were much more prominent and numerous, so he moved closer to her to keep an eye on the process. One cut at a time. He looked among the others. "So. Does anyone want to give a more detailed account of what happened?"

AMITY

Amity didn't want to take the potion either. She actually-- didn't want to be here at all. Now that Darius had arrived, she felt on edge. Her eyes kept darting to the door. She had this weird feeling like, somehow, she was betraying Alador by just being in the same room as him. Which made no sense of course. In fact, if she could talk to her dad (which she couldn't), he'd probably laugh at her for the thought. I haven’t even thought of Darius in years.

Still, he was a reminder of Amity's father. And the Boiling Isles. And her own magic. 

Her hands were still sticky with golem, which helped dull the pain from the burns on her palms, and up her arm. Titan's blood, she wanted to leave. 

But it was Willow's soft, croaking voice that kept her from bolting like a stray, injured cat. Carefully, without even saying a word, she moved with Hunter over to the couch, then sat down. She waited until the potion was passed and she took a swig from it obediently. 

Then her eyes tracked back to Darius. She glanced at Willow and leaned in. "What do you want to tell him?" she murmured. It was so inconvenient that he had showed up here so quickly... it would have been better for all of them to get their story straight. 

WILLOW

Willow let out a tiny sigh of relief as Amity and Hunter both sat on the couch, and she quickly -- or, well, as quickly as she could move -- poured them both doses of the healing potion. She looked up at Darius curiously as he approached, leaning in towards Amity to hear her whisper better. But before she could formulate an answer, or even open her mouth, Darius raised his hands and Willow watched in horror as abomination clay swam through the air and wrapped around her neck, arms, and legs.

She hadn't realized this was what he meant. Stupid half-wit.

Willow went stiff as a corpse, her head tilted back as she tried not to scream at the feeling of goop on her skin. She couldn't even feel relief from her wounds being treated, there was just the scent of clay and rot crowding out her thoughts. Her tail lashed out and twitched wildly until she grabbed it and held it down in her lap, trembling. She breathed in and out carefully. In for four beats. Out for four beats. Try not to cry.

This wasn't Hexside. This wasn't the Boiling Isles. She was fine. She could breathe.

In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.

EILONWY

As Hunter sat on the couch, Eilonwy passed him the potion, passing one to Amity as well so that they would both take a sip and hopefully feel better. She couldn't be sure exactly how injured either of them were, but this was one thing she could do to help. 

This also finally brought Hunter close enough to her that she could slide her hand in his and hold it tightly, ignoring the way her sore arm throbbed in that moment, trying to pull him a little bit closer to her. She wanted her people close until she was sure they were okay, and there was only so much she could do. 

Once again, she was reaching for the potion with her free hand to take a swig when she paused as the swirling purple ooze shot through the air. Her light pulsed for a moment reflexively and she had to bite her lip to stop it from expanding outward. 

Until Willow reacted. 

"Stop it! Stop it right now!" Ignoring the potion (again), she reached out to try and lay a hand on Willow. She didn't even realize that she was getting warmer, the ooze that had wrapped around her own wrist beginning to dry out slightly as the light gathered more intensely around her.

WILLOW

"It's fine," Willow said, voice cracked and shaky. "I trust him. J-just don't get any near my face."

She was tapping out counts of four on her lap, lips pressed firmly together as she tried to tough it out. He was helping her. This was meant to heal. She could breathe.

TONY

Tony listened quietly through this Darius’ entrance and introduction, allowing those close to the door to react even as his muscles clenched in anticipation of another fight breaking out. Instead of saying anything he used that feeling, that anxiety, to finish making the mac and cheese and the soup so that he brought it out into the living room with a slight clearing of his throat so as not to startle anyone (especially Darius who was using abomination magic around the injured???).

“Hot food’s ready,” he murmured, eyeing up the stranger. Tony had only begun to trust sorcery and what was happening to Willow certainly didn’t ease any of that suspicion. “I know you’re taking potions but.. eating helps. If not immediately for your wounds it’ll still help settle your nerves.” He set the tray of bowls, forks, and spoons down on the table.

He hesitated there, unsure if he should join Ian at the door or try to take a seat near those on the couch as well. Tony ultimately decided on the former both because he wanted to be near his boyfriend and because most of the people on the couch weren’t people he knew how to comfort, how to help. They probably wouldn’t even want it aside from Eilonwy.

“So this is a total shitshow, huh?” He whispered to Ian as quietly as he could.

IAN & EDWARD

Ian's lips were drawn to a thin line, he couldn't say he liked anything that was going on in that room. It was Eilonwy’s home, it was his home, and Tony’s, and as far as Ian viewed the situation that extended to the people there he barely knew but clearly needed it to be that evening. He couldn't imagine his mom would mind that, although she might have had a few interesting words for the stranger who wandered in and set everything, and nearly everyone, off. 

She wasn't there, and Eilonwy was fueled by her own anxious, angry energy right then, which left Ian shutting the door and keeping a scrutinizing eye on the man, cautious. He was going to assume, for the moment, he was trying to help. 

But that magic didn't do much to settle Ian's opinion on the matter and he bristled, fingers twitching, at that repulsive outburst of intrusive sludge. 

He glanced to Tony in silent agreement, but his attention didn't sway far from Darius.

Even Edward was uncomfortable, although, already healed from his injuries, he was skirting the edge of the room. Ian noted the reflex, the way his hand dropped to where his sword would have been had he had it with him, at Eilonwy's sharp words. 

He waited, equally perplexed and unsettled by the display, pushing that aside until whatever was going to be accomplished by it had, before speaking. "I think everyone would be more comfortable if you stepped back a little," he addressed Darius, the lingering tension on that couch was obvious even without his natural sensitivity to the presence of people. And a few steps was breathing room, that wasn't unreasonable.

AMITY

Amity glanced toward Willow and instantly felt terrible-- remembering how she'd gone to her in the shop, covered in golem, and hadn't thought twice. She'd just wanted to make sure her friend was okay. She just wanted to hold her. She just wanted...

Amity looked away again, feeling shame crawling up and down her spine. It sucked that this thing that Willow hated the thing that made Amity... Amity. (Didn't it? She had a weird relationship with abomination magic this day. But at the same time, it was the only magic she knew. It felt impossible to separate that magic from who she was as a person.)

She didn't say anything, just looked back at Darius. Her gaze was guarded, bordering on hostile. If he tried anything else without a proper warning first, at least she could, maybe, stop him.

WINSTON

Winston didn't know what to do, felt like he was at a loss. The only other adult in the room and, unlike the shorter man, one who had neither magic nor the know-how to fix any of it. So, he did the best he could to comfort, to hunt for things that could make the kids feel better - blankets, warm drinks from the kitchen, help Tony get the food - anything to feel useful. 

He, to be quite honest, doesn't even notice when the children start to protest at Darius's actions. He's in the kitchen, leaving a voicemail for his office to let them know he'd not be in for a day or two. 

At the...purple goop that was meant to help, meant to heal Willow, however, he has to put his foot down. There's terror there, true terror, but before he can, Willow tells them its okay, just don't go near his face. 

Winston still didn't like it. 

"That's enough," he says, voice calm, but quiet, firm, and gaze unwavering from Darius. "You're trying to help. I understand that but they've...they've been through a lot tonight. Give them space, please. Willow," he says, no longer addressing the other adult but gaze never leaving him. "You're okay, darling. Breathe. He's done."

HUNTER

Suddenly, Hunter felt defensive of Darius.

He wasn't sure what came over him. But everyone bristled, ready to lunge at Darius, all on the defense, and Hunter just felt -- well, he'd been the one to call Darius, hadn't he? 

Hunter cleared his throat.

"He's just trying to help," he said. His fingers tightened around the health potion, and he could still taste it on his lips. He gulped, feeling eyes on him, and trying to look anywhere besides Darius. "I'm the one who called him, and I didn't do it on a whim; I did it because we needed someone who's dealt with magical incidents at the level. Or, I thought."

And then, because he still felt like this was his fault -- Willow's outburst, the sudden metaphorical daggers thrown at Darius -- 

"I'm sorry. If you have any issues with him, direct them to me."

DARIUS

Darius was attempting to focus on the task at hand. After all, healing through abomination magic was not a widely practiced technique, as one needed a deft hand to keep control while speeding up the body's natural processes. 

He didn't notice Willow's panic at first, only the first voice calling out at him to stop. Then step back. Give them space. All of these commands and distrusting looks being hurled at him while he was trying to concentrate.

Before he could speak however, Hunter did first. He didn't look away from his work but the words settled upon him, upon everyone, leaving a blessed silence that allowed him to finish what he started. Pulling his hands back, all of the ooze pulled off of Willow, coalescing over his palms.

"Thank you, Hunter. That should be enough. I could be doing more," he said pointedly, "but clearly some space is required." With that, he took a few steps back. Another faint glow came from beneath the gloves as the ooze, now streaked with dried blood, began to spin rapidly, seemingly cleaning itself.

"You'll likely need supplementary healing in the coming days, but at the very least, all of your wounds have closed and there should be no more bleeding."

WILLOW

The moment the abomination ooze pulled off of her, Willow slumped like a puppet that had all of its strings cut and curled into herself. Her arms wrapped around her stomach tightly as she breathed through her mouth, forehead pressed to her knees. 

This, more than anything, made her feel exposed. Weak. She felt like Willow the Half-Witch. Willow the Mudbreather. Weeping Willow. All of the false-courage she'd gathered over the months fled and left her trembling.

It was the press of Amity's knee against hers and Eilonwy's flickering light at the corner of her eye that made her reach out and snap her courage back up before it could disappear completely, dragging it back by the metaphorical tail.

She took a deep breath, let it out, then slowly uncurled until she was upright again. "Thank you," she said softly, voice a little raw and shaky. "I feel better now. I'm sorry I freaked out, I should have understood what you meant to do and prepared myself better. I apologize for worrying everyone."

It was almost clinical, and she knew she sounded like she had when she was sat in front of Principal Bump's desk, coughing up abomination slime her teacher had shoved over her mouth when she failed to make her own lump of clay so much as twitch.

Willow was still hugging herself tightly, mostly to hide the way her arms were still shaking. "I'll answer any questions you have, now," she said, meeting Darius's eyes but speaking to the whole room. "The best I can, at least."

EILONWY

Eilonwy could feel the clawing edges of her temper wanting to break free. She wanted to let the light go, wanted to shove Darius back until he was far away, the rest of them safe inside a shield of her own making until Hunter stopped shaking and Willow could breathe and Amity relaxed and she felt like she had the space to let everyone calm down in their own way. She didn't. But the temptation was there. 

She was still running hot enough that the abomination clay couldn't fully settle against her, cuts closed but only barely so it wouldn't take much to open again by the time it was pulled away. 

Darius's comment made her want to snap back at him that next time he should know to explain what he was doing before using unfamiliar magic around people. But Hunter's own defensiveness and his defense of Darius had her swallowing those words back as well. (Darius could probably read the sharp glare in her expression.)

But Willow was still the priority, and she gently rubbed her hand along Willow's back to try and provide a little bit of comfort. 

It meant that even with the way she had to swallow back the temper that burned just under the surface, her voice was gentle as she said. "It's all right. Can you tell us about the plant? It seemed to care about you." Even as it was killing her, but that wasn't that strange to Eilonwy.

WILLOW

It did care about me, Willow wanted to say, and another rush of grief came over her. All those plants in the greenhouse, all gone because of her stupidity.

"It was a hybrid," Willow started, "between the Whisperers and Vampire Roses we kept in the restricted greenhouse. We keep all the more dangerous magical flowers back there, and I was in charge of them while Flower was away." Because I'm a Garden Talent, she added mentally, but couldn't bring herself to say aloud. Despite knowing she would have to.

"We usually take precautions to keep them from hybridizing, but I... I cut my hand on the watering can, and it got in the Whisperer's bed. I came back the next morning and it was there. And then it started talking. It wasn't violent or anything like that," she defended weakly, "at least not at the beginning. By the time it got bad enough for me to notice, it was too late."

TONY

Tony Rydinger had grown a lot in the decades but mainly over the last few years. One of those growing pains was learning to trust magic, particularly sorcery. He had been a Mundus and the curse had wrapped around him in ways he had had no ability to fight and he had seen time and time again how magic could cut people deeply. Especially those he cared about. 

Willow was now one of those people.

He bit his tongue for most of the conversation but as Willow explained what had happened with the plant he grew restless, a sort of twitchiness seeping into his bones that he couldn’t quite contain. Composure be damned, he was scared.

“So it started… feeding off you?” He didn’t know much about magical plants, only that the name ‘Vampire Rose’ gave a particular conversation and he’d seen the way the hybrid had clung and cut into Willow

“Willow, I don’t know if you should go back to the greenhouse for awhile.” Or ever. “Though we should probably call Flower…”

IAN & EDWARD

Edward had made his way steadily closer to the couch, the entire bounce back and forth of the conversation and the tension drew him to the obvious action; making certain he was closer to the people who were injured, just in case. 

He remained silent, most of the questions that crossed his mind were answered without his voicing them, but he wasn't comfortable. There really wasn't any way to be right then, so he settled for lingering at the side of the couch since he couldn't do much else. 

Ian was listening, he didn't know most of the people in the room more than in passing, but there were a lot of things he could see weren't being said; between Hunter, Darius, Willow, Amity. 

He decided not to focus on that. 

Magic flowers and bloodthirsty plants probably weren't as outlandish as they might have been elsewhere, but he still felt uneasy hearing the bits and pieces of that story. 

"At least not for now," he added to Tony's suggestion; he'd have to text his mom anyway so she didn't walk into the situation unaware when she got home, but she wasn't going to bat an eye at how occupied the house was. "Everyone looks exhausted and I don't know everything that's going on, but if nobody is in immediate danger it's better to just stay put and rest some." He reasoned, although he still wasn’t sure about Darius, given the push of his efforts, but he was less suspicious than he was cautious. 

Ian nodded to the mention of Flower, acutely aware of how tense Tony had gotten as the conversation had continued, and stepped away from the door to give him a little nudge, grabbing his hand an instant before he called Blazey over from where she was pacing at the scent of that strange magic.

WILLOW

"There's nothing left in the greenhouse anyways," Willow said quietly. "I-" she choked on her tongue, tears welling up in her eyes. "Sorry," she murmured, wiping them quickly. 

"It wasn't feeding on my blood until the end, we have bloodmeal for the Vampire Roses that was working. It... The roots went deep. I could feel it at the end, it was pulling magic from the ground and-"

Willow clasped her hands together tightly, watching them tremble in her lap. "And from me," she said softly. "I've... I was sleeping in the greenhouse a few nights a week. I think that's why it got so attached." Her tail curled into her lap and Willow held it tightly, like a child clinging to their teddy bear. "When I... I was getting ready for the party, a-and I got nervous, and it didn't want me to go where it didn't know I'd be safe. It freaked out and- and that's when I called Eilonwy."

Willow looked to the group. "I'm so sorry I put you all in danger like that," she said wetly, tears rolling down her pale cheeks. "I can't repay what you did for me, but I'll try to be deserving of it."

EILONWY

Eilonwy remembered the feeling of dry dust swirling in the air as she picked up her stolen sword and was sure that was true. The devastation they'd left behind would be a conversation for another day.

For now, it was more important to stay focused on Willow, on making sure she was steady. 

"Hey, you did exactly right. I'm glad you called me and that we could be there for you. You don't have to do anything to deserve it - we're your friends. That's what we're here for." 

What was a little life threatening danger between friends after all? This was Swynlake. They were lucky that no one had died this time around, and they were already sitting together afterward. That was what mattered more to her. She wanted to be the person that people called for help and knew that she would come. 

She wanted to ask about the pixie dust, but she couldn't help glancing towards Darius, not sure if that was the kind of thing he should know.

DARIUS

Darius didn't realize the full extent of Willow's panic until he finally pulled away, his lips twitching into a frown as he watched her curl in on herself. He didn't understand what had necessarily caused the reaction--after all, he knew Willow had taken abomination courses at Hexside. However, he also knew from her parents that her experience at the school had not been the most pleasant.

"You're fine," he replied simply. "I will be more communicative in the future."

From there on, he hung back but listened carefully, taking in every detail and trying to fit the puzzle together. Unfortunately, elemental magic was not his forte. And he certainly wasn't going to approach Head Witch Terra Snapdragon of all people to fill in the blanks. He'd rather let the "Vampire Roses" have their way with him.

But finally, he did ask, "Is this your first time discovering a natural talent in earth magic?" After all, this was the first he was hearing of it. But you would have to have a certain level of specialty in order to bring life--a seemingly sentient life--to something like that.

WILLOW

Willow almost burst out laughing.

It was the exact same thing Amity had suggested, back in August after they faced the fear demon. It was the obvious answer, and the easiest. To have an earth specialty, like her Dad. But no, nothing was ever that easy for her.

"Not... not quite," Willow said softly. Instinctively, she reached out towards Amity, bumping her fingers against the other girl's thigh and breathing a little easier when her thin fingers laced inbetween her own. "I, um. I discovered recently that the information my fathers were given about my birth parents wasn't... entirely accurate." She took a deep breath. 

"I was born on the Boiling Isles, but only one of my birth parents was a sorcerer," Willow said, voice trembling. With her free hand, she tucked her curls back and behind one pointed ear. "The other one was a fairy. I have a Garden Talent."

TONY

"Never apologize for what happened," Tony added to Eilonwy's sentiment. He didn't want Willow to think that she'd done anything wrong by asking for help. He stepped forward slightly, not fully leaving Ian's side but enough that he felt a little better about the distance. "You needed us and now you're going to be okay. That's all that matters here, Willow."

Knowing that Willow was a mixture of sorcery and fairy magic caused Tony to send Ian a sidelong glance. It wasn't quite the same, of course, but he knew that if anyone could understand what Willow was going through it would be Ian. Being a mixture of two seemingly opposing sides that caused one's magic to act strangely to both halves. "Once again I'm the most boring member of the group," Tony joked quietly, not even sure anyone but Ian would hear him.

Now he was sure she would be okay.

"Now if you people don't start eating food and drink your healing potions I'm gonna actually have an aneurysm. Forget monster flowers, that'll be what does me in."

WILLOW

Willow looked up at Tony with wet eyes and after a moment, gave him a small giggle and a smile. Then more giggles came, that turned into gasps, until Willow was stifling little sobs into her palms, trying to catch her tears with her fingers. Her tail coiled tightly to her knee and Willow wanted nothing more than to curl up in a little ball on the couch. It felt like she was a dam that had cracked and fissured finally starting to crumble. The pressure was agonizing, and though she knew (hoped) she'd feel better once the wall came down, the weight of it all threatened to crush her first.

"I-I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I shouldn't have lied, I just- I was an awful sorcerer, and I thought maybe I could be an okay Mundus." She laughed, wet and tinged with almost-hysteria. "I was pretty awful at that too, huh?" 

She was clearly a terrible fairy as well. It had never been an issue of her magic, it was just Willow. The half-a-witch Mudbreather who was destined for failure.

TONY

Tony winked at Willow when she started to giggle but blanched slightly as she started to sob. It hadn't been his intention by any means to make her cry but the dam had to burst at some point. It wasn't sustainable to hold everything together with white knuckles and trembling fists, as he knew all too well. There were times that you couldn't be perfect, couldn't keep the pieces together all alone.

Tony crossed the room to kneel in front of Willow, ignoring everyone else in the room then. "You lied to protect yourself, that's nothing to be ashamed of. Sometimes there are no perfect solutions, sometimes lying's all we've got, but you're going to be okay."

He reached a hand up to squeeze her knee, a saddened smile gracing his features. He wasn't the best with advice but he knew that feeling, knew how much of a vice grip telling lies and half-truths could have. He'd done it for over half a century both willfully and not.

"You weren't awful, Willow. You just weren't doing what you're gonna be best at. We'll get this all figured out."

IAN & EDWARD

There was a little too much familiarity in that story to be comfortable, Ian noted, which was all the more reason he felt like he needed to listen. He didn't know Willow, not nearly enough to understand how to comfort her yet as well as he would have liked to, people weren't the same in needs like that, she had a bubble of people who did know her there around her. But there was a part that, best intentions and all, they didn't understand entirely. 

"You're not an awful sorcerer," Ian ventured, leaving the door, Blazey taking that as the signal to cross the floor and sit herself down right next to Tony, big brown eyes on Willow waiting very patiently in case she was needed there, resting her nose on the edge of the couch just within reach. 

"Or an awful anything, really, you're just something a little different and it's hard to piece that together right at first," he offered a smile, but it was a hint somber, "you're just not...a human sorcerer; you don't have to apologize for things you didn't mean to happen because of it." 

Ian chuckled, softly, trying to keep his tone level, delicate. "If I still did that I'd be exhausted all the time," he reasoned, "you're really not alone in that, trust me, I went through that same feeling for a long time, and a lot of mess and magic going sideways because of it." 

He paused, not wanting to crowd her with so many people already there. "You go from here, right, you've got a lot of people who want to help." That's what made the difference, didn't it? Not being alone.

EILONWY

Eilonwy shifted closer to Willow, sliding her hand around until she was able to hold Willow a little bit more as she started to cry. She was also familiar with those moments when feelings exploded beyond the barriers you had in place to control them. It felt like it happened to her all the time, although the number of people who witnessed it were still incredibly small and mostly in this room. 

"I'm pretty sure everyone in this room has lied about at least one important thing sometimes. Sometimes you have to until you know it's safe enough to tell the truth. Especially an important truth. This was big and important."

She couldn't help glancing at Ian, Tony, and Edward. After all, they knew some of her biggest secrets, and even they didn't know everything. Some things were too big to share until there was no chance of hiding them anymore. 

"But Ian and Tony are right - you weren't awful. You just weren't those things. Human sorcerers work with magic one way and mundus live around magic a different way. You're brand new to finding out how your magic does work. If what we saw tonight is what you can do when you're brand new, the magic you can do once you've had a little time to learn and experiment is going to be incredible. Give yourself time, okay? We're here to learn with you. I promise."

WILLOW

By the time the three of them had finished talking, Willow was crying so hard she'd gone mute. All she could do was take little gasps of air as she wept, each breath shaky with the weight of all the emotions from the... well, from the past several months, honestly.

She didn't know how badly she needed to hear all of that until someone had said it.

Willow leaned into Eilonwy's embrace, tucking her face against her shoulder to try and hide the way her face went all splotchy with color when she cried. Boscha had mocked her enough times about what an ugly crier she was. Her hand stayed laced tightly with Amity's, while the other fisted tightly on the couch. Blaze nudged against her fist with her nose, licking her pale knuckles softly, and Willow released some of the tension. She could feel the crescent-marks she was digging into her palms with her own nails, and tried to relax a little more.

"I'm sorry," she warbled again, voice weak, because every time she tried to say ‘thank you’ it got caught in her throat. They were being so much kinder than she deserved. ‘Thank you’ didn't feel like enough.

EILONWY

"It's okay," Eilonwy said, leaning more into Willow to try and provide as much comfort as she could. The light that had been so angry and defensive earlier had softened, wrapping around Willow like a gently warmed blanket. 

"Now, come on, if we don't eat something Tony's going to give us all the saddest eyes and it's both annoying and effective," she teased gently, squeezing Willow yet again. 

She wasn't really hungry herself, but she knew sometimes it was easier to do these things with company. It felt tough to let go of Hunter's hand, but she made herself do it so she could take the bowl of food that Tony handed over to her. 

In what, for her, was a gesture of conciliation, she looked over to where the adults were still standing. "You're welcome to join us as well, if you wish." But she wasn't moving from this couch until Willow was okay. She didn't care if that took all night.

WILLOW

Willow tugged weakly on the hem of Eilonwy's shirt. "Drink your potion," she muttered wetly.

HUNTER

Hunter listened. That was all he could do really. He was in no place to make any judgment about magical ability. He knew he was nowhere near as strong enough as he needed to be, and the longer he stayed in Swynlake, the weaker he seemed to get. So, when he looked at Willow he didn't see a failed sorcerer, or a strange mixture of magic.

He saw his friend. His crying friend, who pressed her face into Eilonwy's shoulder. 

Okay, technically Eilonwy was between them and Hunter couldn't really see anything or even really offer any consolation. 

"I don't think you need to apologize," said Hunter, once Eilonwy had let go of his hand. (He stretched his fingers out a little, the absence of her touch magnified.)

"Magic isn't as black and white as we sometimes make it out to be, you know? You're not just good or bad at it." He shook his head, then added earnestly. "I must say, though, this is a fascinating turn of events -- your magic sounds very special."

DARIUS

Well, the news was certainly surprising. But other than a pair of raised eyebrows, he did not betray this in his expression, which remained neutral throughout. If anything, an insightful individual might be able to notice the tensed muscles and darted eyes of someone who really didn't know how to handle a crying child. He hadn't been able to when they'd first met, and he certainly couldn't now.

Luckily, her friends seemed more than capable. It was good, to know she was surrounded by so many supportive people. When Hunter spoke, he finally looked back, watching him. What he had to say sounded familiar--very familiar. Something similar had been said to Darius when he was growing up and struggling in Hexside. By someone he'd been close to.

At last, he cleared his throat. "Hunter is right, as is everyone else. While an unexpected development, it's not something that can't be worked with. Magic, no matter how unconventional, can always be mastered with the right tools."

He took a step forward. "That being said, it's nothing to be concerned with right now. For the time being, everyone should eat and rest."

AMITY

Once again, Amity was useless.

There was so much she wanted to say. In her head, she turned to Willow and an epic speech came out, and each word was a powerful incantation, which would heal Willow’s wounds, smooth over her scars, wipe her cheeks, and turn back time. She could stop Willow from ever thinking those things by– telling her way way way sooner that she wasn’t useless or weak. That she was strong, in her own special Willow way.

It’s my favorite way. I missed it, so much– I missed you, I love you, you’re my Willow, and you don’t have to be like anyone else– 

The speech didn’t come out.

Everyone else’s did. It was easy for them, because they hadn’t let Willow’s hand slip from their grasp when they were young. They hadn’t turned their back on her. They hadn’t ignored her in the halls. They hadn’t walked past her, when Boscha was throwing insults. They hadn’t grit their jaw and said nothing over and over and over…

Here she was, saying nothing.

Who really was the useless one, huh? Amity was. Who really was the weak one? Amity was. 

She swallowed, her eyes falling to her own burned hands. She pressed her fingers into her palms. When she finally looked up, Willow was sniffling, but looked relieved, and Darius was taking up the reins again as the adult in the room. There was a moment of silence, for Amity to fill. She desperately wanted to fill it. She wanted to tell Willow something, anything. Please, something, anything.

She glanced at Willow. “We’ll be here for you, Willow,” she murmured– her eyes falling again shyly, and she knew it wasn’t enough and she knew that Willow might not even believe her. 

At least she had better friends now. Friends who had never hurt her. Friends she deserved.

WILLOW

Willow had honestly expected the worst from Hunter and Darius. It wasn't anything they had done wrong, it was just... they were from the Isles, just like her and Amity. 

When she'd told Amity, the discovery had been fresh and she'd been desperate to tell someone, anyone, who might understand her confusion and her fear. Fairies were pests on the Boiling Isles, and the ones who did try to survive on the Titan were much different than fairies like Flower or any of the others Willow had met. The librarian from Hexside had been a fairy and she was terrifying, crueler than several of the teachers. 

(Willow wondered now if that's what she would have turned into if she'd stayed in Bonesborough. Bitter and vicious and mean. Deeply and desperately alone.)

Willow had regretted telling Amity almost the moment the words had left her mouth, but Amity had stepped up and reacted... well, as well as she could have considering how awkward things had been between them then (and still kind of now). It had turned out okay. Now...

Hunter told her she didn't need to apologize. That her magic was special.

Darius had agreed, and treated it like she'd just chosen a new specialty that she could perfect. Not a lost cause at all, just a -- forgive the pun -- late-bloomer.

Amity promised to stay.

And Willow let out a relieved breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and smiled. It was small, and her face was blotched with ruddy color from crying so hard, but it was genuine. The plants in the room, few as they were, brightened as Willow took a deep breath and felt the pressure wash away. They sung to her, wordless and gentle, and she let it fill her up.

She'd been caught at the end of her free-fall, and now she could sink into the arms that had caught her.

"Thank you," she said earnestly, voice wet and rough. She sniffed, reaching for some of the napkins Tony had brought over and wiped her face off before she delicately blew her nose. It didn't help much, but she felt a little less gross.

Okay, she still felt like she'd had a significant amount of blood drained from her by an evil sentient plant, followed by an absolutely exhausting emotional gambit, but like, her nose wasn't snotty any more.

The napkin got tucked into the pocket of her borrowed hoodie and Willow looked over the spread of food Tony had made and actually saw it for the first time. It looked amazing, and she was starving. She rested her hand on Tony's and gave him a small smile. "Thanks," she said again, meaning more than a few things. While she reached for a small bowl of food, her tail wrapped around the glass that held Amity's dose of potion and held it up to her. "You need to drink too," she said softly, rubbing a hand over Amity's knee before passing the other glass to Eilonwy. 

"If you think Tony's sad eyes are bad, I just cried mine out so they're really effective," she tried to joke, but her voice was still strained and wet so it probably didn't work. Willow nodded to herself when she saw most of Hunter's dose gone, giving him a soft, gracious smile before passing the bowl in her hands to him and grabbing another one for herself.

EILONWY

Hunter and Amity's support was something Eilonwy had never doubted because she trusted in them after everything they'd gone through. Darius...surprised her a little bit more. She wouldn't soften her stance on him for awhile longer, but it was enough to make her a little bit less defensive of his presence. 

The joke did make her chuckle and she gave Willow one last squeeze before unwrapping her arm so she could take the glass. Finally, she drank the potion, feeling the way it trickled down her throat and along her veins to continue the work of patching her together. 

It would still be a long time before her ribs stopped aching. The potion helped. 

She glanced over at Edward, giving him a small smile to try and communicate that it was okay for him to relax and come closer. Ian wasn't far, and she knew he would be by Tony so they would be fine. The rest of her friends were here with her. 

She could live with that. 

Quietly, she began to dig into the food in front of her.

TONY

Tony’s shoulders relaxed a hair as the others piped in. Willow needed that, needed the support, and Tony needed to see the light enter her eyes again. There were people that Tony had known for longer, of course, but the little time that their paths had crossed was all he needed to know that Willow was one of those people who would leave a lasting mark on him.

Now that the curse was broken he hoped he could return the favor.

“If you don’t like the food I need you all to pretend you do,” Tony joked. “I may have gotten off scot-free but a wound to my pride I don’t think I could survive.” He turned his head to wink at Ian and smirk at Eilonwy as he caught her eye as well.

“You all need to get better, dammit, because this is gonna be a killer goddamn story someday.” Levity thy name, tonight, was Tony Rydinger. At least now that the danger had passed and Willow seemed to be accepting she might be on the mend. The road wouldn’t be smooth, no, but it would be long.

IAN & EDWARD

Edward moved near enough to offer Willow a smile, there was very little left unsaid so he didn't have much to offer other than his presence, and he wasn't straying, but he did relax once it was clear everyone else was beginning to settle, there, together. 

He of course was sound enough on his feet to tend to whatever was needed to let them relax, and that was what he intended to do. 

"Tony is quite right," Edward mused, and it would, once the long night was behind them. Hopefully a story to look back on as a catalyst. 

Ian turned his attention to quietly texting his mom, gathering a blanket or two for once fatigue set in to gnaw at everyone, casting a glance towards Darius and Winston in passing. "You should sit down too if you're staying," he suggested evenly; the weariness and sharp emotions needed time to lull.��

"If anyone needs anything else I think we can handle it between the three of us," Ian gave a nod to Edward and Tony and another encouraging smile to the battle-worn cluster on the couch; a moment to catch their breath was probably the best thing he could offer to help at that point.

AMITY

The Blights used to have family dinners. But they were conducted like business meetings. Everyone sat and before you could eat, you had to report about your day. You had to share the good and the bad. Odalia liked to interrogate you too, if she felt that she had to– question after the twins about why they weren’t getting better marks in class– bother Amity about exactly how long she was spending in the labs, or what social events she was getting invited to. There had always been something to criticize. Either she wasn’t putting in enough effort to network with other important families, or she wasn’t spending enough time assisting her teachers, or practicing for grudgby, or in the labs, or the studio–

Dinners were exhausting. And this strange little affair was nothing like them.

Even though they were all tired, even though Willow was still sniffling, the atmosphere was warm. Amity didn’t even eat at first, mostly because she was distracted, her eyes flickering from person to person as she peered at their reagents. They smiled and those smiles brought new colors to life. Eilonwy’s hope and comfort glowed like embers. Tony’s words had texture– fuzzy and soft. Like a soft animal that curled up on your lap.

Amity didn’t even want to eat, honestly. She would be fine watching, and wondering if this was how it always was when Tony, Ian, and Eilonwy got together to eat. Like a real family. 

She ducked her head though when she thought she saw Darius looking at her, and she didn’t want to be scolded for not eating. So she just ate quietly, having nothing else to add. But she was happy to be there, even if it was a happiness that she kept all to herself.

HUNTER

Hunter hadn't realized how hungry he was till he started eating. He needed to pace himself, but it felt like there was a ravenous black hole in the pit of his stomach. It was also then he realized how tired he was. The health potion must've hit, surging over the adrenaline rush and calming his frayed nerves. All he wanted to do now was close his eyes and rest his head on Eilonwy's shoulder.

He did not do that of course. Because there were two other people on the couch, though the idea of just resting and having all that warmth and weight around him was tantalizing almost. But he did sigh, leaning back and letting his always perfect posture slack for just a second. 

"Thank you," he said, holding up the bowl in acknowledgement. "This is... nice."

DARIUS

As everyone began to eat and turn their attention away from him, Darius began to relax. But just as quickly, a shiver of awkwardness traveled up his spine as he realized he didn't know what to do with himself. He wasn't much interested in the food--he'd already eaten and simply did not desire mundus food--but he also didn't want to just sit down. Despite the boy's (whose house this was?) insistence, he was fairly sure he would not be able to just make himself comfortable. It was becoming obvious, from his unscathed body and his extravagant outfit, that he had not truly been a part of this experience. That he didn't belong.

Not that he needed to, but it did make his remaining presence a bit strange. With all eyes off him and the danger passed, he slipped away into the kitchen to give everyone their much needed space.

WILLOW

Willow still grieved.

Silently. She grieved the hybrid, whose only crime was loving too much. She grieved all the plants that had died in the greenhouse, burnt to ash with the scorching intensity of her magic.

Most of all, Willow grieved herself. 

She grieved for the little girl alone in the back of the class with a useless wand, tears gathering silently in her eyes. She grieved for the teenager pressing herself as close to the wall as possible as the boiling rain came down, crying through each stinging touch against her back or calves. She grieved for the woman too scared to go out into the market on her own, frightened at the thought of being out in the world as such an obvious easy target.

She shouldn’t have had to live through all of that for Willow to be where she was now, but she had. Willow had survived it all to end up on this couch, surrounded by friends.

And now that scared, helpless little girl was no more.

‘Thank you for making it this far,’ Willow thought as the conversation went on around her. The familiar feeling of her Papa’s healing potion kicking in and picking up where Darius’s abomination clay left off lulled her into a sort of half-sleep, and Willow curled up against Amity’s side as soon as her bowl of food was done. Her awareness drifted in and out as the night went on, and soon the room was quiet. Willow could hear a distant conversation happening in the kitchen and someone had draped a blanket over her. Amity had curled around her back protectively, one arm around her waist, and Eilonwy had ended up draped over her front with one hand out towards Edward curled up next to the couch. Hunter had slumped over so his head was resting on Eilonwy’s shoulders and Willow had managed to throw her legs over Eilonwy’s lap and shove her cold toes under Hunter’s thigh. Tony and Ian were on the nearby couch, tangled together, with their two dogs splayed out on the floor between them all.

For the first time in almost six years, the idea of falling asleep surrounded by so many people didn’t terrify her into restlessness. She felt safe and sleepy, instead. Willow nuzzled into Amity’s shoulder, a small smile on her lips, and stroked some of Eilonwy’s blonde hair back from where it was tickling her nose.

Surrounded by her friends, Willow fell asleep, and in the morning, the house was surrounded by vibrant fall blooms, and not one of them could speak.

[ghosthoard]

I’m so tempted to write a scene in Please, Perennial (dead wild fic) where they end up running into Zelda, or Sidon, or Teba and Wild had sent word to all his friends about his amazing brothers and why he hasn't been able to see them because he was busy on another adventure with the heroes of the past

and they see this group of heroes and Zelda is so excited to meet them, why, how similar you all look!, Sidon's heard so much about them, he's talked highly of you in his letters, Teba asks where is link?, Zelda is looking around, I haven't seen or heard from him in months, Sidon grins, but he hadn't been worried! because link had told him how strong his brothers were! Teba puts a wing on Time's shoulder, run off again has he? it's just like him to.

they catch on to the chain's dark expressions, the bundle Twilight is carrying

Zelda's eyes find it, and the smile freezes on her face, "for months we haven't heard from him, but i wasn't worried, because you were with him."

Sidon would be different in that when he finally registered the smell of a corpse, he would stop talking midsentence, zero in on the bundle, grab Wild's body from Twilight to rip off the too familiar cloak, to see his friend's face in death.

"I knew I could trust you to bring him back to me," Zelda would say, still staring at the bundle, "I wasn't worried."

Teba would notice, he would freeze, he wouldn't say a word for a full minute. "Who is that you're carrying?"

"Why, Link," Sidon's voice would shake, "this is unlike you, my friend."

Zelda feels like she's walking in a nightmare, agonizingly slow, as she gets closer to the bundle, "please," the tears start, "please tell me you've brought him back hale and whole," for she knew the truth. "my link, my hero, my oldest friend."

"Show me," Teba demands, walking up to be face to face with Twilight, "show me."

"Link, speak to me," Sidon begs, "oh how i've looked forward to your return, you can't ignore me like this."

Twi would listen. Teba would suck in a breath. "What have you done to him?!"

"I'm sorry, Princess," Time says, there's nothing else to say.

Zelda pulls back the cloak, and there he is. She brushes his hair back, it's really him, the tears begin, how can the goddess be so cruel?

"You can't leave me too..."

Teba's feathers would bustle in rage, in grief, he'd sweep his glare around at each of them, and he'd thunder, "We trusted you!"

but like it wouldn't fit in with what i'm planning so...

[halfawitch-willow]

Watching Eilonwy perform magic was like watching a salamander tamer in the Bonesborough market. She coaxed and commanded the flame with an expert hand, firm yet not too tight, and the fire leapt eagerly from her hands to race across the snow. The whole yard glittered subtly with golden and red reflections, and Willow wished she could appreciate it more.

But she was perked at attention, watching the house and the neighbors with bright, calculating eyes. Her tail wrapped tightly around Eilonwy's hips, helping to keep her upright while her hands were occupied.

Plants didn't feel pain the same way people did -- at least, not the non-sentient ones, she corrected with a pang of guilt -- and the grass Eilonwy burned gave a thankful murmur for the warmth before going quiet. The rest of the yard perked to attention at the heat, and Willow hummed a little more, calming them with the magical equivalent of stroking a gentle hand along a cat's back. She angled the broom down a little closer to the yard, tearing open the packet of muckweed seeds with her teeth.

Honestly, Willow had no idea if this would work. The soil on the Isles was so differently from the soil in Swynlake, and even if it was just as rich in magic -- except this yard, which felt a little like the magic had seeped away from it -- it didn't have that demonic punch that most of the plants on the Isles needed.

Willow would have to provide that.

"Here goes something," Willow muttered under her breath as she started to scatter the first half of the seeds out. They were already awake and wiggling against her mind, mischievous giggles ringing in her ears, and Willow latched onto that as she held the packet between her teeth and dug her fingers into the warm soil, one hand on her broom. Her magic sunk down through her hand, dripping warm from her veins like blood, and the muckweed latched onto it. The seeds dug themselves into the soil, roots racing down and soaking up all the melted snow, and soon the pungent weeds were breaking back through the surface. They were a little lighter in color than the usual variants Willow saw on the Isles, a warm sunset color instead of the usually bleeding red, but they grew fast and strong, that familiar smell of sulfur and rot almost comforting. Willow pushed more magic into the soil, some of the surrounding plants latching onto it as well and peeking through the remaining snow, until the muckweed was nearly high enough to be at her hip were she standing.

@foreverydinger @eilonwy-notjustgirl

❀ Malicious Gardening ❀ || Tony, Willow, & Eilonwy (Ft. Annie/Annie's House)

[faguscarolinensis]

Phlox paniculata / Garden Phlox at the Sarah P. Duke Gardens at Duke University in Durham, NC

[neurotypicalabusesurvivor]

By the way the host of a pDID system is called a Perennial Host.

Perennial Host are hosts who can't leave the front and the main job is to mask the system by creating the illusion of being a singlet.

They often have very bad system communication with the rest of the system and usually can't access headspace.

They can switch but it is rare and usually only lasts for a few minutes to a few hours. Unlike a classic DID system it is unlikely you will lose days at a time.

Like any other alter they can have other roles in the system.

Also Perennial Host has to live through 90% of the trauma and consequences of the other alter maladaptive attempts to protect the system, so if you meet a perennial Host please be understanding of them.

[eyeoftheheart]

"An ancient philosopher once said that the bee extracts honey from the pollen of the flower, while from the same source the spider extracts poison. The problem which then confronts us is: are we bees or spiders? Do we transform the experiences of life into honey, or do we change them into poison? Do they lift us, or do we eternally rebel against the pricks? Many people become soured by experience, but the wise one takes the honey and builds it into the beehive of his own spiritual nature."

~ Manly P Hall

THE OCCULT ANATOMY OF MAN

[sprtruechara]

anyone have any suggestions for a soriel fan kids name? theyre nonbinary but im fine with any gendered name. i breifly considered just calling them “soriel” but thatll be confusing with how i tag things, and “tans” sucks

[gutsby]

Easy to Please

Pairing: Sleazy Landlord!Joel x Reader

Summary: Months pass, and you can’t make rent—again. You find another way to pay your sleazy landlord. Again.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (m!receiving). Dubcon à la power imbalance / sex for money. Infidelity. Pervy!Joel. Talks of abuse. Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—please read at your own risk.

Note: This fic was loosely inspired by my three favorite songs about female adultery—‘Thinkin’ Bout Cheatin’ by Mae Estes, ‘Lyin’ Eyes’ by The Eagles, and ‘Cheatin’ Songs’ by Midland. No, I don’t support infidelity. Yes, it makes for fun fiction.

Word count: 3.1k

You hate the face he makes when he cums.

You hate the way he tastes when he’s done.

You hate the grit and the heft of the man, every lone hair that sprouts silver from his chest, and the way he pats the open space beside him in bed after you roll away.

‘Never seen a girl so goddamn allergic to cuddling!’

What makes his observation worse is that you know you’re hating it more and more with every passing day.

Today you have seven Benjamins, two Grants, and a Jackson tucked into your purse. You walk with a sluggish gait, knowing you’re $310 short of making this month’s rent and last. But you go on anyway. It’s not like Joel can’t see you from where he’s seated on the porch.

The pleasantries you exchange are short. By now, you have only to breeze past him in his lawn chair and say, ‘I can’t stay long,’ and he knows the rest. He grabs his six-pack, then his Pall Malls, and asks after you all the same.

“How’s the wrist?” he says.

You sprained it over the weekend. You aren’t sure how he heard. At any rate, you ignore the question and set your bag down on the counter before going to the fridge. You deflect with a question of your own—what the hell happened to the lemonade? He had a full jug last week.

“Got thirsty,” Joel answers, shrugging.

You’re always thirsty, you tell him, and you eye the case of Heineken that he’s placed by your purse. You don’t need to see his face to feel the smile starting to form.

“Don’t I know it,” he says. Insinuating.

You’d hit him over the head if you’d been able to reach. He’s still smiling when your shoulder checks his—closer to his elbow, from the feel of it—and when you leave the kitchen, he leaves too. He trails behind you with an ease that says this is the sixth time this has happened since August, and you’re hardly a week out from Halloween.

It’s not just rent you need to pay; it’s other things. Transmission in your truck’s gone to shit. Phone’s been on the fritz since you dropped it in the tub. Talking heads on TV say the country’s on track to get hit with another recession, and from the way your boss has been slashing your hours in half, you think they may be right. The crack in your bathroom window was tiny last week. Today it’s gone, because your husband put his fist through the thing on Sunday. You patched the hole with duct tape.

Joel’s covering the cost for the pane to be replaced, but that’s because he has to. He’s your landlord—proud owner of the Delta Commons trailer park since ‘97—and that’s what landlords do. Everything else is yours to pay.

You’re a part-time student, part-time waitress, and a full-time caretaker for your ailing spouse, or so you call him. Joel knows Stetson’s not sick, just perennially unemployed and drunk. You pay for most things, and it’s rarely enough to cover your rent. Stetson doesn’t care.

And that’s where Joel comes in.

No pun intended, but in his mind, there’s really no nicer way to say it: you fuck his brains out to make up for the shortfall in rent. You blow him before work to make sure your husband and you will have enough to eat that week. You bite the warm, freckled skin between his shoulder and his neck while you ride him, because you know that gesture will get you a little extra cash when you leave. You smile after swallowing him, and Joel knows that it tastes like shit. You’ve gotten good at faking it lately.

What he hopes isn’t totally fabricated is the way you call him big. Strong. Handsome. So stupidly well-endowed that you have to wince for the first few seconds when you sit on it, and go slow when he takes you from behind

“O-ow!” you whine presently.

His dick isn’t even in you yet. You just stubbed your toe on the edge of his dresser on your way to the bathroom.

“You alright?”

“Fuck me!”

I will, he thinks.

“Want me to get an ice—”

“Let go-OW! FUCK!”

Joel barely even touched your wrist and you were flinching away with a brand new pain. You rub it, almost defensively, then pin him with an icy glare. Nice going.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

Now he’ll be lucky if he can swing a half-hearted handy from the one that isn’t hurt. That’s how mad you look.

You turn your body away, and for a second, Joel assumes that his fate has been sealed: you’ll bumble over to the rug by his bed, toss a pillow on the floor, and assume what he already knows to be your least favorite position. You’ll kneel, and talk of migraines and your long, grueling day and in the end find an excuse not to use your mouth. That’ll be okay. But with the debts you owe him now, it also won’t be enough, and Joel will have to ask you back again. He hates sounding needy, but baby, deal’s a deal.

Luckily you don’t give him the chance to use that line. Much to his surprise, you get on the bed. You lie down. You seem to take a little more care settling in this time, but you take off your clothes. It’s a lime green tank top and some ratty jean skirt, but it’s enough to tempt him.

And not just tempt, but oblige him to accept, unblinking. He crawls over the bed to get to you, and he finds that his spit’s filling his mouth a little quicker. His hands are starting to shake as they slide over the duvet, and the tree trunks he once called his legs are runny, like eggs.

He has to remind himself, bluntly, of your last name, the shiny ring on your hand, your husband’s name, your—

“Age—what’d you say your age was again?” Joel asks.

You look confused for a second, but you tell him.

“Twenty-one.”

Way too fucking young to have gotten hitched three years ago. But then he remembers this is Leakey, Texas, and your family hasn’t strayed more than ten miles from the center of town in four generations. You told him that.

“I thought you said twenty,” Joel says, a little uneasy.

“I did. Up until this past Sunday I was.”

“Oh.”

A beat.

“Happy birthday.”

You blink.

“You gonna take your pants off or what?”

And he does. Maybe embarrassed at first, but then the jeans come off, and his boxers go next, and without so much as a word or a breath, his worries are sliding away like water off his back. Like his clothes now peeling off.

Like your smile growing thin at the sight of him half-stripped on the bed in front of you. Joel doesn’t flatter himself to think he’s even half as handsome as he was in his youth, but he knows he has his draws. What endears him to you today is, unfortunately, his wallet. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be convinced to like him more.

More than Stetson, he thinks without humor.

Dumb son of a bitch can’t tell his ass from his elbow and yet he’s won himself you, living it up these last three y—

“Oh.”

He sounds like an owl now. His clothes are off, and you’re rubbing him, pumping him gently in your hand, which you were so kind to make wet with your saliva. It even sounds better than his, the way it squelches with every flick. Joel can only say so much in strangled breaths.

He tries anyway:

“Feel like a dream, sweet pea.”

Sweet pea.

Your pace quickens. Joel swears he can see the corners of your lips twitch, but then he thinks you’re just wincing. You move down to the floor beside the bed. Kneel almost politely while you nestle yourself between his parted legs

Your mouth is warm. It’s always warm. Joel wouldn’t expect a girl’s tongue to greet his dick like ice, but yours is always heated to a thousand degrees, it feels like. He enjoys the sting. Your lips envelop his big, leaking tip, and he swears he can stay like this forever—in you.

On you, too. He’s got his palm resting flat on your head, and he doesn’t mean to, but he pushes. He bunches your hair in a fist and drags your face to make you swallow.

Mean old man, you must be saying in your head when he stuffs your mouth full. Makes your eyes prick with tears.

Sweet girl. My sweet pea, he thinks, affectionately, and continues to rub your scalp. He holds your teary gaze.

And then you’re moving up. Down. Coating his length with shiny spit and tiny whimpers as your lips move gently back and forth, again and again. Joel’s grip tightens in your hair, and he begs for more. More.

“More,” he orders, jaw clenched, “Fit a little more’a me.”

From where you’re kneeling below, you look put off.

Then you pull off, and you wipe your wet chin.

“Chokin’ me,” you grumble, “‘S’too big.”

Normally, Joel loves to hear that.

Now, however, he’s sliding his touch to your chin and tilting your head up to him. Thumbing at the spit dribbling out on either side of your mouth and subsequently coaxing your lips further apart.

He slides back in, and you don’t fight it. You like it. Holding his gaze in a soft, docile look while your lips stretch deliciously around his shaft, you must love it. Every inch and every twinge of pleasure from the brush of his cock going in and out must be your favorite thing.

Joel hopes it is, anyway. He holds your face now, and your throat convulses involuntarily. You’re so pretty.

“Such a good, sweet girl, ain’t ya?” he presses, watching the coarse grey hairs at the base of him tickle your face.

You respond well to praise. You preen under those words, and try to nod. But his cock is so deep down your throat you end up choking again. Joel watches all of it smiling.

Petting your head and not pushing again. Grinning.

“Love my cock nice and stuffed in that pretty throat?”

You blink instead of nodding, but it’s more than enough.

“Love me deep?”

And the head of him sinks somewhere he’s never been. Your eyes are like two wide pools, and your lips leak everywhere—your chin, your cheeks, your neck.

Joel’s smearing it all with his palm and smiling so wide that he thinks he might pull a muscle. He pants heavily.

“Just what you’re made for. Just what you need.”

You look like you might agree. He keeps going.

“My fuckin’ mouth. My pretty, pretty mouth.”

He holds your face. He thinks he might cum.

“Ain’t a damn thing Stetson can do for this mouth, huh?”

And then he doesn’t. Joel barely blinks, and you’re already bucking your head out of his hold, mouth skittering away while the spit spills out. You’re practically drenched down to the chest when your face rears back. Your eyes are alight and no longer smiling when you grit:

“Don’t.”

Joel should’ve known better.

He’s hit a raw nerve, and now he really wishes he hadn’t.

It doesn’t stop there—but it doesn’t get better, either. Things progress in much the same way as they always have but with none of the need, or the warmth, of before. You climb back up and straddle him quick. Not meeting his eye, you just sit down, and slide down, and don’t wince at all. You don’t tell him that he’s big, and he doesn’t get the chance to even groan at the first influx of pleasure before you’re riding him. Bouncing and grinding your hips against his with all the passion of someone perusing the newspaper. You don’t whimper or moan.

Of course, Joel enjoys the feeling. He also wants someone to punch him in the throat for what he’s done.

“Hey, hon—” he starts, voice strained, “Hon, I’m sorr—”

“Shut up,” you snap.

Your movements hardly falter, and now your hand is seizing the headboard. You’re clenching him tight inside your wet, drooling cunt, and it’s obvious you’re trying to make him cum as quickly as possible. You swallow hard.

Joel isn’t sure what to do. On the one hand, his body is being flooded with pleasure, and on the other, he fears you may never do this with him again. Quickly fixing on the latter, he cups your face in one hand. It’s still wet.

His fingers smear the spit, and somehow you look even prettier. You keep grinding your body in desperate little fits above him, and really, you feel fucking amazing, but Joel is too focused on other thoughts. He squeezes you.

“Baby—” he tries again, but you shush him just as fast.

Your hips are moving viciously now. No matter how sore your legs might have been from a long day toiling away—just a couple hours before your shift at your next job, if Joel’s remembering correctly—you’re working him well. Doing him in. Fucking his brains out, but you aren’t his.

His fingers smear the spit even more. Never will be his.

“Sweet pea—”

“Don’t fucking call me that!”

Now he can’t deny that his climax is close. But this isn’t how he wanted it to end—with you so incensed you can hardly look him in the eye. His hand rubs more, helpless.

And just when he’s seconds away from painting your insides white, losing it all to the pleasure, he sees it.

His wet, sticky touch has uncovered a residue.

Joel pulls his fingers away in a blink, and simultaneously, your eyes are fluttering closed. You’re focused now on climax; because of that, you don’t see what he sees.

What he’s stunned to find on his fingers: makeup.

Lots and lots of thick, heavy makeup on your cheeks. Concealer, he thinks he’s heard it called once or twice.

No matter the name, he quickly comes to see what it’s for. Just as you’re hitting your peak, squeezing the headboard behind him, and coming undone with a shockwave trembling all through your body, Joel pales.

The makeup that you applied so heavy tonight hides bruises. Black and blue and awful hues of greenish-purple too, your whole face, he sees, is engulfed.

He doesn’t speak. He won’t ask.

He won’t cum tonight, either.

He’ll finish something else.

You leave Joel’s trailer angry. You don’t say goodbye. The screen door screams shut behind you when you leave, and silently, you wonder why he didn’t cum. For once, you wish he had—and hadn’t said half of what he did.

Six hours pass like molasses, and by the end of it all—the close of your second shift—Stetson’s name still echoes in your head. The way Joel said it. It hums along the walls of your skull while you walk, and as you draw closer to home, you remember that strange and infuriating tone.

Then you remember your own less than two months ago:

Don’t talk to my husband. Don’t talk about my husband.

They were two simple rules, and Joel broke them both.

He must’ve defied the first when paying a visit to make repairs that week, and that’s when Stetson mentioned your hand: how you ‘slipped’ in the bath. Tripped and conveniently sprained your wrist the same night he almost tore your arm out of the socket for looking at a waiter a tad too long at dinner. You’d bet any sum of money Joel didn’t get to hear that part from Stetson when he came over to see about the window, though.

No, your twenty-first came and went without so much as a word about your wrist. Your arm. Your face—used to getting caked with concealer every third week or so.

You wince as you open the door. You walk slowly.

At first, you’re met with silence, and you sigh with relief. Then you hear it, and shortly drop your purse to the floor.

You all but fall down yourself at the sight: your husband doubled over across from you, in the kitchen. His head in his hands. You don’t need to see the face to know that it’s bleeding. Profusely. You tread ever slower into the room, thinking somehow, some way he’s going to blame this on you. And when he straightens a little and shows off the full, gruesome extent of his injuries, you blanch to think that it might be. His body’s been beaten to a pulp.

Your pulse hammers in your head so loud you can’t hear him groan. You see him, but you don’t really believe it.

And when Stetson reaches for you, you stagger back.

Your hands skim the counter, but your brain barely registers it. Your husband’s calling to you now, ‘Quit standin’ there lookin’ stupid, do somethin’, huh?!’ He’s screaming, and you’re not hearing it. Barely feeling like a sentient person at all but just a doll stumbling backward on two wooden legs. As you walk, your palm stays stuck to the laminate underneath it, and suddenly, you feel it.

An envelope.

In this state, you aren’t sure why you grab it, but you do.

You take the lone white paper, and you turn to leave. Your hands shake as you hold the thing, and your legs are hardly any better, but they carry you, miraculously, from the kitchen to the threshold of the back door. Then out. Stetson’s not just yelling but bellowing, loud, every last obscenity known to man as he holds his bloodied side and limps in his perilous, pathetic way. Fortunately, you’re gone just in time to miss the bottle he hurls.

Outside, you walk. And walk. And in the still of the night you’re obliged to find your way through a miscellany of trailers and trucks and old, creaking vans by moonlight, and the throbbing in your head begins to slow. You don’t rush to get far, and you don’t have your keys even if you wanted to drive off. You keep walking. Watching nothing.

When your eyes drift to the envelope in your hand, you barely see that either. You’re just blinking as you look, and breathing as you wait for the sight to make sense.

Inside, you find seven Benjamins, two Grants, and a Jackson staring back. Next to them are a few dozen others—enough to cover August, September, October, and several months before that, if you had to guess.

You hope you’ll get the opportunity to thank Joel, and maybe tell him that you don’t really hate him, someday.

[moonshynecybin]

hi, i hope this isn't weird but you're like a motogp scholar to me and i have a question bc i can't really find an answer; do you know of the medical specifics of marc's arm injury? like ik what happened but i haven't been able to find an article beyond oh he broke it. like is there a reason it's so bad and why he had to get multiple surgeries for it? like was it crushing nerve ends, grinding cartilidge, etc? tysm if u decide to answer

the best and most direct source for this is gonna be marc marquez all in. they’ll show you the bone scans and walk you through the rotation of how it healed and some info about the other surgeries etc but theres also a lot it leaves out about BEFORE that surgery so i'll try and help out. HUGE caveat that i’m not a doctor but the GENERAL info goes like this:

jerez, july 2020: marc fractures his right humerus after the tire of his bike hits it during a highside near the end of the race. he flies to barcelona, gets one million nails and a plate put in himself by perennial motogp bone saw doctor xavier mir, and hopes to show up the next week to race four days after surgery (also in jerez #covid)… at the time its all kinda standard if like. a lil crazy but he is honestly really flippant about the whole thing you get the sense that (like others before him) he kinda thinks what he’s doing is badass. i mean he’s postin this shit on instagram like LOOK AT MEEE

anyways so he is declared fit to ride (NO RADIAL NERVE DAMAGE YAYYY), the test for which seems to be doing decline porno pushups with his cock out. and it’s all kinda like. well this is a short, 13 round championship year, so every race counts and marc has just won four championships in a row (6 out of the last 7 years!!!) and has something fundamentally wrong in his brain. marc voice well yeah jorge lorenzo came back after collarbone surgery in 2013 and it depleted him for years but im different. im better. PLUS it’s alex’s first year in the premier class (also at factory honda which is a can of worms we shant get into) so he’s not as involved in monitoring his insane older brother as he is post-arm saga bc he has shit to do and marc hasn’t missed a GP due to injury at this point since his first bout of diplopia in 2011. hes broken his leg a few weeks before the season before and been fine. marc is marc. so he’s gonna try and race.

anyways! that doesn’t happen lol. marc DOES go out for all the practices (the death nell.) but it’s p clear that the arm is fucking busted. he stresses the injury the fuckkkk out (probably where the bone gets rotated? unsure) and then goes out for one lap of quali and can’t do it anymore, pulls out then and there and is like okay. i’ll rest on it

august 2020: now here’s where i’m like hm. because according to MARC, he is a perfect angel doing PT until he randomly opens a glass sliding door one day and the arm rebreaks (SHOULD be kinda impossible with all the hardware in him lol). i frankly suspect that he was also doing motorcross training to put more stress on it bc he mentions that his people have had to remove the wheels from his personal bikes to stop him from training before (to be fair i think this was during the shoulder rehab he was doing during the 2019/20 winter) and like. you don’t get that kinda policing from the guys who love you without some previous behaviors lmao. also literally he was posting himself doing weight training on that arm on tiktok the day before as evidenced below. i digress but the bone is broken!!! and he gets more surgery from dr. xavier mir. and oh boy does it heal wrong

so there’s not a lot of updates in this time bc marc is like. in his cave in cervera rehabbing like wow what a setback gee i sure can’t wait to be back on my bike… like i don’t think it had really set in that this was a lifelong injury yet. and unforch in december it’s revealed that the fracture is not healing, and he needs further surgery. this time he nixed dr mir and went to a specialist clinic in madrid (that’s partly why he moved there !!)

the clinic also discovered there was a previous infection in his bone, which probably halted the healing process further. it should be noted marc does not go to dr. mir for surgery anymore, which genuinely could mean absolutely nothing. he stayed in the hospital on iv antibiotics for ten days

after this and a LOT of time in the sling (12 weeks is best practice who knows what marc practice is lmao) he comes back to motogp in april of 2021 for the portuguese grand prix, with the stated goal of building up strength in his arm and evaluating where he’s at, which tells you how hard that last surgery was on him. in 2021 i think it starts to set in that this isn’t going to go away, and during this whole year and the next he’s in clear pain every time he’s on the bike AND the bike is kinda bad so its just awful hell lol. like yes he does win a few races but he cries every time and you can tell its really getting to him. this is the period that alex talks about where the pain is the worst, and marc is being mean to everyone around him, and he’s taking a lot of painkillers and complaining about having pimples/losing weight on instagram and generally having a miserable time. he calls this period "a nightmare" all the time

okay now we fast forward until 2022. marc has moved to madrid to get a girlfriend to see his bone doctor more. and the pain is NOT stopping. and the bike honestly sucks so hes not winning AND he just had a diplopia relapse so whats the POINT. and he's suffering and can feel the time in his career ticking downward like sand slipping through an hourglass and he goes to the all or nothing nuclear option and reaches out to the mayo clinic in the USA to see a specialist and see if he can do anything for him, disregarding the rest of the 2022 motogp season. and the specialist says yeah. we took a 3D scan of that bone you just spent a year of your life healing and it looks BUSTED AS HELL. truly from the stress he put on that thing while it was still healing it rotated 34 degrees and THATS part of why it hurts so much. its why he has no strength in his elbow, why he can’t brace anything with it, why his range of motion is so limited, why he can’t open a bottle of water by himself. it’s really degrading his quality of life, and most important to marc: its fucking with his riding lol.

and this doctor says well we break the bone again, rotate it back normally, and see how it goes. it could give you less pain and more ability to brake into corners. it could ALSO end your career. and marc sees the bone scans and agrees to surgery p much immediately. and he gets mayo clinic surgery in minnesota and takes hot girl instagram pics outside because of course he does. the craziest part of this article is when the surgeon says marc has "a great capacity for sacrifice"

and he gets another badass scar and thats where we are today! as to where the arm is now. well he says its isnt a normal arm but its more "uncomfy" in day to day life. i dont believe him but thats fine. like he DOES do a lot of maintenance on the arm i think thats fair to say. he has a limited range of motion. mat oxley says he'll wait until he thinks no one is watching and look like hes in pain when hes in the paddock. his gq interview w "essential things" included a massage gun and PT rubber bands. he stretches it out before races p extensively. he has a PT gurney in his living room. idk, he contradicts himself on this fairly regularly in order to suit his rhetorical needs at a given time, but im inclined to believe that hes in a LOT more pain than he lets on, he just also has more mobility to do sports things (his base level on his hierarchy of needs) and is in a lot less pain than he was in 2022. i think theres also a point that marc brings up in the documentary here that should be noted-- he emphasizes that he didnt do this to improve his quality of life (alex is the only one who mentions this actually, and HE makes a deliberate point to) but instead that he did it so he could win. i'd invite you to do with that information what you will !!!

sources: x, x, x, x, x, x

[notlongtolove]

the garden is growing

"you live together, work together. doesn’t it all get a little boring?" there’s a weight to her observation, something invasive, like she’s pulling out weeds that you never asked her to tend, tilling through soil that’s been left unbothered for too long. the cups of tea, the folding of blankets. you could never call that boring.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff! maybe angst if you really really squint

content: after catching up with an old friend, bau!reader and bf!spencer have a contemplative talk about their relationship as they walk home. domestic... mentions of marriage... lurve in the air...

word count: 2.2k

note: a post finals treat to myself! leaned heavy into the garden imagery for this one lol, this was heavily inspired by the poem linked, i highly recommend it! o i also added some song recs below for this one :P (ps i did not mean to compare spencer's eyes to PEBBLES but it was either that or a random brown flower... sorry.)

a line: The perennial pushes its way through the cracks in the concrete—small, steady, and undeniably alive. It’s there. It’s growing.

If you ask me 'What's new?', I have nothing to say Except that the garden is growing. - wendy cope

When you were younger, you had a garden. A field just a stone's throw from your front door. Not the kind in a backyard, fenced in and manageable. No, it was wild and uncontained, the grass alive beneath your feet. They used to say love was like a garden. You'd think about that sometimes—how you were supposed to tend to it, rake and comb and pull out the weeds before they strangled your beautiful flowers. And when it rained, you just had to let it. Let the downpour come and see what survived.

You’re standing under the awning, shaking droplets off your jacket. You mumble a thanks to the doorman as he holds the door open, offering a silent nod in return. The door opens to a polished, marble lobby, and suddenly you’re acutely aware of how out of place you look. You’d come straight from the office, having dwindled your stack of case files from a grand total of 26 to a modest 19. The grand mirror to your left does nothing to help. If anything, it’s magnifying the creased fabric of your trousers and the damp strands of hair stuck to your cheek. You shift uncomfortably, tugging at your sleeves and smoothing your hair out in a futile attempt at order. It was urgent she’d said. A matter of utmost importance. You’re not sure why you’re here, but you know with certainty that you’d rather not be.

She sees you before you see her. She calls out for you, the nickname wrapping around you like a sweater one size too small—warm but suffocating. It might as well be. You haven’t seen her in nearly a year—maybe a year and a half? You shrug, suddenly missing Spencer’s precision, his ability to pin things down to the day, the hour.

“Hi,” you manage, sliding into the seat opposite her. “I’m really sorry. Work was crazy—” you start, but your words dissolve the moment she thrusts her hand forward. A diamond—no, a boulder—catches the light, dazzling and deliberate. You nearly choke on the glass of water you’ve just picked up. 

“Let me tell you about crazy,” she says, her grin sharpening. 

Oh, the yacht! And don’t even get me started on the violins, can you believe it! The sea was just gorgeous—Did I mention it was on a yacht? Her words tumble out as you try to follow along, but you can’t quite keep up, only noting it definitely involved an abhorrent amount of Dom Perignon.

“I wish you could’ve been there to see it,” she says, her voice tinged with what you hope is nostalgia and not pity.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” you murmur, and you mean it—sort of. You used to be close, but since starting at the BAU, everything else kind of took a backseat. It had to. “I wish I could’ve too. Work’s been—”

“Crazy, right,” she cuts in, waving it off. "Big fancy BAU," She winks. “That job’s gonna be the death of you one day y’know, all those hours.” You force a laugh, but her words hit a little too literally, heavier than she knows. You don’t think she quite grasps the reality of your work.

“So,” she says, leaning in now, her chin propped delicately on her hand, her diamond ring catching the light. You can’t help but think it’s mocking you. “How’s things going with Spencer?”

“Oh, they’re going fine.”

“Fine?” She raises her brows. “Trouble in paradise?”

“No, not at all,” you insist, your voice instinctively rising in defence. “We’re—fine. You know, same old, same old. We just wrapped a big case actually. This guy—” You cut yourself off, realizing mid-sentence that the story of a guy meticulously collecting hair from women post-mortem doesn’t feel like the kind of story to share during dinner under a sparkling chandelier—Not that you’re doing much eating anyway. The menu was a labyrinth of fancy salads, obscure cheeses, and entrées described in French that you’re only half sure translate to lamb. You’d settled for pushing a few greens around your plate, making a mental note to stop by the bodega later.  

Her laugh pulls you back to the table, “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Do what?”

“You know… Live together, work together, day in, day out. Doesn’t it all get a little...” She trails off, letting her expression finish the sentence. 

“A little… what?”

“Boring?”

You blink. “Boring?”

The word tastes bitter. You don’t like it. The way the dog always chases the cat? Boring. The way the cat always seeks shelter in the same tree? Boring. But the way they both come running home every time you call? That’s never boring. Spencer in the quiet mornings—hair tousled, voice soft and sleepy as he murmurs a 'good morning.' The cups of tea, the folding of blankets. You could never call that boring. 

She laughs lightly, the sound cutting through the restaurant’s hum. “Not in a bad way! I just mean... do you guys even go out? Like, for fun? You guys have been together for, what like, years now?” Three years and 4 months, you think to yourself. You’d never need Spencer’s eidetic memory to remember that. 

“Well, yeah, sure we do…” you say finally. “Um, we went to a museum recently.” You don’t tell her it was to interview a suspect. Her smile tightens, like she’s not sure whether to believe you or feel sorry for you. You take a careful sip of water, resisting the urge to shift under her gaze. There’s a weight to her observation, something invasive, like she’s pulling out weeds that you never asked her to tend, tilling through soil that’s been left unbothered for too long. Outside, the rain keeps falling.

By the time you part with polite hugs and hollow smiles, the downpour has softened to a drizzle. Spencer is waiting by the curb, hair slightly damp. His eyes light up at the sight of you. Under the glow of the streetlight, they remind you of the pebbles you used to collect by the garden path. You’d carry them home, pocketful by pocketful, washing and scrubbing at them until they shone. Only your favourites made it to your shelf. Tiny, perfect trophies.

“Hi, honey.”

"Hiya." You lean into his chest, a tired smile tugging at your lips as you manage a strained, “I’m starving.” 

“Hi starving. Care for a burrito?” he asks, tilting a takeout bag toward you with a small smile.

Your eyes meet his, and there’s something in his smile—soft, understanding, familiar—that makes your chest ache. “How’d you know?” you ask, practically tearing into the bag.

“Searched the menu after you left,” he says simply, falling into step beside you as you start walking. “Figured you wouldn't have liked much in there,” he shrugs, casual. You feel your cheeks warm. Two hours away from Spencer Reid is two hours too long. 

The walk home is quiet at first, the two of you picking your way around puddles reflecting neon signs. The burrito’s long gone, leaving your hand free for Spencer to hold, fingers interlocked.

“She’s engaged,” you say eventually.

Spencer furrows his brows. “Already?”

“It’s only been like, what, eight? nine months?”

Spencer frowns, pauses then says, “256 days”, the precision drawing a faint smile from you.

“Crazy isn’t it?”

“I guess. Some people are like that,” he says, “Did you know statistically, couples who get engaged within the first year of dating are 20% more likely to divorce within the first five years?”

“With that prenup incoming she’d better hope they’re the exception then…” you murmur, not really listening. 

There’s something in your chest, persistent and heavy. You can feel its roots stirring, working its way beneath the surface, threatening to loosen the earth that keeps you grounded. 

A few more steps in silence. Then, quietly, “Do you think we’re boring?”

“Boring?” Spencer tilts his head slightly. “Do you think we’re boring?”

You hesitate, suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t think we’re boring, but you know, we don’t do much.” 

“We’re in the FBI, honey. I’d argue we do a lot.” He smirks, the corner of his mouth twitching playfully. You try to laugh, but it comes out forced, brittle—like a flower trying to push out a bloom that's not quite ready yet.

Spencer notices, as he always does. “Is there something you want to do?” It stirs in you again, something tender and uncertain. You don’t know if it will be a flower that blooms or a weed that chokes out everything else. 

“No,” You say a little too quickly, “Nothing really, just... Other than work and home—”

“What’d she say?”

“Hm?”

“You love work, you live for it—I practically have to drag you out of the office most days,” he reasons, tone calm and steady. “And, if this is something that was bothering you… I’d have known. So it must’ve been something she said.” You stop walking, the words catching in your throat. It bothers you—how her vines have crept into your garden, straight through to the soil beneath. Flowers rarely thrive in foreign soil, you think. 

“Not really,” you lie, biting your lip—a tell Spencer surely catches. “We just talked about the engagement. Well, she talked.”

He doesn’t press, though you can tell he doesn’t believe you. His gaze lingers, but he chooses to give you space. “How was it? The engagement.”

“Something about a yacht,” you reply with a shrug.

“I thought she was afraid of water.”

“Not when it’s on a million-dollar vessel, apparently.”

Spencer chuckles. You continue to walk. Your feet do their best to trace the familiar trail, trying to find the garden path that takes you home. Left. Right. Left. Right. But your thoughts snag, tripping on an unseen vine, and you stumble.

“Do you ever think about it?” you ask.

“About what?”

“Like... if we ever get married and stuff.”

Now it’s Spencer’s turn to stop mid-step, rooted to the spot, his body going still. You freeze too, breath trapped in your chest, a flush spreading across your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you rush to say, the guilt sharp and immediate. “That was silly, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” 

You tug softly on his hand trying to pull him forward, but he doesn’t budge. His brows knit together as his gaze locks with yours. 

“When.” 

“When what?”

“You said if. I’m saying when. When we get married.”

“When we get married?” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder might shatter the moment.

“Yeah,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “When. Not if. I don’t think really of it as a hypothetical possibility.”

Your chest tightens and you don’t know exactly what to say, but your fingers instinctively tighten around his. Spencer senses your silence and rushes to fill the space.

“Do you… not think that?” he asks, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice.

“I do! Of course, I do.” Your voice falters. “I just… I didn’t know you thought about it that way too.”

Spencer hums, soft smile on his face. “I know I tend to look at things in terms of statistics, probabilities—But us? There’s no ‘ifs’. Not with you, honey. Never with you.”

And just like that, the earth beneath you shifts, breaking apart to reveal a bud. Not a flower but a fruit-bearing tree. You try and fight the urge to throw yourself into his arms and kiss him, but he’s already leaning in, his lips warm and familiar against yours. As you pull back, eyes locked, you think back to the pebbles you used to collect. Your tiny, perfect trophies—Spencer’s eyes are far better, you think. 

“You smell like burrito,” he teases. You laugh, the sound light and easy. “You love burritos.”

He brushes a stray curl from your forehead. “I love you.”

Through the clearing, you see it. The vines have receded, the rain has come and gone. Your feet step off the garden path with certainty. It’s safe now. It’s here. 

“So,” you say with renewed excitement, your steps light as you glance at him, “Beach wedding?”

Spencer wrinkles his nose. “Do you have any idea how much fecal bacteria there is in beach sand?”

“Blegh.” 

“No, seriously. Beach sand has 10 to 100 times more fecal bacteria than seawater.”

“How about we don’t throw around the word ‘fecal’ when my burrito is still working its way through me,” you reply, grimacing. “What’s your genius idea then?”

He grins. “Barn wedding?”

“Spence, I love you, and I know you’ve always wanted to be a cowboy, but I’m not walking down the aisle with hay in my hair.”

He laughs, shaking his head as you walk side by side, hands swaying between you. Spencer spots a perennial growing out of concrete cracks by the lamppost 2 steps ahead of you. 

“What about a garden wedding? In spring?” 

“A garden wedding,” you say, a soft smile spreading across your face, “Yeah, I’d really like that, spring’s nice.”

"Okay,” he says, hand warm in yours, “in spring then."

There’s no towering oak tree, ancient and steadfast, to mark this moment, no circle of wildflowers dancing wildly around with their colours. But still the perennial pushes its way through the cracks in the concrete—small, steady, and undeniably alive. It’s there. It’s growing.

They used to say love was like a garden. When his drought comes, silent but devastating nonetheless, you quench it with your rain—soft, temperamental. And when your rain changes her tide, thrashing and wild, he shelters you beneath his leaves, vast and unyielding. Together you prune the dead parts, plant anew, and marvel at what thrives.

The next time someone asks you how things are going, there’s no pursed smile or hesitant pause, distant in thought. You just smile and say it's going. It's going alright. It's going great. It’s going fine. 

Because all that matters is that it's going. 

Your garden is growing. 

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: nothing by bruno major love letter from the sea to the shore by delaney bailey

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Lina Khan’s future is the future of the Democratic Party — and America

On OCTOBER 23 at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

On the one hand, the anti-monopoly movement has a future no matter who wins the 2024 election – that's true even if Kamala Harris wins but heeds the calls from billionaire donors to fire Lina Khan and her fellow trustbusters.

In part, that's because US antitrust laws have broad "private rights of action" that allow individuals and companies to sue one another for monopolistic conduct, even if top government officials are turning a blind eye. It's true that from the Reagan era to the Biden era, these private suits were few and far between, and the cases that were brought often died in a federal courtroom. But the past four years has seen a resurgence of antitrust rage that runs from left to right, and from individuals to the C-suites of big companies, driving a wave of private cases that are prevailing in the courts, upending the pro-monopoly precedents that billionaires procured by offering free "continuing education" antitrust training to 40% of the Federal judiciary:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/13/post-bork-era/#manne-down

It's amazing to see the DoJ racking up huge wins against Google's monopolistic conduct, sure, but first blood went to Epic, who won a historic victory over Google in federal court six months before the DoJ's win, which led to the court ordering Google to open up its app store:

https://www.theverge.com/policy/2024/10/7/24243316/epic-google-permanent-injunction-ruling-third-party-stores

Google's 30% App Tax is a giant drag on all kinds of sectors, as is its veto over which software Android users get to see, so Epic's win is going to dramatically alter the situation for all kinds of activities, from beleaguered indie game devs:

https://antiidlereborn.com/news/

To the entire news sector:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/06/save-news-we-must-open-app-stores

Private antitrust cases have attracted some very surprising plaintiffs, like Michael Jordan, whose long policy of apoliticism crumbled once he bought a NASCAR team and lived through the monopoly abuses of sports leagues as an owner, not a player:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/michael-jordan-anti-monopolist

A much weirder and more unlikely antitrust plaintiff than Michael Jordan is Google, the perennial antitrust defendant. Google has brought a complaint against Microsoft in the EU, based on Microsoft's extremely ugly monopolistic cloud business:

https://www.reuters.com/technology/google-files-complaint-eu-over-microsoft-cloud-practices-2024-09-25/

Google's choice of venue here highlights another reason to think that the antitrust surge will continue irrespective of US politics: antitrust is global. Antitrust fervor has seized governments from the UK to the EU to South Korea to Japan. All of those countries have extremely similar antitrust laws, because they all had their statute books overhauled by US technocrats as part of the Marshall Plan, so they have the same statutory tools as the American trustbusters who dismantled Standard Oil and AT&T, and who are making ready to shatter Google into several competing businesses:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/10/8/24265832/google-search-antitrust-remedies-framework-android-chrome-play

Antitrust fever has spread to Canada, Australia, and even China, where the Cyberspace Directive bans Chinese tech giants from breaking interoperability to freeze out Chinese startups. Anything that can't go on forever eventually stops, and the cost of 40 years of pro-monopoly can't be ignored. Monopolies make the whole world more brittle, even as the cost of that brittleness mounts. It's hard to pretend monopolies are fine when a single hurricane can wipe out the entire country's supply of IV fluid – again:

https://prospect.org/health/2024-10-11-cant-believe-im-writing-about-iv-fluid-again/

What's more, the conduct of global monopolists is the same in every country where they have taken hold, which means that trustbusters in the EU can use the UK Digital Markets Unit's report on the mobile app market as a roadmap for their enforcement actions against Apple:

https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/media/63f61bc0d3bf7f62e8c34a02/Mobile_Ecosystems_Final_Report_amended_2.pdf

And then the South Korean and Japanese trustbusters can translate the court documents from the EU's enforcement action and use them to score victories over Apple in their own courts:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/10/an-injury-to-one/#is-an-injury-to-all

So on the one hand, the trustbusting wave will continue erode the foundations of global monopolies, no matter what happens after this election. But on the other hand, if Harris wins and then fires Biden's top trustbusters to appease her billionaire donors, things are going to get ugly.

A new, excellent long-form Bloomberg article by Josh Eidelson and Max Chafkin gives a sense of the battle raging just below the surface of the Democratic Power, built around a superb interview with Khan herself:

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/features/2024-10-09/lina-khan-on-a-second-ftc-term-ai-price-gouging-data-privacy

The article begins with a litany of tech billionaires who've gone an all-out, public assault on Khan's leadership – billionaires who stand to personally lose hundreds of millions of dollars from her agency's principled, vital antitrust work, but who cloak their objection to Khan in rhetoric about defending the American economy. In public, some of these billionaires are icily polite, but many of them degenerate into frothing, toddler-grade name-calling, like IAB's Barry Diller, who called her a "dope" and Musk lickspittle Jason Calacanis, who called her an all-caps COMMUNIST and a LUNATIC.

The overall vibe from these wreckers? "How dare the FTC do things?!"

And you know, they have a point. For decades, the FTC was – in the quoted words of Tim Wu – "a very hardworking agency that did nothing." This was the period when the FTC targeted low-level scammers while turning a blind eye to the monsters that were devouring the US economy. In part, that was because the FTC had been starved of budget, trapping them in a cycle of racking up easy, largely pointless "wins" against penny-ante grifters to justify their existence, but never to the extent that Congress would apportion them the funds to tackle the really serious cases (if this sounds familiar, it's also the what happened during the long period when the IRS chased middle class taxpayers over minor filing errors, while ignoring the billionaires and giant corporations that engaged in 7- and 8-figure tax scams).

But the FTC wasn't merely underfunded: it was timid. The FTC has extremely broad enforcement and rulemaking powers, which most sat dormant during the neoliberal era:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

The Biden administration didn't merely increase the FTC's funding: in choosing Khan to helm the organization, they brought onboard a skilled technician, who was both well-versed in the extensive but unused powers of the agency and determined to use them:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff

But Khan's didn't just rely on technical chops and resources to begin the de-olicharchification of the US economy: she built a three-legged stool, whose third leg is narrative. Khan's signature is her in-person and remote "listening tours," where workers who've been harmed by corporate power get to tell their stories. Bloomberg recounts the story of Deborah Brantley, who was sexually harassed and threatened by her bosses at Kavasutra North Palm Beach. Brantley's bosses touched her inappropriately and "joked" about drugging her and raping her so she "won’t be such a bitch and then maybe people would like you more."

When Brantley finally quit and took a job bartending at a different business, Kavasutra sued her over her noncompete clause, alleging an "irreparable injury" sustained by having one of their former employees working at another business, seeking damages and fees.

The vast majority of the 30 million American workers who labor under noncompetes are like Brantley, low-waged service workers, especially at fast-food restaurants (so Wendy's franchisees can stop minimum wage cashiers from earning $0.25/hour more flipping burgers at a nearby McDonald's). The donor-class indenturers who defend noncompetes claim that noncompetes are necessary to protect "innovative" businesses from losing their "IP." But of course, the one state where no workers are subject to noncompetes is California, which bans them outright – the state that is also home to Silicon Valley, an IP-heave industry that the same billionaires laud for its innovations.

After that listening tour, Khan's FTC banned noncompetes nationwide:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/25/capri-v-tapestry/#aiming-at-dollars-not-men

Only to have a federal judge in Texas throw out their ban, a move that will see $300b/year transfered from workers to shareholders, and block the formation of 8,500 new US businesses every year:

https://www.npr.org/2024/08/21/g-s1-18376/federal-judge-tosses-ftc-noncompetes-ban

Notwithstanding court victories like Epic v Google and DoJ v Google, America's oligarchs have the courts on their side, thanks to decades of court-packing planned by the Federalist Society and executed by Senate Republicans and Reagan, Bush I, Bush II, and Trump. Khan understands this; she told Bloomberg that she's a "close student" of the tactics Reagan used to transform American society, admiring his effectiveness while hating his results. Like other transformative presidents, good and bad, Reagan had to fight the judiciary and entrenched institutions (as did FDR and Lincoln). Erasing Reagan's legacy is a long-term project, a battle of inches that will involve mustering broad political support for the cause of a freer, more equal America.

Neither Biden nor Khan are responsible for the groundswell of US – and global – movement to euthanize our rentier overlords. This is a moment whose time has come; a fact demonstrated by the tens of thousands of working Americans who filled the FTC's noncompete docket with outraged comments. People understand that corporate looters – not "the economy" or "the forces of history" – are the reason that the businesses where they worked and shopped were destroyed by private equity goons who amassed intergenerational, dynastic fortunes by strip-mining the real economy and leaving behind rubble.

Like the billionaires publicly demanding that Harris fire Khan, private equity bosses can't stop making tone-deaf, guillotine-conjuring pronouncements about their own virtue and the righteousness of their businesses. They don't just want to destroy the world - they want to be praised for it:/p>

"Private equity’s been a great thing for America" -Stephen Pagliuca, co-chairman of Bain Capital;

"We are taught to judge the success of a society by how it deals with the least able, most vulnerable members of that society. Shouldn’t we judge a society by how they treat the most successful? Do we vilify, tax, expropriate and condemn those who have succeeded, or do we celebrate economic success as the engine that propels our society toward greater collective well-being?" -Marc Rowan, CEO of Apollo

"Achieve life-changing money and power," -Sachin Khajuria, former partner at Apollo

Meanwhile, the "buy, strip and flip" model continues to chew its way through America. When PE buys up all the treatment centers for kids with behavioral problems, they hack away at staffing and oversight, turning them into nightmares where kids are routinely abused, raped and murdered:

https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/they-told-me-it-was-going-be-good-place-allega-tions-n987176

When PE buys up nursing homes, the same thing happens, with elderly residents left to sit in their own excrement and then die:

https://www.politico.com/news/magazine/2023/12/24/nursing-homes-private-equity-fraud-00132001

Writing in The Guardian, Alex Blasdel lays out the case for private equity as a kind of virus that infects economies, parasitically draining them of not just the capacity to provide goods and services, but also of the ability to govern themselves, as politicians and regulators are captured by the unfathomable sums that PE flushes into the political process:

https://www.theguardian.com/business/2024/oct/10/slash-and-burn-is-private-equity-out-of-control

Now, the average worker who's just lost their job may not understand "divi recaps" or "2-and-20" or "carried interest tax loopholes," but they do understand that something is deeply rotten in the world today.

What happens to that understanding is a matter of politics. The Republicans – firmly affiliated with, and beloved of, the wreckers – have chosen an easy path to capitalizing on the rising rage. All they need to do is convince the public that the system is irredeemably corrupt and that the government can't possibly fix anything (hence Reagan's asinine "joke": "the nine most terrifying words in the English language are: 'I'm from the Government, and I'm here to help'").

This is a very canny strategy. If you are the party of "governments are intrinsically corrupt and incompetent," then governing corruptly and incompetently proves your point. The GOP strategy is to create a nation of enraged nihilists who don't even imagine that the government could do something to hold their bosses to account – not for labor abuses, not for pollution, not for wage theft or bribery.

The fact that successive neoliberal governments – including Democratic administrations – acted time and again to bear out this hypothesis makes it easy for this kind of nihilism to take hold.

Far-right conspiracies about pharma bosses colluding with corrupt FDA officials to poison us with vaccines for profit owe their success to the lived experience of millions of Americans who lost loved ones to a conspiracy between pharma bosses and corrupt officials to poison us with opioids.

Unhinged beliefs that "they" caused the hurricanes tearing through Florida and Georgia and that Kamala Harris is capping compensation to people who lost their homes are only credible because of murderous Republican fumble during Katrina; and the larcenous collusion of Democrats to help banks steal Americans' homes during the foreclosure crisis, when Obama took Tim Geithner's advice to "foam the runway" with the mortgages of everyday Americans who'd been cheated by their banks:

https://www.salon.com/2014/05/14/this_man_made_millions_suffer_tim_geithners_sorry_legacy_on_housing/

If Harris gives in to billionaire donors and fires Khan and her fellow trustbusters, paving the way for more looting and scamming, the result will be more nihilism, which is to say, more electoral victories for the GOP. The "government can't do anything" party already exists. There are no votes to be gained by billing yourself as the "we also think governments can't do anything" party.

In other words, a world where Khan doesn't run the FTC is a world where antitrust continues to gain ground, but without taking Democrats with it. It's a world where nihilism wins.

There's factions of the Democratic Party who understand this. AOC warned party leaders that, "Anyone goes near Lina Khan and there will be an out and out brawl":

https://twitter.com/AOC/status/1844034727935988155

And Bernie Sanders called her "the best FTC Chair in modern history":

https://twitter.com/SenSanders/status/1843733298960576652

In other words: Lina Khan as a posse.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/11/democracys-antitrust-paradox/#there-will-be-an-out-and-out-brawl

[pbaz7]

It’ll Always Be Her Chapter 16

AN: There’s going to be three more chapters after this one so it’s coming to an end soon! Let me know what you think about this chapter and if you have any ideas on what kind of story I should write next

TW: Slight stalking

Word Count: 4.2k

The buzz of March Madness was at its peak. After months of grueling practices, early mornings, and late-night film sessions, UConn had once again cemented their dominance, cruising past their first four opponents with ease. The bracket was shrinking, and the stakes were rising. Each victory brought the team closer to their ultimate goal: the championship.

The team’s current hotel felt less like a retreat and more like a basketball hub. Everywhere you turned, there was the squeak of sneakers on polished floors, the murmur of strategizing coaches, and the occasional cheer from impromptu watch parties in the lounge. For fans, this was heaven. All their favorite players, from rival schools to perennial powerhouses, were just an elevator ride away.

UConn’s squad had quickly become the center of attention. Paige, as the face of the team, drew a constant stream of admirers. Azzi, with her sharp wit and undeniable talent, wasn’t far behind. And together, the two were practically magnetic.

After wrapping up a spirited practice on the hotel’s private court—a sleek space reserved for tournament teams—Paige and Azzi walked off the court, their water bottles in hand, their laughter echoing through the corridor.

"Nice shot at the buzzer," Azzi teased, nudging her lightly. "You just had to show off huh."

Paige grinned, wiping the sweat from her brow. "What can I say? I like to keep things dramatic."

As they made their way back to the hotel lobby, the inevitable happened. A cluster of fans, already waiting near the elevators, spotted them. The murmurs quickly turned into excited whispers, and within seconds, a small crowd had gathered.

"Paige! Azzi!" someone called, holding up a phone. "Can we get a picture?"

Paige exchanged a quick glance with Azzi, both silently acknowledging that this was becoming their new normal. With a nod, Paige smiled. "Sure thing."

The next few minutes were a whirlwind of selfies, sharpies, and enthusiastic chatter. The fans were a mix of ages, from wide-eyed teenagers clutching jerseys to older enthusiasts recounting their favorite moments from the tournament so far.

"You guys have been killing it!" a young man said, holding out a basketball for Azzi to sign. "That three-pointer in the last game was insane."

Azzi smirked as she signed her name. "Thanks. Just trying to keep things fun."

As the fans grew more comfortable, the questions started to shift from game strategies to more personal territory.

"So," a young woman with a UConn cap began, her tone playful, "you two are always together. Are you, like, inseparable or what?"

Paige chuckled, her posture relaxed. "We spend a lot of time together, yeah. Comes with the territory."

The woman wasn’t deterred. "Okay, but the chemistry? On and off the court? Come on, spill."

Azzi raised an eyebrow, glancing at Paige with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Chemistry’s important," she said, her tone light. "Makes for a good partnership."

"Best partnership," Paige added smoothly, her smile not faltering.

The fans weren’t letting up. Another girl leaned in conspiratorially. "You’re not denying it, though. We see the way you look at each other."

Azzi’s smirk deepened. "Oh really?" she said, leaning slightly toward Paige. "What do you think, P? Do we give off vibes?"

Paige laughed, a soft, genuine sound that seemed to light up the room. "You guys are relentless."

The group erupted into giggles, sensing they were onto something but knowing they wouldn’t get a direct answer. That didn’t stop them from trying.

"So, you’re saying you’re not hiding anything?" someone pressed, their phone still recording.

Azzi tilted her head, pretending to ponder the question. "We’re just private people," she said with a casual shrug.

Paige nodded, leaning back against the wall with an easy confidence. "Exactly."

Just as the laughter reached a crescendo, one seemingly eager fan stepped closer to Azzi, holding up their phone for a selfie. In their excitement, they brushed against Azzi’s hip, their hand lingering way too long and way too low under the guise of adjusting the angle.

Azzi’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, and Paige’s sharp eyes caught it immediately. Though the fan’s touch seemed innocent enough, there was something about it that didn’t sit right with Paige. She smoothly stepped in, putting herself between them, placing a hand on Azzi’s back and gently guiding her a step away.

"Alright, guys," Paige said, her tone still friendly but with a hint of finality. "That’s enough for today. We’ve got to rest up for tomorrow."

The fans, sensing the shift, quickly backed off, murmuring their thanks and waving as Paige and Azzi headed toward the elevators.

"Sorry about that," Paige said softly once they were alone, her hand lingering on Azzi’s back.

Azzi shook her head, her expression already relaxed again. "It’s fine. Probably just an accident."

Paige gave her a small smile. "Maybe. But we’ve got to stay careful."

Azzi leaned slightly against Paige as they waited for the elevator. "Good thing I’ve got you to step in."

The elevator doors opened, and they stepped inside, leaving the noise and chaos of the lobby behind. As the doors closed, Paige let out a quiet sigh.

"Crazy day," she said, glancing at Azzi.

…

The energy in the hotel was electric. UConn had just secured their spot in the Final Four, and the team was riding high on the wave of victory. The players exchanged grins and light-hearted jabs as they made their way through the lobby, their adrenaline still buzzing from the game. Plans for a low-key celebration were already in motion—a gathering in one of the rooms to decompress and revel in their success.

As the group piled into the elevator, Azzi and Paige lingered behind, as they often did walking next to one another. The lobby had thinned out since their arrival, but a dedicated group of fans remained, eager for a chance to meet their idols. Paige and Azzi never rushed these moments. Despite their growing fame, they were grounded, valuing every interaction with the people who supported them.

“Congrats on making the Final Four!” a young woman beamed, clutching a sharpie and a UConn poster. “You guys were amazing out there.”

“Thank you!” Azzi said, her smile warm as she signed the poster. “We couldn’t do it without you guys.”

Paige leaned in for a selfie with another fan, grinning. “Hope you’re ready to see us in the championship,” she said, her confidence radiating.

The fans laughed and cheered, feeding off the duo’s energy. Everything felt normal—until Paige noticed a familiar face in the crowd.

At first, she couldn’t place him. He was tall, wearing a cap pulled low over his eyes, and hovered near the edge of the group. There was something about his posture, the way his gaze lingered on Azzi, a beat too long, that tugged at Paige’s memory. Her brow furrowed as she signed another shirt, her mind racing trying to remember where she recognized him from.

Then it clicked.

He was the same guy from a few days ago—the one who’d gotten too close to Azzi during their impromptu fan meet-and-greet. Paige’s jaw tightened. She’d chalked up the earlier incident as an overenthusiastic fan crossing a boundary unintentionally. But seeing him again, his presence felt calculated, deliberate.

Paige’s eyes flicked between him and Azzi, who was still engaged in conversation with a group of fans, seemingly oblivious. Her protective instincts kicked in, and her posture subtly shifted as she kept the man in her peripheral vision.

Paige excused herself from her current conversation and approached Azzi, lowering her voice. “Hey, we should head up. The team’s probably waiting on us.”

Azzi glanced at her, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “Already? We just got started.”

Paige gave a small, tight smile. “Yeah, but we’ve gotta shower and get ready for the celebration.” Her tone was light, but her eyes told a different story.

Azzi studied her for a moment, sensing something beneath the surface, but she didn’t press. “Alright,” she said, nodding. “Let’s go.”

They slung their gym bags over their shoulders and began weaving through the crowd. Paige kept her body angled slightly toward Azzi, positioning herself as a barrier between her and the man. He didn’t approach or say anything, but his gaze followed them as they walked away.

The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped inside. Paige hit the button for their floor and exhaled, her shoulders relaxing slightly as the doors closed, sealing them off from the lobby.

Azzi turned to her, her brow arched in curiosity. “What’s going on? You’re acting... different.”

Paige hesitated, weighing her words. She didn’t want to alarm Azzi unnecessarily, but she also couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling in her gut. “Remember that guy from the other day? The one who got a little too close?”

Azzi frowned, the memory surfacing. “Yeah. What about him?”

“He was down there again,” Paige said, her voice steady but firm. “Kind of watching you it seemed like.”

Azzi’s expression shifted, a mix of surprise and discomfort. “Seriously?”

Paige nodded. “I didn’t want to make a scene, but I didn’t like the way he was hanging around. Like I said we just gotta be careful.”

Azzi sighed, leaning back against the elevator wall. “It’s probably nothing, but thanks for looking out.”

“Always,” Paige said, her voice softening. She reached out, giving Azzi’s hand a quick, reassuring squeeze.

The elevator chimed, signaling their floor. As they stepped out and headed toward their rooms, Paige couldn’t shake the unease lingering in the back of her mind. She made a mental note to keep an eye out, knowing they couldn’t afford to let their guard down.

…

The team’s makeshift celebration was in full swing by the time Paige and Azzi walked into the large hotel room. The energy was contagious, with players letting go of the tension that had been building up over the last few weeks. Paige leaned against the empty bar, surrounded by her teammates, her eyes constantly flicking toward Azzi, who was perched on a stool, laughing with Ice and KK.

“Come on, Paige! You’re not gonna leave me hanging here!” KK called over, raising her gatorade in the air, a grin plastered on her face.

Paige grinned, joining the group. “Sorry, I’m just trying to catch my breath,” she teased, her eyes glinting with mischief. “You know, winning a championship is hard work.”

“Hard work?” Ice snorted, leaning back in her chair. “If by hard work you mean basically dancing on the court and trying to rizz the cameras, then yeah, you’re right.”

Azzi smirked, tossing a playful look toward Paige. “I think Ice just gave you credit for all the fun you had.”

Paige winked, “Oh, I know what’s important.” She leaned over and whispered in Azzi’s ear, her breath warm against her skin. “I’d say you’re my MVP tonight.”

Azzi’s lips curled into a smile, her eyes darkening slightly as she leaned back, crossing her arms. “Well, then, maybe you should show me how much you appreciate me.”

“Later,” Paige said with a wink, before turning back to the group, where Ice was trying to start a karaoke challenge.

“Alright, who’s up next?” Ice asked, her tone playful but full of mischief. “I’m feeling some classic 90s throwback music. Paige, you in?”

Paige raised an eyebrow, mock-seriously considering. “What do you think, Azzi? You up for a duet?”

Azzi grinned, shaking her head. “I can’t sing, but I’ll watch the chaos unfold.”

Ice was already pushing the button for the first song. “Alright, it’s time! Paige, you’re up first!”

“Me?” Paige laughed, standing up to the mic, clearly reluctant but not about to back down. “Okay, okay, but if I mess up, you all have to take the blame.”

The first few notes of a Britney Spears song rang out, and the group erupted into laughter. Paige tried her best, voice a little off-key but full of energy. Azzi cheered her on, her laughter mixing with the rest of the team’s as Paige attempted a few dance moves to match the beat.

When the song ended, Ice immediately followed with a high-pitched screech. “That was AMAZING! Now it’s time for your turn, Azzi!”

Azzi shook her head, laughing. “No way, I’m not going after that amazing performance.” But the team wouldn’t let up, chanting her name until she finally relented.

Azzi took the mic, feigning reluctance, but her eyes sparkled with mischief. As she began her turn, she played up the dramatic flair, giving the song an exaggerated performance. Paige watched her with a grin, leaning against the back wall, completely captivated. The playful banter continued throughout the night—karaoke, jokes, and laughter filling the room until their voices were hoarse and their stomachs ached from all the fun.

Eventually, as the night wore on, the energy began to wind down, and the team slowly started to trickle toward the elevators.

“We need to get some sleep if we’re going to survive morning practice,” Ice said with a groan, her shoulders slumping. “Tomorrow’s going to be brutal.”

Paige caught Azzi’s gaze across the room and smiled, shaking her head. “I’m definitely not ready for that.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but didn’t miss the way Paige looked at her, her smile soft and her eyes lingering. “We’ll survive.”

As the team finally made their way upstairs, the energy in the hotel hallway was still high, but the excitement was winding down. Paige glanced over at Azzi, who was walking beside her, a playful smile still tugging at the corners of her lips.

As Paige and Azzi step into their room, the door clicks shut behind them. The buzz from the celebration is still in the air, but there’s a new tension between them, one that seems to always linger beneath the surface of their interactions. Azzi looks at Paige with a teasing smirk.

"You know," Azzi says, her voice low and playful, "you called me the MVP earlier, but you didn’t show me much appreciation."

Paige’s lips curve into a teasing smile as she steps closer. "I’ve been thinking about that. Guess I owe you a little something."

Azzi leans in, her breath warm against Paige’s skin. "Oh, do you now?"

Paige’s fingers brush against Azzi’s side as she presses herself closer, their faces inches apart. "I do," she murmurs, voice dripping with promise. "I really do."

Before Azzi can respond, Paige leans in and captures her lips in a kiss. It’s slow, deep, a quiet intensity that builds between them, their connection undeniable. As the kiss deepens, Paige pulls away just enough to whisper, "Later, I told you."

Azzi’s eyes darken, her lips parting slightly as she looks at Paige. "No more waiting," she breathes, pulling Paige back toward her.

Paige smiles against Azzi’s lips, her fingers curling into Azzi’s shirt. "Later," she repeats, her voice teasing as she breaks the kiss. She steps back, breathing heavily, eyes full of intent.

Azzi, momentarily caught off guard, smirks. "Guess I’ll take what I can get for now."

Paige grins as she walks toward the bed, pausing to give Azzi one last smoldering look. "Oh, you’ll get plenty," she promises, her voice barely above a whisper.

…

The next day, after morning practice, they were back in the hotel courtyard, surrounded by fans. Paige usually thrived in these moments, enjoying the buzz, the attention, and the opportunity to connect with the people who admired her. Today, though, her focus was split. While Azzi revealed in the interaction, laughing and playfully showing a young fan how to mimic her shooting form, Paige’s gaze kept drifting to the edges of the crowd.

Her eyes locked onto him again. Same cap. Same distant posture. He was perched on a bench at the edge of the courtyard, phone raised, but Paige didn’t need to guess what he was doing. He was watching them.

She kept her stance casual, letting the easy flow of interaction with the fans continue, but her mind was working overtime. Her pulse quickened, but she didn’t let it show. She didn’t want to make a scene, didn’t want to make Azzi feel uneasy or draw attention to herself. Still, her protective streak flared. She moved a little closer to Azzi, her hand resting lightly on her back in a way that seemed natural, but which was just enough of a shield. What Paige didn’t realize was that her natural instinct to protect Azzi and be near her girlfriend was exactly what was setting the man off.

The fans around them seemed to notice the subtle change in Paige’s energy, but they didn’t comment on it. Most of them just assumed Paige was tired from the intense practice. Azzi remained blissfully unaware of Paige’s alertness, continuing to smile and joke with the kids.

Paige kept one eye on the man, who hadn’t moved, still just sitting there with his phone up. But a few moments after Azzi whispered something in Paige’s ear making her smile, he slowly stood up, casually walking toward them in a way that made her chest tighten. Her protective instincts kicked into overdrive. It was time to wrap this up.

“Alright, guys, we’ve got to head in,” Paige said, her tone easy but final, her body language firm as she moved closer to Azzi, subtly guiding her toward the exit.

Azzi looked at Paige confused but allowed her to guide her away.

Paige kept her voice steady as they began walking away, staying close to Azzi, her hand still resting lightly against her back. “Yeah, just tired, I guess.” Her tone was light, but she couldn’t shake the tension. She glanced back to see the man still following at a distance, his gaze fixed on them. “But I did see that guy again. The one I mentioned before, the one hanging around in the lobby.”

Azzi’s brow furrowed. “Where?”

Paige kept her focus ahead of them, but her eyes still flicked back to the man, who seemed to be lingering on the outskirts of the courtyard. “He was on the bench earlier. Same spot. Same phone up like he’s texting. But I swear he was watching us, and now he’s following.”

Azzi’s eyes darted over to the side, looking back toward the courtyard. She didn’t see him immediately, but she knew Paige well enough to know when something was off. “You think he’s following us?”

“I don’t know what his deal is, but I’m not taking any chances,” Paige muttered, a low edge to her voice.

Azzi nodded, understanding the weight behind Paige’s words. They walked quickly, Paige staying close, her hand never straying far from Azzi’s back. The fans around them continued to cheer and wave, none the wiser to the sudden shift in Paige’s demeanor.

When they reached the hotel door, Paige pushed it open, keeping herself slightly in front of Azzi. Her body language remained alert, ready to act if the situation took a turn.

Azzi glanced over at her. “We’ll be fine,” she said quietly, more to reassure herself than anything. But she didn’t miss how Paige’s grip tightened ever so slightly.

“Yeah,” Paige said, her voice soft but certain, “I know. But I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

…

After the unsettling encounter earlier, Paige and Azzi, not wanting to take any chances, decided to let Geno and CD know about the man following them. They were back in their hotel room, the door shut to the rest of the world. Paige sat on the edge of the bed, her head in her hands, still trying to process everything that had happened. Azzi, seated on the couch, was quiet, her legs stretched out in front of her as she absentmindedly scrolled through her phone, but her gaze often flickered to Paige.

“You think we did the right thing?” Azzi finally asked, her voice breaking the silence.

Paige looked up, her expression troubled. “I don’t know… but I’m not taking any chances. We had to tell someone. It was getting weird.” She let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed her temples.

Azzi shifted, sitting up straight. “I know. It’s messing with my head too. I’m worried it’s gonna get worse.”

“I feel that too,” Paige replied, her voice lower now, the protective streak inside of her flaring up again. “I didn’t like how he was looking at you. It felt like he was calculating what he was gonna do next.”

Azzi frowned. “I don’t even know who he is. But what if he keeps doing this? Following us everywhere?”

Paige stood up and paced the room for a moment, trying to shake the unease, but it wouldn’t leave. “I’ll make sure you’re safe. I’m not letting anyone mess with you, Azzi. I’ll hire private security for you if I have to.”

Azzi’s eyes softened as she watched Paige. There was something about the fierceness in her tone, the way Paige was always there for her. Azzi didn’t know what she’d do without her, especially with everything starting to feel so overwhelming.

Before Azzi could say anything more, there was a knock at the door. Paige froze, When she opened the door, Geno walked in, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a subtle tension. Behind him, two officers stood, their expressions neutral but serious.

“What’s going on?” Paige asked, immediately sensing that something more was happening.

Geno stepped in, closing the door behind him as he glanced at the officers. “We called the local authorities after you two told me about that guy. They tracked him down. And… they found out a lot more than we expected.”

Paige’s heart skipped a beat. “Wait, what? Who is he? What did you find?”

The officers exchanged a brief look before one of them stepped forward. “After looking at the cameras we found him individual lingering around your hotel several times, Paige. After looking into his social media, we discovered a disturbing pattern. He’s been fixated on you for some time now.”

Paige shook her head, still trying to process what they were saying. “I’ve never seen him before… How is that even possible?”

“His obsession with you seems to have escalated in recent months,” the officer continued, “but there’s more to it. He believes that you two are in a relationship, and he’s fixated on you being together.”

Azzi’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But he’s been watching me. He took pictures of me and even seemed to focus on me specifically.”

Geno stepped in, his voice stern. “I’m not sure how he spun it in his mind but somehow he sees Azzi as a threat to his idea of being with you. He thinks she’s the one standing in his way.”

Paige’s protective instincts kicked in again. Her gaze shot to the officer. “He thinks Azzi is in his way?” she repeated, her voice strained. Her fists clenched at her sides, the anger flaring. “This is insane.”

Azzi stood up, her body language defensive, her arms crossed as if to protect herself from what she was hearing. “I didn’t even know the guy existed. How does he think I’m stopping him from being with Paige?”

The officer sighed, clearly trying to explain a warped perspective. “The individual believes he can finally be with you, Paige, if Azzi is removed from the picture. It’s… irrational, and frankly disturbing. But that’s how he’s seeing things.”

Paige felt a mix of emotions: disbelief, anger, and most of all, a deep sense of responsibility to protect Azzi. “So this whole time… he thought Azzi was the issue?” Her voice was rising now, but she tried to keep herself under control. “And now he’s stalking us?”

Geno placed a firm hand on her shoulder, a grounding presence. “We’ve got it under control. He’s been detained. He won’t be able to get to either of you.”

Paige looked at him, still trying to digest the situation. “So… he’s locked up now?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Yeah,” the officer confirmed. “He’s been arrested and will be held until trial. For now, you’re safe.”

Paige exhaled sharply, but the tension still gripped her. It wasn’t enough for her to just hear that he was locked up—she needed to know he was gone for good. The thought of him obsessively following them from Connecticut made her skin crawl.

“How do we know this is over, though,” Azzi murmured, her voice low and filled with concern. “What if he gets out?”

“I’ll make sure no one else gets near you,” Paige assured her, the protective fire inside her reigniting.

Geno turned to them, his voice serious. “We’re going to make sure you’re both safe. From here on out, whenever you’re out in public, the team’s going to have security with you.”

Paige nodded, her mind still racing with a thousand thoughts. “Thanks, Geno. We appreciate it.”

The officers nodded and gave them a brief farewell before leaving. As the door clicked shut behind them, the room fell into a heavy silence.

Azzi sat down on the couch, her eyes distant. Paige joined her, sitting close but not quite touching. The weight of the situation settled in between them.

“This is a lot to take in,” Azzi said softly, her gaze drifting toward the window. “I’m just… glad it’s over.”

Paige slid her arm around Azzi’s waist, pulling her closer. “It’s not over until I know you’re safe.”

Azzi rested her head on Paige’s shoulder, her body relaxing against hers. Paige squeezed her tighter, her protective instincts still on high alert.

“I’ll always keep you safe, Az,” Paige whispered, her voice filled with quiet resolve.

Azzi closed her eyes and nodded, but there was a hint of worry that still lingered in her posture.

[fatcathappycat]

#Larry is a good friend,

#Narumitsu fic recs

Or, 10 fic recs in the defense of writing a good Larry Butz

Ahem, I have been known on occasion to go on a bit of a rant within the comments when I come across a story that turns Larry into a sexist, obnoxious, stupid and hate-worthy character. The reason why this upsets me is because to me, in the games, he's like that ADHD kid that no one understands, bouncing off the walls and making his presence known. Yeah, he's loud and makes some questionable choices, but he's creative, and fiercely loyal to his friends (when it counts ;p )

More than once, he arrives in a cloud of chaos to save the day like the god-damn eagles in Lord of the Rings. And despite all his friends constantly mocking him, he refuses to let it get him down. If he fails at something, he tries again, or something else. I know that there are some elements of his personality that are problematic, but I don't believe he deserves as much hate as he gets. Dude is the living definition of *resilience.*

So here are 10 of my favourite Ao3 Narumitsu fan fics that either have been tagged with "Larry Butz is a Good Friend" OR feature a wonderful Larry moment. As usual, these are in no particular order, because I, like Larry, may be a chaos agent.

1. Stories by AuthortheGatekeeper

Rating: T Words: 14,057 Read time: 60 mins

"Larry is not about skill and precision. He is a boulder dropped suddenly and without warning. Larry is enough to divert the course of a well trenched river."

This is seriously one of the most creative fics I've come across. Really cool take on our favourite narrative in an au where stories are creatures.

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2. A Turnabout Toast by ideny

Rating: T or M Words: 68,313 Read time: 4.5 hours

Larry is a good friend, and this is a damned good fic. Months later and I’m still thinking about this fic. Required Narumitsu reading, honestly. "The one with the 'Flopsy Bunnies'"

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3. Treehouses by prospectkiss for MyLittleEdgey

Rating: E Words: 9,062 Read time: 40 mins

Sweet first kiss, then years later, tender and hawt first time smut. Heh, I guess you could tag this ‘Larry is a good friend’ too ;-)

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4. Perennial Pursuits by DeiRyuu

Rating: G Words: 3,145 Read time: 15 mins

“Somewhere along the line in their long history, Larry had gotten the impression that Miles was Phoenix’s keeper, destined to swoop in to the rescue whenever the defense attorney was in distress.

He wasn’t exactly wrong.”

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5. Phoenix Doesn't Know by AbstractKittens

Rating: T Words: 26,164 Read time: 2 hours

College au. This thing was a frickin’ delight from beginning to end! I wrote in my bookmarks to "reread this when I want to feel young and hopeful again." European road trip filled with sweet moments of de yoots bonding, with lots of good Larry moments.

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6. Troublemaker by Collaberal Damage (collaborational)

Rating: G Words: 1,207 Read time: 5 mins

A short ficlet about nine year old Larry Butz and his penchant for getting himself into trouble. I cherish stories like these that are empathetic and sympathetic to Larry. <3

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7. The Friend That's Always There by team_stepladder for Azalea_Scroggs

Rating: G Words: 3,769 Read time: 15 mins

"It’s lonely being alone on Christmas Eve. To fill the silence while looking for his lost Steel Samurai balloon, Larry Butz turns on a familiar radio program..." It's not necessarily Phoenix that Edgey owes his life to!! Just saying!!!!

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8. An Insecure Turnabout by Red_Acted (96percentdone)

Rating: T Words: 2,178 Read time: 10 mins

I gotta admit, that my favourite Miles BFF pairing is with Maya Fey. However, Larry and Miles as BFFs is a magical combination that deserves more fics like this one {:-) ;-)=

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9. Our Troubles Are All The Same by TheHomestuckWhovian

Rating: T Words: 7,732 Read time: 35 mins

One of the best Larry Butz stories I’ve read. Everybody would be so lucky to have a Butz for a friend <3

(i just read that out loud. and died laughing. sometimes I wonder about myself)

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10. Cherished Cherries by lilacSkye

Rating: T Words: 3,927 Read time: 15 mins

Another 'Miles is surprised when he learns something from Larry' fic that contains some honestly sweet moments and wonderful characterization.

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BONUS previously shared in another list but including it again because it makes me so happy and you should read it fic:

A Little Gift From Me To You by SapphireWine

Rating: T Words: 4,725 Read time: 20 mins

This short and sweet 3 chapter fic surprise is just... so Larry. Just brilliant and so funny. It's written by SapphireWine after all. Literally made me laugh out loud obnoxiously in public. The one with the candle. It is part one of a two part series. Read part 2 to find out what happens with the candle ;).

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And thus concludes my power point presentation. >Thank you< for coming and if you have a good Larry fic, please share in the comments or tags!

[faguscarolinensis]

Strophostyles umbellata / Pink Fuzzybean at the Sarah P. Duke Gardens at Duke University in Durham, NC

[fuckyeahfluiddynamics]

The Mystery of the Binary Droplet

What goes on inside an evaporating droplet made up of more than one fluid? This is a perennially fascinating question with lots of permutations. (Video and image credit: P. Dekker et al.; research pre-print: C. Diddens et al.) Read the full article

[eyeoftheheart]

Happy birthday, Monsieur Ouspensky.

“In all living nature love is the motive force which drives the creative activity in the most diverse directions.”

~ P. D. Ouspensky (2004). “Tertium Organum: A Key to the Enigmas of the World”, p.170, Book Tree