#she fully acknowledged she didn't expect it to be my thing and said she'd been hoping to get through an episode before I woke up

[cesium-sheep]

they apparently agreed on watching some show on the tv I've never heard of and she put in a bunch of effort to get it to cooperate and they're both into it but they didn't like. ask me. and if it's mostly for arin's benefit because matt was working and he's gonna leave in a bit anyway, I don't get why she put all this effort into getting it on the tv in the first place, because it certainly fucking isn't for my benefit. but I'm not allowed to be a bitch about it even though they're both bitchy at even the slightest fucking inconvenience.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not letting my parents have a say in my name and for still being mad at them years later?

I (19m) am a trans man who came out to my parents at around age 14 with my chosen name already picked out and everything. I chose a name that started with the same first letter as my deadname even though I didn't really care about that because I had heard that some parents got upset if you disrespected the name they had chosen for you at birth.

Truthfully, my coming out was a bit awkward because I couldn't bring myself to tell them in person. They found out when I wrote my new name on a poster board for a science project I had to present to all of the parents, but after all of the standard questions about whether I was sure and whether I was sure I was sure it seemed like they were accepting of my gender. After the fact though, they kept calling me my deadname (which I was mostly chill with dealing with I could understand needing an adjustment period) and when they weren't calling me by my deadname, they were calling me Colin, aka not the name I had chosen.

Turns out, that's what I would've been called if I had been birthed with a Y chromosome because my dad wanted to pay respects to my grandmother who people keep comparing me to (another thing I don't really like but whatever) and that's close to her name. Sucks to be my parents though because no offense to people named Colin but that's one of the worst names I can think of so I wasn't having it.

For months my parents continued to refuse to acknowledge my chosen name and would either call me by my deadname or call me Colin in an attempt to get me to start answering to it like some kind of pet. After crying in front of them multiple times and refusing to talk to them, my parents finally gave in and while they still frequently deadnamed me they let me use the name I chose and stopped shoving Colin down my throat.

Even after their concession though, I know they've never fully accepted me and they cut corners so they can be "pg" while still disrespecting me. It's been years but my mother still brags to me about how she's so good at not misgendering me because she only uses they/them or refuses pronouns altogether when talking about me. (which is really crazy because you'd think she'd be able to respect my friends with they/them pronouns but no such luck)

Recently, I had a conversation with my father about why I had chosen the name I did and he said he wanted to have more input on the name. I replied that what they did was really hurtful and he said that we were all going through changes which I replied to by simply saying "Wonderful" and leaving because I had nothing constructive to say and imo I think I should get an apology before I'm expected to be more than passive aggressive. My parents say that I'm "keeping grudges" and that I "never give them any grace" and they think now that they've let me get top surgery I should just let it go.

TLDR; AITA for not wanting to be named Colin and still being pissed at my parents for trying to force it even though it's years later?

What are these acronyms?

[rocicrew]

for the prompt list: Alex/Holden #32 <3

prompt: “My patience is wearing thin”

Holden was tired. The kind of bone-deep tiredness that doesn't go away with sleep. Not that he was getting much of it in the first place. Not after the Cant, Eros... The Hybrid... Going back to an empty bed... Even with enough painkillers in his system to knock him out for two shift cycles. 

He dealt with it, more or less. Tried not to put too much weight on his leg and silently thanked Alex for the low third of a G he kept the Roci's gravity. At least, when they're not rescuing high-ranking Earther politicians and rogues Martians.

He attempted to mind his reactions to others. The past few weeks he had been less than an ideal Captain, let alone crewmate. Though, attempt was the keyword. He still hadn't managed it fully. He had yelled at Alex, snapped at Naomi, and Avasarala had kept pestering him about getting once more involved in the war. He already had a long list of regrets to make up for, he didn't need another thing to screw up.

He was so tired. 

So much, in fact, that he didn't notice Alex walking into the galley before he spoke.

"Oh, hey Hoss," Alex greeted while removing his headphones. "Didn't expect to find you here so early."

"It's quiet," Holden offered in return, even though, it was less of an explanation and more of a cop-out answer. 

Alex just nodded, taking in his answer. If Holden had paid more attention, he'd have noticed him working the courage to ask him the following question. But instead, it'd just caught him off-guard. 

"You doing okay? I mean with your leg and everything going on... It's... It's got to be... rough, right?"

"I'm sorry," Holden replied instead, which only confused Alex. He didn't get it and Holden as much as he'd like to, knew he couldn't avoid talking about it head-on. "About earlier," he started and then cut himself off because earlier didn't even begin to describe it. There were so many times earlier could describe, and the bitterness he felt had nothing to do with the cup of coffee in front of it. "I yelled at you, again. I keep taking it out on you, on this crew for weeks, and- I'm sorry." 

What more could he say besides genuinely apologizing?

"It's all right," Alex said and was cheery enough to smile at him. Of all the ways he thought this conversation would go, a dismissal hadn't crossed his mind as a possibility. 

"It's not-"

"Look, Eros did a number on us. You most of all. I understand you are not being exactly yourself. And everything after... I mean, we've got the UN Undersecretary running around the ship suddenly, and Nao-" Alex cut himself off looking apologetic. "What I mean is, how are you really feeling?"

Holden made a comical expression; a mix of a shrug, raised brows, and twisted lips, that could only begin to describe the pool of emotions that swam in the cavity of his chest. "My patience is wearing thin."

Alex nodded, taking it in, and slowly sipped from his bulb. "Yeah, could tell you that much," he said and Holden immediately winced, pointedly avoiding making eye contact with the broken coffee machine.

He wasn't proud of it, or any of his latest behavior but the only thing he could do was accept the consequences. It hurt more than he wanted to acknowledge that after everything Naomi couldn't trust him. It hurt because he did trust her wholly. In the middle of every terrible, shitty thing they went through, he knew he could turn to her. At a time when he couldn't even trust his own body not to fail him, he believed Naomi wouldn't. 

None of it was fair. She was her own person with her own demons and as much as they tried to ignore everything else and distract one another, it was bound to blow into their faces. 

And she'd taken the one thing that kept him up at night. The one thing he hadn't been able to leave back to Eros after escaping.

But hearing her explanation, knowing he reminded her of- Just the thought made him sick. No matter how many times he could say that he wasn't like that, that he could never hurt her like that and mean it, wouldn't erase his failure. His failure to be a better crewman, a better partner, a better person. 

"Sorry Jim, I didn't mean it like that," Alex was quick to try and smooth over the sudden shift in the atmosphere. 

A better son. 

"Avasarala mentioned my mom," Holden blurted out. "One of my mothers, Elise."

He stopped not knowing how to say the rest. About leaving and running, and the guilt that was always present. He knew what she was doing and he fell for it anyway. 

"How many years has it been?" Alex asked instead.

Jim didn't do the math. That would weigh on him more. "I left when I was eighteen." 

Left. Like it was a choice. Like he would've been enough otherwise.

They've talked since then, of course. They managed to have a steady communication before the shitstorm happened.

He still hadn't looked up toward Alex until he heard the other speak.

"Yeah, I know a thing or two about leaving people behind," Alex said and a sharp memory of the picture with Alex's wife and son hit him out of nowhere. Right, Alex had left a son (and so had Naomi-). What right did he have t- "I'm not proud of it, but... you can love your family with everything you have and still... find your place somewhere else."

The lump in his throat disappeared, and he reached out to cover Alex's hand and squeezed.

"Even if that place's captain is sometimes an asshole?"

"As long as you don't break the oven next, we're good," Alex joked.

"Hey, that's-" Holden protested.

"Deserved," Alex argued back.

"A little, yeah..."

They didn't solve anything but he felt lighter anyway.

"So, uh," Alex started again. "Naomi said she'd come to talk to you. Did you two... y'know..."

They were having this kind of talk now... Holden took a sip from his coffee to brace himself and began replying in broad strokes. Naomi's story was hers. But he could talk about them in general.

They stayed in the galley for a long time talking until their hand terminals chimed and reality found its way back to them.

[mermaidsirennikita]

I am sorry to bother about you that, I am probably asking because I don’t know enough about the BRF, but in your post about Kate you more or less said (sorry if I misinterpreted) that William would have cheated on his wife no matter what and probably did before they married (and not in a “this people have known each other for a long time and sometimes weren’t together and therefore dated other people” kind of way). Why do you say that?

Ah, sorry, I must not have been clear (I've grown up on royal family goss so sometimes I think I make leaps in my explanations that normal people wouldn't pick up on lol).

I meant more that it's extremely likely Kate would've known that William would continue to cheat once they were married, because he most likely (according to rumors) (and interesting pap pics from waaay back in the day) slept around while they were together before they married.

Which like. Isn't surprising. Kate and William got together pretty young, and aside from a short break not long before they got engaged, stayed together from that point on (publicly). William was a good-looking guy back in the day; he was young; and essentially every woman in his vague age range and many a lot older than him wanted to sleep with him. It was like, a competition to get in his pants, either for bragging rights or for the potential chance of being queen one day. I'd honestly kind of be shocked if he DIDN'T sleep around in all that time.

I mean, I'd hope that she got (and continued to get) hers, too. But she would obviously be held to a different standard by some.

And if I'm being super real, in that cultural environment, it was and is very much expected for men cheat on their wives. And the higher up the man, the more acceptable the cheating. Charles fully expected to just be able to cart his mistress around while keeping the picture-perfect wife in place. It was more of a shock that Diana wasn't okay with it. Plus, a lot of the thought process behind Diana not being okay with the horrible way in which she was treated was that if she'd just been better prepared by the system (and not been like, a teenager when Charles got with her) she would have accepted it better and been content. Which. WILD to assume.

But that's probably one reason (along with Wills's general reluctance) why Kate didn't get a ring until she spent essentially her entire 20s dating William. It was seen as the opposite of how they handled Diana. They were the same age (she's actually a tiny bit older). They dated for a long time, got to know each other. She had her own "life", her own "career". (When, let us be super real, Kate's adult life was basically preparing for the next role.) She had to time to "prepare".

They tried to swing a similar narrative when everything fell apart with Harry and Meghan--he didn't prepare her! She didn't learn ahead of time! That's why it was so bad!

While I'll totally acknowledge that Charles (and everyone else) failed to prepare Diana, and in turn Harry (and everyone else) failed to prepare Meghan, it's still like. You know. You could also just be nice to people once they marry in and help them transition then.

BUT! Anyway. Kate's "prep" would've likely clued her in even more as to the reality of the life, so I just find it hard to believe that William doing something he'd probably BEEN doing (cheating) just drove her to split like some people think. I mean, again, I know a lot of people saying these things are new to this, but people In the Know became aware of Rose yeeeears ago. I've known about SOME mistress rumors for a long time, and I think I saw the mistress identified as Rose in 2018/2019. Before Meghan and Harry left for sure.

[lepusrufus]

To bargain for immortality pt.2

Finally, she felt well enough to leave the infirmary room for good. Her internal organs were at peace for the most part and she could keep some food down without the risk of seeing it for a second time. Her sinuses still seemed to refuse to recover though. Occasional nosebleeds would have her head spinning and the scent of blood so often present within the castle was somehow too offensive to her senses. Nicole couldn't help but wonder how exactly she got it this screwed up, but then again the first few days of the infection were a painful blur that she'd rather not remember.

For now she was content to sit in front of the fireplace with the rest of her family. They decided to have a movie night to break her out of the mopey state she had been in and, for the most part, it was quite the success. She wasn't paying much attention to the projector screen, some sappy scene from a movie chosen by Daniela playing at the moment. Instead, she was simply enjoying the close proximity to Cassandra that she so dearly missed in the last few weeks. Nicole was in the brunette's lap, with hands loosely around her waist and leaning against her shoulder. She was vaguely aware of Laura complaining about the poor life choices of one of the characters only to be unceremoniously shushed by the youngest sister. It made her chuckle.

Bela was passing the popcorn to her mothers when a knock on the main entrance reached their ears faintly. Lady Dimitrescu narrowed her eyes in the general direction of the sound, and listened. Soon enough the rapid steps of Alexandria, their Steward, reached them.

"My Ladies, Mother Miranda's assistant is here."

The whole family got up hesitantly and tried to look as presentable as possible, given their "lazy day outfits". For some like Bela that was a baggy shirt and shorts, while for the Lady it was one of her trademark white dresses. They made their way to the main entrance of the castle, where the assistant, a woman in her late thirties and the air of an annoyed teacher, was waiting. It was Alcina the one to ask why she was there.

"Mother Miranda wants to see um… Nicole was it? Yes, to take a look at the regenerative abilities."

"Why not do it here like last time?"

"Mother Miranda's laboratory is far better equipped for whatever she may want to test. Unless you have something to say against her wishes." She finished that with a raised eyebrow that would've gained her a talon through the skull were she not there as per Miranda's wishes.

Who's talons exactly was debatable.

"I'll come too," Cassandra spoke up from just behind Nicole.

That only got her a dismissive wave. "No, I was told specifically to only bring her. Come now, we don't want to make Mother Miranda wait."

With that, the woman turned around and started walking towards a carriage that would take them away. Nicole looked briefly at her family. They all had either confusion or mild concern in their eyes. All but Alcina who looked as if she'd like to protest and snap at the woman but was holding her tongue.

She reassured Cassandra that she'd be fine and started jogging after the assistant.

---

Needless to say, that was Nicole's first time stepping foot inside the underground network of tunnels. Not that she complained. Few people went there willingly and probably fewer left the same way they came in.

The ancient looking hallways were in such stark contrast with the occasional medical equipment and the pristine looking labs with doors left slightly ajar that Nicole had to wonder if the woman had no taste for a consistent aesthetic. At least Lady Dimitrescu kept all wiring and modern devices carefully hidden or blended in with the castle's decor. Here, the harsh neon lights illuminated worn out stone so dark it was almost black. Not to mention the smell of… old that seemed to ooze off the very walls she was walking by.

She was led inside a spacious lab, the bluish lights above being too bothersome for someone who got used to the warm or natural light in the castle. The room was rather long, numerous hospital beds lined up against a wall, some separated by white curtains and some left visible. An almost imperceptible whiff of an all too familiar foul odor reached her nose, but it was mild enough to be easily ignored. Nicole had a suspicion that the unmoving person laying in one of the cots further away could be the source, but she sighed and hoped not to join them by the end of the day.

Mother Miranda was sat at a desk, microscope in front of her together with a small stack of documents and a laptop. She was typing in what could probably be notes on whatever she was looking at, when icy grey eyes finally shifted to Nicole.

"Get changed and lay down," she ordered, not even moving from her spot.

The assistant that had brought her here, pushed a hospital gown that had been pulled out from a cupboard in her arms. At least she was allowed the decency of changing into a bathroom as opposed to stripping then and there in the middle of the room. The gown was surprisingly comfortable, fabric folding around her body and being held closed by a loose ribbon that she tried at the side.

Once she was back in the lab, she was ushered to one of the beds where she laid down, nervously waiting for whatever Miranda had in mind.

It was quite odd to see her without her usual attire, especially without the gold talons that Nicole was now far more familiar with than she'd ever hoped. The white lab coat looked far too normal on her and, were it not for the unmistakable cold eyes and regal posture, the woman would’ve been unrecognizable.

She finally got up, a few documents in hand, and approached her. The papers were handed over to the assistant, along with a few other objects and finally, Nicole had her full attention.

Mother Miranda bent down, scalpel in hand, and grabbed one of Nicole's wrists. Just like she did back during the first examination, the blade was dragged across the length of her forearm. Despite fully expecting it, Nicole couldn't help flinching at the pain, but she kept her eyes fixated on her arm, at the blood slowly starting to flow from the wound.

Soon the same tingling as before took over the pain and before their eyes, the skin started to stitch itself back together.

"Time," Miranda asked while wiping the blood to allow for a closer inspection of the now good as new skin.

"Five seconds."

"Alcina's?"

"Three seconds."

Miranda hummed, seemingly pleased with the results. Or at least as pleased as the woman was physically capable of being.

"Hook her up to the cardiac monitor," she further instructed while moving to retrieve something from another cabinet.

The assistant, Emma, if the tag pinned to her lab coat was to be believed, stuck a series of electrodes to her chest and abdomen. Nicole bit her lip to stifle a yelp when one came uncomfortably close to the still sensitive skin of the scar.

In no time, the machine came to life, familiar beeping sounding through the otherwise silent room.

"I hope you're not afraid of needles," Miranda said while grabbing the same arm she had before, lips pulled into a faint smirk.

Nicole only shook her head as she saw the needle of a syringe attached to a transparent slim tube slide into her arm. How ironic would that be. The sting was close to imperceptible, taken over by the now familiar faint tingle. Unlike with the cut, it didn't fade away, most likely due to not being able to fully heal the small wound with the needle embedded in the skin and vein.

She looked away, in the direction of the other occupied bed in the room. It was far away enough that she couldn't make out any detail, only messy brown hair sprawled on a pillow. The face was turned towards the wall and body covered up to the neck. She grimaced and decided instead to focus on the beeping machine, mildly annoyed by Miranda's lack of properly separating her dead lab rats from the living ones. At least she hoped she'd stay living.

The numbers on the machine started out normal. With the slight uncomfortable feeling of blood being drained however, her heart rate started to slowly increase.

Alright. Normal enough. Especially when someone is clearly in a fucking blood draining mood.

Nicole decided not to look at exactly how much blood Miranda was drawing, keeping her eyes glued to the various color coded numbers. The heart rate kept increasing until Nicole could swear she could feel her heartbeat ringing in her ears. She gulped. Still relatively within the norm.

Two things were at odds however. First, the blood pressure remained constant, almost as if her body simply refused to acknowledge the fact that it was currently being drained. Secondly, the temperature rose from the normal 36 degrees to a staggering 41 in less time than it should have.

"What the fuck…" She couldn't keep her tongue at the weirdness of her situation, her brain thankfully choosing confusion and curiosity over the dread that it probably should've felt instead.

Mother Miranda didn't seem to care though as she turned to type something on the laptop that she brought over from the desk. She tapped her finger on the device for a few seconds and finally spoke up.

"The accelerated healing means the blood is being regenerated constantly, thus not decreasing in volume. Which explains the constant pressure." She narrowed her eyes at the monitor once again. "It doesn't, however, explain the heart rate and temperature. Any bright guesses?"

It took Nicole a second to realize the question was actually addressed to her. Miranda seemed in an oddly good mood. Not any less hell bent on causing her pain, mind you, but she also seemed genuinely curious. Being a biology nerd will do that to you, she couldn't help but think.

Nicole hummed and thought for a second. She tried to recall any information about the topic at hand that she had studied prior to running away.

"Heart rate could just be the normal body response that stayed even with the mutation. Like… like a reflex. It remains even though it's not needed." Then she tapped a finger on her chin trying to find a less random explanation. "Or maybe it's the body's way of making sure that even while healing all body parts remain at least decently functional. No idea about the temperature though," she shrugged.

Miranda once again typed something up and then, without warning, pulled the needle out of Nicole's arm. She flinched, barely holding in an angry protest as she turned towards the woman. Which was a mistake. She couldn't help the gag that raised in the back of her throat at the sight of the metal container full of blood.

No, no, blood did not bother her. That would've cut her career as a medical examiner short before she even stepped foot in med school. It was the knowledge that that was her blood that made her stomach churn. The container could easily fit three liters of liquid in it, and it was full to the brim. Not to mention the smell that assaulted her still messed up sinuses mixing oh so perfectly with mr. corpse over in the corner.

Miranda just chuckled at her sour expression. "Do you think your darling wife would like to have this?"

With a sneer, masked by Nicole turning once again towards the monitor, she couldn't help slipping an edge of snark in her reply. "No need, she likes it fresh."

The numbers were back to normal, all but for the temperature that was taking slightly longer to go down.

---

By this point her vocal cords were raw from screaming and each shuddering sob felt like clumps of spines in her throat. Nicole was curled in on herself, small frame trembling pathetically on top of the uncomfortable bed. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably, the tingling sensation feeling like needles constantly pricking at her skin around and under the wired leather cuffs wrapped around her wrists. The frantic beeping of the machine was grating to her ears.

An electric shock test.

Of course.

Mother Miranda decided to test out how the increased heart rate worked. Results? Her body vehemently refused to allow her to pass out. Even when the shocks traveled through every part of her body, causing the nervous system to short circuit. Even when damage to internal organs and muscles ripped painful sobs from her throat, that turned into gags as soon as the tingling turned to nausea. Even when she could feel her heart hammering against her ribcage so fast that she was sure the small organ would burst any second. But it didn’t.

Every muscle in her body flared up in a sensation of painful pins and needles when Miranda pushed the button to release another shock. The cardiac monitor started screaming again and Nicole brought shaky hands over her ears in an attempt to block out the sound. Her whole body was on fire while all the damaged tissue repaired itself, making her stomach turn painfully. She felt like throwing up. Not that she had eaten anything today, but bile and thick blood still coated her esophagus. It was all swallowed back with a disgusting gulp.

The nausea was oh so kindly accompanied by searing pain from her still damaged sinuses, who’s condition only worsened exponentially with the electricity. The blood that seemed to coat all the way up to the inside of her mouth felt horrible mixed with the putrid smell of death.

She swallowed again, but that proved itself a bad decision as now that same smell permeated the very inside of her nose and mouth and throat and the feeling of blood sloshing on her tongue behind clenched teeth made her head spin.

She lurched forward, a small river of dark blood flowing from her mouth and nose, into her palms that she instinctively brought to her mouth. Wet coughs made it splatter into crimson splotches on the white sheets, herself and anything else within proximity. It took surprisingly long to realize that, after the initial wave that rose up her esophagus, the rest of the blood was from her sinuses. It was cruelly invading her nose and sliding back into her throat only to come out of her mouth. Fuck fuck fuck-

“What’s wrong?” Miranda’s tone lacked any trace of sympathy.

Nicole simply coughed out the remaining fluid from her mouth and unceremoniously grabbed a piece of cloth from Emma’s hands. She pressed it to her nose, only to feel it soaked against her skin far too soon.

“Damaged sinuses, as you said,” she croaked, her voice sounding so unlike her own.

That made Miranda frown. She kept that same expression while noting down the previous results. “It should be healed by now.”

“Well they aren't,” Nicole spat. The blood and the horrid smell were clouding her mind and, as many knew, pain and holding her tongue did not mix well in her. “And did we really have to do this in the same room as a dead fucking body?!”

Nicole’s angry outburst gave the woman pause. Annoyance mixed with a hint of confusion on her face. She looked at her assistant, an eyebrow raised in a silent question.

“No. Just- just anestesia.” Emma answered promptly.

“What the fuck do you mean anesthesia? Anesthesia doesn’t make you smell like a goddamn decomposing corpse, do you have cotton stuck up your noses?!” Thankfully the bleeding was starting to subside, which meant there was nothing to stifle her steadily raising angry tone.

Miranda, now sporting a scowl, got up and grabbed Nicole’s chin between two fingers. It made her flinch back, but there was no escaping the iron grip.

“I can assure you that the man is not dead, simply under anesthesia and recovering from a bad infection.” She moved Nicole’s head from left to right, eyes scrutinizing as ever.

Afterwards, she turned back and wrote something down on a piece of paper and simply instructed Emma to wrap up and lead Nicole out. The sudden shift not only in demeanor, but also in her position from the bed to standing upright was mildly dizzying. She swapped the gown for her normal clothes as quickly as she physically could, not wanting to spend another unnecessary second in this underground grave.

While she was ushered out the door, Mother Miranda’s sickly sweet voice rang after her.

“I’ll see you in a couple days.”

Her stomach turned.

---

The trek home was short and silent, Nicole simply wanting to get home as soon as possible and get a damn hot shower and sleep.

She bid the young man that was accompanying her goodbye the moment the Castle’s entrance was within jogging distance, and hurried steps took her to the imposing doors. It was Alexandria to answer her knock, Nicole having left her own keys in her bedroom.

“Welcome back my la-” the polite smile was all but wiped off the woman’s face, replaced by wide eyes. “Are you injured?”

Nicole looked at her confused, then down at herself. A muttered curse escaped past her lips when she remembered the bloody mess on her skin. “I’m okay. Just-... just don’t tell anyone I’m here yet. I'll change first.”

Her plan went out the window when a set of hasty steps came booming toward them.

“Nico-”

Cassandra’s voice died in her throat when her golden eyes landed on Nicole’s small frame, dried dark blood on her face and arms and her clothes stained. An angry growl slipped from between bared teeth.

“What the fuck did she do to you?”

Nicole was quick to answer, too tired to deal with anything other than a few hours of sleep. “I’m okay. I’m just-...” she shook her head, then turned to the Steward. “Alexandria kindly ask a maid to draw me a bath.”

“At once.” And with that the woman turned and scurried away, most likely also not wanting to be in the vicinity of an angry Cassandra.

---

The hot water felt like pure bliss on her skin. It seemed to make every muscle relax and get rid of the awful tension. She leaned back, eyes closed and hands idly moving through the water.

It was just mildly difficult to fully relax with Cassandra muttering and pacing back and forth in the same room though.

"I'm-... I'm not letting you do this again."

Nicole simply sighed and started to scrub away at dried blood. The miniature red waterfall from earlier had gotten blood all over her arms and chest, some splatters even getting on her legs. Her face was also a mess, trails of blood going from her nose and mouth to the chin with smudges and splatters.

"What did she even do to you?"

Before she had a chance to reply, a knock came from the door and a maid entered with a few clean towels and a change of clothes from Nicole's own bedroom. The girl didn't linger, simply giving them both a courteous bow and exiting the room.

Looking for something to change the subject, Nicole focused on the pleasant honey smell. Honey with a slight citrus-y undertone, maybe lemon or orange.

"Did you get a new soap?"

Cassandra stopped pacing, brows furrowed. "No? It's the same one."

Confused, Nicole brought a hand that had just been scrubbed with that very soap right under her nose and took a deep inhale. It was indeed the same one. Chamomile and mint. She sighed in annoyance and leaned back against the cool porcelain while Cassandra came and bent down on one knee to be somewhat on eye level.

"Nose still not working properly or…?" She said while gingerly tilting Nicole's chin up with two fingers. She grimaced at one yet to be washed trail of dried blood that made its way to her wife's thin upper lip.

Nicole simply shook her head and grabbed Cassandra's hand. "Can you… go get ready. I'm beyond tired and just want to lay down with you."

Cassandra pursed her lips but nodded none the less. With a kiss on top of red hair, she turned and left the spacious bathroom, door shutting with a heavy thud.

Left alone, she scrubbed every inch of skin again and took a few extra minutes to enjoy the warmth of the water. It felt so incredibly odd to not feel any actual pain after the day's events. Any trace of what her body went through had been erased by her newfound ability, not leaving behind even the faintest mark of a scar, nor blackened skin caused by electric shocks.

She pushed herself out of the tub, grimacing at the slight pink tone the water had taken. Body and hair quickly dried with the towels, she put on the clothes, a comfortable pair of shorts and a tank top, and finally stepped out of the bathroom too.

Cassandra was waiting for her in bed, velvety dark robes hanging loosely on her shoulders and eyes fixated on the window while her fingers were tapping furiously on the cover of a book forgotten in her lap. Book that was quickly placed on the nightstand when Nicole climbed in beside her and pushed her way into the brunette's arms. She was tired and absolutely not above demanding cuddles.

Her wife wasted no time in wrapping an arm around her and pulling the soft blanket up to cover them both. Nicole interlocked their fingers, absentmentally turning the ring on Cassandra's finger. The same ring she had, albeit in a smaller size. A golden band with intricate floral patterns engraved on it. It had no protruding gem, something they both opted for so that the rings wouldn't need to be taken off while working and wearing gloves. Instead, eight small ocre gems were lined among the minuscule curled leaves.

It took Cassandra about two minutes to take a deep inhale and open her mouth. New record.

"Are you… are you hurt?"

Nicole didn't look up at her, the concern dripping from her words alone were enough to squeeze her heart painfully.

"No. I'm all healed up, just tired." She could almost feel Cassandra's question of clarification, but not wanting to go over what had happened down in the laboratory so soon, she opted for something the brunette would hopefully be just as interested in. "We did get some odd results though."

At the lack of any interruption she went on. "Accelerated heart rate whenever I get hurt. Can't pass out." Which was both a blessing and a curse, depending on the point of view and situation. "Also for some reason my temperature gets really high."

"You get one hell of a fever?"

"Yeah."

Cassandra tapped a finger on Nicole's hand, mentally going over possibilities. "Aren't fevers used against infections? Maybe that has something to do with it."

A small hum passed her lips. Could that have something to do with it? It was possible that her healing abilities caused a fever in order to fight off any possible infection before it even became one. Maybe it was her body's way of lessening damage as much as possible since, as the day's events showed, the old replaced tissue had a tendency to get purged. She grimaced at the memory of slowly choking on blood and went for something at least slightly more pleasant.

"Oh and… I can't bleed out. Blood volume stays constant."

She looked up at Cassandra with what could only be described as a shit eating grin. Her wife blinked, realization seeming to dawn on her together with the faintest hint of a blush on her cheeks. She coughed.

"Yeah well. I'll keep that in mind. For when you don't need to sleep."

"And deny me some fun now?" Nicole's pout was purely for dramatic effect and it gained her an eye roll.

Two slender fingers gripped her chin to keep it in place while narrowed golden eyes bored into her green ones. The pout slowly morphed into a smirk. Cassandra was not the kind of person who did not indulge in her own pleasures and that, although to a more careful extent, included drinking her lover's blood. A fact that Nicole was not only not complaining about, but also learned to use in order to push all the right buttons.

When Nicole turned her head in the uncharacteristically gentle grip to plant a small kiss on the soft palm, Cassandra finally gave in. Concern was momentarily put on hold in the name of the normalcy they both have been denied in the last few weeks. She bent down, their lips meeting into a kiss that soon turned needy with tongue slipping past sharp teeth and a hand scratching lightly at her nape. Soon Cassandra broke their kiss, but only to slowly trail her way across her jawline with kisses and small nips. She bit at the soft skin right under the jaw bone, eliciting a quiet groan right by her sensitive ear. Black painted lips took her down the neck and across collarbones, planting a kiss right in between them, at the base of Nicole's throat.

When she slowly made her way to an exposed shoulder, Nicole's hand at the back of her head guided her further up, right above where her pulse was. After an inquisitive hum against her skin, she spoke quietly.

"Since blood loss isn't exactly a problem… no need to avoid the neck really."

Cassandra hesitated for a moment, but ultimately decided to trust her wife. She placed a gentle kiss on the spot right above where blood was flowing in rhythm with her heartbeat. The same gentle kiss that was placed on the skin countless times before and that only Nicole had the privilege of experiencing.

Sharp fangs sunk into tender flesh, the warm blood invading Cassandra's mouth making her moan low in her throat. Being used to the feeling of the bite by now, Nicole simply closed her eyes with a sigh and let her body melt into Cassandra's arms. The familiar blissful ache was welcomed, even though, she noticed, it did not bring with it the lightheadedness she had grown accustomed to.

Although she wasn't aware of it, Cassandra was, in a way, a creature of habit. Every time she would drink her blood, her hand would come up to cup Nicole's cheek, thumb slowly tracing the jawline, right before she would pull her mouth away. Every time, without fail.

This time however, when that happened, Nicole kept her in place with the hand tangled in brunette hair, her voice coming out breathy when she spoke. "Go on."

Cassandra would never admit it, but her self control would always waver while feeding. Therefore, she didn't need much convincing, continuing to take mouthfuls of blood in between a satisfied groan. When she finally had her fill, she pulled back with a bashful look in her eyes. Concern quickly flashed on her face at the sight of the crimson mess on her wife's neck.

Nicole however, not wanting their moment to get ruined, took one of Cassandra's hands in her own and slowly placed a soft kiss on each knuckle. After that was done, and the downright ticklish sensation of skin patching itself subsided, she guided the fingers over the bloody skin.

"See? Healed," she whispered.

Cassandra gingerly traced her fingers over the spot, looking for no longer existing puncture marks. She smiled upon not finding them and turned to pull out a handkerchief from a small drawer of her nightstand. A ritual of sorts, one practiced more times than they cared to count over the years. Cassandra passed the white cloth over the skin, wiping away the crimson stains while her wife relaxed into the touch.

"Feeling good?" It was a remark meant to poke fun at how much Nicole seemed to enjoy herself, but the double meaning did not go unnoticed.

A smile tugged at Nicole's lips and she nodded.

In turn, Cassandra hummed. "You taste different." And, at her lover's furrowed brows and the slightest hint of alarm flashing in her eyes, she clarified. "Not bad. Just different. Slightly sweeter actually."

"Is that so," Nicole purred, the smile returning to her lips.

Cassandra discarded the cloth on the floor to be retrieved later and shifted both of them back down on the myriad of pillows.

"Yes. Now how about you get some sleep."

Nicole wasted no time in snaking an arm around her waist and nuzzling into her side. It would never cease to amaze her how Cassandra's presence could make her feel so at ease, as if nothing beyond the castle's walls existed. At that moment, she couldn't help but be grateful for her newfound ability, useful in far more ways than one.

She stretched slightly upwards, auburn hair like a small waterfall behind her.

"I love you," she whispered against cool ashy lips.

"I love you too," Cassandra replied, closing the almost nonexistent space between their mouths in a soft kiss.

It left behind a slight coppery taste on Nicole's lips, but she couldn't bring herself to care, instead readjusting her legs to tangle comfortably around her wife's thigh.

[anarmorofwords]

Hi! You're probably not going to like this ask, but before getting into it I'd just like to say that this isn't meant as Kamala hate or anything, and I don't really want to offend.

Having said that, wouldn't it make sense that we get to see how Kamala treated Anna after she came out? It's in all likelihood one of the things that's weighing on Anna the most.

Obviously Kamala had her valid reasons: her parents aren't as liberal as the Lightwoods, she believes (knows?) their love is conditional as she's adopted, she's not white and not being heterosexual could further any treatment she's suffered from being different... Her reasons have already been listed multiple times by multiple people. Kamala has the right to stay in the closet and fear coming out. And while that shouldn't be villianised, we can't forget that closeted people can harm those around them.

If Kamala had kept treating Anna like a good friend, rumour would've sparked, and even if it was denied, she'd have been harmed by merely associating with Anna. Especially with the life Anna began leading; she could have been labelled as one of Anna's 'conquests' by the Clave. That, as we've established, is detrimental for her safety.

But at the same time, it would create a breach between Anna and Kamala. And Anna had the right to be hurt by it and weary of it when Kamala said she wanted a relationship.

If we look at it from that perspective, Anna's actions (though inexcusable in how they treated Kamala --who was also at fault for not accepting a negative for four months) make sense. Kamala wasn't only a fling of a week*, but also the girl she lost her virginity with, who asked her to be her secret (until she married Charles, after which Anna's affections would be discarded), who hid her sexuality for two years and sat back while Anna suffered from homophobic commentary, and who now wants a relationship hidden from most of the people that know her.

Kamala shouldn't be forced to come out; but the harm that can do to the women she may engage with is reflective of what happens nowadays. I can mostly think of examples with gay men, so my apologies in advance. But how many women have seen their marriages ruined by their husband having affairs with men?

Creating characters that reflect a toxic part of the 'hidden' LGBT community shouldn't be seen as hating or villinifying. Thomas isn't out and he isn't labelled a villain by the narrative --because his actions don't harm anyone. The hate Alastair gets in-universe is because of his past as a bully, not because he's gay. Matthew's not fully out and he isn't villianised --like Thomas, because the decisions he makes to keep his sexuality hidden don't impact anyone negatively.

I'll even go as far as saying that not even the narrative villianises characters like Kamala and Charles. If it were, they'd be seen more like Grace in Chain of Gold. We'd see how Kamala's actions are affecting Anna's in more ways than anger (that in itself put the fandom against Anna), and the characters would note so. We wouldn't see scenes were Cordelia empathised with Charles, nor Matthew said he loved him.

Be it as it may, Kamala and Charles represent ugly parts of being closeted that can naturally occur when someone is in their position. LGBT people are human. Humans, when put into very difficult situations (and Charles risks his career; Kamala her safety), can make decisions that harm those around them. Consequently, the people they're harming have a right to feel, well, harmed in whatever range of ways --this goes mostly for Alastair, and very partly for Anna, whose treatment of Kamala was horrible.

Readers need to understand what is pushing these 'villianised' characters to harm (again, mostly for Alastair) the more prominent characters and go beyond how they are instantly depicted. Because these are complex characters based on complex real people influenced by very ugly realities we will move on from someday, but sadly not yet.

By the way, Charles and Kamala's situations aren't that similar beyond the closeted thing, but I crammed them together because of a post I saw you reblog.

Please understand I'm not justifying Charles's actions; that I understand the pain he's put Alastair through, and know that he shouldn't ever be near Alastair. Nor am I trying to justify Anna's actions nor hate on Kamala.

I'll just finish my pointless rant by adding that I do think cc has sensitivity readers. I think she asked a gay man to go through tec (I don't know if he still revised her other books, though), and know she asked POC's input when writing someone for their culture. I don't know much beyond that, but I doubt who revises her stuff is up to her. Wouldn't that be something the publisher is responsible for (honest question)?

*I've also noticed people using the argument that they didn't know each other long enough for Anna to harbour such ugly emotions towards Kamala, but Kamala also remembered Anna pretty deeply and is 'in love' with her. I just wanted to say that considering cc writes (fantastical) romance where someone can ask a woman they met two months ago marriage, stressing over time spaces doesn't make much sense. Just my take.

hi!!

alright, where do I start? probably would be best with stating that while I can analyse Kamala's situation with what I know/see/read about racism and discrimination and reasonably apply things I've read/heard from PoC to the discussion, as well as try to be as sensitive about it as possible, I'm still a white woman, so not a person that's best qualified to talk about this.

that being said - if someone wants to add something to this conversation, you're obviously more than welcome to, and if there's something in my answer that you don't agree with or find in some way insensitive or offensive - please don't hesitate to call me out on that.

back to your points though: (this turned into a whole ass essay, so under the cut)

I don't think Anna shouldn't be able to reminiscent on Kamala's behaviour/reaction to her coming out, or be hurt by it. what bothers me is the way CC talks about it - I can't remember the exact phrasing, but the post where she mentioned this suggested something along the lines of "you'll see how Kamala sided with the Clave and didn't defend Anna after her coming out", therefore putting the blame on Kamala and completely disregarding the fact that Kamala wasn't in position to do much at all. It suggest that their situation was "poor Anna being mistreated by Kamala". therefore I'm afraid Kamanna's main problem/conflict will remain to be portrayed as "Anna having to allow themselves to love again and forgive Kamala", while Anna's shortcomings - and Kamala's vulnerable position - are never discussed. I think it would be possible to acknowledge both Kamala's difficult situation and the possible hurt her behaviour caused Anna without being insensitive towards Kamala's character, but it would take a really skilled - and caring - author to do both of the perspectives justice. CC would have to find a balance between being aware of the racism/prejudice Kamala faced/ writing her with lots of awareness and empathy, and still allowing her to make mistakes and acknowledging them. As it is however, I'm under impression that she's just treating it as a plot device, a relationship drama.

I'd say no one expects characters of color to be written as flawless or never making mistakes, it's mostly the way these mistakes are written and what things these characters are judged/shamed/

And that's - at least in my understanding and opinion - where the problem is. it's that the narrative never even addresses Anna's faults, and portrays Kamala as the one that caused all - or most of - the pain, without ever even acknowledging her problems and background.

White characters in TLH make mistakes and fuck up - because they're human and they're absolutely allowed to - but the thing is, non-white characters aren't afforded that privilege. Anna's behaviour is never questioned - none of it, shaming Kamala for not being able to come out, dismissing her desire to be a mother, or any of the questionable things she did in ChoI. Same with Matthew, James, Thomas. Alastair and Kamala however? they're constantly viewed through their past mistakes, and forced to apologize for them over and over, forced to almost beg for forgiveness. Moreover, those past mistakes are used as a justification of all and any shitty behaviour the other characters exhibit towards them now, which is simply unfair and cruel. They're held to a much higher standard.

So I'd like to say that yes, Kamala was in the wrong to keep nagging Anna after numerous rejections, and she was in the wrong to not inform Anna about Charles prior to them having sex - but that doesn't give Anna a free pass to constantly mistreat Kamala. And let's be real, Anna isn't stupid - while at 17 she could be naive and uninformed, I can't imagine how after years of hanging out with the Downworlders and numerous affairs and being out and judged by the Clave she's still so ignorant about Kamala's situation. I definitely think she's allowed to be hurt, but to still not understand why Kamala did what she did? Anna isn't blaming her for not telling her about Charles earlier - which would be fair - but instead for refusing to engage in an outright romance with her. She's being ignorant - and consciously so, I think.

Overall, I think you're definitely right about how coming out - or staying closeted - can be messy and hurt people in the process, especially in unaccepting environments/time periods, and I've seen enough discourse online to know there will never be a verdict/stance on this that will satisfy everyone. I, for one, would really like to refrain from putting all the blame on a single person - but, at least the way I see it, CC is pointing fingers. maybe not directly, but she is. Kamala, Alastair and Charles have no friends or support systems, and the only people in the narrative that defend them are themselves (ok, Cordelia does defend Alastair from Charles, but not from shitty takes about him and his "sins"). Also, sorry, but I don't like how you say "hid her sexuality for two years and sat back while Anna experienced homophobic comments" - it sounds very much judgemental. Kamala had every right to do that? The fact that she slept with Anna doesn't means she owed her something, and certainly not coming out and most probably destroying her life, or even defending her at the - again - expense of her own reputation, or more possibly safety.

As for Charles - it's a different issue here, at least imo - I fear that it'll be implied that his refusing to come out will is his main "sin", and therefore not something he can be judged for, which ironically, will be villainizing, but mostly will mean his actual sins are dismissed. This is where the scene with Cordelia feeling a pang of sympathy for him comes into play, and it worries me. I've never hated Charles for not wanting to come out, but rather for, let's see - grooming Alastair, disregarding Alastair's needs and feelings, disrespecting his mother, being a sexist prick, being low-key far-right coded "make Shadowhunters great again" etc.

As for sensitivity readers - I'm no expert, so I don't think my input is worth much. From what I've gathered from multiple threads/discussions on twitter, tho it is probably consulted/approved by the publisher, many authors push for that - and authors less famous and "powerful" than her. I'm not a hater, but seeing fandoms' opinions on much of her rep, I think she could do better. Because if she does have sensitivity readers, then they don't seem to be doing a great job - maybe they're friends who don't wanna hurt her feelings? Or maybe she thinks a gay guy's feedback will be enough for any queer content - which, judging by the opinions I've seen from the fans, doesn't seem to be true.

Again, these are mostly my thoughts and I'm more than open to reading other opinions, because *sigh* I really don't know how to handle this.

Bottom line - I really really don't want to be hating on the characters in general, playing God in regards to judging the struggles of minorities, or even criticising the characters too harshly for being human, flawed etc. What my main issue is is how CC handles those complex and heavy topics.

I hope I make sense and this answer satisfies you somehow - I also hope someone better equipped to answer might wanna join this conversation.

* I desperately need a reread of TLH before I engage in any more conversations like this, but I didn't wanna leave you hanging. So yeah, I might be remembering things wrong. Again, let me know, I'm very much open to being corrected as well as to further discussion.

* I use she/her pronouns for Anna because that's what she uses in canon

[i-love-hobbies]

The biggest criticism Lilith's redemption arc gets and Eda's biggest strength

(ft. me getting completely side tracked and wanting a Hooty redemption arc)

Ok, so firstly I wanna talk about real life and then say how it was done in the owl house.

I hate the words "Everyone should get what they deserve." Cause firstly this never happens, secondly, the words are very vague and it opens a window of miscommunication and thirdly, cause in Lilith's case they are focused at, she needs to be hurt in order to change.

There are even people that have said that they are looking forward to watching Lilith suffer (I don't know if I've said it on the internet but I was one of them.)

Revenge has been proven to not make people feel better. And a lot of therapists usually say you need to forgive people. That doesn't mean fix the relationship, it means try to stop wishing they get hurt. Cause the feeling is only hurting you.

Also it's a normal human feeling to be angry, so no I'm not calling people monsters for this. And forgiveness is a hard process that takes a lot of work, but it usually isn't helped by hurting others.

The words people usually use to defend this sentence are:

"Consequences change people's minds or at the very least make them scared of doing it again."

Ok so how about we use this sentence instead, it's short enough and the main mission now is keeping ourselves safe Instead of it being hurting someone, you're still wishing it but it's not the main goal, it's a secondary one.

Well, cause it immediately shows two issues both statements have.

Firstly a friendship with someone that wants to hurt you but is scared of doing so is not a healthy one, cause they'll just try to be sneaky. You can only do it with people that aren't close to you like how the authorities do it towards criminals.

Secondly punishments rarely change people's minds. They've never worked on me, especially when you attack my identity, cause this way you make it even worse. And expecting that you can change someone usually means you're about to fail.

"But we can't get rid of punishments, people will hurt us."

I'm not saying we should. I'm saying our main goal should be our safety and hurting them may happen but it shouldn't be important.

Or better yet:

"Building healthy boundaries to the point where you're not getting hurt anymore, but not going overboard."

Examples:

- You have a friend you see Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday. But on Wednesdays, after work, they usually are very ignorant of your feelings and sometimes joke at your expense. So you stop going out at Wednesdays.

They might never ask why you did it and that's ok, cause you're not getting hurt anymore.

But usually they do ask why? You explain to them the issue with respect, don't call them names.

Some people will change after this and you can get rid of the boundary later on.

Other people may acknowledge this and say it's a good idea, cause they are overwhelmed, but never change.

Other other people may start hurting you even more. You build the boundaries even more, sometimes to the point you cut them out of your life, even if they weren't hurting you intentionally.

Which is completely ok if you can't maintain contact without being hurt.

- Eda's handling of Gwendolyn's cures is another good one. She never called her names or anything. She just made sure that Gwen can't hurt her anymore. Cause it wasn't only the cures. Eda's feelings were always getting ignored. She literally couldn't talk with her about anything other than the curse. Her emotions were getting neglected.

- Eda's handling of Tibbles is also an interesting example.

At first after the scamming she just left him. She couldn't see how he could hurt her.

And in episode 14 she killed him. Cause he showed that he would do anything to murder her dump kids and knew their address. Almost same story with Adegast.

Yes murder in this extreme cases can be a healthy boundary.

Lilith's relationships with the owl fam

King:

King didn't know Lilith was living with them and knows about her neglect.

Luz:

Luz would only stand up for others never for herself which is very unhealthy. I don't know if she forgave Lilith, but I can see her not mentioning it if she hasn't and playing along as a teacher.

"The real mystery is how she can be both so smart and yet so wrong at the same time. Academics, am I right?"

The closest one to her she has roasted like this, is her mentor, who firstly makes people feel safe.

"EDA, You're embarrassing me Infront of my crew." - Raine, after thirty years of not seeing her.

Secondly, she was being a jerk, she was teaching Luz about cards while she was begging for magic lessons and was not getting it for weeks.

"Cards, the paper rectangles that old people think are fun."

Heck, she might even be scared of Lilith. She almost got killed.

So far I don't have a reason to think she likes her. She hasn't really talked with her or about her much.

Eda:

Eda has already shown that she can handle conflicts in relationships. Like in episode 9, where she got Luz into Hexside and everything I already said.

I made an entire post about Eda being too emotional and I still stand by it, but serious situations that have to do with relationships, she usually is very rational and good at handling them. Probably because of the curse making her afraid of her anger and countless people attacking her.

At the beginning of the series Eda probably was expecting that the worst case scenario would be for Lilith to catch her and if Lilith isn't given the time to realise what she did, she'd be killed and best case scenario Lilith changes.

Episode 5, where Lilith burned down her wanted posters, episode 8 where Lilith was gonna get her straight in the coven instead of arresting her, episode 11, where Lilith said she wanted for Eda to join on her own and episode 17, where they played grudgby.

Proved to her even more that Lilith cares a lot for her and maybe she will change.

Then episode 18 happened and King wanting hugs and Luz's "Let me die!" Suddenly the worst case scenario became not her dieing but her dieing and the trauma the kids will experience. The fact that they won't have her in their lifes.

Lilith says "Then why were you so easy to curse?!?" This does not sound like "I accidentally did this and I'm sorry." No, Eda thought Lilith did this on purpose. And now her kids might get killed by her own sister cause she was too naive to trust her.

From now on I don't think she was trying to kill her cause Lilith isn't dangerous without raw power like Adegast and Tibbles, but to disable her is a possibility.

To add to this Eda wasn't rational almost throughout the entire finale. She probably didn't pick up on the line "If you would just let me explain." Just like she didn't question why Lilith was thrown in a cage.

Then she learns that Lilith commited treason together with her kids and started feeling like she doesn't know the full story, but Lilith is still a caring person. So she jumps Infront of the beam to save both Lilith and King.

Afterwards Lilith shares the curse and has nowhere to go if she gets kicked out so there is no reason to believe that she would hurt them physically.

I know in a post I said I don't think she fully processed the situation with Lilith. But now I think I was only half right.

She didn't fully process how much she was hurt but she understood Lilith's situation. Forgave her as soon as possible, not immediately. But that doesn't mean she rebuilded the relationship as soon as she forgave her.

First of, the forgiveness part happened after episode 1. The entire episode she was guilt tripping her, which I don't think was helping the situation. It makes Lilith more emotional which then makes it harder for her to face reality.

I'm not calling Eda a bad person for this but I do think it was a mistake.

What wasn't a mistake but a good thing is Eda wasn't the one to listen to her problems, it was Hooty. Cause her emotional health matters too and standing in one room with her sister is challenging.

And now I'm wondering does Eda know about how Lilith was treated by both the coven and their parents.

Eda calling Lilith a tool, seems to me more of them competing with each other rather than the recent events. Also Lilith forcing her rules without saying why they are there.

I'm glad the episode ended with them switching roles, where Lilith is now more powerful. Though I'm pretty sure the roles are getting switched again.

So what about the rebuilding of the relationship or should I say trust.

Well they didn't show us much, but I think the trust isn't fully back.

Cause she has only been proving that she can be physically trusted like when she saved King's life.

Eda never opens up, which is unhealthy. But in this case it's a healthy boundary, cause King did it and he got Lilith projecting onto him.

Lilith isn't good at being mentally supportive and still has bad habits.

Lulu and Hootsifer

Hooty helping Lilith was something, she really needed and didn't take for granted, cause the only one to ever even consider this is Eda.

They are buddies that look out for each other. I wouldn't say they talk a lot about feelings as they have no idea how to do that, but there are examples where they do.

Like "What kind of a witch am I?" and Hooty's letter.

Her letter for Hooty, was supportive, but ignored the issue of Hooty always being in people's personal space.

Which led to Hooty drugging Eda, kidnapping three children and almost killing said kids when his plans didn't work the way he wanted. He also ate the letter for King.

I want a Hooty redemption arc, now!

[lesbiangracehanson]

I know the lesbian can do no wrong and i do ship ladley but Laura was pretty pushy at Bradley about how she cuts Chaos out of her life and how Bradley needs to look at hers and walk away from hal. And the one time Bradley said no to something, which was coming over after she was outed, laura went very pissy. I do understand that Bradley would think what Laura had said was that she'd break up with her if Bradley didn't walk away from her family. They just never had the time to talk that through. Or for bradley to get therapy and figure out what it is she wants to do and not hal, laura or Cory. And tbh you can feel left alone even if you understand why someone had to walk away. The show didn't make Laura a villain at all. Just said these are two fundamentally different options for Bradley and she needs to decide what fits her better. And this conversation online that is centered around implying the show is lesbophobic or homophobic for criticising Laura in any way or going with a straight couple as well is imo terrible. It won't lead to better rep. But to no rep at all. Your ship not winning isn't inherently bait or any Form of phobia etc. Especially since the show and Reese never said anything else and always also mentioned Cory and Bradley. At least Bradley doesn't know he outed her I fully expected them to have her forgive him on screen. From Bradley's pov he's her friend whose always been on her side. She clearly has mental health issues and is in a crisis. I genuinenly don't get the outrage either about the content of the ep nor the comments from the creators.

yeah! hello to you too i guess! :-)

i've not at any point said that 'the lesbian can do no wrong', i've also not said that bradley + laura is queerbaiting at any point. i don't believe either of those things to be true

i think the fact that laura is being read as 'pushy' for setting clear, emotionally healthy boundaries with other people is very telling though and says a lot about what we think of people who - after years of working on themselves - are able to articulate calmly what they do and do not want from their life. it's funny to me that you've said laura went 'very pissy' the 'one time bradley said no to something' like, was she upset? yes obviously, they'd both been through a shit day + i appreciate that the writers acknowledged that that day was also shit for laura, even if the focus was understandably on bradley. does that also mean she was unnecessarily argumentative about the situation? no lol........ she says what she wants, explains why she wants it + ultimately says to bradley 'ok do what u have to do with your brother, go home + we'll see each other tomorrow'. you seem to think i believe ALL lesbian characters 'can do no wrong' or that i'm looking for moral purity in the lesbian characters i watch.......... which is just not true lol, i've enjoyed laura as a character so much because it feels rare to see a character who has clearly acknowledged she had shit to work through AND has actually worked on it, so i guess? kudos to the writers for that. my problem comes in the fact that laura's boundaries + her emotional maturity is being read by the audience as 'pushy' or 'pissy' behaviour lol

i agree there just wasn't time for them to talk things through or for bradley to get therapy and i agree that you can feel left alone even if you understand why someone went. but i guess if we're gonna be pedantic that my issue with what reese said was that laura abandoned bradley, not that bradley felt that laura had abandoned her. but whatever, i get that actors sometimes don't think about the things they say in bts stuff/interviews, i just think that was maybe an unhelpful thing to hear after the last episode

yes, bradley clearly was in a crisis in the last episode for understandable reasons! so i think it was probably questionable of cory to pick the moment where bradley was saying how overwhelmed she was feeling to finally confess his love for her. this confession was clearly meant to be the big climax for the finale + i can logically understand all the reasons the writers wanted that as their narrative climax/that they wanted the bradley/cory relationship as their cliffhanger but that doesn't mean i don't get to feel disappointed by that decision

like tbh, i'm actually just kind of tired of having to clarify that me being personally disappointed in the direction a show has gone is not an attack on every single thing the show is doing or that my disappointment means i'm missing 'the point'. i'm not engaging with the writers on twitter, i'm not complaining in the comments of actors' instagrams, i'm posting my thoughts on a show in the tiny corner of the internet i inhabit, you are free to disagree but i'm not about to stop voicing my disappointments in my space ! and i agree that more productive conversations need to be had in online spaces but the argument that queer women need to find a way of making their criticisms palatable to ostensibly straight writers/showrunners who can easily take that rep away or whatever, has never sat well with me

[elriel-oblivion]

So it's been four days so here's part two 😁 Just wanted to say a huge thanks to everyone who read/liked/commented/reblogged the last part! It was such an amazing response, especially given it was my first time posting my writing here, so thanks for all the love you shared 🥰🥰

Heads up, this part is actually part one from Elain's pov. Initially I wanted to continue from where the last part left off in Elain's pov, but as I was writing the background, I realised I'd written too much to just skip when Az gets to the estate and cut straight into a continuation of part one, so I ended up rewriting the whole thing in her view. So there's no new elriel moments, but you'll get a lot of new stuff anyway 😅 I would've said you don't have to read this part to understand part three, but when I was rereading the later parts a few hours ago, I realised there's some stuff that alludes to things in this part, so I strongly recommend you don't skip this 😅😅

Also, wow, some of my fave paragraphs I've ever written are in this part 😁 Bonus points if you can find them; there are four I'm thinking of in particular 😉

Word count: ~ 3.1K. Lemme know if you'd like to be tagged/removed 😊 Next part up in two or three days 😊

AO3

Ashes from the Deep

Part II

__

It had been a pretty uneventful day as Elain worked through her new plant textbook. Feyre and Rhysand had decided to spend the weekend away at the mountain cabin, Cassian and Nesta were away doing things she wished not to think of, and Mor was at the Winter Court.

Amren had only been round in the mornings, probably to check Elain was still alive. She'd glance round the living room, examine some of those fine crystal glasses in the display cabinet and then leave. There was no difference today, though Elain always felt Amren's scrutiny upon her even when that muted silver gaze was directed elsewhere; perusing Rhys' wine collection had become a tired ruse.

So besides preparing and taking her meals with Nuala and Cerridwen, Elain had spent her afternoon with her book, making notes and copying drawings. The twins had gone off on some errands, so she'd wandered into the garden at some point to tend to her many plants, telling them how lovely they each were. The crocuses looked particularly stunning this autumn day, their pale violet colour breathing life into the shades beneath some of the trees.

With her book, she'd identified new weeds, digging into the soil to rip some pesky ones out. Sometimes she didn't want the help of a tool; sometimes she needed to feel those roots on her bare skin.

Harvesting the carrots and beetroot was also on the agenda today, along with seeding for some spectacular displays next year. She'd been collecting the seeds from some of her summer blooms, like those soft clouds of baby's breath, saving them to replant. These she sowed directly into ground she'd prepared days before, her fingers digging into the crumbly clumps of earth.

Autumn onions she'd plant tomorrow, perhaps. Feyre always remarked on how their strong taste complimented meats well, so Elain wanted to harvest some fresh for her sister for once. It'd take a few months of waiting, but there was little else better than picking out and eating food one had grown with their bare hands and the essential ingredients of love and care.

Setting her book on the patio table, Elain surveyed the garden. It was a good day's work. Plants watered and sown, weeds uprooted, and hands sweaty and soiled, Elain was proud of what she'd achieved today. There were no distractions, nothing to take her from the one thing she always found satisfaction in.

After a long shower, she found herself back in the garden with a cup of tea and a blanket. The sunset washed the sky in a blaze of red and orange glory before it yielded to the cool tones of twilight then night. Elain sat in silence, hands wrapped around her mug. How long would it be until someone's arms were wrapped around her, until she felt the warmth her sisters finally had?

Silly, these thoughts. Immortality stretched far ahead, there would be time to develop that companionship. Months and years were but a heartbeat in the life of a High Fae. She wouldn't even notice the years pass.

Or so everybody else kept saying.

With her tea finished, she perused the book of recipes she'd borrowed from Nuala. Some recipes jumped out, ingredients for which she'd been growing for a few months now. Pumpkin pie sounded especially delightful, the gourd having almost darkened and hardened to ripe quality just a couple days ago. They should be ready for harvest tomorrow.

A chill wind sent Elain inside to prepare and have her dinner in pleasant silence. Even her mind was quiet tonight. After washing her dishes, she stood by a bay window, fingers idly tapping the windowsill.

Faelights bobbed like tiny lamps, dotted through the garden. The full moon was now high in the sky, its ghostly glow illuminating the datura flowers she'd seeded half a year ago. She pulled on her blanket and went out again for a better look at those gorgeous blooms, the petals opening only at night.

Elain couldn't be happier she'd found seeds of a triple-flowered variety. They'd grown to produce large trumpets, three layers of petals ruffled against each other. Somehow she thought of her sisters as she crouched and stared at the flowers, each layer so similar, yet fighting for space and breath as it unfurled before another. It was only when they were all fully open that they could sigh along the night breeze as one, an ethereal song of togetherness, tinged with notes of poignancy, only heard by those with the will to look deeper.

The white petals were stained with velvet violet, a true vision in her garden. While the others had given her passing compliments on the flowers, Azriel had seemed stunned the first time he saw them, citing them his favourite of all the plants Elain had grown so far. Something about their shape and contrasting colours, he'd mentioned.

She smiled fondly at the memory, where his eyes sparkled as he reached for one of the soft petals.

Her hand lashed out to grab his wrist. 'Don't touch them; the leaves and stems are highly poisonous.'

His brows rose. 'You wouldn't think that at first sight. But they're beautiful, Elain. Truly magnificent,' he said, his smooth voice so low, a voice that was night given sound. And how befitting, as even those datura flowers seemed enraptured by his presence, one shy petal finally unfurling towards him.

She beamed at him. 'They like you. Flowers like it when you talk to and compliment them - but these ones haven't given me the same reaction as they have to you. I think they really like you, Azriel.'

His answering smile was heartbreakingly tender.

A few more seconds passed before she realised she still held his wrist. She silently let go.

It was a shame she'd have to dig out the datura shrub and move it inside for the winter; it did look magnificent in the moonlight.

The sky shifted past its midnight velvet, and still Elain crouched, admiring the flowers. She shivered in the night's chill. The stars above twinkled and glistened, cold and distant as ever, yet stunning - infinitely more striking than they'd ever been when she was human. A thousand different colours sparkled in that vast expanse, the moon a phosphorescent queen in the centre of her court.

The Night Court truly lived up to its name in the wee hours of the day. Its opulence never failed to mesmerise her; the enhanced Fae eyesight was at least one thing she was grateful for from this body.

Her eyelids became heavy and she yawned. Why was she still out here? It was late into the night; she should be in bed by now. But the night was so beautiful and it was so quiet and she wanted to appreciate it all just once. Just once without the expectations of others, without having to wear that miserable smile all the time.

Of course, it didn't look miserable, which is probably why almost nobody ever bothered to look deeper into Elain. She should be used to it by now, but it still felt - wrong. That most overlooked her so long as she wore a smile. That most didn't think her capable of feeling the utter bitterness and loneliness she had once seen so plain on her sisters' faces.

And in acknowledgement of her sisters' hardships, Elain didn't fault them for not looking, for not seeing her. To see past the thick blanket of darkness in one's own mind was a trial in itself. But it had been years since the war now. And still they didn't notice.

They didn't notice that Elain was being shredded from the inside out.

It was almost laughable. But not funny enough.

No, it was not funny that people still treated Elain like a child, that people wanted to keep Elain in some weird impasse of a stage between child and adult. She'd thought finally carrying out her duty and giving her hand in marriage would show everyone that she was growing up: Elain Archeron, middle born but first married. Of course it was still on her own terms, to a man whom she'd loved. A man who'd seen her through the rubble of her family's lives. But she'd overall hoped doing what was expected of her would be enough.

Clearly not. She didn't even know who she was any more. Did she ever? Everything she'd once yearned for, gone. That fragile human life would soon be just a speck on the horizon of her past.

She sighed. Rebuilding herself was going to take a long time.

But what would she have to do for people to see her, to listen to her? Throw a rage? Fall into a drunken stupor and break a few dozen bottles?

She definitely could, but those were not her. She was Elain Archeron. And so she would wait. Patience wasn't a bad thing at all; she saw it on the shadowsinger's face all the time, that tranquility and calmness she so wished to feel inside.

Azriel. Her heart softened as he entered her mind again, and she dug her fingers into the soil, if only to occupy her fidgety hands. As sure as the chaos of her visions these days, there was a mess of butterflies related to him she wasn't willing to show. Or understand.

Elain and the spymaster? Now that was laughable. Truly laughable. He was wise and patient, while she - well, everyone already thought her a child, and though he listened like no other around her, surely even he couldn't glimpse the adult she so desperately wanted everyone to see.

No, it was foolish to entertain the idea of a relationship with him. No matter how much he saw.

No matter that he was the first to see her since Graysen.

Elain exhaled. She stifled another yawn, smoothing out the soil, then brushed her hands clean. She wrapped the blanket closer around herself and stood. Twinkling stars and velvety darkness and -

There, a knot of shadows materialising at the far edge of the garden, collecting and swirling into a larger mass before Azriel himself stepped out and sagged against a tree. His shadows whirled and obscured him, a dark fire with him burning at the core.

Elain's voice left her throat before she even thought to call him and she ran over to his figure slumped in the dimness.

She couldn't help but say his name again as she neared. 'Azriel!'

Those beautiful hands fiddled with a Siphon, but he looked even worse up close. Fatigue dragged at his body, a second weight to all the muscle and armour he already had to carry. Sweat and dirt clung to him, his hair. At least the shadows were parting, swallowing each other and misting away as they often did around her. Perhaps she should ask someday why they did that. But not today, not when his breathing was so laboured.

She raised a hand - to do what, she had no idea. She couldn't just touch him right now. 'You don't look okay.'

Something else limned his features as he huffed a light laugh and said, 'I'm fine, don't worry.' His voice was raw, so starkly different to its usual icy smoothness. It was common for him to guard his emotions, but in his state, this kind of thinking was just unhealthy. What would it take for him to be honest with her?

'You don't have to pretend with me, Azriel,' she said, lowering her hand. She studied the ground, embarrassed that she'd come up to him. What could she even offer in her pathetic childlike state when he was so clearly affected by his mission right now?

His hand rose. Her heart faltered, she had to do something, and she blurted, 'Can I wash your hair, please?'

His eyes widened, his entire composure crumbling. It wasn't often that the shadowsinger looked startled, but Elain was far too shy to show that she quite liked the effect her question had on him.

'You want to wash my hair?'

His face was so exquisite, it hurt to look at it. His eyes would be even worse; it wouldn't be the first time she was rendered speechless by their kind gaze. A myriad of colours swirled in their glistening depths - gorgeous greens and brilliant browns, all so natural and rich, if only she could look at them long enough to find their matches in the garden around her. Though, his eyes were an entire spectrum of colour in their own right. How would she ever pick out each and every shade?

And if she somehow did have the courage to meet his eyes now, what would she see of herself in their reflection?

A lovesick puppy? A doe-eyed, fearful fawn?

No, she didn't want to know.

So she swallowed and focused on his hair. Perhaps this Fae eyesight was a curse, for even his hair was shockingly fascinating. Only flat black from a distance, the faelights bobbing about the trees highlighted layer upon layer of silky raven locks up close. His hair was so dark it seemed to absorb the surrounding light. Mud stained one side of his head, and it was an effort to keep her hands from brushing it away, so she said, 'I'm positive that's mud and you shouldn't sleep with that in your hair. It'll only take a few minutes.'

He ran a hand through his hair, clumps of dirt falling out.

'You've managed to get some on your face, too.' There were light specks of mud and blood across his face, a more noticeable patch along his cheekbone, thrown into sharper relief by the faelights and his own weariness. Was that a cut beneath the patch? And another on his temple?

She leashed her arms.

What had happened? He wore the signs of a fight, but why would he come here when he knew Elain was the only one home?

His eyes bored into her face, but she refused to meet them. He seemed to lean forward then, stumbling.

Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous that he wouldn't even acknowledge he was in need. Azriel rarely stumbled. Any fatigue Elain had felt just a while ago was now burrowing down a little longer. Her voice was firm when she spoke. 'I'm washing your hair. It'll help relax you into falling asleep.'

His brows rose, but if Elain stood there one more moment she wouldn't have the courage to do anything for him. For herself - she could take care of someone else. She could do for Azriel what she hadn't done for Feyre all those years as a human.

And for Azriel, she could tend to the male who'd provided her with comfort and safety in this world of distress and danger.

So she pulled him along, clenching her jaw and refusing to look back. Her heart hammered in her chest but she continued, hand wrapped round his armoured arm. Her hand slid down to his wrist but just as she was about to replace her grip, he grabbed her other hand and pulled her into him.

The shadows instantly began to ensconce them, dozens of those cool tendrils twining like vines. The estate loomed huge before them, and Elain gripped Azriel's hand tighter. 

'My bathroom,' she said. Beneath the low whisper of those shadows, her blood thrummed, her heart so painfully obvious against her ribs now. It would be a wonder if the spymaster wasn't aware of it. Though she did hear another flutter above, right by her ear. But as expected, the shadows made quick work of their journey and she didn't have the chance to dwell on it further.

Now out of the comfort of Azriel's hold, Elain set down her blanket and made to grab a chair from her bedroom. His dark presence was so overwhelming that she exhaled lightly as she entered the room and took the chair. She dragged it to the sink, avoiding his gaze, and pulled a towel, soap and a large jug from the cupboard by the door.

As she settled the soap and jug on the sink, she dared a glance at him. He was still clad in full armour, those black scales gleaming like obsidian over his skin, his Siphons glistening jewels across his body. 'I think you'll have to collapse your armour for this,' she said.

He inclined his head and tapped a Siphon, those scales lashing back into each other with cruel elegance. They were a mirror of their master: cold, controlled and unyielding, forged from scintillating darkness. He was a night sky riddled with stars; light existed if only one bothered to look for it.

Azriel's great wings righted themselves as he stood straight, now looking smaller in just his black tunic and trousers. Something about him seemed vulnerable without the armour, so Elain breathed, 'It's beautiful, all of it.' The hulking armour, the classic simplicity of the tunic and trousers, and the male who wore them all.

He was just so wonderful, Azriel. An enigma that could see her own. Her heart clenched.

Azriel rustled his wings, colour blossoming on his cheeks.

Elain blinked and pulled the chair out a little. 'Please sit.' As he sunk down, she rested the towel on his shoulders, hovering her fingers above his forehead. Her body tensed and her fingers remained suspended. It was like a spark of tension flickered in the space between their skin, teasing her, tempting her, taunting her.

After all, she'd offered to wash his hair, an act that would certainly require touching. But why was she so hesitant? She'd touched him before - kissed his cheek, even. Although that had been in the heat of adrenaline, a mark of her gratitude where a simple thank you wouldn't suffice, not for risking his own life for hers.

This was - what was this?

She finally lowered her fingers through that tense spark, pushing his head back against the sink. It was exhilarating, this contact, but he lowered his wings, shifting on the seat. Elain moved into the space he gave, turning on the tap as he went still. Just as her body was taut, taut as the skin of a drum.

She checked the water. Warm. It was time to start.

Azriel was looking up at her. Something like yearning swirled in his eyes.

He looked so tired. It made her heart ache.

'You can close your eyes,' Elain whispered. And he did.

___

Feedback's welcomed; thanks for reading 😊

If anyone wants to know what the datura flowers look like, CTTO:

@illyrian-lover-flower @julesherondalex @nooriee @mis-lil-red @verifiefangirl @tswaney17

[ask-mirror-and-prime-simon]

The Mirror Car II

Summary: A familiar face implores Simon to confront his feelings

A/N: None

Chapter: 3/?

Word Count: 1.9k

Warning: Implied suicidal thoughts/Self hatred

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

"Hey...are you okay?"

His eyes burned as he forced them open,face still warm and bright red. "What do you think?"

"Simon...I'm sorry..."

"Stop it"

The other looked to him with confusion. "Huh?"

"Stop it" Simon repeated. "Stop apologizing,its annoying"

"But I made you upset,even if I did get mad I shouldn't have taken it out on you"

"You're so patronizing,you know that?" The boy said. "Stop acting like you're better than me"

"I'm not trying to" He attempted to explain. "I'm just saying sorry"

"Then stop saying it in my voice!" His prime snapped. "I can take dealing with nulls that want to fight back but I'm not letting you mock me"

"I'm not mocking you!" The other insisted. "I can't help sounding like you or looking like you,I was just born like this"

"Then I'll make you!" He lunged towards the other,right hand ready to grab him by the hair while the left reached for the glass shard. His knuckles were first to hit the reflective surface,the boy letting out a pained hiss before shooting him a glare. "Get out of there and fight me!"

"I don't want to fight you!" The reflection shouted. "Just please talk to me! I can help fix everything,just-"

Simon swung his leg forth,kicking the cube by his side with as much force as he could muster. His foot ached from the harsh slam against the chrome but he dare not stop. He continued to swing and kick with frustrated grunts,hoping that eventually he would knock that sorrowful look off the douple-gangers face. Yet each time he pulled away all he saw was himself,arms shielding his face with a look of fear in his eyes. The sight was enough to make his blood boil.

"Stop it!" The other begged with a cracked voice,scared that the barrier could somehow break. "Just listen to me! I want to fix everything too!"

Simon froze,foot hovering over where the other's face would be. "What?"

"I want to find Grace," He said. "I want to find her so we can start over but be better"

"Why would I want to get better if I was never wrong to begin with?" Simon asked. "You're just as brainwashed as she was"

"You know you were wrong" His reflection said. "If...If you really did think you were right you wouldn't be here"

The passenger grew a sneer,hands curled into a fist. "I'm here to find Grace and take her home. She's been in that projection thing long enough to be back to normal"

"But you don't want to leave her there" His reflection began. "And I know this has been eating you up since then. I felt everything you did when it happened and I know you felt something"

He slammed his fist into the wall,looking to the other with rage. "You don't know anything!"

The other flinched,Simon leaning in closer. "You don't know what we've been through together,you don't know how much it hurt knowing she picked that null over someone she knew for ten years,YOU DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH IT HURTS KNOWING EVERYTHING WAS A LIE!"

Tears welled in the corner of his Prime's eyes,the mirror boy slowly reaching out for him. "Simon..."

His face grew red,the corners of his sneer twitching as he struggled to keep from sobbing. "We've been together for ten years...the Apex wasn't just some after school group we made. Leading it by her side...I just...I felt like I had a purpose. I actually meant something here"

"You are here for a reason" His reflection reminded him softly. "You're here to get better and heal"

"From what?" The boy questioned. "Coming here was the best thing to ever happen to me and you want me to give everything up just because some old woman said I had to?"

"Well,Grace tried to"

"And look where she is now"

There was a moment of silence,the passenger wiping the tears from his eyes. The chrome boy laid back against the barrier,listening to his sniffling. "I just thought...I thought you'd get better after hearing everything."

"Hear what? That I'm the worst,most worthless person alive and I should rot away?" The boy let out a weak chuckle. "Yeah,I really needed to hear that"

"I never said that" His reflection quickly responded. "What I'm saying is..." He took a deep breath,leaning against the barrier separating their worlds. "You messed up,but you can still fix it"

"How?" Simon asked,defeat in his tone. "I can't just go back and pretend nothing happened. What if...what if she hates me?"

"I mean..." He hesitated a moment before looking away. "I wouldn't blame her,we deserve it"

“Stop acting like you did anything '' Simon half heartedly demanded.

"But I'm a part of you and you-"

"You are NOT a part of me" He quickly said. "You're just - just a stupid,stupid null that's making me say dumb shit"

"I'm..." He hesitated,brushing aside the idea of correcting him. "But you said all of this to me,maybe you can say it to her"

"As if she'd let me," The Prime said bitterly.

"Well...maybe I can do it"

Simon raised an eyebrow,looking to him. "What?"

"You said I didn't do anything right?" He asked. "I know you're scared to say this to her,so what if I tell her for you?"

"Why would she listen to you?" He shot back. "You're just a null"

"She listened to Hazel," The other reminded him. "I know I don't mean as much as you did to anyone,but maybe she'll listen to me"

"And how are you going to talk to her huh?" Simon folded his arms,an annoyed look in his eye. "You can't even get out to fight me"

"I know how but...but we'll have to switch places. Only one of us can go,” he explained nervously.

The other held back a laugh,a twisted grin peaking through in its place. As if he'd let a null trick him into another sort of trap. Just as he thought,they could never be trusted. What a waste of time. "Wow,I can't believe I almost let you trick me"

"I'm not trying to trick you!" His reflection said in a panic. Damn it,he was so close to actually letting him acknowledge the long list of screw ups. "I'm trying to help you,I promise"

"Nice try null" His smile quickly fell,the boy pressing his hand against the chrome. "Tell anyone about anything I said and I'll kill both of us"

He began to stand,heading back towards the door. The reflection stood with terrified tears in his wide eyes. No,he could still change! He believed him,if only he'd just listen! "WAIT!"

He reached for his Prime,their palms finally touching save for the thin chrome barrier. His feet were slowly lifted off the ground,the world spinning with him as he let out a scream. Just as fast as the spinning had started it stopped,the boy left shakily standing.

The reflection nervously looked around,trying to make sense of what had just happened. The air felt different somehow,more fresh and cold on his metal skin. A sudden feeling burst in his chest,a shaky hand placing a hand over the area.

A heartbeat

His eyes grew wide at the sudden revelation. He was out,finally free. Tears welled in his eyes,falling like rain drops as he looked at his own reflection in his palms. "I...I'm real"

"HEY!"

His happiness was short lived,the boy looking below him to find the other banging on the chrome floors. He hurled profanities at him,fighting to return to the other side.

"Simon!" He immediately fell to his knees,eyes full of worry. "Are you okay?"

"YOU TRICKED ME!"

The once reflection flinched,a wince on his face. "I-I didn't mean to-"

"YOU LIAR!" The other yelled. "I SHOULDN'T HAVE TRUSTED YOU! YOU NULLS ARE ALL THE SAME! YOU'RE ALL JUST THE WORST!"

The boy's face grew warm,another brand new feeling,finally shouting. "You wouldn't be in there if you just listened!"

"I DON'T NEED TO LISTEN TO ANYONE!"

"You should've listened to Grace!"

Simon tensed,sneer frozen on his face.

"This never would've happened if you just listened!"

The other opened his mouth to find any sort of retort,words sharp as a blade to destroy the person who dared make him spill such raw emotions. No,he's a liar just like everyone else,how could he lie to himself and say he felt sorry about doing the right thing? All he'd have to do was wake Grace up and go back home and pretend nothing ever happened.

But...could he even do that now?

"What if...what if she hates me?"

He grit his teeth,body trembling as his eyes grew watery. All he could imagine was the girl he loved so much waking from her torturous nightmare and staring at him. Her usually kind eyes would hold nothing but malice,betrayal even as she looked at him with unfiltered disgust.

"I hate you" She would shout between sobs. "I'd rather die than have anything to do with you!"

Warm tears rolled down his cheeks,lowering his head so the other couldn't see the pain only his dearest friend had ever witnessed. His entire body shook,breathing heavy as he held back a sob.

"Simon..."

"Just get out," He choked. "Get out and leave me to die"

The other remained silent,anger melting back into concern. He debated on whether or not to switch back,a part of him knowing exactly where he would walk straight to first,flesh torn in the train wheels.

"I'll come back for you" He said softly. "I'll fix everything and come back,I promise"

"Go away..."

Reluctantly he sat up,feeling something sharp under his palm. He lifted his hand,finding the glass shard lovingly handed to him by the young Lucy. By the looks of it,it was probably best to keep anything sharp as far away from his Prime as possible.

He quickly tucked it in his sock,glass pressing against his ankle. With that he stood,giving the boy one last glance before opening the dark wood door.

The air was fresh,whipping his metal hair back. With a deep breath he stepped outside,fully expecting to be pulled right back in.

Nothing.

For the first time he stood with both feet out the door,entire body free from the shackles of the mirror world. He watched the world around him,the train even bigger than he could ever imagine. So many cars,so many new worlds full of life that he could only dream of seeing before.

He stepped forward,flinching once he caught sight of the spinning wheels. No - it's fine - Simon’s in the chrome car and Grace wouldn’t hurt any denizen after the brief moment of happiness she had with Hazel. It's...It's fine. Everything’s fine.

In the wheel he caught a glimpse of himself. That face...the longer he looked the more his stomach churned.

Careful hands undid the small ponytail,blond hair falling to his shoulders. He reached for the hem of his sweater,pulling the article up and over until it was off and crumpled into a hasty clump of fabric and twine. Shaky arms held the ball of old belongings over the railing,eyes shut tight. No more wheeling,not after this.

The boy let the elastic fall,band snapping as the fabric ripped under the wheels into scraps and thread. He hesitantly opened an eye,looking to his reflection once more. It was a start at least.

He turned back to the bridge,continuing the long walk onwards. What lay ahead,even he wasn’t entirely sure. What he did know was one thing,he was going to fix whatever mess was left behind by his Prime. It didn’t matter how long it would take,just so long as no one else had to suffer anymore.

[aureatesvn]

Economy//Jaebeom

Content: humour, fluff(?) if you squint

Model!Jaebeom has never been so confused.

Or,

An avid display of the frustrations of the rich (and supposedly famous).

People came and went like clockwork, each individual blurring into a mass flow of luggage and sweatpants and crying children, lord save him from the crying children. The airport was just a disaster waiting to happen, but he found an awkward kind of comfort in the timeless feel of the place. It was the same routine every time, arrive a few hours early, pass through security, don his trusty bucket hat and find somewhere to wait. With a book, preferably. This time was no different, aside from the… minor intrusion.

It had been less than an hour since he'd made himself comfortable in his isolated corner of the seating area, it was a nice spot and he was quite proud of himself for finding it, to be honest. He'd scoured almost a quarter of the airport (the quarter he was confined to), and it had taken exactly 38 minutes, but he'd eventually gravitated towards the large windows where the morning sunlight was streaming in from. A few moments later, he'd snagged the perfect spot. It was sort of a treasure-hunt type game to him, and he'd undeniable succeeded.

Unfortunately now he was feeling dozy, the warmth of the sun warming him, and the ebbing of people passing by allowing him some peace. It was the perfect setting for a nap, and he'd all but given up on trying to focus on his book. He needed a cold drink, which meant he had to go find a cold drink… He surveyed the area for any nearby cafés or bars, and was left with a single option he could make out if he squinted into the distance, that's where he'd have to go then. 

With a resigned sigh, he started collecting his things, unwilling to part with his spot, when a brilliant idea struck him. Possibly the best idea he'd had in his entire life, really. 

He returned the things to their original places, jacket across the back of the chair, bag (which he'd taken his phone and wallet out of) planted decisively on the seat. He considered leaving his hat as well, but eventually decided that was a step too far, and stepped back to assess his work. 

Well, the seat was indisputably taken, and anyone who would argue otherwise was either blind (in which case he'd happily offer up the seat anyway), or specifically looking to cause trouble. He possibly could have worried a bit more about theft and such, but as it was, he took it as a test of the upstanding airport security and didn't think much more of it. 

Happy with his spot secured, he smiled to himself and ambled his way to the café, peering back every so often to check no one was getting too close to his place. He had one or two stares at how he was forced to angle his head in a rather ostrich-esque way, but it was most definitely worth it. Eventually he was too far away to see, and focused on getting his drink and getting back as soon as possible. 

He was halfway back with his lime soda when he saw it. Actually, he'd seen it a bit before then, but had been in denial about the rather horrible turn of events, and so hadn't quite believed his eyes. He most definitely believed them now. As he drew closer, the scene he was nearing didn't get any less horrifying. In fact, when he was close enough to feel the need to cautiously side-step his way to his belongings, it was decidedly more awful than he'd anticipated from a distance. 

There was someone right there. 

Not on his chair, his things were still perfectly in place, untouched, but at the uncomfortably close distance of the very-next-seat along, there was a person. And all their things. 

He stood over his seat, trying to process the events that led up to this, not quite fully understanding how the obviously taken seat hadn't deterred this female (he thought she was female, at least) from making herself at home in the 2 seat radius surrounding the chair. Least of all, what had prompted her to sit right next- 

'Is there a problem?'

Yes yes yes yes yes absolutely, please leave.

'Sorry?' was all he could choke out.

She was looking up at him, but somehow managed to be looking down her nose, and he had enough sense in him to recognise she felt rich. Or maybe it was her small(ish) collection of branded items. Fendi? Jackson would have a field day. 

'I asked if there was a problem? I don't appreciate being ogled at.'

He was at a loss for words, he hadn't expected her to be so… brusque. Usually strangers at the airport interacted with a stilted politeness, lots of half-bows, please and thank yous, maybe she didn't get the memo? Taking a sip of his lime soda, he noted that Saint Laurent was also present within her collection. How ironic. 

'Ah, no, I wasn't looking at you, these' he gestures to his bag, 'are my belongings…'

He's not quite sure what he was expecting, but whatever it was, it absolutely wasn't for her to look possibly more offended than she had been before he'd spoken. Maybe she'll move if I upset her enough? 

As he half heartedly checks himself for thinking such a thing, she swivels her head back and forth between him and his things, the sunlight glinting off of her hair.

'They're,' she points at his seat, 'yours?'           

She points at him, disbelief written across her face. They stay like that in silence for a few moments, at an impasse.

He coughs awkwardly and takes another sip.

'Yes…?' 

At this point he's thinking it maybe wasn't worth it, and it would be easier for him to just find a different spot, without the oddly confrontational scenery.

'Are you sure?'

He chokes on his lime soda. Through spluttering and coughing and the highly unpleasant burning (fizzing) at the back of his throat, he resolutely decides he's not letting her chase him away from his spot. He got there first anyway. 

Fighting mindset truly in place, he sets her with a condescending smile, and drawls out his question like he would to address a rather irritating child.

'You don't believe that the bag and jacket that I put on that chair, walked over to collect, and said were mine are… mine?'

He sees the realisation dawn on her, and fights the urge to laugh (not because he wanted to be polite, but because his throat was still tingling and he was sure he'd end up coughing again if he laughed at her). She pouts and waves a manicured hand between them, shaking her head.

'No, no, it's just people travelling... economy… tend to…y'know...have...' 

People travelling eco- What?

He blinks at her, once again unsure what to say. 

'WAIT- Not- Not that economy is a bad thing or anything, that's not what I meant-'

A part of him is relieved that there are obviously people out there who are far worse than him at meeting strangers. The other part of him is bitter that he had to meet one of them. He's certain the ice in his soda has melted at this point, and curses her for (if nothing else) leaving him with a diluted room-temperature drink.

'Look, I'll just take my things and-' he spots a relatively empty block across the seating area from them, and gestures to make sure she sees. She blinks up at him owlishly, as if waiting for him to go, and he sighs tiredly. The polite thing to do is to offer to move instead. 

After approximately 15 seconds, he gives up, collects his jacket and bag, and trundles over to the less sunny, less quiet, and overall less comfortable seating block. 

He spends the next two hours trying to lose himself in his book, checking the flight status and complaining to the guys about the awful encounter.

At roughly 11:45 he finally hears the boarding announcement,

Flight KE418 to Seoul will be boarding shortly, please proceed to gate 117.

And by some sheer luck, he finds himself at the very front of the queue when the man at the desk starts checking passports and boarding passes. 

He practically skips his way down the corridor to the plane, buzzing with excitement. He's almost home. The flight attendant smiles at him, checks his pass and escorts him to an aisle seat, and when he takes off his hat to push back his hair, there's a barely noticeable twitch of her lip to show that she recognises him before she disappears to attend to another passenger. 

He sinks into his seat, browsing movie options on the monitor, and is just about to put headphones on when he hears it.

'Oh, thank you, sorry, this seat? Thanks…'

That voice did not go with that meek tone at all. 

He looks up to see her nervously shuffling down the right-hand aisle, and slowing down when the attendant does, one seat ahead. Please no, let me have my flight in peace, lord if you have any mercy…

'This is seat 04, if you have further requirements or any issues, just let us know.'

As it turns out, the lord didn't have any mercy free today. 

He takes in her slight frame over the divider, made to look smaller by her hunched shoulders and clasped hands, before realising she's not yet sat down because she's been staring at him. Great, now all he had to do was figure out if she recognised him because she'd chased him away earlier, or because she'd seen his face in a magazine. Or both. 

He decides to take initiative, and smile politely at her, bowing his head. She's already slowly turning a deep pink and, somewhere in the back of his head, he thinks she's quite cute when she's flustered. 

With that thought, he decides he's in a good enough mood to tease her, and acknowledges that there's no way she won't have recognised his clothes (if not his face) from earlier.

'So, economy huh?'

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 14‐ Propositions

Pairings: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 2775

Warnings: None.

13- Wessex

...

It was the first time Artemis witnessed the funeral traditions of the northmen. One of Floki's ships was used, and Sigurd's body was carefully placed inside, along with his lute and other items of his that he may take with him in the after life. 

He appeared to be sleeping. His hands rested gently on his stomach, his sword placed in his lifeless grip. His flaxen hair was braided beautifully, revealing a face of tranquility. It was as if he hadn't met a tragic end. 

It was the second funeral she has witnessed in two days. Two innocent lives taken so easily and brashly.

Ivar had tears in his eyes, real tears of guilt and anguish that he fought to hold back. Surrounded among the others, he looked utterly defeated and lost, two things that Ivar never dared to express. Bjorn, Hvitserk and Ubbe mourned, their features stone cold. The ship Sigurd peacefully rested in was set to sail, engulfed by an arrow of fire as it trailed down the river Thames, away from his family.

There was complete silence after that.

The crowd erupted into low murmurs and slowly departed, leaving Artemis to stand next to her troubled master. He sniffled loudly, turning his red rimmed eyes to look at her before glaring and crawling away hastily into the settlement.

He needed time on his own.

...

"Floki has left." 

Ivar crawls into the forge, eyes red lined and watery. He throws himself into a corner like an old sack, his chest rising and falling rapidly from his rage, and perhaps from crying. Artemis was alone, much to his relief. Arvid was nowhere in sight, and Ivar felt more comfortable to drown himself in his self pity in her presence. 

She sits on a stool far from the the dying flames of the hearth, working in silence. She quickly acknowledges him with a glance before continuing her work sharpening a mighty sword belonging to King Harald. 

"Did you hear me?" Ivar demands, "Floki has left! He has left me!" He chokes, lowering his face into his hands, defeated.

Artemis frowns, pausing her use of the whetstone to take pity on him. Floki was the only other person who regarded him as more than just the boy who couldn't walk.

"I've heard of his departure," She answers softly, "He mourns his wife. I mourn her too." Ivar sniffles, noting her sad eyes. She was indeed mourning.

"Where has he gone?" She asks him.

"Somewhere," He chuckles bitterly, "Anywhere. I dont know." He picks up a random stone beside him, chucking it across the room, successful in knocking down a few tools. She jumps, the noise startling her.

"They are angry with me, all of them." He mutters, keeping his eyes low. He was not wrong. His brothers regarded him with a cold shoulder now. What Ivar viewed as an accident looked deliberate to the rest. 

Artemis listens as usual while he prattled on with his excuses. She never really did care for his excuses, but she did sympathize for him.

"I did not mean to do it, surely they know that." Ivar continues, turning his eyes to her again. Her silence bothered him immensely. She too hadn't uttered a word to him since the disastrous feast.

"Have you nothing to say?" He growls, manuvering himself to settle directly in front of her. He springs forward, using a hand to place it atop of hers, stopping her movements. She swallows thickly, and their eyes meet.

Something about her eyes spoke volumes, causing a fluttering feeling to invade his abdomine.

"Last I spoke out of turn, I was beaten." She finally says, her tone bitter. This was the last situation she should give an opinion about. 

Ivar huffs, snatching his hand back and crawling away from her in favor of looking out towards the crowded land that once belonged to King Ecbert. 

"I did not mean to kill my own brother." Ivar didn't turn to look at her, but his tone said it all. He was pleading for someone to believe him, even if it was his slave, "Surely, you believe me?" Still no response. 

"You may speak freely." He says after moment.

"I believe you let the anger get the best of you." Her words were cautious as she continues to run the whetstone down the length of the sword. Ivar grunts, running a hand down his face in frustration.

"Tell me the truth, Artemis, tell me what you really think." He hisses, swatting away a happily chirping bird that dared to land near him.

She sighs. Fine.

"I think you sometimes forget he was your brother. You took his life without thinking. It is shameful."

"Sigurd made me do it! He was always tormenting me, you know this," Ivar let's the words out through gritted teeth, "He hated me."

"You tormented him as well," Artemis points out, placing the whetstone to the side and inspecting the sharpness of the blade with her thumb. It was ready to go back to King Harald's waiting hands, "But he did not hate you." Ivar tears his eyes away from the calming nature of Wessex in favor of glancing at his slave. She sheathed the sword back in its place, focusing fully on her crippled master.

"He liked you, you know." Ivar mutters his eyes glazing over with emotion. Artemis knew what he meant by that. Sigurd made his attempts, but that was all in the dust now, burned alongside his body. 

She bites her lip, looking at him with those damn eyes. Ivar still had no idea how she did that. 

"He painted you to be very willing." He says, struggling to contain his growing anger. She scrunches her nose in obvious distaste.

"I thought Prince Sigurd kind once," She begins, pushing her hair away from her face "It did not mask his envy well." Ivar snorts, giving his head a shake in disbelief.

"King Harald will be leaving soon. May I take his sword to him?" Ivar makes an odd guttural sound, as if he wanted to say no, but nods his head in approval.

He quickly grabs a fistful of her trousers as she steps out, and she lets out a surprised yelp as she fought to keep her balance. 

"I did not believe him," Ivar mutters, his eyes pleading, "About your willingness." Artemis clutches the sword to her chest, giving him a quick nod.

"He...I will miss him." He whispers brokenly.

After a few seconds of fighting an internal battle, Artemis lowers herself to her knees beside the grieving prince, her fingertips gently grazing the skin of his hand.

"May the Prince rest in peace."

...

"Does my brother treat you well?" 

Bjorn asks, eyeing the cross that peaked out from her bodice. The gold had a slight shine to it, and reminded him of the cross his late father use to carry around in the days he'd seen him last. Artemis casts him a lazy glance before continuing her work. She places a leg on the ancient well for support, using her strength to pull the ropes to retrieve the bucket of water.

"He is decent." She grunts, hoisting the bucket tightly in both hands. Bjorn moves to help her, snatching the bucket from her small hands with such ease that it made her roll her eyes. She never really cared for this particular Ragnarson. He annoyed her greatly.

"That isn't necessary." She says, knowing perfectly well she was capable on her own. Bjorn didn't listen, continuing down the short path he knew she'd take. Artemis follows behind him, realizing she had forgotten how large he was in stature. She barely made it to the height of his chest.

"I have a proposition for you," He says, stopping to place the bucket near the entrance of the forge. 

"Proposition?" Going to grasp the bucket, Bjorn stops her in order to get her full attention. Her brows furrow, but she allows him to stop her, crossing her arms in annoyance.

"As you know," He begins, "I plan on returning to the Mediterranean." He takes caution in speaking low.

"I am aware." 

"I think it will be an advantage to bring you along. You speak the languages of the east, you can be a translator while we navigate. Does this interest you?" 

It steals her attention immediately. It almost sounded like a dream. She ponders the idea.

"You cannot expect me to aid you in raiding my people." She counters.

"We will just be exploring," Bjorn says with a cheeky smile, "It is merely an adventure, an exploration of your world and of the old gods." She narrows her eyes at him, not too keen on his answer. She doubted Bjorn planned on sailing to the Mediterranean without the intentions of raiding.

"Well? Does this interest you?" He repeats.

"It does," She says after a moment, "But what's in it for me?"

"I will allow you to go back to Crete," Bjorn says with a shrug, "Right my wrongs. It would be as if you never left."

Artemis licks her dry lips, her mind immediately conjuring an image of an angry Ivar.

"Ivar would not allow it." 

"No," Bjorn agrees, "You are of value to him, but there is no need for him to know. Think about it." He leaves her with a smile and a pat on the shoulder. 

She wonders if she should trust him. Bjorn was a mystery of a man, but he promised her Crete, and that was all she wanted.

She sighs, bending to grasp the bucket of forgotten water. Hoisting it up, she returns to her duties, feeling Arvid's eyes on her. He stood there with a pensive look, as if trying to read her thoughts. She realized he's eavesdropped on the conversation, and that look was enough to know he had opinions.

"Don't." She says, walking past him and into the heat of the hearth. 

"You must be daft," He mocks, watching her place the bucket on a stool. She rolled up the sleeves of her shirt before getting to work.

"Do you think you can just leave? Ivar will kill you!" Artemis ignored his prattle, already growing accustomed to the useless babble of men. She doesn't grace him with an answer, moving to work on Ivar's smaller weapons.

"Artemis!" 

"What!" She drops the hammer with a loud bang against the anvil, causing Arvid to wince at the noise, "What have you to say?"

"You're thinking about leaving with Bjorn." 

"I've been far from home for long enough." Arvid crosses his arms over his chest like an angry child. 

"And you trust Bjorn?" He hisses, slowly approaching her.

"He is the of a man you and your people came to fight for. Should I not trust him?" She hisses back, "He offers me an opportunity." Artemis glares up at him, gripping the hammer tightly.

"You risk your life!"

"Then it is a risk I must take. I've no purpose here."

"You do not realize how lucky you are," Arvid scoffs, "You are treated well. Most slaves cannot say the same."

"So you wish for me to stay with the Prince then? Is that it?" Artemis feigns confusion, "I think you say these things for yourself. You do not realize how selfish you sound." Arvid sputters, mouth going slack and brows arched high. He turns away from her when he had no retaliation.

"This does not concern you." There was a finality in her tone, enough to express that she's had enough of the conversation.

Arvid had never witnessed her anger before. Her demeanor was strong willed, and he knew there would be no way to sway her thoughts. He didn't want her to leave. It was quite selfish of him, really.

Looking at her angry eyes reminded him of Ivar's.

...

The brothers bickered until they decided their next destination.

York.

A prominent city not far from Wessex, York would be their next conquest. Ivar was dead set on invading more land, while Ubbe was against the idea, wanting to settle down and work the land given to them. In the end, Ivar's charisma won everyone over, and plans to attack York were set into motion. 

There was so much talk of the grand city, that Artemis was almost sad she wouldn't be seeing the splendor for herself. But the last thing she wanted to witness was another city destroyed and covered in blood, just as the monestary has been desecrated months ago. There were more important things to worry about. 

It hadn't been an easy decision for her, surprisingly, as the obvious choice would be to leave with Bjorn if she wanted the slightest chance of seeing home again. But something was terribly off. It was a nagging feeling that tortured her to no end, like the discomfort of pins and needles over her skin. The nagging told her it was a mistake, that leaving would cause her more strife than peace. 

Artemis just wanted it to stop.

She thought she hated him. She wanted to hate him. 

The stupid cripple bastard.

He was dangerous, and he was everything she was taught to stand against, yet she realizes she slowly pined for him like a lovesick girl. 

Everything about Ivar was wrong, and yet her little heart told her otherwise. When was she to realize she harbored warmth for a hostile pagan? So what, he showed her a bit of kindness and that was enough to have her swooning? It was an embarrassment! Even now as she sat alone thinking to herself, her cheeks were dusted pink and she covered her face with her hands at the realization.

Prince Ivar. 

She liked him. 

"Shit." She mutters to herself, tugging at the roots of her hair in disbelief. Perhaps Ivar was right, she was weak as a baby bird.

Veikr.

It didn't matter. She has made her decision, and she chose Crete. If Bjorn was a man of his word, then she will reach her home and be reunited with her father in no time. In a perfect world, everything would be as it was.

The army was to leave to York in the early hours of the morning and Bjorn was set to leave the night before. Artemis had taken everything she thought she would need, though she struggled to leave Ivar's cloak behind. After debating with herself a hundred times, she leaves it, folding it neatly over her work station

She peeks out from the empty forge, eyeing all of Bjorn's men gathering around their ships for departure. 

She takes in an even breath. The nagging feeling returned, telling her Ivar would be furious. Ivar would be enraged, but she doubted he'd search for her across the seas, not when he and his army has been successful in England. Besides, she was sure he'd forget about her in time, she wasn't worth the trouble.

Tossing her satchel over her shoulder, she mutters a prayer and kisses her cross before taking quick steps toward the docks. She immediately spots Bjorn and Halfdan, chatting away while men around them placed items into the ships. 

She could almost taste the salt in the air, and she breathed in the winds of the mighty sea, her heart thumping erratically in nervousness.

But she didn't get close enough. 

She stops, a blunt blow over the head knocking her to her knees. For a mere moment pain bloomed over the afflicted area before her eyes rolled back.

...

The throbbing pain brought her back into conscience. 

Noise attacked her sensitive ears, the chatter of men, the sound of boots scuffing up the dirt, the laughter. It was too much.

She groans, feeling her body tumbling in the tight corner she was in. Once her head slammed against something, she forces her eyes open. Her vision was blurred, seeing the smallest hints of sunlight and shadows before blinking into focus. 

Immediately she recognizes Ivar's buckled legs. This was no ship bound to the Mediterranean. She was stuffed into his chariot like cargo. Bringing her hands to the base of the chariot, she shifts her body just enough to peer above her.

Ivar was livid. 

His jaw was clenched tight and his nose flarred. A hand held onto the reigns, the leather slapping loudly against the mare's back. His other hand was tightly gripping a familiar lump of fabric over his lap. 

He brings his glaring eyes down to look at her, his lips set in a sneer.

"You forgot something." He spits, roughly tossing the fabric onto her face. 

His cloak somehow still smelled of fresh pine.

...

@heavenly1927​ @didiintheblog​ @rastakami23

[doodlelolly0910]

Close Encounters of the Spiritual Kind

Summary: Emma Nolan spent a lot of time alone, and that was fine by her. Because one is never truly alone. She should know. She can talk to dead people. What she didn’t expect was one of these spiritual encounters to hang around, taking her down a rabbit hole of missing women, revenge, and, least expected, love. Can she save the day and Killian Jones? Is there even another choice?

Read it from the beginning on AO3 and FFN!

A/N: So I have been reliably informed that I am cruel and evil for this chapter sooooooo sorry? Lol. Some very big shifts happen here, but I won't say much more because I don't want to give too much away for this chapter or the chapters this affects in the future. You'll have to read and see ;) An especially large thank you this week to @kmomof4 who was very patient and efficient with this chapter, which made it possible for this to be posted on time (I had a really rough week lol) and of course thank you to @courtorderedcake because she's amazing, this art is amazing, and I'm just in awe of her period. *insert Wayne and Garth WE'RE NOT WORTHY bowing here* lol. Y'all are fabulous for all the reviews and favorites and reblogs and even just for reading this. I appreciate each and every one of you. Alrighty, on with the show, I hope you guys like it!

Chapter 13

Despite her better judgement, and the severity of the situation, Emma found herself managing Will Scarlett’s presence quite tolerantly. He reminded her of an annoying little brother, eating her sunflower seeds and spitting them all over himself, fiddling with her radio, trying to go through her console and glove box, making her thankful she’d locked the latter. It held her badge and gun in case of emergency.

“Take another left over here.” He pointed to an upcoming side street, happily bobbing his head to the music and chomping on another handful of seeds. Emma wrinkled her nose as he noisily slobbered shells into an empty convenience store cup.

“Can you not do that? It’s distracting. And disgusting,” she said, turning down the street he’d pointed out. She was glad she'd called Jefferson before they left and let him know she was waiting on Gold because this journey was taking much longer than she thought it would.

“Aw. Have I offended the princess’s delicate sensibilities?” he asked, grinning and still chewing on the seeds in his mouth. “Turn right up here.”

“Where are you even taking me?” Emma asked, complying with his instruction once more.

“Don’t trust me, love? I thought I had an honest face,” he grinned, a black bit of seed lodged in between his second and third upper teeth.  Emma rolled her eyes, and tightened her grip along the steering wheel. Much as she tolerated Will Scarlett, he was still a criminal leading her to a dangerous man in an unknown location. That, and he was infuriating.

“Can’t you just give a single straight answer?” she grumbled and suddenly, she recognized their surroundings. The smell of the sea permeated the vehicle, which was a welcomed break from the floral torture she’d been under for the last day solid, and she took a deep breath. “The docks, huh? I still have my knife if you’re trying to dump a body.” Will snorted.

“Hook would have more than me balls for somethin’ like that. And it’s broad daylight, if ya haven’t noticed,” he pointed out, motioning around them as the car came to a stop. “Not exactly prime conditions for corpse dumpin’.” With a final grin and a waggle of his ridiculous eyebrows, he opened the door and slipped from the vehicle like a cat. Emma was slower to respond, taking in her surroundings and a deep breath as she unbuckled her seatbelt. She exhaled slowly, trying to get her bearings, when her breath cut off short at the sight waiting for her.

Will was making his way towards a small pier where a figure stood staring out over the water. She knew even from behind that it was Killian Jones. His slightly overlong hair moved with the seaspray, his good hand tucked into the pocket of his leather jacket. His weight was supported on one leg, giving him a slight lean, his hook swinging freely at his side. It was exactly like the very first vision Milah had shown her of him. This must be something he did often, and she wondered briefly why he would summon her to a place that obviously meant a lot to him. Will approached him, saying something that she couldn’t hear, and Hook turned to acknowledge the man before setting his sights on her. He said something back, slipping his hand from his pocket and clapping Will on the shoulder but keeping his gaze firmly locked on hers. Shaking her hands out over her lap, she reached for the door handle and got out.

She leaned against the open door as he walked over to her, expression near unreadable, but somehow lighter than anything she’d seen on his face before. As he got closer, his eyes seemed to hold a note of apology and relief, which surprised her. He did throw her out, after all, dismissing her admissions and fears immediately. She couldn’t say without a second thought, because, well, here she was.

“Have you met with Gold yet?” he asked, coming to a stop just on the other side of the barrier the door provided. She raised an eyebrow at that.

“Good to see you again, too. And, yeah, I did,” she said, motioning to the bruise forming on her cheek and the split in her lip where the man in question had struck her. The anger that she was used to seeing in Hook’s eyes flashed there once again and he clenched his jaw making her blink at him in bewilderment. “I’m still in one piece, though, so I mean, it could be worse,” she mumbled, unsure of why she felt the need to reassure him of her well being.

“Aye. It could. Maybe you are a fool after all, Swan,” he said tersely, as if he were scolding a child. This ignited the rage in her belly all over again.

“Okay,” she said, slapping her hands on the top of her door. “Nice to see you again. I’m leaving.” She made to get back in the driver’s seat.

“No, no, wait, love, wait,” he rushed forward, hand and prosthetic held up to stop her. She paused, her lips pursed into a tight line.

Just listen, Milah murmured softly and Emma squeezed her eyes shut at the sound, shaking her head lightly. She blinked them open and scanned the area again, finding Will still patiently waiting on the dock he'd approached Hook on, clearly giving them space. She turned her attention back to Hook, his eyes searching her features as if trying to read her.

“I know you're upset with me,” he began and Emma snorted.

“Understatement,” she scoffed and a surge of jasmine around her made her bite her tongue against further barbs. The last thing she needed was for Milah and Hook to be battling for her attention.

“I know, and I called you here because perhaps I was a little hasty in enforcing your departure.” He nearly winced at the words, looking down and fiddling with his prosthetic with his good hand, and Emma found herself mildly amused by his discomfort. Apology did not seem to be his strong suit.

“So you regret missing an opportunity to recover your mother's ring,” she replied, irritation overriding her amusement. “Anything else?”

His eyes snapped up to hers with a force that almost had her stumbling backwards, a curious intensity to them that almost made the blue brighter and darker at the same time.

“I never told you that was my mother's ring,” he said, his tone low and even. Emma almost swallowed her tongue, fully expecting him to lash out again.

“I- I- uh- you didn't? I'm sure you did because, I mean, how else would I know that?” she tittered nervously, scooting closer to the interior of the car in order to make a quick escape if needed.

Silence descended between them and his eyes settled into a saddened expression, his brow furrowing slightly.

“No, love, I didn't. I haven't spoken of my mother in quite a long time. And the last people I spoke about her with are long gone.” He shifted towards her carefully, his movements slow and obvious, as if she was a wild cornered animal. She felt like one, so it was appropriate.

“Why am I here, Hook?” she said in a cracked voice, much higher than she would have liked it to be. He was standing practically up against the door now, his expression more sincere than anything she'd seen from him yet. There was a glimmer of vulnerability in the depths of his pupils that she was sure he didn't let free often and her heart clenched in her chest at the thought of him letting that side open to her. In this moment, she knew she was dealing with Killian Jones, not Hook.

“I want to help you,” he said with a steady certainty. “Gold is… well, you're in over your head. I'd like to help get you out of this predicament.”

“I can take care of myself,” she ground out. “I'm not a damsel in distress.”

“Of that I have no doubt, Swan,” he said, the mirth returning to his voice. He smirked and rocked back on his heels with a single ridiculously arched eyebrow. “But it would be bad form to leave a lady in distress when I have the power to ease her troubles.” He chuckled a little. “That's something Liam would have said. He was a navy man. Believed in all things done in ‘good form’.” He made air quotes with his hand and hook, eyes glazing in memory, and Emma couldn't help but soften as he spoke of his brother. His gaze came up to meet hers again, raw and honest. “But you already knew that, didn't you?”

Emma's breath caught in her throat as she gauged his expression. Strangely, she found no judgment or malice there this time. Just something that looked an awful lot like hope. She didn't trust her voice, she she offered him a simple wide eyed nod. He smiled, a soft little thing that made him look years younger and infinitely more handsome. Emma blinked a few times against that thought and drew her brows together in confusion. She had a job to do, she reminded herself. No time to be distracted by handsome criminals.

But distracted she was when his good hand came unexpectedly to rest on top of hers, turning it to grasp her fingers, his skin warm and callused on hers. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch and she stared at him, trying to get a read on what was going on.

“I don't know who you are, Emma Swan, or what's happening here, but I think I want to,” he said earnestly and Emma's heartbeat went from moderately fast to breakneck speed, her grip involuntarily tightening on his hand. He smirked at the movement, his tongue coming out to trace over his lips before lifting her fingers to them and placing a kiss on the back of her hand and releasing it easily. Emma didn't know what to do, what to say.

A shrill ringing sound coming from the console inside her car broke the tension and she darted her eyes to the interior.

“I better…” she trailed off, pointing awkwardly into the vehicle before slipping into it and retrieving the phone.

The words UNKNOWN NUMBER flashed across her screen. Emma felt a chill run through her and she fought not to shiver, knowing she was still under Hook's scrutiny.

“Swan,” she answered, a little proud of how businesslike and even her tone was.

“Neverland Shipping Warehouse,” Gold's voice said through the line, clipped and straight to the point. Emma was surprised to hear him on the line, rather than Zelena or another of his goons. “I've sent the address to your phone. There is a crate inside that I need you to get into. It is labelled with a large red X. You have four hours. Do not disappoint me again,” he said coldly and hung up before she could say another word.

DANGEROUS, Milah's voice shrieked out in her head, and Emma frowned deeply, ignoring her and looking down to the phone to confirm she received the information. Once she had, she looked up to see Killian Jones watching her with quiet concern, his hand on her still open door.

“Gold's people, I presume?” he said, his eyes darkening again.

“Ah, the man himself, actually,” she said and Killian looked so surprised it bordered on alarm. “I have to go. Duty calls.” She gave him an apologetic look, then glanced towards the docks to see Will Scarlett heading back in their direction.

She reached for her door, fully intending on making her escape (and making Scarlett Hook's problem), but she was halted by Hook's hand pulling the door gently, but firmly back to him. A puzzled look crossed her face and she jerked her head up to meet Hook's gaze.

“This isn't right, love. I don't think it's wise that you go,” he said, caution painted in every word.

STAY, DANGER, Milah repeated.

Emma scoffed and rolled her eyes at the both of them, pulling the door back to her and out of his grip, shutting it with only a little more force than strictly necessary. She rolled her window down to about halfway and smiled up at him, his face still a mask of stony concern.

“Swan, you're playing with fire here,” he cautioned again.

“Wouldn't be the first time I've gotten burned.” She shrugged and started her little yellow bug, the engine puttering to life. “I'll be in touch.”

As she pulled away with one last reassuring smile, she saw Hook motion sharply for Will Scarlett to get in the black SUV that was parked by a small building. He would get over it. She had to focus on Gold. Then she could worry about him.

The drive was short, thankfully for her nerves. She shot Jefferson a quick text to update him on her location and the plan, and he confirmed it with the usual caution to be safe that made her roll her eyes again. She had more people seemingly concerned for her well being now than she'd had in her whole life.

When she pulled up to the abandoned looking metal building that matched the address Gold had sent her, she was pretty damn sure that Hook and Gold must certainly have the monopoly on the real estate market for places that looked like they'd be a good spot to hide a body.  The building looked like it hadn't been used in at least a decade. It was the last one standing on the block that was surrounded by dilapidated, crumbling structures, buildings that were shadows of their former selves and that should have been set for demolition years ago. A general unease set into the pit of her belly.

Dangerous, Milah murmured in her head again, the sound a feeble plea. Emma supposed she was getting as tired of saying it as she was hearing it. She ground her teeth together. She knew it was dangerous. She had no other choice.

She took a deep breath and pulled her door open, her senses on high alert and the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. The jasmine scent surrounded her still as she moved towards the warehouse, strangely giving Emma comfort that she wasn't alone, even though Milah was adamantly unsupportive of this endeavor.  She scanned the area, making sure no one was watching as she made her way to the door and tried the handle.

Much to her surprise, it wasn't even locked. The door was heavy though and it took several pulls before the rusty old thing swung open on a loud groan that had Emma's heart dropping to her stomach. She quickly looked around as she darted inside, making sure the noise hadn't given her away. She still saw no one in the vicinity and she wondered briefly what was so important and difficult to obtain at this location. She shrugged it off. If this was the way to get back into Gold's good graces, so be it.

The room she found herself in was large and mostly empty, a few empty crates and pieces of abandoned, unstable furniture littering the area. The door shut heavily behind her, making her wince once more. It was quiet. Almost too quiet. But none of that mattered when she spied her prize.

A wooden box sat in the center of the room, not overly large in size, but conspicuous all the same as it looked like it had been recently placed there. The large, spray painted red X on the outside of the box told her she was in the right place.

Emma, leave now, danger, Milah said firmly, her accented voice full of worry, making Emma pause in her tracks. The spirit had never called her by name before and a chill went down her spine.

“I can't, Milah, I have to see this through,” she said, her tone acknowledging the regret she felt in the pit of her stomach.

As she approached the box, one of the corners appeared to be wedged up, giving Emma her in. This was turning out to be far smoother than she thought it would be, which put her even more on alert, especially with the steady warnings her ghostly companion had been offering (not to mention how the last time something was going her way went). She screwed her courage to the sticking place and put her gloved hands on the lid, prying it open. The box was filled with styrofoam peanuts, a paper that looked like a packing slip at first glance sitting on top. She picked it up and unfolded it to read and her blood immediately froze in her veins.

One is not useless if they can be used as an example, dearie.

It was then she noticed the red wire hanging limply from the back end of the lid, most likely separated from whatever it was connected to when she lifted the wooden top. Frantically she shoved the packing peanuts out of the way until she laid her eyes on the something she definitely hadn't been prepared to see.

Several gray blocks of a clay like substance sat surrounding a clock face, a motherboard and wires connecting them all together wedged underneath. She looked at the digital numbers in the center and her adrenaline spiked immediately.

00:12

00:11

00:10

00:09

EMMA RUN, Milah screamed out in her head and she didn't have to be told twice. The paper fluttered to the floor and she scrambled to turn around, her feet carrying her as fast as they could back to the door she came through. The heavy metal door was even harder to open from the inside. She struggled, pulling and yanking on the handle so hard she was almost afraid she was going to pull it off. In one last effort, Emma planted her foot against the door frame and tugged as hard as she could, the groan from the hinges giving way like music to her ears. She stumbled backwards with the force of opening it but quickly righted herself and ran through the door to freedom.

A deafening boom rang out behind her the instant her feet hit the packed dirt outside the door, heat and debris assaulting her back, and then she was falling. She could hear nothing except a high pitched ringing in her ears as her world turned on its axis. Her body rolled midair with the force of the explosion, the sky coming into view above her, flames licking at her peripheries, and her head hit the ground with a crack she couldn't hear in the same spot she had been struck before. She felt immediately ill, her vision blackening at the edges.

Through her haze, she registered two sets of legs running in her direction, but she couldn't see who they belonged to through her rapidly darkening sight.

She must have been going crazy after all,  because the last thing she thought she saw before losing consciousness completely was the profile of her mother's face, the song that had comforted her for years echoing over the ringing in her head.