#the dolls themselves are ugly but i like the way the form looks in game

[marioistrans-a]

they are finally even <3

[missjanjie]

Better Than Revenge | Chapter 3

Title: Better Than Revenge Summary: Karma Inc.’s business structure is simple - clients hire them when they’ve been grievously wronged and they send one of their revenge mercenaries to right them. As painstaking as their efforts to remain ethical may be, that may be tested when former detective, Rosé, enlists the squad to pick up where she couldn’t on a much higher scale, with potentially greater consequences. Word Count: ~2.7k (this chapter) | ~8k (total) Relationship(s): Rosnali (Rosé/Denali Foxx), Jankie (Jackie Cox/Jan Sport), Halldoll (Nicky Doll/Jaida Essence Hall), Gimone (Gigi Goode/Symone), Gottlux (Gottmik/Olivia Lux) Rating: T

Read on AO3 | Ko-Fi

Chapter Summary: Rosé learns Gigi, Symone, and Denali's revenge origin stories

-

Woodstock, IL — 2016

Gigi took a deep breath as she stared at herself in the mirror. She could do this, it was fine. Every time her suspicions or confusion would bubble up, she forced them back down. Hannah was nice, she was different from the other popular girls. She didn’t see the ‘weird art lesbian’ with the braces and thick-rimmed glasses, who rarely got pop culture references post-1989, at least, that’s how she made her feel.

“I’ll text you in the morning,” she assured her mother as she threw her bag over her shoulder. “It’ll be fine, I’m just hanging out with a friend.” She was out to her mom, of course, that was her biggest ally. But she wasn’t ready to tell her that the head cheerleader had taken an interest in her. Maybe when and if they became official. Until then, she shook off the last of her nerves and drove to her house, only pulled from her thoughts by the time she was sitting on Hannah’s bed.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Hannah cooed, batting her lashes and resting her hand on Gigi’s thigh.

If Gigi hadn’t been so blinded by her crush, she might’ve thought Hannah was laying it on a little thick, but she couldn’t act like she didn’t enjoy the attention. “Me too, a-about you, I mean. Sorry, I’m just nervous…”

“How come? I didn’t come on too strong over text, did I?”

“No, no I liked it, it’s just… I’m a virgin, like, I’ve only ever kissed before,” she confessed, her cheeks flushing rosy pink. She had talked a big game over text, but being faced with the chance of starting a physical relationship brought her back to reality.

Hannah pouted, rubbing Gigi’s thigh as she thought, letting her hand inch higher. “Well, you’ve got fantasies, don’t you? I know you’ve masturbated before. What do you think about while you touch yourself?”

Gigi hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. The other girl wasn’t wrong, she did know what she liked, could conjure up vivid imagery to get herself aroused, but she had never said any of it out loud. “I like powerful, confident women. I guess that’s something that drew me to you,” she started, “I wanna just… give up control, be dominated.”

“Really? Tell me more,” Hannah prompted, kissing along her neck and jaw and slowly tugging Gigi’s shirt off in an attempt to coax her to continue.

When Hannah didn’t seem deterred by her confession, Gigi started to relax. “It’s just, I don’t know, I always feel the need to be in control of my life and with sex, I just wanna let go and give up that power.”

“So like, what would you want someone to do to you?” she asked, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

She bit down on her lip. “Um… tie me up, spank me, choke me, and I know it’s kind of intense but maybe something like cnc or—” the incessant buzzing of her phone distracted her and, concerned it might be an urgent call or text from home, she took her phone out. “Sorry, one sec.”

It wasn’t from home, she had two missed calls from her best friend, Crystal, followed by several texts.

Crystal: GIGI STOP Crystal: SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! Crystal: She’s broadcasting you on IG live! Crystal: We can see and hear everything…

Gigi’s face fell, her first instinct to pull her shirt back on. Then she slowly looked up and in front of her, that’s when she saw it, nestled between stuffed animals — Hannah’s phone with an instagram live going. She didn’t say anything, just ran out of the house as fast as her legs would take her and through her tears drove right to Crystal’s house. That was when the two of them formed their plot.

In and of itself, it was simple. Gigi waited one day until Hannah was away for a cheer competition and went to her house. “I’m so sorry to bother you, Mrs. Andrews, but I think I left some of my homework in Hannah’s room, she just said to let you know so I can run in and grab it.” Once inside, she found exactly what she was looking for, sliding Hannah’s diary into her backpack and went right back out.

“This feels very Mean Girls, I love it,” Crystal remarked as they taped page after page of the diary on lockers, walls, anywhere they could.

“Well, plan B was to go the Heathers route, so let’s just hope it works.”

And to say it worked was an understatement. As it turned out, Hannah had written things far more incriminating, and because it came from someone of her social ranking, it made everyone immediately lose interest in Gigi’s livestream scandal, and she graduated with the anonymity she needed for survival.

Present Day

“I’ll be honest with you,” Rosé remarked, “it’s kinda hard to picture you as an ugly duckling, especially the way you described it.” Gigi was too pretty, too perfect. Something didn’t add up.

Gigi got out her phone and scrolled through her photos until she found one from her senior year. “Believe it, doll,” she said as she held her phone up. She watched with an amused expression as Rosé looked from her phone, to her, and back with her eyes wide and mouth agape. “Braces off, lasik, learned a lot about how to dress while going to FIDM, which is where I met Symone, who helped fill in the blanks.”

“And made sure she got to do all them things she listed to that bitch without feeling ashamed about it,” Symone added with a smirk, draping her arm around Gigi and pulling her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Why don’t you tell her your story next, baby?” Gigi prompted.

Conway, AR — 2014

Symone watched her sister throw her bag over her shoulder and start to sneak out the window. “Look, I ain’t snitching or nothing, but I still don’t think this is a good idea.”

She and her sister, Lala, were close, sometimes referring to themselves as twins – they were only ten months apart, in the same grade at school. And until the summer after sophomore year, they had the same group of friends. But the crowd Lala ran with now just rubbed her the wrong way.

“You worry too much,” Lala brushed it off. “I’ll be fine, in bed by morning like nothing happened.”

But when Symone got a collect call two hours later, she found out things were far from fine. She drove down to the county jail as fast as she could without getting pulled over herself. Luckily bail was a mere fifty dollars, but once she got her sister back in the car, she looked at her incredulously. “What the fuck happened?”

“One of ‘em brought weed, another brought booze, but when the cops rolled up on us, they said it all was mine. And who was they gonna believe, me or three white kids?” Lala sniffled, wiping her eyes. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen to me,” she whispered.

“I don’t either,” Symone admitted quietly, frustrated at her inability to come up with an immediate solution. “But we’re gonna do our best to get you out of this, okay?”

The best they could do wasn’t easy. It involved a lot of legal maneuvering, meetings with one person in a suit after another. The end result wasn’t ideal, but it was far better than what could have been. Lala was fined three hundred dollars and put on thirty days of probation. In and of itself, it didn’t seem so bad, but the residual consequences took their toll.

“I lost my scholarship, ‘mone. That was my ticket into college,” Lala sighed. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know I’m getting off with a slap on the wrist, but I really ain’t thrilled about taking out student loans,” she sat down on the floor beside the bed, head leaning against it. “Or maybe I’ll start with community college, I dunno. It just fucking sucks that they all got off with warnings.”

Symone’s brows knitted together, her lips pressed into a fine line. “Don’t you worry baby,” she said after a moment, “they gon’ face consequences one way or another.”

It had taken most of spring break, but Symone finally had all of the pieces for her plan. “Not the most convoluted thing in the world, but it’ll get the job done,” she mused.

Lala looked at her sister, then at her desk and back. “Do I even wanna know where the hell you got coke from?”

“No, you do not.”

Getting the drugs was the hard part. Getting into school early to plant the drugs in the lockers of Lala’s former friends was far easier, as was leaving an ‘anonymous tip’ from a ‘concerned student’ on the principal’s desk.

“God, I wish I could’ve seen them get hauled off in cop cars,” Lala remarked as she and Symone drove home from school. The three students were quietly escorted out of class and arrested, the school wanting to bring as little attention as possible. “Shame that they rich daddies will still get them off lightly.”

Symone sighed and nodded. “Sure, but they’re still gonna get something, which is more than what they got when they threw you under the bus. Bet they’re gonna think twice before they let someone else take the fall for them.”

Her sister smiled softly and shook her head. “You really ain’t gotta do all that for me, you know?”

“I know,” she hummed, “not gonna stop me, though.”

Present Day

“Wow, that’s both selfless and hardcore,” Rosé remarked with an impressed nod. “Did she ever find out where you got the coke from?”

Symone laughed and shook her head. “Nah, that secret I’m taking to the grave.”

Rosé jokingly put her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, fair enough,” she chuckled. After a moment, she turned her attention to Denali. “That just leaves you, princess,” she remarked, a slight smirk tugging at her lips. “What’s your claim to infamy?”

Denali tossed her hair off her shoulder and grinned softly. “Who, me?” she cooed, fluttering her lashes. “Well, it is kind of an interesting story…”

Nicky rolled her eyes and tossed one of the couch pillows at her head. “Stop flirting and get on with it already.”

Fairbanks, AK — 2011

Denali groaned when the sound of loud footsteps racing up the stairs pulled her from her quasi-asleep state, then pulled a pillow over her head when the door swung open.

“What the hell are you still doing in bed when the qualifiers are in two hours?” her friend, Kahmora, asked with incredulous horror. She yanked the covers off of her, but stepped back in concern when she finally caught sight of Denali’s face. “Oh god, you look like shit.”

She frowned and rolled over to face away from her. “I feel like I died and was in the process of being reanimated, then killed again,” she lamented. “It’s probably food poisoning… or maybe swine flu came back, I dunno.”

“Did you eat anything unusual?”

Denali furrowed her brows as she wracked her brain. “I mean, Tara gave me those brownies and I had one, but when she said they were ‘special’, I just thought she meant they had weed in them, but that sure as hell isn’t it.” With as much energy as she could muster, she sat upright. “Oh my god, do you think she poisoned me?”

Kahmora arched her brow. “I think that’s a bit much, even for her. Do I think she put something like a laxative in there so it’d take you out long enough that you couldn’t beat her out in the international qualifiers? Yeah, probably. She’s a cunt.”

The skater scowled, her jaw clenched. “She’s a dead cunt,” she corrected, then suddenly shot out of bed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she muttered as she raced to the bathroom yet again.

There wasn’t an obvious revenge plan for Denali. She knew that nothing she did would get her spot in the competition, and she wondered if it was even worth it. But her pettiness and spite won out and she began planning out her course of action.

“Remember,” she was saying, “if all else fails, we go the Tonya Harding route.”

Kahmora sighed. “For the last time, you are not whacking Tara’s kneecaps, now let’s go.” Despite some pouting from Denali, they went to get the gears turning in their plan. They got to the ice rink and slipped into the locker room without being noticed by Tara, who was in the middle of practice.

Denali picked the lock and took out Tara’s change of clothes. Then she reached into her own bag and pulled on latex gloves and a plastic bag containing several leaves of poison ivy. She turned the shirt, pants, and socks inside out and firmly rubbed the leaves against the fabric, making sure she left as little fabric uncovered as possible. “She’s lucky I’m merciful or I’d rub it on her panties too,” she remarked offhandedly.

Kahmora tilted her head as she watched her. “Do you actually think it’ll take her out of the competition?” she asked as her friend put the leaves and gloves into the ziploc bag.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I mean, it’s possible, probable really, that the constant itching might make it too difficult for her to skate. But this is more about getting even with her. I might not ever get another chance to compete for internationals. She’s lucky the only retribution she’s getting is a few weeks of itchy blisters.”

“Otherwise you’d Tonya Harding her?”

Denali nodded brightly. “Exactly! Now come on, we have to get rid of the evidence.” And with that, they scurried out of the locker room as inconspicuously as they’d entered it and threw out the evidence in a trash can several blocks over.

When the news broke that Tara had withdrawn from the competition due to ‘unexpected physical problems’, Denali did her best to feign shock and didn’t celebrate until she and Kahmora were alone.

“So, what do you wanna do now?” Kahmora asked.

Denali tilted her head in thought, then smirked. “Let’s go get brownies.”

Present Day

“Personally, I still think you should’ve busted her knees,” Mik mused offhandedly. “Like, I bet you would’ve figured out a way to get away with it, you conniving bitch,” he teased.

Denali shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s not very original and it’d look a lot more suspicious on my end.”

“I think it was pretty badass,” Rosé offered, making the other woman smile which, in turn, made her heart flutter — something she chose to actively ignore. Instead, she let all of their stories sink in. None of their reasons for revenge were out of line, none of their victims undeserving. And none of the consequences were as severe as some of the things she had seen in her time. “You all really know what you’re doing, huh?”

“We wouldn’t have been able to keep this up for three years if we didn’t,” Jan replied. “We had all of the potential on our own, but we make a difference together, and then we added Jackie to tie up the loose ends. It’s been smooth sailing from there.”

“Yeah, and now Jackie ties you up instead,” Nicky teased, earning an eye roll in response.

Rosé watched the group interact with a fond smile. She had assumed they all got along to be working together for as long as they have been, but she hadn’t anticipated them truly behaving like a family. It was a stark contrast to the constant coldness and curtness she had grown accustomed to, both in her previous career and in the environment she grew up in. She only hoped it would make the tasks ahead that much easier for them.

[zodiyack]

Wrong Girl, Right Time

Requested by anon: Helloo! I am a big fan of your writing and I had an idea about a kinda dark angsty tommy x reader fic taking place in season 1 where the reader is a childhood of the boys and when tommy spends his first night with Grace inspector Campbell goes after the reader (maybe one of his men physically assaults her) and tommy learns about it the next day and realises he messed up big time and tries to fix everything. Thank you so much and I will understand if you don't want to do it.

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Female!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, angst that was written while half asleep, implied smut, physical assault, fluff, me not proofreading

Note: Aaa! I hope you like it, I tried! Enjoy!

Taglist: @captivatedbycillianmurphy, @stydia-4-ever, @matth1w, @redspaceace, @jenepleurepasbaby, @simonsbluee, @peakysputain​

Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist

Y/n walked back to her sofa, wrapping her sweater tighter around her body. The warmth of Tommy’s kind hugs, the firewood he’d bring her after he’d scold her for risking her life living in such a cold temperature, the smiles that warmed her insides- even if they weren’t directed toward her.

She sighed, plopping down on the cushions. She’d fallen for Tommy, since they were kids, and she had no idea how to tell him. Or if he even felt the same.

“Fuck.” She rolled over, curling into a ball and hugging herself, hoping for warmth. Hoping for Tommy to show up with firewood even if it meant he’d scold her. Hoping for Tommy to hug her tightly and kiss her hairline even if it meant she’d have to suffer knowing it was platonically. Y/n didn’t care the consequence, she just wanted him.

And somewhere out there, he was with her. Just not Y/n “her”. It was the woman he gave his heart too. Or rather, wanted to give his heart to, but, for once in his life, he broke down and verbally admitted he was too much of a coward to do so.

They danced together. Twirling around the room. Lust filled Tommy’s eyes, a mirrored look in Grace’s. They leaned in, connecting their lips and relieving themselves of the desire they both knew they felt.

Outside of Grace’s place, was officer Campbell. Tommy knew. He knew the man would have a high chance of coming across this. And he could care less for the man’s thoughts on the situation.

He smiled softly into the kiss, deepening it and their contact, suddenly becoming more cocky inside knowing Campbell saw him and Grace. But the lust remained, and like he’d told others and himself time and time again, he just really couldn’t find the fucks to give.

Unfortunately, thanks to his discovery, Campbell decided to retaliate. He knew of Y/n L/n. The girl who hung around the Shelby boys as a young girl, who looked at Tommy with longing in her eyes, who smiled and hid the hurt in her heart when she met Grace.

He chuckled as he walked to the girl’s home. He sent his men to the door, told them to break in, have two grab Y/n, rough up the place and then meet in the living room with the girl.

Officer Campbell kicked a shard of glass that lied on the floor. “Look at this place, Y/n. It’s a bloody wreck!”

“Because of you, asshole!” She spat on his shoes. Campbell gave eye contact to one of the men next to Y/n, and smiled when he heard the sound of a smack and a yelp of pain. Y/n sobbed and looked up at him, a red hand mark rested on her face.

“My goodness, Miss L/n, you really ought to cover that up! Don’t want Tommy thinking you’re a weak link, eh? Maybe he’ll find you ugly, inside and out, when he learns you went insane, trashed up your own place, then fought someone for no reason... and lost.”

She furrowed her eyebrows and big the inside of her cheek.

“What do you think? Y/n?”

Still, Y/n kept quiet, refusing to give into his game. She continued to glare at him, but kept her mouth shut. It pissed him off, to say the least. He nodded to the men again. Another yelp left her mouth. Blood leaked from her nose.

“Ooooh!” The officer scrunched his face in reaction to her face, “That’s got to hurt, doesn’t it? Well I can make it stop hurting. Just tell me whatever you can about your little crush, okay?”

He growled when she didn’t respond. A man behind her yanked her head back with his hold on her hair. A whimper escaped her lips.

“Answer me, you bitch!” She smiled. He returned it with the thought that he’d won. “Good. Now-” His face paled, then crinkled in disgust.

“That’s all I know, sorry love.” Y/n quipped with a mischievous smirk, wiping her mouth on her shoulder and looking down at Campbell’s shoe. A wad of her saliva coated the top of it.

“Alright then, if we can’t get information out of you, we’ll just... leave Tommy a little surprise.” He nodded to the man before walking out the door, the rest of the men following.

“You fucked up big time, princess.”

“Thomas?” His foot steps slowed, then rushed again. His breathing was unsteady as he ran up the stairs and to the room the person he was looking for was occupying.

“Oh God- what did he do to you?” Tommy heard his voice crack as he knelt beside Y/n’s bed. He regretted everything. The night he shared with Grace, the deal he made with Campbell, the mistake of giving Y/n the space she never asked for.

“It’s okay-” she coughed, causing Tommy to wince, “go back to Grace.”

“What? No, are you crazy?” He truly thought she was joking. He smiled with the side of his mouth and forced out a small chuckle of his own. “You need to rest, and I,” He grunted as he sat down next to her, “am not going to leave until you get better.”

“Why? You could be having the time of your life right now, why stay with me when I’m sick and possibly very ugly-” she dawned a goofy smile, unknowingly making Tommy’s heart race faster than it already was, “I dunno, I haven’t been able to look in a mirror quite yet.”

“You’re beautiful. You don’t need a mirror to see that.”

He let go of his tougher exterior, smiling brightly and genuinely. He grabbed Y/n’s hand and kissed it softly.

“Thomas Michael Shelby, what on Earth are you doing to me?”

Tommy looked up with slight confusion and noticed Y/n’s state, mental absence being a perfect words to describe it. She looked out of it, but still, just as beautiful out of it as she would be if she was unharmed. He was about to ask her what she meant, but she’d already turned over and slipped away into peaceful slumber again.

When she woke up again, her consciousnesses was more alert, as her body was healing while she slept, the foggy mind effect her injuries gave her was fading away with every moment she rested.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

“Tommy? Oh.” She clenched her jaw. Y/n really had missed him, but that night gave her a lot of arguments to settle with Tommy, things she needed him to answer.

“Pol told me you collapsed on the floor, already unconscious by the time she discovered you, and that she got Arthur to help you into your bed. She said you were healing, nothing major, just bruises and some blood here and there.”

“Tommy.”

“Said she didn’t know what happened.”

“Tom.”

“So what happened, Y/n? Tell me so I can be on my merry way, and blind them. That’s what you want, right? Me to like you enough to go and blind some bastard? Well you’re wrong if you think I don’t. Y/n, some things you underestimate about me, like how much I care abou-”

“Thomas!”

“...you- ...Yes?”

“He tossed me around like a fucking rag-doll.” Y/n ignored the ache of her head and held her composure. If there was ever a time to give Tommy a piece of her mind, it was now.

“I- Who?” Her eyes studied Tommy, the way he clenched his fists with anger.

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said no. You don’t get to be mad. You went out there, fucked Grace, and I was stuck here, alone, cold, oh and abused by Inspector Chester fucking Campbell!” She stood up, wobbling slightly due to her lack of movement in bed rest. Tommy tried to help her stand, but she pushed his hands away with a huff. “I hoped, I hoped, that you’d show up. But you never did.”

“Campbell did that to you?” He looked at Y/n’s face, flinching internally at the purple, blue, and kind of brownish hues that marked her skin.

“Fuck you Thomas Shelby.” He flinched. “Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you! Fuck you!” She stumbled over to him and hit his arms, punching him while breaking into tears. Tommy just stood there. He took her hits. His eyes closed in pain, not from her actions but from the situation; the pain striking him in the heart.

Finally, she broke. When she stopped punching him and began to drop to her knees, Tommy caught her. “I hate you.” She cried.

He felt the tears begin to form, spilling without his consent, “It’s okay, it’s going to be okay, I’m here-”

“I hate you, I hate you, I fucking hate you!” Though she was muttering words of her pain, she clung to Tommy tightly and refused to let go of him, as if her letting go of him now would be letting go of him forever. Her face was reddening and her nose was snotty, the tears were flooding.

“Let it all out, it’s alright, love. I’m here-”

“You weren’t the night Campbell gifted me to one of his men to use as a fucking pinata.”

He stopped. His heart ached. “I know... I’ll never forgive myself for that. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, I’m sorry I didn’t show up, I’m sorry I-”

“Stop saying sorry. You’re not sorry. You slept with the woman you’ve been eyeing.Congratulations! Hey, want another medal? This one’s for world’s worst best friend! And another! Another for world’s best heart-breaker! Gonna throw ‘em in the cut too, huh? A man fights in a war for his home, but can’t bloody protect the girl who loves him the most? Why?? Oh, maybe because he’s too busy, I don’t know, starting another fucking war?!”

“W-what?” He muttered quietly, dropping with Y/n, who was pulling away to spew more angry words at her childhood crush. She looked him in the eyes with fury and hurt.

“You could’ve been there! You.. you could’ve been there, but you chose her... you chose her over me.. Just like you always did...with every girl... ever since we were kids...”

“Oh Y/n...” He cupped her cheeks, and this time- she did not fight. “You’ve been hiding that? For so long?”

She nodded, reaching up and wiping her eyes with her arm. “I was hoping... I was hoping you’d pick me one day. But that day never came. So I kept waiting. I watched you flirt, I watched you admire, I watched you be admired... I know, it’s silly, but no matter how many times I’ve tried to get over you, I can’t. And I know you don’t li-”

Tommy cut her off with a harsh, desperate, yet somewhat soft, kiss. “To be honest, Y/n,” He lifted her off the ground, swooped her off her feet and carried her back to her bed, setting her on the comfy mattress and tucking her in. “It’s not silly. I’ve tried the same, and yet, here I am.”

“Wait- How- But you-”

“Grace was a distraction, like the whores. Something to get my mind off of you. I suppose I just didn’t realize I was thinking of you...” He pulled away from the bed and grabbed his hat, heading for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To make this right.” Tommy turned, a small smile gracing his face. “Do you have problem with that?”

“Yes, actually. I do.” Y/n smiled softly at Tommy as he raised his eyebrows in question, “You can make it right later. For now, I’m healing and I’ll be needing some company, preferably from my favorite of the infamous Shelby boys.”

“Finn?”

“No, dummy, you!” She giggled when Tommy rolled his eyes, his smile bigger than before, and crawled into the bed with her, draping an arm lazily around her waist and kissing her forehead. “Thank you, Tommy.”

“For you? Anything and anytime. You’re welcome, Y/n.” He closed the space between them, kissing her softly. Eventually, the pair fell asleep, unaware of Polly walking into the room a couple hours later, curious to where Tommy was and how Y/n was doing. 

She smiled at the sight; Y/n, smiling with her cheek pressed against her arm, chest heaving with each breath she took, Tommy’s head resting on it. Her hand was buried in his hair from her attempt of lulling him to sleep, and Tommy’s mouth was parted slightly, his chest moved up and down like Y/n’s.

“Really was the wrong girl, but had you been with the right one, I’d say damn near fantastic timing, Thomas.” Pol closed the door behind her. She knew this couple would happen; Polly Gray is always right.

[bigtittydemonwife]

Headcanons for laughing jack, jane, jeff, ej and toby meeting their soulmate and starting a relation ship with their soulmate? With either "the first words they tell you are on your wrist" or "a timer counts down until you meet them" trope -tea anon

I’m a slut for soulmate aus, I went with the word one I hope you don’t mind

Laughing Jack 

“I like your style” the words were as clear as day on his wrist, when he asked Issac about it Issac happily told him

When he realised what it meant he was sh o o k

imaginary friend/demon clowns can have soulmates?

Apparently 

meanwhile you can’t wait to meet your soulmate so you can sock them in the face 

“thanks doll-face....wait...bloody hell!”

it was an odd one, took up most of your wrist to, at least it wasn’t casual

you both lived your life until you became a proxy of Slenderman, you were walking around the mansion trying to meet other people, when you walked into the kitchen there stood a 7′3 clown with no colour, you started at him for a while until he turned around and saw you 

“I like your style” 

The moment it left your mouth you panicked, was this your soulmate?

“thanks doll-face....wait...bloody hell!“

You choked on the drink you were drinking. 

How they start a relationship

you realise quickly that a relationship with LJ isn’t what you’d see as a normal relationship by far  

Hes a murderous clown and the only human emotion he’s ever felt in the longest time has been rage

its confusing for both of you

he doesn’t really show you love at first

because he thinks, you’re his soulmate, you can’t leave him

but then he hears that another creeps soulmate ran away from them and married someone else so they had to kill them 

then he gets scared

like really scared

he doesn’t show affection like normal people do

at first its tiny things, like tiny touches that linger a little longer, small gifts left outside your room (things like unpoisoned candy and trinkets)

the longer your there the more he gets used to the idea of having someone there for him again

He gives affection like a cat, headbutting and lies on you at the worst times 

It’s like that guy and his cat Cooter on tiktok 

He gives the bestest hugs honestly

And he will carry you everywhere even if you don’t need it 

Jane The Killer

“You’re....really pretty”

She loves her words, they’re so sweet 

She’s honestly excited to meet her soulmate

yes nervous, but excited, she wants to have someone to love her and someone to love

After the garbageman incident she gets even more anxious, 

what if you don’t love her?

what of you think she’s ugly?

but she remembers her words and her love grows

whenever she gets nervous she rubs her fingers over the words

once she meets you you’re just chilling on the couch with Ben playing games when she sits down next to you

“You must be new here”

You have a mini gay/straight panic attack

“you’re....really pretty”

Jane has a mini heart attack to

before shes over the moon

How she starts a relationship

Shes a little scared, but she wants to start to get to know you

its no surprise she falls in love

shes not used to loving someone as much as she loves you

it does scare her at times

the thought that you could be injured keeps her up at night

yes you both cannot die as proxies, but she knows what its like to go though immense pain and not die

and trust me sometimes she wishes for the latter

but she will learn that fear needs to be controlled, it cannot control you

(also she sees you Batista bomb Jeff and she falls even more in love)

she will cuddle you a lot

affection is a must

if Jeff tries anything she will absolutely demolish him

she finds it hard to show you love sometimes because shes scared of losing you 

she loves to take naps with you  

she will pamper you endlessly 

Jeff

“suck my dick joker wannabe”

He hated his words, for most of his life he had no idea why his soulmate was calling him that

until the incident happened

One day he crawls though someones window ready to kill them but gets a show thrown at him 

“Suck my dick joker wannabe”

He laughs so hard honestly 

he decided not to kill you and instead kidnap you

so yay Stockholm syndrome 

(sorry but this man is not mentally stable so you’d have to be insane if you think any of his relationships are healthy)

How he stared a relationship

God good luck to you

that’s all I could really type 

yeah basically he kidnapped you

A relationship with him is a rollercoster

He acts like the world revolves around him 

He actually likes napping with you and holding you but he never lets you know

he whispers his secrets and how he actually feels to you when you are asleep 

yes he does love you

its shocking he can have soft moments with you, but they’re either very short or very disguised 

come on, its Jeff, 

So if you like emotionally constipated men who only show their love by fucking, degradation and not murdering you then welcome to the life of Jeff’s soulmate

Eyeless Jack

“...you look...majestic”

His words always confused him, how could someone think he was beautiful? He never believed the possibility of something like him having a soulmate

When he’s crawling into someones house looking for some food, before he can cut them open they wake up and imminently start thrashing

they knock him and themselves off the bed 

He raises his hand to stab them and they knock his mask off, he’s shook and they’re both still. black tar slips out of his eyes and onto their face

“...you look...majestic”

He feels like his heart is gonna pop out of his chest

he puts one hand on your cheek and manages to raspily whisper

“Soulmate?”

Yeah not the person you expected to be universally bonded to, but you’re not in any ways disappointed (If you’re a monster fucker then 1: welcome to the club and 2: you are the luckiest mf alive)

How he starts a relationship

emotionally stunted he is

it takes aggggeeess for him to realise that soulmate=lover

then he gets nervous

he will avoid you for a while

leaving you wondering

he doesn’t feel like he deserves love, that he deserves a soulmate, that he deserves you. 

but he begins to realise the more he leaves you alone the longer you don’t have a soulmate

he believes the fates got it wrong

once again it’ll take a while for him to come back

when he does, don’t make a big deal about it, hug him, tell him you’re glad to see him again and act casual

once he finally starts to realise ‘oh shit maybe I do deserve this’

(yeah no shit)

expect a lot of affection. Not in public though

in private you get all the cuddles you want

hes a big spoon, he likes to wrap you in his arms. it makes him feel like he’s keeping you safe 

Ticci Toby

“Cool goggles”

His words confused him to no end

Once he donned goggles he started to think that he didn’t have a soulmate

Or maybe that they had died before he met him

When he finally the new proxy he didn’t see them as anything to special until they looked at him, smiled and said

“I like your goggles”

He nearly dies

Then he panics

He’s like ‘hhhhh....soulmate....me?’

When he can finally form sentences

“Fuck”

You couldn’t help but laugh

“You are aware how I’ve spend my whole life with that on my wrist?”

How they start a relationship

He wants to start one straight away

He can’t wait to get to know his soulmate

He’ll fall in love pretty quickly to be honest

All the fucking affection is given once you start

He treats you like a queen like he couldn’t do anything without you

Because to be honest he has trouble

You two have to sleep together even if it ain’t sexual he just wants to be near you

[kumeko]

A/N: for the @quarantinefanzine! I wanted to do a little compare and contrast for Tanjirou and Yushiro in a modern au

…

…

…

…

Tanjirou loved his home. A two-bedroom apartment, it was a small, cozy place, barely big enough for three people let alone his family of eight. Books, clothes, and knick-knacks claimed every inch of space, cluttering the modest place. Things were precariously stacked on one another, one loud sound away from crashing to the ground.

His classmates found it claustrophobic. He found their bedrooms lonely in comparison. Tanjirou woke up surrounded by a mess of limbs, ate to the sound of a dozen conversations, and laughed every minute of his life. His home was a messy, disorganized place, but it was home and it was his and he’d never needed anything more than that.

However, he had greatly underestimated just how much he relied on his school as a buffer zone to get things done. Thanks to covid, Tanjirou was stuck inside his apartment with all five of his siblings twenty-four hours a day. Seven days a week. Hopefully not 365 days a year.

It was like babysitting, except it never stopped. Tanjirou had managed all of his siblings before; as the oldest two, he and Nezuko had spent most of their weekday evenings juggling school and siblings. A few hours at most, until his parents dragged themselves home, tired and worn.

Now the hours rolled into days rolled into months. Spring had turned into fall and he wasn’t sure what happened to summer. School had started again. His table was cluttered with textbooks and lined papers and increasingly tiny pencils. Tanjirou had never been a good student on the best of days. Now? Impossible. The numbers swam as he stared at the desktop computer, trying to make sense of it all.

“Tanjirou.” A little hand tugged his sleeve and Tanjirou glanced down to find Rokuta staring up at him, his eyes wide.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned. He ducked down slightly so they were on the same eye level. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Rokuta nodded. He fiddled with his thumbs nervously, looking down at his feet as he asked, “Could you play with me?”

“Play?” Tanjirou resisted the urge to wince. At just five, Rokuta didn’t really have ‘school’ to attend. His teachers held his attention for maybe an hour or two before releasing him. The only other solution was the TV.

Unfortunately, their walls were paper thin. If it was hard to study now, it would be impossible with Baby Shark running through his head. Rubbing his neck, Tanjirou ran through the checklist Nezuko came up with, “Did you read your book?”

Rokuta nodded. “Two times.”

“Your dolls?”

“They had a fight.”

“Your puppets?”

“They’re under the couch.”

“Oh.” Tanjirou bit his cheek. Just what did they have left for him to do? “What about the paper cup castle?”

Once more, his brother nodded, though this time he rocked back and forth on his feet excitedly. “It’s so big!” He spread his arms to indicate just how big his castle was. “Can we smash it?”

He peeked at his computer’s time. Ten thirty. Tanjirou had barely scratched his homework. After a long play before they’d started school, he’d hoped Rokuta would have been fine till lunch, but clearly that wasn’t the case today. Ruffling his brother’s hair, Tanjirou asked, “Can we play in thirty minutes?”

“Huh?” Rokuta trembled, his eyes watery.

“You can get things set up,” he hastily suggested. As the youngest, Tanjirou was never certain if Rokuta’s tears were real or if he’d realized all too quickly how powerful they were, but he didn’t want to find out. “We need your cars.”

Considering how quickly Rokuta beamed at him after, it was probably the latter. “Okay!”

With a sigh, Tanjirou watched as his brother scampered off to their shared bedroom, no doubt having to unearth his cars from under the multiple piles of laundry. Which was yet another to-do item he had to finish later. Running a hand through his hair, he glanced around the living room to see what the rest of his siblings were doing.

Shigeru was nowhere in sight; he was probably in the bathroom or taking a nap somewhere. Seated around a low table, Hanako hesitantly answered her homework while a frustrated Takeo glared at his. Nezuko sat between the two, checking from page to the other as she corrected them.

Catching his stare, she smiled apologetically and mouthed, Sorry.

Tanjirou shook his head sympathetically, mouthing back, It’s fine.

It wasn’t like it was her fault that their mother had to work two jobs, leaving them to take care of the house. It wasn’t like it was her fault their father was in the hospital, battling for his life. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, really, that they had four siblings and one computer and had to somehow balance school and babysitting between the two of them.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault, and somehow that made it harder. There was no one to blame, to direct this helpless anger at. Instead, it simmered within him, trapped. It was hard to stay positive, to act strong, when fear and rage boiled within.

“You want the blue car?” Rokuta shouted, his voice piercing through Tanjirou’s gloomy thoughts.

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Tanjirou replied, “Yeah!”

“Awesome!”

They’d done this everyday now, and somehow Rokuta still managed to sound enthusiastic about it all. He had to be bored of it by now, yet he always found a new way to play the same game. In the face of that, how could Tanjirou do any less? He squashed down his feelings, pushing them aside. It wasn’t like everything was bad, after all.

He still had his mother. His siblings. A place to live and food to eat. Despite it all, he had almost everything that was important to him. Tanjirou could handle anything else life threw his way.

Even this confusing homework.

“Alright.” Tanjirou slapped his cheeks, pumping himself up. He could do this. It was just a bunch of numbers that had to follow some silly rules. Stretching his arms above him, he cracked his knuckles before hunching over the computer once more.

-x-

Yushiro loved his home. Or rather, he loved Tamayo and since they lived together, he loved her home too. It was a big house, maybe too big for just the two of them; there were studies and guestrooms that had a fine layer of dust after being forgotten for a week. Still, it was her house, with every room soaked in her essence, and he never wanted to move. Even on the days when she had to go to the hospital, he never felt too alone. All it took was a glance at the living room to picture her elegant pose as she ate, or the kitchen to see her confused frown as she tried to cook. A single memory and the house felt full as he waited impatiently for her shift to finish.

Well, not that he was alone in the first place; there was Chachamaru, their cat. Sometimes, he was certain Chachamaru knew more than she let on, but that was a silly thought. She was just a cat. Cats didn’t know anything. Like right now, the fact that she was sitting on his laptop was because she found it warm, and not because she was getting revenge for this morning.

“I’m sorry I forgot your breakfast,” he apologized, just in case. “Now get off, my class is starting.”

Chachamaru gave him a blank look and yawned, revealing all of her sharp teeth. Was that a threat? He wasn’t certain. While she always got along with Tamayo, she seemed to only barely tolerate him.

“There’s other rooms,” he pointed out, feeling a little ridiculous as he argued with her. Yushiro gestured behind him at the hallway. “We live in a big house. You can pick literally any other room. Do you need me to list them to you? Take you to them? I’ll do it.”

She still looked utterly unimpressed, before laying her head flat on his laptop.

Time to bring out the big guns. Yushiro glared at her one last time. Chachamaru didn’t so much as stir. His killing intent just wasn’t strong enough. With a sigh, he left the room and padded down the hallway toward the kitchen. There was only one way to ensure he’d get his laptop back, and that was his secret stash of catnip.

The house was quiet as he walked through it. One time, he’d brought his classmates over for a project, and Tanjirou couldn’t get over how silent it was. Apparently his home was a zoo, filled with shouts and crying. Hoards of ugly children ran through it, taking over the tiny apartment. Anywhere without Tamayo was a desolate, dark place, but Tanjirou’s home especially so. Yushiro wouldn’t be able to handle it.

He preferred the quiet—it was warm and comfortable. There was nothing better than the evenings he and Tamayo spent together, reading a book or filling out forms. The only sounds were the rustling of paper, the scraping of a pencil, the soft purring of Chachamaru. Even without words, they understood each other, and sometimes he and Tamayo would exchange smiles, like they were sharing a private joke.

Yushiro flipped the lights on as he stepped into the kitchen. Tamayo’s hastily discarded apron lay messily on the table and he chuckled as he hung it back on its proper hook.

“You overslept this morning,” he murmured, staring at the flower patterns. He’d bought it as a gift years ago, and the fabric was now covered in soya sauce and oil stains.

Tamayo didn’t reply. She couldn’t, not until her shift finished, not until she was forced to take a break from the hospital.

He preferred the quiet, but not the emptiness. Stuck inside the house, he was alone more often than not, with Tamayo taking longer and longer hours as she tried to save just one more person. It was frightening. It was terrifying. The scars on her face only deepened as each day passed and he wondered how long it would be before they were permanent.

How long it would be before she stopped coming home.

A shiver ran through his spine at that last thought, and he hugged himself. Rubbing his arms, he tried to warm up, but the chill persisted. Yushiro wasn’t naïve; he’d watched the news. He’d heard the stories. Tamayo doused herself in sanitizers and soap and even then she made sure to stay a safe distance from him whenever they ate.

Even the memory of her hugs were fading now.

Something warm circled his feet and he looked down to find Chachamaru brushing her head against his ankles with a soft meow. “Finally bored of my laptop?” he asked, his voice cracking.

She meowed again, rubbing against him insistently. When he crouched, she jumped into his arms and nuzzled his neck. Her whiskers tickled his throat.

“I thought you didn’t like me,” he mumbled, pressing his face into her warm fur as he sat on the cold kitchen tiles. She purred in response. “Is that a yes?”

Chachamaru was a pain in the ass and would sit on his laptop tomorrow. She’d scratch him when he didn’t wake up in time for breakfast or nip at his ankles when she was annoyed at him.

But she was also a part of his family, however reluctant he was to admit that, and maybe it wasn’t all that bad to have someone other than Tamayo in his life. To have someone he could cry to and share his fears and not have to worry about adding to Tamayo’s already heavy shoulders.

“Can we stay like this? For a little while?” he asked.

Chachamaru licked his tears in response.

When he finally sat down for class, she stayed on his lap like a portable heater. It was hard to feel scared with her constant purring. Hard to feel alone with her weight on his thighs.

“Hey, Yushiro,” Tanjirou asked on Zoom, his hands clasped in front of him. “Could you help me?”

“Sure,” he replied charitably.

He didn’t mind the company for once.

[welanabananaworld]

Ouija, Origin of Evil and the profane voice - Part I

Though extremely shocking and disturbing, children happen to be at the core of major horror films. Samara in The Ring (2002), Dalton in Insidious (2010), Dany and the Grady twins in The Shining (1980), the children in Sinister (2012), Thomas in The Orphanage (2007) are among many other examples that prove the existence of an entire branch of horror cinema built on the mythology of the malevolent child. Why is the figure of the child so prevalent? Why should the most innocent and purest human beings be the main characters of films that are  gruesome, violent and whose public age is strictly restricted? Precisely because their vulnerability and purity of soul make them easily influenced and manipulated by external forces. Besides, children are known to have an overwhelming imagination and a propensity to trust which are necessary to open the boundaries between the worlds of the living and the dead in accordance with the codes of the genre. 

In addition to this, the more the prey is opposite to our expectations and subverts our beliefs of what is proper and what is not, the more the fright and fascination are potent. To consider a child as a monster, a killer or a possessed body is beyond our general understanding, hence the uncanny appeal of creepy children. 

As pointed out by Alison Nastasi in her article published online on Hopes&Fears, this devious appeal for corrupted and murderous children portrayed in horror films might echo to « real-world fears about parenting, gender and social responsibility. »; a theory supported by Joe Dante’s comments about the subject : « Could it be connected to the fact that more and more parents have difficulty balancing work responsibilities [and] child-rearing (not to speak of nurturing their own relationships, personal and career aspirations) and are squeezed financially by the costs of raising children […]? Therefore, is it any wonder that children in genre movies are portrayed as powerful, disruptive, and uncontrollable? Perhaps these menacing moppet movies reflect the fears inherent in helicopter parenting—that the minute you take your eyes off your child, something dreadful will happen. » In any case, the films in question use the creepy kid trope in order to suggest that something is wrong, that the natural order of things is being shattered. 

The corruption of innocence can take many forms but the most interesting one to study in relation to the narrative role of the voice in cinema is the threat of an invasion from the Beyond. In Ouija: Origin of Evil (2016), supernatural forces hold a young girl hostage by inhabiting her body and making it go through such transformations (vocal and physical) as to change it beyond recognition.

Taking place in 1967 in Los Angeles, Ouija: Origin of Evil tells the story of the Danzer family. Alice, a spiritual medium, is striving to make ends meet after the loss of her husband and father of her two children by hosting readings in her own house with the help of her daughters, Lina (15) and Doris (9). Running a declining scam business, in which Alice pretends to talk to the dead to bring closure to people and the girls help her out with tricks intended to make it all real, Lina suggests her mother to add a ouija board as a new prop to modernise her readings. The factitious dimension of the ritual which unfolds through the display of ingenious devices (stretchable table, a cupboard big enough to hide Doris, extinguishable candles…) is both an ironical comment on how fake spiritism is going to beat the family at their own game by revealing its true power and also a cleverly designed introduction to set the tone and build the tension. 

All the ingredients are here to turn the ouija experience into a nightmare. The bereaved family is craving for a contact whatsoever with their loved one, little Doris first. She wishes she could talk to her father at a seance like other people do when they come and see her mother for help, that is why she does not talk to god directly but instead send prayers to her dad every night before going to bed. Contrary to Lina who is a teenager in complete denial and pushes down her feelings, Alice and Doris seek communication and are open to it, hence the evil befalling on them. 

Portrayed as an angelic but lonely and bullied girl who is deeply grieving her father and believes in the blurry frontiers between the worlds of the living and the dead, Doris becomes the perfect human and tangible vessel through which supernatural forces can express themselves. All starts with the introduction of the ouija board as a prop into the house and with Alice breaking the three rules which are to never play alone, in a graveyard and never forget to say goodbye. At this very moment, Doris becomes inhabited by Marcus’s spirit whose identity is yet to be defined. How does this possession first transpire? Through speaking. Marcus uses Doris’s voice to start materializing and, as soon as she touches the board, the voices appear all around her, thus enabling the world of the Beyond to let in. 

Doris is progressively attracted by the ouija board which makes her believe she is talking to her father, Roger. They are deceitful spirits who do everything to earn her trust to better trap her, hence the hint at the money buried in the cellar. Contrary to Lina who is far from being fooled, Alice thinks her youngest child is gifted and asks her for help. As the readings follow one another, the trap is closing in around Doris who starts feeling pain in her neck at the same time she excels in the occult. She can now reproduce the voice of the deceased summoned during the seance. 

Once she is fully possessed, Doris first goes through a radical physical and behavior transformation by becoming lethargic, stolid, her eyes often turned white when no one is watching her. Besides, her vocal abilities also go through creepy changes. In addition to mimic the deceased’s voice during the readings, adults’ voices, Doris keeps whispering in people’s ears in a demonic way when the evil entity starts spreading its malevolent influence on the whole family. 

When the film reaches its climax and Doris fully assumes the devil’s voice, which is guttural, otherworldly and distorted by hatred, she no longer is a young innocent child. Marcus’s spirit corrupts and perverts Doris to achieve revenge by desecrating her body and soul and making her utter bloodcurdling things. The scene which most epitomizes the figure of the violated child is when Doris explains step by step to Lina’s boyfriend how it feels like to be strangled to death. The most uncomfortable thing about it is to witness the contrast between what she says and the sweet voice in which she says it with an angelic smile on her face. The mise-en-scène that keeps stressing Doris’s vocal changes, by shooting her facing the camera (or the fourth wall) as if she was already part of the Beyond, is meant to emphasize the element through which she is channelling these powers and forces : the mouth.

The mouth as an organic element  stands as a kind of leitmotiv throughout the film inasmuch as the possession of Doris’s body and soul by the demonic entity is made complete through that means. One night, Doris is awakened by her pain in the neck and gets assaulted by a dark creature who thrusts his devilish arm into her throat. This shadowy creature, one can notice, has no mouth or rather a distorted sewed one, similar to Lina’s mouth when she looks at herself in the mirror one night. At the light of these elements, what was supposed to be a nightmare was in fact real and prophetic.

But what can be the meaning of the recurring imagery of the sealed mouth (see  also Lina’s doll)? Who is Marcus? Why is he portrayed as an evil spirit? What does he want from Doris and her family? He clearly states his purpose when trying to possess Lina’s soul : to snatch her voice.

Father Tom Hogan, a friend of the family, is the one who uncovers the ugly truth behind Doris’s pretended benevolent gift of clairvoyance. She is not channelling good forces but Marcus’s spirit, a man who happened to have been mutilated and murdered in this house a few decades ago. After the second world war, a twisted nazi doctor, called the devil’s doctor in the camps, escaped to America where he succeeded to get hired in a mental institution. He went on practicing his sadistic experiments on patients in the basement of his house. In order to do it, he cut out their tongues, severed their vocal cords and sewed their mouths so that no one could hear them from above. However, Marcus’s story does not end with his death. Violently murdered, he never rested in peace but instead was doomed to wander in the cold darkness of the underworld among other desperate, voiceless souls and malevolent creatures who must have been summoned by the doctor who was into the occult. 

In the end, Marcus, who has been silenced by force, deprived of his own voice and overtaken by the surrounding evil influence in the Beyond, seeks revenge against god and people who have the ability to express themselves, eaten away as he is by hatred, frustration and pain. The only way for him to exorcise the horrible things he has been through is to communicate and hurt others, but for that a voice and a body are needed, hence his attempts to snatch the family’s voices. That is the only way to be heard and to have an influence outside his doomed world. Helped by her father’s good spirit, Lina grabs needle and thread and silences her sister for ever,  thus fighting hard against the entity who strives to engulf her.

Ouija, Origin of Evil, like many other horror films, uses the voice and its communicative powers as narrative tools to address issues and challenge notions such as grief, loss, family unity, parenting, revenge, alternative beliefs, suffering, innocence, corruption, violation and religion. Religion…such a crucial theme whose set of practices and beliefs makes it the most cherished subject of the genre. Any idea which emblematic film is yet to be analyzed in the perspective of the profane voice and corruption of innocence?

[darylandbethfanforever9]

Downfall Of Us All: Chapter 11

Downfall Of Us All

Chapter 11

AN: Thank you to @jtargaryen18​ for helping e write this story, I couldn’t have done it without her.

Bucky searched the other rooms and came across piles of clothing. There was a black Chanel suit, with a white blouse, and other items of clothing. He checked the laptops, and all of them had been wiped clean. HYDRA wasn’t taking any chances. He felt sick as he remembered what Grace had said. HYDRA was going to use Jane, Darcy and Pepper as incubators for HYDRA agents. God knows, what they were going through right now. Sophie came in with a look of pure hatred, she started searching through the boxes when she pressed something. The bookcase behind Bucky opened, revealing an underground lab. "What the hell?" Bucky muttered darkly, he radioed the others and Steve cautioned him and Sophie to be careful, as they cautiously entered the room. There were Petri dishes, and four recently removed cryostasis chambers in the room. Bucky ventured further, and saw a room had no windows.

He cautiously took a look and was inwardly horrified, to see the six dead bodies of young women ranging from their twenties to early thirties. 

He looked at Sophie as they opened the door, and saw the bodies lying lifelessly on the ground. They'd been dumped like trash, wearing hospital gowns. "How long have they been dead?" Sophie asked quietly, horrified at what she was seeing. Had her mother been forced to face this daily? Being constantly experimented on and getting pregnant until the pregnancy was successful. "The two oldest have been dead for at least four weeks, but they've not rotted yet. These three youngest though, it looks recent." Bucky said quietly, when one of the women grabbed his metal. "El Diablo....his name is El Diablo. He won't stop, please get it out of me!" The woman screamed in agony, Sophie was horrified to see blood staining her legs. "We're going to get you help, don't worry." Sophie reassured comfortingly, when the woman's skin glowed orange. Bucky grabbed Sophie and pulled her behind a wall. The explosion shook the building, taking out a part of the room and smoke billowed around them. Bucky looked up to see that Sophie had conjured up a spider web to stop any debris from failing on them, he nodded in thanks. She nodded, as Bucky spoke to Steve. "Steve, you and the others better come down here. The woman just......she just exploded." He said quietly, feeling dread run through him.

"You're not gonna like it, Cap but I know what caused the explosion." Tony said grimly, no humour in his voice for once. His dark brown eyes looked grim, and troubled. "What do you think it is, Tony?" Steve asked quietly, Bucky and Sophie had re-joined the team as SHIELD agents took the bodies to the compound. None of them trusted the government to autopsy the bodies, so Bruce, Jemma and Helen had offered to do it. "Extrimis. It's an advanced form of genetic manipulation created by Maya Hansen and Aldrich Killian, using nanotechnology. It grants the human body the ability to heal and regenerate from physical damages, deformities and even psychological damages." Tony explained darkly and swallowed. "It can regrow limbs, but it's dangerously unstable. When the person with Extrimis tried to regrow the missing limb, they explode. Pepper's the only one, aside from Killian that hasn't exploded. Even after it was removed," he added grimly, and swallowed. "Do you think that's why they took Pepper? Because she had Extrimis in her?" Sophie asked quietly, Bucky standing close to her with Grace and Clint. "It's a possibility, you know. They're abducting Enhanced, Gifted, Mutant and Inhuman women. So, they took Jane and Pepper because they're both Enhanced but Darcy isn't." Bruce said gravely and sighed. That was when a flash of light appeared, and they saw two men standing in front of them. Thor, and Loki. "Have you found Lady Jane, and Lady Darcy?" Thor asked hopefully, Steve grasped his shoulder gently. "Not yet, Thor but we know who took them and why." Steve explained gently, Loki looked at him sharply. "Did HYDRA take Lady Jane and Lady Darcy, as hostages?" Thor asked intently, Steve shook his head. "No, Thor not for that reason. HYDRA took Jane, Darcy and Pepper to experiment, and breed children with them," he explained gently, seeing Thor's face turn in an expression of rage. "Do you have any idea where they are now, Captain?" The God of Thunder asked pleadingly, he still deeply loved Jane and was heartbroken when she'd left him.

"Working on," Tony joined them. "Sorry, big guy. We're going to do everything we can to find them." Even Loki's gaze was sympathetic on his brother. "Jane is strong," Loki told him. "She will last, brother, until we can find them." Thor nodded, his face grim. Steve just hoped he was right.

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They'd been back at the compound for a few hours. The bodies of those poor women were being autopsied. Sophie and Grace had disappeared into their rooms and even though Steve had invited him to watch the game with him, he just didn't feel up to it. Steve knew things like this took him back to the dark places in his memory from his decades with HYDRA and tried to keep him from going there. Some doors would never permanently close. The knock on his door was barely there, so he knew who it wasn't. Blowing out an exhale, he went to the door to find Sophie there. "Come in," he told her. Closing the door behind him, he led her back to the couch. Sophie wasn't here expecting him to act normal, to act like everything was okay. Her past was filled with shadows like his, the hurt she felt reflected in her eyes. "How's Grace?" he asked gently. Sophie shook her head. "Finally, asleep." "Are you okay?" "I'm trying, Bucky, I really am but…" Swiping at her tears, her gaze didn't leave her lap. "I just… Is there any way we can have her work on something else besides this? Can Steve help us? It's just knowing what I know now about what happened to her. Knowing what they put her through… They can't mean to put her through this. Maybe she can work on something else. With Peter. He's not even an adult yet, Bucky. He shouldn't be involved in something like this." "Hey," he whispered, watching her curl in on herself. "Come here." Pulling her in to him for a hug, he wrapped her up in his arms, just holding her. "We'll talk to Steve," he said into her hair. "I'm a little worried about the effect of all this on you. But no matter what happens, we'll get through this." Sophie held onto him so tightly, like he was the only anchor she had. They stayed there for long moments in the quiet of the room. In that moment, it was so hard to believe the outside world and all its ugliness even existed. In that moment, it was just them and feeling her heart beating against his was the sweetest thing he'd felt in years, decades. When she eased back to look up into this face, Bucky couldn't help but stare at her. Sophie was beautiful, kind-hearted. He hated everything Ross was putting her and Grace through, but he had to selfishly admit that if it hadn't happened, she wouldn't be here with him. In his arms… She deserved better. When Sophie gently pressed a kiss to his mouth, he froze. Her gaze searched his face and slowly, she smiled. When she kissed him again, he kissed her back, being so careful because it was already a miracle that she was here with him now. Her mouth was so soft and sweet...

Bucky relaxed into her kiss, smooth his flesh hand through her hair. He loved everything about it from her warmth against him to way her fingers were tangling themselves in her hair. When Sophie pulled back from his again, he could only stare at her in wonder. "That was nice," she told him shyly. He had to laugh at that. "I'm just glad I remembered how to be honest." The smile that earned him had his heart melting. "I read somewhere that you used to be quite a lady’s man back in the day," she said with a smile. His brows shot up. "You read about me?" "You were in our history books in school," Sophie explained, and he loved seeing her face lit up like that. "That was in your history books?" he wanted to know. Sophie shook her head playfully. "No, that was in some additional reading I did. I loved your story. I mean… you were a hero." Bucky shook his head. "I'm no hero, doll." "I think you are," she assured him. "You can't change my mind. You kind of live up to the legend."

Bucky didn't say anything to Sophie's words, she thought he was a hero and he wrapped his arms around her tightly. She leaned into his embrace, just needing Bucky's comfort, as Raymond and Starling settled beside them. "And you're a hero too, Sophie." Bucky said firmly, holding her close and Sophie leaned into him. She was deeply troubled by what they had found out today, and worried about Grace. She just hoped that they would find the three missing women and find her beloved nephew. Otherwise....it was just too painful thinking about it.

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Grace had only slept for three hours, before the nightmares had started haunting her again. This time it was Jane, Darcy and Pepper who were glaring at her. "You're the reason we were taken! Do you have any idea what they're doing to us?!" Jane screamed angrily, Grace could feel her heart pounding. "I'm so sorry, we're going to find you all. I swear, I never wanted this either," Grace confessed quietly, trying to remain calm but her hands were shaking. 'It's just a nightmare, just a nightmare. I'll wake up soon,' Grace thought desperately, tensing up when she saw Darcy stalking towards her with hatred burning in her sky-blue eyes. "This is you, and your sister's fault! They wanted you, but they took us instead to be experimented on, and raped! Some Avenger you are!" Darcy spat, and she saw someone else. The little boy had dark blonde hair, and dark hazel eyes. He was dressed in a pair of jeans, and a Captain America t-shirt. Zach. "Why couldn't you save me, mommy?" Zach asked upset, as she saw Rumlow behind him with a chilling smile. "Hey blondie."

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Grace woke up gasping for breath, tears swimming down her face silently as she sat in her bedroom. She felt her body shaking with sobs and buried her face in her hands. Her baby boy, her precious baby boy was out there somewhere. God knows, what he was going through or what was being done to him at this minute. It had almost been two years, and she wanted her son back. She cried silently and buried her face in her hands. She felt responsible for what was happening to Jane, Darcy and Pepper. For her son being taken away and failing to protect him. She stumbled out of the bed, she nearly ended up tripping over her converse trainers. She curled up, sobbing as she heard someone entering the room. "My baby, my baby boy. I'm sorry, I love you and Auntie Sophie loves you, and so does Uncle Peter and Aunt May. I'm sorry, god forgive me." Grace sobbed brokenly, weeping silently. Rough calloused hands, gently held her and she sobbed harder. She knew who it was, he wouldn't judge her for crying. For grieving over her son, and parents. "He's gone, Clint. I don't know why, but a part of me is saying he's gone. My baby boy's gone, but I don't want to believe it. I just want the pain to stop," she sobbed distraught, Clint held her tightly and felt his own eyes burn with tears. "Grace, we're not gonna stop looking for him. We'll find him, I promise honey." Clint promised firmly, Grace sniffled. "I'm scared Clint, I feel numb here." She said tiredly, gesturing to her heart, and Clint swallowed back tears of his own. God, he knew what she meant. He felt numb, like someone had torn his heart out and pieced it back together. But his grief for Cooper and Lila would never go away, it would stay with him. "Does it ever stop hurting? Will it ever go away, or am I going to be driven mad by it?" Grace asked numbly, her emotions were over the place and so were her powers. Clint held her tightly, feeling her relax in his arms. "No, the pain never goes away Gracie. We have to live with it and carry on. But you've got Sophie, Peter and us here to help you. You...got me." He said quietly, Grace held onto him. "Be honest with me, Clint. Do you think Zach's alive?" She asked bravely, wanting the truth from the archer. "It's been two years, with no sightings of him. But, he's a tough kid and if he is dead...then we'll make the bastards pay for what they've done." Clint vowed fiercely, Grace gave him a watery smile. "I just want him at peace, Clint. It's like I can sense him, but he's in limbo. What if we never find him?" She asked tearfully. Clint held her. "We won't stop looking Grace, we won't. We won’t give up or rest, unless we find him dead or alive." Clint said firmly, Grace sniffled.

"Let's get you back to bed," Clint whispered. "You have to rest, honey." "Clint, I can't sleep," she told him even as she let him gently ease her to her feet. "I see them. I see him when I close my eyes." "I know… Netflix then," he offered. "You don't have to sleep. We'll catch a movie or a show like we did the other night. And I'll be right here." Grace nodded. She didn't want to be alone. She didn't want to burden Sophie. Since her sister had learned what really happened to her, the sadness in her eyes was more weight she carried. She knew Sophie was the older sister, would somehow blame herself. Clint was the one person who could listen to her without pity, who understood her. "Stay here? With me?" Clint nodded. "I can do that." Grace led him back to her bed. Something just occurred to her. "You were already here," she told him. "How… how did you know?" "You… I see you in my dreams, Grace," he admitted, sitting on the end of her bed. "I'll hear your voice and I'll follow it. Guess, I'm just figuring out that's… that's real." Grace moved to stand between his thighs, pulling her to him, his cheek pressed against her stomach. "I'm sorry, Clint," she whispered. "I'm not trying to… pull you into my dreams." He looked up, his grey eyes filled with concern. "I'm not complaining, Grace. I guess I want you to know if you ever need to reach me, do it. I want to be there for you." When she didn't know what to say to that, he reached up on her bed and grabbed the remote. He smiled, "So what are we watching?" "Something funny?" "No chick flicks," he teased. "I could have lived my entire life without seeing The Notebook." Grace couldn't help but chuckle at that. "You're just afraid I'll tell everyone you cry at sad movies." "I so do not," he playfully argued. "Mmmm-hmmm. Keep telling yourself that." Grace glanced back over her shoulder. "I'll go see what I've got for snacks." Clint got Netflix started and rose to follow her. "I'll come with you."

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The next day Grace was feeling slightly better. Netflix with Clint had amounted to watching one of the endless Mission Impossible movies for about twenty minutes and falling asleep. Clint was stretched out next to her, three of her cats curled up and cosy on him. She couldn't help but smile at that. Stretching she threw her legs over the side of the bed, knowing they needed to get downstairs for training. The autopsies would take place today and she needed to stay busy. So busy… Clint opened one eye, blinking like a sleepy owl to see what was weighing him down. He laughed. "My left leg is asleep. How much does one of the cats’ weigh?" "He's big boned," Grace told him. "Yeah," he said teasing. "You ready to go train?" Grace nodded, and they agreed to meet in the gym within the hour. When she got there, Steve and Bucky were already there, looking to be in deep conversation. Then Peter strolled in. He smirked at her, shook her head. "I want another shot at that." "At what?" she had to ask. Just to see Peter's smiling face made her happy. He was like having a baby brother and she couldn't resist teasing him. "At the Black Widow… thing," he told her, folding his arms across his chest. "Well, I can use the practice in taking you down, so let's do it," she said with laughter in her voice. Grace took off, running at Peter. Before she could finish the move, he shot web at her, pulling her right leg out from under her and dropping her to the mat hard. Grace was winded as she laid there, stunned for a moment. "Yes" Peter was celebrating above her. "That worked!" Sam had just walked into the gym, grinning as he watched Grace climb to her feet. "Oh, little man, you're in for it now," Sam warned, smiling at her and back to Peter.

 Grace took off again, not going easy on Peter and vaulted over him, incorporating some of her gymnastic moves. She wrapped her legs around his neck, pinning him to the floor. "Holy shit, ok I give up!" Peter shouted quickly, amazed at how fast Grace was on her feet. She laughed and helped him up off the training mat gently. "You beat me, Peter. Just need to be quicker on your feet, and we'll make you faster," Grace said amused, Peter smiled as Clint entered the room with Sophie, and Natasha. Grace smiled when she saw Sophie walk over to Bucky, she was glad that her sister had someone to help her with everything that was going on. She felt better than she had yesterday, this team was truly feeling like a family to her. And she was going to help them save Darcy, Jane and Pepper.

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The autopsies on the six unknown women was taking place, and Helen Cho with the assistance of Bruce and Jemma examined the bodies. "Signs of multiple sexual assault on the three-woman, cause of death appears to severe blood loss. Jane Doe six appears to have given birth three weeks ago, and has vaginal scarring," Jemma said quietly, wishing they knew the poor women's names. It didn't feel right calling them Jane Doe, all three women were definitely Inhumans. But aside from that information, they learnt nothing else about them so far. DNA tests were being run, and Tony was running facial recognition software with Lilia. Everyone was praying they'd find Darcy, Jane and Pepper before HYDRA hurt them. "So, all six gave birth?" Bruce asked wearily, he felt sick at what he was seeing as Director Nick Fury entered the lab. He didn't like the grim expression on Fury's face, he looked horrified and Bruce swallowed. "We found a grave near the HYDRA base, three of our agents found the bodies of three infants," Fury explained quietly, his expression grim. Bruce exchanged a look with Helen and Jemma, feeling his heart sink as he braced himself for the rage. Thankfully, the Other Guy was quiet, and not acting out but he was livid. "Send the bodies here, Fury. We'll treat them with respect, and compassion." Jemma said quietly, Fury nodded and left.

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Pepper woke up to see that she was in a bed and dressed in a hospital gown. She had no idea where she was, as she saw a with dark brown come in. "Excuse me, where am I?" Pepper asked wearily, watching as the woman did something with her IV drip. She was starting to feel groggy and slumped against the pillows. "You're in safe hands, Miss Potts." The woman said reassuringly, Pepper relaxed as she let the sleepiness take over her. Laura smirked, as she saw Rumlow enter. "I have to admit, I'm impressed. You work quickly, Rumlow and Foster only started crying when you reminded her that she got herself into this mess." Laura said impressed, by Rumlow's efficiency. ------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tagging list: @jtargaryen18​, @marvelfansworld​, @sapphirescrolls​, @queenoftheunderdark​, @nomadicpixel​, @redfoxwritesstuff​, and @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​, and @my-favourite-fics​

[greyskywrites]

Wolf’s Price

[First] [Previous] [AO3] [ko-fi]

XVII. Hollowed

5k

Morhall’s gates stayed closed for near two full days and nights, after that. There were mountains less heavy than the air in that place.

I watched Lya going fair out of her mind from being cooped up. We never saw Tyna, hovering always about the infirmary, doing her damndest to make sure that idiot got out of this as lightly as possible. Never saw Muras, either. He was doing his own damage control.

And Veland, so far as I could tell, hadn’t the faintest notion that anything was wrong. Lya and I were sat on a rug, a pretty picture of parenting, Veland making some story with dolls and a toy elk.

“Can I ask,” I said, quietly, “why you had to go to the burial mound?”

Lya watched Veland, reaching out to pluck a stray bit of lint from his hair. “I had always heard,” she said, soft, “that on a solstice night, ghosts rise up from the graves. Especially those that met violent ends.”

“You knew some of them,” I said. “You spoke to them.”

Lya said nothing. She hadn’t braided her hair that day, and it was strange to look at her like that, near noon and a curtain of black on either side of her face. Eyes hollow because she wasn’t sleeping.

“Lya, no one can help you if we don’t know what we’re supposed to be helping you with.”

Lya closed her eyes. “You couldn’t help me even if you did know.” “Have you been here before?” I asked. “Lya, you knew where they were buried.”

“I asked. You think everyone in this city doesn’t know where they’re buried?”

“You knew them, Lya.”

She had tears in her eyes. Veland looked up, said something, and touched her face. Lya spoke softly to him, smiled and smoothed his hair. She was good at acting, at putting on a face.

“You asked me not to tell Muras about it,” I said. “I’ve not kept a secret from Muras in years.”

“I know,” Lya whispered, “it was a terrible thing to ask.” She wiped at her eyes.

“You know Muras and I would never do anything to hurt you.” I wanted her to say it. I was so tired of this secrecy game, of agreeing to pretend not to see things.

The look she gave me, the crinkling around her eyes. Like she couldn’t believe I would really believe such a thing. “You might not mean to,” she said, “you might not see why it hurt me, but you’re stupid if you think you can really keep to that promise.” She brushed her hair away from her face. “In the end, there’s always something more important than a woman. Reputation, career, money, a king… there’s always something.”

Veland, apparently not satisfied with Lya’s reassurances, wrapped his arms around her, his head resting on her belly. Lya put her arms around his shoulders, wouldn’t look at me.

“Is that the way Kaspar made you feel?”

Lya scoffed, and shook her head. “Don’t blame him for everything wrong with me.”

An uneasy silence fell between us. Lya stroked Veland’s hair and hummed under her breath, a Sarenn lullaby, I supposed.

“I’m sure you know the story better than I do,” I said. “You have a way for stories. That when we stormed this place, and everything went to shit, we never found the last of Corasin’s wives.”

Lya went quiet, and stared at the floor. Veland looked up, questioning.

“I’ve heard plenty about her,” I said. “Pretty young thing, too young, really. One of the other wives tried to kill her, and she had no children. Her father’s only daughter, and his eldest child.”

Fingernails digging into the rug like she would tear it apart, rend those pretty threads into nothing but scraps. There had been more and more glimpses of that in Lya, flashes of something wild and angry.

“We never found her,” I said. “Not a trace. A thousand ways to disappear in a winter like that, of course, but how can you ever be certain? Maybe wolves or lions dispersed her bones. Maybe someone helped her escape.”

Her face, gods it was killing me to look at her. There was fear, and grief, and hate. “So how did you do it?” I asked. “How in the names of all the dead did you manage to survive?”

“Liana Anarin is dead,” Lya said, her voice tight, and breaking. “That’s all the world knows and all they need to know.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t have gone to visit the grave.”

Lya stifled a sob, pressing a hand to her mouth. “I had to beg forgiveness,” she said.

I blinked. “For what? Surviving?” I knew some soldiers who were like that, could never truly forgive themselves for living where their friend had not. Some of them ended it themselves, others found new ways to punish themselves for the crime of surviving, determined that their own misery was some kind of atonement. Lya, I suspected, was in the second camp.

Lya shook her head. “I called the Wolf down on us,” she whispered. “What I told you was true enough, I wanted my husband dead so badly I didn’t care what it took. I killed all of them.”

I stared at her, and moved across the rug, catching her shoulder. She turned her face away from me. “Lya, look at me,” I said.

Very slowly, she did, trembling.

“You aren’t responsible for this.” She shook her head and I gave her shoulder a shake. Veland sat up, asking a question, but Lya didn’t answer him. “Listen to me. Whatever demon you could call up, you were not the one that did this. It was men, Lya, mortal men who came in and did unforgivable things. Not you.”

“No Kressosi army was ever supposed to reach this far north,” Lya said. “No army was ever supposed to be able to breach those gates. I was the only one who was supposed to die by calling up the Wolf, that’s how all the stories say it ends.” She was shaking violently. Veland spoke up again, and Lya reassured him, holding him tighter.

“The gates were old,” I said. I could remember how quickly they cracked under cannon fire. “The guards were drunk or asleep. No one was prepared for us. We got lucky. You didn’t do this, Lya.”

She shook her head, clutching Veland. “How can you say that? After everything you’ve seen?”

“If your Wolf had something to do with it,” I said, “then it’s his fault, not yours. You never asked for all of this to happen.”

Lya sobbed, and I pulled her into my arms, holding her and Veland both. She wept like she had been waiting a full seven years to do it.

#

I became a soldier because I couldn’t bring myself to stand in my brothers’ shadows forever. One inheriting our father’s business, one a priest, and my younger brother dazzling our mother with paints. The only particular talent I had was for getting in fights, and finishing what I started.

I think my father breathed a sigh of relief, when I made it through officer’s training without expulsion.

I knew it was a piss-poor reason to join the army when I did it, and I knew it again the first time I saw battle—but when I took leave to visit my family, I was suddenly a respectable man. Someone who had made something of himself. And that was the piss-poor reason why I stayed.

We were always, always at war. To civilize Saren, that’s what we were told, but it didn’t take much to poke holes in that. What did the king and lords care about the primitive superstitions and odd customs of a people he had nothing to do with? What they wanted was wealth. Wealth in the form of timber, furs, ivory, and total control of the mountain routes to Azira. All of that ugly death, all the boys barely old enough to shave being shipped off as soldiers and ‘officers,’ to line the pockets of the already wealthy.

Commanding officers don’t like when you start asking too many questions. I learned that lesson, too.

North of the river, there’s nothing respectable in that uniform we were all made to wear. North of the river, it makes people flinch and avert their eyes, makes mothers draw their children in close, scar their own daughters’ faces in hopes that that’s enough to make them invisible.

All of that, for money.

There was no threat to Kressos that we didn’t make on our own. No boogeyman hiding under a Sarenn braid and beard. They were just men.

Just women.

Just children.

Maybe that was why I latched onto Muras, when we were first assigned together. I needed someone else who couldn’t sit comfortable with everything we were told to do. Someone who was affected by it. Someone who asked the same questions I asked. Someone who, just like me, still couldn’t seem to make himself leave.

#

“How is he?” I asked, catching Tyna at a moment when she was leaning over the fireplace, looking like she might fall asleep on her feet.

“Recovering,” she said, “slowly. He’s black and blue with bruises, but I think we’ve avoided lung infection.” She smacked her own face, shook her head. It was an exhausted gesture I recognized from my garrison days. “How is Lya?”

I considered Tyna a moment. “She’s having a rough time of things.” Let her read into that what she would. “Were you going to kill him that night?”

Tyna didn’t answer me at first, forehead pressed on the stone mantel while she stared at the flames. “No. I knew that it would be assumed a Sarenn had killed him. I meant to make him very sick, weaken him, scare him. Have him watching over his shoulder.”

I wasn’t sure I believed her. “And Muras? To what do we owe your mercy there?”

Tyna laughed, shook her head. “Because I’m a fool,” she said, pushing back from the mantel, rocking on her heels. “Because it would make her hate me.” Tyna looked at me, a bitter smile on her face. “Why she cares about you, I’ll never understand. What makes you any different from the rest of these men? You say pretty things about how awful the war was for you? How terrible. I’m sure all the widows and orphans you made are just tearing their hearts out for you.”

“And weeping for you, and your terrible misfortune at being the prize pet of a Kressosi prince, I’m sure,” I said.

“Gods,” Tyna ran a hand over her face. “Men are so fucking short-sighted.”

“Then enlighten me,” I said, losing my patience with having a murderer-for-hire condescend to me, “what am I missing here?”  The nerve she had, to draw a distinction between us. We were both paid killers, in the end. It was only that one of us had always been open about it.

“No,” she said, waving a hand in the air. “You don’t deserve the effort.” Tyna let out a breath, turned away from me with a hand on her face. “I have to get back to my patient, lest his death put a riot on our hands.”

“You really are something,” I said, “coming in here like you have all the answers, like everything you do is in the name of some great cause the rest of us are too blind to see.”

“Do you know what happens to the people chosen by our gods?” Tyna asked, whirling on her heel. “Do you know how every single one of those stories ends? Fuck your condescending about superstition, think like you’re Sarenn, think like you believe like she does.”

I gazed at her. “How do they end?” I asked.

“They lose everything, everyone they have ever loved, and they die.” Tyna was staring at me, her eyes afire. “Every. Single. One.”

#

It was five men, in the end, who were to be charged with what was done to Reimen. How Muras found them, I didn’t ask. They were to take ten lashes each, in the public square. They were all fairly young and hardy, men who would recover well.

Reimen was recovering, better than I might have expected, though he couldn’t have been said to have learned anything from the experience. He was raving on about the savage Sarenns that had nearly killed him, how they were animals who deserved whatever they got. I was tempted to kill him myself. I didn’t need Tyna’s poisons, a pillow would have done the trick and been just as satisfying.

Lya hadn’t left our rooms in days. I went to tell her about the men, and found her repeatedly combing her hair, watching the fire burn. There was a pile of strands of black hair in her lap that she pulled from her comb. She listened without saying anything, and when I was done, she said, “Have you told Muras, then?”

“No.” I sighed, watching her as the comb went through her hair again and again, without aim or purpose. The truth was I hadn’t told Muras because he already knew. He had begun to wonder, the more he saw her at Heita’s house. She was not dressed near so grandly as in the bridal portrait that we had seen after she vanished from Morhall, but he began to recognize her dark brows, the soft eyes.

Muras had been obsessed with the vanished Liana Anarin when we took our count of the dead, after Morhall fell. The last wife, the youngest, gone without a trace. Muras had the passage from the king’s chambers scoured, but the only place she could have gone was outside, into the snowstorm. Of course, we assumed she had died. Of course, we would never have imagined that if she lived, she would have gone to Kressos. To have ended up in Kaspar Heita’s house, of all places.

Muras brought her home because he wanted time to be sure. Because he didn’t want this ghost to slip away into the night, and leave him wondering to the end of his days. She was the right age, the right look—and by the time we learned about Veland, we already loved her.

A stupid, foolish love, maybe, but I couldn’t imagine not. I didn’t love her the same way Muras did, I knew that much, but I still loved her. She was maybe the truest friend I had, since I joined the army. I would have trusted her with my life.

Muras knew who and what she was, and I was growing to hate that he hadn’t told Lya he did. He wanted to be able to deny it, I thought—not to her, but to anyone else who might guess. Of course she wasn’t the missing princess, that was absurd. Liana Anarin was dead.

And she was sitting right in front of me, the mother of a boy I was reasonably sure was the only living heir to the throne of Saren. Maybe he thought she would feel safer, if she believed he didn’t know.

“What do you want, Lya?”

She paused, looking at me with her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“If there were no obstacle in your path,” I said, “what would you do?”

Lya lowered her comb, stared at the fire. “I would go home,” she said, her voice so soft I almost couldn’t hear her. “To my brothers, my mother.”

“Why not do that?” I asked. “When it’s time to leave, before Andon’s men come here. What could you possibly have to lose by going home?” Please, I thought, get yourself away from here. Get somewhere safe, where people will protect you.

“I could start a war,” Lya said. “If Julas refused to give me up to Kressos when it was discovered I still live, I could get my entire family killed.”

“If they’re anything like you,” I said, “I imagine they have a few tricks. And what’s the point of having a god on your side, if you have to hide away from everyone?”

Lya was staring at her comb. I felt like I was hammering against a brick wall with my fists, trying to get through to her.

“I don’t know much about your gods,” I said, “but I do know that wolves don’t typically live in solitude.”

Lya let out a slow breath. “I’m not a wolf. I’m a woman.”

“And all the more dangerous for it.” I put my hands on my knees, leaned forward. “Lya, I’m begging you,” I said, “ask him to come with you.”

She looked at me with so much pain in her eyes. “And what good would that do?”

#

Lya gathered herself up to go to the lodge. She said she wanted to speak to Spider, that she needed advice she could only get from another Sarenn. I went with her, wrapped in a heavy coat with a fur cap pulled over my head.

The wind was still roaring down out of the north, sweeping the snow off the rooftops and into high drifts in the streets. The elk didn’t like being out in the weather any more than we did, snorting against the reins and trying to stay hidden alongside the buildings.

Lya still hadn’t braided her hair. She pulled it up high under her scarf, hidden away from view, and the wolf pelt around her shoulders. I wished I knew what she was thinking, if she wasn’t about to break and run, like she had with Heita. And I wished I understood how the same woman who could charge recklessly into a mob to save a man she didn’t know, a man she would just as soon see dead, could be so afraid of so much.

The lodge was warmer than I expected, but even so the beds had been moved closer to the fire. Lya stopped to speak to the faces she recognized, and to the people who reached out to her, desperation on their faces. Lya smoothed their hair and spoke softly to them, pain in her eyes.

I went to the fire, to warm my hands. The smoke burned in the back of my throat, in my eyes. I sighed and pulled the cap from my head, wondering what would happen to these people with the next commander put in Morhall.

“You have seen ghosts.” Spider was looking at me, gaze calculated. The woman unnerved me, the way her grey eyes cut through a person. It took me a moment to realize that she expected a response.

“I don’t know what I’ve seen.” I hadn’t even known she could speak Kressosi. She had hardly even looked at me, all the times I came before.

Spider considered me, hanging a pot of water over the fire. “You have Death leering over your shoulder. What troubles you?”

I searched for Lya in the lodge, and found her sitting with an old woman, holding her frail hands. Spider was still watching me. “I feel as if the people I love are frozen, when what they need to do is run. Fight another day.” Why I felt compelled to tell her that, I didn’t understand.

Spider stoked the coals, adjusted the pot so that it would receive more heat. “Are you afraid of Death, I wonder?”

I gazed into the fire. It’s a fear you’re meant to kill, as a soldier. Men who are too afraid of death bolt and run. On the other hand, it was always the men who weren’t fearful enough who were the most dangerous to the men fighting beside them. “Not afraid of it, but I’ve killed a lot of men trying to stay alive.”

Spider nodded. “Have you ever seen a house with nothing in it? No furniture, nothing that can indicate anything about the person who will live there.”

I must have looked at her oddly, I couldn’t fathom what she was on about. “I suppose I have.”

“You are an empty house,” Spider said. “You have the structure of a man, but all the furnishings have been moved out. You don’t know who you are anymore.” Then she turned, and left, as if that were all there was to say.

I just stood there, by the fire, not sure what had just happened, what any of it was supposed to mean.

If I didn’t know who I was anymore, then neither did Muras, neither did Lya. Hell, for all I knew, Tyna was as adrift as we were. This place—it ate your soul out of you, hollowed you out and turned you into something you couldn’t recognize. Or maybe it wasn’t the place—maybe it was only Kressos. Maybe that was what it meant to be a good soldier.

Maybe that was why it had been so hard to leave. My life hadn’t been so much different, after I retired, because I was still with Muras. I traveled with him, attended many of the same functions that hosted so many military men. Plenty of people still called me Major. Truthfully, if the army were hard pressed enough, they could still call me back. So had I even really left at all?

I stayed by the fire and watched as Spider and Lya drew aside, sitting on the floor and talking with bowed heads, Lya’s hands balled up in the fabric of her coat. What use were gods, if they caused her this much pain? I couldn’t understand it. Surely it was better to be godless than to endure this much grief because of them.

But then, according to a bald mystic who didn’t seem to care at all for the proper course of a conversation, I was an empty house, so what did I know?

Lya was a long time talking to Spider, long enough that I began to wonder if we would ever leave. When she rose, Lya seemed no happier, but she seemed to have developed some resolve.

Bili was fairly dancing to get moving out of the cold. Lya swung up into the saddle, and looked to the north, the wind pulling back the scarf from her face.

She took in a deep breath, like she was going to swallow the wind, and turned back to Morhall.

“Did you get the advice you needed?” I asked.

Lya heaved a sigh, and nodded. “Yes.”

#

I dragged Muras out into a courtyard, tired of seeing him moping around inside, threw a sword at him. “Come on, now,” I said with a grin, “like in the academy.”

Muras smiled faintly, testing the balance of the sword. “In the academy, you were a dirty cheat.”

“You weren’t so clean yourself.” I advanced, and Muras blocked my cut, hardly putting any effort into it.

“You’re lazy,” Muras said. “You always start the same way.”

“That’s a very unkind thing to say, Muras, I’m out of practice.” I feinted and took another swipe at him, this one Muras only barely avoided. It was trickier to do good footwork in the snow, but we had been trained in muddy yards, and in another life Muras would have made a good dancer. That might even have disappointed his father more than being a soldier.

It had never done me any good to try and knock Muras off-balance—the fastest way to beat him was to disarm him.

Naturally, he had gotten very good at avoiding that.

We hadn’t sparred in years, but if I had one thing on my side it was that Muras wouldn’t go easy on me.

He drove his shoulder into mine, and I skidded on the stone before grinding my boot heel to a stop. I had just a moment to catch the blow he sent at me and shrug it off, twisting his sword down.

We had a bit of an audience, men who were off-duty, and a few others who worked in the castle. We were maybe some of the last men who had been taught as we were. I knew they barely taught swordsmanship at the academy anymore.

I cut low, and he blocked me. He tried to back me into a corner, and I slipped around and just barely managed to catch his blade, tossing it across the courtyard. I put my sword under his chin, and grinned. “There,” I said, “not so dirty, was I?”

It was the first real smile I’d seen on Muras in a while. “You’re still a bastard.”

“And I’ll never change.” I took a step back, turning to find his sword and pick it up. I saw Lya, standing at the edge of the yard. She had braided her hair again, put a scarf over her head. She looked almost like her old self again—but there was something in her eyes. Something that drew me up short and knocked the breath out of me.

It was the burned-eyed look of someone who had cried all the tears they had to cry. Like all she had left was something harder, colder. I had seen that look before, in the kind of people who didn’t look away when our damned uniforms came marching past. The men, I noticed, were avoiding her.

I bent to retrieve Muras’ sword, tossing it back to him. I could feel Lya’s eyes burning on my back as I turned, raising my sword again. I wondered what she thought of this, this showmanship with a weapon that no longer served any practical purpose, when it was rifles and cannons that had won the war. I’m not certain I even drew my sword until that last battle, in the close quarters of a palace with tight halls, when desperate Sarenn guards got too close to be shot.

The second time, Muras disarmed me easily. Too much so, I suppose, I could tell from the way he looked at me. “Are you alright?”

I nodded, though I wasn’t. When I looked again, Lya was gone. I retrieved my sword from the dirtied snow, and spoke quietly to Muras. “You have to tell her.”

#

Lya’s wolf mask hung on the wall in our bedchamber. In the low light, with a fire in the hearth, it seemed to have a life of its own. It played tricks on the mind, to stare at any one thing too long, but I couldn’t stop myself, imagining that there was saliva on those teeth, that flickering shadows gave movement to the eyes.

Muras sat by the fire, warming his hands.

“She’s gone to the lodge, hasn’t she?” I asked.

Muras nodded, and sighed. “With Tyna.”

Of course she had. They had some understanding between them, some trust that I couldn’t fathom. The wolf mask cast a long shadow on the wall.

“She knows you know, then,” Muras murmured.

“She thinks I only just guessed.” I hated that mask. Wanted to throw something over it so that I couldn’t look at it any longer. Why had she chosen to wear that, of all things? As if the men hadn’t feared her enough, before. They didn’t even have the words to say what they were afraid of, but I had heard some of the Sarenn whispering about it, ones who didn’t frequent that lodge. The ones who called her witch. “She’s never going to confess it to you unless she feels like her hand is forced. You have to tell her.”

“What good will it do us?” Muras asked, quiet.

“She needs to know that you won’t sell her out to the prince.” She needed to know that she wasn’t the only one with secrets.

“I would never hurt her.”

“She knows you would never mean to hurt Lya Sargis. She doesn’t have any fucking idea what you’d do with—” I couldn’t say the name aloud. I had become too aware of the walls having ears. “I can’t tell her for you. She needs to hear it from you.”

Muras let out a breath, scrubbed his face with both hands. “We should have told her while we were still in Kressos, but I… I wasn’t sure, I couldn’t risk…” Muras stared at the fire. “If I tell her that I knew, and she realizes I must have known about Veland—that I let her bring Veland here, knowing that…”

“I cannot keep lying to her, Muras.” The wolf mask stared down at me from the wall, where I was stretched out on the bed. “I can’t—I can’t keep pretending.” There was going to be war the moment it was found out a son of Corasin still lived. There was no avoiding it. The question was whether we had been so hollowed out as to repeat what we had done here the first time. I didn’t want another child, another woman to die because of us. “We could set out of here with the first thaw,” I said. “Cut across the continent to Arborhall. She said she wanted to go home.”

Muras rubbed his hands. “If we do this, I never see Tomlin again. You never see your family, either.”

“If we don’t, there’s a good chance Lya and Veland both die, and we get our heads cut off regardless because Andon sees assassins in every shadow.” I pulled myself off the bed, and went to the wall, picking up the wolf mask to hold it in my hands. It was heavier than it looked, I wondered how Lya could stand to wear it. “We’re in over our heads, I know. But we were in over our heads when we marched through this godforsaken country in the dead of winter, too.”

I put the mask over my head, gazed out the eyes. “Remember you told me once, you felt like we could never really atone for everything that happened here? Seems to me, helping her with whatever it is she needs to do is a damn good start.” Gods of death, gods of war—all the same in the end, weren’t they? This was the price for what we had achieved. To risk our lives to restore the crown we had broken.

Muras gazed at me, the mask over my head. “Alright,” he whispered, finally. “I’ll tell her.”

[labime]

Klaroween Bingo - “You are officially dead to me”

The city is more alive late in the night than in the day.

The dingy alleys are sedated, silent as a cemetery on those nights she can hear the wind susurrates its secrets with the merest of brush, the windows are closed, shutters rolled down and flying curtains allowing nothing but glimpses at outlines of swaying shadows cut into near-blackness, the skyscrapers are enclosed in wan silver light, the roads are deserted and seemingly unlimited as the headlights-illuminated expanses spread out, the streets are calm after the activity of day.

The world seems asleep.

The world seems dead.

But like for many things, it's only the beginning.

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After the sun dies on its last citrus-red rays and before the night sky slant to submit to the day, appearances are the first thing to fall apart.

The shroud of normality vanishes and the dingy back alleys are vibrating with hushed whispers and ugly shouts that break the silence, the closed windows conceal the vices boxed in that arch up in the confined space, stretch out like they can't in the judging candescent daytime, the silver lights distract from the multicolored neon-bright signs of entertainment all over the city, the roads indicate who couldn't get out before dusk settled, the streets hide the stealthiest night creatures.

In the city that never sleep, monsters made a nest for themselves, prowl smoke-hidden the neighborhood and startle unsuspecting meals who waste their last breath to scream a soundless scream, bone-shredded bodies found in the middle of torn chunks of their own flesh and attributed to various criminals, bloodbaths that easily disappear when water licks at stains.

Thankfully, nobody pays enough attention to see through the cracks and connect split-second understanding with lifelong rationality.  

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When they can no longer find refuge in their convenient ignorance, compulsion has to be used.

It's always the case when Caroline throws a party.

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It wasn't always like that.

Caroline Forbes was kind, once, or tried her hardest to be. She wanted simple things, had dreams not that singular for a teenage girl; she craved love, and acceptation, and friendship and nice things and she was willing to pay for it, accepted to bend her spin and crack her bones so that she might fit into a shape people she loved and who claimed to love her would choose.

Caroline Forbes bit molar-shaped ugly holes in her tongue from holding up everything she had to say but couldn't, she presented her hands for people step over uncaringly and thought with shyly fluttering hope in her stomach that they would hold them instead, she scrubbed away the spit of their condescension and pretended it was never there, trapped herself in a claustrophobic basement where they decided they could finally love her if she acted like someone she wasn't.

Caroline Forbes died on February 26, 2010. One moment she was talking to her friend, and the next air was everywhere except in her lungs. No one noticed, no one cared and no one would.

She died and memories came flooding back to her, slicing through a clueless brain, filling in blanks with blood-soaked horror and humiliation she was forced to see again, replaying right before her very eyes like a bad cliche horror movie. The stupid superficial blonde cheerleader who stupidly goes home with that guy who so obviously isn't that into her and whose sexual promiscuity gets her abused and nearly killed but doesn't because the brooding hero saves her for the virtuous heroine, the one who really matters in that movie. You've already seen that movie. You don't care about that girl. But then again, no one did.

She killed that night. First, the nurse, and then, her abuser. She relished in the blood spilling on her tongue, in the screams she ripped with razors from Damon's throat, a crimson rain bursting from his chest, had played with her toy for days as Stefan and Elena and Bonnie were running around looking for Katherine who had evidently abducted people Elena cared about to get to her out of sheer viciousness. She listened to the fluid of his body leak as his pissed and shit himself like an animal, shackled up to the Lockwood cellar wall, and then she staked a sharp wooded weapon into his heart.

She didn't look back as she left the town.

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Once or twice every year, Caroline hosts a party that is more a rallying point for vampires to save beneficial connections with the oldest and the strongest of their kind than an opportunity to relax and appreciate the evening, even though their motives mingle and overlap in frenzy hedonism at the end of those nights she always finds herself panting with her dress blood-damp and a body close to her as she drains it dry, with the rest of her guests feeding or dying, or watching in a sleepy fog from fear can’t break through compulsion.

Everything is golden.

Caroline thinks with the nostalgia reserved for ancient dreams, for the phantom of past expectations, that this is exactly the kind of party a little small-town girl would have looked at with earnest stars glinting in her young eyes. The Old Hollywood kind, pretentious but elegant and dignified. Pale honey everywhere, splashed from the constellate crystals attached at the chandeliers by fine ropes of dusky rose pearls down to the high ornate walls and taffeta curtains and cold marble floor her heels clink over.

Her frozen-green dress rubs like liquid warmth against her bare skin as she dances with her guests, twirls and sways and laughs with the others at the latest insignificant gossip they hear. It’s like a vicious game they intentionally drag out, a different kind of chase they partake in as the humans mill around with a confidence that comes with wealth and power and who forget the fragility of life, paper-thin, easy to tear through.

She’s standing alone near the buffet where she’s just ruined her perfect manicure with macaroons-brown strains, laugh not yet having died in her throat and hand flicking up to grab a champagne flute, bracelets jingling down her forearm, when the crowd is cut into two neat sides.

Klaus emerges smoothly from the space he cleanly cut into the room, wearing a coal-black tuxedo with a bowtie, offering a few nods to the vampires whose back twist down with bowed heads and pointedly ignoring those don’t with a sort of indulgent disinterest. Murmurs vibrate and resound across the assembly, a thousand drops of water falling into the chilled icy surface of a lac in winter, waking up the nearly drowsy serene gathering; some know him, know his reputation, know who she is to him, others doesn’t and look with imperious questions and doubts that their survival instincts stifle.

In the end, it doesn’t matter.

He doesn’t concern himself with them, isn’t there to reassert his authority but for her. He wears that boyish smile that makes his forever-youthful face wrinkle around his eyes and lips, he has that look in his eyes that punch into her chest because it doesn’t—never ever—graze at anyone else’s form, and from where she stands with a sparkling champagne flute she hasn’t tasted yet his smile flashes hello, sweetheart and it was a long time and I missed you and many other things he won’t say with so many ears listening.

And then it changes.

Klaus pauses. The two men to her right still. Someone else says something, urgently. That something must be important

In the blink of an eye, in the backspace it takes for thoughts to roll back, for her to understand—

The room erupts into a chaos of bursting organs and horror-stricken screams and fleeing feet and flying stones and tumbling bodies as Klaus cleaves flesh from bone.

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Her scowl is steadfast as he compels the last police person to leave and report a fight that devolved into some bleeding but nothing serious. The man nods, in a daze he won’t get out from so soon, and repeats the words, the paramedic by the small pond do the same and they both leave with compulsion-induced steps self-confidence.

The bloodied footprints marking the floor are carefully measured as they make their way back to a fuming Caroline sitting on a plush padded chesterfield sofa that was maroon when she brought it but turned ruddy-red a few hours ago, holding her anger tight when she feels it quietly slips away from her with every minute like a small fragile-winged butterfly. Which she knows is what he wants, has waited for, stalling for time.

“Elijah’s men just found the last of your guests. They’ve all been compelled,” Klaus says with the resigned acceptation of a man who knows he’s not getting away with this one with the marked absence of an apology. “I admit,” he adds when she doesn’t flinch a muscle, arms still folded over her chest and neck metal-rigid, “that I should have chosen another course of action.”

“I can’t believe it,” she bleats, jumping to her feet and throwing at him a gold-rimmed cushion he catches easily with amusement.

“No, you know what?” She inhales sharply through her nose. The pestilential odor of decaying bodies hit her nose, makes her wrinkle it. “That’s exactly what I expect from you. You just don’t think of anyone else but your own precious person.”

Her words sting, she knows it when his jaw clenches, juts out, amusement fading from his eyes. He wouldn’t care about that remark coming from someone else, not if she wasn’t included in it as a faceless unimportant person, worthless to him, but his eyes narrow as he says, almost disapprovingly, “You know that’s not true.”

She knows. But she doesn’t want to delve into the barbed maze of their latest breakup tonight, had anticipated none of what happened tonight. The ends to her parties are always messier, if she’s honest, more gore and more screams and more bodies strew around like the cast-off broken dolls she’d get bored with as a little girl.

Caroline ducks her head, fiddles with her bracelets, looks around and feel an old itch to clean, the disorder making her insides churn unpleasantly, and finally glares back at him. “No one’s going to come to my parties before a long time now. Not if they think they will get chopped off on a whim.”

She flops down, refusing to look at him.

She hears a rush of air, feels a hand touch her jaw, tipping her chin up and the other combing her curls, and she swallows thickly. The firm touch of his hand is charring, leaves imprints-blackened burns that never disappear, that she can always feel to the marrow of her bones. It’s everlasting. Like them. Like a curse.

“Who were they?” she asks before he can say anything, referring to the pile of arms and feet sticking out of a huge garbage bag.

“Old enemies,” he answers, smirking with devilish glee.

“They tried to overrule me, questioned my authority, gathered more than a few who thought they could kill me without killing themselves.” Gleaming white teeth show over the edge of his cherry lips, not in a smile. “Those three escaped,” he goes on with regret. That he hasn’t made it worse, last longer, she sees. Understands, really, because she’s learned that the only answer to an attack is to eliminate it, to hit harder, to hit fatally, otherwise the impending threat never cease, not for an obsessive brain like hers and a paranoid mind like his, like an analog clock, the hands rotate and circle and overlap and eventually come straight to the same point they started from. If they can’t reach their goals, can’t get rid of a problem, can’t find a solution—time stops. Everything stop, freeze and burn in a puddle, and freeze again, indefinitely—until they get what they want.

She frowns at the triangular table where hot and cold intricate dishes remain untouched, shakes her head and thinks that this is the saddest excuse for a party she’s ever had.

“You are officially dead to me,” she grumbles, but it’s half-hearted, at best.

A laugh slither along the side of her jaw, a pulse of breath that punishingly reminds her where he has touched her face tonight, every other times he touched her everywhere, everywhere, everywhere, not one inch of her skin uncovered by his skin and lips and tongue, oh—Her breathing quicken, copper still present in her mouth from the appetizer she’s had earlier, from the less than human-potent blood in the ballroom. She closes her eyes, chest heaving slowly, savoring the sensation of blood coursing through her body to the apex of her thighs, skin too sensitive in the room that feels stifling-hot all at once.

His eyes are the first thing she sees when she opens them again, swirling with unmasked desire, gold-splotched and raw. The entranceway to his mind isn’t open to her but she doesn’t need to slip in the lock to see what he want to do with her right now, shoulders set straight with tension and glance flickering to the slit of her dress that almost reach her hip in that position—he wants to turn her around, bend her and fuck her and watches her takes him from behind.

She raises up so fast he’s forced to take a step back, drawing out of his daze like someone might blink up at the blazing morning; it takes a while to adapt.

“I think you should stay tonight”, she starts, her intention clear when she runs her eyes all over him. “To help me clean.”

Neither of them mentions they have minions for that.

“Of course,” he drawls, the quality if his voice rougher now, “that’s the least I can do.”

[sidpah]

The Ugly Stuff

Two of us tracking shotguns through the woods. Or one shotgun and a small .22 rifle. We hunted squirrels, birds; we hunted rabbits but never once found one, I’m pleased to report. We could tell the squirrels by sound. They chattered, yes. But their voices echoed, rendering them unreliable. The rustle of their food, however, did not. We’d stop and listen for the crackle of falling pine cones. Red squirrels perched in branches chewing at them like corn from the cob, letting their thin desiccated middles tumble to the waiting bed of leaves and needles below.

A second later, our feet in motion, seeing ourselves as commandos, proud, dangerous, nothing less than religious figures on the offensive against the defenseless. We were the righteous heroes of a film no one saw fit to produce…

I repent every bullet I ever fired. Well, that’s nearly true... Had I not experienced it, seen the ugly side of swinging deer carcasses being stripped of skin by revving pickup trucks, I’d never have developed this extreme distaste for violence that turns on my tongue like spoiled citrus rind.

It was the chase, not the actual moment of murder I found alluring. Following the dark blur, the alien shadow, bounding from limb to limb, tree to tree… Our rifles leveled, safeties flicked off revealing a small red dot of which I never understood the true implications. Or the barrels sweeping across treetops following the frantic silhouette, ready to pierce the world, our violent rape of flora, fauna, the very Sun if our bullets could’ve reached that far... A game of dominance. A race, a test of eyesight and stamina. If only they could’ve played along, (let all the animals in on the game!) so they could concede, bow down to our immaculate budding manhood, us herbivores who clawed our way to the top of the food chain with thumbs and axes, with all the fierce warrior heads of ancestors I’d never known crowned then above my greasy knotted hair… And I could say “Bang, I gotcha!” and the animals, the birds, all manner of mammal and reptile and amphibian, could toss whatever appendages were most like our hands into the air and clutch at their chests in mock fatality. And as they righted themselves they could say, “Yep, you got me that time. Good work, guy. You’re sure the dominant species, you are… Well, I’m gonna go back to my little rodent/frog/blue jay family now. Nice playing with you.”

Our interactions with the wild natural world never could be so neat...

One or two shots through the shoulder joint or flat of skull, peeled open. Panting beaks clutching at the final dregs of early morning mist; scents of dew and decay… A missing eye is the sign of a true marksman. Tiny red spots on a white belly of ruined fur. A demon’s voice, sounding like that of a stepfather, in my ear stressing that the squirrels, the pests, the new red menace, were damaging the trees… and their numbers were rising steadily higher, blindly humping out descendants to the detriment of the frail woodland.

“So cull, young warriors, cull! Do your duty to Mother Earth and thresh her children to the bone!” Having been duly abdicated, merrily we went upon our slaughter.

As if I ever gave half a damn about the trees I splintered with tacked up bull’s-eyes and barrages of lead, or tore apart looking for caterpillars to send spraying in the ten directions with firecrackers and lighter fluid. Oh, how the ugliness does multiply…

Any atrocity can be rationalized, and the mind, fragile, worrisome, hell-fire-fearing coward it is, flounders for justification, for appeasement, for someone to forgive us our trespasses without asking us to alter our well-trodden path. The Word has come down from an elder, an officer, a certified scholar, so the Word is Good and we may relax, and be lulled to slumber away the decades in its fetid arms...

 It took more than a year of this ritualized killing before the distaste started settling in. Cole, my partner in primitivistic crime, and I would proceed with less and less enthusiasm, each trying to appease the other because we were too insecure to admit that our stomachs had turned.

So to keep up appearances, we would hunt; but I began playing a new game. I would aim not at the squirrel, but at the branch a foot in front of it. I wanted to scare it away so it would survive. And I could say, “Shit, I missed; fast little fucker,” and be perfectly happy that my marksmanship saved its proportionately-sized life. Of course, Cole started doing the same without my knowing, so we would leave the woods with hands unstained, relieved, but too embarrassed to say so. I wish there was only that neat tapering off of nastiness, but that’s hardly ever how it happens.

One incident ended it for me. Never again would I raise a weapon in hostility or intentionally harm a living being. A grey squirrel, chased with great fervor, would be the last…

All the starving tribesman of antiquity again sent charging through my veins... Maybe I missed at missing; maybe that sick hunger had returned a little… The copper tip of a .22 Viper entered his body through the tight musculature of his back as he scrambled up the side of a large fir. Through the scope I could see the quarter-inch red hole immediately to the right of his spine. His back legs gave out; I must’ve clipped a nerve, but he grappled with panic-stricken claws to pull his bleeding half-paralyzed self up the trunk. To safety. Away from me and my loud, angry thunder.

I was the threat of death that all creatures fear.

I shot him again. This time in the left shoulder blade. The poor creature, in all his suffering, his pain, his very real, hot, screaming terror, kept scraping higher up to find cover in thin needled branches. I swear I could see his face through the lens and through that lens I knew his every thought. The afternoon had become that clear…

The Sun was kind enough, or malicious enough, depending on your perspective, to give each hair its own shadow and eternal soul. And that same Sun with her heart full and demeanor stolid, showed me my own reflection in his black pearl eyes, and it was not a reflection I would have recognized or chosen to claim ownership of. The anguish he was experiencing, physical and so clearly mental, horrified me. The anguish I was inflicting on him for absolutely no reason at all… I wondered then just what kind of fucking ugly crust of a thing I had devolved into.

Who was I? When had I grown so callous to the pain of others?

When at last his fingers could grip no more, and he tumbled like a discarded pinecone cob to the unpadded ground, twisting, jerking, his palsied legs sending up plumes of dust that hung round his form, bones broken, holes perforating his little stuffed doll’s body, I approached him.

I have never been one to cry, but my vision blurred; wetness burned on my cheeks. At that moment I had no one to ask for guidance. I had no tools but mercy and confusion and the bitterest self-anger… With no clearer option, I placed the hot barrel of the rifle against his tiny head, and for the time being at least, ended his misery…

His, but not mine. I was sickened by the whole episode. Resolve filled me to never again play these barbaric games. I still mourn that poor little family man.

How can any reasonable adult do this evil shit for fun? And it was that day that I vowed never to harm another sentient being. And I have never once looked back, except to strengthen my resolve.

Sometimes it’s necessary to remember the ugly stuff...

[lady-zephyr]

Typhoon Ch.8

Well I can’t get into AO3 right now so I guess I can post the chapter here and link the AO3 page later. Oh yeah! There’s only one more chapter left so we’re in the home stretch. I have a pretty good idea of how I want it to go so I won’t leave you hanging for 2 more months to read it hopefully.

Rating: M

Words: 3182

T/W: Blood, bruises, abuse

Guzma fell backward with the force of Plumeria’s punch, backside meeting the carpet with a painful thud. His hands flew to his face to cup his nose and a shocked gasp escaped from his lips. He looked confused as he rolled onto his side, pushing himself onto one elbow. The hand on his nose moved away and he stared at it a second, checking for blood, before looking up at the angry woman towering over him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He protested. “Ya’ could’a broken my nose.”

“No, what the fuck is wrong with you, Guzma.” She was fuming. The fists clenched tightly at her sides twitched as she held herself back. “Look at her. What the fuck did you do?!”

A soft murmur began to grow throughout the house, the altercation not going unnoticed by the other occupants of the mansion. Doors cracked open just enough for black and white bandana covered faces to peek through. The masked individuals focused on Guzma and Plumeria, each wanting to get closer, but none brave enough to take the first step.

“Back to your rooms. NOW.” Plumeria barked. Doors slammed around the house as the grunts shut themselves away. As much as they may have wanted to watch what was about to happen, no one was dumb enough to disobey a direct order from the admin of Team Skull.

Turning back, Plumeria called you over. “Come here a minute.” You lifted your arms to put your shirt back on, but a Plumeria’s strong voice stopped you. “Leave it off. He needs to see this.”

With your head lowered in shame you approached the door way, stopping before you actually exited the room. Even though Plumeria had told the grunts to stay in their rooms, you didn’t want to risk exposing yourself in case someone dared to disobey. You stared at the floor, too embarrassed to look at Guzma directly.

“Look at her,” Plumeria said, “Did you even once think you might have been hurting her?” Fresh tears slid down your cheeks and your chest trembled as you held back a sob. You could feel Guzma’s gaze travel across your body, following every line and pausing at every bruise.

“Look, Plumes-“ Guzma began before being cut off abruptly.

“Shut up. She doesn’t need your excuses.” Plumeria leaned down and grabbed the collar of Guzma’s jacket, pulling his face close to hers. “Get the fuck out of here. And if I see you come near her again we’re gonna have a problem.”

She pushed him away, feeling a small twinge of sadness as Guzma fell back to the floor. Plumeria didn’t like getting physical with Guzma, but when he was in one of his moods, violence was the only language he understood. The way she saw it, he was getting off easy.

Placing an arm around your shoulders, Plumeria lead you back into her bedroom and shut the door. This time she didn’t stop you when you pulled the shirt over your head. She just motioned for you to have a seat on the bed and she sat beside you when you finally let out the sobs you had been holding back.

Placing your hands over your face, you finally gave in and let yourself cry – loud, ugly sounds you silently hoped Guzma was still around to hear. You cursed yourself for letting it get this far.

“This is all my fault,” you whispered between sobs, “If I would have just stayed put, none of this would have happened.”

“This isn’t your fault.” Plumeria said. “I don’t care what happened between you and the boss. He had no right to hurt you like this.” She looked toward the door, as if waiting for Guzma to come bursting through. “I have half a mind to go back out there and give him a taste of his own medicine.”

Your stomach rumbled loudly and you chuckled nervously. “Oh, right, I was on my way to the kitchen when you found me. I kind of haven’t had anything to eat today.”

Plumeria sighed and shook her head. “Ok. Stay here. I’m gonna go get something from the kitchen. When I come back we’re going to talk about this some more.”

She got up quickly and left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. It was then that you decided you would tell Plumeria everything.  Your reason for coming here, why you stayed, when you tried to leave … everything. Maybe if you explained, she could help you figure out what you were supposed to do now.

It was less than ten minutes from when the colorful haired woman left the room to when she returned with a bag full of cereal bars and bottles of water.

“Sorry. The power is still out and I didn’t really want to leave you alone for too long right now.” Plumeria said. She handed you the bag, and you picked through the contents taking what you wanted before passing it back to her. “So… you wanna talk about it?”

“Actually, I do.” You said. Opening a bottle of water, you took a drink, inhaled a deep breath, and started from the beginning. Before you knew it, an hour had passed and you were explaining the past day to your new ally. You didn’t tell her everything; after all she didn’t need to know some of the more intimate details, but as you finished your story Plumeria was once again fuming.

“Just who the hell does the Boss think he is?” Plumeria rose from her desk chair and paced around the room. She stopped in front of the door and crossed her arms over her chest with a huff. “I would normally say he’s not really a bad guy, but there’s no way I can say that after hearing what you just went through.”

You turned your attention to the window beside the bed. Rain pelted the glass forcefully and through the onslaught you could see the palm trees being pushed around by the wind. If the second half of the storm lasted as long as the first half you were trapped for at least another day and a half in the Shady house. You didn’t know what to do. At this point, you desperately wanted to go home, but with the hurricane still in full blast it would be impossible.

Reaching back, you pulled a soft skitty poke-doll into your lap. Its face looked so happy with its wide grin and closed upturned eyes. You pull it close and rest your chin between its big fluffy ears, hoping Plumeria wouldn’t mind the action. Taking a deep breath, you could feel the tears welling up once again. You were so tired of crying, and tired of being stuck in this house full of people who couldn’t care less about your existence. Tears slid down your cheeks again and you tried your best to keep from sniffling too loudly.

“Mr. Skitt doesn’t like tears, you know.”

“What?” You ask, “Who’s Mr. Skitt?” As you turn your attention back to Plumeria, she moves to her desk and starts digging through the drawers.

“That doll you’re holding. He and Madame Lapras don’t like tears.”  She pulls out papers, notebooks, and random odds and ends before finally finding what she’s looking for. She turns back and addresses you sheepishly. “Look, since the power’s out I don’t have much we can do. But I have a deck of cards, or some interesting books if you would prefer that instead…” Plumeria trails off, unsure of what else to say. She looks uncertain, as if she’s not used to being so kind. You sniffle before realizing what she’s trying to do.

“Oh, cards are fine I guess. I don’t really know any games though.” You give a nervous chuckle and sniffle loudly. Plumeria hands you a tissue box from somewhere on her now disorganized desk. She pulls the chair beside the bed and starts shuffling the cards.

“Ok, let’s start with something easy then. How about Go Fish?” She explains the rules and deals the cards. It’s an easy game and after a few minutes of playing you find yourself breathing easier, not thinking about anything but the cards in your hand. Before you know it, the game is over and she’s teaching you the rules to another, more complicated game.  An hour passes, then another, and another. You break for a dinner that consists of more cereal bars and water. When it grows too dark to see the cards, Plumeria pushes aside the mess on her desk and lights a candle, the soft glow providing you some comfort.

Things have been silent for a while. It was too dark to play more games, but still too early to call it a night. Plumeria sits at her desk silently reading a book while you watch the raindrops splatter against the window. She turns a page and the paper rustles unusually loudly, but it gives you an idea.

“Hey, do you have a notebook I can borrow? And a pen?”

Plumeria sets down her book and digs through the pile on her desk. She pauses for a moment before handing you a black notebook, the front cover decorated with salazzle stickers; and the pen she hands you has a tiny plastic golbat attached to the top.

“There’s more pens in the top drawer if you need them. Different colors and stuff too.” Her face flushes red with embarrassment, and you realize she probably never lets anyone see this side of her. She has to put up a strong front to keep the house in order - seem more mature in order to protect the younger members. Even though she hasn’t said anything, you’re grateful that she welcomed you into her room and took the time to help you.

Smiling wide, you say thanks and begin to write. The rest of the night is spent organizing your thoughts and putting the feelings into words. The lines are disorganized, phrases jotted down as they form in your mind, and the more you write the better you feel. The rest of the evening is spent in silence punctuated by the turn of pages and the scribble of a pen.

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

You wake up alone with your hand loosely grasping the golbat pen. Plumeria had insisted you take the bed, but as you looked around she was nowhere to be found. Stepping out of bed, you stretch and wander over to the door, flipping the light switch to check if the power had returned. With no sign of electricity, you reach for the door and open it a few inches. The hallway is empty – no grunts, no Plumeria, no Guzma. A relieved sigh escapes your lips, and you close the door shutting yourself back into Plumeria’s room.

“Just one more day,” You say aloud, “I should be able to go home tomorrow afternoon.”  You take your place back on top of Plumeria’s bed and reach for the notebook. Your thoughts are all there, now it’s time to organize them. You’re halfway through the first draft when the door swings open.

Plumeria strides into the room wearing a smug smile. She’s carrying a large serving bowl and the smell washes over you before you can see the contents.

“One of the grunts managed to reignite the pilot light on the stove. Hope you like pancakes.”

You smile brightly. Finally, your first real meal in almost two days.

“I brought you something else, too.” She sets the plate of pancakes down on her desk and slides the bag from her shoulder. You recognize it instantly. It’s your bag, and as you reach for it your heart beats excitedly. You reach in quickly, grabbing your pokeballs and releasing your team into the room.

It’s a tearful reunion, and after checking each of your team you pass the pancakes around. Plumeria releases her own pokemon and you watch as the two groups mingle and play. When your pokemon are finished eating and playing you give each one a hug before returning them to their pokeballs.

With your team back safely at your side, you turned back to the notebook Plumeria had lent you and continued to draft your letter. It took you the rest of the day, but as it was getting to dark to see, even by candlelight, you folded the page and addressed the other woman in the room.

“I need to ask a favor.”

“Let me guess, you want me to give that to Guzma.”

A pink blush creeped across your face as you nodded at Plumeria. “Please… please don’t read it.” You turned your head away, arm outstretched clutching the letter. Plumeria took the paper gently and rose from her seat.

“I won’t.” She walked to the door, before turning and looking back. “Anything you want me to tell him?”

“No,” You shook your head, “Just give him that, please.”

“You got it.”                                          

As the door closed with a click, you lost your composure. Hands that had held the letter out to Plumeria only moments before began to tremble and your heartbeat pulsed loudly in your ears. Noticing your breathing picking up, you close your eyes and take a few deep breaths. You needed to calm down before you had a full on panic attack.

Not knowing what else to do, you wrap yourself up in Plumeria’s blankets and stare out the window. It’s too dark to see anything, but the rain still assaults the glass powerfully. In the quiet you can hear footsteps approaching the door. You throw yourself down quickly and pretend to be asleep. You don’t want to talk to anyone right now, even Plumeria.

“Hey, I gave your letter to-“ She stops when she sees the blanket cocoon. Whatever she has to say can wait for tomorrow. Sitting back at her desk, she retrieves up her book and picks up right where she left off. You feel bad for blowing her off - after all, she’s shown you nothing but compassion, but right now you really don’t want to talk.

It’s been one hell of a week and you decide you’re ready for it to be over.

You pull the blankets closer and stare at the candle light dancing on the wall. Plumeria turns the pages of her book with a continuous rhythm, and you think it sounds almost like the ticking of a clock. Between the sound of the wind and Plumeria’s pages you find yourself being lulled into a deep slumber.

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

This is it. You think. It’s time to go home.

The rain is still falling, and the wind has died down into a few lingering gusts holding onto the tail of the storm. You looked away from the window and back to the growing mound of clothes on Plumeria’s floor. A quick look at yourself in the mirror that morning had confirmed your worst fears – the bruises from Guzma weren’t going anywhere fast.

Most of the scratches hadn’t actually broken the skin so the red lines crossing your chest and arms had disappeared, but the bruises were a different story. While the marks on your arms were already beginning to fade to yellow, your chest was still decorated with splotches of black and blue. It would be impossible to hide from everyone for another week, and you really didn’t want to have to explain why you were covered in bruises to Acerola and the kids.

Plumeria had insisted she had a t-shirt that would fit you, but as she dug deeper and deeper into her closet you began to have your doubts.

“Aha!” She yelled. “There you go. One plain black t-shirt guaranteed to cover pretty much everything. I knew it was in there.”

You pulled the shirt over your head and looked at yourself in the mirror. It couldn’t hide the mark on your neck, but you could always lie and say you got hit by something in the storm. No one would question you about the hurricane.  You smiled wide and turned back to Plumeria.

“Thank you so much. For everything. I don’t think I could have gotten through these last two days without you.”

“It’s still raining. Are you sure you don’t want to wait a little longer?”

“No offense, but I really want to go home and sleep in my own bed for a while.” You shrug your shoulders and sling your bag over your arm, making your way to the door.

The house is quiet as you follow Plumeria to the entrance hall, and you wonder if she warned the grunts not to leave their rooms today. The bright haired girl opens the front door to the mansion and hands you an umbrella. She pulls you into a hug before pulling away quickly.

“Look…” She pauses, Her right arm crossing over her chest to scratch nervously at her left arm.  You can tell whatever she wants to say is difficult, “We might cross paths again you know… as enemies. The boss too…” She trails off searching for her next words.

“I understand.” You smile and reach for her hand, squeezing it gently.  “I won’t go easy on you just because you helped me.”

“Take care.” Plumeria whispers. You nod and head through the door.

The umbrella offers little protection in the pouring rain, but you decide it’s better than nothing and continue onward. You’re relieved to find that the blockades have been mostly washed away or pushed to the side making your exit that much easier. You’re almost to the town limits when you hear footsteps heading toward you quickly. You turn in time to see Guzma come to a stop several feet away.

You stare at him, waiting for him to say something – anything.

His mouth opens and closes making him look like a floundering magikarp. The tension grows between you, but this time it’s Guzma who can’t get the words out. He hangs his head in defeat and a wave of sadness and relief washes over you. In a way you’re glad he remains silent. That way there’s no reason to approach him.

His shoulders droop with the rain and you follow the line of his arms down to his hands, where he’s clutching a familiar paper. It’s the letter you wrote to him. He sinks to his knees and brings his hands up to his face. You know he’s crying but the tears are washed away by the rain as quickly as they can fall.

Silently, you turn and continue on your way to the entrance of the town. The wind picks up in one final gust, making you pause and grip the umbrella tightly with both hands. You hear a sound then. It’s quiet and for a moment you’re not sure if it’s the wind or something else, but as you reach the edge of town you hear it again, louder and unmistakably sad. You pretend you didn’t hear it and break into a run, but the sound pulls at your heart.

”I’m so sorry.”

[buckybarnesappreciationsociety]

“A Chance for Happiness” Part 4 (Haylee and Kaylee Barnes)

Summary: Judge Ingram rules on Bucky and Y/N’s adoption petition.

Characters: Bucky x Reader OFC: Haylee and Kaylee, Steve, Tony, Judge Ingram, Pepper, Nat, Wanda, Sam

Word Count: 1,296

Warning: Maximum fluff (I teared up)

A/N: Children with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome are slower to develop mentally and physically. On the growth spectrum, they’re 3 years old mentally in 5 year old bodies.

Oftentimes, in foster care homes, they are bullied by staff and other children. This happened to Haylee and Kaylee. Unable to express their feelings, adults would say mean things or children shunned them.

****************************************************************************

Language translation: Dahyee---Dolly; Tapin’merita--Captain America; Iwoman--Ironman; Yike--Like; Ote dote--Okey dokey; Toopid--Stupid; Ugwey--Ugly; Dats--That’s; Hayee/Tayee; Haylee/Kaylee

****************************************************************************

James Buchanan and Y/N Y/M/N Barnes knows all too well living as Hydra’s puppets. Having your strings pulled for their sinister plans, morphing from human to a cold blooded assassin without feelings. Y/N fared a little better. She wasn’t controlled by words. Hydra would inject her with whatever the mad scientists wanted tested.

In return, Y/N experienced an adverse reaction. Nausea, headaches, increased physical stamina. So, Hydra decided to use the duo as puppets to further their twisted agenda. No one knew the body count, you can assure the number exceeded 50. For the record, Bucky DID NOT kill JFK!!  

Bucky and Y/N enjoyed married life, working with the Avengers, eradicating Hydra. The missing puzzle piece; children. Bucky unwillingly had a vasectomy; Y/N sterilized.

Spending time with Clint and Laura’s kids filled a miniscule part of the ache. Bucky and Y/N longed for the pitter patter of little feet running to their waiting arms.

Standing in the way of Bucky and Y/N’s happily ever after, a sullen judge by the name of Augustus Ingram.   

Pacing the floor, Bucky played the ‘what if’ game. “What if he doesn’t give’um to us? I couldn’t take it doll.”

“James, if it’s meant to be, Haylee and Kaylee will be here tomorrow night. Now, come to bed.”

VERDICT

9:00--The bailiff escorted Bucky and Y/N in Judge Ingram’s chambers.

Haylee and Kaylee, wearing cute blue dresses, white socks, black dress shoes, two pigtails adorned with blue and white ribbons, chatted with Judge Ingram, licking a lollipop. “Hewoe. Wook. Tandy!!”

Bucky teased Kaylee. “You didn’t save a lollipop for me? I’m gonna cry.” Kaylee laughed. “Sowy. Man, daddy yike tandy.” “All my candy’s gone.” “No tandy daddy.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Barnes, please have a  seat. I’ve presided over numerous adoption hearings for 20 years. NEVER have I heard anything so heinous as what happened to you. After that day, I went home, hugged my kids, and cried. It takes despicable, I dare not call them humans, evil to inflict such pain. Sitting here chatting with Haylee and Kaylee, they’re sweet, smart, amazing little girls, not responsible for the hand they’ve been dealt. It’s come to my attention, they were bullied. Kids didn’t understand why Haylee and Kaylee talked the way they did. So, the twins withdrew, only playing with each other. Now, they have a mother and father who will love them unconditionally.”

Tears fell from Y/N’s eyes. Bucky rubbed the back of his neck in disbelief. “Your Honor, please don’t tease us.”

“Mr. Barnes, I wouldn’t dare. With great pleasure, say hello to Haylee Marie and Kaylee Mariah Barnes.”

Excited, Haylee and Kaylee stood beside Judge Ingram, kissing his wet cheek. “Tank you. We dot mommy and daddy. Wuv you. Bye bye.”

Bucky tried hard to keep his composure; didn’t work. Haylee crawled in his lap. “Done cwy daddy. It awwight. We doe pway dahyee?”

Y/N tickled Kaylee’s stomach. She twisted and turned filling the room with laughter. “Yes munchkin. We’ll play with dolly all day if you want.”

Haylee slid from Bucky’s lap, pulling his massive hand. “Wet’s doe pway dahyee daddy.”

Y/N mouthed ‘thank you.’ Judge Ingram nodded. “Take care of those angels.”

Steve, Nat, Wanda, and Sam waited with bated breath. Tony fidgeted in his seat.

As the doors slowly opened, Bucky held Haylee and Kaylee in his arms, followed by Y/N.

Thunderous applause erupted!!! Steve congratulated the elated couple. “Wow, you’re parents!”

Tony wiped his eyes. “Mr. and Mrs. Frosty and their little ice cubes.” Pepper elbowed his side. “Ow.” “Behave!”

Haylee and Kaylee couldn’t believe their eyes. Captain America and Ironman in the flesh!

“Mommy wookie. Tapin’merita and Iwoman!!! Daddy wookie, wookie!!!!”

Steve’s chest puffed; Tony’s head ballooned larger than normal. “Hello tiny fans. I’m Tony.”

“Hewoe. I Hayee, dat Tayee. You Iwoman?” “Why yes I am.”

“Ote dote. Bye bye.” “I don’t know whether to be happy or offended.”

Nat chided. “Don’t take it personal Tony. You have that effect on every woman.”

Steve greeted his goddaughters. “Hi darlings.” “You Tapin’merita?” “Yep. What’s your name?”

“Tayee and Hayee. Dat mommy and daddy.” “Nice to meet you Haylee n’ Kaylee.”

“Uh huh. Bye bye.” “What’cha say now Ice Pop?”

Pepper smiled. “Hello Kaylee and Haylee.” “Hewoe pwetty yaydee.”

Wanda and Nat introduced themselves. “I’m Wanda and that’s Nat.”

Haylee and Kaylee’s lips quivered. “Mommy, we tain’t shay.”

Y/N suggested, “Can you say Te Te?”

“Yesch. Hewoe Te Te!!!” Clapping, Bucky and Y/N praised their daughters. “Good job!”

WELCOME HOME

Bucky and Y/N returned to their suite at the compound. Haylee and Kaylee stood in place,

spellbound. “Babies, this is your home for now.” Kaylee hopped on the sofa. “Pwetty mommy.”

Haylee tipped in the bedroom, taking in the view. “Wook daddy.” On the bed was a large box, wrapped in pink. Bucky opened the top, shaking his head.

“Sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Winter Breeze. Frozen and I are the cool uncles.”

Signed, Tony and Capsicle.

In the box, Captain America and Ironman pajamas. “Doll, Tony struck again.” Y/N shook her head, “Those two will never quit.”

PARTY TIME

Balloons, party hats, bubbles, streamers, horns, food, dessert, stuffed animals adorned a table.

Nat, Wanda, Pepper, Sam, Steve and Tony cheered. Haylee and Kaylee joined in. Steve tried to dance to no avail. Tony recorded the precious moments for Bucky and Y/N.

Pepper consulted a Fetal Alcohol Syndrome nutritionist, Dr. Amelia Norton. “Mr. and Mrs. Barnes, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” “Same here Dr. Norton.”

“Your daughter’s diet is fairly simple. Purchase only organic fruits, vegetables. Beware of food containing alcohol. If possible, homemade breads, pastries, yogurt and granola. I brought a cookbook that’s easy to follow.”

“What about a speech therapist?”

“Mr. Barnes, Haylee and Kaylee don’t need a speech therapist.” “WHAT??”

Tony joined the conversation. “Sorry did I hear you correctly?” Pepper vetted several speech therapists for the twins.

“Yes Mr. Stark. Personalized talking books, animal sounds, alphabets, flash cards, crayon, construction paper and patience are just what any doctor would order.”

“What about social interaction and potty training?”

Nodding towards the girls, “Look at them. Eating, laughing, running around. Potting training? Since we’ve been here, Ms. Maximoff has taken Haylee and Kaylee to the bathroom twice.”

Everything clicked. Instead of spending time with the girls, they were pushed to the back burner at the foster home.

“Thank you Dr. Norton.” “It was my pleasure. Good night.” Pepper walked her to the elevator.

“Guys, this feels like a dream. Gazing into Haylee and Kaylee’s eyes, our hearts melt. Marrying James filled an empty space in my life. Adopting our sweet peas completed the puzzle. We love each one of you.”

“Doll, the girls are gettin’ sleepy. Time for bed.”

“You’re right. Sweetheart, say ‘goodnight.”

Yawning, Haylee waved, “Nigh nigh. Wuv you.” “Tayee wuv you. Bye bye.”

Everyone returned the sentiment. “Goodnight ladybugs.

Tucking Haylee and Kaylee in, Bucky and Y/N stood next to the bed.

“Doll, m’dreaming right?”

“No Mr. Barnes. Haylee Marie and Kaylee Mariah Barnes are here, with their parents, aunts, and uncles.”

“Mrs. Barnes, I love ya.” “Mr. Barnes, I love you too.”

Y/N climbed  under the covers; Bucky stretched out in his lounge chair, wrapped in a blanket.

Yes, the missing pieces of the puzzle in the form of gray eyes and brunette hair, sucking their thumbs, clutching Care Bears.

@rebelslicious @pegasusdragontiger @suz-123 @omalleysgirl22 @stars8melanin @wxntersoldiers @httppartytattoos @valkyireomiden @crazy-little-thing-called-buck  @sebstanfanma @supersoldierslover @sgtjamesbuchananbarnes107th

[artificialqueens]

Better Than Revenge, Chapter 3 (Multi) - Joley

Chapter Summary: Rosé learns Gigi, Symone, and Denali’s revenge origin stories

ao3 link

Woodstock, IL — 2016

Gigi took a deep breath as she stared at herself in the mirror. She could do this, it was fine. Every time her suspicions or confusion would bubble up, she forced them back down. Hannah was nice, she was different from the other popular girls. She didn’t see the ‘weird art lesbian’ with the braces and thick-rimmed glasses, who rarely got pop culture references post-1989, at least, that’s how she made her feel.

“I’ll text you in the morning,” she assured her mother as she threw her bag over her shoulder. “It’ll be fine, I’m just hanging out with a friend.” She was out to her mom, of course, that was her biggest ally. But she wasn’t ready to tell her that the head cheerleader had taken an interest in her. Maybe when and if they became official. Until then, she shook off the last of her nerves and drove to her house, only pulled from her thoughts by the time she was sitting on Hannah’s bed.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Hannah cooed, batting her lashes and resting her hand on Gigi’s thigh.

If Gigi hadn’t been so blinded by her crush, she might’ve thought Hannah was laying it on a little thick, but she couldn’t act like she didn’t enjoy the attention. “Me too, a-about you, I mean. Sorry, I’m just nervous…”

“How come? I didn’t come on too strong over text, did I?”

“No, no I liked it, it’s just… I’m a virgin, like, I’ve only ever kissed before,” she confessed, her cheeks flushing rosy pink. She had talked a big game over text, but being faced with the chance of starting a physical relationship brought her back to reality.

Hannah pouted, rubbing Gigi’s thigh as she thought, letting her hand inch higher. “Well, you’ve got fantasies, don’t you? I know you’ve masturbated before. What do you think about while you touch yourself?”

Gigi hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. The other girl wasn’t wrong, she did know what she liked, could conjure up vivid imagery to get herself aroused, but she had never said any of it out loud. “I like powerful, confident women. I guess that’s something that drew me to you,” she started, “I wanna just… give up control, be dominated.”

“Really? Tell me more,” Hannah prompted, kissing along her neck and jaw and slowly tugging Gigi’s shirt off in an attempt to coax her to continue.

When Hannah didn’t seem deterred by her confession, Gigi started to relax. “It’s just, I don’t know, I always feel the need to be in control of my life and with sex, I just wanna let go and give up that power.”

“So like, what would you want someone to do to you?” she asked, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

She bit down on her lip. “Um… tie me up, spank me, choke me, and I know it’s kind of intense but maybe something like cnc or—” the incessant buzzing of her phone distracted her and, concerned it might be an urgent call or text from home, she took her phone out. “Sorry, one sec.”

It wasn’t from home, she had two missed calls from her best friend, Crystal, followed by several texts.

Crystal: GIGI STOP Crystal: SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! Crystal: She’s broadcasting you on IG live! Crystal: We can see and hear everything…

Gigi’s face fell, her first instinct to pull her shirt back on. Then she slowly looked up and in front of her, that’s when she saw it, nestled between stuffed animals — Hannah’s phone with an instagram live going. She didn’t say anything, just ran out of the house as fast as her legs would take her and through her tears drove right to Crystal’s house. That was when the two of them formed their plot.

In and of itself, it was simple. Gigi waited one day until Hannah was away for a cheer competition and went to her house. “I’m so sorry to bother you, Mrs. Andrews, but I think I left some of my homework in Hannah’s room, she just said to let you know so I can run in and grab it.” Once inside, she found exactly what she was looking for, sliding Hannah’s diary into her backpack and went right back out.

“This feels very Mean Girls, I love it,” Crystal remarked as they taped page after page of the diary on lockers, walls, anywhere they could.

“Well, plan B was to go the Heathers route, so let’s just hope it works.”

And to say it worked was an understatement. As it turned out, Hannah had written things far more incriminating, and because it came from someone of her social ranking, it made everyone immediately lose interest in Gigi’s livestream scandal, and she graduated with the anonymity she needed for survival.

Present Day

“I’ll be honest with you,” Rosé remarked, “it’s kinda hard to picture you as an ugly duckling, especially the way you described it.” Gigi was too pretty, too perfect. Something didn’t add up.

Gigi got out her phone and scrolled through her photos until she found one from her senior year. “Believe it, doll,” she said as she held her phone up. She watched with an amused expression as Rosé looked from her phone, to her, and back with her eyes wide and mouth agape. “Braces off, lasik, learned a lot about how to dress while going to FIDM, which is where I met Symone, who helped fill in the blanks.”

“And made sure she got to do all them things she listed to that bitch without feeling ashamed about it,” Symone added with a smirk, draping her arm around Gigi and pulling her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Why don’t you tell her your story next, baby?” Gigi prompted.

Conway, AR — 2014

Symone watched her sister throw her bag over her shoulder and start to sneak out the window. “Look, I ain’t snitching or nothing, but I still don’t think this is a good idea.”

She and her sister, Lala, were close, sometimes referring to themselves as twins – they were only ten months apart, in the same grade at school. And until the summer after sophomore year, they had the same group of friends. But the crowd Lala ran with now just rubbed her the wrong way.

“You worry too much,” Lala brushed it off. “I’ll be fine, in bed by morning like nothing happened.”

But when Symone got a collect call two hours later, she found out things were far from fine. She drove down to the county jail as fast as she could without getting pulled over herself. Luckily bail was a mere fifty dollars, but once she got her sister back in the car, she looked at her incredulously. “What the fuck happened?”

“One of ‘em brought weed, another brought booze, but when the cops rolled up on us, they said it all was mine. And who was they gonna believe, me or three white kids?” Lala sniffled, wiping her eyes. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen to me,” she whispered.

“I don’t either,” Symone admitted quietly, frustrated at her inability to come up with an immediate solution. “But we’re gonna do our best to get you out of this, okay?”

The best they could do wasn’t easy. It involved a lot of legal maneuvering, meetings with one person in a suit after another. The end result wasn’t ideal, but it was far better than what could have been. Lala was fined three hundred dollars and put on thirty days of probation. In and of itself, it didn’t seem so bad, but the residual consequences took their toll.

“I lost my scholarship, ‘mone. That was my ticket into college,” Lala sighed. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know I’m getting off with a slap on the wrist, but I really ain’t thrilled about taking out student loans,” she sat down on the floor beside the bed, head leaning against it. “Or maybe I’ll start with community college, I dunno. It just fucking sucks that they all got off with warnings.”

Symone’s brows knitted together, her lips pressed into a fine line. “Don’t you worry baby,” she said after a moment, “they gon’ face consequences one way or another.”

It had taken most of spring break, but Symone finally had all of the pieces for her plan. “Not the most convoluted thing in the world, but it’ll get the job done,” she mused.

Lala looked at her sister, then at her desk and back. “Do I even wanna know where the hell you got coke from?”

“No, you do not.”

Getting the drugs was the hard part. Getting into school early to plant the drugs in the lockers of Lala’s former friends was far easier, as was leaving an ‘anonymous tip’ from a ‘concerned student’ on the principal’s desk.

“God, I wish I could’ve seen them get hauled off in cop cars,” Lala remarked as she and Symone drove home from school. The three students were quietly escorted out of class and arrested, the school wanting to bring as little attention as possible. “Shame that they rich daddies will still get them off lightly.”

Symone sighed and nodded. “Sure, but they’re still gonna get something, which is more than what they got when they threw you under the bus. Bet they’re gonna think twice before they let someone else take the fall for them.”

Her sister smiled softly and shook her head. “You really ain’t gotta do all that for me, you know?”

“I know,” she hummed, “not gonna stop me, though.”

Present Day

“Wow, that’s both selfless and hardcore,” Rosé remarked with an impressed nod. “Did she ever find out where you got the coke from?”

Symone laughed and shook her head. “Nah, that secret I’m taking to the grave.”

Rosé jokingly put her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, fair enough,” she chuckled. After a moment, she turned her attention to Denali. “That just leaves you, princess,” she remarked, a slight smirk tugging at her lips. “What’s your claim to infamy?”

Denali tossed her hair off her shoulder and grinned softly. “Who, me?” she cooed, fluttering her lashes. “Well, it is kind of an interesting story…”

Nicky rolled her eyes and tossed one of the couch pillows at her head. “Stop flirting and get on with it already.”

Fairbanks, AK — 2011

Denali groaned when the sound of loud footsteps racing up the stairs pulled her from her quasi-asleep state, then pulled a pillow over her head when the door swung open.

“What the hell are you still doing in bed when the qualifiers are in two hours?” her friend, Kahmora, asked with incredulous horror. She yanked the covers off of her, but stepped back in concern when she finally caught sight of Denali’s face. “Oh god, you look like shit.”

She frowned and rolled over to face away from her. “I feel like I died and was in the process of being reanimated, then killed again,” she lamented. “It’s probably food poisoning… or maybe swine flu came back, I dunno.”

“Did you eat anything unusual?”

Denali furrowed her brows as she wracked her brain. “I mean, Tara gave me those brownies and I had one, but when she said they were ‘special’, I just thought she meant they had weed in them, but that sure as hell isn’t it.” With as much energy as she could muster, she sat upright. “Oh my god, do you think she poisoned me?”

Kahmora arched her brow. “I think that’s a bit much, even for her. Do I think she put something like a laxative in there so it’d take you out long enough that you couldn’t beat her out in the international qualifiers? Yeah, probably. She’s a cunt.”

The skater scowled, her jaw clenched. “She’s a dead cunt,” she corrected, then suddenly shot out of bed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she muttered as she raced to the bathroom yet again.

There wasn’t an obvious revenge plan for Denali. She knew that nothing she did would get her spot in the competition, and she wondered if it was even worth it. But her pettiness and spite won out and she began planning out her course of action.

“Remember,” she was saying, “if all else fails, we go the Tonya Harding route.”

Kahmora sighed. “For the last time, you are not whacking Tara’s kneecaps, now let’s go.” Despite some pouting from Denali, they went to get the gears turning in their plan. They got to the ice rink and slipped into the locker room without being noticed by Tara, who was in the middle of practice.

Denali picked the lock and took out Tara’s change of clothes. Then she reached into her own bag and pulled on latex gloves and a plastic bag containing several leaves of poison ivy. She turned the shirt, pants, and socks inside out and firmly rubbed the leaves against the fabric, making sure she left as little fabric uncovered as possible. “She’s lucky I’m merciful or I’d rub it on her panties too,” she remarked offhandedly.

Kahmora tilted her head as she watched her. “Do you actually think it’ll take her out of the competition?” she asked as her friend put the leaves and gloves into the ziploc bag.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I mean, it’s possible, probable really, that the constant itching might make it too difficult for her to skate. But this is more about getting even with her. I might not ever get another chance to compete for internationals. She’s lucky the only retribution she’s getting is a few weeks of itchy blisters.”

“Otherwise you’d Tonya Harding her?”

Denali nodded brightly. “Exactly! Now come on, we have to get rid of the evidence.” And with that, they scurried out of the locker room as inconspicuously as they’d entered it and threw out the evidence in a trash can several blocks over.

When the news broke that Tara had withdrawn from the competition due to ‘unexpected physical problems’, Denali did her best to feign shock and didn’t celebrate until she and Kahmora were alone.

“So, what do you wanna do now?” Kahmora asked.

Denali tilted her head in thought, then smirked. “Let’s go get brownies.”

Present Day

“Personally, I still think you should’ve busted her knees,” Mik mused offhandedly. “Like, I bet you would’ve figured out a way to get away with it, you conniving bitch,” he teased.

Denali shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s not very original and it’d look a lot more suspicious on my end.”

“I think it was pretty badass,” Rosé offered, making the other woman smile which, in turn, made her heart flutter — something she chose to actively ignore. Instead, she let all of their stories sink in. None of their reasons for revenge were out of line, none of their victims undeserving. And none of the consequences were as severe as some of the things she had seen in her time. “You all really know what you’re doing, huh?”

“We wouldn’t have been able to keep this up for three years if we didn’t,” Jan replied. “We had all of the potential on our own, but we make a difference together, and then we added Jackie to tie up the loose ends. It’s been smooth sailing from there.”

“Yeah, and now Jackie ties you up instead,” Nicky teased, earning an eye roll in response.

Rosé watched the group interact with a fond smile. She had assumed they all got along to be working together for as long as they have been, but she hadn’t anticipated them truly behaving like a family. It was a stark contrast to the constant coldness and curtness she had grown accustomed to, both in her previous career and in the environment she grew up in. She only hoped it would make the tasks ahead that much easier for them.

[wozman23]

An Ode To Conan (AKA Conan Ode’Brien)

The year was 1995... or maybe '94... or at least sometime around then, give or take a year. I had just entered, or would be entering middle school, at age eleven... or twelve. With a new school came a later bedtime. So around that time I discovered two things: Saturday Night Live, and Late Night with Conan O'Brien. That was when my world changed.

For as long as I can remember, I've been a silly kid. My parents even used to throw an extra letter in my name and call me “Jokey.” Occasionally, they still do. But now, looking back, nearly 25 years later, I don't know if I'd have ever predicted just how much of my joking nature I'd be able to maintain at this point in my life. Today, at 37, if you ask me to sum up my personality in two words, they'd be “weird” and “funny.” As most age, they lose those traits. They'd instead define themselves as a “Personal Trainer” or a “Civil Engineer.” But I'm still just “weird” and “funny” - a goofball rebelling against the notion of “growing up.” I stubbornly keep the letter 'y' on the end of my name when most Josephs my age pick a more mature alternative. I have little interest in being anything else, and aspire for nothing more.

Much of that is thanks to a tall, freckled, red-headed idol I found on the late night airwaves of NBC, who danced as if he had strings on his hips and let people touch his nipple. I grew up watching cartoons like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Disney movies with comedic voice actors, and blockbuster movies like Ghostbusters and Mrs. Doubtfire, but I'd never seen anything as wildly experimental as Late Night. The (arguably) grown man at the helm still retained such a whimsical, silly, absurd outlook on life. He was a big kid, just having fun. It blew my mind. I was hooked. And it showed me that even if I was weird, I wasn't alone.

The absurdity of Conan and Late Night continues to be unrivaled, even to this day. There was a Masturbating Bear, who just went to town on this oddly nondescript jock strappy looking thing, Preparation H Raymond, an overly goofy looking character, with buck teeth and massive ears, who sang songs about applying a cream to irritated buttholes, and Triumph The Insult Comic Dog, who eviscerated Star Wars nerds and crashed the Westminster Dog Show. Clutch Cargo bits, where moving mouths were inserted into pictures of Arnold Schwarzenegger, Michael Jackson, and Bill Clinton, always brought the laughs in the early days, with both Robert Smigel's impressions and the disregard for making things look authentic. The In The Year 2000/3000 bits provided the rapid fire jokes of randomness that I aspire to write today, one of my favorites being: “Babies will start listening to dance music when Lady Gaga teams up with The Goo Goo Dolls to form the super group, Gaga Goo Goo.” Other recurring bits like Celebrity Survey, SAT Analogies, and Made-For-TV Movie Castings provided similar repeatable formats that brought laughs night after night, as did Actual Items, a swipe at Leno's Headline's bit. If They Mated provided us with the horrors of what the love child of two celebrities would look like, in worst case scenarios. Desk driving bits and car chase spoofs with model towns and cars always delivered. There were the silly Satellite TV Channel bits, with the standout, the Men Without Hats Conversation Channel, as well as the truly pointless – yet my all-time favorite character – Cactus Chef Playing ‘We Didn’t Start the Fire’ on the Flute, created solely to poke fun at the criticism that the show was absurd. Conan Sings A Lullaby was always some macabre fun. At one point, The Walker Texas Ranger lever swept the nation, ultimately resulting in one of the oddest clips ever to grace television. “...Walker told me I have AIDS.” Constant cameos delighted, with frequent appearances from Larry King and Abe Vigoda, who were both always willing to go the extra mile for a laugh. And occasionally, my beloved comedy worlds would combine with someone from SNL like Will Ferrell showing up, dressed as a sexy leprechaun, or engaging in some other antics. Jim Gaffigan birthed the Pale Force cartoon. Hornymanatee.com became a thing. Remote bits, like Conan playing old timey baseball, were always instant classics. Plus, the show birthed the idea of travel shows, with trips to places like Finland and Toronto - the second of which has one of my other favorite remote bits, Conan training with the Toronto Maple Leafs. So much memorable, silly, recklessly avant-garde stuff happened in those years of Late Night. And all the best moments happened when Conan acknowledged the astronomical stupidity of it all. It was always a pleasure to watch, and it all felt expertly crafted just for me.

In the end, a program that got off to a rocky start, fighting off cancellation time and time again, blossomed over the course of fifteen years into a comedy juggernaut and bastion of brilliant buffoonery for my generation. It was practically perfection.

Then the first transition happened...

Like many, I was apprehensive about the switch to The Tonight Show. It was great to see Conan inherit what was formerly known as the pinnacle of late night talk shows, but I wondered if America was ready to watch a bear play with his dick at 11:30pm, especially the demographic that had enjoyed Leno's far more traditional approach. I think we now have that answer. NBC managed to repeat their past mistakes, and fumbled another smooth transition of hosts. Things got kind of ugly, but Conan managed to land on his feet at TBS, where his show continued to run for another eleven years, giving him and his employees - who had relocated to Los Angeles at the start of The Tonight Show - steady work.

The one issue with the migration was that Conan no longer retained the rights to any of his intellectual property. Exceptions were made, but most of this bits and characters were absent from the now titled show, Conan. There was also one less show a week. However, new bits were concocted regularly, like Coffee Table Books That Didn't Sell, Basic Cable Name That Tune, and NBA Mascots That Should Never Dunk. New characters were spawned, like Minty, the Candy Cane That Briefly Fell on the Ground, Punxsutawney Dr. Phil - The best Dr. Phil bit since Letterman’s Words of Wisdom - and Wikibear. Will Forte showed up atop a stuffed buffalo as network owner, Ted Turner. Experimental stand-up sets, like Tig Notaro pushing a stool around or Jon Dore & Rory Scovel being double booked provided some of the best stand-up sets ever. Embracing a digital, web-based format, they introduced new segments like Clueless Gamer, catering to my love of video games. There was Puppy Conan, and Mini Conan. Plus, they doubled down on travel shows, creating the Conan Without Borders series, which I believe to be Conan's best work to date, and a shining example of who he is as a person. There were Fan Corrections, which allowed me to influence his show for five minutes, and throw my own zaniness into the world, and back at the man who stoked the funny fire in me. At some point in life, I may achieve greater things, or have children, but I may still always say that the greatest day of my life was the day I was on Conan.  

So Conan did have bright spots, but to me things were never quite the same. They were still good, but not amazing. Slowly it felt like things were beginning to decline. Longtime writer/performer Brian McCann left to return to New York. A while later, so did Brian Stack, finding a job with Colbert. The show was eventually cut to a thirty minute format. They spun it like it was a good change for the show. I however had my reservations. While I'd hoped for more experimental comedy, it seemed like the first half of the show was cut in favor of still getting in sizeable celebrity interviews. The band was gone, as were the options for nightly music acts. That meant no more fantastic moments like me discovering Lukas Graham with his subdued “7 Years” performance. Stand-up was pretty much gone too, which meant no more killer sets like Gary Gulman's bit on state abbreviations or Ismo's foreign take on the use of the word “ass” in English linguistics. Occasional product placement reared its ugly head. They had to keep the lights on, and they found a way to. So I continued to watch practically every show over the course of the eleven years.

When the pandemic hit, I found myself with more free time. So I decided to check out the Team Coco podcasts, cherry picking from the best guests of Conan O'Brien Needs A Friend, The Three Questions with Andy Richter, and Inside CONAN: An Important Hollywood Podcast. Never having paid attention to any podcasts, I found a love for them. And sometime amidst the pandemic, watching Conan interview some random celebrity, from some show I probably didn't care about, through Zoom, I kind of became at peace with the idea of a nightly Conan program ending.

From middle school, to high school, and then to college, I tuned in when I could. Without the luxury of the internet in its currently glory, or DVRs, I'd tape episodes on a VCR. Barring two or three episode of Conan that I missed while working two jobs, I've seen every episode of Conan, every Tonight Show, and a good streak leading into the end of Late Night. But I will admit that towards the end, it has sometimes felt like a chore.

One thing I didn't drag my feet on was attending tapings. It was one of the first things I did when I came to LA. Over the past few years I was fortunate to get to attend three tapings of Conan. In hindsight, I probably would have went more often. I brought family and friends along with me when they visited, but the treat was primarily for me. When he announced that the final few weeks of shows might have an audience, I knew I must go. I put in for two tapings, and fortunately the stars aligned for the third to last show with Seth Rogen. I was hoping for Ferrell, or Sandler, but it was great! It was the first show where masks were optional and it went recklessly off the rails. Like Conan, I've never been into pot. It's another of the things I enjoy about him. Like him, I don't really have a problem with it, but I've never tried it because I don't think it's for me. I’m the same way with alcohol. With a friend in town this week, I tried one of the beers he bought. I hated it, but I struggled through it. I’ll occasionally drink some fruity wine cooler but that’s about it. So seeing him reluctantly try the joint Seth handed him because he didn't care since the show was wrapping was great. Unseen in the TV edit was that after that segment, Conan and his producer, Jeff Ross, had a lengthy discussion as the band played. As the band wrapped up, Conan came back up and said to expect a rough edit on the show since they wouldn't be able to air them smoking. Turns out they could, which made for good TV. It was a symbolic moment where a man who's spend his entire career blazing his own trail – no pun intended - did so once more, knowing he had nothing to lose. I also put in a ticket request for the last show on the morning of because registration reopened for some reason, but I never got a confirmation. I'm excited to watch it tonight, but also sad to see things come to and end. But at least I can say I was there in the end.

For 28 years Conan and cast have delivered the show they wanted to make. Contrastingly, compared to the other late night shows, its always been far more apolitical, which I appreciate. Comedy to me is about dissociation. It's why I favor and write left-brained jokes about random subjects. No one really needs to hear another hackneyed Trump or Biden joke. Regardless of the state of the world, I could tune in to Conan for a mostly unbiased, silly outlook on the world. Conan always seemed to bring out the best in the guests too, making his show the premier show to tune into when someone was out in the circuit promoting something. Even the stereotypical animal segments or cooking segments provided ample laughs.

Most of the talk will be about Conan himself. But a very large part of what has always made Conan's shows great wasn't even him. A large cast of stellar writers and performers brought countless characters to life. Brian McCann and Brian Stack were longtime favorites. There was the No-Reason-To-Live Guy with his kayak, Hannigan the Traveling Salesman, Artie Kendall the Singing Ghost, and The Interrupter, to name just a few. Even people who had no business performing were utilized brilliantly, like original announcer Joel Godard or Max Weinberg both acting like creeps and perverts, trombone player Richie "LaBamba" Rosenberg being a dolt, and graphic designer Pierre Bernard in his deadpan Recliner of Rage segments. Jordan Schlansky was a comedy well. Andy Richter also deserves more praise. His quick wit makes him the perfect sidekick. I can't even begin to enumerate the amount of instance in which he was lightning fast with a witty response to someone or something. His more recent Sports Blast segments were absurdly stupid, and his Hillbilly Handfishing remote stands out as one of the best.

The late night talk show concept is built around volume. With 4368 episodes among three iterations of shows, there's a lot of time to fill. Things didn't always work, but most of the time they did. That's what you get when you experiment and evolve the medium. I've been thinking a lot about my history with the show, and it's amazing just how many silly bits, characters, and moments still bounce around in my noggin. I've only covered a small sample of the many great moments over the years. It's always seemed really weird to me that Conan has kind of been the underdog. To me, no one holds a candle to his brilliance. I can only liken attending his tapings to a few other experiences: the time I finally got to see Michael Jordan play as a Wizard, or Rush's final R40 tour – three great entities who may not have been at the height of their careers, but were still massively impressive none the less. Conan concluding tonight is very bittersweet. The future is uncertain. The details for his HBO Max show are nebulous. It's going to be far more small scale. I've always admired how much Conan has taken care of his cast and crew. He paid his writers during the strike, and his entire crew during the pandemic. But they will certainly fracture now. Will any of the writing staff follow? Will longtime performer Dan Cronin be there? Will Andy be back? Time will tell, but until then, television, the internet, and the world of comedy, will be a little less funny. In many ways, I wish we lived in a world we he still hosted Late Night, or a successful Tonight Show. But the late night landscape has changed a lot in the last few decades, so who’s to say this wasn’t the better timeline. If there’s one thing I cling on to that keeps me hopeful about the future, it’s Conan’s closing monologue from Late Night. Especially its ending: "It's time for Conan to grow up... and I assure you that's just not going to happen. I can't. This is who I am, for better or worse. It's just, I don't know how."

That hits me just as hard as it did in ‘09, if not harder. The more things change, the more they stay the same. The guy that started hosting in ‘93 is the same guy we see today. He’s still just as childish, just as absurd, just as brilliant, and a man of integrity. And as long as he is, so too will I be.

[choking-on-tae]

It’s always been you

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader 

Word count: 3.9k 

Anon asked: “Can I request a Jin scenario? Where you two met at a young age, in the same class maybe, and become best friends, and you both love each other but are to shy to admit it to one another in fear of rejection. Due to bullying that the reader hid from Jin, she believes she's fat when she's not. She hates her slightly bigger than average chest. She's shy and anxious. But Jin is helping her and she feels comforted around him. On their wedding night, the reader wants to be on top of Jin, but when her lingerie comes off, she feels disgusted by herself. Jin notices and tries to reassure her, but that makes her feel worse. She blurts out how she feels like a burden to him, how she's too anxious and shy. Happy ending please!! Maybe where she gets the confidence to carry on what they were doing? Thanks a lot!!!” 

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut. 

Author’s note: I really liked this request. x Gif isn’t mine btw. 

"Y/N! Where are you?"

You heard your mother call you. You quickly took your doll with you to run back to her. Suddenly you bumped into something, or someone.

"Ey watch out where you're going!"

As you looked up you saw a boy not much older than you with a Mario toy in his hand. He rubbed his head with his hand as he pouted at you. You immediately hugged your doll closer to you, scared that he would yell at you, but he didn't. He was going to but once he saw the scared look on your face he closed his mouth again.

"Sorry, just watch where you're going next time, okay?"

You hastily nodded at him before running off to your mom, hugging her tightly as you walked back home. The little boy watched you leave with your mom before he went back to his'.

"What do you mean you don't like Mario?"

Jin asked as he looked at you with shock. You couldn't help but laugh at the sight of him being so defended as you said,  

"I just don't like him. All he does is chase Peach while shouting his own name!"

Jin looked at you with an angered expression as he tightened his grip on the wii remote. You chuckled at the sight as you took another bite of the chocolate chip cookies his mom made for you. The boy sighed before accepting your opinion and continuing to play his game. Your moms were happily watching you two from the kitchen. They really liked that you two got along so well. Neither of you were very social kids so it made them happy to see you spending time together.

"Y/N! We're in the same class! Can you believe it?"

Jin beamed excitedly as he sat down next to you. It was your first day in the 4th grade and both of you were very excited, especially since you were in the same class. It made you happy that you at least knew someone and weren't completely alone. You opened your drawing book and took one of Jin's pens as you started to doodle. Jin watched you carefully as you made some designs on the paper in front of you. The first day went by pretty fast. You and Jin spend most of the time just talking to each other. Soon you were happily running back to your mom who embraced you tightly.

"How was your day sweetheart?

"It was great mommy! Jin and I spend the day coloring and we had so much fun!" She and Jin's mother laughed at your excitement before getting ready to go home again. "I'll see you tomorrow Y/N!"

Jin gave you a tight hug before waving goodbye.

You were insanely nervous for your first year of middle school. You were taking deep breaths to calm yourself down as you waited for Jin to arrive. Knowing that your best friend would attend the same classes as you made you feel better, but you were still scared. Luckily for you Jin walked through the door not much later and took a seat next to you. He knew how scared you were to start middle school. That's why he promised you he'd always be by your side, no matter what happens. However, 3 months later that promise was broken. Middle school is when people start to form groups. You've your popular kids, less popular kids and the ones who get bullied. Jin obviously became a part of the popular kids, since girls basically followed him around everywhere because of his looks. 

He got asked out for dates multiple times a day and although he liked the praises, he felt bad that he didn't see you that much anymore. You weren't one of the popular kids. You started as being one of the less popular kids but that all changed when one day one of the bullies in your class threw jello all over you. It was on the day Jin was sick, so he wasn't there to stood up for you. The entire cafeteria made fun of you as you felt tears streaming down your face. You hid in the bathrooms for the rest of the day before going home again. Once you got home you pretended everything was fine because you didn't want your mom to notice. You sighed as you threw your jello covered clothes in the trashcan, hiding the evidence of what happened that day.

High school was even worse. You and Jin drifted apart. Jin tried to keep in touch with you but every time he got close you ran. People already hated you and you didn't want to make that even worse by hanging out with the most popular guy in school. The girls who bully you are the same girls who practically throw themselves at Jin. Another reason you stayed away from him was because you didn't feel worthy of being his friend. Jin was beautiful, you weren't. You thought you were fat and ugly and therefor didn't deserve to be friends with someone like him. Little did you know that Jin actually thought you were beautiful. 

You weren't fat or ugly at all, you just felt that way because people bullied you and said those things to you. Every day when you got back from school you received those messages. People making it very clear that you're not worthy of love and fat. It made you even more insecure than you already were. You were already conscious enough about your body and this wasn't helping at all. Your chest was slightly bigger than most girls' and that's why people looked at you weirdly. Guys made nasty comments about you as you passed by. However, Jin wasn't aware of this.

The bullying always seemed to stop whenever he walked by or was around. People knew that you and Jin used to be close and that he would probably stand up for you if he knew. That's why they hid it, so he wouldn't do that. You made it through high school by focusing on your grades and staying away from other people. It was extremely lonely to say the least. You didn't have the high school experience like everyone else had. You didn't have any friends to go out with, never got invited to parties, never went to a school's dance, let alone prom. Your parents noticed that you were always by yourself and that Jin was never by your side anymore. 

They started to worry about you, but you still lied and said that you weren't being bullied. Your days at school were hell and it wasn't any better at home, since you had to pretend everything was okay. You couldn't have been happier when you finally graduated. There was an after party in the gymnasium for everyone who had graduated that year, but of course you went home as soon as you got your diploma. Little did you know that Jin was there, waiting for you with a bouquet of red roses. He had recently found out the reason why you distanced yourself from him, why you always ran off when he tried to talk to you and why you seemed to sad all the time.

It hurt him to know that he girl he's madly in love with was being treated like that. He had accepted long ago that he liked you. He believes it all started when he first met you and grew along the way. This was also the reason why he still tried to talk to you every day, even though always ran off. He was worried about you but didn't know how to approach you. He should have seen the signs but he just thought that you weren't feeling that well because of other reasons. Never did he think you were being bullied. So that's how he found himself in the gymnasium. He completely ignored people who tried to flirt with him now they still had the chance and waited for you. He waited, and waited, until he realized you weren't coming. 

He sighed deeply before making his way to his car and got it. Okay, there were two things he could do. He could do nothing and go home with the roses, or he could drive to your house and still confess to you. What did he have to lose? After all you're both going to college after summer so this might be his only chance. He turned the car and started the car before driving to your house. He parked in the driveway before ringing your doorbell. Your mom was surprised to see him when she opened the door. Her eyes landed on the bouquet of red roses as she smiled widely, opening the door for him as she told him you were in your room.

Jin walked up the stairs to your room before knocking on the door. You mumbled a quiet 'it's open' as he opened the door. His heart broke at the sight of you wrapped in the sheets, trying to hide away from the world and all the people who hurt you.

"Y/N-ah."

Your head snapped up at the sound of his voice, eyes wide as you saw him standing in your doorway.

"Jin, w-what are you doing here?" You stammered awkwardly as you sat up straight, trying to wipe your tears.

He took a seat on the edge of your bed as he placed the bouquet of roses in your lap, giving you a sad smile. He moved his hand to caress your cheek as you leaned into his touch. He's always been great at comforting you. Now it was just the two of you, you realized how much you had actually missed him. How much you enjoyed being around him and most importantly; how much you love him.

"I heard about what happened and why you distanced yourself from me. I thought I had done something wrong and that you hated me. Why didn't you tell me you were being bullied?" He asked as he gently took your small hands in his.

"Jin. You don't understand. You are, or were the most popular guy in school. The girls who followed you around all the time were the same girls who bullied me. They already hated me and I figured if I kept hanging out with they'd only bully me even more. I'm so sorry that I abandoned you like that but I just couldn't see you anymore. It broke my heart."  

Jin pressed a kiss against your forehead as he handed you the bouquet of roses. Your heart melted at the gesture as for the first time in a really long time, a genuine smile covered your pretty face. Jin felt his heart flutter at the sight and knew from that moment on that he would do everything it takes to make you smile, because it was just so goddamn beautiful.

If people would have told you 20 years ago that you'd marry the same guy who you bumped into when you were a little girl you would have laughed. You still didn't know how you managed to get Jin to date you, let alone even to get him to propose to you. People who've known you two ever since you were little always said that you'd end up together, but you never believed them. You always thought they were crazy for thinking that, but here you are now, holding onto your father's arm as you're walking down the isle. Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think about marrying someone as amazing as Jin, but here you are, ready to be married to him. 

Your father gives you a hug before patting Jin on the back, making everyone laugh. You smile brightly as you move so you're standing in front of him. Jin's smile is equally as bright as yours. Never did he dare to dream that he'd end up marrying the same girl who looked so scared after bumping into him 20 years ago. He watched you growing up from that little scared girl to the beautiful woman you are today. So here you are, standing in front of him as you say your vows. Jin holds your hand the entire time, gently rubbing his thumb over it as he tries to take it all in. He had thought about it a lot but now it was actually happening he couldn't believe it.

He looks you deeply in the eyes as he says his vows, making you tear up at his sweet words. You quickly wipe away a tear as he promises you that he'll be by your side forever, just like he's been there ever since you were little. Not long after that he's shoving the ring you both picked out onto your finger as a sign love. You do the same as you feel him holding your hands tightly, trying to keep himself from crying. You can't help the tear that slips down your cheek as you look at your soon to be husband.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Everyone started cheering as Jin pulls you in for a passionate kiss. His lips moving against yours as his holds you tightly. You can't help a big smile from spreading across your face as you realize that you're not married to this amazing man. He's your husband and you're his wife. Jin feels the same way as he gently takes your hand, walking down the isle for the first time as a married couple. As soon as you two are alone you start to realize what just happened. You actually married him. Jin laughs when he sees the bright smile on your face as he embraces you tightly.

"I love you my beautiful wife."

"I love you too my handsome husband."

The rest of the day goes by way too fast. After the ceremony you and Jin took your wedding photos outside. The venue was absolutely beautiful and that's why you wanted to get married here in the first place. Jin had his arm wrapped around you the entire time, almost as if he was scared you could slip away. After the photos it was time for the first dance. You two slow danced to your song as both your families watched with happy smiles on their faces. He held you close as his arms rested on your lower back. Your arms were wrapped around his neck as you looked at each other fondly, occasionally kissing as you enjoyed each other's embrace. After the dancing, an amazing dinner and more socializing with your families it was finally time to go to the bridal suite. 

Jin being the gentleman he is carries you through the door, bridal style of course. You laugh at his actions as he gently sits you down on the bed, which was covered in rose petals. He sits down next to you as he hands to a glass of champagne. You two cheer before slowly sipping the alcohol while trying to calm down a little. This day has been very hectic to say the least. Now it was just the two of you, you finally had time to relax. After a while you start to feel a little hot. You get up and try to untie the back of your dress but fail miserably. Jin chuckles from behind you as he helps you untying the dress.

Instead of letting in fall down, you tightly hold onto the front. Jin notices your change in behavior as he takes off his jacket and starts to unbutton his blouse.

"Baby, is everything okay?"

You quickly nod your head as you try to push away the negative thoughts. Jin is your husband now, if he thought you were ugly he wouldn't have married you, right? As if reading your mind Jin spins you around, gently removing your hands from the dress so it slides down your body. Your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as you try to cover your body. This morning you put on a beautiful set of bridal lingerie for him, as a surprise to celebrate your marriage. When you put it on this morning you were really excited to show him. 

Now however, you feel extremely conscious about your body. Does it even fit right? Isn't it too tight on your chest? Is it too sexy? What if he thinks you look ugly? All these thoughts cloud your mind as you make a beeline to the bathroom. Before you can close the door Jin's foot stops it from closing completely. He's known you long enough to know exactly what's going on, and also how to make you feel better. You give in and let him enter the bathroom as you sit down, your back resting against the wall.

"Jagiya, please remember that I love you."

You can't stop a tear from rolling down your cheek as you ask, "Jin, do you think I'm fat?"

His eyes widen at your words. What? You think you're fat? He kneels down next to you as he lifts up your chin, making you look at him.

"Baby what the hell are you talking about? You're beautiful and no you're not fat at all. Your body is beautiful and I love it so much. Just as much as I love you."

His words are supposed to make you feel better but they don't. In fact they only make you feel worse. It makes you feel like he's way out of your league, like he's way too good for you. Jin senses your hesitation so he gently lifts you up and carries you back to the bed. Jin gently lays you down on the bed before climbing on top of you. He brushes your hair out of your face, pressing a kiss against your soft lips as he wipes away your tears.

"I'm so sorry for always disappointing you Jin. I just feel like a burden to you because I'm too shy and anxious. You always have to take care of me and calm me down, isn't that really annoying?"

Instead of walking away like you expected him to, he holds your face between his hands as he kisses you deeply. His soft lips moving against yours as he's trying to show you how much he loves you. He knows that his kisses always make you forget about everything, which is the reason why he's doing it in the first place. Soon you're smiling against his lips as you ask,

"Can I be on top tonight?"

Jin pecks you on the lips again before nodding, flipping you around so you're straddling his waist. He moves his hands behind your back to unclasp your bra before throwing somewhere, not caring where it ends up. You take off his shirt as you unclasp his belt, sliding his pants and boxers down his ankles before tossing them somewhere. Jin chuckles at your eagerness as he watches you take off your panties. You move back to straddle him again when you suddenly freeze. Jin frowns at your change in behavior before moving his lips to kiss down your neck as his hands tightly grab your hips.  

"Baby, you're not heavy. Don't worry about that, you're beautiful. Okay?"

After taking a deep breath you nod at his words as you realize that he's right. You're being ridiculous. He's your husband, of course he loves you! You give him a shy smile as you feel him lining up at your entrance. He looks into your eyes as he asks,

"Ready?"

You nod before slowly sinking down on him. The stretch is big but not too painful. You dig your nails into his shoulders as he bottoms out. Jin throws his head back against the headboard as he tries to keep still to let you adjust. You're not making it easy for him, your walls tightly wrap around him as he lets out a moan.

"Ah baby I'm not gonna last long with you being so tight."

You giggle at his words before moving his face to pull him in for a passionate kiss. You part your lips so his tongue can explore your mouth as you slowly move your hips, trying to find a good rhythm that works for both of you. It doesn't take long before you're both panting into each other's mouth instead of kissing, the pleasure becoming overwhelming. Jin starts to thrust upwards, making you moan out loudly.

"Oh my god."

He smirks at your reaction before repeating his action, meeting your hips as you hold onto him even tighter. He presses you down so you're lying down on his chest as he takes control. His hips moving faster to get you both off. You can feel yourself getting closer as he picks up the pace. His tip hitting your g-spot repeatedly. 

"Jin, fuck I'm so close."

He moves one hand to rub your clit as you cum all over him, making him moan before coming deeply inside of you. He holds you tightly as he presses kisses all over your face. You giggle as you try to push him away but he's not letting up.

"I love you so much princess. Please don't ever forget that. I married you for a reason. I love you and I hope that some day you'll become the mother of my children."

You smile brightly as you press another kiss against his lips before snuggling up to him. Jin turns the lights off before pulling the sheets over you two as you both drift off to sleep in each other's arm. Little did you know that your lives are about to change as a little miracle is slowly starting to grow inside your belly. In 9 months from now, a little version of you and Jin would be around. Made completely out of the love that you two have for each other, and that alone couldn't make you happier. You were ready to spend the rest of your life with the man you love, and soon a beautiful baby that would become your everything would make your lives complete.

[cyberneticlagomorph]

Sugar

Trapped beneath the misshapen mountain of dolls, you slowly give up and give in. With the darkness closing in and the fight fleeing your body, you finally go still.

Something flutters within you, a silver-purple spark of defiance that refuses to be snuffed out just yet. Images flash through your mind like a movie on fast forward.

Your home. Your kids. Your lovers. Your garden. You can't go now.

You can't you can't you can't

You won't.

You refuse to die now at the hands of some insolent child with questionable fashion sense. Fire roars to life across your skin, blue-black and arcane. The doll pile is reduced to ashes from the inside out, you hover angrily above the remains and let Exe melt away. This is your fight, not theirs, and you're determined to see it through to the very end. The fight dies from your eyes, the defiance leaves you. The hundreds of tiny, bleeding bites and scratches across your body simultaneously go numb as the ooze seeps inside you and shuts off all cognitive thoughts and memories not necessary to pilot the meat-metal shell you call a body.

You don't remember how you escaped the dolls. You don't remember the pile turning to ashes around you as you dragged Exe into being by the scruff of their neck, only for them to abandon you soon after. You don't remember hacking and burning your way through another hoard of teddy bears and button eyed kitties with Hoka's dragon grenades and your blue fireballs. You don't remember how you tracked down the Child Queen, or more accurately, how she guided you to her. The black infection in your veins robs you of those memories, spares you of their horror, and for that you were grateful.

The Child makes you do things, kill things for her amusement. The two of you carve a path of destruction right to the heart of Candyland, with the Queen's stuffed troops close behind. You don't know how long it takes you to burn through the infection, for your thoughts to be your own again. You come to in a forest of spun sugar, skin stained with ooze and ash, with frosting and fluff, with blood and gore. The Vorpal sword still shines clean in the light of the rising sun, it does not thrum for you. Your chest aches, your empty stomach lurches, the Child Queen giggles. "You really ARE fun! I think I'll keep you, then. Good playmates are hard t'find around here, oh!! I know lets play another game I think there's a--"

You cut her off with an angry swing of the Vorpal sword that misses her by a hair. She only pouts, easily sidestepping each and every swing with unsettling ease. You manage to get lucky once and cut her cheek, the Vorpal sword thrums it's approval and you feel a lot less conflicted about all this. The Child Queen sneers, face contorting in ways nature never meant it to, she lunges with surprising speed and buries a pair a scissors in your thigh, grinning as you scream. You bring your sword down hard, but the Queen darts away again leaving you slicing through empty air.

You pull the scissors from your skin and choke back a pained sob, you don't have time to staunch the flow of blood before another pair of scissors is buried in your shoulder, you collapse with a cry. Your blood stands out amongst the grass, little blue galaxies of pain. You sink your fingers into the soil and suck the life out of the surrounding plants, whimpering as their life-energies make the wounds on your body close themselves by force and leave a dozen ugly scars. The scissors fall from you with a soft thump.

The Queen applauds, perched atop a massive lollipop nearby. She won't kill you outright, you can tell by the look in her eyes, she'll play with you until she gets bored of you and then she'll find new games for you two to play. You don't plan on letting that happen. Your mind runs through a million ideas as you drag yourself back to your feet. If she wants to play a game, you'll give her one to remember.

Deep within the winding tunnels and shadowed chambers of your home, a tree awakens. A twisted tree with bleach-white bark and red-green dappled leaves, around it grows a garden of sweets, within it pulsates the code of a universe long dead and the deeds of 8 children that wove a new world with their bare fucking hands. The juju tree. The tree calls to you, even here in this other realm you can hear it, feel it tugging dangerously at your inhibitions, it knows you won't win fighting like that. It only wants to help you Jack, let it help you, let it help you. Your desperation knocks down any flimsy moral walls you have left and you give yourself in to the juju tree. It doesn't hurt like the other times you've gone trickster, it feels like falling into a warm bath after a hard day and you relish in it. Your skin pulsates a million mesmerizing colors and the air around you hangs heavy with the smell of cinnamon-sugar. Laughter burbles from your throat and you grin like a little demon, your voice sounds doubled, tripled and distorted, "She wants to play does she? Well then, lets play!"

The Child Queen grins back at you, slipping from her lollipop perch. Her body twists and jerks, bones snapping and skin stretching like the transformation scene in an old school werewolf movie. She ages twenty years before your eyes, she pulls a pair of scissors from the folds of her dress and you watch it grow to the size of a sword. "Finally," giggles the Doll Queen, "We can have some real fun."

Your blades clash and spark, the both of you grinning and shrieking in the manic glee that only monsters know. You are faster in your sugar coated form, her blows are easily dodged, her blade easily parried. Her movements seem sluggish now, you can predict each swing and swipe well before it happens. You taunt and tease her, make her bleed and suffer like she did you. You drink up the fear in those eyes, and revel as you deal the finishing blow.

With the Queen dead, the world around you dissolves again and leaves you swaying in the warded chamber. Your skull buzzes painfully and your trickster self melts away, leaving you dizzy and doubled over on the ground.