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13-reasons-ideas · 4 years

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Can’t Go Back Part 16

A/N: This chapter is very Justin-centric. I felt like Addy and Justy needed a day where they didn't need to worry about boys or moms. Just a day to be kids. It’s kind of filler but I like it. It’s a light chapter. As always, feedback is always nice and much love. - Em

Things were awkward between us for the next week. We had agreed to table the discussion about his dad and had come to a tentative understanding about Justin. We had never had a fight like that before so, we weren’t really sure where the lines were yet. I learned that his dad was a line you don’t cross unless invited. He learned that Justin was a line that was going to run parallel to our relationship, whether he liked it or not. Monty’s behaviour at school was different too. He was a little nicer for people to be around. Not Tyler Down, but I couldn’t really blame him. The kid was fucking creepy. Monty was even sort of polite to Justin.

By the following Monday, things had gone back to normal. Our texts were longer and less to the point. He was… well he was more Monty at school than he was for a few days. His friends didn’t seem to pick up on the change. But I did. He’s trying. I got dressed in in my comfy light wash jeans, because Justin and I were going to the mall after school and paired it with a light pink tank top with an old red and black flannel. The flannel had been sitting at the back of my closet for quite a while. I found it while I was going through and cleaning it out for donations. “Morning Dad.” I called as I heard him pass my room. He cleared his throat and grunted in response. He must have just woken up.

Downstairs, dad was making a cup of coffee while he read the paper. “Morning Addy.” He nodded when he heard me. Definitely just woke up. Grabbing a granola bar for breakfast, I went through and gathered up my books for school. Once they were neatly arranged in my backpack, I set it by the door. My book from last night was still sitting on the island. I took it and flipped it open to my last page since I had a little time to kill before leaving for school. Deciding I would get too lost in the book, I rethought and took it over to my bag to take to school.

“Justin and I are going to the mall after school. He needs help shoe shopping. And I need to grab a few replacement shirts. I had to throw some out that were too old.”

“Have fun. Don’t forget to grab your mom’s prescription on the way home.”

“I won’t. Do we need anything else while we are out?”

“No, we should be okay. I’ll text you if I think of anything today. Your mom will be late today too. One of her students needed to schedule an afterhours meeting.”

“Okay. See you later dad.”

“Bye.”

Justin was early today, which surprised me. At least until I noticed his duffel bag. He must have spent the night at Bryce’s last night. He was mingling with his friends. I waved as I passed them to my locker, not paying anyone much mind. I watched them a bit from across the hall. They were goofing off as usual. Justin’s smile seemed a little forced. I’ll talk to him after school. My eyes scanned the group. When they landed on Monty, I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. And I will admit I may have possibly spent more time than strictly required, simply checking him out. It was during my perusal of his body that I noticed something familiar. A little too familiar. My eyes widened and I looked down. That… that’s… we are wearing the same shirt. Spinning around and opening my locker again, I ripped off the flannel and shoved it in my locker.

Casually making my way over to the group of boys, I made sure to rub my arms like I was cold. “Morning Justin. Morning Boys.” I shivered.

“Morning Addy.” Justin said, as he leaned in to hug me gently.

“Where’s my morning Addy?” Bryce smirked.

“Oh, I’m sorry Bryce. I must have forgotten we say morning to each other. Morning Walker.”

“Morning Addy. Are you cold or are you finally going to tell us all what your secret to doing well in school is?”

“I’m cold. And I’ve shared my secret with you before. It’s called actually opening the books they rent to us and reading them. Hey Justin, do you have an extra sweater? I spilled water on my other shirt like right after I left the house.”

“Yeah, I have one in my locker. Go ahead and grab it.”

“Thanks. Have I told you you’re the best lately?”

“Nope.” He laughed.

“Well, now I have.”

I was in a good mood when lunch rolled around. I nodded to Courtney in the hall on my way to the cafeteria. She was talking to Marcus about one thing or another. Tyler was watching Hannah in a way that had it been anyone else, wouldn’t have been weird. Clay was watching her too. I smiled and waved at him. He nodded back. “Hey Addison.” Tyler called. I turned around and he waved his camera at me. I waved my book in the air like I was busy but stopped for the student life photographer anyway. He snapped his photo and I continued on.

Since I was in a good mood, I didn’t even think twice about sitting with Justin and his friends. “Are we eating at the mall?” Justin asked when I sat down.

“I don’t see why not. I’ll have to stop at Baker Drugs on my way home though. Mum has a refill waiting.”

“Okay.” He nodded and bit into his sandwich. Jeff bounded over to the table.

“Guess who got above a C?” He asked, proudly.

“You?” Anders asked in response.

“Yup. Now I can finally make Clay make a move.”

“He’s going to hate it Jeff.” I said.

“I know. But he needs to put himself out there.”

“Make a move on who?” Monty asked.

“Hannah Baker.” Jeff replied. “Everyone knows he likes her.”

“I don’t really pay attention to the Jensen kid.” He shrugged.

“He hates dances.”

“I know. But a deal is a deal. I get above a C he goes to the dance. Are you going Addy?”

“Wasn’t planning on it, no.”

“Why not?” Bryce asked. I rolled my eyes.

“I hate school dances. The only not crappy part is that Tony is DJing.”

“You have to go. I’m going.” Justin begged with his mouth full.

I shook my head. What is it with boys not chewing their food? “I went to the last one. It’s Bryce’s turn to babysit you.”

“I babysat last time.”

“No, you didn’t. You were sneaking off behind the bleachers with your date. I babysat. Plus, I can’t tie a tie. And neither can Justin. Ergo, your turn.”

“Yes you-.” Justin started. I kicked him under the table.

“I’m not going to the stupid dance. Besides, I have homework.”

“Addison. The dance isn’t for like three weeks.” Jeff complained.

“I know Jeff. But I am not Clay Jensen. I have friends. I have a life.”

“Aren’t you friends with Clay?” Scott asked.

“Yes. So, I know he keeps to himself. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to the dance.”

“You’re not going to the dance yet.” Justin smiled devilishly. I rolled my eyes.

“Did you finish your English paper?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Did you?” He challenged. Monty choked on a laugh. Smooth. Bryce quirked his brow.

“Did you just ask her if she finished a homework assignment?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged.

“Yes, I did. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. Since you’re on me about my homework.”

“Justin. The last time she handed something in late, was like seventh grade because she was out of school the day it was due.” Monty added.

“I remember. She had a stress rash because of it. How do you remember?”

He shrugged. “It had never happened before.” He noticed that? And thought it was important enough to remember? Thankfully before any more questions could be raised, the bell rang.

“I’ll meet you at my locker after school Justin.” He gave me a thumbs up before walking away, already in conversation with Zach about something.

Justin and I drove to the mall, singing along to whatever was on a Spotify artist radio. “Do we want a pretzel now or later?” I asked as I pulled my purse out of my backpack in the car. I had changed back into the flannel from this morning while I waited for my best friend at my locker.

“Now.” We said in unison.

Pretzels in hand, we wandered around the mall for a while. “I need some new shirts. I had to throw a bunch out because they were really old and not able to be donated.”

“You want opinions?��

“Of course.”

“Shoes first?”

“Sure.”

“DSW?” He shrugged and nodded. At the store, we headed straight for the men’s section. I pointed out a few pairs that seemed like they were his style. He made a face at the first couple of pairs and shook his head. Shrugging, I pointed out a pair of Nikes that were on sale. He gave me his best seriously look and I laughed. “They could be nice.”

“Yeah. If I want to look like my feet are three sizes bigger than they are.”

“You know what they say about guys with big feet though Justin.” He flipped me off. “What about these?” This time, he actually tried them on. They were not the right ones.

After a few more busts, we decided it was time to try a different store. Famous Footwear was having a sale. We stopped in there. Once again, we headed straight for the men’s sneakers. He tried a couple of pairs of Converse. Neither of us were very big fans. “White?” I asked, pointing out a pair of Pumas.

“No.” He shot down. I nodded and we kept looking. He picked up a pair of grey and white Nikes. “These are nice.”

“They are.” We found his size and he tried them on. “How do they feel?”

“Good.” He flexed his foot a few times before trying them out to walk. “Yeah, these feel good.” I smiled and we placed them back in the box to go pay.

Shoes in hand, we made a quick pitstop for coffee. Justin brought up the topic of the Winter Formal again while we walked around trying to find some shirts for me. “Are you really not going to go Addy?”

“No Justin. I don’t want to go. And besides, I have no one to go with.” At least, no one I can go to a school dance with.

“You can go with us.”

“Go with you and Bryce. And Bryce’s boys?” I quirked my brow, sharply.

“Yeah. We don’t bite. We are fun.”

“Fun. Sure.” I muttered.

“You could see Clay try to talk to Hannah.”

“Or I could sit at home and binge watch Pretty Little Liars.”

“I thought you said you had homework Addy.”

“You know that was just so Jeff would let my excuse slide. For now, at least.”

“Come on. It’ll be fun.”

“If I say I’ll think about it, will you drop it?”

“Yes.” He nodded.

“Then I will think about it.” He made a fist pumping motion and I burst out laughing. “You are such a freaking dork.”

We stopped at Target and looked around the clothes-he wasn’t going to let me look at anything else-for a while. But nothing really felt like me when I looked at it or tried it on. American Eagle was a little better. I was able to at least find things I liked on the hanger and on me. “This?” I asked Justin when I came out of the dressing room in a soft purple shirt.

“It’s nice. Makes your boobs look good.”

“That’s always a plus.” I added it to the small yes pile. A blue one was next. He shook his head.

“Not your colour.”

“Didn’t think so.” A couple more noes were added to the pile before we checked out. Aritzia and Zara were close by, but I didn’t like anything on the rack enough to try it on. We made a quick stop at Madewell and I got a couple of plain white t-shirts.

“Can we make a Sephora stop? I need to replace my foundation.”

“We can if you give me your wallet, so you don’t spend all of your money.”

“I won’t spend it all. I literally only need a new bottle of foundation.”

“Alright. You have ten minutes to get in line tops.”

“Yes Dad.” I shook my head. Justin scoffed jovially. He followed close behind me in the store to make sure I stayed true to my word. They were out of my shade in my usual formula. I grabbed a bottle of my backup formula instead. By the time we were done, I didn’t even have the energy to make a stop at the bookstore. We decided to grab a slice of pizza to go instead of sitting in the food court.

Back in town, we stopped at Baker Drugs and got my mom’s prescription. I grabbed a box of gobstoppers for good measure and grinned at Justin. “Are you spending the night? We can do movies before bed as long as you aren’t a pain in my ass in the morning.”

“Sure. I’ll let my mom know.”

At home, I texted Monty while Justin was in the bathroom. Hey, Justin is spending the night for movie night.

Okay. How was shopping?

Good. I got some stuff.

Awesome. Enjoy your movies babe. Justin came back before I could reply. “Who you texting?”

“Just Zach about our Government assignment. Do we want snacks?”

“Of course, we want snacks.” Together, the two of us went downstairs and raided the cabinets.

“Hi Justin. Hi Addison.” Mum greeted as she came in the door.

“Hi Margot.” Justin replied.

“Hi Mum.”

“Make sure you don’t eat too much candy you two.” She chuckled when she saw us trying to stuff a box of Swedish berries in Justin’s sweater.

“We won’t Mum.”

“Yes Mom.”

I put a bag of popcorn in the microwave. Justin and I ran upstairs with our contraband. We both changed into comfy clothes and arranged our candy on my bed. When the microwave beeped, I ran back down to get it. Mum pretended not to notice me grabbing an extra chocolate bar. I heard her laughing with dad about it though.

“They really are quite cute together.”

“I suppose. Thankfully we don’t need to worry about them being another kind of cute.” Dad said. No, you really don’t.

Justin had Netflix pulled up when I got back to my room and shut the door. He was scrolling aimlessly. “I put butter on in the middle and the top.”

“Wonderful.” He grinned. “What mood are we in?”

“Superbad?”

“Addison! That is an R rated movie.” He exclaimed, scandalously.

“But it’s funny.”

“Superbad it is.” We got settled and hit play. After it was done, we scrolled through and picked The Social Network. Finally, just for fun to end the night… er, morning, we decided to watch the 2011 Footloose. Between the three films, we ate so much candy we knew we would wake up with stomach aches on Tuesday.

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five-rivers · 4 years

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Fruits

For @greyheartwriter for the Phic Phight! Enjoy!

Thanks to the Fenton Faded Folio Fixer, the waterlogged, ripped, and slightly singed journal of Jack's favorite and most notorious ancestor was now readable. Or, at least, carefully scanned photographs of the pages could be read. Jack could hardly wait to read it. He and Maddie had stayed up until the small hours of the morning inputting pages.

If only they were young again, able to pull all-nighters... Alas, it was not to be.

Still, he was very high energy when he got up that morning. As usual. He bounced down the stairs in front of his wife, letting his enthusiasm out.

"Hey, Mads, what kind of cool historical ghost fighting techniques do you think we'll find in ol' John Fenton-Nightingale's journal? My grandpa told me that he once fought a demon ghost with his bare hands, can you imagine?"

He heard a choking sound from the kitchen, and bounded in to find his son, Danny, choking on his cereal. He gave Danny a hearty slap on the back, and Danny started gasping for air.

"You okay there, Danny boy?"

"I'm, yeah, I'm fine. I just- Late for school! Gotta go!"

Danny rushed out the door without any further explanation. Jack scratched his head. "Huh. Isn't it still pretty early?"

"It's Saturday," said Maddie, concerned. "Should we go get him?"

"Nah, he'll figure it out soon enough!" said Jack. "It's good to see him so eager to go! Speaking of eager, let's go see how good ol' John ripped ghosts apart in the good old days!"

"Blood blossoms are extinct, right?" Danny asked Sam, watching her water her plants in her greenhouse, hands on his knees. "I mean, definitely and absolutely?"

"As far as I could find out," said Sam. "I talked to all of my gardening contacts. Only one had ever even heard of them, and she was convinced it was just a weird rose. I mean, even from where I was tied, I could tell they weren't, so... What's this about, anyway? Did your parents find out about them?"

"No, but they're about to. They got the Nightingale journal legible."

"Dang. I thought you trashed it."

"I tried! I really tried! But then Dad got it in his head that ghosts were trying to destroy it because it held secret ghost fighting secrets-"

"I mean, true, but go on."

"-and they got really enthusiastic about it. They build a whole machine just to read it!"

Sam put down her watering can and patted Danny on the back. "Well, hopefully there isn't anything in there that's worse than blood blossoms."

Danny groaned. "Why would you say something like that?"

"... and they're great on sandwiches!" exclaimed Jack.

"They certainly sound amazing," said Maddie as she typed on the lab computer. "They would be an amazing asset, but I can't find anything about them online, or even anything that looks like them. Show me the picture again? Maybe I can run it by some people."

"Sure thing, Mads!" Jack handed Maddie the relevant page. "Do you know a place called the Spine?"

"Not off the top of my head, why?"

"Because John says that's where he hid a bunch of seeds, just in case those dastardly ghosts tried to destroy them!"

"He hid them in the spine?" repeated Maddie, looking up from the computer. "Are you sure?"

"That's what he said!"

"Jack, what if he meant... the spine of the book?"

Both of them rushed across the lab to where the journal was stored in a ghost-proof box. Maddie picked up a pair of scissors.

"I'm really sorry if I'm wrong, Jack," she said.

"Don't be! It's what John would have wanted!"

She flipped up the lid and took out the wrecked book. "Maybe that's why the ghosts were so insistent on trying to destroy this, now. They knew about the seeds."

"I wouldn't put it past 'em!"

Maddie picked apart what was left of the binding, and, sure enough, a little cloth bag was nestled alongside the folded backs of the pages. Carefully, Jack picked it up and untied the top. He grinned widely and showed the shriveled red-brown fruits inside to Maddie.

"They're here, Maddie! Wait 'til I tell the kids! They'll be so excited! A little piece of family history, right here, in our hands."

"Wait, Jack," said Maddie, grabbing his arm. "I don't think we should tell them."

Jack's face fell. "Why not?"

"Well," said Maddie, frowning, "you know how they are about ghosts. I think we should keep these secret. So the ghosts don't find out, like they did with the journal."

"You don't think Jazz or Danny told the ghosts about the journal, do you?"

Maddie shook her head. "No, not necessarily. But they could have told their friends, and the ghosts could have overheard. This is just really important to our work and your family history, and I'd hate for it to be destroyed because of a mistake like that."

"Alright, we'll keep it secret, then. At least until they're ready to use! We can use the Fenton Stockades! The kids never go down there."

"You haven't heard any more about the journal?" Danny asked Jazz a week later. He leaned nervously against her doorjamb. He'd been having flashback nightmares to the seventeenth century or whatever hell year John Fenton-Nightingale had been from.

"What journal?" asked Jazz. "I read several. Psychology Today?"

"What?" asked Danny wrinkling his nose. "Isn't that a magazine? No, Dad's ancestor's journal. The one he and Mom thought was full of old ghost fighting stuff."

"No," said Jazz. "Why? Is it full of old ghost fighting stuff?"

Danny shrugged. "I didn't look at it super closely before I tried to torch it, but, yeah."

"That was you? Why?" asked Jazz, looking up from her book and swinging her legs off her bed.

"Because the guy tried to kill Sam," said Danny, scowling.

"Th- Our ancestor, who lived in the sixteen hundreds tried to kill Sam?" asked Jazz. "Jeez, I don't hear about half the things you guys get up to, do I? Why would he try to kill Sam?"

"He thought she was a witch. Thought I was a demon, too."

"So the demon Dad was saying he wrestled..."

"Probably me, to be honest."

"Just so you know," said Jazz, "I am intensely disturbed."

"That's two of us. Just, keep your ears out for them talking about blood blossoms or anything like that, okay?"

"Sure thing, little bro. And blood blossoms are?"

"Incredibly painful to ghosts. Or to half-ghosts who happen to be in ghost form." Danny made a face, remembering. "I was in so much pain I couldn't even think about turning back."

"You want to talk about it?"

"No," said Danny. "Not really."

"Well, if you change your mind..."

"Thanks," said Danny.

"Heh- achoo!"

"Sounds like you've got some allergies there, Danno!" said Jack. "I used to get them when I was your age, too!"

"Yeah, yeah," grumbled Danny. When his allergies had failed to show up the year after he became half-ghost, he had thought he had seen the last of them, but apparently they had just been lying in wait, because now they were worse than ever. He resisted the urge to rub his eyes.

If he ever found out what plant was doing this to him, he was going to destroy it with extreme prejudice.

"We'll pick up some allergy medication next time we're at the store. Which kind did you like, again? Allegra? Claratin?"

"I don't care," said Danny. "Whichever."

"Well," said Maddie, putting a pot on the table, "maybe this will help you clear up your sinuses, at least for a little bit. I put lots of spices in it." She ladled rosy pink soup into first Danny's then Jazz's bowls.

"It's an old family recipe!" said Jack, proudly.

Danny was immediately suspicious. Sure, he was probably just being paranoid, but he couldn't help but remember that John Fenton-Nightingale had eaten blood blossoms. Danny doubted consuming something like that would be good for him, no matter what form he was in.

He made a show of sneezing very hard and knocked his soup off the table.

"Aw, man," he said, staring at the mess.

"Don't worry, Danny-boy! You can have some of mine!"

"No, no," said Danny. "I'm actually not feeling all that hungry... I think I'll just go to bed." He fled the dining room without waiting for a response

"Jack," said Maddie, "do you think Danny was acting strangely at dinner today?" She still wasn't used to how her voice echoed in the Fenton Stockades, even after all these years.

"Yeah. Man, he's got some brutal allergies, huh?"

Maddie pruned a branch off of one of the larger blood blossom bushes. "Did you see the way he was looking at the blood blossom soup?" she asked.

"Not really! I was too busy looking at mine, and, man, was it delicious or what?"

"Thanks, Jack," said Maddie, smiling briefly. Her thoughts turned back to Danny, and the smile fell. "The book said that the fruits were good against overshadowing, right?"

"Right-o, Mads!"

"How long until these start bearing, do you think?"

The answer to the question was two weeks. For two weeks, Maddie lived not knowing whether or not her son was a ghost. For two weeks, Danny lived in a state of steadily increasing anxiety and paranoia.

He could feel Maddie watching him. He could feel her doubt. Literally. It made him sick. Or was that just the allergies? Either way it was brutal and Danny found himself taking every excuse he could to get out of the house. He rarely ate at home. He couldn't trust the food.

Jazz didn't think it was healthy. Neither did Danny, but it wasn't his fault.

"Do you have any proof?" asked Jazz, exasperated.

"Proof of what?"

"That Mom's acting weird, or that she's trying to poison you."

"No," admitted Danny. "But that doesn't mean she isn't."

"You've lost ten pounds, Danny, and you were already a stick. People will think you're anorexic." She paused. "You're not actually anorexic, are you?"

"No!" said Danny. "That's stupid. I'd eat if I could trust anything. Which I can't."

"Please, Danny. At least eat a cookie. I watched Mom make them. She didn't put in anything weird. Except for raisins, I guess."

Danny glanced down at the plate on the table, mouth watering. They smelled so good, and he was so hungry.

"Okay," he said, "but you have to watch in case I die or something."

Jazz rolled her eyes. "Fine," she said.

Danny picked up a cookie and bit into it. "Are you sure these are raisins?" he asked, picking the bite back out of his mouth.

"They were in the raisin box," said Jazz.

"They taste kind of funny," said Danny. His pulse had picked up. Crud, was he having a panic attack? Over a cookie?

"I guess they were kind of old," admitted Jazz. She took a cookie herself. "They're not bad. Danny? Are you okay?"

Danny, leaning on the counter, shook his head. "Can't breathe," he wheezed.

"Oh my gosh, you're swelling up," said Jazz.

Danny's vision tunneled and went dark.

"... anything new in his daily life? His diet?"

The voice was unfamiliar to Danny.

"We got some new plants last month... We've been trying them in cooking."

"In the cookies?"

"The fruits, yes, they're an heirloom variety."

"Could you bring some in? I'd like to run a few tests, but my initial diagnosis is that Danny has a severe allergy to something he ate."

There was an annoying beeping sound.

"Of course." Oh, that was his Mom. She sounded worried. "When do you think he'll wake up?"

"Any time now. But there are some other things I'd like to talk to you about that we found. Would you mind stepping out with me for a moment? Alright, so..."

"You can stop pretending to be asleep," said Jazz.

Danny groaned. "I told you so."

"You did," agreed Jazz.

"What have they noticed?" asked Danny, opening his eyes to see a hospital room.

"Not much, don't worry. I think they just want to ask about your portal scar."

"Mhm," said Danny, rubbing his chest. "So..."

"Severe allergic reaction. They hit you with an epi-pen."

"Cool. That worked?"

"Apparently."

"Are you sure you got rid of all of it?" asked Danny, standing well clear of the front door.

"We're positive, honey," said Maddie.

"Yeah, Danno," said Jack. "We got it up with the Fenton Pollen-o-Matic! Just, let us make this up to you, okay, sport? We didn't mean for it to turn out like this."

"I know," said Danny. He squared his shoulders and walked inside.

Danny sat on his bed, cross-legged. He had to check this now, rather than later, even if the thought of what was probably going to happen made him cringe.

No, he had to think positively. After all, what were the odds that the universe hated him that much?

Pretty high.

Okay. Positive thoughts not working. Time to bite the bullet.

He pulled on his core, summoning his transformation rings. They appeared, bright and white around his waist. They started to separate, and-

He was hit with a wall of blinding pain. His rings snapped back together.

Typical, really.

He reached for his phone and dialed a number.

"Hey, Tucker. How long did it take for those blood blossoms to go through your system?"

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2020

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

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Survey #394

“just want one thing / just to play the king / but the castle’s crumbled and you’re left with just a name / where’s your crown, king nothing?”

Do you have your ears pierced more than once? Yeah; I have two in my earlobes and my right tragus pierced. I used to have a cartilage and anti-tragus piercing, but they closed when I had to take them out at the hospital. -_- Do you use an electric toothbrush? Yep. Have you ever seen a queen bee outside its hive? I don't believe so? Have you ever used Duolingo? No. Do you think the number 13 is unlucky? No. Which Clue (or Cluedo) character is your favourite? I always played Scarlet because I thought she was pretty. Do you have any novelty ice cube trays? No. Have you ever had a bad experience meeting a bf’s/gf’s parents? No. Do you get sick of eating turkey during the holidays? I don't eat turkey because I don't like it. I have honey spiral ham instead. Have you ever danced on a table? No. Did you have a lot of fun as a little kid? Yeah. Is there someone you can talk to all day, never running out of stuff to say? Some days. Ham or turkey? Ham. Would you rather eat nothing but fruits or nothing but cheese sandwiches? Fruit. What’s the last song you sung along to? I think Shinedown's "Get Up" while I was in the car. You get to be in any tv series or movie. (old/new) What are you choosing? Let's seeee... maybe Wonderland! Do you meditate? No; it actually stresses me out because I can't completely clear my head. What’s your go-to song when you’re angry? "Headache" by Motionless In White is a good one. What do you think about the most? My weight, honestly. It's at least an itching thought in my head at ALL times. Just being able to feel that I'm overweight and simply glimpsing a fatty part of my body is so, so upsetting. I usually look in the mirror to see if my face is slimmer whenever I pass one, or I'll grasp a part of my body to just feel if I've lost weight there. I could really go on and on about this, but I'd rather not, given it's depressing me talking about it. Have you ever visited any celebrity gravesites? No. How do you feel about archaeology? It's extremely fascinating to me. Any animals whose behaviors you find particularly interesting? ALL animals! Meerkats, however, quite obviously top my list. I love love love social animals, and their behaviors and deep connections remind me of just how human animals really can be, but honestly better half the time. What are your thoughts on gun control? There MUST be reform. I don't think entirely taking away the right to bear arms is the answer, but there needs, needs, NEEDS to be some serious tidying up regarding it. I believe it should be much more difficult to legally obtain a firearm with very extensive background checks and things of the like. I firmly do believe it would help SOME to prevent gun violence. Nothing is ever going to completely stop it unless firearms just cease to exist, but anything that helps reduce it is worth it. Would you have a big cat (like a tiger) for a pet if you could? Absolutely not. Big cats are extremely dangerous with strong hunting instincts, and besides putting my life at risk, I am not forcing a large animal into a small space. Do you like animals better than most humans? Sure as hell do. What simple things in life bring you the most joy? Hearing birds chirping in the morning, crickets and toads at night, starting my soda for the day (rip), watching snow fall, feeling a cool breeze on a nice day with the windows open, my pets wanting to cuddle... just to name a few. I massively appreciate the small things, so I could make this a very long list. What are your favorite smells? Cinnamon rolls, coffee, fresh baked bread, lilac, honeysuckles, etc. Ever found anything cool at a thrift store? What was it? Yeah! I've found some dragon figurines I use for decor, but the absolute coolest has to be this shipwreck lamp that I bought. I love flea markets. How do you find new music to listen to when you want it? YouTube recommendations, usually. Do you like all those dystopian future books/movies? They're all right. If you collect anything, what is your favorite piece of that collection? I collect two types of things: meerkat-oriented and Silent Hill stuff. My favorite part of my meerkat collection is Rebel, my super cute plushy that Jason got me. I slept with it for years and even now that we're done, I still hold the little guy very dear to me. My favorite SH piece I have is a limited edition, Japanese flyer for Silent Hill: Revelation that I won in a giveaway. How did you meet your significant other (if you have one)? N/A How did you meet your best friend? Via YouTube. Your favorite place to be aside from your home? Sara's house. Do you have any favorite books you’d like to have signed by the author? It'd be dooooope if I could have Tim Clutton-Brock sign my copy of Flower's biography. Do you like any board games or card games? I mean yeah. Not a lot, but some. What is your least favorite beverage? Of the things I've tried, probably black coffee. Do you like Breaking Benjamin? I do! What kind of music do you like? Metal, rock, alternative, and indie. Do you like guys with long hair? Yes. Have you ever seen an elephant? Yes. How many people of the opposite sex have you told you loved them? One, if you mean romantically. Do you and your mom get along? Yeah, we're really close. Have you ever had to change your phone number? Twice that I recall. I got a creepy text once, and another with threats. Ever been bitten by a spider? Not to my knowledge. When you were little did you jump in puddles? Oh, absolutely. Bugs: Cool or gross. Even though I'm scared of some of them, they're certainly still cool. Well, most. Do you wear a toe ring? No, I don't find those attractive at all. Have you ever had to babysit before? Twice, even though I didn't want to. Do you actually eat your fortune cookie, if you get one? Yeah, I like 'em. What's your favorite thing about cats? I enjoy how calm and independent they are. Salt, or pepper? I like both, but I prefer to have salt. Think of an ex. What's his favorite color? Jason's were green and purple. Which is better, the taste, or smell of coffee? I only like the smell. What item appears the most in your room? Meerkat stuff. Liquid eyeliner, is good, or totally sucks? My hands are WAY too shaky for that. Has a stray dog ever tried to bite you? No. Do you currently have any bug bites? No. Do you multitask well? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. Do you know what an "AMV" is? Yes, because I used to make them and am considering getting back into it. What’s one award show you have to watch every year? None. Who do you like more: the Batman or the Joker? The Joker. Have you ever had a pet rock? I don't recall, actually? I might have as a little kid. Haha, there was one April Fool's Day that Mark sold rocks with his mustached "M" on them, and I SO wanted one. He gave all the earnings to a charity that I can't remember, so that also really made me wanna get one, but yeah, I was NOT asking Mom for even a small amount of money for a rock, haha. She woulda been so fucking confused. Do you know anyone with a lazy eye? Knew, rather. Did your parents let you have pets when you were a kid? Yes. What band was on the last band t-shirt you wore? Ummmm... I'm not sure. Maybe Korn? What’s the last movie you watched at a friend’s house? Elf, I believe? Do you have any tattoos on your arms? Yep. Do you own a teapot? No. Did you have a GI Joe when you were a kid? No. What is the origin of your last name? Irish. Do you ever use the "n"-word? NO. What piercing do you like most on the opposite sex? It would depend on the person, but probably some sort of lip ring(s). What is your salad dressing of choice? Ranch, or the kind from Olive Garden. Have you ever written anything longer than 10 pages? Yes. I wrote a massive essay on toxic masculinity during my last college attempt. I got WAY more into it than I thought I would.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''king nothing'' by metallica

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trulymadlysydney · 5 years

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Somewhere In Time: One

“Time is the most undefinable yet paradoxical of things; the past is gone, the future is not come, and the present becomes the past even while we attempt to define it, and, like the flash of lightning, at once exists and expires.”

-- Charles Caleb Colton.

**Please do not repost without permission***

4:37pm, December 31st, 1999

“Thank you so much for coming in, and happy new year!”

The bells above the door of the book shop jingle as the last of the day’s customers exit, simultaneously allowing a gust of cold wind to fill the front of the small building. Twenty-six year old Roni Elliot smiles cheerfully until the customer has disappeared out of sight, at which point she lets out a long, labored sigh. “That’s the last of ‘em, Eileen.”

An older woman appears from around the corner of a row of bookshelves, carrying a stack of books in her arms that she had been in the process of returning to their rightful spots. “Finally. Thought they’d never leave. It’s New Years Eve, for heaven’s sake, what are they doing here?” The look on her face makes Roni giggle, but Eileen means every word that comes out of her mouth.

Roni knows the closing routine well, and immediately goes to lock up the shop without even being asked. “We could ask ourselves the same question, you know.”

Eileen scoffs, scanning the title of the top book in her arms and placing it on a shelf. She doesn’t say anything, but the smile on her face informs Roni that she’s not as grumpy as she seems. She never is really, and at this point, Roni is used to her moods.

Roni adores Eileen. Her bark is worse than her bite, and Roni has become well acquainted with said bark. But Eileen loves Roni just as much, and although she struggles to express it, Roni knows Eileen would do anything for her.

The quiet doesn’t last long, as Roni knew it wouldn’t. Eileen is immediately launching into a story about her younger sister and how careless she is. Roni offers what little advice she can give on the situation while she sits and sorts through the box of used book donations, piling them all into different categories so they’ll be easier to place on the shelves.

“I’ve told her several times, ‘you can’t keep putting this off, Debby’ but she never listens to me. And I said to her, ‘Debby,’ I said, ‘what are you going to do when Richard passes?’ But she insists she’s too young to think about that just yet.” Eileen laughs. “I’m sixty-nine years old but at least I’ve got this store to my name. And what does Debby have?”

“You’re sixty-nine?” Roni teases. “Eileen, why didn’t you tell me? You don’t look a day over thirty.”

“Oh stop that. I’m being genuine, Veronica.”

Roni loves working in the bookshop. She finds comfort among the used books; the smell of old pages strangely familiar and welcoming. She’s been at this job since 1995, and she can’t seem to pull herself away from it all these years later. She’s grown too attached to Eileen, to the old books with the ripped spines and the dog-eared pages. It’s a family owned shop, opened in 1920 by Eileen’s grandmother, Louise. Eileen had grown up in this shop, eventually taking it over when her own mother passed, and in a way Roni feels as though she also grew up here.

Yellowing photographs cover the walls, some dating all the way back to the shop’s opening. Pictures of Louise with early patrons, pictures of past employees, and even a few family pictures that have nothing to do with the shop are all lined along the walls, yellowing with age and curling at the corners. Louise was a beautiful woman, and some of her photos look eerily like young photos of Eileen. Roni often finds herself scanning the pictures on the walls, asking Eileen to tell her about some of the people photographed. But Roni’s favorite picture is one that hangs in the back corner of the shop.

The photo is dated 1965, and features a freckle-faced little twelve year old girl with pigtails, standing beside her bicycle--the basket of said bicycle filled to the brim with science books. The little girl was none other than Roni’s own mother, Tanya, and Roni gets a pang of both joy and sadness every time she looks at it. According to Eileen, who was thirty-five at the time of the photograph, Tanya used to ride her bike to the shop every Friday-- because Friday was when she got her weekly allowance-- and purchase as many books as she could carry. It’s a story Roni’s heard thousands of times, but one she never gets tired of hearing.

“And of course her children will never come in here to see me.” Roni is only half-heartedly listening to Eileen, who is still ranting about Debby. “I helped her raise those kids when Richard was away and, and for what? They’re all grown now and all they care about are those darn computers.”

Eileen had never had children of her own, but she’d grown fond of Tanya and her frequent visits. She was one of the first to hear about Tanya’s pregnancy with Roni, and one of the first to offer up help when Roni’s father left without a word. When Tanya had passed, Roni had gone to live with her own grandmother, but she’d always considered Eileen a grandmother as well. It was an unspoken bond between the two of them; one that even Roni sometimes struggled finding the words to explain.

“It’s a shame,” Eileen’s voice brings Roni out of her own head once again, and she feels bad for zoning out. “Nowadays the young folks just don’t appreciate books like they used to.”

Roni sighs, feeling an almost pang of guilt at Eileen’s words. It’s a conversation they’ve had multiple times, and no matter what, Roni is never quite sure how to respond. She speaks up, placing a donated book into the “romance” pile. “There are still kids out there who love books.”

“Have you seen one person in here under the age of 30 today, Veronica?”

Eileen makes a point, but Roni is nothing if she isn’t positive. “They’re just busy preparing for their New Years Eve parties tonight.”

“And then after the parties, where will they be?”

Roni smirks, thumbing mindlessly through an autobiography before throwing it into its own pile. “Hungover.”

Eileen shakes her head, but Roni’s words coax a smile onto her face. “I don’t know, honey. It just doesn’t seem promising.”

Roni halts her movements, glancing over to where Eileen sits. Eiileen looks sad, and it weighs heavy on Roni’s heart. So roni sighs, offering a warm smile. “Heyyy,” she says softly. “You’ll see. 2000 is going to be a good year. I’ll make sure of it. I have plans for this place!”

“I’ve had plans for this place since I was six years old!. But everything keeps changing, and kids don’t care.”

“You’ve got to work on being more positive, girl.” Roni rises to her feet and gathers the pile of romance books. “Maybe this Y2K nonsense will only wipe out all the kids obsessed with technology. And then the only people left will be all the young people with old souls like you and me.”

Eileen laughs again. “Ohh stop that,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Speaking of all that, shouldn’t you be home getting ready? I’m sure you’ve got some exciting plans tonight.”

Roni raises her voice to be heard better, now speaking from the back corner of the shop where the romance section is located. “Oliver and I are having a party. Couple of friends. Nothing special.”

“Oliver,” Eileen repeats, as if trying to jog her memory as to who Oliver is. “That boyfriend of yours still treating you well?”

Roni has been with Oliver since she was sixteen years old, ten years ago, and in the entire five years she’s worked here, Eileen has asked that same question at least once a week. “Yeah, he’s totally great. We’re still like, really happy.”

“Well, good. You make sure he puts a ring on your finger before any funny business though. You don’t want any babies you aren’t ready for.”

Roni snorts quietly to herself. “Don’t worry, Eileen. There won’t be any of that any time soon.”

“See to it that there isn’t.”

It’s quiet for the next few moments, with Eileen closing down the cash register and Roni placing books back on their shelves. She glances up at the pictures that she’s grown so familiar with on the walls. Sometimes she likes to make up stories for each, imagining their entire family line, what they do for work, where they’re from.

There’s the larger woman in the picture dated 1987, smiling and laughing with her eyes closed beside a man with a thick gray mustache. There’s the picture of the boy in the newsboy cap, dated 1924, standing beside a stack of books that’s taller than him, grinning at the camera with a dimpled smirk. And then there’s a picture of Roni and Eileen, dated 1996- just one year after Roni started working here. Eileen is giving Roni a stern yet amused look, with a hint of a smile tugging on her cheeks, while Roni is giving the camera a goofy, mid-laugh smile. It’s one of Roni’s favorite pictures ever, and one of these days she swears she’ll get a copy of her own to frame.

“Veronica, dear.” Roni doesn’t know how much time has passed when Eileen catches her attention once more. “Why don’t you go on ahead and get out of here? I can finish this up.”

“What? No, I’m not gonna leave you--”

“Oh, honey. You know I can handle this on my own. You go on home, get your party all set up for tonight. Don’t worry about me.”

Roni appears from around the shelves, subconsciously playing with the rings on her fingers. “But don’t you need to get out of here, too? You’ve gotta have some party plans tonight.”

Eileen laughs “The only plans I’ve got for tonight are to go home, cook myself some dinner, go to bed, and wake up in a brand new millennium.”

“If we make it that long!” Roni teases, eyes widening in a jokingly scared face. “You know Y2K is gonna take us all out.”

“Oh Veronica,” Eileen scoffs, “stop with that nonsense.” She swats at Roni’s behind as she passes, and Roni giggles. “You and I both know we’re going to wake up tomorrow and everything is going to be completely normal. We’re going to get one day to relax and then it’s back to work. Within a week no one will even remember any of this.”

Roni glances down at the mood ring on her finger, chewing absentmindedly at her chapped lips. She knows Eileen is probably right, but there’s a part of her that hopes she isn’t.

Still, this is not the time or the place to get into all of that. So she brushes it aside with a giggle. “How can you be so sure?”

“I’ve been around sixty-nine years, dear. They’ve predicted this more times than I can count on all my fingers and toes. If the world is going to end, I just hope she gets on with it. I’m tired.”

This time Roni laughs out loud. “Word,” she replies, beginning her final go-round of the little shop, making sure each aisle is neat and tidy. “But really, you sure you’re gonna be okay alone here?”

Roni hardly hears Eileen’s answer when she stops in the sci-fi section. She scans the book titles briefly before finding exactly what she’s looking for; the over-used copy of Black Holes and Time Warps: Einstein’s Outrageous Legacy by Kip S. Thorne.

With slow fingers, Roni gently slides the book from the shelf and runs her hand over the cover. She’s borrowed this book countless times, read it cover to cover so many times she could potentially recite it, and filled at least a hundred pages in her journal with notes not only from this novel, but several others as well. Some part of her mind tells her that it’s pointless to borrow this book yet again, as if she’s going to find something she hasn’t already seen. But the other part of her mind, the much louder and more prominent part, tells her to read it just one more time.

Just in case.

Roni takes a deep breath and walks up to where Eileen still stands closing the register. “Hey, Eileen?”

“Hm?” Eileen hardly even glances up at Roni from over her glasses.

“Would it be okay if I borrowed this book?”

This time, Eileen does look up, squinting over her glasses to read the title of the book before shooting Roni an incredulous look. “Again?”

“It’s my favorite!” It’s only partly a lie. “I just find it like, super fascinating, you know?”

“What exactly are you expecting to get from reading it hundreds of times?”

Roni bites her tongue, not daring to allow herself to tell Eileen what she really wants. “I’m not… expecting anything,” she lies. “I just think it’s dope.”

“Dope,” Eileen mocks, shaking her head with a laugh. She eyes Roni carefully, then lets out a sigh. “Alright, love, of course you can take it.”

Roni beams, surprisingly relieved although she’d known the entire time that Eileen would say yes. Eileen continues speaking as Roni heads towards the back room. “And stop using those slang words on me, Veronica, you know I don’t understand them.” Despite her words, she smiles, nodding her head towards the ‘Employees Only’ door. “Go on and get out of here, now. You’ve got a party to set up.”

“Eileen, you’re the bomb.” Now Roni’s just teasing her, and she blows Eileen a kiss that has her giggling.

It’s about ten minutes later when Roni is waving her final goodbye to Eileen and slipping out the door. It is windier than usual outside, and she pulls her jacket tightly around her shoulders, not at all looking forward to walking home in this cold. She glances up at the cloudy sky, which looks like it could snow at any moment, and lets out a sigh. As much as she loves her friends, she really hopes they don’t all get snowed in at her and Oliver’s house tonight.

Roni is so distracted by the sky and her own thoughts that she shrieks when she feels herself bump straight into another person. She blinks as she regains her balance, trying to make out the person in front of her.

It’s an old man she’s seen before on this street. Roni has never been sure if he’s homeless or crazy, but he’s always out here holding his signs and shouting about ‘the inevitable doom that will come if you don’t repent!” His current sign reads “Y2K: The End Is Near” in dripping red paint made to look-- very inaccurately-- like blood.

Roni lets out a sigh once her initial shock wears off. “I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

“The end is near!” The man shouts in Roni’s face, getting so close she can practically smell his breath. “We have hours to go, do you have a plan?”

Roni grimaces before sliding past the man to continue on her walk home. “Sorry, dude. My plan is to get shitfaced and fall asleep with my friends. Good luck with the protesting though.”

Although he makes no effort to chase after her, he continues yelling; the further Roni gets away the louder he becomes. “You’ll be sorry! When the world comes to complete and utter chaos and you’ve got nowhere to go, see if I help you!! The end is nearer than you think, and you will suffer the consequences, do you hear me?”

He continues yelling for what feels like an eternity, and when Roni is finally out of earshot she rolls her eyes. “Fuckin’ weirdo,” she mutters under her breath. With that, she walks a little bit faster, tucking her house key between her pointer and middle finger in order to feel a bit more safe.

----------

9:31pm, December 31st, 1924

“Styles! Get over here.”

Twenty-five year old Harry Styles groans, wiping his hands on the rag hanging from the back of his pants. He brushes his sweaty brow with the back of his wrist as he walks towards his supervisor, Frank Milton. “Sir?”

“What is this?” Frank shoves a leather shoe into Harry’s chest, and Harry has to take a moment to readjust himself so as to not fall over.

He glances down at the shoe, trying his hardest to find a problem with it. He sees his own reflection, a bit distorted in the shiny leather of the shoe. He flips it around to look at the sole-- perfectly in tact, and finally gives up, shrugging. “It’s a shoe.”

Frank scoffs in disbelief, shaking his head. “You’re joking. You’re absolutely joking.”

Harry glances around the factory. A few of his friends are keeping an eye on the situation, but for the most part, no one is paying much attention to him. He clears his throat. “It’s proper to my eyes, sir.”

“Proper.” Frank scoffs again, suddenly yanking the shoe from Harry’s hand and shoving it in his face. “Does this seem proper to you, Styles?”

The shoe almost hits Harry’s nose, and he can smell the fresh leather from how close Frank is holding it to his face. Harry squints, tilting his head back a bit so he can try and get a better idea as to what Frank could possibly be referring to. He scans the shoe once more, shaking his head slowly when he once again comes up short handed. “I don’t--”

“The throat line!” Frank throws the shoe with all of his might this time, and it lands harshly against Harry’s chest before plopping to the ground with a dull “plap” noise. Harry wants to reach up and rub at the spot on his chest that the shoe impacted, but now Frank has nearly everyone’s attention, and Harry doesn’t so much as dare to move. Frank takes a step closer to Harry, shoving his finger against the center of his chest. He’s so close now that Harry can feel his spit when he talks. “How many times have I told you to watch what you’re doing, Styles? Hm? How many?”

Harry can’t think of a proper answer, and he’s not sure whether or not this is a rhetorical question. More than anything, he wants to shove Frank’s finger off of his chest and show him exactly what he thinks of him. He could tell Frank off right here and now, in front of everyone, once and for all. Too many times has Frank gotten in Harry’s face over the most minuscule and trivial things. Too many times has Frank gotten too big for his britches and abused the power he had over these men in this factory. It drives Harry to near insanity, especially knowing that he could easily flip Frank over his shoulder and send him crashing to the ground (likely knocking him unconscious considering the concrete floor), without so much as breaking a sweat.

But Harry is one late bill away from having the power in his apartment completely shut off. Harry is one blanket short of being completely warm in his bed at night, especially come this time of year. And Harry only has about one meal left in his fridge to get him through till next payday. Which means he can’t afford to give Frank a piece of his mind.

So Harry clears his throat and gives him an answer. “Several.”

“Several times, Styles, and for what? For the throat line of our shoes to look like this?!” Frank gestures angrily at the shoe, now lying abandoned on the floor. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Huh? How do we get it through your skull to watch what the fuck you’re doing?”

Harry won’t meet Frank’s eyes, and he’s certain that if he did he’d lose all control. The fact that every pair of eyes in the factory is on him has become painfully obvious, and Harry can feel the tips of his ears turning red. With every ounce of courage Harry can muster, he swallows his pride and bends down to retrieve the shoe. “I’m sorry, sir. If you’ll just give me another chance--”

Frank cuts him off with a jab of his knee into Harry’s side, successfully knocking off Harry’s balance and sending him to the ground. “Does the integrity of this brand mean nothing to you? Do deadlines just not matter in your world?”

On the one hand, Harry wants one of his mates to stand up for him. But on the other, he hates that they’re all there watching this happen. “Mr. Milton, I--”

“I have given you more than enough chances, Styles. And this?” He kicks the shoe towards Harry. “This is the way you repay me?”

“Mr. Milton--”

“I’ve had it, Styles. You’re finished here.”

The entire factory seems to fall silent at Frank’s words, and Harry lets out all of his breath in disbelief. The silence feels stuffy and hot, and Harry scans the entire room before glancing back up at Frank. Everything moves in slow motion, and not a single person in the room knows how to react.

Finally, Harry scoffs, shaking his head, and a bitter smile teases at the corners of his lips. Harry isn’t one to beg, especially not when he’s down on the ground like this, and as desperate as he is for money, there’s a small part of him that’s relieved. Harry closes his mouth, opens it again, glances around the room once more, and then smile’s a tongue-in-cheek smile up at Frank. “I don’t… know what to say, sir.”

“Get your things. I have nothing more to say to you.”

All eyes are on Harry when he lets out a long nasally sigh. He nods his head slowly before rising to his feet, taking the previously discarded shoe in his hand. Frank turns to walk away, but stops dead in his tracks when he hears Harry’s voice.

“I’m sure you don’t, Frank.”

Harry doesn’t move. He soaks up every ounce of the thickness in the room and uses it to fuel himself even more. When Frank finally does turn around on his heels, the look on his beet red face is almost enough to send Harry into a fit of laughter.

Almost, but not quite.

Frank takes a step towards Harry, intended to make him back down. Instead he only grins, causing Frank to raise his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

“Well,” Harry says, nonchalantly turning the shoe in his hands, “Frank. It’s unfortunate you feel that way.” He glances up from under his lashes, completely unable to contain the smirk on his face. “Because I’ve got an awful lot to say to you.”

Harry steps forward, shoving the shoe right back into Frank’s chest before walking completely past him. He walks further into the factory, gesturing vaguely with his hands. “You think I’m going to lose any sleep over quitting this fuckin’ dump?”

“You watch your mouth, Styles.”

“The way you watch yours?” Harry raises his eyebrows challengingly, continuing his walk around the room. “The way you treat me--the way you’ve treated every single one of us for the last two years warrants no amount of respect from me, sir.”

Harry arrives at the machine of a coworker and pats him on the back. “Eddie, how long have you been here?”

Eddie hesitates, eyes darting nervously between Frank and Harry. “Uh,” he stammers. “Three… three years…”

Harry gasps, feigning shock. “Three years, huh? And in the amount of time that ol’ Frank has been in charge of this place, have you been acknowledged for your efforts and your devotion to this company? Even once?”

Eddie glances back at Frank, completely frozen and unsure of how to go about this situation. “Harry--”

Frank takes a step forward. “Mr. Styles, I will ask you one last time--”

“And you!” Harry walks over to another coworker, James, and nods his head at him. “Mr. Harrison, is your wife not, what, eight months pregnant?”

James clears his throat. “Nine.”

“Nine! Nine months pregnant! Well, congrats, old man. And over the last nine months, how many times has Frank allowed you to go home and be with your wife as she’s about to pop?”

“Styles, that is enough!” Frank’s voice is raised now, and Harry swears he sees steam rising from the old man’s bald head.

“It isn’t enough!” Harry shouts back. “It will never be enough, Frank, until you understand that what you’re doing is wrong. It’s slave labor, and its cruel. Have you offered Bill over there any compensation for the time he nearly sliced his finger clean off?”

“Harry--”

“Do you know why that happened? It’s because you had him here at four in the morning after you’d worked him till eleven at night the night before. It’s because you see your employees as money makers, not as people. It’s because Mr. Frank fucking Milton doesn’t have a single bone of compassion in his old, tired body. And everyone here knows I’m right.”

Frank now stands a few mere inches in front of Harry, but Harry doesn’t budge. He only grins. “And if you think that I’m not going to the proper authorities to report your sorry ass now that I don’t work for you anymore, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Frank lunges for Harry then, wrapping his arms around his torso and sending both of them toppling to the ground. He swings punches left and right with no proper aim, and although he does get a few good jabs in, Harry is stronger.

Harry grunts, rolling over so that Frank is the one on the ground. Frank is quick, however, blocking a few of Harry’s punches to his face. He’s spewing curse words that Harry’s not even sure he’s heard before, and the blind rage inside of Harry takes over his body completely. A year of being treated this poorly has done him in, he thinks, and he swears he could kill Frank if given the chance.

Harry hardly notices the complete chaos taking place around them as he and Frank rise to their feet to continue their brawl. Some of the men are cheering, others are trying to pull the men apart. Harry receives a solid sock to the eye that has him stumbling backwards, which he retaliates with a swift knee to Frank’s stomach. Frank groans, hunching over briefly, and Harry swears he’s got him now. He lunges forward, sending them both to the ground once again, and just begins swinging.

Harry feels he’s just getting warmed up, when he feels two pairs of arms grab him from behind to pull him away.

Harry tastes blood, and he reaches up to wipe at his now swollen eye, that he’s sure is going to be black and blue come morning. His absolute rage still hasn’t died down yet, although he’s fighting a losing battle now He kicks and wiggles, but his captors are stronger than him, dragging him towards the exit doors.

The last thing Harry sees before reaching the doors are a few of the men helping Frank stand upright. “Fuck you!” Harry spits. “And fuck this place! You’ll all be sorry, this place is going to crash and burn and I’ll be laughing while it happens! You’ll be begging me to come back, and--”

He’s cut off when he’s practically thrown out the front door. The two men responsible shake their heads with disapproving glares. “Good luck with that attitude in the real world, Styles,” one of them laughs before slamming the door.

But Harry isn’t finished. “Yeah, fuck you, too actually! I quit!”

Harry is met only with the sound of the wind, which feels surprisingly good against his hot body. He reaches up to wipe at mouth, cursing when he sees the amount of blood on his hands. He glances around him at the almost empty streets of New York, admittedly thankful that of the small handful of people around, not one really seems to acknowledge him.

“Bloody New York,” he mumbles under his breath before rising to his feet.

He lets out a somewhat injured sniff, wiping at his throbbing nose. His head hurts, and more than anything all he wants right now is to crawl into his bed and sleep for the next three days. He knows he can’t, however, because the bills are going to need to get paid one way or another. And he’s got to start job hunting the moment his eyes open in the morning.

However, he figures he’s allowed to feel a bit sorry for himself for the time being.

Harry wraps his coat further around himself, shivering when another gust of wind comes his way. Damn this cold. Damn winter. Damn the bills. Damn New York.

Up ahead, Harry makes out a figure. He assumes it’s a woman or a child, because the figure is much smaller than he is, but it’s stumbling around as if it’s had far too much to drink. Harry squints against the dim light, trying to make out what’s going on.

The figure seems to be walking in his direction, and Harry slows his steps ever so slightly until he can figure out the appropriate course of action. Most likely it’s a drunk-- this area is swimming with them, especially around this time of night-- and he hopes he’ll be able to pass by without any sort of hassle. Sometimes drunk men try to heckle him, or drunk women twice his age try to seduce him. He always politely declines, but it’s awkward nonetheless.

But when Harry gets a bit closer, he realizes that the figure is neither of those things.

It’s a young woman, yes, and she is stumbling, but it isn’t the stumble of a drunkard. It’s the stumble of someone who’s lost, dazed, or even perhaps sick. Harry stops in his tracks.

“Miss, are you alright?”

Harry’s voice seems to fall on deaf ears. Although very few people are around, no one acknowledges the girl, and she stumbles again, nearly slamming herself into the brick building.

Why is no one helping her? Harry takes a step forward, then stops himself again when she glances around, as if she can hardly see two feet in front of her.

“Miss?” He calls again, softer, as if afraid to startle her.

This time she does acknowledge him, taking a shaky step towards him and nearly toppling over once again. Harry wastes no time in rushing over to her, slightly annoyed that he’s the only one who seems to even realize this is going on. She stumbles towards him and he lengthens his strides so as to close the distance between them as quickly as possible.

He reaches her just in time, and the moment he’s close enough to get a decent look at her face, she collapses in his arms. “Miss!”

She blinks sleepily up at him with furrowed brow and open mouth. Her breathing is heavy, and Harry struggles to keep her somewhat upright as he watches her.

“Are you alright?” He asks, breathless. He shakes her a bit, trying to get her to come to. “Hey, look at me. What’s going on? Are you alright?”

The girl in his arms struggles to keep her eyes opened, but she gulps in a breath of air and reaches up for Harrys’ face with a shaky hand. She runs a weak finger across his cheekbone, down his cheek, and to his jaw, as if she’s trying to recognize him. Harry doesn’t understand, but something tells him he needs to hold still in this moment. So he holds his breath as she traces his features.

“Miss,” he says slowly, “what happened to you?”

Finally dropping her hand, she continues to blink sleepily up at him, confusion never once leaving her face. She looks like she’s struggling to speak, and Harry shakes her again ever so slightly to keep her conscious.

Her mouth opens and closes a few times, and Harry waits with bated breath for her to be able to get a clear thought out. But when she does, it takes him completely by surprise.

“Mom?”

Harry scoffs. He doesn’t mean to, but it comes out the second she says it. “Well, how do you like that,” he says to himself. “Save a damsel in distress and she thinks you’re her damn mother.”

But Harry doesn’t get the snarky response he’s expecting. When he glances back down at her, her eyes are almost fully fluttered closed, and her head finally lulls to the side in complete relaxation. She's passed out in his arms now, and he has absolutely no idea what to do in this situation.

“Shit,” he says quietly, shaking her a bit more in an attempt to wake her. “Please wake up, I didn’t mean it.”

She’s completely unresponsive now, and Harry is not fully convinced she’s even alive anymore. He reaches up to run a hand through his sweaty hair, contemplating how on earth he’s supposed to go about dealing with this. Should he call the police? Should he take her to a hospital? What happens if they blame him? The black eye certainly isn’t going to bode well for him.

He uses his hand to fan her face, even going so far to blow a little as if that’s going to do any good. The panic is setting in, and it’s almost far too much for him to take when she stirs ever so slightly.

“Yes! Yes, wake up, there’s a good girl…” Harry brushes a bit of her hair off of her forehead, shifting her a bit more so that she’s propped up. When she opens her eyes, he beams, even though she looks just as confused as before-- if not more.

“Hello!” Harry says quickly, “Good evening! Yes, hi, I think you may have just passed away in my arms and then risen from the dead, and I want to help you but I’m genuinely not even sure where to begin so please stay awake and tell me what happened to you because--

“Wait,” she says slowly, lifting her head a bit to look around. As confused as she still seems, this is the most cognizant she’s been this entire time. Harry waits impatiently for her to say something, slowly becoming aware of the fact that he’s still holding her in his arms.

Finally, she looks up at him with an unreadable expression. She’s not particularly concerned, not scared and not excited-- but something tells Harry that the question she asks is urgent.

“What year is it?”

#i don't know why im so nervous but here she is #this story has been swimming in my head for like.... the majority of this year #this is my pride and joy and im so excited to share the rest with you guys #Harry Styles #Harry #One Direction #Harry Styles fanfiction #Harry fanfiction #One Direction fanfiction #fanfiction #Harry Styles AU #Harry AU #One Direction AU #AU

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crushedbyhyperbole · 5 years

Text

Makin’ Whoopee

Summary: The Sugardrops are in need of a pianist, and who better to fill the role than newly-minted 18yr old Bucky Barnes. The charismatic front lady known as Sugar gives him an opportunity he can’t refuse, in exchange for something precious; his innocence.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: 18+. Mentions of the state of racial relations synonymous with the 1940s, injury that’s speculated to be related to hate crime, plenty of flirting and smut at the end.

A/N: One shot written for @the-omni-princess‘s 1k follower writing challenge filling the prompt of Band AU. Congrats on the milestone your majesty, and thank you for letting me take part :) The character of Sugar is styled after Mae West with the looks of Rita Hayworth, Nick is based on comic book Nick Fury rather than Samuel.L. and the encore song is performed like Michelle Pfeiffer in The Fabulous Baker Boys. Enjoy!

Cassidy’s Bar. He’s only ever been in here once, when his cousin Nora had gotten married to that rat-faced asshole, Billy? Bobby? Barry? It was something ending in ‘y’, anyway, and that’s exactly what his Ma had said; why?

Turned out the why was babies and the who was Mr Rat-face and the when was, well, so far before the question of marriage that poor Nora was round on her wedding day.

They had the same seats at the bar, Bucky thinks, him and his uncle Tony. One beer was all he was allowed the first time, but tonight, uncle Tony is on a mission.

“Happy Birthday, kid.” The older man clinks his glass against the one warming in Bucky’s grasp, a man’s amber fire to the boy’s weak beer. “Drink up and I’ll get you another before the band starts.”

Gulping the bitter draught down, Bucky feels it warm his guts, loosening knots inside him he didn’t even know were there. It’s his third pint, and though he’s had beer at home, he’s never had more than one in a bar where the dim lights and choking smoke are making him feel woozier than the drink. He’s never felt like one of the men and never thought of himself as one, not even now.

Whoops and whistles. That’s how you know there’s a dame on the stage. She’s pretty, too, Bucky thinks, watching her slink over to the manager in a dress made of green satin and what looks like liquid suns dripping from her shoulders. It’s much too classy for a place like this and Bucky wonders if she’s some Hollywood starlet fallen from grace with her auburn waves and lips as red as victory.

Stunning. He’s changed his mind, there’s nothing pretty about her. She’s sexy as sin and all the men know it, hell, even she knows it.

Tony is already pushing another drink into his hand as he leads Bucky to a table by the stage, a smaller glass that tinkles as he walks. One sip and Bucky thinks the beer is better, this stuff burns as it evaporates off his tongue.

“Looks like we got ourselves a problem.” The starlets voice is smooth and sultry, if a little husky. “Sammy can’t play. It’s his hand, see.”

Her dark-skinned companion is nursing a busted hand that looks far worse than just bloodied knuckles from a fight. If Bucky didn’t know better he’d have said the man met with a car door, a hammer, or a vicious bootheel; integrated bands are something of a controversy, hell, integrated anything is.

“Great, just great!” The bar manager groans. “So what am I supposed to do about it? Can’t you do without him, sugar lips?” The bar manager is a beast of a man; jaw like a tank and shoulders to match, buzz-cut that’s a remnant from military service and an eye-patch that lends nothing but intimidation to his demeanour.

“Gee, I dunno, Nick!” One hand fists against the sassy cock of her hip, she lets rip with the sarcasm. “Can a piano do without its pianist?”

Nick scoffs wordlessly, chewing the end of his cigar.

“A girl needs a good ivory pounder.” She says with a wink, her tone suggestive enough to make Nick’s ears turn red. “Sam’s my best guy.”

“He ain’t poundin’ nuthin’ for a while.”

“More’s the pity.” She sidles up to him seductively, there is nothing subtle about her play, even Bucky can see she’s trying to manipulate the man. “You got any hidden talent around here you been keepin’ from me?”

In the moments between her wink and the soft glide of her hand down the front of his shirt, Nick’s face turns pink, then red, and he’s choking on smoke.

“Help a girl out?” A tempting pout and the flutter of eyelashes punctuate her request.

“I’ll ask around.” He says with a tight smile as the starlet turns with a sway of her hip and sashays away.

The gents in the lounge are rowdy now, after catching a glimpse of the much-anticipated leading lady. The call for attention is barely heard but word passes between the tables that they’re asking for a pianist.

“You should get yourself up there.” Uncle Tony nudges Bucky with his elbow, an almost proud look on his face.

“Play piano in front of all these people?” Bucky has never been the nervous type, but he is now. He’s only ever played the piano for the family at home, and the teachers and pupils at the music school.

“Sure, kid!” Tony claps him on the shoulder. “You’re as good as any of ‘em.”

“I dunno, uncle Tony.” Bucky sinks down in his seat, almost sensing what’s coming next.

“Hey!” Tony is on his feet, waving to the hefty bar manager. “I got a pianist!”

There’s laughter all around, because Tony sounds like he just said ‘penis’, and that makes Bucky even more mortified when Nick is suddenly stood in front of them.

“You play?” Nick is gruff and down to business.

“My nephew.” Tony hits Bucky on the arm with the back of his hand, a gesture that says ‘sit up straight’.

“How old are you, kid?” Narrowed eyes scrutinise, and Bucky blanches. He’s old enough to be in here but he feels so out of place he still doubts he belongs.

“Eighteen today, sir.” Bucky steels himself. He’s not going to be this nervous kid. He’s Bucky Barnes, confident and charming, and most definitely not intimidated by a piano, a beautiful redhead and a burly bar manager (eye-patch or not). At least that’s who he wants to be.

“And you play?”

Bucky nods.

“Come with me.”

Tony is stuffing the tumbler into his hand again and pushing him out of his seat towards the stage with a cheer. There’s a bit of shuffling as Bucky finds his stride. Chairs scrape out of the way as he passes and it feels like he’s walking the plank; shark infested waters are all around him, the men sneer a little at the sight of him, just a boy, being lead backstage where the starlet and her band are getting ready.

Backstage isn’t as glamourous as Bucky thought it would be. The reception room is dingy and cramped, merely a glorified store room compared to the plush furnishings and flattering lighting that he imagined. Eight sets of eyes turn to stare at him as he enters behind the mountainous Nick. He’s intimidated and starting to sweat but that’s the least of his worries when a swathe of red hair and green satin is invading his personal space.

She looks him up and down with a sly smirk.

“I know I like ‘em young, but I’m not one for wet nursing.” It’s salacious, the tone she uses, almost like she’s purposefully trying to ruffle feathers.

“He’s not for your boudoir, Sugar, he’s for the piano.”

“Oh, why not?” She winks subtly, pulling her lips into a playful smile. “A man in the boudoir is worth two on the street.”

“Sugar…” Another redhead chastises. She’s older but there’s a resemblance, sisters, maybe cousins.

“Oh, alright, spoil my fun.” Sugar plucks the drink from Bucky’s hand, fingertips brushing lightly against him leaving a trail of goosebumps coursing up his arm. Her eyes never leave his as she lifts the glass to her painted lips and sips. “I always get what I want, eventually.”

She’s turning away from him and his glass is back in his hand like it never left, save for the scarlet red print that perfectly resembles the fullness of her lower lip. Bucky swallows. She’s a dangerous woman and he knows she can chew him up and spit him out in ruins, but hell if he’s not willing to let her do it.

“Sam’s the name.” The dark-skinned fellow interrupts, introducing himself and offering his uninjured hand to shake. His injuries are hidden by off-white crepe and gauze now, out of sight out of mind for the rest of the band.

“James.” Bucky clears his throat. “James Barnes. But my friend’s call me Bucky.”

“You read music, James Barnes?” ‘Sugar’ levels a torturously flirtatious glance over her bejewelled shoulder. Everything about her screams seduction and sexuality; she’s unashamedly feminine but predatory like no woman he’s ever seen.

“Yes, ma’am. I do.” Bucky battles his nerves. “And I can play by heart.”

Sugar turns, a slow blink fanning her long lashes against her rosy cheek before she’s dragging her eyes up his body. “Show me.”

In the corner of the room is a busted upright piano that is much in need of repair. It’s older than his grandpa’s but the keys are clean and it looks to work.

“You want me to play here?” He should have known there would be an audition.

“Scared to show us the goods, kid?” And older gentleman with dark curly hair shifts in his seat, his hands are large and his fingers thick and calloused. He isn’t stocky but he isn’t a beanpole either, and he’s got a nervous tick, just below his right eye which tells Bucky the man has a temper.

“Bruce is right.” Sugar purred, leaning closer. “An ounce of performance is worth pounds of promise.” Moist pinkness pokes playfully at the corner of her perfectly pained mouth, the teasing tip of her tongue then sweeps her upper lip deliciously.

Bucky jumps into action, if only to distance himself from the sight and scent of the woman who seems hell bend on turning him into a mess of jangling nerves and tight trousers.

The stool is hard but the perfect height. Bucky runs his fingers over the keys, rippling out scales to test the instrument’s tuning. His music school diploma kicking in as he opens the booklet of sheet music at the first page.

It’s a tense moment as he starts to play, finding that some of the music has been amended in a chicken-scratch scrawl, little finesses added here and there and a different tempo, but Bucky knows the song. He bangs out Puttin’ on the Ritz, relaxing into the music as a tall mousy-blonde man in his late twenties, sits by the piano and taps out a percussion rhythm on the wood, and the older redhead starts to sing along. Her voice is quite lovely, Bucky thinks.

Sam nods approvingly but Sugar isn’t completely convinced.

“Play me something you think I’ll like.” She says. “From the heart.” The last words are tainted with a sigh.

Bucky thinks he knows the perfect song. It’s more of a joke than anything, the reason it pops into his head is purely because of her salacious innuendos. It starts off a little jerky, as he plays some of the string and trumpet parts on the piano but when the tune fully kicks in everyone is laughing, even Sugar is grinning. The blonde picks up the beat, tapping on his legs and the side of the piano, curly-haired Bruce is humming and boom’ping in time as a bass, and a tiny blonde kid he’d never seen plays a mock trumpet.

When Sugar starts to sing ‘Makin’ Whoopee’, it’s somethin’ else. The cadence of her voice is just like she is, rich, velvety and incredibly seductive. She comes to sit on the stool next to Bucky, swaying and snapping her fingers along with the music. As far as impromptu jams go it wasn’t half bad, and the mood is suddenly lighter when the song is done.

“Well, aren’t you full of surprises, James Barnes.” Sugar adjusts a piece of his hair that has fallen out of his smoothly combed do.

“It’s just Bucky.” He sighs bashfully, almost melting at her proximity. Red lacquered nails and glistening red lips, soft cascading waves of copper leading his eyes down from her face to the sweetheart line of her dress and a scandalously deep cleavage he has no business staring at.

Suddenly he’s being pulled to his feet and introduced to the rest of the band. Peter is the percussionist, he’s easy-going and a bit of a joker. The little guy is Steve, he’s the trumpet player but, like Bucky, he can play a few instruments, just not the piano. Bruce plays the double bass. The older redhead is Natasha, she’s on backing vocals with another redhead called Wanda and yet another redhead called Gamora. Bucky notices that Wanda and Gamora aren’t natural redheads but they all fit together so well it’s hard to notice from afar.

The lounge looks completely different from where he’s stood at the edge of the stage behind a dusty red curtain. He can see uncle Tony drinking a pint and laughing with a guy at the adjacent table, no doubt talking about how proud he is of his nephew, god knows his daughter is a disappointment; poor Nora who got pregnant before she was married.

Bucky necks his drink. The ice has already melted but it does little to quench the burn of the whiskey, still, liquid courage eh?

Soon he’s being ushered out onto the stage with the rest of the band. There’s a light smattering of applause and a huge cheer from uncle Tony as Bucky takes his seat at the grand piano. Sam is there with songbooks and a list of tunes they’re going to play tonight.

“Any of these you don’t know?” Sam hands him the paper and it shakes in Bucky’s fingers.

They’re all covers, of course, a small band can’t put out original songs in a lounge like this and earn a living. They’re all fairly recent songs, too, keeping up with current trends. Bucky knows them all well enough to play them by heart, but Sam likes to make notes on the sheet music to tweak the songs a little more to fit their ensemble.

Bucky scans down the list, smiling when he sees songs like Daddy, Blue Champagne, and Strange Fruit. He can imagine Sugar singing them, how wonderfully they will work with her voice.

“I think so.” Bucky nods, confidence building through the panic because he knows he can do this.

Another glass of whiskey is set atop the piano for him and Sam is leaving with a reassuring pat on the shoulder, leaving him to stare at the crowds in the lounge, leaving him to the adrenaline and the nausea in his guts.

Suddenly there are whistles and whoops, that’s how you know the dames have hit the stage. The three backing singers stroll on, waving and smiling brightly. Bucky is surprised to see Wanda carrying a fiddle; she’s like him and little Steve, multi-talented.

And there’s Sugar. He sees her before she’s clear of the side curtain. She’s all confident strides, swaying hips and a non-too-subtle wobble at the sweetheart bodice of her dress. He barely notices the crowd now all he can hear is the frantic thrum of his pulse whooshing in his ears. His mouth goes dry as she makes eye contact with him and he feels as though she’s going to walk right past the microphone, right up to him, and show him what those smirking red lips can do.

But she doesn’t, and her attention is no longer on him but on the crowd.

“Well, hello there Cassidy’s! We are The Sugardrops!” Christ she’s just as seductive when she addresses the whole room. “My, my we’ve got some handsome gentlemen out there tonight, wouldn’t you agree ladies?” She’s playing up to her girls and to the crowd. “Tonight, for your entertainment pleasure we’re going to perform a few numbers.”

“YOU CAN PERFORM ON MY LAP, IF YOU’D LIKE!” A drunken jeer erupts from the crowd, already the men are worked up.

Bucky glances from the dishevelled heckler to Sugar who is giving her most amused smile.

“Oh sweetheart, I’ve been in more laps than a napkin.” She shifts her weight, popping her hip to the side. “Yours ain’t nothing special.”

Laughter drowns out the spluttering heckler who is suddenly shoved into his seat by burly Nick, with the warning ‘behave yourself or get out’.

She’s incredible. Bucky thinks. So confident and sassy. He’s never seen a woman like her in his whole life. She’s larger than life, and more alluring than a precious stone.

She clears her throat, pinning him with a stare.

Jumping to action for the second time at her request, he poises himself and waits for the trumpet to start the first song; Nice Work if You Can Get it.

Steve is good, he’s got good lungs for a scrawny kid and he blasts out an intro that’s picked up by Bruce on the double bass. Then Bucky is joining in and Peter with the subtle snare and high-hat setting a swinging rhythm. Sugar and the girls croon out the lyrics and Bucky finds himself joining in, bouncing on his stool with the music.

Before he knows it the song is done and he’s barely looked at the music sheet. It all feels so natural to him, like he’s meant to be here with these people, on this stage, playing his heart out. It’s been a while since he felt any love for music other than something to dance to, with a girl on his arm, maybe one who’ll let him kiss her at the end of the night, maybe one who’ll let him stroke his hand up to the top of her stockings.

Applause rings out and he can hear uncle Tony cheering. There’s an exchanged grin and a proud nod from the elder man, tears in his eyes like he’s looking at his own son. Of course, Tony only had daughters, so Bucky was special to him; a fellow man in the family.

Sugar is peppy as she sings, almost prancing around the stage, energised by the folks who are dancing on the dancefloor in front of the stage.

Hey, listen to my story, ‘bout a gal named Daisy Mae Lazy Daisy Mae Her disposition, is rather sweet and charming At times alarming, so they say

Glass empty and another replaces it, sitting in the same condensation ring that marks its predecessor; Bucky has lost count of the drinks as the songs have flown by. The swell of emotion in his chest as he pounds or tinkles the ivories as desired, it’s almost euphoric. So much so, he doesn’t notice Sugar sashaying his way as she sings.

She has a man who’s tall-dark-handsome, large and strong To whom she used to sing this song

She drags her fingertips up his arm as she sings, over his shoulder, neck and into his hair. Then she spins, resting her back on his, dipping to her haunches and arching her back, earning whistles from the crown, a vicious blush from Bucky and a few fumbled notes of the tune.

Hey, Daddy, I want a diamond ring, bracelets, everything Daddy, you oughta get the best for me

Hey, Daddy, gee, don’t I look swell in sables? Clothes with Paris labels? Daddy, you oughta get the best for me

Bucky is already lost in the sway of her hips and the glistening red of her lips. She’s singing about champagne and caviar but all he hears are the breathy moments in between the verses where she’s almost gasping for breath.

He can’t remember how many whiskey’s he’s had but he knows now it’s too many. His skin burns and he needs air but all there is, is the rhythm of the music, the feel of the ivory under the pads of his fingers and a tightness in his groin that’s been building since she first levelled her glittering eyes at him.

Now she’s dancing around him, touching him, and teasing him with her sensuality, he’s already gone. He just prays the music comes out fine.

“You got one more song in you, sweetheart?” Sugar is leaning over him, her lips brush the shell of his ear and her perfume permeates down into his lungs, heady and so perfect. She’s got bare shoulders now, the bejewelled bolero jacket that was part of her dress now adorns the top of the piano with several empty glasses.

“One more song?” He blinks up and her and she grins, stroking his face gently. The crowd are calling for an encore and Sugar is thriving on their attention.

“Just one more.” She assures him. “For me?”

She doesn’t need to ask, he’s already caught in her snare, captivated by the desire in her voice and the heat in her gaze. He doesn’t know if it’s real, but he doesn’t care. He’s never been wanted like this by any woman, let alone one as gorgeous as her, and he’s never been so desperate to give a woman what she so clearly craves.

The rest of the band have gone back stage and it’s just the two of them out under the lights. Bucky feels so nervous all of a sudden he could lose his dinner but when Sugar climbs up on top of the piano, legs curled to the side, he’s more concerned with avoiding the view right up her legs.

Bucky is about to ask, but when she turns to him and winks, he knows what song.

Tinkling the keys, he delves into a soft and seductive jazz melody that’s so perfect for her it’s like her soul is pouring out into the air. Her grin is astonishing it lights her face up, stripping years off her like she’s closer to his age now instead of in her thirties.

Then she’s melting the words so they come out coy and teasing, and she’s flirting with her whole body; just enough leg, just enough cleavage, a perfectly-timed toss of her stunning red hair, and every time she says the words ‘makin’ whoopee’ his johnson twitches in his pants. But she’s not doing it for him, she’s doing it for them, or she’s doing it for her, it really doesn’t matter who, he thinks. She’s right there in front of him and it’s his music she’s moving to, his fingers making the notes that set her on fire, it’s him who she looks back towards and winks at subtly.

Later it’s him who she’s taking by the hand and it’s him whose lips are trailing down her neck. It’s him who is unzipping her dress and trailing his hands over her hips as he pushes the fabric to the floor. He doesn’t know how he got here but he isn’t complaining, not one bit.

She’s a sight to behold. Her lips are swollen and smeared red where he’s messed her lipstick, and she’s panting as she strips him of his shirt. Once he’s down to his shorts, erection tenting the front, she lifts his hands to her breasts where the stiff fabric of a strapless number presses against his palms. He stalls out, suddenly not sure what to do. He’s never gone this far with a girl before, let alone a woman like her.

Her smirk is beguiling as she shoves him backward into a worn, ochre-coloured armchair. His panic is momentary and he settles, sat forward, watching as she lifts her leg and with toes pressed to his chest, she pushes him back against the cushions.

The teasing way she unhooks her sheer stockings has a wet patch forming in the front of his shorts, the weeping tip of his johnson is eager. When her legs are bare she turns, presenting him with her clothed bottom. Then she bends, oh so slowly. Dragging her knickers down, exposing herself to him.

She mustn’t know he’s untested in the boudoir (as burly Nick put it earlier in the night), or she wouldn’t be teasing him so much. His brain is spouting words from the good book, somewhere in the depths; he’s never been one to listen but when they sound like his Ma he can’t help it. Lead us not into temptation.

“Temptation?” Sugar chuckles. Had he said that aloud? “Why resist it? There’ll always be more.” She tosses her knickers at him and steps forward.

Straddling his lap she places his hands on her hips as she rolls her body, unclothed womanhood dragging against the hardness in his shorts. Her bra is unhooked at the back and her perfect breasts spill forward in front of his ogling eyes.

“Touch me.” She moans softly, spurring him into action.

Kissing his way down her neck and into the valley between her gloriously large breasts, he cups her in both hands and squeezes, rubbing his palms over her nipples until they’re hard. She guides him carefully, showing him how to pinch and play with them, not too roughly but just firmly enough to have her gasping.

“I’ve never…” He swallows hard. Bucky Barnes has a reputation as a man all the ladies swoon after, but he’s no match for a woman of her experience.

“I know.” She moves against him, reaching down until her fingers reach her sex, and she’s stroking herself leisurely. “I’ve known plenty of men who didn’t know how to please a woman.” She moans, sliding her fingers fully inside herself as Bucky watches, astonished. “I’ve always found the time to teach every single one of them.”

She lifts her fingers to his mouth and he opens instinctively, feeling the salty sweet slide of her over his tongue. Lips close around her and he’s drinking her taste down with a groan. He wants to taste her again so he reaches down, strokes his fingers through the wet heat of her core, not brave enough to push them inside as she had, not yet anyway. He smears her arousal across her nipple and brings it to his mouth, sucking and nibbling. Just like with his fingers, there’s a balance to be found in the playful bite, firm suck and soothing lick of his mouth.

Soon, Sugar is practically singing for him. All her sassy flirtations are gone and she’s telling him what she wants. Her nipples and lips are swollen from his attention and the front of his shorts are soaked with both his and her arousal. The skin of her neck and chest is flushed red as she grinds against the finger he’s got buried in her womanhood. The beckoning motion she’d shown him is making his hand ache but he’s too wrapped up in the beauty of her to care. He’s never seen a woman orgasm before, let alone been the cause. He’s strung tight, excited beyond belief and she hasn’t even touched him yet.

Then he feels it; a tightening of the flesh around his middle finger. She’s quivering with need, working so hard toward the release she’s desperate for. It seems to go on forever, like she’s hanging on to the pleasure for grim death, but it’s just not enough.

Feeling bold he pulls back and gives her a second finger, pushing deeper inside her until he can feel the soft spot he was rubbing before. Digging his fingers in harder, he braces his thumb against the hooded nubbin beneath the whispy red of her pubic hair, and squeezes.

Her wail almost stops him in his tracks but the look on her face compels him to act. Harder this time he pulls his fingers against her, milking that sweet spot inside until he can feel the spasms start. Her breathing is erratic and she’s gyrating in his lap, shaking and moaning as her body spasms around his hand. It’s powerful, the way her muscles work and even when they start to die down, Bucky carries on.

“Too much.” She stills his hand with her own. She looks so beautiful, all flushed and satisfied. He wants her, wants to be in her, to feel with his prick what he felt with his fingers.

His mouth is on hers as he thrusts his hands under her thighs and stands. She squeals and clings to him a moment before she realises what’s happening. He’s about to deposit her on the floor of her dressing room when she halts him.

Bucky has never seen a condom before. He’s heard about them; standard issue for the army to stop the soldiers from catching venereal disease, and to stop them from fathering children in every city they visit. Sugar winks as she rolls the rubber down his erection. It feels strange and tight against his skin, and through it her hand feels less pleasurable but he moans nonetheless.

A multi-coloured crochet blanket is put down with a pillow from the armchair, and she lies back with her legs spread for him. The reddened petals of her flower are on display and Bucky feels the urge to taste her. Of course she’s sweet, and slightly musky but less salty than when he tasted from her fingers. Her legs twitch each time he licks past the hooded nubbin above her entrance, and he fancies that that’s the way he’s going to make her orgasm again.

And he does just that, with her hands buried in his hair and his fingers deep in her once more, pulling gently this time, he kisses and licks her until she’s shaking and moaning for him.

“I like a man who pays attention.” She smirks as he stares up at her with a look that’s no doubt revering. “I like a man who makes me scream even better.”

With her hand on his shoulder, she urges him forward until he’s hovering over her, afraid to lay his weight on her. It’s with a throaty giggle that she wraps her thighs around his hips and pulls him down, reaching between them to place the tip of his throbbing prick against her heat.

“Don’t keep a girl waiting.” She slaps his bare butt cheek. “I might go find what I need elsewhere.”

With a determined grunt, Bucky pushes into her, pushes against the resistance of her flesh, pushes into the pleasure that shoots down his prick and tightens something low between his hips. It feels so much different than touching himself, a less intense pleasure but there’s more of it, singing to the nerves in his abdomen and all the way up into his chest.

Sugar rolls her hips, urging him to move, and with her hands on his hips and her feet hooked under his buttocks she guides his movement, drawing from him smooth deep thrusts that hit all of the right spots for her and have him seeing stars before too long.

“I can’t… keep this… up.” He grunts, slightly ashamed that he can’t last.

“It’s alright, sweetheart.” She arches her back and sighs. “I’m close. Keep going.”

Bucky is panting heavily as the pleasure overwhelms him. Sugar is writhing and moaning beneath him and he can feel her muscles around him start to quake.

She’s going to climax, he thinks with joy. She’s going to climax while I’m inside her.

That’s it for him, the pulsing pleasure coursing down his spine, all around his prick and tingling over his scalp – it’s amazing. He spills into the condom but continues to thrust into her until she’s spent. Then and only then does he collapse forward with a disbelieving chuckle.

“This is the first time I ever known a woman like you.” He kisses her lips but she’s already turning away, rolling him off her to get some air.

“If I have my say, it won’t be the last.” She winks but there’s no gleam in her eye. She lights a cigarette and falls back onto that god-awful ochre chair.

“I don’t know if I should thank you or worship you.” Bucky notices that she seems diminished somehow, like her light has gone.

“I wouldn’t say no to both.” She’s looking up, not at him, as she blows smoke up to the ceiling. “Are you free tomorrow night?”

“For you, yeah.” He’s coming across eager but he doesn’t care. A lot of the effects of the whiskey are fading and he knows what he’s doing. He wants to see her again, to feel her again.

“What about the night after that?”

“Yes.” The condom comes free with a dull twang.

“And the one after that?”

“Sure.” He’s pulling on his shorts.

“Next week?

“Absolutely.” Bucky kneels in front of that horrific chair.

“Next month?” She asks, and he knows better than to think she wants a relationship. Someone like her could never be tied down.

“I’m free whenever you want me.” He flashes her his most charming and cheeky smile.

Her laugh is stifled behind that coy smirk she favours as she swings the leg that’s cocked over the arm of the chair. Her naked breasts and her womanhood are unashamedly and fully on display. Hell, if it didn’t send tingles of desire down into his gut again.

“Oh, I want your fingers alright.”

“Just my fingers?” He flirts back.

“For the purposes of the contract, yeah sweetheart, just your fingers.” The smoke from a long drag is blown in his direction. “The rest can be our little secret.”

“Contract?” Bucky balks, confusion sending a jolt to his chest.

“Yeah, sweetheart.” The gleam is back in her eyes, and her sultry smile teases the corners of her plush mouth once more. “Welcome to The Sugardrops, James Barnes.”

#the-omni-princess1kwritingchallenge #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x ofc #1940s bucky barnes #band au #smut #bucky barnes loses virginity #fan fic #i write fanfiction #bucky is bae #makin' whoopee #long one shot #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fic #cloudy's writing

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write-havoc · 6 years

Text

Of Sons and Daughters Ch 6

Summary: Arthur is tasked by Dutch to watch over a young woman who had just lost the last member of her family she had left. That young woman just so happens to be the daughter that Dutch told no one else about.

This is a non canon AU with no major spoilers

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character

Status: Ongoing

Contains: swearing, PG 13 smut

Intended for readers 18+ of age only

Masterlist in my bio

While Arthur was gone, Emmeline’s sleep was far from restful. She found herself waking up at all hours instead of sleeping until morning. But with him sleeping in the room next to hers again, she sleeps soundly.

When she wakes with the sun, she feels refreshed. She gets dressed quickly and goes out to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Arthur’s door is still closed, meaning that he must still be sleeping. She figures that whatever Uncle Tacitus had him doing must’ve worn him out. As she puts the kettle on for coffee, she sits down at the table.

Figuring that she could probably finish the story she was writing last night while she waits for the water to get hot, she pulls the leather book over to her and opens it. To her surprise, she doesn’t see her own handwriting, but a sketched picture covering both pages. She realizes very quickly that it’s of her standing in the creek washing clothes. The details are all there, perfectly rendered in beautiful pencil strokes.

“What are you doing?” Arthur’s gruff voice booms from beside her, causing her to jump since she thought he was still asleep in his room. He had apparently woken and gotten dressed at some point because he is now standing right beside her looking none too impressed. Quickly he pulls his journal away from her and snaps it shut. Not before seeing what page she had it open to, though.

“I’m sorry. I thought it was my book.” She gestures to her notebook still sitting on the table. It and Arthur’s journal are very similar looking, so she hopes he will realize her mistake. “I didn’t mean-“

“Did you read it?” he barks out.

“No,” she answers quickly. “I just opened it. I swear. I-I wouldn’t have read it.” She looks up to him with wide eyes, willing her tears not to flow. She really doesn’t want Arthur mad at her, especially for something that was just a mistake.

He can see her eyes misting over and it causes his chest to tighten. With a shake of his head and a sigh, he says, “Don’t be upset, Emmeline. I ain’t really mad atcha.”

“No. It’s okay. I understand. I’d be mad, too, if I thought someone was reading my private thoughts.”

“You really didn’t read none of it?”

“Not a word. I just saw that picture of me. But only for a moment.”

He looks away, embarrassed that she saw pretty much the only picture in his journal he wouldn’t want her to see. And that she realized that it was of her. “I’m real sorry about that,” he says without looking up. “I’ll rip it out.”

“What?” she asks in confusion.

He finally looks at her. “I’ll get rid of the picture. I shouldn’ta drawn it.”

“Why not? You’re a very good artist.”

Now he’s confused. “You ain’t dressed in it. It weren’t proper for me to draw you like that.”

She thinks about it for a moment, not really understanding why it’s a big deal. “I don’t mind. I mean, I wasn’t about to step in the stream with my dress on.”

He stares at her for a moment. “You don’t mind that I drew you?”

“No. I think it’s beautiful. Maybe it’s vain to say that because it’s me in the picture. But you have a lot of talent.”

He looks away bashfully. “Aww. I ain’t really that good. I just scribble, really.”

“Do you have any drawings of yourself?” she asks. “Don’t artists do self portraits?”

He chuckles. “I ain’t no artist. And I ain’t gonna draw myself when there’s far more interesting things out there to draw.”

“Do you have more drawings in your journal?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I see them?” When he doesn’t say anything right away, she looks away, shaking her head. “You don’t have to. I just... I really like the way you draw.”

He can feel the blood rushing up his neck to his cheeks. “Maybe some other time. I should really be heading out.”

“You’re leaving again?”

“Yeah. The camp needs me back, so...” He clears his throat. “I’ll come check on ya in a few days.”

“Oh.” She can’t keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Okay. I’ll see you then.” She gives him a tight smile, though she’s not exactly happy about being left alone again.

“Alright, Miss Emmeline.” He tips his hat and heads for the door.

“Please, call me Emma,” she calls out.

He stops and turns back to her, mulling it over for a moment as a smile creeps its way into his face. “I’ll see you later then, Emma.” He tips his hat again then is gone.

Even though she’s not happy that he’s leaving, the fact that he used her less formal name makes her smile. She doesn’t want him to see her just as a job or a responsibility someone else tasked him with. She wants him to care about her the way she cares about him. At least a little bit, anyways.

In the few days that Arthur is gone, Emmeline tries her hand at drawing. She used to draw a lot as a kid, and she was pretty good at it, too. After her father died, though, she stopped. He had always encouraged her to draw more, so when he passed, it reminded her too much of him. Seeing Arthur’s drawing made her want to pick the pencil back up again, though.

She draws Miss Susie, the creek, some trees, a squirrel, and anything else she sees fit to. The drawings are a little unrefined, especially compared to Arthur’s, but she finds that she rather likes the act of putting what she sees down on paper.

After being alone for a couple days, Emmeline finds herself missing Arthur quite a bit. The chores and practicing drawing have kept her occupied, but that loneliness still seeps in more and more. Before she can even think about it, her pencil is sketching Arthur’s face, as if just seeing him, even in illustration, would somehow make her feel better.

That first drawing doesn’t come out quite right. She shifts to drawing his form as he leans against a tree, his wide shoulders accentuated by crossed arms, narrow hips popped out to one side, and long legs, one crossed over the other at the ankle. She’s marginally happier with this attempt, finding the general pose easier to draw than a highly detailed face. She attempts his visage again, though. Over and over she tries to commit the memory of his expressions to paper. After a while, she’s happy with what she’s been able to accomplish, the face on the paper actually looking like more like Arthur than anything else.

Meanwhile, Arthur is busy trying to provide for the gang, since that Blackwater money is forever gone. He spends much of his time upon getting back hunting to build up their food stores and selling the pelts for profit. Then, there’s the homestead he and Javier rob, which goes pretty smoothly. The stagecoach job he gets roped into doing with Micah goes a little less smoothly, however. Arthur’s lucky to come out of it free of bullet holes, but they do manage a good take on it.

He also receives a letter from Mary asking him for help. He goes, of course, and does what she asked, saving her brother from getting himself killed. For a moment as he’s talking with Mary, he thinks that maybe she might ask him to run away with her, to start things up again. But she doesn’t. And on the ride back to camp, he realizes that the part of him that used to want to leave his outlaw life to be with her wasn’t there any more. He still cares for her in a way and the hurt she caused him with her rejection would always be there, but he realizes he’s closed that chapter of his life, well and truly.

Once he gets back to his tent at camp, he takes the picture of Mary he always kept beside his bed and puts it away in his trunk.

After a few days of solid work for the gang, he knows he should check on Emmeline. He’s planning on spending at least a couple days with her, recuperating from how hard he’s been pushing himself to keep everyone fed and healthy at camp. He figures he’ll leave first thing in the morning to go to her house.

As Arthur walks toward his tent to turn in for the night, he’s stopped by Dutch.

“Arthur, my boy,” the dark haired man calls out jovially.

Arthur comes to stand before him. “Hey, Dutch.”

“You’ve been doing fine work out there.” He claps Arthur on the shoulder. “I’m real glad to have you back.”

“It’s, uh, it’s good to be back. Helpin’ out.” Arthur looks down and scratches the back of his neck. “I’m plannin’ on heading out tomorrow.”

His eyes are cold as he responds, “Where to, might I ask?”

Arthur doesn’t much like the scrutiny in Dutch’s expression, knowing what he must be thinking. He recalls the last conversation he had with Dutch concerning Emmeline and what he implied about Arthur’s feelings toward her. He’s technically not wrong in that assumption, but Arthur isn’t planning on acting on his feelings, so nothing will come of it in the end. Still, it surprises even himself when the lie starts to pour out from his own lips. “Heard from this trapper feller about a wolf up north in Ambarino, Cotorra Springs. He says the pelt is worth a lot of money. Thought I’d try to bring it in.”

Dutch nods, knowing full well that Arthur isn’t telling the whole truth. “I know what this is about,” he responds lowly.

Arthur just looks back at Dutch, not knowing what to say in defense. He was surely caught in his lie, he figures.

Dutch lays his hand softly on the younger man’s shoulder. “I know you went out to help Mary. And I saw you take her picture down when you came back. That woman tore your heart out once. Ain’t no shame in admitting that, son.” He moves his hand up to Arthur’s cheek and gives it a pat. “If you need a few days to yourself, go on and take ‘em.”

Dutch had misread the situation. Thankfully for Arthur.

He gives the man a tight smile. “Thank you, Dutch.”

Once Arthur is back in his tent, he lets out a sigh of relief then brings out his journal.

I’ve been working hard to make back the money that we lost when the Blackwater take burned up before my eyes. Running myself ragged. But the gang needs money. So Dutch says. Every day since I came back he’s said that to me. So every day since I came back, I’ve been making him money.

Even though I’ve been busy, I still think about her. Miss Emmeline. Emma. She asked me to call her Emma. I know she said once before that’s what her parents called her. I admit, I rather liked the idea of calling her something more personal. I guess maybe I should’ve done it sooner. She’s been calling me Arthur instead of Mr. Morgan for a little bit. I just wasn’t sure if I really should be so friendly.

I probably shouldn’t. I should be keeping her at arm’s length. But I just don’t want to. For the first time in a long time, I feel that pull. But it ain’t right of me. Mary is proof that I can’t be that kind of man. And I don’t want to keep Emma from finding the kind of man she really deserves.

Mary. I saw her again after all those years. She wrote me a letter and I ran out to her. But it felt different than what I thought it would. It still hurt, but it was less like a fresh wound and more like the memory of it. When I looked at her, I did see that woman I fell in love with, but it just felt different than I remembered.

I don’t know.

She asked me if I found someone else. I said no. She didn’t believe me. Said I had the look, whatever that means.

I guess deep down I do know what that means. It’s just hard to admit that I have feelings for someone again. I lied right to Dutch’s face about it. First time since I got into my twenties, probably. I didn’t know how to tell him that I needed to see Emmeline. So I didn’t. Spun some tale about hunting a rare wolf for a few days to cover it.

I don’t think he’d react very well if I told him how I feel about his daughter. Though he ain’t exactly a father to her, but it seems to matter to him all the same. I guess it don’t rightly matter anyway. I ain’t gonna act on it. I just want to make sure she’s doing fine. And when she finds a man that can take care of her, I’ll move on.

He lets out a sigh at the thought. He knows that’s what’s right for her, but it still leaves a pit in his stomach to think about her being with someone else.

The next morning, he tries to head out early. The problem is, Miss Grimshaw all but orders him to take the girls into town for some supplies. Once he gets back into camp it’s about noon. He wastes no time in getting Sparrow saddled up and ready to go.

“So, going off on a hunt?” Hosea’s voice comes out from behind Arthur as he brushes his horse.

He turns back to him. “Yup. Dutch tell you that?”

“He did. Though he thinks this impromptu trip has more to do with a woman than a wolf.”

Arthur just nods and looks away.

Hosea leans in closer. “But I think he’s wrong about which woman,” he whispers.

Arthur turns back to him. Lying to him is useless. It’s hard to get one over on Dutch, but it’s impossible to pull the wool over Hosea’s eyes.

“Did you tell him?” Arthur asks.

Hosea shakes his head. “No. Ain’t my business, is it? Who am I to say what you do with a girl I’m not supposed to even know about?”

“Dutch don’t want me to get close to her.” Arthur hangs his head. “But I ain’t gonna do nothin’ with her.”

“Because he told you not to?”

Arthur meets his gaze. “Because she deserves better than me.”

Hosea gives him a smile. “I don’t know this woman, but I’m inclined to think that she is capable to make her own decisions, including who she wants to be with. And I think it would do her a great disservice to take that choice away from her.” With a final pat on Arthur’s arm, he turns and walks back into camp, leaving Arthur to mull over their conversation.

Hosea and Dutch have worked together well for years, but they’re complete opposites in a lot of ways. Where Dutch could say nothing with a lot of words, Hosea could say everything with just a few. Most of the time, both of them left Arthur trying to discern what they mean from it. This time, it seems like Hosea is telling Arthur to be with Emmeline, in stark contrast to what Dutch wants. That only adds to the conflict already raging inside him.

When Arthur pulls up to Emmeline’s house, he finds her outside chopping wood. Or at least trying to. She’s been at it for two hours at least and has very little to show for it.

“Emma,” he calls out after dismounting. “Miss Emmeline, let me do that.”

She turns to him with a huge smile on her face, though her cheeks are red and her forehead is sweaty from the combined temperature outside and the work she’s been doing. “Arthur. How are you?” She’s a little breathless from the exertion of her chore.

He takes the axe from her hands. “What are you doing chopping wood?”

“It needed done. I figured I should do it.”

“This wood’s too thick for you. You shoulda found smaller sticks.” He places one of the logs on the stump then pushes her back a little bit to give him room.

“You made it look easy. I thought it wouldn’t be so hard.”

As if to demonstrate this point, he brings down the axe and cuts the log in two with one chop, a feat that had alluded Emmeline for the past two hours. “I’ve chopped a lot of wood in my life.”

“I was getting it.” She points to her meager pile off to the side. “It just took a while. And more chops.”

“You’re gonna wear yourself out.” He chops another one easily.

“Well... Did you eat lunch?” she asks excitedly. “I can make you something.”

He looks back to her. “That sounds nice,” he agrees then brings the axe down again.

Emmeline rushes into the house to start the food. Before she decided to chop the firewood, she had gone out to catch some fish, which she’s now cooking. She’s excited to show Arthur that she can catch good sized fish on her own.

By the time she calls him in for the meal, he’s just about done with the wood. The hot weather caused him to remove his jacket and shirt, leaving him in his red union shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the suspenders dangling from his waist. She tries not to stare at the sweaty skin of his chest exposed by the open buttons at the top of his shirt, but she finds the sight very appealing.

Once he sits down at the table, he looks over the plate. “That looks like a nice fish,” he compliments. “You caught it yourself?”

“Yeah. I actually kinda like fishing,” she admits. “I’m not too fond of the killing bit, but the rest of it is fun.”

He cuts himself a bite and eats it. “I’m glad you took to it. I’m gon hunt for ya tomorrow to get you some other meat though. Can’t live on just fish.”

“I got a few eggs out of the chickens already,” she explains excitedly. “I’ll use them for dinner tonight.”

“That’s great, Emma.”

She smiles at him. “If you get some meat, I’ll make us a stew tomorrow.”

“You’re a good cook,” he comments, his fish all but gone. “Real good. I sure missed your cooking back at camp.”

She blushes at the compliment. “Oh, thank you. You can always come in for dinner anytime. I won’t mind.”

Later that night, after dinner, Emmeline finally works up the nerve to show Arthur what she had been working on while he was gone. “You remember, the last time you were here, I saw one of your drawings?”

“Yeah,” he answers, embarrassment already building inside him for what she might say next. Maybe she thought it over and realized it was weird that he drew her. Maybe she wanted him to destroy the drawing.

“Well,” she picks up her notebook and sits in the chair beside him at the table, “I thought I’d try to draw, too.” She opens the book to her first set of drawings.

“Oh.” He lets out a sigh of relief that she didn’t bring up that picture again.

“I know they ain’t good. But I think I’m getting a little better.” She pushes the notebook over to him to see.

“They ain’t bad,” he comments. She needs a little more practice, but it seems to him like she has natural talent. He flips the page and sees a few animal sketches, some flowers, a deer, a few trees. When he turns the page again, all the breath leaves him as he’s met with his own face staring back at him.

“That one’s not good,” she immediately says. “Not the face, anyway. I don’t think I did too bad with this one.” She points to the sketch of him leaning against a tree.

“It ain’t bad. Don’t know about the subject matter,” he says in a half joking way. “I really look like that?”

She giggles at his reaction. “I drew one of me and you.” She turns a few pages to a picture of the two of them fishing. Off to each side, there are bigger sketches of their faces, so she could be more detailed with them. “I kinda like it.”

He looks it over. It actually is pretty good, though it’s a little rough. But the proportions are right and the expressions on their faces are convincingly happy.

“You drawn before?”

“I used to a lot when I was a younger. My father really liked my drawings, but when he died,” she shrugs a shoulder, “I stopped.”

“I’m sorry about your father. But you’re good at this.” He gestures to the book. “If you keep at it, you could make money off of it.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. And if you pick better things to draw,” he chuckles a little at his self deprecating joke.

“I like drawing you,” she replies easily.

He hangs his head sheepishly. “Aw, I’m just an ugly old man.”

“You ain’t ugly.” She takes his chin in her hand and gently pulls his head up to look at her. “You’re handsome. I think you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”

“I think you ain’t seen a lot of men.”

She laughs, taking his statement as a joke. As she pulls her hand away from under his chin, she notices something. “I got your scars wrong in the picture.” She lightly traces the marks on his chin with her thumb.

He doesn’t pull away, though there’s a voice inside him telling himself to. Instead, he’s transfixed, his eyes taking in all the details of her face as she looks over his own.

“How did you get them?” she asks as she flicks her gaze from his chin to his eyes.

“Horse threw me into a fence, years ago,” he tries to answer as normally as he can, though his heart is pounding in his chest at her proximity to him.

His close closeness is affecting her, too, giving her a giddy feeling. She moves her hand from his chin to cradle his cheek then brings her other hand up to trace her finger over the small scar on the bridge of his nose. “And this one?” she asks, leaning closer to him.

Instead of answering, all resolve in him falls away and he pushes himself forward to place his lips on hers. The action is a surprise to her, but it certainly isn’t unwanted. She’s never done this before, but her body instinctively follows his in its movements as if they had done this a thousand times before.

Time seems to stand still and speed up simultaneously, the flow that normally would be constant is anything but. Getting into Emmeline’s bedroom and undressing goes by in a blur, but exploring one another’s bodies for the first time seems like slow motion.

Emmeline had never been with a man before. She’s read some things in books and her mother told her some, but she’s completely inexperienced. It doesn’t stop her from being an enthusiastic participant, though. Being with Arthur feels so right to her, like they belong to each other.

To Emmeline, it’s such a beautiful act sleeping with Arthur. He’s gentle and patient as he makes her feel things that she’s never experienced before, soaring to a high she didn’t think possible. As she comes down from that high, she feels such a connection to the man beside her, more so than with anyone else.

“Arthur,” she says breathlessly.

In response, he wraps his arm around her, pulling her to lay on his chest. It’s only a moment after he places a kiss to her head that the both of them fall asleep.

The next day as the morning sun shines through the window, Arthur is aware that he’s a little overheated as he starts to wake up. Once he becomes more conscious, he realizes that the heat isn’t coming from the sun, but the warm body partially laying on him. Just then, all the memories of what had transpired the night before come into focus. They’re pleasant thoughts, but as the realization of what should come next dawns on him, his face sours.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, he thinks. He was supposed to push her away, keep her from getting close to him. She shouldn’t be with him. Not with the kind of life he leads. He’s a bad man an he doesn’t deserve this good woman. He’ll just get her hurt. Or worse, even.

He lets out a heavy breath and looks down at Emmeline, her hand sprawled across his torso as her head lays delicately on his chest. Only giving himself a moment to revel in the feeling of her in his arms, he slides out of the bed from under her, trying not to wake her. After getting his union suit and pants on, he looks back over his shoulder at her. To his surprise, he’s met with her sleepy eyes looking back at him.

“Good morning,” she says quietly, her voice still heavy with sleep. It doesn’t detract from her wide smile, though.

Arthur looks away and bends down to pick up his shirt, saying nothing.

The smile falls from her face as she sits up. “Is something wrong?”

“What happened last night won’t happen again,” he says lowly as he faces away from her and pulls on his shirt.

Emmeline gets out of bed, not caring that she’s still naked. “Did I do something wrong?”

He turns to face her, but averts his eyes when he sees that she’s standing bare before him. “Will you please get dressed?”

“If I did something wrong, I-I can be better,” she states quickly.

Realizing that she doesn’t care about putting any clothes on, he pulls the blanket off the bed and wraps it around her. “You didn’t do nothing wrong,” he finally replies. “I did.”

“What do you mean?” She takes a step toward him but he takes a step back away from her.

He hangs his head, not having the strength to look at her. “I shouldn’ta done that. Laid wit ya. I shoulda stopped it.”

“What? No, I-“ She doesn’t understand why he’s saying this. How could it have felt so right to her but so wrong to him? “You didn’t do any wrong. It was beautiful.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t do this, Emma. We cant do this.”

“What? What do you mean?” She reaches her hand out to touch him, but he turns away to gather his satchel and holster.

“I’ll check on ya in a few days.” He practically runs out of her room, but she’s right behind him.

“You’re leaving?!” Now her vision is quickly clouded with tears. “Arthur, what’s wrong? Just tell me!” She rushes to him at the door and pulls on his arm. “Please.”

The action gives him pause, but he’s resolute. “I can’t-“ He shakes his head and gently pulls his arm away without fully turning to face her. “Goodbye, Miss Emmeline.”

As Emmeline watches Sparrow gallop away with Arthur in the saddle, she is left confused and completely alone.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan / oc #arthur morgan x original female character #Arthur Morgan / Original Female Character #Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2 #writehavoc Of Sons and Daughters #of sons and daughters #RDR2 #rdr #writehavoc writes

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kbstories · 6 years

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Hey @your-a-good-man-arthur, ask and you shall receive! This is not a full fill of your prompt, but I hope you like it anyways c:

Leave This World Alive

Tags: Charles/Arthur, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, PS I Love You AU, Hurt Almost No Comfort

Warning for major chapter 6 spoilers!

>>Read on AO3

A year later, Charles Smith wakes and wishes he hadn't.

Lying on his back, he blinks up into the darkness of his tent. It's quiet outside, only the distant crackling of fire and hushed conversations to be heard. There's bird song, too, cheerful and carefree as it announces the break of a new day.

It doesn't feel right. Then again, nothing has ever since–

Charles closes his eyes again, lids clenched shut as if he could physically will away what this means. A year. Three-hundred-sixty-five fucking days have passed and the world spins on, a world without Arthur Morgan in it.

A few tears escape, burning in the corner of his eyes and trailing down his temples. They're due to leave a permanent path in his skin anytime soon. Wouldn't that be fitting? There's nothing Charles has to remember Arthur by, except the broken edges of his heart and the new lines grief has carved into his face.

Somewhere out there, there's a grave with his name on its cross – yet Charles hasn't been back since he buried him, hands aching, full of splinters as he engraved a wish into the wood, virtually blind with loss and exhaustion. He couldn't bring himself to.

Today of all days, he doesn't – can't – run from the rush of emotion that takes ahold of him. Charles inhales and exhales, shakier every time, and misses Arthur. The unique drawl of his voice, the gentle touch of too-rough hands; the way the right kind of smile could make his eyes light up, full of fragile hope and so blue.

There's nothing in the world that could compare, and Charles tried. He did. In those first weeks, when continuing to breathe felt too painful and the void inside made everything else meaningless, he went looking, was utterly convinced that if only he searched long enough, he'd find him eventually.

Somewhere in the margins, and even if just in the corner of a dog-eared book, Arthur must've left his mark.

It was all gone, though. Charles had stopped looking, and he still remembers viscerally how it hit him then. That Arthur – this kind, kind man, too kind for the things life had in store for him – left, not in the tumultuous roar they had envisioned for themselves over a shared bottle of whiskey under the stars but beaten and broken and alone.

A candle alight inside a storm, its flame quietly flickering out before it reached the end of its wick.

“Arthur, I swear...”

Charles fights for breath as he lies there without the familiar weight of the man he loves beside him, one set of lungs where there should be two, and he doesn't know how to end that sentence.

I swear I won't forget.

I swear I will finish what you started.

But he knows, deep within, there's only one thing Arthur would've wanted.

I swear I will keep going.

It's getting harder and harder to keep his promises.

Charles doesn't notice the courier's presence, at first.

He's tending to Taima as he does each morning, brushing the dust off her back and checking her legs for injuries. The past year, too, has had a toll on her; mere days after– after, she had started pawing the ground and digging her nose into Charles's pockets, and Charles had been too numb to understand at first that she was begging him for Arthur's treats, the ones he used to slip her when he thought Charles wasn't paying attention.

Some days, Charles wonders if horses grieve as well, or if he's just projecting his own state of mind onto her. Maybe it doesn't really matter.

When she turns her expectant gaze on him, Charles rolls his eyes and produces a carrot out of his back pocket. He breaks it apart and gives her the bigger half, keeping the other for himself.

“Ah, there– Mr. Smith!”

Charles stop chewing as his head snaps up, the mouthful sitting awkwardly on his tongue for a moment before he swallows. Nobody calls him that here. Eyes narrowed and shoulders tense, he reaches for his knife–

“Hey, uh”, the stranger says, eyes flitting nervously from Charles's hands to his face and back again. “Easy there, mister. Charles Smith, right? Just wanna deliver this letter I got for ya, and I'll be on my way. No trouble comin' from me, I promise!”

“Who?” Charles's voice sounds raspy even to his own ears. “Who sent you?”

Clearly, it doesn't inspire much confidence because the courier scrambles for an answer, quick enough to stumble over his words.

“A– Alden, sir. From the post office in Rhodes? Told me to look up in the mountains for ya. Never been this far up North, I believe– Ain't complainin', of course, no sir!”

Alden? A vague memory stirs. One of the discouraged men that have been popping up more and more, if you knew where to look for 'em. Charles holds out a hand, meeting the other's uncomprehending stare. “The letter?”, he prompts.

“Ah! Yes, sir, uh– Here.”

It has weight to it, the letter. Charles doesn't throw more than a cursory glance at it, not with the stranger-turned-courier trying to look as well, but there's something about it that makes his heart beat faster, awakened from its year-long slumber.

Only at Charles's raised eyebrow does the courier straighten up, “Right”, he says, nodding to himself. “I'll get goin'.”

For a moment, Charles watches him leave, weaseling his way past a busy camp filled with even busier people, almost comical with how out-of-place his uniform looks here. Seems like a lifetime ago that he's dealt with any outsiders. He can't say he missed it.

Charles shakes his head and looks down at the letter in his hands – Taima's on it before he can do more than flip it, ears pointed and nose flaring as she sniffs it curiously, and, with the practiced ease of having grown up with and around animals, Charles raises it out of her reach.

“That's for me, girl. You had your treat already.”

There's much to be done still; Charles needs to check the traps, maybe bring home a doe if luck is on his side. Last time he did so, Rains Fall told him he's earned his keep with or without hunting for them, but Charles feels better knowing he can help, somehow.

Later, he decides, pocketing the letter. He'll read it later.

It's past midnight when Charles returns, dried blood gone tacky on his hands and his feet half-frozen in his boots. Only after he's in his tent, washed and fed and as close to the much-needed fire as he dares, does he remember the letter.

It's in the back pocket of his discarded pants, and looking a little crumpled around the edges. Charles has to tilt towards the firelight to read the single line on the front of the envelope, and he nearly drops it entirely when he does.

Charles Smith in the delicate, narrow twists and turns of a handwriting he'd recognize anywhere, even five, ten, thirty years down the line.

And there's hope, for one blinding moment as he slides his fingers into folded paper and pulls out a few pages worth, hope that somehow, in some way, Arthur did manage to return to him. That this is the sign he's been looking out for, that there is a place to go and a date to keep in mind that will make the past year undone.

That somewhere there, at the end of the line, is Arthur with his drawl and his beautiful eyes, waiting for him.

That is not how these things are meant to go, of course. There in the corner, on the very first page, is a date and a place and Charles's chest aches with the loss of it all, the numbers blurring in front of his eyes.

Beaver Hollow, just a few days before–

“Oh, Arthur”, Charles breathes, less than a whisper as he realizes that this, reading Arthur's first and final letter to him, might very well be the last thing he does. That perhaps his tattered heart struggled on beating just for him to witness this, just as he was there to witness Arthur's dead body.

And yet, the feel of the paper between his fingers is familiar, comforting, reminiscent of that journal Arthur carried everywhere and there, down one side of it, it is a little torn where it was carefully ripped out. Charles wipes a stray tear off his cheek before it can drip down and ruin any of it. Even so he finds it impossibly hard to start, to take in anything beyond the Dear Charles at the very beginning.

Arthur's words, the rarest resource Charles has.

It's inevitable, that he does – start, that is, because he must. There is no world in which Charles wouldn't listen to what Arthur has to say, no matter how frail and weak his voice got, hacked into pieces by his coughing that will haunt Charles to the end of his days, too.

Thus, he reads, Dear Charles, and rubs at his chest where his heart breaks anew.

I've started this more times than I can count and to be honest with you, I still have no idea what I'm doing.

The thing is: I don't have much time. Well, you know this, obviously you do... I'm giving this letter to Sadie first thing in the morning, and if it made it's way to you, then that means I'm dead.

I think that's part of it, you know? Of the not-knowing. Never been a man to philosophize, and I ain't about to start now, but it's been on my mind. I don't know how this whole thing will turn out. I just know you made it out safe, and so will John, Abigail and lil Jack too. Might very well be the last thing I do.

Oh, Charles. All I know is I miss you. Sounds like a silly thing to say, with you being gone only a week but well, you and I both know this is it so... Here I am, acting like a fool for you once more. And while there's many things I regret, being with you was never one of 'em.

I would do it all again, you know? If that's what it takes, I wouldn't hesitate, not even a second. Being with you made life worth living, no matter how hard it got. I guess that's the thing about love, ain't it? I always thought it ain't meant for someone like me. You proved me wrong on that, as you tend to do. Made me a freer man than I ever was.

Because I do, Charles. I love you. Said it once or twice but it ain't ever enough. You were the best damn thing that ever happened to me and letting you go was the hardest damn thing, too.

And I'm sorry, for what it's worth. I'm sorry that everything turned out this messy. I'm sorry I can't be there now, with you.

I'll spend the time that's left for me thinking about you, Charles. There ain't much else I can give you. I hope, wherever you are, that you're thinking about me too.

And yet, while my story is nearing its end, it's only a chapter in yours. You deserve the world, Charles. You do. You told me not so long ago I owe you, and I think you didn't realize how much. I ain't got what it takes to ask another favor of you but...

Keep going, please. Do it for me, Charles.

I'm running out of space and there's so much more I want to tell you. Just know that that peace we was talking about finding? I think I did. I found it in you.

I'm yours, Charles. Always, remember?

Arthur

The letter has its own pocket in every one of Charles's shirts. Folded into a small square, the pages are tucked into that spot over his heart, a familiar weight.

Charles knows every word by memory and yet, every time when the leaves start to fall, he sits by Taima's side and reads it, sometimes to himself, sometimes out loud. The paper is weak where it's been bent too many times, the sketches that fill the few blank spots a little smudged but it doesn't matter.

Arthur is with him, always, and that is all that counts.

>>Read on AO3

#red dead redemption #rdr2 #charthur #charles smith #arthur morgan #a brokeback mountain reference and ps i love you in one fic? it's more likely than you think #bewareth typos and such #i wrote this in one go and it's 5am ayy #reblogs as always appreciated!!#long post #rdr fanfiction #my stuff #rdr #RDR spoilers

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sonicrainicorn · 6 years

Text

Made of Love, Chapter 13

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Table of Contents

Ship(s): Logicality, (platonic) Prinxiety

All Characters: Thomas, Virgil, Roman, Logan, Patton, Dr. Picani, Joan, Talyn, and Deceit

Synopsis: Humans Roman and Virgil get wrapped up in some serious magic business without meaning to. Their other companions aren’t exactly as they seem, either. Together they all must defeat a great threat for the safety of humanity.

Chapter Desc.: Three idiots with one brain cell shared between them get a chapter to themselves. Oh, and some new friends are introduced.

TW: Cursing(?), minor violence, implied sexual content

Prefer to read it on Ao3? Click here!

Thomas tried to find that damn picture again the next day, but he couldn’t. He checked every shelf and cupboard in the house, many books, and even places Picani thought were secret (but weren’t since Thomas found them early on). Logan hid it well. He knew Thomas would go looking for it -- that paranoid bastard.

Thomas huffed in annoyance and fell back on his haunches. He let the cupboard door fall closed. All he wanted was to know who that boy was -- a name at least. But neither Patton nor Logan wanted to talk about it. He almost convinced Patton to let something slip, but Logan walked back in and ceased the conversation. For some reason, Logan was adamant about not telling Thomas anything. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t around at that time. He and Picani were almost attached at the hip until the seventies

Up until Thomas screwed things up.

Oof -- besides the point, and thus no reason to think about it. The point is, it didn’t make any sense on how Thomas never met Mr. Sunglasses. He was with Picani at every moment of his free time -- sometimes even when he didn’t have free time. He was a kid, and easily frightened at his own shadow, so often times Picani brought him along to the library when he needed to study. On a few occasions, he even brought him to a lecture if the professor was nice enough. Thomas never did anything during those times. Just stayed silent and drew on some paper Picani had given him.

Once, on no day in particular, Picani stopped going to classes. He stopped going to school. Even now Thomas doesn’t know why, but he always had his suspicions. Because before that day happened, he found Picani crying by himself in the middle of the night. He was looking at old pictures until Thomas came in. Then they stayed together until the morning with Picani never mentioning the incident again.

Thomas shook himself out of his memories and leapt to his feet. The scrapbook. It had to still exist -- no way would Picani throw out something like that. There was a chance it could reveal the missing puzzle piece that Thomas needed.

Without any further hesitation, Thomas took the stairs two at a time to get to the first floor faster. He flung himself into the room he needed to be in and began his search. For the most part, the books were organized by type. In true Picani fashion, however, many parts of the order only made sense to him. So Thomas had to search thoroughly in order not to skip over it on accident.

It felt like an eternity before he found it. Not on a shelf -- or even a bookcase -- but under one. There was a gap between one of the bookcases and the floor that he never would have paid attention to had he not kicked under it on pure accident. It was big enough for the book to slide out of. It must have been under there for a long while; a heavy layer of dust settled over the cover.

He opened it after, finding that his anticipation couldn’t hold off any longer. Inside was like any other scrapbook. Pictures, messages, little doodles. The notes were signed 'R' and 'E', depending on who was writing. They were almost like text messages with some being about where to meet up and when, but others being inside jokes or complaints about a professor. There were many pictures of Picani and R. A majority of them were of the latter, however. Thomas had a feeling that Picani did this on purpose. The ones where they were together were the goofiest. It felt like looking through frozen snippets of time between two close friends.

Then there was a jump. A skip of time that occurred with a simple flick of a page. R looked somewhat older while Picani looked more or less the same. But during these pictures, R ditched his sunglasses. He stood up straighter, smiled rather than grinned or smirked. Something changed him. As the pictures moved from black and white to color, they became less frequent before stopping altogether. The notes were gone. There weren’t any more doodles of two teenage boys messing around. Thomas turned a blank page and found a letter. He noticed the remaining pages had been altered into pockets to hold other letters as well. They were all still in their envelopes.

Part of Thomas wanted to read them -- to spill all the secrets they had in store -- but the other part new that he shouldn’t. He was already invading enough of Picani’s privacy. He didn't need to fall deeper into that. Instead, he opted to look at the envelopes. They had a red and blue lined border. Judging from the stamps and overall condition of the paper, these weren’t recent at all. He struggled to read the smushed loopy writing. He managed to read Emile Picani and their apartment number at the time. The address for the sender looked like random letters and numbers strung together.

He flipped through the pages, all with the same information. Emile Picani, apartment number, and random scribbles. He did, however, make out an 'R' and what might have been a 'y' on the name for the sender on one of them. The last envelope caught Thomas off guard. It had wrinkles in it. Like someone crushed it in their hand before deciding to smooth it out. Was whatever inside it upsetting?

Thomas stared at it before succumbing to curiosity and slipping it out of the pocket. He held it in his hands, noticing how the ink smudged from water droplets, then flipped it over. Someone ripped it open. It wasn’t how Picani normally opened envelopes. He was always so careful. The way this was opened looked like someone rushed to get inside. Thomas lifted up the remains of the flap to see the letter still folded inside. His fingertips brushed the paper before he yanked it back.

What the hell was he doing?

Whatever was in this letter wasn’t any of his business. He shouldn’t have even considered looking through it. This was a private affair. Letters were personal and this one -- no matter how intriguing -- wasn’t meant for him to read. His name wasn’t anywhere on it. This was only ever meant for Picani to read.

Sighing, Thomas returned the letter to its pocket. He felt icky for even considering reading that. If Picani wanted him to read it, then he would have let him see it years ago. So despite the curiosity that ached inside him, he let it go. He put the book back where he found it and stood up to leave. In hindsight, this whole endeavor seemed a bit silly. He shouldn’t have let himself get so focused on such a tiny detail of the past. Focusing on the past never led to good things in his experience.

As he approached the door, voices from the other side made him stop. Patton and Logan. They were having a hushed argument. Thomas peeked out a bit to see Patton close a door on a room. A room that Thomas affectionately dubbed the “seance room”. Though no actual seances ever took place there, it did have many witchy aspects to it.

“We’re not getting any closer, Patton.” Logan rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses.

Patton sighed. “I know. But there’s only so much we can do when we have nothing to go off of.”

Logan didn’t say anything for a moment. “Patton, I think it’s time to start talking about if we don’t find him.” He hesitated. “So if it ever gets to that point, I --”

“No.”

“Patton --”

“I don’t want to hear you talking like that.” He cupped Logan’s face. “I -- I won’t let you talk like that. You just have to believe that everything is going to be okay. We still have time -- you still have time. Just, please, don’t talk like you -- like you’re --” He couldn’t seem to finish his sentence.

Logan put a hand around Patton's wrist. “We can't afford to be blindly optimistic. There is a chance that I'll --”

“Stop. Please -- just --” Patton squeezed his eyes shut -- “I don't know what I'd do without you. I can't lose any more people I care about. Not you. I almost lost you before, Logan, I can't go through that again.”

Logan opened his mouth as if to say something, but ended up closing it. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Patton. “I understand how you feel, but I just want you to be prepared for all possible scenarios.”

Patton held Logan as if that was the only thing keeping him there. “I don’t want any other scenario. I want you to be safe.”

Thomas ducked behind the door to avoid being seen. He tried to convince himself that the tears pricking at his eyes were because of Patton.

Virgil groaned as loud noises invaded his room. He rolled over and pulled his blankets closer as if that would lessen them somehow. When it didn’t, he peeked one eye open, only to groan again. His hand searched the nightstand. Once his fingers bumped into a rubber cover, he tilted it towards himself and pressed the home button. He groaned yet again. “It’s ten o’clock, what are you guys doing?” He tried to get cozy to avoid leaving any time soon.

“It’s time to wake up,” Thomas announced. “We have places to be.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Virgil yelped when the blankets were ripped from him. He sat up to glare at the perpetrator. “Roman!”

“Up and at ‘em.” Roman grinned. “You’re wasting away precious morning hours by staying in here doing nothing.”

“I was sleeping.” He snatched the blankets back from Roman’s hand, but made no attempt to get back under them. “I’d prefer to get back to it as I have work tonight.”

Thomas jumped onto the bed, narrowly missing Virgil’s leg. “Come on, Virge. We have to do this now before Patton and Logan get back. I promise it’ll be worth your while.”

Virgil stared at Thomas for a moment. He seemed a bit off. Despite this, Virgil ended up agreeing. “I expect my payment to be in food.”

After Virgil threw on whatever clothes were close enough to him, they were on their way (after slight criticism from Roman on outfit choice). Thomas gave directions from the backseat, but wasn’t explicit about where they were going. An unfortunate trait he learned from Picani, no doubt. But he did explain the reason they were doing this:

Patton and Logan need more help than they’re letting on. With no clues to where Altair is, and a race against time, they need all hands on deck. More eyes to lookout. Other similes of that nature. And there were only two other people Thomas knew who would be willing to help.

“Neither of you are allergic to dogs, right?” Thomas asked after his hand fell from the door. The three stood around on the front steps of a house. A quiet neighborhood surrounded them. Perhaps the morning weekday had a part to play in that.

“Isn’t that something you normally ask before going to see someone?” Roman put his hands on his hips.

“We're on a bit of a time constraint here.”

“And if you are, you can just wait outside,” Virgil shot back.

Roman glared at him.

Before Thomas could interject to tell them to knock it off, the front door opened. Roman and Virgil dropped their annoyance with each other for the benefit of the person on the other side. They’d pick it back up again after pleasantries were exchanged.

“Hey, Joan,” Thomas chirped, wide smile in place.

The other seemed ready to return the greeting but stopped upon seeing that there were others. “Who’s this?”

“Right, um --” He turned to his partners in crime -- “Joan, this is Roman and Virgil. Roman and Virgil, this is Joan. They’re kinda like my best friend.”

“Kinda like your best friend? I’m insulted that the title is so uncertain.” Joan smirked at him. “Well, come on in. I assume you have something important to tell me.”

Thomas gave Roman and Virgil a large grin before following Joan inside. Roman and Virgil shared one final glare before joining. They followed the eccentric Thomas into a quaint little living room. Laying on top of a sofa cushion was a little dog. Curly black and white fur adorned its precious form. Roman squealed and ran over to it, cooing excitedly.

“Where’s Talyn?” Thomas glanced around the living room as if the person in question would appear out of thin air.

Joan wandered in after locking up the front door. “They’re washing Sephone right now. Does this conversation need the both of us?” They paused to look at Thomas. “Did you break something again?”

“What? No! Why do you always assume I did something bad?” He seemed embarrassed more than annoyed. “Can’t I just want to talk to two of my best buds?”

“Considering you brought guests with you,” they motioned to the two in question. Virgil stood off to the side awkwardly while Roman continued to play with the dog, “I’m going to take a wild guess and say that this talk is going to be a bit of a big deal.”

“I mean, like, maybe…”

A voice shouted from down the hall, “Loose dog!” followed by thumps against the floor. The sure sign of an animal excitedly running away. Said excited animal was a lot faster than anyone realized and found its way into the living room before a word could even be uttered. And far before Virgil realized that this animal, moving at top dog speed, went straight for him.

This was not a small dog by any means, and Virgil was not exactly tough, so they both found their way to the ground after the dog jumped on him. He spit out dog fur that got in his mouth and attempted to push the dog away from him, but it seemed pretty set on licking his face. Connected to the tongue was a rather energetic fluffy dog. Brown, black, and white coated its face in splotches. Or rather, faces. This thing had three heads.

Virgil squeaked but found himself still trapped under the dog and unable to get away.

“Woah,” Roman gasped. The tinier, less intimidating dog, found its way into his lap. “Thomas, you didn’t say your friends had Cerberus. I thought this cute dog was all that you meant!”

Thomas chuckled nervously. “Uh, yeah. I-it kinda slipped my mind.”

“Cerberus is just a breed type, by the way,” a new voice mentioned. The person it belonged to emerged from the direction the dog came. They had a rather bold statement of hair that contradicted their overall soft appearance. “Her name is Sephone and she enjoys giving kisses to strangers.”

“Well, I do not enjoy receiving them.” Virgil tried to push the middle head away, but the left head came in and continued the kisses. He wasn’t much of a dog person; they could be intimidating. So having a dog with three heads on top of him was the closest thing to a nightmare that could have decided to happen today.

“I’ll take them!” Roman exclaimed very much like a child on Christmas.

“If you whistle then she won’t even hesitate to go for you,” Joan said.

Without the slightest bit of hesitation, Roman whistled for Sephone. All her heads turned toward the sound before bounding off toward it. She automatically began to lick his face in greeting. Roman responded by petting one of her heads, though his other hand remained on the other dog.

“Sorry about that, Virgil.” Thomas helped Virgil off the floor. “Next time I’ll be sure to mention any magical pets beforehand.”

“It is a little funny that she went straight for you,” Joan mentioned. “Considering it wouldn’t be the first time a Virgil and a cerberus met.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s hilarious,” Virgil snapped.

“Anyway,” Thomas jumped back in. “We didn’t just come here to see your dogs -- even though that is a plus. I have some serious developments to reveal and I need to get them out as soon as possible because I don’t know when Logan and Patton are getting back home.”

So Thomas explained, in depth, how they would all benefit from Joan and Talyn’s help. With Talyn being able to get information from a broad spectrum of magical creatures, and Joan knowing which humans could be trusted, they wouldn’t have to wait around for Altair to find them. They could have a network of people keeping an eye out.

“I can try my best,” Talyn said. “But you know what everyone thinks. Once news starts to spread that Altair is actively looking for someone then they’ll all stay far away. Very few will get involved with that.”

“Humans don’t have as much to fear so I think my connections will be a lot more willing,” Joan added.

Thomas looked as if he expected as much. “Thank you -- it’s just really important that this gets done.” It looked like he wanted to add something else, but kept silent.

“Don’t worry about it, dude. We’ll do anything to help you get Picani back. You’re probably struggling without him.”

Thomas flushed red in an instant. “I’m almost a hundred years old. I know how to handle myself without Picani, thank you very much.”

Joan scoffed. “When we first met, you still clung to him like a kindergartener that doesn’t want to leave their mom.”

“That doesn’t count!”

“It was high school.”

Virgil decided to cut in before Thomas short-circuited from embarrassment. “Wait, how did both of you meet Thomas?” Both Joan and Talyn looked closer to Roman and Virgil’s age than to Thomas’s. But as Virgil knew, looks could be deceiving.

“I met him freshman year of high school,” Joan answered. “In an English class, I think. Of course, then I didn’t realize he lived with a real-life fusion and had a family of wizards, but it sort of explained a lot after I knew.” They gave Thomas a look. One Thomas seemed to understand more than Virgil.

“Does that mean you two graduated together?” Roman continued to sit on the floor with one dog asleep in his lap and the other getting belly rubs.

“Yep. It’s been about ten years now.”

Ten years? That’s when Roman and Virgil graduated as well. Would that make Joan a human then? They did reference having strictly human connections. And as tricky as Magi years were, a Magus didn’t age that fast in the span of ten years. It seemed a bit rude to ask, however.

“We met by complete accident,” Talyn replied. “I was kind of hanging out with the wrong crowd back then and Thomas has a knack for being at the wrong place at the wrong time.” They gave him a knowing smirk and he returned it with a sheepish smile. “So to make a very long story short, he found out I was a shifter and we became friends.”

“Shifter?” Roman and Virgil questioned.

“Shapeshifter. It’s what I am.”

Roman laid his hand on top of Sephone’s middle head since that’s the one she put on his leg. “So you can change into different things?”

“Just people.” Talyn shrugged. “It’s a bit of a painful process, but it does make for easy hair changes.”

“That’s awesome.” He started to pet Sephone with both hands since the little dog continued to sleep regardless of attention. “Thomas, you should have introduced us sooner -- I’d love to have met these dogs. And your friends, too, I guess.”

“Thanks,” Joan muttered, though it was clear no hard feelings were had.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, “Stronger Than You” started playing. Thomas groaned and reached into his pocket to pull out his phone. He stared at it for a few seconds with a grimace before answering.

“Hello --?” He winced and pulled the phone away from his ear. What sounded like Patton’s frantic voice could be heard from the other side. He hesitantly put it back. “Alright -- whoa -- hey, uh, P-Patton. Patton, please.” He angrily waved his hand at Joan when they started snickering. “I’m fine, I swear. I’m just at Joan and Talyn’s house… Virgil and Roman are with me… Well, honestly, I kinda expected you to be gone longer.” That appeared to be the wrong thing to say, as he instantly cringed and hung his head. Patton could once again be heard yelling on the other side.

“Okay, I get it.” He lifted his head back up. “I had a good reason for this, I swear. I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything… Yes… So now that you know I’m not dying, are you good…? Alright… Well, we can’t exactly leave yet. Roman seems to be a little occupied with the dogs.” They all turned to look at Roman.

Roman looked up and gave them a sheepish smile. “Is it obvious that I’ve never had a pet before?”

Thomas shook his head. “I’ll be fine. Roman and Virgil are here, there’s a cerberus, I am in a safe place. They won’t let anything happen to me.” He rolled his eyes, a familiar action of a teenager getting annoyed at their parent's questions. “Yes. Now chill out. Have fun. We’ll be back soon.” He hung up with a sigh.

“Did you get in trouble with your daddies?” Joan asked with a smirk.

Thomas held up a finger in their direction. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call them that. But yes.”

“Maybe we should get back,” Virgil suggested.

He turned his head to give Virgil an incredulous expression. “Uh, no. We're going to give them enough time to stop being mad at me. And then we'll get back.”

“I'm not going to argue with that,” Roman said.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “You just wanna keep playing with the dogs.”

“Normally, I would object, but in this case, you are very right.”

They all spent the next several minutes talking with each other. All the while Roman continued to give the dogs the majority of his attention, something which Virgil couldn’t understand, but wasn’t going to poke fun at or anything. It was sort of… pure. The way he interacted with them. He became much more gentle -- loving, almost -- in a way that Virgil had never seen before. It was, maybe, a little cute.

Not that Virgil would ever admit to thinking that in a million years. Nuh-uh. He wasn’t going to have his reputation ruined by that of all things. Besides, Roman would never let him live it down. So no. No one was going to get a hold of those thoughts. Not today -- not ever.

Eventually, they did have to leave. Roman had to be dragged away from the dogs with a promise to return one day. Joan and Talyn said they were welcomed back anytime, anyway, as long as it was for anything other than bad news. Virgil could get behind that kind of mentality.

Thomas groaned in annoyance when they reached the car. “Patton said to get lunch,” he squinted down at his phone, “at least I think. There’s a lot more spelling errors than usual.” He tilted his head to the side as if that would help to read it better. “How do you even add that many extra letters in the word ‘get’?”

“Does he have any requests?” Roman asked.

“I feel like if I asked, I’d get a response that didn’t make sense.” He frowned at his phone before putting it away. “We’ll use our best judgment. I don’t know what’s going on with him right now.”

Virgil smirked a bit. “Maybe he’s so mad he can’t even type right.”

“Shut up and get in the car.”

“Wow, who made you the boss of me?”

“I’m literally sixty-six years older than you, now get your butt in the car.”

Unfortunately, there were few fast food places that served vegetarian options, so they had to pick somewhere that involved getting out of the car. Which was unfortunate. Because both Virgil and Thomas would do anything if it meant doing the least amount of work.

After getting situated, Virgil and Thomas played Chopsticks while they waited for their order. Roman watched them with mild fascination as Thomas won every single round. No matter who went first, Thomas always managed to win.

“How?!” Virgil threw his hands up in defeat. He only regretted the volume to his voice a little bit. He was more peeved at losing so many times. “I’ve never seen someone win that consistently before.”

“Black magic,” Thomas joked with a sly grin.

Roman snorted. From around the straw of his drink, he spoke, “That would explain Virgil sucking so bad.”

Virgil glared at him.

As they walked to the back parking lot where the car was, Virgil continued to receive teasing. Roman did most of it with Thomas not helping in the least. Though Thomas did eventually concede that he learned the tricks to winning from Picani. It made Thomas a rather grumpy boy after teaching it to him and then having him win a few times after figuring it out. So he knew how Virgil felt (yet he declined to release the secrets).

Well, whatever then. Virgil didn’t want to know them anyway.

Suddenly, a bad feeling crawled down Virgil’s spine. An innate instinct told him to reach into his pocket with his free hand. By the time he clicked the pen and turned around, someone yanked Thomas back by the arm.

The Figment had the appearance of a young girl with a 90s grunge aesthetic. There was a high chance that it was the authentic style rather than someone going retro. It held Thomas’s arms to keep him from escaping and stared down both Roman and Virgil as if daring them to do something. But like all Figments, its expression didn’t give very much away.

“Throw the dagger at it!”

With a jump, Virgil shoved the food into Roman’s arms. “Thomas, duck!” He raised his arm and launched the dagger from his hand. Honestly, he couldn’t say what possessed him to do it. Patton taught him how to throw it once and he never did it again, so that wouldn’t have been his first course of action.

As soon as Thomas was out of the way, the dagger hit the Figment square in the shoulder. Somehow, Virgil got it to stick.

This allowed Thomas to rush over and hide behind Roman.

The Figment stared in what might have been considered shock. Black ink began to seep onto its shirt from the wound. Then, like the ones before it, it went up in smoke.

Virgil glanced around.

“Dude, those things can not take a hit,” Roman muttered after a moment of shocked silence.

“Well, you’d have to imagine that it takes a lot to reanimate a soul with a body. As strong as Altair is, I don’t think he’s capable of forming a fully-fleshed person out of their soul and magic alone.” Thomas stared wearily at where it used to be. “On another note, Virgil how the hell did you think to do that?”

“Yeah, I have to admit that was one of the most impressive things I’ve ever seen you do.”

Virgil stopped searching the area to look at them in confusion. “I… I just -- I thought I heard --” He shook his head. They wouldn’t have believed him. “Never mind. It was some weird instinct, I guess.” He picked up his dagger, frowning at the ink splattering the blade.

“Whatever you say.” Roman pushed the food back into Virgil’s arms. “Just don’t use me as your personal lackey next time.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Sure.” He placed the pen back into his pocket. And, being the paranoid individual that he is, couldn’t help but look around one last time. He could have sworn Logan was the one to yell at him.

Thomas opened the door to the house with a dramatic flair to rival Roman’s “Patton! Logan! We have returned in one piece! Come out here so I can tell you stuff.”

Roman and Virgil went to set the food down in the kitchen.

They waited for a moment until Logan emerged from down the hall. His hair appeared more wild than usual and his cheeks were flushed. “Yes? What is it?”

Virgil raised a brow as he sat at the breakfast bar. “Isn't that Patton's shirt?”

Logan paused and looked down. “It appears so.” He adjusted his glasses. “Interesting.”

At that moment, Patton came out holding Logan’s shirt with his finger. He leaned against the doorway with a smirk. “I think you forgot something.”

Roman started slurping on his drink and shared a look with Virgil, who pursed his lips to restrain himself from making any comments. Thomas looked like he wanted to die.

“Patton,” Logan stressed. He tried to act like he couldn’t see him. “Put on a shirt.” The tips of his ears turned pink.

With a sly grin, Patton said, “That's not what you were saying earlier.”

Roman spit out his soda into the sink while Virgil slapped a hand over his mouth as he started to laugh.

“Ah! No!” Thomas covered his ears. “Why would you say that near me? I can’t just unhear that. Oh my God. No. No. St -- oh my God.” He turned to walk out to the deck, ranting the whole way.

“He’s definitely not going to let that go,” Logan grumbled.

“You're just lucky he didn't see your hickey,” Roman muttered like a side remark.

Logan’s eyes widened. His hand flew to cover his neck as if he knew where it would be already. “Patton.” He glared at him, but it was obvious he was more embarrassed than anything.

Patton shrugged in response, clearly amused rather than ashamed. “He told us to have fun.”

“You are the worst.” Logan hit Patton’s arm which made him start laughing. “Shut up, I’m mad at you.” He started to push him down the hall, continuing to complain while Patton laughed.

(Next)

#coinverse #sanders sides #thomas sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #talyn #joan #logicality #platonic prinxiety

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arteacactus · 6 years

Note

Memory Lane and Mother’s Kiss. :)

mother’s kiss: what’s your comfort item?

imma be honest, its really sorta dumb lol

when i was younger, four or five, my parents and i would often do “family nights” in which we’d color in coloring books and id pin up the finished colorings on my wall. i lost mostly all of them, i have only one now, and i cant even remember if it was my mom or dad that colored it, but its a little christmas tree with presents underneath it. the page is yellow and the colors are dull from it being there for so long, the paper is ripped up and bent, but just looking at it makes me feel both sad and happy

,, i also have a couple pictures of my dad and i from when i was like 2 but i dont count them as comfort bc i just wanna cry when i see em fkljgsdlfkg

memory lane: best childhood memory?

ah i have so many i dunno if i can choose just one !!

how deep into childhood we going? like, pre-teen age or pre-pre-teen age ???

well, i cant remember all too far back, so.. we’ll go with a memory from a few years ago and im not entirely sure on my age, i think i was 13? 13 or 12, i dont know, and its really uneventful lol

my family (on my dad’s side) had this sorta tradition up until this story, in which we’d go on a trip to Boyne Mountain Resort in Michigan and stay for a week in one of the condos. And it’s soo fun, theres arcades and shops and pools and a water park and other small, outside parks, and the condos themselves are amazing- but thats besides the point lol

The last trip, this story, is the last time we ever went, and it’s probably the best trip there.

My family is big, and we usually take 2-3 vehicles to carry us all places, so its a bit of a hassle to get everyone situated- so when we go to Meijer or something for just quick shopping, usually, not everyone goes.

The group in this trip consists of my grandma, two of my aunts, me, my brother, and five of my cousins. my grandma wanted to go to Meijer for food since we were running low and had to stock up for snacks, and she had asked who wanted to go with her.

The only ones who decided to stay were me, and two cousins.

i would have gone, but hell, that group was huge just going to a store and i finally got to be away from my brother so i stuck behind with my two favorite cousins, win-win yknow lol

so, since i was like, 12-13, my female cousin 9-10, and my male cousin 15-16, he was in charge. and it was gREAT

we technically weren’t supposed to be home alone so my grandma made a rule so that all the curtains had to be closed and we had to make as little noise as possible, and we decided hey, its pitch black in this possibly haunted condo, and were home alone and surrounded by food. hide and seek

now, both my female cousin and i are fucking stupid. we cant see anything right in front of our faces with the lights on. and my male cousin is a genius and sneaky as hell. best possible combo

so my female cousin was it, i hide under a table, she caught me like after 5 seconds, we ate an entire bag of cheetos and like five fruity suckers, and then finally decided to look for our male cousin

and in these condos are like, two rooms. they both have a living room, kitchen, and bathroom, and the smaller one has a single bedroom whereas the bigger one has two bedrooms and two bathrooms. so we thought, hes probably hiding in the big room right??

so we search both bedrooms. and both bathrooms. and the kitchen. and the living room.

cant find him

second room, then

we hunt the second room. he wasnt in the living room, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom- or even the closets.

and we were like well what the hell, not allowed to use the lights so what do?

we gave up

and started playing the xbox

eventually forget about him and so when we heard the chair squeak from the kitchen, we immediately start to freak out because holy shit this place is haunted

so we like, try to pretend we didnt hear anything, obviously

and then this fUCKING ASSHOLE

THROWS A CHAIR OUT AND CRAWLS FROM UNDER THE TABLE AND LUNGES AT US

WERE TRYING NOT TO SCREAM BC WE CANT MAKE NOISES BUT FKJGHDFLK ITS SO HARD WHEN A MAN BEAST IS LUNGING AT YOU AND YOURE TRYING NOT TO LOSE YOUR MIND

anyway we hit him in the face with a pillow and he forced his way into our video game session and my grandma came back (a few hours later than planned, cause apparently they got horribly lost) to the entire place a wreck

it was fantastic

Nostalgia Asks

#vanna talks #ask #velocifoxy #nostalgia asks #ask game

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lovemesomesurveys · 3 years

Text

Do you own any Funko Pop! figurines? Yeah, I have an I Love Lucy one and a Baby Yoda one.

How many cats and dogs have you had as pets in your lifetime? I’ve had 4 dogs, 0 cats.

Can your mom and/or dad play any instruments, or how about anyone else in your family? No. My dad tried dabbling with the guitar at one point, but didn’t keep up with it.

Have you ever colored in an adult coloring book as a stress reliever? Yes, I have several coloring books.

Can you crack crab legs without a tool? I don’t eat crab, so I’ve never tried.

How many light sources are in the room you’re in? My floor lamp is the main one, but you could count my TV and laptop as well.

What’s your favorite thing to put on bagels? Cream cheese.

Who’s your favorite director? Hmm.

Bats: cute or gross? Creepy.

What was the last really intense pain you felt? The chest pressure the other day from the panic attack I was having.

Would you rather vacation by a beach or a lake? Beach, please.

How would you feel about traveling abroad alone? I would be too afraid to go alone, honestly. Plus, I’d want to experience something like that with someone.

What is your father's middle name? I’m not sharing that.

Where did your last kiss take place? I think it was in his car. This was almost 10 years ago, so I’m not entirely sure anymore.

Which movie villain do you find the most terrifying? Michael Myers and Pennywise are pretty scary. Love ‘em, though.

If you married your favorite celebrity what would your last name be?Skarsgard. Do you stick your tongue out often in pictures? I never do that.

Which one of your family members are you closest to? My mom and younger brother.

Would you rather have name brand shoes or name brand clothes? Shoes. Like my Adidas.

Are you a good liar? No.

Are you proud of your parents? Yes.

If you could get backstage tickets to ANY concert - which would you pick? Hmm.

Which is better: orange or grape soda? Not a fan of either one.

Was the last thing you ate hot or cold? The chips weren’t hot or cold, but the dip I had with them was cold.

Who was the last person in your house who isn’t family? It’s been a long time since we’ve had a non-family member over.

What color was the last swimsuit you wore? *shrug* I haven’t worn an actual swimsuit since I was a kid.

Can you remember the last song you listened to? No. I don’t listen to music much nowadays for some reason.

Have you ever been dumped really harshly? Yes.

Can you do a back flip, or anything else of that sort? Nope.

Do you have any exes you can’t stand anymore? No. I don’t even have any interaction with either of them anymore; it’s been years.

What happened to cause you to feel that way about them? --.

Are you more of a phone or a computer person? Computer.

Do you have a job, and if so, where do you work? No.

If not, do you want one? Not at this time.

Do any medical afflictions run in your family? Diabetes and cancer.

What’s your favorite Mexican dish? Chicken quesadillas and burritos with beans, rice, cheese, sour cream, guacamole, and cilantro.

Have you ever been to a professional sports game? Yes.

Have you ever ordered a specially made cake from a cake shop? Yeah, many times.

What months were you and your siblings born in? July, February, and November.

What did you have for dinner last night? My left over pizza from lunch. It was so good.

Have you ever had sex in/on a vehicle? No.

Do you do anything to groom your eyebrows? I keep it unibrow free, but that’s about it.

Has your town ever flooded? No, thankfully.

Have you ever played at the McDonald’s play place? Yeah. Ew, can’t believe that was such a popular thing cause when you realize how disgusting those actually were... yikes.

Have you ever taken a picture of snow? Yeah.

Do you cry easily? Nowadays I definitely do. I feel like I’m always crying.

Are you happy with where you live? My family and I want to move.

Do people ever mistake you for being a different race? It has happened.

Do you hate the last person you kissed? No.

What genre is your favorite movie? Horror, psychological thriller, drama, superhero, romcoms, scifi, adventure, fantasy... I like variety.

Who was the last person you were in a car with? My mom.

Do you like the picture on your license/I.D. card? No.

When was the last time somebody hit on you? I have no idea. It’s been a very long time.

Was the last person you met a male or female? I haven’t met anyone new in quite awhile.

What brand is your underwear? I don’t remember.

What’s your favorite Thanksgiving food? I love the turkey, mashed potatoes with gravy, stuffing, rolls, and my brother’s homemade baked mac and cheese. Ooh, and the appetizers, too.

Do you have a TV in your room? I do.

Are any of your electronics charging right now? My laptop is constantly plugged in, so yes That’s it as of now.

What was the last video game you played? Animal Crossing.

What’s the biggest promise someone’s ever made to you? Did they keep it? Hmm.

Google, Bing, or Yahoo? Google is the only acceptable answer.

What was the last song you had on repeat? I don’t typically play songs on repeat.

Who is your favorite person to watch on YouTube? Oh, I have several.

How many college degrees do you want? I have one and that’s not even being used, I don’t need more. I have no idea what else I would even do. I also have ZERO desire to go back to school.

Can you wink? Yeah.

Do you own any jerseys? Nope.

Have you ever tried to snort Pixie Stix as a child, or even an adult? No.

Do you like going to baby showers? Do you go only for the cake? They can be fun.

Has there ever been a time in your life, you felt sexually undecided? No.

Do you think tattoos and piercings are sexy on the opposite sex? I wouldn’t say that, but I don’t care if someone has some. Although, I’m sorry but I do not like face tattoos at all.

Do people ever ask you to do things they’re too short to accomplish? No, I wouldn’t be of any help either.

What color are the headphones you have at this moment in time? Yellow.

Ever choked severely on something during lunch at your school? Yes, actuallly. I remember getting a Dorito stuck in my throat in elementary school.

Do you eat more vegetables or fruits? What’s your favorite fruit/veggie? Vegetables.

What would you say is the color of your favorite bra? I prefer black ones.

Is anyone in your family a firefighter? Who is it anyway? No.

What do you usually buy when you go to the dollar store? Snacks or decorations.

Ever peed in the pool? Be honest! Nooo.

When you’re older, what kind of house do you want to live in? A house near the beach is the dream.

Where do you want to get married? I don’t want to get married.

Do you plan on having both your parents at your wedding? Of course I would, but like I said I don’t plan on getting married.

What is your favorite childhood TV show? Think 90s Nickelodeon and Disney and there ya go. Oh, and I was obsessed with Barney when I was really little.

Honestly, do you like school? I liked some of it.

Last thing that made you cry? I don’t want to get into it.

Honestly, are you keeping a big secret right now? Nah.

Last person you took a walk with? My mom. We attempted to get into this routine a couple months ago where we’d take a short walk in the morning a couple times at least a week and go to the Denny’s nearby for breakfast, but I think we ended up going only like 3 times? haha.

Have you ever liked someone who didn’t like you back? Yes.

Who was the last person to actually pick you up in the air? My mom.

Does any part of your body hurt? Of course.

If you had to choose between a million bucks or to be able to change a regret what would you do? The money is very tempting, but changing one of my regrets would vastly improve my situation now and I gotta say that sounds even better right now.

Can you keep a secret? Yes.

Your favorite romantic movie? I have several. I’m a sucker for the romcoms.

How do you feel about Valentine’s Day? Just another day for me. I’ve never experienced it with a significant other.

Who was the last person you took a picture with? My brother.

Do your jeans have rips, tears, and holes in them? No.

Do you celebrate 420? Nope.

Have you ever kicked a vending machine? No.

How do you eat Oreos? I twist ‘em and like to dip them in coffee or warm milk (vanilla almond milk to be exact).

Do you wear your shoes in the house? No.

Ever been to Georgia? I have, actually.

Do you get your hair cut every month? No.

Current relationship in detail. I’m single.

If you were kicked out of your house, who would you call/go to? My aunt.

List things you spend money on in an average week. Food and food delivery.

Rate each of your sexual partners (if any) from 1-10. I’m a virgin.

Post the last FB group/page that you joined. It’s a group for a Bibe study.

Would you parents be mad if you were in a relationship? No? I’m 32 years old.

Think of the last person you had sex with. Do you think they’ve slept with anyone else since they last slept with you? --

Is there someone that you believe you will always be attached to? My loved ones. What board games are you good at? *shrug* I just love board games.

Is there a sport/hobby you keep thinking about taking up, but that you’ve never quite gotten around to starting? Not that I can think of at the moment.

Do you think pranks like egging/toilet-papering someone's house are funny or immature? Immature and stupid. And just a shitty thing to do.

Do you think “sleeve tattoos” are a good idea? Not my thing, but I don’t care if other people want to do it.

Do you ever actually read the “Terms and Services” when you sign up for websites and such? No. :X

If you have a handheld games console (a DS or GameBoy, for example), how often do you use it? I have a Switch, but I haven’t used it since earlier this year.

Your phone is ringing. It’s the person you fell hardest for, what do you say? I wouldn’t even answer to be honest.

If your best friend was kicked out, would your parents let him/her live with you? My best friend is my mom, whom I live with.

Are you afraid of falling in love? Yes. Didn’t go well the couple times I did.

Is there anybody you wish you could be with right now? No.

Have you ever kissed someone & wished yu didn’t? No.

Did you get kissed last night? Nope. It’s been several years since I’ve last kissed someone.

Do you enjoy going through a carwash? Not especially. When I was a kid I was actually scared of them. They still creep me out, honestly.

How did you get most of your scars? Surgeries.

Ever had to take an inkblot test? No.

Have you ever been in trouble for something you honestly didn’t do? Hmm, I don’t think so.

Have you ever seriously slapped someone in anger? No. I’ve never slapped or hit anyone.

What/who woke you up this morning? I haven’t gone to sleep, yet.

Who was the last person to be in your bedroom besides you? My brother.

What’s one of your locked text messages? I don’t have any. Does the iPhone even do that?

Have you ever finished a game of Monopoly? I think so.

Is there anyone you know who’s in any way paralyzed? Yes, me.

The truth all comes out when someone is drunk, true? It can.

When was the last time you felt disappointed in yourself? I’ve been feeling that way the past few years. Just continuous disappointment.

How about feeling disappointed in someone else? A couple days ago.

For you, do you commonly feel more jealousy or envy? Envy.

Do you rely on the heads/tails flipping of a coin sometimes for decisions? No.

Do you have any specific chores you do around the house? I haven’t been much help the past few years. Especially not now.

For you, does comfort or fashion come first in dressing? Comfort, hands down. That doesn’t mean it can’t be cute, though. Like, I love my oversized graphic tees. They’re cute/cool and comfy.

Have you had two friends that absolutely hated each other? No.

Do you like Laffy Taffy? I liked the banana ones. I couldn’t tell ya the last time I had one, though.

Do you prefer electric or manual pencil sharpeners? The little manual ones I have are fine.

Are your biceps at all noticeable? I have no muscle anymore. I used to. My arms are stick thin now.

Have you ever seen a walrus? Yeah.

Did you ever have one of those Easy Bake ovens as a kid? I did.

Does your bathroom have a theme to it? No.

From inside of your house, how many doors lead outside? Three.

Are there a lot of trees in your yard? No, just one.

Have you ever liked someone that treated you like crap? Yes.

Have a best friend? Yes.

Does it bother you when your best friend does stuff without you? Only when she goes on a vacation without me haha. That’s just my envy and bitterness about not being able to do much right now due to health reasons. She absolutely deserves to go and I of course want her to go. She goes like less than a handful of times, if that, so it’s not even much. I wish she could take more trips for herself. The past 3 years one of those trips was one she went on with her sisters and she’s planning another this year, but isn’t sure if she’ll be able to because I’ve needed more help these past few months due to health reasons and some things only she can help me with because she knows how and I only feel comfortable with her doing. I feel really bad because I don’t want her to have to cancel, she’s really been looking forward to it and I know it’s something she needs for her own wellbeing because she’s been stressed and spread thin having to deal with a lot of things.

Is there a secret you’ve never told your parents? Yes.

Does anyone hate you? Possibly.

What’s the one thing you regret more than anything? Not taking better care of myself.

Do you remember important dates? I’m pretty good about that usually, but I like to use the reminder or calendar app on my phone as well sometimes.

What’s some lyrics from a song that means a lot to you? There’s a lot.

Who gives the best advice? My mom.

Who do you usually see in your dreams? :) My dreams are so random.

What type of cake did you last eat? White cake with buttercream frosting.

How many of your friends are gay or bisexual? I don’t have any friends.

What’s your favorite type of sandwich? Turkey or bologna with cheese, mayo, mustard, and oil. I like to buy this sandwich oil that’s just olive oil with a few seasonings in it like oregano and basil. Oh, and I like to add spinach as well sometimes.

When was the last time someone asked you out? Did you accept or decline? It’s been years. I accepted.

Do you like The Offspring? I liked a couple songs.

One pillow or two? Two.

Do you like Mad Libs? Yeah.

Where do your grandparents live? Arizona.

What is your pet’s name? Princess Leia.

Have you ever been to Canada? No, but I'd love to visit. < Same! <<< Me, tooooo.

Aren’t babies overrated? lol aww I wouldn’t say that.

Have a built-in pool in your backyard? No.

Ever won yourself a stuffed animal? No.

Ever had someone else win you a stuffed animal? My cousin did once from one of those claw machines, shockingly. I feel like no ever wins those. My dad won the stuffed animal giraffe for me from an amusement park that started my collection several years ago.

Ever been to a circus? Yes, once when I was a kid.

Ever shot animals? No.

Do you consider yourself intelligent? No.

Have you ever run away from home? No.

Do you put family first, friends, relationships, school, or something else? Family.

What’s something you worked extremely hard to get? Hm.

Are you satisfied with your body image? No. I’m very self-conscious about it.

Have you ever been labeled negatively or otherwise been called something extremely derogatory? Not to my face.

Have you ever seriously taken advantage of someone or been taken advantage of? I’ve been taken advantage of in the past.

Have you ever been seriously ill? Yes.

Have you ever befriended a former enemy? I’ve never had any enemies. If you’re not religious, would you ever pray as a last resort? If you are religious, do you often pray for other people? I did sometimes in the past before my relationship with God began a few years ago.

Have you ever dated someone, then after you dated they came out of the closet or switched (for lack of a better word) sexual orientation? No.

Has a boy/girl ever walked a ridiculous distance just to see you? How about vice versa? No.

When was the last time you felt really uncomfortable? Now because it’s so hotttt D:

Is there anything that your mom is really known for as to how she is as a person? Everyone loves and wants to befriend my mom. She’s funny and sarcastic and people just think she’s cool and fun to be around.

Who have you been talking to the most today? It’s 4:30AM, I haven’t talked to anyone so far.

Are you nosy? I can be sometimes lol.

What’s the meanest thing you have done to a friend? Push them away. :/

If your ex called you crying, what would it most likely be about? I have absolutely no idea why they would be crying or why they’d be calling me. It’s been almost 5 years since we’ve seen or talked, so that would be completely out of the blue.

Who was the best kisser out of all the people you have kissed? Joseph.

Have you ever been told that you have an annoying laugh? No.

#personal #text #survey #surveys #long survey

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geekofmanyforms · 4 years

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New Beginning:Chapter Nineteen

A/N: I know it's been a while since I have updated and I'm sorry about that. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. Please let me know what you think. That way I know there is still interest in this story. This chapter has been edited by my Beta Casey.

Jeremy's pencil scratched its way across the paper as he sketched yet another picture of a Bram Stoker-Esque vampire. I laid my cheek on the palm of my hand, my elbow sitting on the dining room table as I watched him. Inwardly I sighed, knowing it wouldn't be long before he started piecing together the missing memories that Damon had ripped from him. This was something I still found myself hating my own sister for from time to time, so I had no doubt Jeremy would feel the same for a while.

A small creak from the floor above caused both Jeremy and me to raise our heads, narrowing our eyes at the ceiling briefly in disgust and annoyance. We were both avidly avoiding the upstairs where Elena and Stefan were doing God only knows what.

Truthfully, I was grateful he was here, especially after he had shown me his little box of treasures — one which held vervain jewelry. Stefan had allowed me to pick out a green and black beaded rope bracelet for Jeremy. It would keep him safe from every mind control obsessed vampire that seemed to run rampant in this town. Still, I didn't like the idea that my sister could be getting her freak on only a floor above us.

My head jerked towards the door when a loud knock interrupted my thoughts. I laid my head down on my arms in silent protest. The door was just too far away, and I really wasn't in the mood to interact with the outside world. Jeremy laughed at my display of laziness and stood from his seat.

"I'll get it, Ellie,"

I stuck a thumb in the air and heard his feet move across the floor as he left the dining room. The front door opened, and the low deep voice of a man told Jeremy the total for the pizza. I ignored them and stood, heading into the kitchen to grab the plates. I could hear Jeremy yelling for Elena and shook my head with a smile. Everything felt so normal for once. When I came back, Elena was bounding down the stairs, her ponytail swaying as she all but hopped towards the door, money in hand. Jeremy brought the pizza to the table, and I helped him fill the plates, my mind a million miles away. I turned my head towards Elena and smiled when she came into the room with Stefan in tow.

They both had the most obvious expressions of satisfaction on their faces. I bit my lip, trying to keep to the laughter from my voice as I spoke.

"Ready to eat? I'm sure you both have worked up an appetite by now," I asked smoothly.

Jeremy, who had been taking a drink, coughed loudly liquid running down his chin as he tried to breathe. Stefan raised a brow as Elena sputtered indignantly, a patchy pink blush starting at her hairline and working its way towards her neck. I smirked at them both, watching Elena's face darken by the second. I pounded Jeremy on the back and caught my sister's eye.

"Remember, Lena. If you're too embarrassed to talk about it, then maybe you're too young to be doing it," I said firmly, in my best motherly voice with a smirk on my face. I reached beside me and handed Elena two plates with a smile. "We'll talk later. Maybe then you can tell me all about Stefan's sexual prowess," I whispered with a dramatic wink.

As I had expected, Elena gasped and shook her head at Stefan. As if he would ever believe I would want to know anything about their 'extracurricular' activities.

I giggled, and Stefan rolled his eyes at me. "Stop torturing your siblings, El."

I sat down with my pizza and watched Elena shoot Stefan loving and thankful glances for the rest of the night.

The next day sped by quickly despite my mind still being a complete mess. The news that Elena and I were adopted had really done a number on her. Along with having to deal with my own jumble of emotions, I had Elena's to deal with as well. It wasn't that I was all that surprised by it. I mean obviously, she is related to the Petrovas, not the Gilberts. It was the fact that I honestly hadn't the foggiest idea who our parents could be. I wasn't used to not knowing things. This whole ordeal was new to me. Usually, I lived, and then I died. Simple as that. But not in this life. In this life, I had a doppelganger sister who was in love with my vampire Ex's brother, and now come to find out we were both adopted. I was at a complete loss. Honestly, not knowing something for a change was really rattling me. What good was being a Reincarnate Original witch if I was as clueless as the rest of them? I despised the feeling.

When Elena and Bonnie had mentioned going to the Grill, I was actually all for the idea, the noise and mundanity of it would help me stay out of my head. I had been nothing but quiet and contemplative all day, and I could tell it was starting to bother Elena. That was until Elena decided to tell Bonnie the whole sordid tale. Now I was being forced to listen to Bonnie express her surprise and sympathy.

"I can't believe you guys are adopted. I never saw that coming."

Elena nodded, taking my hand. "And it gets weirder. We looked at our birth certificate. It lists Miranda and Grayson Gilbert as our birth parents. None of it makes any sense."

Bonnie placed her hand on Elena's, her eyes soft. "Which is why you should ask Jenna," she said.

Elena leaned back in her seat and groaned in annoyance. Bonnie noticing her hesitance leaned in for the kill before Elena could shoot her down. "First of all, the Elena I know would always want the truth, good or bad," Bonnie said.

I looked over at Elena and watched her visibly cave. Her shoulders slumped, and she sighed, all of the air leaving her body as if she were a rapidly deflating balloon.

"And second of all?" she asked, defeatedly.

Bonnie leaned forward, her eyes scanning our surroundings. "You just found out your boyfriend's a vampire, so unless your birth parents are aliens…how bad could it be?"

Elena and I shared a laugh, some of the stress we had been carrying finally melting away. Bonnie leaned away, a triumphant smile on her face. Elena shook her head and shared a glance with Bonnie before bumping shoulders with me.

"Hey, I need to go to the store. My outfit for the dance is severely lacking accessories," Elena said, "Since I know you have a closet full of junk, I decided to force Bonnie along instead."

I placed my hand on my heart and fell against my seat with a massive gasp. "So, is Mistress saying Ellie is a free elf?" I dramatically choked out.

Elena shook her head while Bonnie covered her flushing, embarrassed face with her hands. "You are such a nerd. Yes! You are free. Go!" Elena laughed.

I quickly stood, clutching my bag as if it were an article of hard-won clothing. "Ellie is free!" I gasped loudly with a smile.

Bonnie sunk down in the booth as I jaunted merrily towards the door smirking at my twin. I waved with a wink before I slipped outside. I smiled brightly, having enjoyed the small embarrassing display that I knew had helped distract my sister, even for a moment. I took a deep breath, glancing at the beautiful blue sky above me. It was a perfect day. I cocked my head to the side for a moment and decided I would enjoy it today. No drama, just fun. After all, tonight was the 50s dance. It might actually be nice to enjoy it with my friends for once.

Pulling out my phone, I sent a quick text to Caroline before hopping into my car. It wouldn't hurt to check on Damon before I tried to have any fun. I knew that if anyone could ruin a drama-free day, it would be Damon Salvatore. I might as well head off his plans before they ever had the chance to come my way.

I didn't bother knocking, knowing they would be alerted of my arrival as soon as my tires had hit their driveway. I bounded into the front room and frowned when I didn't find anyone. Usually, at least one of them was there to greet guests. I raised my hand and cast a quick detection spell, finding Damon in the library. With a raised brow, I fixed two tumblers of Bourbon and headed that way. As I rounded the corner, I could hear the heavy thumps of something repeatedly hitting the floor. I slowly glanced around the corner and found Damon standing in front of one of the large wooden bookshelves. I stepped up beside the couch that sat a few feet away and watched him for a moment. He was looking through each book intently, obviously searching for one in particular. The sleeves of his black dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows, his raven hair messy as if he had run his fingers through it repeatedly in agitation. If I didn't know better, I would have thought he was unaware of my presence only a few feet away from him. However, I did know better, so I just stood still and waited, giving him the time he needed to collect himself.

I could tell he was angry and losing his patience. His long pale fingers ran across the titles of a few books before he pulled them from the shelf, looking through their pages quickly. He then tossed them to the floor, where they joined the rest in the pile that surrounded his feet. My inner bookworm winced at the many haphazardly strewn books now scattered across the floor. It made me angry to see books treated so disrespectfully. Still, something told me now was not the time to pull out my inner librarian. His searching slowed, and his rigid posture started to slump as he turned on his heel towards me.

I raised one of the crystal tumblers of Bourbon and smiled. "Take a break. The books will still be there for you to abuse later," I teased lightly.

His blue eyes warmed briefly before they once again hardened as he locked down his emotions. Stepping down the stairs, he headed in my direction, taking the proffered alcohol and downing it in one swift motion before leaning against the bookshelf behind him.

"Are you looking for a lead on Em's Grimoire?" I asked.

He nodded his head in an affirmative, and I walked up beside him, downing my own drink; the harsh burn more than welcome.

"I'm looking for my father's journal. I know he had something to do with what happened to you and Emily. If anyone knew what happened to her Grimoire, it'd be him."

I ran my tongue across my teeth and shook my head. I had no clue where Giuseppe would have hidden Emily's Grimoire, but Damon was right, I'm sure he had something to do with our burning. He had taken it as a personal slight against him and his family when he had found out about me. He not only helped murder me but from what I heard, he had destroyed my family as well.

"I completely agree. If anyone can help us find it, it'll be him." I said.

Damon turned around and headed back up the steps towards the bookshelf he had been rifling through. He reached up and pulled another book from the shelf. He let the cover fall open — flipping through the pages, before tossing it to his feet and grabbing another. I tried to keep my features from contorting in annoyance, but as soon as the book landed with a small thumb, the spine cracking open — pages fluttering. I knew it was to no avail. I quickly stomped up the steps and snapped my fingers, watching the books on the floor gently fly through the air and land in neat piles beside the shelf.

"You could at least show the books the respect they deserve. Don't take out your annoyance on them, Salvatore," I snipped.

I pulled off my jacket and sent it and my bag flying over to the couch, kissing my drama-free day goodbye. There was no way I could leave these books alone with the disrespectful vampire. Damon smirked, his blue eyes crinkling.

Very slowly, he deliberately pulled a book from the shelf with both hands, as gently as possible. "So, I take it you're staying to help then?" he asked.

I growled at him and started on my own section, taking a book and examining it before catching his eye as I bent down slowly, gently placing it on the stack near my feet. Damon snickered at me but followed my lead. We worked in silent comradery for another hour before we heard someone walking into the room. Stefan casually stepped up the stairs, his hands in his jean pockets — the perfect picture of ease. He glanced down at the ever-growing stack of books at our feet with a raised brow and cocky smile.

I took a step away from the shelf and crossed my arms. "Can we help you, Stef?" I asked with a polite smile.

Stefan approached me with ease, and I narrowed my eyes. He was going to push his luck again. I could feel it. Why did he always insist on pushing Damon? Yes, most of the time, his brother deserved it after everything he had done, but really it only made things worse.

"Just wondering what you're both looking for?" Stefan looked over my shoulder at Damon, who had stopped his search, his back still turned away from his brother. "Besides, aren't you supposed to be at school, Ellie?"

Damon turned towards us and stepped beside me, placing his hand on my shoulder. "She is welcome to stay as long as she wants, Stef," he said, enunciating Stefan's nickname with narrowed eyes.

Stefan's eyes fell on Damon's hand on my shoulder and then to all the books on the floor, his eyes hard. "Damon, she has more important things to do than be here, helping with whatever this is," he said, waving his hand around at all our hard work.

I growled menacingly at Stefan and took a step towards him. "Stefan Salvatore! You and I both know I can learn nothing knew at that ridiculous excuse for a High School that I haven't already learned in the hundred I have attended before it. So don't you dare treat me like some helpless teenage girl. I am over a thousand years old! If I choose to spend my time here with your brother, then that is what I will be doing. You will do well to remember who you're speaking to!"

My voice wavered between a high pitched screech and deadly calm. Stefan's eyes were wide and almost fearful as I took a few deep breaths.

One.

Two.

Three.

I stepped away from him and took another book from the shelf, effectively ignoring them both.

"I'm sorry, Elandra. You are right. I just don't like you being involved with all this," he said calmly.

I scoffed lightly, and Damon raised his brow beside me, but I kept my eyes on the books in front of me. "Stefan, my twin sister is the Petrova doppelganger. I am a Reincarnate. I'm pretty sure my life is already dangerous and insane as it is. So what is adding a bit more craziness gonna do?"

Stefan chuckled and looked at Damon with his brow raised. "What are you guys looking for Damon?" he asked again.

Damon leaned next to me, and I continued looking through the books. I had no intention of getting involved in their sibling drama. I had enough of my own. Besides, theirs tended to end with stakes shoved in painful places, and I don't heal as quickly as they do.

"Not your concern," Damon said.

Stefan leaned towards him, his arms crossed. "No, but putting Elena and Elandra in harm's way, that is my concern," Stefan said, his voice hard as steel.

I was shocked to hear my name added on to his little display of Alpha male possessive behavior. I turned around quickly when Damon growled, pushing past me to attack his brother.

"Elandra is not your concern, brother!" Damon growled.

I stood in front of Damon, my hands on his chest as Stefan came up behind me. What was he playing at?

"Don't act like you care, Damon. You're just using her. You're bitter because one of us gets to be with the person that we love, and poor Katherine is just out of reach. Unless there's another way for you to get into that tomb. Is that what Bree told you? Is that what you have El here helping you with? If so, then that's pretty sad, Damon. That you would force her to help you get back the woman you chose over her," Stefan weakly said.

Damon took a few steps back, his breathing ragged. For a moment, I wasn't sure what to do. Stefan had taken things too far, and he knew it. His eyes were clouded with regret, but I could tell he was fishing and hoping that one of us would reveal something to him. Damon was in no mood to fight with Stefan right now, so it was up to me to handle him. I turned slowly and tossed my hair over my shoulder. My lip curled with distaste, and I narrowed my eyes hatefully at Stefan.

"You're pathetic when you're fishing, Stefan. Damon hasn't forced me to do a single thing. I have and always will choose him because I want to. Now go. I think you're missing school, and we all know how dreadfully important these human experiences are to you," I sneered.

Stefan's face fell and I could, once again, see the regret, especially after the moment we had so recently had. He had pushed me, and we both knew it was too late to take back what he had said. He had used my past with Damon against us both, and that's not something I will so easily forgive or forget. He moved towards me, but I raised my hand, motioning for him to just leave it. Thankfully, he didn't push me and slowly backed away, leaving Damon and me alone. I turned around and wrapped my arms around Damon as soon as I knew Stefan had left the house. I ran my fingers through his hair, hoping that I could give him some comfort.

"Don't listen to him, Day. You're not forcing me to be here. Don't forget we have already left the past in the past, where it belongs. All is forgiven," I whispered.

I could feel Damon's warm breath on my shoulder and tried to control my heartbeat. All I needed was to make a fool of myself. Before things could get too awkward, Damon pulled away. I looked into his crystal blue eyes and smiled, running my fingers across his jawline.

"Let's find this stupid journal. Before Saint Stefan gets home from school," I said. Damon smirked the worry that had been etched across his beautiful features smoothing into his usual flawless cocky demeanor. "This is why you're my favorite, Elandra."

I spent the rest of the day searching the Library with Damon to no avail. The journal was nowhere to be found. Before Stefan got home, I decided it would be best if I wasn't still sequestered at the Boarding house. I didn't feel like going home yet and knew if I did, I would most likely be hounded by Elena, so instead, I decided to just get dinner at The Grill. As per the norm, it was reasonably busy. I was more than a little annoyed to find my plan of avoiding Elena had flown right out the window when I noticed her and Bonnie at a table in the corner. I quickly slid past them and headed towards the bar, hoping to sneak some take out and then pull a daring escape. I found Matt sitting at the bar and slid beside him while I waited patiently for attention from the bartender.

"Hey, Ellie. What are you doing here?" Matt asked.

I smiled brightly and leaned against him. "I am going to attempt to get some food and pull a runner without my less beautiful twin noticing my existence," I whispered conspiratorially.

Matt leaned back and looked behind us, glancing around until he caught sight of Elena. Leaning forward again, he raised a hand until the bartender, Ben, caught sight of us. Ben slid up to the bar and leaned forward, tossing his dingy off white rag over his shoulder with a smirk.

"What do you need, Matt?" he asked, eyeing me up and down.

Matt shot him a glare before he pointed his thumb at me. "Think you can help out, my friend?"

When Ben smugly smiled, leaning down onto the bar to get closer to me, Matt quickly put his arm around my waist, clearing his throat roughly.

"With the menu and taking her order," he quickly clarified, eyes narrowed.

I grinned, loving Matt's brotherly protective side. I knew he definitely needed to have someone to protect since losing Vicki, and if that was me, then I had no issue with it. Matt had always had a bit of the white knight syndrome, and maybe if he felt like he had someone to call family again, he would feel less alone in the world. I had always loved Matt, anyways.

Ben stood back and shrugged, not a care in the world, as he handed over a menu. "Fine, don't get your panties in a bunch," he sighed.

I quickly looked over the menu and ordered something for both me and Matt, much to his dismay.

"You didn't have to do that, Ellie," he said, not meeting my eyes. "I have some money." he finished.

I bumped his shoulder with my own. "I know. I just wanted to repay you for your chivalry, Mr. Donovan," I said, placing my hand on my heart and batting my eyes excessively.

Matt laughed, rolling his eyes in amusement. "Well, thanks."

Ben brought Matt a plate of food and handed me a to-go container with a cheerful wink. "Thanks," I said as he walked away.

Matt glared at his back, and I shook my head with a smile. "I-I just want you to know that I don't need help, Ellie."

He looked down at the job application he had been filling out since before I had arrived. I hadn't wanted to draw too much attention to it. I knew Matt wasn't the most financially stable, and he was really touchy about the subject of money.

"I know that. I would never treat you like a charity case. You're just Matt to me," I said, stealing one of his fries. "One of my dearest friends."

With that said, Matt took a deep breath, and I could see a lot of the stress he had been holding in finally let up a bit.

"So you're gonna be working here then," I said, easing him into the subject.

Matt took a drink of his soda and nodded. "Yeah, busboy," he grimaced.

I spun around on my stool and leaned against the bar, facing the rest of the restaurant. "So? It sounds like a good job for me. Easy way to make some cash. Plus, you'll still be able to see your friends since we all basically live here," I chuckled.

I leaned in and gave Matt a kiss on the cheek, grabbing my take-out box.

"You'll do great," I whispered.

His blue eyes shined as he smiled at me. "Thanks, Ellie Bean," he said.

I scrunched up my nose and pushed his head down roughly with a grumble. I hated that nickname, and he knew it. I could hear his laugh as I headed stealthily towards the exit. All the while trying to keep Elena firmly in the corner of my eye. I hoped she and Bonnie would remain focused on their own conversation.

I felt almost as if luck was on my side when I heard my sister's chipper and surprised voice.

"Elara?"

I stopped in my tracks and let my head and shoulders fall as I turned to meet her gaze.

"Hey, Elena. I didn't know you were here," I said, my voice dripping with false surprise.

Elena's doe eyes squinted in disbelief as they raked over my body, stopping at the foam box in my hands. As soon as she saw it, her lips thinned, and she huffed in annoyance.

"Elara Marie Gilbert, you little liar. You were trying to escape like some prison inmate," she whispered, screeching as she did so.

I swear my sister could make herself sound like a banshee even when she was whispering. It was a great skill.

I winced and slowly opened the box. Showing her the bacon cheeseburger and fries inside.

"Wanna fry?" I asked, trying to appease her as if she was some Greek Goddess.

Elena reached out and picked up the bun from my burger, lifting it and setting it aside before removing the top piece of bacon. She replaced the bread and closed the lid. Narrowing her eyes at me, she ate the bacon. I scoffed loudly in disbelief.

"I said a fry, Elena!"

Elena sidestepped me and headed outside, still nibbling on my stolen bacon. I spun on my toes and followed her.

"I did not say that I would apologize, Elena. I did not kill someone. I just tried to avoid you. That's a minimum of two fries kinda punishment. NOT a slice of bacon. The punishment should fit the crime, Lena," I said.

Elena wiped her hands on her jeans and shook her head. "I picked the punishment, and I wanted Bacon. So deal with it,"

I was about to harass her again when her cell rang, interrupting our sibling squabble. She answered it quickly, holding it to her ear as we walked toward her car.

"Hello," she said.

I made it to my car, which was nearer than Elena's, and placed my food in the passenger seat. I watched Elena for a second, and my stomach plummeted as she froze in fear. I forgot everything and rushed towards her. She stood in the middle of the parking lot, her mouth gaping open as she looked frantically around her.

Her eyes found me, and she dropped her hand from her ear, clutching her phone tightly.

"Ellie, it's the vampire I hit with my car!" she frantically said.

I looked in front of us and saw a man in a hoodie walking towards Elena. Without thinking, I pushed her towards her car and shoved her inside.

"Go to the Boarding House, Elena,"

Elena stared at me, her brown eyes wide with fear. "No! What about you?" she yelled.

I growled in anger and looked up at the man that was still approaching us at regular human speed. Obviously, he was just playing games. I looked around, making sure no one could see what I was about to do and let my hand filled with a blue ball of electric light. I flung the ball of magic at the vampire and watched as it threw him back a few feet. Elena gasped in shock, and I slammed her car door shut before I ran to my own. Once I was safely inside, I honked my horn, alerting Elena that I was ok. She ignited her engine and started out of the lot. Once I saw her leave, I quickly threw my car into reverse and pulled out of the parking lot after her, speeding down the road towards Damon and Stefan.

I was pacing back and forth in front of Elena and Stefan, where they sat on the couch in the Boarding House Library. I couldn't believe I was back here after already spending my entire day scouring through every book in this room. I was pulling on my fingers nervously as Elena explained everything to Stefan, who was as always, the pillar of support everyone needed.

"Why me? What does he want with me? A-And if he's trying to kill me, then why call first?" Elena asked.

Stefan stood and walked around the couch so that he could face her. "That's because we're predators, Elena. We hunt, We stalk; It's often as exciting as the kill," he said, sitting on the table behind him and handing her the vampire compass. "I want you to take this,"

Elena lifted it from his hands and sent me a weary look. "This is Jeremy's pocket watch. How did you get it?" she asked, ever the dutiful sister.

"I found it after Logan Fell died and gave it to Damon," I said.

Elena raised a brow but thankfully didn't ask me any questions. She opened the lid and observed the inside in confusion.

"What happened to it?" she asked.

"Well, it's not just a watch. It's a...it's sort of a compass, but it points to vampires," Stefan stuttered out his explanation.

I sat next to him and looked at my confused sister. "I used it to help Damon find Logan Fell after he turned. It pointed me right towards him. You'll be able to know exactly who is a vampire by using this," I said, touching the cold metal of the golden compass.

Stefan gently took Elena's hand in his own, showing her how the compass worked. The needle began to whirl around in a circle before it finally clicked into place, pointing directly in Stefan's direction. Elena looked up at him in shock and then met my eyes.

"Why did dad have this?" she asked.

I turned my head towards Stefan and let out an audible sigh. "The Gilberts were one of the founding families, and back in 1864, they were among those who sought to eradicate the vampires. The compass was used to find us," Stefan said with a wince.

Elena looked at me in fear. "If we were hunters, then that means we hunted more then just vampires. Did we...did we hurt you?" she whispered.

I closed my eyes and looked away from her. "Elena, it doesn't matter. That was a very long time ago," I said.

Elena took my hand and squeezed it tightly. "It matters to me," she said, voice tight.

I could feel Stefan's eyes on me, and I avoided him altogether. I had never told anyone who all had been there the night Emily and I had burned.

"The Gilberts were a part of mine and Emily's burning," I finally said.

Elena's eyes filled with tears, and I took her face in my hands. "Elena, it's ok. That was so very long ago, and I wasn't a Gilbert then. I was a Miller,"

I took Elena in my arms and allowed her to cry for a part of me that she would never know or fully understand. "How can you love us after what our family did to you?" she sniffled.

I pulled away from her and shook my head. "Because their sins will never be your own. Just as I do not blame Stefan or Damon for what their father did that night," I said.

Elena's eyes widened, and she looked at her boyfriend in shock. "Your father was there?" she asked.

Stefan looked away from us and nodded slowly. "He was the one who started it all," he said hatefully.

I looked down at the compass and pressed it closed. Stefan looked at Elena again, he reached up and caressed her cheek. "I want you to keep this. That way you'll know if you're ever in danger," he said.

Elena smiled at him, and I could tell they needed a moment. I stood quietly and stepped out of the Library. Memories of the past following close behind me.

Somehow I had been roped into helping Jenna clean the living room before the dance. "Ya know just cause we are dressed like we are from the 50s doesn't mean we have to act like it," I pouted as I adjusted my 50s style yellow polka dot dress.

Aunt Jenna, who was dressed up in her own 50s gear, rolled her eyes at me. "Oh, please, you'll live, Cinderella," she smirked.

I raised my hand across my forehead, careful not to hit my hair, which had been a terrible hassle, and gasped. "Oh, stepmother, please release from this prison of manual labor!" I said dramatically.

Aunt Jenna laughed and helped me fix the yellow ribbon that was holding my hair up and keeping the two tight curls atop my head in place. I had forgotten how much I had hated 50s hairstyles. "You are sure the red of my hair doesn't clash too much with this yellow dress?" I asked her, feeling a bit self-conscious.

Jenna smacked my arm and sighed. "You look amazing."

Before I could respond, Elena bounded down the stairs in a cute yet simple outfit. She had on a blue shirt that she had paired with a red belt that wrapped around her middle, capris, and white snickers. Her hair was teased so that it looked fuller on the top, and she wore a blue headband. She looked adorable.

"You look great, Lena," I said.

Elena spun around with a giggle and eyed me up and down. "So do you." She walked closer to me and leaned next to my ear. "Not fair that you have all that previous experience, though. That is so cheating!" she said.

I pulled away with a laugh, and Jenna shot us a questioning glance but chose to ignore our odd behavior as she turned towards Elena and heaved out a massive sigh. "I spoke to the insurance company, Cars totaled. You'll have to share with Elara or use mine for now," Jenna said.

Elena and I both nodded. "So, you're coming to the dance?" Elena said, looking at Jenna's clothing choice.

Jenna smiled a bit smugly, and I crossed my arms and tapping my foot. "Alaric asked me to help chaperone," she said.

I clapped my hands and let out a little whoop. "Yes, Jenna! Get it!" I said.

Elena glared at me, but I had my eyes on Jenna, who had crossed the living room and was now leaning against the couch, acting as casual as she could. Elena grabbed an apple from the bowl on the dining room table and took a bite.

I could feel the atmosphere in the room change, and Elena finally let the question she had been dying to ask out. "Why didn't you tell us, Jenna?"

Jenna, who had been taken back by the sudden change of topic, looked a bit startled. I felt bad for her. It hasn't really been her decision to make, and then she had lost her family. Who would want to drop that bombshell on someone after they had lost their parents?

"Your mom was gonna do it eventually. I never thought I'd have to," she said, looking at us both with grief plain on her face.

Elena looked down at the apple she had been eating as if it held the answers to the universe. "If our mom was here right now and I asked, she'd tell us the truth," Elena said.

Jenna stepped forward and held her hands close to her chest. She took a deep breath and started from the beginning; the day Elena and I had been born, the day our mother had handed us over to Miranda and Grayson. I listened carefully, although it really didn't matter to me why she had done it or how. She would never be my mother. I had one already, and she had been a lovely woman.

"What else do you know about her? The girl?" Elena asked after Jenna had finished her tale.

Jenna looked at us and sighed. "Just her name. Isobel," she said.

Jenna left after our talk, and I anxiously sat with Elena, deciding I didn't feel like arriving at the dance alone. I really don't care if I was third-wheeling, and neither did Elena, not after what we just found out. This whole day was supposed to be stress-free. So much for that. Elena patted down her pants and sighed.

"I forgot my phone upstairs. I'll be right back,"

I watched her go and felt a strange sense of foreboding in the air. Something was coming. I stood quickly and listened to Elena on the stairs.

"Where is he?" she said, speaking to someone on her cell. She stopped in front of me, and I could tell she was listening to whoever was on the other end of the phone.

She held the compass in her hand, and I could see the dial spinning rapidly. Something was definitely wrong.

"Oh, thank God. This compass was spinning. Stefan must be here," she said.

I looked at the compass and started to panic. I looked around quickly, my eyes rapidly scanning our surroundings. Elena still hadn't noticed my reaction yet. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck lift as if someone was watching us, and my head involuntarily started to rise. Above us, I saw the vampire from the road braced on the ceiling. His eyes red with hunger, fangs bared and ready for the hunt, black veins growing under his eyes. I gasped in shock and my hands rose, sending a wave of magic at Elena on instinct. She dropped her phone with a scream and fell to the floor. Her body flew across the room and away from the hungry vampire. He growled menacingly at my interference and fell from the ceiling, landing behind me. I spun around, just as he went for my neck. I sent another wave of magic at him, and he fell to the floor.

Before he could get up, Stefan came bolting inside from the kitchen. "Elena!" he yelled.

The vampire looked between Stefan and me, and with a hiss, vamp sped out of the house. Stefan looked at me in shock, but I raised my hand and pointed towards a seriously freaked out Elena. As he helped her to her feet, I swayed on the balls of my feet. The shock and sudden use of powerful magic, making me feel weak. Before I could sit down and rest, I was assaulted by a doe-eyed doppelganger.

"Oh my God, Elara! You saved me." she cried into my chest.

I ran my fingers through her hair and whispered nonsensical words to calm her. "It's ok. We are ok," I said.

Elena looked up, and I wiped the tears from her face. "You are seriously strong. You have to teach Bonnie how to do that!" she said excitedly.

I ran my hands down my face and shook my head. "Lena, normal witches can't channel their magic the way I can. They can't just shoot it out of them like that," I said, trying to explain it in the simplest of ways.

Elena pouted for a moment and then placed a hand on her hip. "Well, I'm sure there is plenty of other stuff you could teach her. She would really benefit from someone as powerful as you mentoring her,"

I clasped my fists tightly and tried to reign in my temper. Now was not the time for this. Ever the peacekeeper, Stefan stepped forward and held up his hands.

"Let's table this discussion," he said. "for now."

Elena grumbled but conceded. Thank the Gods. A rustling could be heard at the front door, and Elena immediately jumped behind Stefan. I glanced at him quickly, my hand raised, but he shook his head with a natural expression.

Damon bolted inside at vamp speed and engulfed me in his embrace. I tried to breathe but was being crushed by his enthusiasm.

I reached up and ran my hands through his hair. "I'm ok, Damon," I reassured him.

He pulled away quickly, finally realizing we were not alone in the room. He turned towards Stefan, his face hard.

"How the hell did he get in?"

Damon stepped away from me as he started to pace in front of the couch.

I brushed my dress off and watched him as he tried to reign in his temper. His face was hard and almost empty, but his eyes were crackling with emotion, a storm ready to break at any moment.

"Damon," I said.

He stopped his frantic pacing almost immediately and turned towards me. I raised both my hands in the air and took a deliberate deep breath, raising my hands up as I inhaled and down as I exhaled. "Breathe," I said with a smile.

He rolled his eyes and took in a deep and annoyed breath of air, then gestured with a smirk, as if to ask if I was pleased with the way he had taken in oxygen.

I giggled and raised my eyes to the heavens in exasperation. "He posed as the pizza guy last night, Day," I explained, catching his eye before looking at Stefan, who laid his head in his hands.

Damon chuckled darkly. "Well, he gets points for that. Did he say what he wanted?" he asked.

Elena raised her head and glared at Damon, her hand on the back of her neck. "No. He was too busy trying to kill Elara and me," she said.

I raised my hand in the air, twirling my index finger. "Actually, he didn't show me all that much interest. I don't think he wanted me. Elena seemed to be his primary target. I was just in the way,"

Damon raised his brow and glanced at Elena in annoyance. "Well then, maybe you should stay home tonight, El. You've used up too much juice as it is," he said, eyes scanning me.

I felt my mouth drop open and my hands folded into fists. "Hell no, Damon. There's no way I'm staying here. I will be going, and that's final. I will be there to protect my sister. She is too important in more ways than you know,"

I could see Elena's eyes cloud with tears, and I sat down beside her, taking her hand in my own. She may have thought it was purely out of sisterly devotion that I wanted to protect her, but that wasn't the only reason. She had a purpose, and I would be damned if she got herself killed or turned into a vampire before she could live up to it. Because if she did, then Jeremy and everyone we love would go down with her.

No, I would figure out a way to save her and help Niklaus. This time everyone would get what they wanted. From the corner of my eye, I could see a ghostly grey figure come down the stairs and take a seat, a cocky smirk on her face as she twirled her blonde hair around her finger.

"Oh, you've become awfully protective of your sister, Elandra?" Rebekah cackled in glee.

I tried to keep my face straight and ignore the specter of my best friend. It had been a while since I had seen her.

"Do we have any idea who he was?" I asked the brothers, trying to stay on topic and keep my mind away from the Original.

"No," Damon said.

Stefan glared up at him, an unconvinced look on his face.

Damon scoffed in annoyance, tossing a hand in the air. "Don't look at me like that. I told you we had company," he spat

Rebekah stepped down the stairs and beside Damon, placing a hand near his shoulder. "He looks like he is telling the truth, El. You know I have a knack for being able to tell when someone is truthful. Comes from years of Nik's utter bullshit," she said with a smile.

I coughed through a laugh, the boys looked at me with narrowed eyes. Elena patted me on the back and glanced at Damon in fear. "You think there is more than one?" she asked.

Damon looked at me, eyes soft and full of warning. "We don't know," he said, blue eyes never leaving my green as he sat on the arm of the couch next to me.

Stefan took Elena's hand and leaned over, looking at his brother. "Damon, he was invited in," he said, voice hard.

Damon nodded in understanding as Elena looked between them, not yet grasping their meaning. I patted her hand and glanced at Rebekah.

"You'll have to make sure they kill him, Elandra. Then make sure your family stops inviting people inside. It could become a problem," Rebekah said.

I let out a sigh and nodded. Rebekah was right, things would only get more dangerous, and I didn't want to have to worry about random vampires popping in on me at all hours of the day and night.

"Then we go get him tonight," Damon said.

He looked down at me with a half-smile. "Since you're so determined to go, are you sure you're up for it?" he asked.

I bit my bottom lip and stood, placing my hands on my hips. "Are you, Mr. Salvatore, because I was born ready," I said with a playful sneer.

Damon scoffed, lifting himself from the couch. "I'm always ready," he said, widening his eyes with a smirk.

Rebekah gagged from the corner of the room, and I ran my eyes over her form with a grin. "God, he is so annoying. What did you ever see in him?" she asked, glaring at Damon's oblivious form.

As soon as Elena drew the attention of the brothers, I stepped closer to the corner of the room that held the invisible specter of Rebekah Mikaelson. I crossed my arms, keeping my eyes trained on my sister, who was taking in the plan for the night, her brown eyes wide as Damon filled her in on what she would need to do to draw out her vampiric stalker.

I casually lifted my hand and cast a silencing spell, as to not be overheard by the sensitive ears around us and leaned against the wall behind me.

"Where have you been, Beks?" I asked, my voice betraying the worry I have felt in her absence.

Rebekah's grey face turned towards me, the prominent veins covering her beautiful features puckering as she smiled brightly at me. I hid my wince with a smile and watched Stefan comfort a terrified Elena as Damon rolled his eyes, turning around to catch my eye before sticking his finger in his mouth and gagging dramatically. I laughed but stopped as soon as Stefan scrunched his eyes up at me. He gestured toward a saddened Elena. To mollify him, I sighed and stuck out a shaming finger towards Damon, rolling my eyes. When he laughed loudly, I grinned and sent Stefan a shrug.

Rebekah shook her head next to me, and I grumbled at the way the two brothers interacted. Sometimes I felt like they would never be the way they used to be. It was sad the way they had allowed Katherine to destroy their relationship.

"I was with Elijah," Rebekah finally said. I casually turned my head in her direction, her blue eyes were bright against her grey skin. "He plans on killing Niklaus. We cannot allow him to betray Nik like that. It will damage their relationship beyond repair,"

I gasped, the air leaving my lungs in one swift burst. I felt like she had punched me in the stomach. "What? Why would he do that? He of all people knows of Nik's paranoia. He would be heartbroken if 'Lijah betrayed him in such a way," I said, my voice broken.

Rebekah nodded slowly, and I swallowed the betrayal I felt at Elijah's actions. I would let her explain before I passed judgment on my brother.

"Nik told him that he buried all of us at sea. Elijah thinks he has lost us all, Elandra," she said.

I wanted to scream in anger at Niklaus. I felt my magic swirl through me, as I fought with my emotions. My skin glowed brightly with power, and I forced the surge down, biting my tongue until I could taste the coppery tang of my own blood. I felt the static of my magic flitter across my fingertips as my nails bit into the palms of my hands. I took in a few deep breaths so that I wouldn't reveal my outburst to the brothers and Elena. They were all still only a few feet away from me, in an in-depth discussion about our latest vamp attack. I shook my head and rubbed my forehead roughly. I just couldn't understand why Niklaus would do something so cruel to the one person who had always been there for him. Elijah had even been the one who had helped after he had murdered me when he had thought I was some sort of Doppelganger. He had saved him from himself more times than even I cared to know.

I casually turned my head towards Rebekah, my back straight, face firm. "I will take care of this, Rebekah. When he gets here, I will make sure he knows the truth. I won't let him do anything that gets him daggered...or worse," I said.

Rebekah's shoulders slumped in relief, her grey face falling forward as she sighed. "Thank you, El. I honestly don't know what my brothers and I would ever do without you,"

Rebekah's hand came to hover beside my left cheek. I smiled weakly, my memory conjuring up all of the many points in time where the Mikaelsons had proven how very easily they had moved on without me.

Her blue eyes crinkled in annoyance, her lips pursing.

"Don't do that to yourself!" she snapped, slipping in front of me. "We never forgot about you, Elandra Rioult!"

The corner of my eyes stung as tears threatened to escape, my chest tightening in protest as I fought down a broken sob. I leaned forward and stepped away from the troublesome specter. I knew that if I stayed near her any longer, the dam I had so painstakingly built up over the centuries would break. All the emotions I had hidden away would pour out of me, and I couldn't have that. Now was not the time to reevaluate how I felt about the Original family. I ignored her pained protest and stepped closer to Elena.

"So, are we ready to go?" I asked.

Maybe taking out the vampire who had it out for my sister was exactly what I needed.

Elena and I entered the dance each on the arm of a Salvatore, which of course, caused quite the little uproar. Several of our fellow students had gasped dramatically as if we had arrived naked and draped across them. I rolled my eyes, laughing at how stupid they all looked. I stepped past the students, all dressed in their best 50s getups. "This Magic Moment" was echoing through the gym as I took Damon's hand and swayed my way across the dance floor towards Caroline and Bonnie, who danced together near the refreshment table. I smiled brightly at them and pulled Damon into a dance.

"Hey, ladies. We have a mini issue. So I want you both to stay inside and away from Lena until I find you, ok?" I told them, leaning closer as Damon spun me.

The girls looked at me oddly, fear on their faces. "What's going on, El?" Bonnie asked.

I shook my head in exasperation and caught Damon's gaze. He rolled his eyes and spun me into Caroline's arms as he took Bonnie.

I giggled madly but took Caroline in my arms and spun her around with a flourish. "Listen, witchy poo. We had a little surprise visitor earlier. He is here trying to get his paws on Elena. Stefan and I need to deal with this because he has been invited into the Gilberts. Got it?" Bonnie frowned, her mind obviously whirring with the new information.

I stopped dancing with Caroline and stepped closer to Bonnie. "I want you and Caroline to keep an eye on Jeremy for me and stay here. Please. We have this handled. But I need someone I can trust to protect everyone else, Bon," I said, searching her eyes for understanding.

I knew she was powerful enough to protect my brother and Caroline. She just needed to believe it. Finally, it clicked with her, and her green eyes hardened with emotion. She nodded her head sharply and took Caroline's hand, walking towards Jeremy, who was standing by the far corner of the room, next to Alaric. I sighed and leaned against Damon, but tilted my head as I noticed the sharp look Alaric was shooting at my raven-haired ex. What the hell was that about? His dagger filled glares stopped as soon as Jenna joined his side, and I decided to file it away for later perusal.

"Dance with me?" Damon asked.

I glanced up at him and smiled. "Hell yeah! Show me some moves from Grease! I regret not being able to see what you were like in the 50s," I giggled.

Damon rolled his eyes, pulling me further onto the floor, and spinning me into his chest. "I am not showing you any moves from Grease. I left the 50s in the 50s," he said.

I stuck out my bottom lip and tried my best puppy dog eyes. "Come on. I had very boring parents in that time. I never got to go out dancing and having fun. I was very much a Sandy without the sexy transformation at the end," I sighed.

Damon's eyebrow raised, and he smiled. "So you wore poodle skirts and dated athletes?" he asked with a smirk.

I laughed lightly, laying my head on his chest. "No, I never even got to date that go around. I pretty much studied until I died. It was all very boring," I said.

Damon lifted my chin until I met his eyes. "Damn, Ellie. How many times have you died a virgin?" he asked in shock.

I pulled away from him, chuckling madly. "Damon! Only you would ask someone that." I slapped his chest and started looking around for Elena and Stefan.

After finding them dancing with bright smiles on both their faces, I took Damon's hand and started pulling him towards the punch table. "And the answer is...too many times," I sighed regretfully, glancing back at him with a grin.

He laughed, shaking his head. He let my hand go and took two plastic cups, filling them both with fruit punch. I scrunched up my nose in distaste but took the drink with a simple nod of thanks. "Well, what about this time El? Do you need a little assistance?" he asked cockily.

I sputtered coughing lightly, the sticky punch running down my chin. I picked up a napkin from the table and wiped it away quickly, ignoring Damon's laughter. I raised a brow and narrowed my eyes. "Nah, not this time. Tyler Lockwood took care of that ages ago. Did a pretty good job of it as well," I smirked.

Damon growled lowly, crushing his empty plastic cup in his hand with a glare, blue eyes flashing in anger.

I bit my bottom lip, my eyes never leaving his. Our little stare down was interrupted as Alaric stepped up next to Damon.

"Hey, Elara. Are you having a good time?" he warily asked, obviously catching on to the tense atmosphere.

I kept my eyes trained on Damon, who was still fighting against his anger, pale pink cup crushed in his hand. "Yeah, Alaric. I'm having a blast. Just reminiscing here with Damon," I moved my eyes away from Damon. I smiled at the History teacher I knew was hiding...something. "I was just about to remind him that the past is better left in the past. As he should already be aware. Don't you agree, Mr. Saltzman?" I said, watching his reaction with interest.

His shoulders tensed, all emotion that had been previously bubbling in his eyes was shuttered immediately. He shut everything down, quickly becoming an empty shell of the man we were all coming to know, and I now knew it had something to do with Damon Salvatore. Great, just great. I internally sighed, rubbing my teeth together in irritation.

"Yes, I agree. The past should stay in the past," he said, his voice robotic.

I rolled my eyes and took Damon's arm in my own.

"You know, I don't recognize you. How'd you get roped into chaperoning?" Alaric asked, reaching out his hand towards Damon with a fake smile on his face. "Alaric Saltzman. I'm the new History teacher," he said, taking Damon's hand and shaking it.

Damon's eyes narrowed as he took in the History teacher that had taken over for the man he had murdered. "Ah, the, uh, cursed faculty position," he taunted.

I leaned my head on his arm and sighed. "If anyone cursed the position, it was you, Day," I grumbled, knowing he'd hear me.

"So I've been told," Alaric said, watching my interaction with Damon closely.

I could tell he was ill at ease with the way I was standing so close to him. It was so undeniable that Alaric knew exactly what Damon was, I could see it in the worry that lit up his eyes. It was more than just the fact that Damon was older. It was sweet that he was worried about me. I knew he was a good man, but I needed to know more, especially if he was interested in my Aunt Jenna.

"Damon Salvatore," Damon introduced himself, brushing my hair from my shoulder, his eyes firmly on Alaric's.

Alaric looked towards Stefan and Elena and lifted his thumb in their direction. "Salvatore, as in, uh, Stefan?" he asked.

Damon looked at his brother before looking back at the man in front of him in ever-growing interest and irritation. "He's my little brother. I'm his legal guardian, hence the chaperoning," he answered.

Alaric nodded, then once again looked down at me, watching Damon as he wrapped a strand of my hair around his finger. "I hear he's very bright, not that I've had the chance to see for myself," he said.

Damon easily maneuvered around the new aspect of the conversation, brushing my hair down my back and standing straighter as he answered. "Well, his attendance records a little spotty. Family drama," he said.

I coughed out a small laugh, running my tongue across my bottom lip as Damon handed me another glass of punch. Alaric frowned down at me, probably guessing I knew more than he had thought. Maybe he feared I was compelled? I drank my punch swaying to the new change of music. Damon smiled at me, shaking his head.

"No, parents?" Alaric asked.

My face fell, and I stopped dancing, my own anger starting to mount at his intrusive behavior.

"No, Ric, their parents are gone," I said through clenched teeth.

I sat down my cup on the table and took Damon's hand, giving it a squeeze.

"I'm going to go dance with Stefan and Elena. Find me when this little Spanish Inquisition is over," I whispered.

I spun on my heel and glared at Alaric as I swayed towards Stefan and Elena. I smiled when I saw Stefan spinning my sister around in the middle of the floor. Coming up behind him, I took Elena's wrist and pulled her away, yanking her against me. Elena yelped in surprise, and I laughed brightly at her. Stefan stood behind me, and I danced backward until I was against him.

"Dance with us, Stef! Come on. I never got to do anything like this with you or Damon as Elandra. Make it up to me," I pouted.

Elena tugged on a piece of my hair, and I gasped. "Damn, Lena! Gentle on the merchandise," I said.

Elena put her chin on my shoulder and looked at Stefan. "You don't have to dance with her, Stefan. She's terrible and trying to guilt you," Elena laughed.

I spun her around, her brown her smacking me in the face as I did. "She lies, Stefan! I would never!" I gasped, my eyes wide in faux shock.

I made my chin wobble comically as I spun around Stefan with my sister in my arms.

"It's just...you owe me, Stefan. You're supposed to be my brother, and yet you've only danced with me twice Stefan...twice. Not to mention you were mean to me earlier today," I pouted.

The corner of Stefan's mouth turned up as he watched me pulling Elena around in circles, my head snapping in Stefan's direction at every turn. "We don't have time to dance, Ellie. We are supposed to be keeping our eyes open for Elena's little admirer," Stefan said, his eyes sweeping our surroundings.

Elena slowed our spinning procession around the dance floor and swayed closer to Stefan. "Maybe he's not gonna show," she said hopefully.

Stefan looked down into her big doe eyes and smiled at her innocent and hopeful expression. "You mean I've been forced to watch Ellie dance for nothing?" Stefan snarked, winking at me.

Elena threw her head back in laughter. I spun her into Stefan's arms with a smirk, laughing as she squealed in surprise. Still, Stefan caught her with ease, her hands landing on his broad chest, once the shock cleared from her expression she ran her hands down his chest, her full pink lips spread into a bright smile. "Elara, dancing! Ahh, the horror," Elena joked.

I scoffed beside them, swaying by myself. "I am an amazing dancer!"

I could see an intense moment was beginning to brew between them, so I casually made my way off the dance floor. Blowing out an annoyed huff of breath, I decided to once again head to the punch bowl and grab myself another disgusting cup of punch. Other than dancing and making out in dark corners, what else is there to do at functions like this?

Scooping out the disgusting sticky liquid and pouring it into a clear cup, I leaned against the table and scanned the crowd for Damon. I wasn't all that surprised when I found him quickly. Internally I groaned at his ridiculous display. It seemed he had quickly found himself a distraction. I watched in disgusted interest as he groped the girl's ass, effortlessly gliding them across the dance floor. She was pinned against him in a fashion that was better suited for a nightclub than a High School dance. I took a sip of my drink and sighed when I found it had yet to be spiked. Damn High Schoolers needed to get their act together. Where were the troublemakers when you needed them? I heard a familiar giggle and looked up to find my sister and Stefan standing next to me.

"You can't take him anywhere, can you?" she asked.

I looked back at my scandalous ex and shook my head as Stefan answered for me.

"Uh, no," he said.

I sat down my cup on the table behind me and looked up at Elena when she let out a low gasp. "Stefan, the back corner," she whispered.

Stefan looked in the direction Elena had denoted and then down to me. "Get Damon. Stay together," he said.

I nodded quickly and took Elena's wrist firmly in my hand. Stefan took off seconds later across the dance floor, pushing students out of his way as he went. The man in the hoodie that Elena had noticed exited the dance quickly, leading Stefan away from us. I looked away from Stefan's retreating figure and pulled Elena towards Damon. Before we could get more than a few steps away, Elena's cell rang. We both looked down at the silver device as if it were a ticking time bomb. Elena lifted the phone to her ear and swiped her finger across the screen. I leaned closer to her and put my ear next to her's.

"Hello, Elena. Here's what you and your sister are gonna do. There's a door behind you. You have five seconds," the man said.

I pulled away and started looking around us, searching for him.

"No," Elena gasped.

I looked at her and noticed the moment she gave in. He had obviously said something to her, her face paled. She spun around on her heels towards the punch bowl where I saw Jeremy, our Jeremy, and behind him was the vampire.

Elena looked at me in pure fear. "If we don't go, then he is going to kill Jeremy, Elara!"

My stomach fell, and I stepped up beside her, taking the phone from her grasp. I kept my eyes on the vampire a few yards ahead of us as I deliberately placed it against my ear.

"I can snap his neck so fast I bet there's not even a witness. Now, start walking. Both of you. No magic," he spat.

I nodded, taking Elena's hand, pulling her forward slowly, my eyes never leaving our very human brother. "If you touch our brother, I swear to the Gods there is not a place on this Earth you will be able to hide," I said with venom.

I guided Elena backward towards the door, feeling her body shake in fear behind me.

I heard him laugh, and it made my blood boil. "Keep walking. Through the door," he said.

The vampire started past Jeremy, who was oblivious to all that was happening around him. Thankfully the vampire decided not to touch him, but my eyes never left him as I hung up Elena's phone. When I could no longer see the vampire, I turned towards Elena and pulled her quickly past the exit.

"Run, Elena!" I shouted, pulling her behind me.

Our feet pounded against the glossy tile floors as we fled down the corridor, I glanced behind us to see if the vampire had followed us out yet but found no one. Elena's red face stared back at me in fear. Her brown eyes were red-rimmed and glassy. I pushed her into the next corridor, and we started to run until we came across a set of double doors. Elena pushed at the doors, but I stopped her when I saw the chain wrapped around the push bar.

"Elena, it's locked!" I said.

She nodded, her breathing ragged. I took her hand and squeezed it tightly.

"We're gonna be ok," I whispered.

She gasped out a cry and looked behind us. I turned around and found the vampire calmly stalking toward us. I pushed Elena behind me, ready to take him on my own if I had to.

"No, Ellie," she cried, pulling me into the next corridor.

I ran behind Elena, letting her lead me. I tried to ignore the eerie feel of the empty school. The only sound coming from our haggard breathing and the squeaking of our shoes. Finally, we made our way to the double doors of the cafeteria. I helped her push open the doors, and we both ran inside. Elena rushed to the other side of the room, where another set of doors led to the exit but yelled out in frustration when she found them locked. I stood in the center of the room, watching the entries we had come in through, waiting for the vampire to burst through, my hands lifted in expectation. I was just about to ask Elena if she was ok, but was stopped by the double doors bursting open. I didn't even have the chance to move my hands before the vampire sped towards Elena.

Elena attempted to bolt away from him, but he was faster. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her towards him. She screamed in pain and utter fear, struggling to get away. I let my hand filled with a bright cloud of magic, tossing it at the vampire. It flung him back against the wall and gave Elena the moment she needed to stand and run towards me. I pushed her behind me and bent my knees, lowering myself into a fighting stance. Elena sniffled behind me, I could smell blood and knew she was injured somehow.

The vampire stood, extending his fangs, and sped towards me. I lifted my hands in the air and pulled them back against myself before pushing them forward, yelling out in anger as I cast a large force of pure magic against him, sending him spiraling into the air. The vampire flew skyward, his arms flailing out around him as gravity took effect and started to send him back towards the ground. Elena and I watched him fall, our mouths open in shock as he landed hard on a table. He was shockingly impaled by several pencils that had been stored in a container right where his chest now lay. Of course, with our terrible luck intact, none of them hit his heart.

As he started to remove the makeshift stakes, Elena looked around us and ran behind me, finding a bucket and mop. She quickly grabbed the mop handle and snapped it against her knee until it broke in half, creating a very poor but semi-useful stake. I wanted to laugh, but I was still a bit of shock from my excessive use of magic. Elena rushed forward and realizing what she was planning, I ran to join her. The vampire stood, and when Elena tried to shove the stake in his chest, he grabbed her wrist, reaching for the stake.

I took it before he could and jammed it in his stomach. He yelled in anger, grabbing a handful of my hair and went for my neck. Elena screamed and shoved the stake further into his stomach with her other hand. Still, before he could sink his teeth into me, Stefan came from outta nowhere and ripped him away, tossing him to the ground. Elena ran towards me, tears falling from her eyes, and wrapped her arms around my neck. The vampire stood, yanking the makeshift stake from his stomach and tossing it to the ground with a growl.

"Hey, dickhead."

The vampire looked behind Stefan to where Damon was standing, holding a real stake in his hand.

"Nobody wants to kill you. We just want to talk," Damon finished with a smirk.

He looked down at me, eyes scanning my form. When he saw nothing concerning, he walked up beside Stefan, eyes on the vampire. Before either brother could speak again, the vampire smiled and sped at Elena and me. Damon threw the stake at Stefan, who grabbed it and staked the vampire in the stomach, almost directly where I had gotten him only moments before. Elena winced beside me, and I stood bringing her with me. I stared the vampire down, not feeling an ounce of sympathy for the asshole who had tried to kill my sister and threatened my brother. The vampire grunted in pain, falling to his knees. Damon walked over towards Elena and me, taking my hand and leading me towards Stefan.

"Now, you feel like talking?" Stefan asked.

I let go of Damon's hand and leaned over the vampire with a sneer.

"Screw you," he spat.

I lifted my hand and saw Stefan's fascination as the bright blue flames flickered across my fingertips. I placed my hand on the vampire's chest, just above his heart, and watched in satisfaction as his back arched off the table. His face scrunched up in pain as wave after wave of my magical signature shocked him. It was the equivalent of being in the electric chair. When I thought he had finally had enough, I lifted my hand and stepped away as he gasped for air, little whimpers leaving his lips against his volition. Damon watched me, his face blank. Elena turned away, disgust in her eyes as Stefan continued his bought of questioning.

"That was the wrong answer. Why are you doing this?" Stefan asked.

The vampire sneered, turning his head and looked at Elena, eyes taking in her face. "Because its fun,"

Stefan wrapped his hand around the stake and dug it in a little deeper, the vampire groaned deeply in pain. "What do you want with Elena?" Stefan asked, his voice beginning to fill with annoyance.

The vampire lifted his head and glared at Stefan in hatred. "She looks like Katherine,"

All at once, all of our heads snapped towards the vampire impaled on the table. How could I not have seen it? Of course, this had something to do with Katherine. As soon as Katherine's name was mentioned, Damon was alert. I shook my head and looked away from him.

"You knew Katherine?" Damon asked.

The vampire laughed, his eyes hateful. "Oh. You thought you were the only ones." he laughed through a cough, a painful gasp causing his head to fall back against the table. "You don't even remember me," he said.

Damon leaned over the vampire, and I walked closer to him, tilting his face in my direction. The longer I looked at him, the more familiar he looked, but I just couldn't place him. "What's your name?" I asked.

The vampire looked into my eyes and smiled at me. "Noah; you look just like the Miller girl I helped burn," he laughed his teeth covered in his own blood.

I let go of his face roughly, my memory of him coming back in full force. I remembered Noah, he worked right alongside the Sheriff, rounding up vampires and witches alike. I backed away from them and stood next to Elena, who wrapped her arms around me.

Stefan watched me sadly, his green eyes filling with anger.

"Tell me how to get in the tomb. Hmm?" Damon asked, his head tilting in my direction briefly.

Noah lifted his head from the table and spat at Damon. "No," he said.

Stefan leaned back and drove the stake deeper, am an extreme look of satisfaction on his face. Noah gasped in pain, his voice gasping out in fear. "The Grimoire."

Damon looked down at him in disgust. "Where is it?" he asked.

Stefan twisted the stake, blood starting to cover his pale hand. "Check the journal. The journal. Jonathan's journal. Jonathan Gilbert's," Noah pleaded.

Damon stood up and grimaced in annoyance, catching my eye. I nodded, letting him know without words that I would help him get ahold of that journal. In fact, I knew exactly where it was. Jeremy had it. Stefan took over the questioning as Damon took a moment to compose himself, finally realizing how close he was to getting into the tomb. The tomb that held absolutely nothing for him.

"Who else is working with you?" Stefan asked.

Damon stood next to him and looked back down at the vampire. "Who else is there?" he reiterated Stefan's question.

Noah panted in anger and shook his head. "No. You're going to have to kill me," he said in desperation.

Damon looked at Stefan, rolling his eyes with a nod. Stefan removed the stake quickly, looking at me as he raised it above Noah's heart, green eyes bright. I understood that he was doing this as much for me as he was for Elena. I smiled at him and nodded. Curling his lips into a half-smile, he shoved the stake into Noah's heart. Elena gasped in shock as he fell to the floor, his skin greying as he desiccated.

Elena stepped forward, her hands pulling on the ends of her hair. "What do we...how are you gonna find the others now?" she stuttered in shock.

I placed a hand on her shoulder with a sigh. Damon looked at her as if she were a frightened colt. "He had to die. Besides, he helped burn your sister alive once upon a time," he said.

Elena looked at me but quickly looked away. Stefan took pity on her. "Elena, he's been invited in," he said.

The sound of a door opening, had us all tuning in time to see the reflection of Alaric through one of the doors windows. Stefan looked at his brother. "Go. I've got this," he said.

Damon nodded, heading out of the cafeteria. I just hoped Alaric didn't do anything stupid enough to get himself killed. I'd hate to lose out on the opportunity to learn his secret. Not to mention he and Jenna made such a cute couple.

I watched Elena and Stefan curl up together on the couch from my place on one of the top stairs. She was telling him how nice it felt to fight back, how much more powerful she had felt. I tried not to think about the fact that she would be feeling more and more like a victim soon. There was no doubt in my mind that Katherine would have fun trying to torture her in any way she could. Then Niklaus would come along and force her to help him break his curse. I stood from my seat and headed up the stairs, passing by Jeremy's room where I could hear him talking on the phone with someone, a girl by the sound of it. At least somebody was able to have a bit of normalcy in their life. I shut my door behind me and plopped down on my bed beside Rebekah, meeting her blue eyes.

"I will help you with Elijah when he gets here, Beks. Tonight though, I'd like to be alone."

Rebekah's eyes clouded over with remorse, and I watched as she slowly faded away. Not even bothering to change into my pajamas, I rolled on my side and closed my eyes, wishing for the oblivion that came with a peaceful night's sleep.

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