#which she’s entitled to do. but it’s like. i thought we all understood… but apparently we weren’t on the same page. and now we’re here. LOL

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Telling the good news TodoWifeAU

Yandere Todoroki x Pregnant Wife Reader

⚠[Warning: Yandere behavior and mindsets, obssessive parents, family issues, mentions of murder, sexual harassment, assault, and molestation]⚠

The ride in the bulletproof van was more than tense. The air between the lovely couple was anxious as they dwelled on the impending doom of their hosts: The Todoroki Clan.

You hadn’t seen them since the fiasco at the afterparty of your wedding. It wasn’t an experience you wanted to relive and yet you still dressed yourself up to visit your in-laws. Granted it wasn’t your idea, but his therapist’s, saying that he needs to confront his family about all the pain and stress they were inflicting on him and his wife. Plus they thought updating them about such a milestone. I'll have Shoto fire them. What the stupid therapist didn’t understand is that every time they got together it was always a constant reminder as to why they are a problem.

If it weren’t for your unborn baby you would have downed a bottle of anything beforehand. Unlike the stories of entitled parents and problematic family where one person in the relationship is under fire and the other can only support from the side this was worse. Unfortunately for you two his family itself was an attack that had you countered on both fronts.

You weren’t showing yet but you pulled back from your hero activities to focus on preparing for this baby; as well as maybe mapping out a couple different safe-houses should something go wrong. Your husband insisted that there be multiple safe-houses because his paranoia can be like that and so can his instinct about his family. You could only hope that the news will sober everyone up into acting like adults.

“Rei lives with him again.”

Staring at the distant look on your husband’s face, he looked even more stressed than usual. That must’ve been why. As Shoto matured and understood his parents' mindsets he found that he didn’t revere his mother as much as he did in U.A. He got to know about his mother's possessive personality which put his siblings in danger, hurt him, and what led her to draw in her art class about killing you in the mental hospital. Apparently she blames you for 'taking away' her son even though it wasn't until recently that she was allowed to have a extended visits. He wanted to kill her and he ran the thought by you. You could’ve said ‘yes’ setting your domestic powerhouse on some mentally ill woman with the idea to kill you but you didn’t and instead insisted he go back to seeing his therapist and work out that it wasn’t worth killing her. He still pouted about how you wouldn’t let him do it and you just huffed and remembered how dangerous he’d be without you.

He was truly always like this; it just began to show later in his relationship. During the days of U.A he’d mention how "it’d be so easy to stop Mineta if we just melted his hands together.” Thankfully the majority of the group couldn’t tell in his monotone expression that he was not joking, you and Deku could. Needless to say both of you were concerned.

You both agreed someone had to hold the reins on this crazy horse. And you would do it. At first it was only following him around and being his walking consciousness then it was full on cuddling, living with him, and marrying him. Midoriya was actually really angry when you agreed to his proposal only because he was worried about your own happiness but you reasoned that this was the best way to watch him. Saying that as if, you couldn’t deny his sincerity when he stopped his work randomly to hold your face and say, “I love you (Y/n) just wanted to let you know.” How could you turn away when his loyalty withstood the test of time and even your own unreasonable moments. You love him. The good parts and the bad. You don’t love his family though but neither does he so it's okay.

“Right this way Mister and Missus (L/n).” The maid led you through the Western styled manor stopping at the doorway of a lavish dining hall. A round table sat in the center with its occupants already seated and turning their heads to look at the estranged couple of the evening.

“You’re late.”

“I know.”

The greeting of a father and his youngest son, lovely right? You and Shoto sit next to one another leaving your right side exposed to Fuyumi (who was beaming at you) and exposing his left to his house-arrested brother. You remember Fuyumi and hoped that since she brought her own date she would have stopped her divine mission to make you uncomfortable. Alas the man sat there digging in paying no mind to the revolting behavior. She started drooling and you only hoped your husband would deter her. Absolutely disgusting.

“So Shoto, how are you?” His mother broke the silence with her smile as if you weren't there. He responded in curt answers until his mother starts a rant about how to keep happy, distracting your partner from his convict brother who had crawled under the table resting his head on your lap. You went to stand up but his grip on your thighs kept you planted in your seat as he shoved his face between your legs and sniffed. “Hi there Princess, it's been a while.” Muffled and making you uncomfortable you lifted your arms up because you knew if you pushed at his head he’d only moan. You learned your lesson from last dinner. His advancement on your bits left you exposed to the twitchy hands of Fuyumi who saw your held up arms and hands as an invitation to squeeze your breast. Whether it's a handful or nothing at all she is pressing hard as if she doesn’t have some of her own. You hold in any sounds you wish to make out and focus on silently unlatching the woman from yourself without tearing your top.

“Oh Enji you have rats on the floor. You should get that checked out.” Your husband snarks as he puts an ice coat over Dabi’s eyes who immediately untwines himself with you to relieve the freeze. For Fuyumi he grabs her hands and squeezes until she lets go of you and her fingers curl haphazardly close to the palm. I'm pretty sure that's broken or at least strained.

“(Y/n) why don’t you eat? I heard you really like this dish. (F/f), was it?” Enji proposed with an unnaturally soft look in his eyes.

You politely smile but don’t move to eat it even though you really want to. The first night of your engagement you found that they weren’t past drugging you. Shoto better treat me to some (f/s/f).You didn’t drink the wine for obvious reasons and that seems to set Rei off.

“Ugh you're such a rude #$#&^%! You’re so ungrateful!”

Shoto’s previous idea to kill her didn’t sound as bad to either of you. As if telepathically sensing the need for comfort you locked hands with one another under the table. “Mom please,” Natsuo guides, “Remember they called us here to discuss something important? So what was it you wanted to say (Y/n), Shoto?”

You're nervous pupils met.

You do it.

No, you say it. It’s your family.

It's your body.

You glare at him and he knows he’s lost. “We’re pregnant.”

Next Chapter➡

[ameliora-j]

happier than ever // hp x reader

words: 1.7k

warnings: breakup, talk of the war, angsty asf, i think that’s all but as always lmk loves! :)

a/n: based on happier than ever by billie eilish,, italics are flashback/song lyrics

a/n ii: i do NOT like nor do i promote billie eilish in any way at all. but the song is trending on tiktok and i thought it’d be a good fic idea

it was the biggest argument the two of you had ever had. the one that resulted in the end of your relationship. you regretted every single second of it. you knew that he was trying. that he just wanted to help. he was trying to make a better world for himself. for everyone. for you. for both of you. so you could have the future you always talked about.

but lately he wasn’t around. he had a lot of responsibilities, you understood that. but you were his girlfriend. and lately he wasn’t being much of a boyfriend. you tried to push it away when he called rain checks on your dates. or when he was late because it “slipped his mind.” or when, sometimes… he didn’t even show at all.

it was your final straw when he showed up three hours late for your anniversary dinner. it wasn’t even your true anniversary… that was two weeks ago. but he had missed that because he was at hagrid’s hut with ron and hermione. you pushed it off with a shrug and a small smile. no more than a “it’s okay harry, i promise. i know you have a lot on your plate right now,” as you kissed his cheek and retreated to your dorm for the night.

but that night… that night you just had so much pent up anger. you were sick of it, truthfully. and you flipped out. “why’re you so dressed up, love?” the question would usually have made your heart sink. but by now you were used to it. now you just scoffed. you were numb to the hurt of him forgetting.

“had an anniversary dinner with my boyfriend. but it seems like he forgot… again,” you spoke plainly.

“darling i’m so sorry you have to believe me,” he implored.

“it’s fine harry. really,” you shrugged as you blinked back your angry tears.

“we can… we can reschedule. tomorrow i promise,” he bit his lip hopefully.

“no. it’s fine,” you shrugged.

“okay. if tomorrow doesn’t work, we can try next week maybe?” he tried again. you shook your head again. “okay well if not next week then i’m not sure. i’ve got army meetings and ron, mione, and i have plans with hagrid. plus we’ve got the end of years coming up so i have to study. when do you want to reschedule for?”

“i don’t harry,” you answered, finally letting the dam break. two tears fell slowly down your cheeks. “i don’t want to reschedule. or try a different day because there won’t be one. it’ll just be the same thing all over again. you’ll be late. if you even care to remember that we have a date at all,” you spat bitterly.

“yn, i’m trying,” harry quickly became defensive at the venom spitting from your tongue. “i’m doing my best really, can’t you see that? i’m trying to save the world here, you’re not making it easy by being so clingy,” he spat ruthlessly.

“then let me make it easier on you, harry. you never have to worry about me again,” you offered a sad smile as you turned and began to walk away.

“you’re breaking up with me?” the sea-eyed boy was dumbfounded.

“yeah. i’m making saving the world easier on you. you won’t have to worry about a clingy girlfriend anymore. go do what you need to do and save the world harry,” you told him. “too bad you couldn’t save your relationship as well,” you sniffled as you retreated to your dorm.

it hurt you to leave harry. but you both needed it. two years of dating and an even longer relationship… and it just all went to shit. it exploded right before your eyes.

you spent the following weeks buried under your covers. sobbing your little heart out, when you weren’t in class. you knew what would come of breaking up with hogwarts’ golden boy and the savior of the world. the dirty looks. the whispers. however, what you didn’t expect… was for the whole wizarding world to hear about it.

what you didn’t expect was for the front page of the daily prophet to read in big, bold lettering: “THE BOY WHO LIVED: HEARTBROKEN.” you read through the article by rita skeeter and you were fuming. she had called you “cold” and “heartless.” and much, much nastier words that you couldn’t even repeat, all of which were completely untrue.

harry had made you out to be the bad guy, of course. the golden boy could never do anything wrong. you scoffed as you picked up the paper and stormed your way to the great hall. all conversation at the gryffindor had died down as their eyes locked on you, storming over to harry. “you LIAR!” you screamed as you roughly shoved his chest, throwing the paper down in front of him.

he raised an eyebrow as he looked down at the article. “i see no lies here,” he shrugged, causing ron, ginny, and hermione to stifle a laugh. you rolled your eyes at this. “you’re nothing but a cold. heartless. bitch,” he spat ruthlessly.

“as if! harry that’s you! you’re cold and you’re heartless! you don’t care about anyone but yourself, oh chosen one,” you spit right back.

“cold and heartless when i’m saving the world?” he raised an eyebrow as he scoffed.

“please cut your little bullshit ‘i the chosen one am saving the world’ ploy. it’s nothing but bullshit! neville could save the world just as well as you can,” you shook your head. “you’re nothing without your title harry. absolutely nothing,” you growled. you saw red. nothing but red. you were positively pissed. anger was the only thought processing in your brain. “you’re an entitled brat harry. who never sees himself in the wrong even when you break hearts.”

“then i guess we’re one in the same, aren’t we, yn?” he snarked.

“oh please. you wish harry. i don’t relate to you. i could never relate to you. cus i would’ve never treated me as shitty as you did,” you shook your head as you spoke. crossing your arms defensively as you prepared to tell the chosen one all about himself.

“i treated you so shitty and yet, i still work my ass off to continue to save your life along with everyone else on the planet. right,” he scoffed.

“cut your bullshit harry. stop with the savior of the world shit. you scared me half to death with all of the dangerous shit you did. you stick your neck out and swim oceans for people who wouldn’t even step over a fucking puddle for you! you think these people care about you? they don’t! you’re a pawn in their little war. that’s all you’ll ever be!” you scoffed again. “i don’t even know why i’m wasting my breath. you only ever listen to your fucking ‘friends’ anyway,” you put air quotes around the word as you forced yourself to keep your tears at bay.

“so what if i’m a pawn! i’m helping! you’ve had everything handed to you on a silver fucking platter you’re entire life! you’d never know what this life feels like!” he shouted back.

“that’s your problem harry! you never see anyone’s problems but your own! you weren’t even aware of the fact that you made me miserable! for weeks you made me miserable. i couldn’t even tell if i still had a boyfriend or not!” you harshly rubbed your nose on the sleeve of your robe. “i wish it wasn’t true, but now that i’m away from you, i’m somehow happier. at least i know you don’t love me anymore instead of having to wonder every night,” you shook your head.

“we’re done yn! you made that very clear when you left me after forgetting one date! why do you care so much!” he yelled.

“because it wasn’t one date harry it was multiple! hogwarts was my home harry! and you made me hate this school!” you shouted.

“so what?! we’re over yn, i’m moving on and handling it in my own way! you should too!” his face was red and the vein in his neck was protruding. all eyes in the great hall—including those of the professors’—were on the two of you.

“no! cus i don’t talk shit about you all over the daily prophet or in school for that matter! i’ve never said anything bad about you!” you yelled at him.

“well why not? apparently you have every right to since i was such a horrible boyfriend for trying to make a better world for the two of us to have a future in,” he scoffed.

you rolled your eyes and decided upon not wasting your breath at his use of that defense yet again. “cause that shit’s embarrassing harry! you were my everything and all you ever did was make me fucking sad!” you rubbed at your nose again, nearly positive that the tip of it was now rubbed raw.

“i’m sorry that you feel like i was so terrible to you. i’m sorry that i couldn’t save our relationship like i saved the world like you said,” he shook his head.

“oh don’t try to make me feel bad harry! i have a whole laundry list of good and bad things about you. but at some point the good stopped outweighing the bad,” by now the inevitable had happened and tears had begun to spill slowly over your lash line.

“really? cus it sounds like you have nothing but bad things to say,” he snarked with a small scoff.

“i mean i could list all the times you showed up on time, but it’d be empty because you never did. you ruined everything good in my life, harry. and you always say you’re so misunderstood but you’re not! you’re just a heartless, selfish, asshole!” you shoved his chest roughly. “just fucking leave me alone! and keep my name out of your mouth,” you rolled your waterlogged eyes as you walked away.

once you were in the safety of your dorm, you let it all out. you slid slowly down the closed door and pulled your knees to your chest, releasing all the sobs you held in during your screaming match. your heart broke for the second time in less than a month. you choked over sobs as your stomach twisted in pained knots, matching the feeling of your heart thumping behind your ribcage.

your everything was gone. but somehow… you were happier than ever without him.

[robininthelabyrinth]

For a prompt, what if instead of just being a bad cultivator NHS was born the cultivation world equivalent of a squib?

A/N: I couldn’t think of anything for this prompt until I accidentally misread it when discussing it with someone else. at which point I had no choice but to write the misread version instead.

“So everyone just…goes with it,” Wei Wuxian said, a little faintly.

“You really didn’t pay one bit of attention to your politics tutors, did you?” his uncle chuckled, though judging by Madame Yu’s frosty expression (which Wei Wuxian would reluctantly admit was completely justified in this instance) he was the only one who found it funny. Even Jiang Yanli looked a little long-suffering, if indulgent, at his admission.

“They never mentioned it outright,” Jiang Cheng objected, coming to Wei Wuxian’s rescue as he always did – and that just made Madame Yu look even less pleased. “It was always just oblique mentions and ‘as you know’s and all that; if you didn’t already know, you wouldn’t guess. I mean – would you?”

Even Madame Yu looked begrudgingly like she had to admit the point.

Because it was, to be fair – absolutely fucking insane.

Wei Wuxian was still not entirely sure he’d entirely understood the whole thing right.

“So, let me just make sure I have a clear grasp on this,” he said. “When we go to the Cloud Recesses to study, we will be joined by the second young master of Qinghe, Nie Huaisang, who is…a squid?”

“That’s right,” Jiang Yanli said encouragingly.

“Like…a squid yao?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng said. “He’s an actual squid.”

Wei Wuxian’s eye twitched.

“Technically, Sect Leader Nie claims he is a squid yao,” Jiang Fengmian objected mildly.

“Sure,” Madame Yu said. “A squid yao that just hasn’t ever shifted to human shape, right?” She rolled her eyes. “Very convenient.”

“I don’t think anything here suggests that Sect Leader Nie is doing it for convenience, Mother,” Jiang Yanli murmured, and everyone reluctantly nodded.

No one in their right mind would do something like this for convenience.

Weirdos from Qinghe indeed…

“Don’t squids have to be in water?” Wei Wuxian asked, feeling a little like his entire world had been overturned. “Do they just – what – cart around a giant bucket…”

He trailed off.

Everyone else looked so resigned.

“They do?”

Nods.

“How do they know it’s him?” Wei Wuxian asked. He’d moved on from shock and now just felt like he’d been hit in the head too hard. “And not just…you know…some spare bit of soon-to-be calamari that hadn’t made it to the kitchen yet?”

“He likes carrying a fan,” Jiang Cheng said.

“A fan?”

“Yeah, a fan. Holds it in one of his tentacles, waves it around a lot, sometimes bonks me over the head with it – what are you all looking at?” he demanded. “You’re the ones who make me hang out with him every time there’s a discussion conference!”

Wei Wuxian had never been allowed to go to the discussion conferences, not even the ones held in the Lotus Pier – Madame Yu had insisted vociferously enough that Jiang Fengmian had yielded, especially after Wei Wuxian had opined that he didn’t want to go to a boring old conference anyway. Jiang Cheng had always looked deeply jealous at the way Wei Wuxian got to skip town for a week.

“We did not such thing,” Madame Yu said. “You were told to go spend time with the other sect heirs.”

“And? Nie Huaisang is his brother’s heir – and the only other sect heir that regularly attends discussion conferences is Jin Zixuan.”

“Definitely the squid, then,” Wei Wuxian said at once, then ducked his head when Madame Yu glared at him. “To avoid any trouble, of course!”

“Easy for you to say,” Jiang Cheng grumbled. “Nie Huaisang is plenty of trouble on his own, I’ll have you know.”

“And yet you willingly went to spend time with him,” Madame Yu reminded her son.

Jiang Cheng shrugged. “He seemed lonely? I figured it was the least I can do…okay, you’re all staring at me again. What now?”

“He’s a squid,” Jiang Fengmian stressed. “How lonely can he be?”

“…he’s a very expressive squid?”

“I guess we’ll all find out,” Wei Wuxian said quickly before anyone started criticizing Jiang Cheng. “We’ll see him soon enough when we get to Gusu. Thank you for your warning, Uncle Jiang.”

“I still think sending him to the Cloud Recesses is actually Sect Leader Nie making a gesture against the Jin sect,” Madame Yu said. “After all, the – er – well, I mean, everyone knows that Nie-er-gongzi can’t be without an attendant, and apparently the attendant in question is one of the Jin bastards. Isn’t this blatantly trying to give him the education he would have been entitled to if he’d been recognized?”

“Nie Mingjue isn’t so subtle,” Jiang Fengmian objected. “More likely he simply thought the young man had potential –”

“Or maybe Nie Huaisang picked him,” Jiang Cheng said. “He can point with his tentacles –”

“We should go finish packing!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, then saluted the adults and dragged his shidi out of the room. “Jiang Cheng, stop antagonizing your parents by claiming you think the squid is smart.”

“Nie Huaisang is smart.”

The worst part of it, Wei Wuxian reflected later, was that Jiang Cheng was right.

Nie Huaisang really was incredibly smart.

Don’t underestimate the squid, apparently.

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

Wrong Number, Asshole - A Bakugou Katsuki Soulmate AU

All Parts

Part 24:

You groaned, rolling over to grab your dinging phone off the nightstand. 

Rubbing at your eyes, you sat up against your headboard, breathing deeply. As it turns out, a highly emotional day like the one you had yesterday could really tire a person out. It was so tiring in fact that you had collapsed almost the second you fell into bed last night. You had been pretty much dead to the world since. 

Opening your phone, you nearly rolled your eyes at the text waiting for you.

You scoffed. He sure was petulant today, wasn’t he?

He began typing again, but deleted his words.

Now, you were a little nervous. You weren’t being clingy- right? Sure, you really wanted nothing more than to see him again, and sort of felt that maybe you were entitled to that considering he was your soulmate, but maybe the feeling wasn’t mutual?

Who were you kidding, he might have texted you but that didn’t mean he liked you as much as you liked him. This was Bakugou after all, and even if he somehow did, he’d rather chew his own leg off than admit it. 

You read through the texts again, hoping and praying that you didn’t sound too desperate. It was another few minutes before he responded again. With an answer that really did absolutely nothing to quell your fears. 

You blinked owlishly at his reply, before sending him a quick “okay”. 

Bakugou always seemed to know when you were overthinking things- and, on one hand, it was annoying because he never understood that him and his dismissive words were the cause, but, on the other hand, it was nice. To finally feel understood for once. And to finally talk to someone who’s responses, when he tried, were intentionally made so blunt that you couldn’t possibly misunderstand them.

Sighing, you pulled your tired body out of bed and headed for the shower. Apparently your plans, which had originally consisted of being lazy the entire afternoon, were suddenly changing. Not that you were complaining though.

--/--

Stepping out of the cab, you noticed the crowd once again swarming the front of the hospital. The horde of people almost seemed to be moving as one mass, pushing and pulsing against the security guards standing at the entrance. There were a lot of people covered in Dynamite merch and face paint, even little kids dressed up like Bakugou and feigning explosions as they played.

 It seemed that Bakugou’s heroic deed had put him back in the public’s favor and now they all had gathered in a show of support- and while you could appreciate that as a symbol of community, you selfishly sort of wished they’d leave so visiting him would be less of a spectacle. 

You realized suddenly that more of this was definitely going to be in your future; the crowds of screaming people and adoring, over-excited fans. Your soulmate was a pro-hero after all, and quite possibly the loudest man you’d ever met- you should’ve known a quiet life wasn’t going to be an option. 

As it stood now, you had almost no idea how you were going to make it through the massive throng of bodies- and, even if you did somehow push to the front, how you were going to convince the guards to let you through at that point.

“Excuse me!” A young girl suddenly grabbed your arm, tiny fingers clasping around your wrist. “Do you know how to get in! I need to get in!”

You were blindsided, stopped in your tracks and held down by the girl. She was young, but not much younger than you- if you had to guess, she was 17 or 18, with bright eyes and a strong grip that surprised you. This, her, was certainly not what you expected out of today.

“I- why do you need to get in so badly?”

“Bakugou!” She exclaims, eyes glazed over starry and adoring. She thrusts out her other wrist, presenting you with a poorly drawn tattoo. “See? I’m his soulmate!” 

Your stomach drops, and for a second you nearly believe it- but then you snap out of it, and all you can think about is how strange the situation is. She was young, so obviously young, and so clearly charmed by your soulmate’s hero persona. You thought it was a little funny- if she knew Bakugou like you did, you were almost sure she wouldn’t be as delighted with him. 

You weren’t sure how to respond. The immature, prideful part of you wanted to scoff and shake her hands off of you- to tell her just how foolish she looked talking to his actual soulmate. But, then again, you weren’t sure you could say anything about that at all. In all the research you’d done on him, you hadn’t seen a single mention of a soulmate- he never talked about it, never let anyone see even a hint of your name tattooed on him. Maybe he wanted to hide it for the sake of his career? Or, worse, was embarrassed of it?

“H-his soulmate, huh?” You stutter out, unsurely. 

“Yep! So that’s why I need to get in there so bad! To make sure he’s okay!” She rambles. “So, will you help me get in?”

“Y/n! Y/n L/n!” You hear a familiar voice yell, and when you look towards the sound, all you see is a flash of red hair and hands waving emphatically.

Kirishima. Thank god.

“I’ve gotta go.” You shake the girl’s hand off, slightly jostling her with the force.   “I’m so sorry!” 

You hardly recognize the disappointed look in her eyes before your arm is grabbed once again- but this time by a security guard as he leads you to the front. The guard deposits you at the entrance, just a few feet from where Kirishima is waiting for you.

“Sorry about that.” The red-head chuckles nervously, opening the door up for you. “I uh- I woulda said something earlier, but I couldn’t see you to point out for a guard. It’s totally my bad!”

“No, it’s good, you’re good.” You reassure him, following him as he leads you to the stairwell from yesterday. “Thanks for saving me. I was pretty overwhelmed.”

“Yeah. It can get pretty crazy out there- not as crazy as Bakugou, though! You shoulda totally seen him screamin’ and yelling at the window when you walked up. He was super pissed.”

“Sounds like him.” You can’t help but smile. “Doesn’t surprise me at all.” 

“Yeah.” Kirishima nods. “Who was that girl- you know her?”

Your silence and the uneasy expression that rolls across your face must give it away- he almost immediately pales.

“Oh! Yeah- sorry, none of my business, right?” Kirishima turns to face you, stopping at the step above you for a moment and throwing out placating hands. “It’s totally cool, don’t feel obligated or anything, I was just curious! Sorry for prying though, that wasn’t manly of me at all.”

You almost couldn’t believe Kirishima was such close friends with Bakugou- he seemed like the total opposite of your soulmate.

“No! It’s fine- I wasn’t offended or anything. Just,” You paused, looking at you feet as they climbed higher. “She wanted me to help her get in. To Bakugou. Said she was his soulmate.” 

Kirishima turns around again, his feet nearly catching on the step as his mouth drops open. “She said that? To you! That’s insane!”

“Yep.” You nod, slightly breathless and you finally reached the fourth floor. You let out a small chuckle as you continued down the hallway. “She was young though- definitely a fan, so I didn’t say anything. I didn’t really want to crush her dreams in front of all of those people.”

“Man, that’s good. She’d probably be super upset, right? Good job!” He throws you an enthusiastic thumbs up, all shark teeth and bright eyes. “Still though- I shoulda guessed it was somethin’ crazy like that. You looked totally freaked out back there!” 

“Did I really?”

“Mhm,” He nods, finally stopping in front of Bakugou’s door. “I- uh, I better stay out here. He’ll be real mad if I let anyone else through. Especially if you’re in there.” 

“Oh. Yeah. Okay.” You push the handle open, turning back for just a moment. “Nice to see you, though. Thanks again for the save, Kirishima!” 

When you enter the room, you’re surprised to find Bakugou, grumpy and sitting in a chair next to the window. And not in his hospital bed resting- where you’re almost 100% sure he should be. He’s clad in a weird combination of hospital pants and his own sweatshirt- it only serves to make him look even more petulant as he sits with his pinched expression.

“You seemed real buddy-buddy with Shitty Hair.” He grumbles, but there’s a smile beginning to tug at his lips as you near. “You think he’s better than me or some shit?”

“Oh- yeah. Loads. Loads better actually.” You joke, taking the vacant seat next to him. When you turn to look at him, he’s already glaring at you. “Oh calm down, grumpy, I was joking. Box dye and bandanas aren’t really my thing.”

Bakugou laughs. “He’s been pullin’ that shit since high school. Kinda losin’ all hope he’ll ever be cool.”

“Hey- don’t be mean! Maybe he’s just an extra-late bloomer, you never know.” You sigh, fixing him with a serious stare. “Now, though, we should really move onto more pressing matters.”

“Which are?”

“You in one of these chairs, and not in a hospital bed!” You near shrieked. “Which- by the way, I looked it up- four stories is 40 feet! You fell 40 fuckin’ feet and you’re not in a hospital bed, right now!” 

Bakugou just rolls his eyes, fixing his gaze on the window once more. “Stop your freakin’ out already, woman, I’ll be fine. I’m already healed from all the big injuries anyway- so just shut the fuck up about it already.” 

“The big injuries- what about the small ones? Bakugou! 40 feet! Do you know how much that is! I feel like you’re not taking this seriously enough!” 

“Who cares.” He shrugs, settling into his seat with a slight wince. “Didn’t fuckin’ kill me, so who cares.” 

“Me! You idiot! How many times do have to make this clear to you!” 

Bakugou just looks at you, eyes widening as he breath catches. He looks genuinely and plainly shocked- easily the most expressive you’d seen him be aside from rolling in pure anger.

“I already told you, you fuckin’ asshole, that I like you and care about you! So of course I’m happy that you’re not dead, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about the small stuff!” You emphasized, sighing as you run an errant hand through your hair. “And I can see you’re still fucking hurt, so of course I’m going to freak out when you’re not in a hospital bed- like you should be, and you’re not sitting there resting- like you should be! Who the hell even helped you up? Why the fuck would they ev-”

“Shut up already. I get it.” He mumbles, and when you look at him his cheeks are bright red and he’s biting his knuckle. His eyes are alive though- bright and simmering and so very, very red. “I got up myself. Don’t go blamin’ anyone else for it.” 

“God. Of fucking course you did! You know- you make yourself really hard to care for, right?” 

“I know.”

“And it’s just like- I do it anyway, you know! And get shit-all nothing but anxiety and still choose to do it anyway! You’re so fucking frustrating!”

“I know.”

You turn to look at him, but he’s already looking at you, something soft and pleased growing at the edge of his lips. 

“No! Don’t just sit there and start smiling.” You huff, pointing an emphatic finger at his stupid smiling face. “I’m mad at you and you need to go back to bed so don’t just fuckin’ smile at me!” 

“I get it.”

“No, obviously, you dont! Because you’re not getting up! So, c’mon,” You stand from your chair, offering a hand. “Let me help you.”

Bakugou just looks at your hand, glares at it, and stands by himself. You can see the strain plainly on his face- how the action winds him and how it sends pain shooting through his battered body. When you look at his eyes though, all you can see is resolute stubbornness. With great effort, and even greater determination, Bakugou manages to hobble over to the wall, dropping against it. His shoulders hit first, and then he’s rolling all of his weight back onto them.

You were stunned- not that he chose to do it, because of course he chose to, but mostly that he’d succeeded. You’d seen a clip of his fall, it was playing on the news before you’d left your house, and it looked nasty. When he hit the ground, all of his limbs were so mangled and impact alone knocked him out clean. The injuries he still had, broken bones and cracked ribs, at the very least, must’ve still been causing him great pain- and yet he surpassed those with sheer force of will alone. It would’ve impressed you; if seeing him in so much pain didn’t make you so sad.

“That didn’t look comfortable. I really think you need crutches, angry man.” You point to the bed. “Or you could just go lay back down, like you’re supposed to, and we could forget this whole argument.”

“No thanks. Done bein’ fucking fussed over. The only reason I haven’t left yet is because there’s people everywhere.” 

“And because you’re not supposed to, remember?”

“No. It’s good now. Nurse said I could.” He says, groaning when you stare back at him entirely unimpressed. He points to a bundle of papers and medication on the bed. “Look, gave me all the discharge instructions and everything. I’m not fucking lying.”

You walk over, flipping quickly through the packet of instructions. Bakugou wasn’t lying- he really was approved for discharge apparently, albeit under very specific instructions for not over-exerting himself. Which he was obviously doing so great at so far. 

Sighing, you folded the papers and placed them in the bag with all of his medicine. Regardless of what he wanted, you were going to make sure he took care of himself. And that included, taking all of the medication and performing the physical therapy outlined on the papers.

“Alright, then. Guess we’re going, after all.” You clap your hands together in finality, before grabbing the bag of medication. “I still think you need crutches though.”

You look him up and down, eyes zeroing in on the way he was huddled against the wall. All his weight was in his shoulders, and in any other situation, you might’ve thought it was an effortlessly cool pose- but not here. Not in this hospital room with him dressed in weird clinical sweats and a childish expression.

“I’m not getting crutches. Lame as shit.”

“Are you kidding me? Your body is literally beat to hell- who cares about how cool you look right now?”

Bakugou just nods toward the window, and you peer down to see the crowd from earlier still gathered below. It seemed like cameras and reporters had also joined, and they were making a worrying amount of headway to the door, pushing against security impatiently. It looked entirely overwhelming, if you were honest.

“If I leave with crutches,” He starts. “Then I gotta hear about that shit for fuckin’ weeks.”

“Are you serious?” You ask appalled. “You’re obviously injured! What the hell are they even gonna s-“

Bakugou just hits you with a pointed stare, and it stops you in your tracks.

He’s right. Any weakness- even crutches when injured- would read bad for his career. It would shatter the illusion people had of him. Of his infallibility and limitless strength.

“It’ll draw too much fuckin’ attention,” He elaborates, pulling the hood over his head. “No shitty sweatshirt could help me then.”

“Wait, that’s your disguise for sneaking out? A sweatshirt?”

Bakugou just nods, suddenly pulling the hood up and over his head. It flattens his wild hair against his forehead, and you nearly squeal. He looks adorable- although still very much like himself. You weren’t so sure this disguise would cut it, but you were pretty much out of other options. It would have to make do.

“Yeah. Okay. I get it, put the hood back down.” You pause, trying your hardest to think of another solution. “How about a wheelchair?”

Bakugou just looks even more offended- like your last request was a front to his very dignity. Hell, knowing him as you did, you figured it probably was.

“Yeah, fine, I get it, angry man- no wheelchair.” You sigh. “At least let me help you then? I mean, it looks like you need something at least.”

“No. I fuckin’ don’t.” He refuses hotly, shifting his weight agitatedly against the wall. “I’m fine.”

You roll your eyes, you should’ve expected him to be difficult about this. It seemed that appearing weak was his greatest fear; you thought that was a little ironic- that his biggest weakness was weakness itself.

“Seriously- please. You look like you’re about to keel over where you stand, Bakugou!”

“I told you not to fuckin’ call me that, anymore.” He retorts angrily, but you watch him wince when he moves too much. “And I told you, I’m fine. So just shut the hell up about it already.”

You watch him for another moment, taking careful stock of the way he leans back on his shoulders and curls his arms around his sides. You didn’t ask him specifically- but you’re sure now, Bakugou’s at least got broken ribs- among many other broken and sprained things probably.

Fine, if he won’t readily accept your help, than you’ll just have to goad him into admitting his own failure.

“Hmm, sure, then step away from the wall then, hot shot.”

He’s quiet, but you watch as his eyebrows pinch and his cheeks redden.

“Why? Stop bein’ fuckin’ weird! I’m just standing for a second, leave me the hell alone, shitty woman.”

You just shake your head. It almost disgusts you how much rolling fondness smothers what should’ve definitely been annoyance.

“So, you’re telling me,” You start, walking a little closer to him. “That if you stepped away from this wall right now- that you wouldn’t immediately fold in half like a lawn chair?”

“No!”

“Okay. So do it then, pop rocks. C’mon. Let’s see.”

“I’m- I’m not just gonna fuckin’ do something just because you goddamn told me too!”

“Not even if it’s a challenge?” You tease, nearing him even more. You’re just a few measly feet away now, staring defiantly up at petulant red eyes. “Because it is- a challenge. I bet you that you can’t do it.”

“Fuck you.” He grits out, but then he’s pushing off his shoulders and standing straight. “See? That’ll teach ya to run your stupid mouth about shit you don’t know dick about.”

“Hmm, good words, Katsuki- expressive, even. We’ll see how long you last.”

He doesn’t say anything, but you can see his jaw clenched down; his shoulder’s strung tightly, the slight twitch in his calves. Katsuki isn’t going to stay upright for much longer.

You move before you even recognize it, sidling up to him and ducking under his arm.

“What are you- Stop! Get the hell away!” He barks harshly, but stands in place, not really doing much other than flushing violently. “It’s- I don’t need your fuckin’ help!”

“No, Katsuki, chill out- stop,” You laugh, rearranging his heavy arm over your shoulder. “If we’re doing this then I’m going to help you!”

“Lemme go! I’ll fuckin’ crush you, I don’t need your help!”

“Okay, yes, fine, maybe you don’t need it, but it would make me feel a whole lot better if you accepted it,” You huff, your hand wrapped tight around his wrist. “And you won’t crush me- I’m a big girl, I promise I’ll be fine. So just stop being stubborn- for me? Please?”

He growls, rolling his eyes to the ceiling- but then he’s shuffling closer to you and shaking his head. If you thought his arm was heavy before, you were sorely mistaken- when Katsuki finally surrenders, the solid weight of all his muscles nearly takes you out. You stumble for a moment before regaining your balance.

“Idiot. Thought you said you could handle it?” Katsuki looks down at you, smirking slightly before once again rolling his eyes. “Now, c’mon, fuckin’ get on with it, sunshine.”

You resist the sudden slight urge to nudge his ribs, or let him collapse to the ground- this was your idea, and you wouldn’t let your child of a soulmate talk you out of helping him.

“So, I was thinking-“ You begin to shuffle with him, slightly breathless. “We sneak out the back. Or something. There’s a crowd outside.”

“Already established that, several times, fuckin’ ages ago, dipshit- and of fuckin’ course there is. It’s me.”

“Oh my god, this is not the time for your ego!” You groan, but still keep a steady pace as you begin, towards the door. “Speaking of, though, one of your fangirls told me somethin’ real interesting on the way in, though.”

“Christ. What?”

“Apparently, she’s your soul mate.” You laugh, shallowly, trying to project a confidence you couldn’t feel. “C’mon, Katsuki, you should’ve told me! Total dick move that I had to find out from her!”

He scoffs, patting your shoulder with the hand strung across it. “You fuckin’ tell her off or somethin’?”

“Nope. I told her that I think you guys would make a really cute couple!”

“Are you fuckin’ serious?”

“No- of course not.” You say stopping in front of the door for a quick break. You suddenly weren’t sure whether you could really do this or not. “I didn’t say much of anything, really, didn’t know if I could.”

“Hah?” He looks down at you funny, red eyes squinting. “Fuck’s that mean?”

“You know, your career? Didn’t wanna say anything just in case.”

“Incase’a what?”

“I- I don’t know,” You stutter, suddenly feeling insecure. You focus your eyes on the tiles beneath your feet so you don’t have to look at his eyes. Eyes that you can feel boring into the side of your head. “Just in case, you know?”

“No. I fuckin’ don’t.” He says, mild irritation coloring his voice from above you. “Stop thinking so goddamn much, I can’t fuckin’ keep up- just tell me what you’re all worked up over.”

“It’s-“ You sigh, ringing your hands together anxiously. “You’re- you’re not embarrassed, right? Because, I know I shouldn’t have done this but I was looking you up again, and I just- I didn’t see anything about you having a soulmate? Anywhere? Ever? Do you just not want people to know or- because that’s totally fine, you know, like I get it, you’ve got this super big career outside of me and I’m totally fine if you just wanna like not say anything to anyone or lik-“

“Idiot. Stop thinking so much.” Bakugou tilts his head towards the ceiling. “I’m not fuckin’ embarrassed of you.”

“T-then why?” You ask hesitantly, while staring at your feet. You’re not sure if it’s the jarring movement as he rearranges his weight or your racing heart, but either way you’re feeling sick. “Actually- you know what, it’s fine, forget I even said anything. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Bakugou doesn’t say anything, just nods and stays silent. Then he looks down at you, at the way you won’t meet his eyes, and he groans.

“Fuckin- fine. God, you always make me say the most embarrassing shit.” He gripes, flushing slightly as you finally look up at him. “It’s not because of any of that stupid shit. It’s- I fuckin’, ugh, I didn’t want somebody else findin’ you or whatever before I did.”

“What? Find me? Who?”

“God, you’re fuckin’ dense.” He scoffs, but when you look up he’s still smiling lazily down at you. “People. Media. Fuckin’ villians probably too.”

“Holy shit.”

“Chill out. I kept fuckin’ quiet so you don’t gotta worry about that now. Besides-“ He turns his head away, cheeks flushing slightly. “I’d blast all those fuckin’ weaklings to hell if they tried anything now. So don’t get all anxious about it or whatever.”

You just look down at your feet, smiling at his words but still feeling unsure nonetheless. You understood- for sure, but that didn’t mean the weight of all these consequences was easy to bear.

“Now can we go? Are we done worryin’ about stupid shit?” He asks lightly, jostling you slightly. “Got more important things to do.” 

You nod, opening the door just to watch Kirishima stumble backwards.

“Oi- shitty hair! What’re you leanin’ against my door like that for?”

“Oh! Hey guys!” He greets cheerfully, before taking stock of the situation. He tilts his head. “You guys leaving?”

“Obviously.” Bakugou scoffs, but then he’s leaning in toward his friend, dropping his other hand heavy on the red-head’s shoulder. “Need ya to distract anyone who walks up here though. Gonna leave the other way and go out the fuckin’ back.” 

“Oh- yeah, okay! Got it, man! You sure you should be leaving though?”

“That’s what I said.” You interrupt, glaring Bakugou into silence as he tries to speak. “But he insisted- and I’ve got all his meds and instructions so I think we’ll be alright. Maybe. If we’re lucky.”

“Don’t just fuckin’ talk about me like I’m not standin’ right here, shitty woman!”

“I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t so difficult all the time!” You retorted. “Now, you can handle it from here, right Kirishima? We really could use your help.”

“Yep! Totally got this! You guys go on ahead, I’ll stand guard right here!” He flashes a bright smile at you, before pointing down the hall. “There’s a staff elevator just down there. You should use that- it’ll probably be way faster. Good luck!” 

You just nod, smiling brightly at him as you pull Bakugou in that direction.

“Oi- not so fuckin’ fast!” He shouts, stumbling slightly.

“Keep your voice down, angry man! Everyone’s gonna know it’s you!”

“How the fuck is my voice gonna give it away?” He says, while simultaneously screaming like a banshee in the middle of an otherwise quiet hallway.

“Like that! So keep it down, good fucking lord.” You grumble, a breath of relief leaving your mouth as you finally near the elevator. You push the button, sighing as the doors open.

Bakugou shuffles away from you, leaning against the back wall and staring moodily at you as you press the button. The elevator surges downward, and after a minute or so the doors began to open again. You shouldered his arm once more looking up to see him pulling the hood of the sweatshirt farther down his face. He looked adorable and you couldn’t keep yourself from staring.

“Oi- fuck you lookin’ at, woman?”

“Nothing.” You laughed. “Now, c’mon, we’ve still got a ways to go.”

Sneaking Bakugou out was no easy affair to begin with, and he certainly didn’t help whatsoever. His frame was just too large and too heavy, and there was no possible way he could be quiet, especially considering his thundering steps, even when he wasn’t screaming. He seemed to attract attention no matter where he was or what he was doing. People were starting to stare as you booked it towards the back exit- you needed to move. And quick.

“Jesus christ,” You huffed, breathless and slightly irritated. You point at his stomach as you pull him along. “I know you’re hurt, but could you at least try and engage those core muscles you so obviously have?”

“You said you’d be fuckin’ fine, sunshine.”

“God, you’re difficult.” You shook your head, rolling your eyes at the sight of his amused little half-smile. “You think this is funny don’t you?”

Bakugou doesn’t say anything, but when you look up at him, there’s still that small smile edging at his lips. He seems to hold it, even through his grunts of obvious pain.

“Wow, of course you do. Immature, angry, loud man.”

“Who says I’m fuckin’ loud?” He asks hotly, pulling his shoulders in as you both shimmy through the, admittedly, small back door. “I’m not fucking loud!”

“God, you’re screaming right now! Do you even hear yourself?” You wince, but feel relieved as you help him hobble to the curb. “How’s a taxi sound, pop rocks?”

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that. I hate it. Don’t do it again.” He grumbles. “But it’s fine- whatever, I don’t care.” 

“Great.”

You raise your hand up, nearly crying in relief when a taxi rolls up to the curb. When you help Bakugou in, and slide in the seat next to him, you’re almost overcome with satisfaction. Sneaking him out was one of the most difficult tasks you thought you’d ever taken on- both physically and mentally, and god, were you glad it was over.

--/--

As it turns out, explosive personalities don’t always lend themselves to explosive environments.

Bakugou’s apartment was clean, tidy, nearly spotless when you helped him walk in. It surprised you, truly, but he didn’t let you sit on that thought for long. He brushed you off, hobbling slowly down a long hallway without a word. It takes a few minutes, but Bakugou enters the room at the end and slams the door shut behind him.

Oh- What exactly were you supposed to do now?

In reality your fingers were itching to open drawers and rifle through cabinets, and just generally snoop but you, of course, knew better. So you instead chose to read through the instruction papers and medications once more- just to busy yourself and maybe see if there was anyway you could help him. Since, apparently, Bakugou was not keen on asking you for assistance himself.

You hear the door open again, and Bakugou comes unsteadily down the hallway, nearly collapsing when he reaches his couch. He’s dressed in new sweats, and he turns to look at you.

“Fuck you doin’ over there?”

“Meds, angry man.” You say, doling out the few necessary pills from a bottle. “Where’s your glasses?”

“You don’t have to fuckin’ do that.”

“What- you’re gonna force yourself to get up again?” You ask him, unimpressed. “You’re hurt, so just please let me help you. At least with this.”

He nods tightly, mouth pressed into a thin line. “Glasses are in the cabinet behind ya.”

You nod, filling a glass of water for him and walking the medication over. Watching as he took it, you weren’t exactly sure what to do now. So you just sort of hovered next to the couch, arms around your stomach anxiously.

“What’re you doing- sit the fuck down already, idiot.” He pats the seat next to him. “Stop being weird. Freaks me the hell out.”

“Yeah. Sorry.” You laughed. “Just didn’t wanna assume- in case you wanted me to leave or something.”

“Wouldn’t have let you in if I wanted you to leave. Dumbass.” He reaches over, flicking your forehead lightly. “Your stupid thoughts are clogging up the air. Stop it.”

“Hey!” You whine, rubbing at your forehead. “Not nice, angry man! I’ll let it go this time, but try it again and I promise you’ll really be hurting.”

“Mhm. I’m sure.”

He settles further into the couch, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. The mid-day sun floods through the window, hitting the column of his throat, and casting him in gold. You think he’s beautiful then. Far more beautiful than anyone else you’d ever known.

“Yeah, sorry.” You breathe out, suddenly a little nervous by your close proximity to him. “Think those’ll probably make you a little sleepy.”

“Fuckin’ stellar.”

“Don’t sound so grumpy- it’s just a nap. And besides, you should probably be taking one anyway.”

“It’s not that.” He peeks an eye open, lazily rolling his head to catch your gaze. “You hungry?”

“No- I’m good. Are you?” You ask suddenly. “I can totally get you something? Or make you something? What do you have here? What do you want?”

“Jesus, sunshine. Slow the fuck down.” He breathes, turning his head back to the ceiling with a small, fond, smile. He sighs sleepily. “I’m good. Just wanted to ask ya.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

He mumbles something, but you don’t quite catch onto it. It’s quiet for a few moments, before his breathing is starting to slow. Your surprised at just how tired he seems to be, but then again, he was taking some pretty strong pain meds. As it stands now, he seemed minutes from falling asleep, and you were worried about the strain he was putting on his neck.

“Hey- you shouldn’t fall asleep like that.” You touch his shoulder lightly, fingers just barely brushing the fabric of his shirt. “Lay down, I’ll get up.”

Bakugou just opens his eyes, only glancing at you for a moment before he closes them again. Then he’s tipping over, a flurry of heavy limbs and awkward weight hitting your lap. When you look down at him, his eyes are squeezed tightly closed and he’s blushing wildly. He kicks his feet up off the floor, and settles in, quickly becoming deadweight across your thighs.

“O-oh.” You say, breathless. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Mhm. Now shut the fuck up, I’m tryin’ to sleep.” 

“Yeah.” 

You’re winded, short of breath and flushing bright red from his actions; but still, you find you absolutely can’t help yourself. So, with shaking breaths, you’re carding fingers through his hair before you can think better of it. 

When you look down at him, Bakugou’s only gone brighter red, but he’s smiling too. He stills, before suddenly peaking one eye open.

“Wake me up for dinner, alright, idiot?”

You nod and then he’s closing his eyes again, chest rising and falling slowly. He’s asleep and dead to the world in just a few minutes, but you can’t stop staring.

You knew you liked him- liked him a lot, as a person, not just a soulmate. You liked his weird brand of humor and his insults and death threats. You liked his masked concern and blunt words, you were even strangely fond of his yelling- but you weren’t prepared for just how much those feelings would amplify when he was so close. He was close, and warm, and breathing under your fingertips and you liked him so much. More than you’d ever liked anything or anyone else in your entire life. 

You were stricken, absolutely smitten, and there was nothing you could do about it. Or even wanted to really. So you just stared, eyes tracking his calm features as you worked careful fingers through his soft hair.

You understood now- why so many of your peers had told you they were jealous. Why they had all sighed dreamily when you told them, before immediately wishing to be you. Having a soulmate was inexplicable completeness and undeniable purpose- it was finality and new beginnings all in one.

You understood now, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

//-//

ee soz this took so long!! no excuses lmao i just stupidly started playin genshin and holy shIT was that bad for my productivity ahahaha

hope u enjoy my lovelies!!!!

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 5

A/N  Sorry for the long break between chapters.  As some of you might have seen from my Tumblr blog, I’ve been off on vacation these past two weeks.  Plus, when I felt the urge to write, it was my new Vaquero AU that kept calling to me (21,000 words and counting!), rather than this fic.  Which is probably a good argument for why I don’t like to post WIPs.  In any event, here is the next chapter some of you have been asking for, entitled Third Appointment.  Be careful what you wish for.  Angst ahead, plus a trigger warning for infertility trauma, miscarriage.

The first four chapters are available on my AO3 page.

The Thursday after her impromptu encounter with Jamie and his niece at the Royal Hospital for Children, Claire woke with a strange twisting pain in her gut.  Skipping breakfast, she was halfway to her office before she diagnosed herself with an acute case of nerves, the kind that sprouted between her lungs and ribcage like a vestigial organ whose sole purpose was to unsettle her.

She wasn’t in the habit of meeting patients outside of the clinical confines of her practice, but it was more than that.  Jamie had caught her in a moment of weakness, with both her personal and professional armour missing.  What he might have seen and how he could have interpreted it had occupied her thoughts ever since.

Eating lunch was out of the question.  By the time two o’clock approached, her insides were a buzzing hornets’ nest of anxiety, her palms clammy with sweat.  A half-empty bottle of Xanax called to her from the bottom of her purse.  Before she could weigh the implications of taking one at work on an empty stomach, Jamie’s familiar knock intervened.

She could tell as soon as he entered that Maggie hadn’t needed a transfusion that week.  His russet curls shone like garnets in the midday sun and his uncanny eyes glittered like sapphires.  Still, he avoided looking directly her way as he settled into his usual chair, and she wondered if the overlap of their personal and professional lives had left him feeling unnerved as well.

“No wheat grass smoothie,” he commented, his gaze running over her desk.

“No, I didn’t have time for lunch today.”  It was a blatant falsehood, since she’d spent her lunch hour picking her cuticles until they bled, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Ye should eat more, Sassen..., Doctor Beauchamp.  Ye canna help anyone else if ye’re no’ properly nourished.”  She caught the slip, and for some reason it angered her.

“Is this your attempt to negotiate a reduction in your fees, Jamie?  Dietary advice in return for counselling?  Because if so, I’m afraid I don’t bill on the barter system,” she snapped, despising her churlish tone.

Jamie’s eyes narrowed, then dimmed.  Message received, he sat up straighter in the armchair and crossed a foot over his knee, assuming a position of poised and detached calm that had no doubt served him well during business negotiations.  She regrouped by pretending to glance at her journal for the notes from their previous session, although the space next to his name was accusingly blank.

Boundaries thus defined, the session went surprising well.  Jamie spoke of his relief that Maggie’s latest round of chemotherapy was over, allowing her to return home and to some semblance of a regular life for a child of six.  Claire coaxed him gently towards the topic of his overwhelming guilt for abandoning his family when he was most needed.  Jamie processed pain through the recounting of stories, coming to terms with his self-decreed transgression by weaving together the tale of those he loved and pointing to the holes his absence had caused.

As his resonant voice spun its web of words, Claire became aware of an underlying hum.  At first it was subtle, like the mumble of traffic from a far-off motorway.  But as their hour together ticked by, it grew in strength until she could no longer ignore the buzz that pressed against her from all directions.

“... saw that it was really Jenny and Ian who I was... Claire?  Doctor Beauchamp, are ye well?”  Jamie was watching her with concern, and she realized she’d been shaking her head, trying to dislodge the omnipresent hum.

“Yes, I’m... yes.  Sorry.  Just a funny noise that’s...  Please, continue.”  When Jamie didn’t immediately pick up the thread of his narrative, she tried again.  “You were saying something about Jenny and Ian?”

Instead of continuing his previous thought, Jamie picked that moment to broach the topic she’d desperately hoped he would avoid.

“I hope ye’re no’ upset about the other day, at the hospital.  I didna mean tae impose or tae... o’erstep the bounds of our relationship.  No’ that we have a relationship, mind,” he hastened to add.  “Only a professional one.  But when I saw ye, I couldna resist introducing ye tae wee Maggie.  I hadna told ye about her yet, and I thought...”

“Jamie, it’s fine,” she cut in, halting his rambling explanation.  “She’s a lovely girl.  They all are.  It’s only that, I’m sort of...”

“Ye’re verra good with them.  Children, that is.  Ye’ll make a fine mother one day.”

All the oxygen left the room at once.  Her heart beat so hard there was a bruised feeling behind her sternum.   Launching to her feet, Claire stumbled blindly away from her desk.  She wanted to run, to scream, but her vision was a narrow chasm and a now-deafening throb filled her ears.  She only made it a few steps before her knees buckled and the carpet floated upwards to meet her.

“Ifrinn!”  Jamie leapt to her side, catching her by the shoulders before her head could hit the floor.  He lowered them both carefully to the ground, resting her body against his lap.  “Sassenach?  Claire?  Can ye hear me?  Do I need tae call an ambulance?”  The words reached her from very far away, but the threat of medical intervention acted like a dose of smelling salts.

“No,” she groaned, the room spinning around her like a kaleidoscope.  “No hospital.  I just... need to eat,” she grasped at the most innocuous explanation for her current state.

Without dislodging her, Jamie stretched his long arm and brought back the small basket of miniature muffins that were the day’s offering from Geillis.  With surprising dexterity, he peeled away the paper one-handed and broke apart a bite-sized morsel, holding it gently against her lips.  Realizing that her dignity couldn’t get any more battered, Claire opened her mouth and allowed Jamie to feed her.  After only a few bites, the buzzing disappeared and she was able to sit up on her own.

“Thank you,” she murmured, afraid to look into his eyes for fear of the pity she knew she’d see there.  “You were right. I  should have eaten lunch, I guess.”

“Claire.”  Jamie made a prose poem of the single syllable of her name.  She looked up at him through her lashes, stunned to find him looking back, not with pity, but with something akin to adoration.  “Mo nighean donn,” he ran a tender hand through her loosened curls.  “Ye need tae care more for yerself.”

“I will.  I’ll try.”  And when she said it to him, she really meant it.  Jamie made the impossible seem probable.

They stared at one another, shoulder to shoulder on the floor of her office.  She couldn’t think of anything else to say, but nor did she move.  Her gaze flitted over his face, noticing a vestige of boyish freckles across the bridge of his nose, a mole hidden in the harvest stubble on his cheek.  Jamie was performing a parallel inventory, eyes finally coming to rest at the level of her mouth.

“Ye’ve got a wee crumb, jus’ there.”  Unconscious, her tongue swept out, triggering a predatory response, twin blue laser beams narrowing on the target she had just painted on her lower lip.

“I... I’d verra much like tae kiss ye, Claire.  May I?”

An amputated moan was all she could manage in response, but Jamie must have understood its meaning.  He bent his head until only a whisper separated them.  The air crackled, sending that extra organ plummeting towards her hollow womb.  Clenching her eyes shut in defeat, she closed the infinitesimal gap until they met in an effervescent caress of lip and tongue.

Cold washed over her skin, bathing her in gooseflesh.  Jamie tasted like he looked; a banquet of fresh, volatile flavours that called to mind a picnic in a meadow, a spray of sea foam, the warmth of hearth and home.  She could feel him trembling against her, his moist breath rushing against her cheek in shallow pants.  For a score of heartbeats, Claire was the happiest she had ever been.  Then, reality crashed down around her.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, pulling away.  “I... this can’t... I’m sorry.”

Jamie leaned back with a mixture of longing and resignation.  She hated adding herself to his list of regrets, but it was for the best.

“I’m your doctor, Jamie.  This isn’t right.”

“Aye, I ken.  I should apologize, but I canna seem tae find it in me tae repent.”

Jamie stood, reaching down to help Claire up as well.  As soon as it was apparent she was able to stand on her own, he dropped her hand as though it burned.  The line between his brows deepened, and she could see the question forming before he gave it voice.

“What if ye werena my doctor?  Would it be right then?”

“That’s neither here nor there, because I am, Jamie.  A relationship between patient and doctor of a romantic nature is ethically off-limits.”

Jamie nodded, apparently accepting her explanation at face value. Her heartbeat calmed.  He moved slowly, gathering his coat and starting to leave.  

“But what if ye weren’t?” he said, facing the door.  “If we’d met at the hospital, or out on the town?”

“I...” she stammered, searching desperately for any answer except for the truth.  “No, Jamie,” she said at last, watching as she destroyed his last bastion of hope.  “I’m sorry.  I just don’t feel that way about you.”

Nodding abruptly, Jamie let himself out of the office.  She listened to his low murmuring voice through the door as he spoke to Geillis, heard him make an appointment for the following week, then the loud snap of the main door closing.  Only then did she allow herself to collapse once more to the floor, angry sobs overtaking her.

***

“Are ye out of yer fuckin’ mind?” Geillis inquired with her usual brutal eloquence.

With the help of a Xanax, Claire had managed to see her last two patients of the day, and only needed to navigate the shoals of her office manager’s ire before she could go home and fully medicate herself into a dreamless sleep.

“Jes so we’re clear, ye want me tae write a letter terminating your services as a doctor an’ suggesting suitable alternative providers?  An’ ye want me tae send this letter, over email, tae Jamie Fraser?”

“That’s right.”  She had determined that icy calm was the best antidote to this conversation, which was fortuitous, since she felt numb all over.

“An’ what reason am I tae give fer this abrupt conclusion tae yer association wi’ Mr. Fraser?”

“I don’t owe him an explanation.  Only sufficient notice and an opportunity to seek counselling elsewhere,” she said, feigning reasonableness.

Pushed past her limits, Geillis rose from behind her desk, a tiny tempest of moral indignation.

“Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, ye are a good friend, a fine doctor an’ a fair employer.  But I swear by the Almighty that if ye dinna drop the façade and tell me wha’ is going on I am going tae smack ye until yer ears ring!”

There was a certain relief in knowing that Geillis wouldn’t take no for an answer.  And unlike Jamie, she knew where Claire lived and would not let her rest until the truth came out.

“He kissed me.  Or rather, I kissed him.  And I liked it!  That’s why, Geillis.”

Her friend’s shoulders sagged, all righteousness gone in an instant.  She reached around Claire’s frame and held her in a bone-crushing one-sided hug.

“Och, hen.  An’ ye figured ye could deal wi’ those pesky feelings by jes, what? firing him as yer patient?”  

“I can’t deal with this right now, Geillis.  I can’t feel the way he makes me feel.  And this practice is all that I have left.  There’s no way I can risk losing it just for an affair that won’t even last the summer.”

She didn’t need to elaborate on her reasons for that dire prediction.  Geillis knew them as well as anyone.

“He’s an intelligent man, Claire. He’s gonna ken something is up.  Moreover, he’s a good man.  He deserves tae hear the truth.”

Shaking her head sadly, Claire walked towards the door.  Just before exiting, she called back softly to her friend.

“Geillis?  Make sure to include Dr. Rafferty’s name on the list of referrals.  I think they’d be a good match.

***

Monday morning dawned with little promise for the fledgling week.  Moving robotically through her weekend routine, Claire thought frequently of chickens.  How their bodies kept moving once their heads were lopped off, nerves and muscle and bone continuing to function for a time despite the fatal blow.

The elevator chimed its arrival on her floor.  As the doors slide open, Jamie was the first thing she saw.  He loomed by her still-locked office, a sun-topped thundercloud gripping a sheet of printer paper.

She’d worn her best black suit and a pair of chunky heels that brought her closer to his height.  Perhaps, on some subconscious level, she’d anticipated this confrontation.  Perversely, she relished it.  Vitriol and deceit didn’t suit her, but it was preferable to feeling absolutely nothing.

“Do ye mind tellin’ me,” Jamie began before she’d even set foot in the hallway, “jus’ what this is about, Claire?” He brandished the paper like a wanted poster.

“I would think it was self-explanatory, actually.  I’m terminating our professional relationship,” she huffed, golden eyes coming to life for the first time since Thursday.

“Via email.  Sent tae me by Miss Duncan, because ye dinna have the guts tae do it yerself.  Christ, Sassenach, even my ninth grade sweetheart didna dump me so cruelly!”

“I’m not your sweetheart!” she burst out, a flood of emotion cresting with her rising anger.  “Don’t call me that!  I was your doctor, Jamie, and now I’m nothing to you.  Nothing.  Just go.  Please.  Just go,” she finished weakly and without any hope that he’d listen.

“All this jus’ because I kissed you?” Jamie persevered.  At her stubborn silence, he continued, “Nah, I dinna think so.  Ye’re many things, Claire, but a coward isna one of them.”

She found this hysterically funny, since a coward was the only role she played to perfection.  She didn’t have time to laugh, however, because Jamie was suddenly standing much closer, forcing her to lift her chin to meet his stormy eyes.

“Nah,” he continued smoothly, a big cat alerted to the smell of its prey.  “If ye’d objected tae the kiss, ye would have told me so.  Read me the riot act or kneed me in the bawls.  I think ye’re scared, Doctor Beauchamp.  I think that kiss terrified ye, because ye realized ye liked it.  Somethin’ ye couldna  plan for in yer wee journal, right there under yer nose.  Bet it made yer heart beat so fast. So fast, jus’ like it is now.”

Jamie’s hand rested gently over the placket of her suit jacket, where he could surely feel the trip hammering of her pulse.

“Please,” she begged.  “Don’t.  I can’t...”

“Can’t what, Sassenach?” he whispered back, goading her.

The truth hung on her lips, and the toll of the past few days meant that she no longer had the strength to stop it from spilling forth.

“Can’t have children.  Ever.  I tried, for years.  Fourteen miscarriages, fourteen lost chances.  And seeing you with those children last week.  I know it’s presumptive, but I could never deny you that chance, Jamie.  That’s why I can’t see you anymore.”

She was looking down, watching the buttons of his shirt rise and fall with his agitated breath, but as she finished speaking, their movement ceased.  Chancing a glance upward, she was stunned by the fury that had overtaken his expression. 

Jamie opened and closed his mouth several times before he managed to speak in a gritty growl.

“Mutation of the RUNX1 gene tha’ causes leukemia.  I was tested, along wi’ Jenny an’ Ian, after Maggie was diagnosed.  I have a fifty percent chance of passing it along tae my children.  An’ since I canna stand the thought of ano’er bairn havin’ tae suffer as Maggie has, as soon as I got the test results, I went out an’ had a vasectomy.”

Claire recoiled as though she’d been slapped, a high pitched whine in her ears.

“Ye’re no’ the only one who’s hurting, Claire!” Jamie continued, voice dashing against the rocks of her name.  “We’re no’ meant tae suffer alone.  Ye, of all people, should ken that.”

Stunned in the silence following the thunderclap of his revelation, she couldn’t find the words to express her sorrow, her outrage, and her crippling shame.  By the time the power of speech returned, Jamie was gone. 

[jengajives]

Part four Caranthir is a dick

Part one

Part two

Part three

Up close, Daeron noticed that the Fëanorian dinner table was smaller than he’d imagined; granted, he had been imagining a cartoon rich-person table with about fifty seats at it, and it was big, to be sure, just not as big. There were maybe fifteen chairs pulled up, each of them carved of twisting metal and dark wood to match the elegance of the dining table. A stream of red silk ran down the middle. No food was set out yet, and now that Daeron thought about it, he couldn’t imagine any of these people making their own meal. He’d seen Maglor attempt to cook before, and it had not gone well; judging by the established patterns of behavior, the rest of his family would be much worse. The help would probably bring the food out once it was all done.

What a bizarre thought to pass through his mind.

Five of the chairs were occupied, all at the nearest half of the table. Two redheads sat talking back and forth, apparently blind to their surroundings and dressed in almost identical, expensive-looking sweatshirts; a frowning man with deepset eyes and hair of the deepest auburn, so dark it was almost indistinguishable from black, dressed in a silken suit that gleamed violet in the sunlight (Curufin took Celebrimbor from Daeron and took a seat at his side, looking smug); a tired red-haired woman who sat with her arms folded, a drawn scowl on her face; and, of course, the one Daeron assumed to be Fëanor himself, comfortably seated at the head of the table and weighing Daeron with his silver gaze. The family resemblance hit Daeron hard. Fëanor’s face was almost identical to Curufin’s, but he had Celegorm’s sharp jaw and Maglor’s eyes. He also saw the compact build on the red-haired twins, and there was something in the brow that Fëanor shared with the man in the suit. A bit of every son present there, except for Maedhros, who seemed to take after his mother. Unlike his boys- indeed, unlike almost any Noldo Daeron had ever met- Fëanor wore his black hair cropped short and close to the skull, without braiding of any kind. He didn’t look like a particularly nice man.

“Maglor,” he said, and a smile crossed his face that did nothing to put Daeron at ease. “Glad you could make it.”

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hello, dewdrop.” The woman smiled, too, but Daeron liked the look of hers. He got the impression he was going to like Nerdanel. Her skin was brushed with dark freckles, and her nose was crooked, but she had a warmth to her where Fëanor had only intensity and heat.

Maglor put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently.

“Everyone, this is my boyfriend, Daeron. Daeron, this is my mom and dad, Caranthir, Amrod, and Amras.”

One of the redheads rolled his eyes. “Last again.”

“I was hoping you all wouldn’t mind speaking Sindarin tonight?” Maglor seemed to be staring at Caranthir as he spoke. “Switch it up a little.”

Nerdanel looked like she was about to say something when Caranthir interrupted.

Just hearing his voice, Daeron got a bad feeling about him. Too calculated and much too smooth.

“Why should all of us have to speak a lower language just to cater to him?” He glanced at Daeron and there was a dismissive flash in his inky grey eyes.

Maglor took a step forward before Daeron even had time to process how offensive that was, and put an arm protectively in front of him, apparently on instinct.

“That’s pretty rude,” he said. His voice was calm but the glare he gave his brother certainly was not. “We all speak Sindarin. It’s not a big deal.”

“Can your friend not speak Quenya?” Caranthir glared right back. “I thought the Dark Elves had finally picked that up, but maybe that’s an overestimation on my part.”

“Lay off, Caranthir, seriously-“

“I just don’t see why he can’t use our language if we’re his hosts.”

“My Quenya is fine,” Daeron butted in, though of course he knew his accent was all off. He understood it a lot better than he actually spoke it; he just didn’t want to cause a fight over this. Maglor was too staunch a defender. Daeron didn’t want him to feud with a brother over this.

“Fine might be too generous a word,” Caranthir said. He looked mad. Daeron couldn’t fathom what had possibly set him off.

“That’s too far,” chided Nerdanel; her use of Sindarin didn’t go amiss. Her son grumbled and flicked out his phone instead, and Maglor’s fists somewhat relaxed.

“We’re happy to have you, Daeron.” Fëanor had a very good voice, and his Sindarin was flawless. Daeron suddenly began to understand this man’s popularity; he might not look friendly, but he sounded like an ally. Simple as that. “We don’t get Grey Elves very often. And since your Quenya needs improvement, we are all happy to share your language. It’s no difficulty, is it, boys?”

No one answered him. The twins were whispering to each other, checked out, Curufin had a stupid, knowing grin on his face, and Caranthir was still pouting.

“Quenya needs improvement.” He should be grateful I even bothered learning this much. Stupid language.

“Thank you,” Maglor said shortly, glaring at his brothers.

He pulled out a chair and motioned for Daeron to take it, which he did, rather hesitantly. Caranthir was still staring at him, and it felt as if Fëanor was trying to pick him apart with his eyes. He shifted uncomfortably as Maglor sat down beside him.

“Food is almost ready- where’s Nelyo?” Fëanor looked at Maglor like he thought he was hiding Mae in his pocket somewhere. Mags only shrugged.

“Upstairs, I think.”

“Got another mysterious phone call, did he?” Curufin smiled smugly. “Any clue who his secret lover is yet, Mags?”

“I didn’t realize I was supposing to be investigating.”

“Course you are. You’re his favorite.”

“Mae is entitled to his privacy.”

“Sure, sure. You think it’s one of the Valar again?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Fëanor spoke firmly, putting an end to any speculation. “Nelyo knows better than to tangle with that lot.”

“One of them would be better than a Sindar,” Caranthir said. It was quiet, but not quiet enough; he’d meant for Daeron to hear it.

Maglor had really neglected to mention how much of a dick this one was.

“Did the Sindar do something to you?” Daeron asked as politely as he could manage, ignoring the way Maglor gripped his thigh in a clear signal not to engage. “If we did, I’m sorry, but there’s no need to generalize like that.”

Caranthir met his gaze, cool but undeniably angry. There was a slightly purple tint to his storm-colored eyes.

“Don’t like Dark Elves,” he said in a particularly chilling voice. “Bad for business.”

“That’s good, because I’m not a Dark Elf.”

If this smug little bastard wanted a fight, Daeron would give it to him.

“Babe…” Maglor said, tugging at his arm.

Caranthir looked like he was about to stand up and start laying into him, so Daeron braced to get to his feet, but the boiling tensions were somewhat lessened when Maedhros came into the dining room. Initially, it looked like he was out of breath from taking the stairs too fast, but his face was also a bit flushed, and a strand of hair that had been up a few minutes ago was loose and clung to a line of sweat on his forehead.

“Sorry. Am I the last one here? Didn’t mean to keep anyone waiting.”

“Celegorm is still outside,” Maglor offered. “Daeron and I can go get him.”

“No, don’t worry about it. I’m already up.” Mae flashed his tired smile and vanished again; Maglor looked very worried about it. He knew Daeron was close to chewing his brother out at the dinner table during his very first family visit, and that wouldn’t exactly be a good look, but before he could think of another excuse to relieve tensions, his mother did it for him.

“Caranthir, stop glaring and leave our guest alone. We’ve agreed to leave politics away from the dinner table, yes?”

“Like we ever do that,” he grumbled.

“Shape up. You’re a grown man and more than capable of putting on a courteous front for a few hours.” Nerdanel folded her arms, and Daeron was stricken by how muscular she was. The biceps strained against her sleeves- it was a miracle she even fit them in at all.

Caranthir looked like a scolded puppy, but still he whined, “But I-“

“No. You owe Daeron an apology.”

A long silence. Caranthir looked like he’d rather kill Daeron then apologize to him, but his mother kept him locked in a death stare, so eventually he caved in and grumbled, “Sorry.” It was not very convincing.

“It’s fine,” said Daeron in a clipped voice. It wasn’t fine, but he would rather Maglor’s family not hate him, so he could pretend. It seemed to put Mags more at ease, at the very least.

The skittering off claws on hardwood indicated the arrival of Huan and his master, and as Maedhros and Celegorm took seats on either side of their mother, Fëanor said something about eating, and the smell of something fragrant with herbs drifted in along with the small herd of cooks and servers. It smelled a bit too much like poultry for Daeron’s tastes. He got the feeling the Fëanorians would not approve of his not eating meat.

This whole thing was starting to feel like a really bad idea.

[lesbianlotties]

Journeys end in lovers meeting - Sam/Deena - Fear Street x Bly Manor AU

Chapters: 3/10 Fandom: Fear Street Trilogy (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Fraser/Deena Johnson, Sarah Fier/Hannah Miller (Fear Street), Christine "Ziggy" Berman/Nick Goode, Samantha "Sam" Fraser & Deena Johnson Characters: Samantha "Sam" Fraser (Fear Street), Deena Johnson, Kate Schmidt (Fear Street), Simon Kalivoda, Josh Johnson (Fear Street), Constance (Fear Street Part 3: 1666), Christine "Ziggy" Berman, Nick Goode (Fear Street), Alice (Fear Street Part 2: 1978), Sarah Fier (Fear Street), Hannah Miller (Fear Street), Solomon Goode (Fear Street) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, The Haunting of Bly Manor AU, Not Canon Compliant, Haunted Houses, Ghosts, Character Death, Minor Character Death, Canon Lesbian Relationship, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending, Au Pair Sam, Gardener Deena, Housekeeper Kate, Cook Simon, Josh and Constance as troubled kids, Ziggy and Nick in an unhealthy relationship, minor Cindy/Alice, Martin cameos, special appearances of all the Shadyside killers as ghosts, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, The Rest Is Confetti Summary:The year is 1994. Samantha Fraser recently moved to Shadyside, and she desperately needs a job that will help her leave her troubled past behind. She starts working as au pair at Shadyside Manor, where she is not the only one tortured by ghosts. Grief, regrets, guilt, innocent victims, and an ancient curse. At the center of all of it... love.

Chapter 3:

“We have to call the police.”

“No.”

“Why not?!” Sam exclaimed, throwing her arms up. She couldn’t believe Kate and Deena would refuse to call the police when a potentially dangerous stranger was wandering around the house. The three women were standing in the foyer of the house, but she took one look at Josh and Constance in the living room, sitting by the fire. Josh had a towel wrapped around him and he was still shivering. Sam was aware she barely knew them, but she felt so protective of them already. What Sam heard next, startled her out of her thoughts.

“Because the police would take his side,” Deena explained.

“Wait… you know him?”

“His name is Nick Goode,” Kate explained. Her shoulders deflated and Sam suddenly understood why they had looked so disturbed by her description of the man she saw outside the window. “He used to work here at the manor. He is a Sunnyvaler with a fucked up interest in this property and… in Christine Berman. We don’t know what he did to her or what he stole or what of shit he got himself into but one day he just… disappeared. The police, of course, blamed us. Blamed her. And… well… Christine killed herself waiting for him to return.”

“I’m going to call Simon,” Deena blurted out. She turned her back on Sam and Kate and moved to the phone. Sam couldn’t help noticing her hands were shaking. “It’s best if we all stay here tonight.”

“It’s pouring rain outside,” Kate pointed out.

“He can hold a fucking umbrella!”

While Deena made the call, Sam was lost in thought. Her hands were still tightened into fists and she made the conscious move to lose them. “Is he dangerous?” she asked Kate.

“No,” the housekeeper shook her head softly, but her distaste was clear as day on her face. “He’s just an entitled asshole.”

“Then I’m going out.”

“Sam, don’t,” Deena said, putting down the phone.

“It’s not raining that much,” Sam insisted, putting on her denim jacket and grabbing the fire poker again. “I don’t even need an umbrella.”

Sam walked out of the house, throwing a smile over her shoulder, which froze Deena in the spot. At least, until Kate slapped her arm.

“Deena, you go too.”

“It’s raining!”

“I’m going to kick your ass,” Kate rolled her eyes, she wasn’t fooled by Deena’s protests. She was just helping her friend, making her feel she was blindly following the new au pair out in the middle of a storm because she was instructed to and not because her heart told her to. “I’ll take care of the little shits. Go!”

Deena took a deep breath and glanced back at her younger brother. Somedays, it felt like they couldn’t recognize each other, but she would die for him, she would do absolutely anything for his safety. So, the gardener grabbed her jacket, her keys, and left the house. Kate stood in the doorway for a moment, until she couldn’t see Sam’s blonde head anymore. She had a bad feeling about all of this. She had been having a bad feeling deep inside her that she couldn’t shake for anything in the world, but she tried her best to ignore it. She shook her head a little, passed her hand over the back of her neck, and stood straighter. Then she walked toward the kids, determined to get them to bed before any more trouble could find them. 

In the foyer, the only person left was Ruby Lane. She was hiding among the shadows, but even if she took one step forward nobody would see her, nobody ever saw her. She still wore that familiar skirt, and her blouse, and she couldn’t get rid of the razor blade in her hand. The sharp edge glinted menacingly, but it wasn’t half as frightening as her face. She used to be so beautiful, and now her features were dimmed, they had softened, lost some of their definition, but her angry, disgusted frown was still firmly in place.

--

Once outside and under the rain, which thankfully had slowed down considerably, Sam felt her determination waver slightly. But her bravado was renewed when she heard someone, not an attacker, catch up with her.

“Hey, Sunnyvale! Wait up,” Deena called out, and jogged the rest of the way to Sam’s side.

They exchanged a long look, studying each other. Apparently, Deena took a detour to go pick a shotgun from her truck, and she was currently carrying it as if it were an everyday occurrence for her. But, she was also frowning at Sam.

“So, what was your plan here, huh? Go out in the middle of a storm, chase a creep, and tell him that if he doesn’t leave you’ll give him extra homework?”

Sam scoffed, turned around, and started walking away, assuming Deena would follow her, or not. She understood that a large part of her bravado upon seeing Deena was just her desire to prove people wrong about the assumptions they might make about her. She didn’t stop to dwell on it for long, afraid of what else she might realize, but Sam did notice that with one look at Deena, her posture, her expression, she could tell the gardener wasn’t in one of her sweet moods and, instead, she was going to be, well, a little bit of an asshole.

“This is hardly a storm, it’s just drizzling,” Sam eventually said, raising her voice to be heard through the roaring of the wind around them.

“Really? That’s the part you’re going to respond to?” Deena chuckled, and hurried up so she was walking beside Sam. “I didn’t take you for the confrontational type, Sunnyvale. That’s all.”

Sam stayed silent for a moment. She was suddenly reminded of the last time, or the first time maybe, that she stood up to someone. The time that she faced her fears and fought back against a force that had been terrorizing her for years. Then she thought about how badly that had turned out, and how she was still dealing with the consequences.

“Well,” Sam cleared her throat, “I’m trying something new, I guess.”

“Oh yeah? I’d say-”

“What?!” Sam snapped. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with Deena’s smug tone, and maddening smirk, and only mildly accurate remarks about Sam’s entire personality. Perhaps she should have considered the sharp-edged weapon in her hand when she turned around hastily to face the gardener.

Deena jerked her head back when she was met with the fire poker, but she was still smirking, much to Sam’s irritation. Deena slowly raised her hand and gently pushed the poker’s sharp end again from its previous aim at her face. “I’d say,” she repeated, “it looks good on you.”

For a second, all they did was stare at each other. Deena’s smirk softened into a genuine smile, whereas Sam’s frown only deepened, but she wasn’t as angry as she was perplexed. She tried parting her lips to say something, but nothing came. Eventually, it was Deena who broke the silence.

“Let’s go check the chapel,” Deena nodded her head toward the small building, and the two of them were on their way. 

--

The two women arrived at the chapel just in time, because the rain was worsening again. Deena stood by one of the windows and grimaced. “It’s raining too much now, maybe we should wait it out here for a moment,” she suggested. Not that she seemed very happy about it. It was like every attempt she made to distance herself from the intriguing au pair completely backfired.

Sam was casually wandering around the place, taking in the details. It was a spot that had been skipped over during her tour of the house. “What are those candles for?” she asked.

“That’s all Kate,” Deena replied. “Shouldn’t leave them burning though. But she never listens.”

“Oh,” Sam mumbled and walked closer. She observed, a little mystified, the way Deena blew over the four candles, killing each of them.

“They’re for the dead,” Deena explained upon noticing Sam’s curiosity. “At least that’s what Kate says.”

“You don’t agree?” Sam wondered. She took a seat in one of the pews, and Deena followed her lead, sitting in the one in front of her, and turning her body so she could look Sam in the eye.

“They’re for the Bermans, I think,” Deena shrugged. “If we were to really light up candles for everyone we’ve lost, we’d run out of space in here.”

Sam hummed in understanding, and for a while, they were silent. Each of them was lost in their own memories about lost ones. Neither of them was aware of an additional presence in the chapel with them. Tommy Slater didn’t mind going unnoticed. He could barely see them anyway. He could only tighten his grip on the axe, rest his back against the wall, spend one more day, or month, or year, in the quiet corners of Shadyside manor.

Eventually, Sam broke the silence. “So,” she cleared her throat, “do you just casually carry a shotgun with you everywhere?”

Deena chuckled, and Sam couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed. “It’s for rats,” Deena explained, “which includes Nick fucking Goode.” She made a pause, and because she liked the way Sam listened and smiled at her, Deena felt compelled to do something against it. “You don’t have to risk your life for… the kids, or the job, you know?” For us, Deena stopped herself from saying that.

“Don’t belittle me, Deena, please,” Sam said with a small frown.

“I’m not. I’m just trying,” to protect you? “to warn you, Sam.”

Sam pursed her lips and considered Deena’s words. The gardener was content seeing that Sam didn’t just immediately disregard what she was trying to say. “I dealt with enough shit in Sunnyvale,” Sam admitted quietly, but later added a smile. “Your haunted house doesn’t scare me, Deena.”

Her words ignited a bright smile to take over Deena’s face. The gardener, of course, immediately looked away, trying to get her expression in control. When she looked back at Sam, her smile was much smaller, but her eyes said it all. “What scares you then?” Deena asked.

“What scares you?” Sam said and squinted at her.

“Hey, I asked first!”

“Well, will you answer if I answer?”

Deena shook her head, but she was having trouble holding back her smile. Where did this adorably awkward school teacher come from? More accurately, how the hell did she end up in Shadyside manor out of all places, in Deena’s path, more precisely?

“Alright,” Deena relented, and leaned her head on her hand, ready to listen.

Sam smiled, and then took a deep breath, gathering her courage. “I suppose I’m scared of… hopelessness,” she said slowly. “I’m scared of giving up. Scared of having nothing worth fighting for anymore. Uh… does that make sense?”

The gardener blinked twice, trying to clear her mind. She hadn’t expected that answer. But it would have been foolish to expect an answer along the lines of heights or spiders. It was obvious that Sam Fraser was infinitely more complicated than she seemed at first sight. Deena had to use all her strength to keep herself from wishing to know more about the au pair.

“I don’t know if that’s more Sunnyvale or Shadyside of you, but yes, it makes sense,” Deena finally replied.

Sam beamed at her, and asked, “What about you?”

Deena had known her answer for many years, but she still put on a show about thinking about it. She really was thinking about it or, at least, about the right way to say it after what Sam just said. “I’m scared of hope,” she replied.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“I would never,” Deena shook her head. “I’m genuinely not very fond of everything that comes along with having too much hope. Broken promises, crushed expectations, being let down… letting people down. It’s best to save yourself from it all.”

Sam had been listening very seriously. When Deena met her eyes both of them had a little trouble breathing normally. The small chapel suddenly felt too crowded. Sam was beyond thankful that Deena had trusted her with her words, but she could tell in those sweet brown eyes that the gardener was growing uncomfortable. Before Deena could grow desperate enough to take back her words and her moment of vulnerability, Sam tried something. A tiny smile crept into her lips. “That sounds boring,” she said softly.

Deena raised a playful eyebrow at her. “It’s safe,” she said. She was relieved for the gently offered exit out of the heavy emotional place they had wandered into. “Don’t go making fun of me now. I still have a shotgun here, you know?”

Sam laughed wholeheartedly, and Deena easily joined her. The silence afterward was different, comfortable, and easy. Deena was leaning over the back of the seat, and Sam was leaning forward. That left them a little closer than they had expected. It became a little too easy to get lost in each other’s eyes. Those two pairs of eyes that were full of secrets and trying their hardest not to let anyone else see.

Then, very suddenly, the windows of the chapel were lit in bright light. Those were a car’s headlights. “Must be Simon,” Deena cleared her throat and jumped out of her seat. “We should go back.”

Sam nodded in silent agreement, and started following Deena out of the chapel. But halfway through she let out a quiet gasp. “Do you think I shouldn’t have left the kids in the first place?”

Deena fondly chuckled and gently pushed the anxious au pair out of the chapel. The two of them walked outside and closed the door behind them. The chapel was left completely empty.

--

The storm got worse, and this time it definitely didn’t show any signs of stopping soon. Luckily, everyone had made it back to the house. Constance and Josh had finally fallen asleep, not without a fight though. The adults were gathered in one of the rooms of the big house, seated close by the fire, drinking hot chocolate, and with blankets on their laps. Sam was finally warming up. She had put up her damp hair in a ponytail, and she was listening intently to her coworkers. The three of them were finally unveiling the tragic story behind Christine Berman’s death. Kate was the one to lead the story.

“After Cindy and her husband died, Christine had the reins of the entire property. Alice owned a chunk of it, but she’s never wanted to get personally involved with this place, I guess. The house can be scary but it’s still a big property with a lot of value. Christine and Alice decided to get someone to protect the place, you know, keep an eye on the property and the few of us living and working here. That’s when Nick Goode came into the picture. Supposedly, he was tired of the police department of Sunnyvale, and moved here in search of something different.”

“And there’s nothing more different to Sunnyvale than this shithole, isn’t it?” Deena joined in. Her jaw was tense and her eyes displayed a wave of anger in them that almost frightened Sam. “Nick and Christine started dating almost immediately and it wasn’t cute, let me tell you. They were obsessed with each other. It was a picture-perfect toxic relationship. He was so… controlling. It was almost scary. He decided everything they did, when, and how they did it. He had a say in everything she said, and wore, and did. It was fucking suffocating just to watch them from afar. She made him her everything, and when he was gone, well… she had nothing left.”

That’s when it clicked for Sam that the anger in Deena’s eyes was much more complicated than that. It was grief. It was regret. In some way, Sam wouldn’t be surprised if Deena blamed herself for not intervening in some way to help the other woman. The next one to speak up was Simon. The poor man tried his best to keep up his usual spark, but it was pretty much impossible. He was fidgeting on his seat, running his hand through his hair repeatedly, and moving his eyes across the room to avoid letting anyone see the way they watered at the mention of Christine.

“He went missing, one day. Nick was a weird dude, if we’re being completely honest. He always acted weird with the rest of us, he was shifty and shit. He was weirdly obsessed with this house. There’s no way he wasn’t hiding some dark shit. And whatever that was, it came back to bite him in the ass. He had to run away. He just disappeared, like the cowardly rat he is. But… you know. Christine lost herself after that. The police didn’t help either. They were convinced she had killed him or something. They harassed her half the time, and she tortured herself waiting for that piece of shit the other half of the time. But she… she was our friend, you know?”

In the end, Simon was biting his nails, his eyes were distant, and he was shaking a little, not from the cold. Sam nodded slowly, she felt like she couldn’t really breathe easily, and she couldn’t imagine how the others were dealing with it all. Kate took her turn once more to finish the story.

“Constance found her. One damn foggy morning. Floating on the stupid lake. Then Deena found Constance.” There was a pause, and none of them could avoid glancing at Deena, but the gardener didn’t meet anybody’s eyes. When Kate continued talking, her voice wavered, and soon enough her eyes were tearing up beyond any attempt to hide it. “That kid really loved her aunt, you know? I mean, Constance adored Christine. Even more after her parents… And then motherfucking Nick Goode even stood in between them as much as he could. Some days I look at Constance and it’s like watching a younger version of Christine. She’s so much like her. It hurts. Because, in the end, Christine wasn’t a happy person anymore. We don’t want that for Constance, you know? She hasn’t been herself for a whole year. But since you arrived… she’s fighting with you all day long, running, protesting, yelling, and I just think… that’s our girl, she’s not gone. She’s still a little shit though.”

When she was done, Kate was wiping away tears, and trying to take deep breaths. But at the end of her story, she had laughed tearfully, talking about Constance. Deena and Simon had joined in. Soon enough they were sharing all kinds of stories about the young Berman girl. Kate had known her almost her entire life, when she started babysitting for her. Deena and Josh arrived just a couple of years later. Simon joined in last. He was hired after the Bermans died, but before Nick Goode showed up. Sam listened intently to their stories. Somehow, they managed to make her feel welcome, and like a part of that mismatched family they had formed in that objectively unlucky place. She appreciated it. And she also realized that she had stepped into a story that was infinitely more complicated than she could have ever expected. 

--

Maybe it was the drinks that Kate and Simon brought out at one point during the night. but Sam was getting a little dizzy trying to understand the tangle of limbs that were the housekeeper and the cook. They fell asleep pretty much on top of each other and it didn’t look very comfortable, but it made Sam smile.

“Are they… a couple?” Sam asked Deena in a hushed tone.

The gardener chuckled and moved from her previous chair to sit beside Sam on the sofa. They were the only two people alive awake in that house. “God no,” she shook her head. “That embarrassing sight is completely platonic.” She made a pause, enjoyed Sam’s small laugh, and then decided to take a risk. “Why you ask?”

“Just, uh, curiosity,” Sam replied.

“I hope you weren’t too interested, Sunnyvale. I’d hate to break your heart letting you know Simon’s gay.”

Sam smiled and shook her head. “I wasn’t… I’m not… it’s not like that,” she stuttered.

“Okay,” Deena nodded. She kept her smirk controlled, and tried to convince herself she was only doing this to tease the other girl, with no ulterior move or secret interest in her answer. “If it helps… so is Kate.”

Sam was staring into Deena’s eyes when the meaning of her words registered. The panic in the au pair was instant, and it worsened when she took notice of how close Deena was, how intently they were looking at each other, and how heavy were the additional questions hanging in the air between them. “Oh,” Sam croaked out, and attempted to clear her throat. “So… um… you, uh… why do you think Nick Goode would come back now? After abandoning Christine before.”

At first, Deena was quiet. She bit her lip, doing what she could to hide how confused she was about the contradicting feelings of relief and disappointment at the change of subject. Then she relaxed, leaned back on the couch, and searched for an answer. “He probably doesn’t even know she’s dead. People like Nick Goode aren’t happy losing. They want to have it all. No exceptions. He isn’t content just walking away,” Deena said. She was surprised by the clear as day understanding she saw in Sam’s eyes.

“He can’t just let her go. He has to feel like he still owns her,” Sam added. She looked a little dazed for a moment, but she was brought back to the conversation at hand when she noticed Deena agreeing with a nod. “But… that feeling doesn’t come from a place of love, does it? It’s the opposite, really.”

Deena shifted uncomfortably on her seat. “Yeah,” she agreed softly. She couldn’t stop staring at Sam though, and she had a strong suspicion that she was in serious trouble when it came to the things the peculiar au pair could make her feel.

--

Not too long later, Sam and Deena parted ways and walked to their respective bedrooms, not without a significant amount of awkwardness hanging between them. Especially when Sam nearly crashed against Deena when the brunette stopped in front of her bedroom, because then Sam was a little too aware of standing right outside of Deena’s room. She failed to save the situation by walking away in a flurry of apologies and “goodnight”s, waving so enthusiastically and looking back so nervously that she did crash into a wall and had to dismiss Deena’s soft “Are you okay there, Sunnyvale?”

Finally, Sam made it to her bedroom, locked the door behind her, and shortly later collapsed in her bed. She was restless though, tossing and turning in bed while her mind ran wild. She couldn’t help but flash back to several moments throughout the day she had shared with Deena. She thought about Deena’s smile, and Deena’s frown. About Deena’s obvious defense mechanisms, and Deena begrudgingly letting down her guard in front of her. Deena walking with the shotgun gripped firmly in her hand, Deena draped comfortably over the couch, stealing glances at Sam and boldly refusing to look away when Sam caught her. 

Eventually, even though she fought her hardest to restrain herself, Sam’s imagination got the best of her. There was that one moment with the two of them seated close together on the couch. So close that Sam could still remember the warmth of Deena’s arm next to hers. So close that Sam couldn’t stop herself from imagining what would have happened if she had leaned in just a little closer, and then just a little more…

Before picturing exactly what would have happened, Sam made the terrible mistake of rolling to her side again, just to find out she wasn’t alone in bed. She came face to face with a sight that wasn’t that unfamiliar to her, yet it was the most horrible thing she could have imagined. She screamed and scrambled backward in bed until she fell to the ground. She stayed there, eyes closed tightly and tears streaming down her cheeks. She had just seen him. He was right there. He wasn’t in the mirror, he was in her bed, in Shadyside, and it wasn’t fair. She had turned around in bed to see him there more than enough times before. She ran away to avoid precisely this and it didn’t even work. He was there, blinding eyes, a disgusted snarl of his lips, a furious frown, strong arms covered in blood, and the watch on his wrist broken beyond repair. Why was her mind doing this to her?

Sam rocked back and forth on the floor of the bedroom until her breathing calmed down enough. She tentatively raised her head to take a look at the bed, and then the rest of the room. She was alone, completely alone, permanently alone.

--

Life at Shadyside Manor was complicated enough. But, tragedy and threats aside, Sam’s job was the kid’s education. The next day, there was still a soft rain falling down over the property. They didn’t have another option but to spend the morning cooped up in the classroom, and apparently, it was taking its toll on the teenagers. Well, at least on one of them. Josh was quiet as usual. But Ziggy was in a particularly sour mood. Sam could understand kids trying to act way older than they were. She had worked with eight years old Sunnyvalers who were already looking forward to being CEOs of their parents’ companies. But Ziggy… she was a peculiar case.

“Sam, you’re giving me a headache. Just fucking call me Ziggy, okay?” the teenager complained.

“The headache is mutual, Ziggy,” Sam replied, leaning against the desk in front of the room. “Now, could you please just answer the question?”

“What’s the point?” Ziggy scoffed. “Look, it’s not the first time some emotionally fragile girl tries to teach me arithmetic.”

“What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t matter! This shit is useless in the real world.”

“You need an education, Ziggy, if you ever want to have a life.”

Ziggy chuckled darkly, with bitterness beyond her fifteen years. She slammed a hand on the table in front of her and jumped off her chair. “Fucking maths won’t give me my life back!”

“Ziggy!”

Sam was startled. It was Josh who had called out the girl’s name, and he sounded really angry and not like himself at all. He stood up from his seat and walked slowly toward Constance, who immediately sat down and was suddenly very quiet and still. He placed a hand on her shoulder and she pretty much shuddered at the contact. Sam thought that was really odd, considering she was usually the extroverted and lead troublemaker in their dynamic.

“I apologize for Ziggy’s behavior,” Josh addressed Sam with an odd and unfamiliar formal tone. “I think she needs a moment. We’re just tired of spending the entire day in the classroom. You know, with the storm last night and everything, we’re restless. You get it, don’t you, Samantha?”

Sam tried hard not to visibly frown at the way Josh talked to her. It rubbed her the wrong way. She glanced at the clock and noticed there would have been only about twenty minutes left of the class planned for the morning. 

“If you don’t call me that again, we can call it a day for now,” She said.

“Thank you very much,” Josh replied with a grin she had never seen on him before. Well, except for the day when he gave her those roses that made Deena so furious.

As the two teenagers walked to the door of the classroom, Sam addressed the young girl once more. “I expect a better attitude tomorrow, Constance.” It was like the girl didn’t even hear her. “Constance?” 

Constance was already on the other side of the door, but when Sam repeated her name she stopped in her tracks. She turned around hastily. “Huh?”

“Did you listen to me?”

“What? Oh. Um… Yeah…” Constance mumbled, looking more than a little confused, and then she walked away in the opposite direction from Josh.

--

That night, things were much better. The rain had finally stopped not too long ago. During dinner, Ziggy had suggested watching a scary movie with such childish excitement that nobody could have said no to her. Even Simon, not without some hesitation, agreed to stay at the manor one more night, trusting that his neighbor, Mr. McQueeny, was taking good care of his mother.

All of them were having a good time. Ziggy was having the time of her life making fun of the character’s poor decisions. Josh reacted badly to the jump scares, but he proudly announced himself as smartest in the room for predicting almost every single plot twist. Kate and Simon were in a constant argument, because she playfully insisted that her microwaved popcorn was much better than the creative array of snacks he had prepared for their evening.

Sam and Deena were on a different couch, fondly watching the others enjoy themselves. Deena was about to make fun of Sam, who looked almost as scared as the main character of the movie, running for her life. The gardener looked at the woman sitting beside her and she was pleasantly surprised to find Sam meeting her eyes. Sam didn’t look away from Deena, even as her hand moved swiftly to find Deena’s hand, which had been resting on the space between them. The movie and their friend’s fuss continued in the background, but for a moment, Sam and Deena felt like they were the only two people in the world.

Deena couldn’t keep up Sam’s stare. She had to look down at their intertwined hands, to make sure it was real. She gulped nervously and looked back up at Sam. “Are you okay?” she had to ask, dreading that maybe the au pair was just scared of the movie.

Sam smiled a little, and nodded. She squeezed Deena’s hand a little, softly rubbed her thumb over the gardener’s knuckles, and then she let go. She returned her hand to her lap, but she looked happy in a way that Deena hadn’t seen her before. “I actually love these movies,” Sam confessed.

Deena chuckled. Although her hand ached to reach out for Sam again, she understood. “You’re full of surprises, Sunnyvale.”

The two women relaxed, but it was short-lived. A moment later, a loud thunder rattled the entire property, and the lights went out. Apparently, the storm wasn’t done with them. All of them gasped, some of them screamed. The lights came back on, flickered menacingly, and went out again. Everyone scrambled off their seats, Ziggy tried to scare Kate, Simon went off looking for a flashlight, the phone started ringing and everything was a mess. Lightning bolts illuminated the room, only briefly. But, in the commotion, nobody paid any mind to Ryan Torres. He watched everything unfold from a corner of the room. He couldn’t understand everything that happened, he couldn’t make himself be a part of any of it. He glanced at the knife on his hand, and another strike of lightning reflected on it. Still, nobody else noticed.

The ringing of the phone was driving them crazy while trying to deal with the power outage. Deena couldn’t stand it anymore. She marched to the other room and yanked the phone from the wall. “What the fuck you want?” she snapped at the innocent person on the other line. Everyone had followed her lead and Simon was shining a flashlight in her direction when everyone noticed the way the gardener’s face completely changed from annoyance to shock and devastation. “It was your neighbor, Mr. McQueeny,” she was clearly addressing Simon. Her face said it all. “I’m so sorry, Simon.”

[elvendara]

Sugar and Spice Day 3

July 14th

Rock concert (Rockstar/Fan)

“Five minutes till curtains up!” the man ran backstage shouting over the din. Saeran expected a knock on his door shortly and sure enough, it came. Without waiting for an answer, the man opened the door to let him know the time limit. Saeran locked eyes with him through the mirror and nodded.

Once the door was again closed, he stared at himself. He’d long ago bleached his hair white to differentiate himself from his twin. Saeyoung worked in the shadows, it wouldn’t do to have a famous brother who looked exactly like him. He also utilized colored lenses. It served two purposes, he didn’t need to wear glasses, in fact, his fans didn’t even know he needed them, and the mint green was a stark contrast to his regular, amber-colored eyes. The pink tips were a more recent addition, but he liked them.

Black eyeliner was expertly applied, years of practice making it almost effortless. He took a sponge and smudged it, giving himself that perfect edgy look. The earrings were already in, silver crosses dangling on each side of his face. Ironic really, considering he didn’t believe in God. The thick black silver studded collar was snuggly around his neck as was the matching cuff around his right wrist. He stood and grabbed his leather jacket, sliding it on and glancing into the full-length mirror he had been given in his dressing room. He was comfortable in this persona. The music had been a way for him to deal with his life. Writing down his anger, confusion, and loneliness was a way to get it out of him. It became bigger than him pretty quickly and he found that hiding behind rock stardom meant he didn’t have to answer any real questions about his true self. It worked. Except it kept him lonely and alone. He’d come to terms with spending the rest of his life that way. It was easier than imagining being real with someone. Who could ever love the real him anyway?

He smirked at his reflection as he laced up his biker boots. Time to bring the house down!

..

He was soaked in sweat but didn’t feel tired. In fact, he felt invigorated, like every time he finished a concert. Feeding off the audience was one of the biggest perks to his career. Someone handed him a towel and he wiped his face with it.

“Great show Saeran!” one of the concert coordinators told him. She held a tablet to her chest and had a handful of fans behind her. Five doe eyed girls and one shy looking boy. Well, now that he looked closer, he was definitely a man, close to his own age. He looked sheepish being with the teenaged groupies. “These are the VIP’s for tonight’s afterparty. Thought I’d introduce you before you change.”

“Nice! Great to meet you, I’m glad we’ll be hanging out tonight. Hope you have a good time. Congrats on winning the backstage passes.” He regurgitated. There wasn’t always an afterparty but there were some special guests, rich, who had paid for the whole thing, so he’d been pressed to oblige them with an appearance. He hated the politics of being famous, but he did love his fans. It was because of them that he could enjoy what he did. If it was up to him, he’d fill the party with fans and not rich entitled groupies. He knew he would spend the night fending off offers to ‘get to know each other better’ all night.

“Oh my GOD! It’s really you!”

“Wow! You’re so HOT!”

“Ahhh, my friends are never gonna believe this!”

The girls were just cookie cutter versions of every other girl he’d seen. He couldn’t blame them; it’s how they sold his image. The man looked embarrassed; he wouldn’t even look him in the eye. He took the chance to check him out. He appeared to be a tad shorter than himself, with blond hair and pink clips holding back his bangs. He wore one of his concert shirts and tight-fitting skinny jeans. His nails were painted alternating pink and black with the black ones having his band’s logo on it, a mint green eye. So he really was a fan. Cute too.

“Uh, well, like the lady said, I have to go get changed for the party, I’ll see you all there. And be sure to grab your swag bags before you leave, don’t let them rip you off there! There’s a CD with a snippet of some of our new songs.” He winked and walked off. There was a lot of oohing and ahhing as he left.

He took a quick shower and dressed in a ripped black T-shirt, black jeans and his biker boots, putting all his accessories back on and reapplying his eyeliner. Taking a deep breath, he turned and walked out to the convention center next to the arena. Of course he wasn’t alone, he had security that surrounded him and paparazzi snapping pics as he made his way to the party. They screamed questions at him that he didn’t answer, he smirked, the signature look the media had come to know him by. Surrounded by so many yet feeling so alone. Making it next door took longer than it should have because of the circus around him, but make it he did.

Once he was inside he was taken by the arm by the coordinator who had introduced him to the fans, he couldn’t remember her name but she seemed nice enough. At least she didn’t flirt with him like other women did and took her job seriously.

“You’re here, great, first you should go say hi to the Han family, they’re the ones footing the bill for this afterparty, then you can have a few minutes with the fans before talking to some reporters…”

“Whoah.” He stopped in his tracks and could swear she left skid marks with her heels she’d been going so fast. “I want more than just a few minutes with those fans, and who are all these people anyway?” He saw his bandmates and some of the roadies, but everyone else was a stranger.

“Nobody you need to worry about, uh, I’ll see what I can do with the schedule.” She seemed frazzled but clicked away on her tablet while heading off again. He assumed he should follow, so he did.

“Mr. Han, I appreciate you taking the time and effort for this function.” Saeran greeted the elderly man.

“Ah, of course of course, anything for my new bride!” he had his arm around a young woman who was clearly less than half his age. The rumors about C&R’s head were obviously true. Standing on his other side was a tall and elegant man who appeared to wish he was anywhere but here. He’d seen that face plastered on magazines of all sorts. The heir apparent, Director of C&R, Jumin Han. They nodded respectfully at each other, Saeran feeling sorry for the man and having to deal with his father’s escapades, but the old man seemed like a descent sort. After a few minutes of his ‘wife’ fawning all over him, making him feel uncomfortable, the coordinator pulled him away. He was thankful to her for saving him.

She escorted him towards a section in the back, past all the dancing and the loud music, that was closed off. The music was still loud but at least he could hear himself think. In the section the fans sat, eating and drinking snacks on the coffee table. They all stood up and rushed him. Well, the girls did, touching him and giggling. Where were their parents? They didn’t look old enough to be out. They sat him down and pressed against him. The blond man sat to the side in a chair and continued to sip his cola and eat the snacks, sneaking a look now and then. He wished he could just be alone with him and have a conversation. At least he wouldn’t try to crawl on his lap like these girls seemed to want to do. Well, maybe he wouldn’t mind if the blond tried that.

After about 30 minutes, which felt like a lifetime, the coordinator gathered up the girls and took them out. It was past midnight and he guessed he had been right about their age, couldn’t have minors out at all hours of the night. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It felt like they had leached some of his life force out and he was drained.

“I guess that happens all the time to you huh?”

Saeran sat up abruptly, how could he have forgotten about the blond?

“Sorry, I’ll go if you want to be alone.” He stood and Saeran panicked.

“NO!” he stood, banging his knee on the coffee table, sending him on his ass back on the sofa. He grabbed at the knee, eyes scrunched, “Ow ow ow…”

“Let me see.” Suddenly there was a presence by him as the blond sat beside him, his fingers touching his knee. Because of the ripped jeans, it was easy to see his skin in that area. “Doesn’t look so bad, at least you didn’t break the skin. You’ll have a hell of a bruise though.” The blond raised his gaze to Saeran and he finally got to see the full view. Wow, those eyes knocked him out, was that color even natural? Maybe he was wearing amethyst-colored lenses like what he himself wore. His face was kind, a soft pink flush growing across his cheeks and bridge of his nose. It was adorable.

“Ah, that was really stupid of me. But…I’m glad you didn’t leave. We didn’t even get a chance to chat.” Saeran tried to regain his coolness but found he couldn’t seem to be bothered to try and act in front of this man. “Uh, what’s your name?”

“Yoosung. Don’t have to ask yours I guess.” He smiled, lighting up the entire room.

“Yoosung…I like it.”

“Thanks. I…uh…like you. I mean…I…your music…I…I…like your music…and…uh…I”

Saeran laughed and waved off Yoosung’s explanation.

“So you’re a fan huh? And what…a doctor?” he asked, placing his foot on the ground gently, still rubbing his knee.

“Not quite. But I am going to medical school. And yes, a BIG fan!” his eyes got large, as did his smile. “Your songs spoke to me when I was at a really low point. I don’t know, it felt like you knew what I was going through and understood my pain.” The smile faltered as his thoughts went back to those days. Saeran reached out and placed his hand on Yoosung’s, yes, he knew what it was like to be in pain, he could see it in his eyes.

Their eyes met, an understanding passing between them.

[seasonsofeverlark]

Amazing and Corny

Author: @hutchhitched​

Prompt: Corn Maze [submitted by @sunsetsrmydreams​]

Rating: T

Summary: Stressed over classes, Katniss gives in when her friend Gale insists she join their group of friends at a corn maze. Somehow, she finds herself lost with Peeta, the golden boy she’s admired from afar since their freshman year of college. As a thunderstorm rumbles overhead, they find their way out of the maze and discover each other, too.

Author’s Note: Thanks to @mandelion82​ for the extra set of eyes.

____________

Katniss Everdeen looked around her, wondering how in the hell she’d been dragged along on what her best friend Gale Hawthorne insisted was an adventure. As far as she was concerned, this qualified as a misadventure more than anything else. She didn’t have time for this, anyway. Only six weeks left in the semester, and she was at a damn corn maze an hour from the middle of nowhere.

“I don’t know how I let you talk me into something so stupid,” she grumbled, but Gale just knocked his shoulder against hers and laughed.

“Oh, come on, Catnip,” he chided. “It’ll be fun. Besides, I hear a certain someone might make an appearance, and I know how tantalizing that can be for the young co-eds such as yourself.”

“Shut up,” she snapped and immediately blushed the same shade as the sugar maple across the road. Ducking her head to hide the distinctly scarlet hue her cheeks had flamed, she crossed her arms over her chest and shrunk in on herself. Besides, who talked like that? Apparently Gale when he was messing with her.

Peeta Mellark. That’s who Gale meant, and her stomach fluttered at the possibility he might attend the evening’s event. Peeta was friends with Delly Cartwright who knew Annie Cresta who dated Finnick Odair who was friends with Johanna Mason who her traitorous best friend happened to be dating. It was not her favorite relationship of his.

“Relax. He might not come. Anyway, it’s not like you’d talk to him if he was here. You haven’t managed to yet the entire time we’ve been on campus together.”

Katniss hung her head because Gale was right. Peeta seemed to be friends with everyone at Panem State, the mid-level public university in the Midwest she and her friends attended. Everyone, that was, but her. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried. She’d run into him multiple times over the past two and a half years, but every time she clammed up, unable to speak and overwhelmed by his warmth. As far as she was concerned, Peeta Mellark was amazing. She adored his affable nature and the corny jokes he told. Her family always called them groaners, but he’d often joked he was practicing for when he became a dad. Peeta shone like the sun, and she paled in comparison.

And that made her feel even worse. Peeta had dad jokes, and Katniss quaked at the thought of future children. She wasn’t even 21 yet, and she didn’t understand the tendency of those around her who had baby fever. At least that was one thing Gale’s girlfriend had going for her. Johanna Mason didn’t seem to have a maternal bone in her body.

“But what if he does?” she mumbled and scuffed the toe of her shoe in the dust.

“Peeta?” At her nod, he sighed. “If he shows up, you might want to actually speak to him. At this point, it’s obvious you’re uncomfortable around him. He’s even asked the group if he did something to offend you.”

“He is offensive,” Katniss groused. “He’s too bright and shiny. Too nice. Too charming. I mean, give the rest of us a break. We can’t live up to his golden boy perfection.”

Gale rolled his eyes and looked over her shoulder. “Hey, Jo,” he called. “Delly, Peeta, Finn, Annie. Good to see you.”

Katniss’ stomach dropped to her feet. There was no way he hadn’t heard her. No possibility that Peeta Mellark hadn’t witnessed her confession that she thought his perfection was rivaled by none. How in the world could she play this off? She needed a place to hide. She was just about to bolt when Gale grabbed her forearm and tugged her against his side.

“Stay put,” he growled under his breath. “You avoiding him is ridiculous.”

Katniss elbowed him in the ribs, but he only acknowledged it with a barely audible grunt. Instead, he turned to his girlfriend and kissed her, which devolved into a filthy, open-mouthed, possibly pornographic grope fest that only ended because Finnick wolf whistled.

“Get a room! We’re here for the corn maze, not a tryst with a corn cob.”

“I don’t know. I think the corn might be jealous of Hawthorne’s cob,” Johanna retorted and turned her lascivious grin on Gale. “Later, lover,” she promised.

“Gross,” Katniss mumbled, and Peeta snorted. He hid his mouth and covered the chuckle with a cough, but his eyes sparkled mischievously when he glanced her way.

“Let’s go,” Finnick said, enthusiasm practically vibrating out of him as he led the way to the corn maze entrance. He purchased tickets for their group of seven and then tugged Annie into the maze. Katniss trudged along at the back of the group.

It didn’t take long for them to spread out, the couples drifting away from Katniss, Delly, and Peeta as the duos held hands and snuggled together. Delly and Peeta chatted companionably, while Katniss glowered and tried not to feel like a third wheel. Peeta attempted to engage her a few times, but she brushed off his efforts and stopped paying attention until they were fairly deep into the maze.

“Uh, Delly, do you have any idea where we are?” Peeta asked, shocking Katniss out of her stupor.

The night had cooled, humidity and the threat of rain making the air seem colder than it should. Katniss glanced upward and blanched at roiling clouds and lazy lightning sparking in the atmosphere. She shivered involuntarily and shifted closer to the other two.

“Not a clue,” Delly answered cheerfully. “Let’s try this way.” With that, she was off, leaving Peeta and Katniss in her wake. They stood together in semi-stunned silence before Peeta turned to her with a sheepish expression.

“Well, alone at last,” he said in an attempted joke that fell flat.

“We need better friends,” Katniss sighed. “The whole lot of them are terrible people.”

Amused, Peeta returned, “I feel like that says something about us, that we’d both choose crappy friends and allow them to, first, talk us into a corn maze on the night of a predicted thunderstorm during a really busy time in the semester and, second, abandon us like this. It feels like a plot to a bad horror film or something.”

“Horror or Hallmark?”

Peeta ran a hand down the back of his neck nervously and cocked his head. “What do you mean by Hallmark?”

“Oh, you know. Those corny movies where a woman goes back to her hometown and reconnects with some hot guy who convinces her the country is more wholesome than the city and she forgets all about her job and friends and the life she’s built for herself,” Katniss explained. “They always make me so mad. Like the female lead isn’t smart enough to have made decisions for herself, and she has to be saved by the noble, hot stranger who’s got it all figured out. It’s mansplaining at its finest.”

“What if the guy’s right?”

“Why? Because he’s hot and feels an inordinate desire to protect a woman who doesn’t need his help? If anyone ever tried that with me…” Katniss trailed into silence, unsure what the rest of her threat actually was. It wasn’t like she didn’t appreciate help; she just wanted help from someone who understood she could do it by herself, even if that wasn’t necessary.

Peeta studied her carefully, his expression unreadable, and she wondered if she’d offended him, somehow. He licked his lips and tugged the collar of his jacket up under his ears before speaking.

“Well, that explains some things.”

She bristled immediately. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean,” he sighed, clearly dejected, “it makes more sense why you haven’t given me the time of day the past two years.”

Katniss gaped at him, completely taken aback at this statement. It took her a second to form a coherent thought, but she finally managed to stammer, “Wh-what?”

Peeta’s mouth twisted into an expression of misery. “You seem to hate me, and I have no idea why.”

Flustered, she blurted, “How does that have anything to do with hot guys from small towns? I— You’re— Yeah, hot. You really are, but… I’m so lost.”

Peeta flushed, his cheeks flaming red, and he stubbed his toe into the ground and refused to look at her. “It doesn’t matter,” he mumbled. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Brought—?” Katniss stopped herself and held up her hands in surrender. Gently, she prodded, “Peeta? What are you saying?”

He shook his head and hunched his shoulders, shielding against the chilly weather and his disappointment. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to be that guy,” he whispered.

“What guy?” she asked, using every ounce of her strength to quell her frustration.

He lifted tortured eyes and answered softly, “The guy that seems to think he’s entitled to a girl’s attention. The one that mansplains. The one who takes over the room when he walks in. I’ve never intended to do that, but you’ve always shied away from the popular crowd. You have every right to ignore me if you want. I didn’t mean to imply that you owe anything to me.”

“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, that makes way more sense than… Well, than anything I was thinking.”

Curious, he asked tentatively, “What were you thinking?”

“I was trying to figure out how you were the hot, small-town guy luring me away from the city,” she laughed, and he grinned a little.

“Well, you did say I was hot.”

“You are hot,” she sputtered. Peeta coughed to cover a pleased smirk. His response was so soft, she almost missed it.

“Thank you.”

“I wouldn’t ever try to insinuate you weren’t smart enough to make your own decisions.”

The tips of his ears burned red, which she thought was about the cutest thing she’d ever seen. She opened her mouth to speak when her phone interrupted them. Grimacing, she tugged it from her pocket and glanced at the screen.

“Oh, hell,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Gale,” she offered in explanation. “He wants to know where we are.”

“We’re in the corn maze. Where else would we be? Is everybody else done or something?”

She nodded to affirm. “They’re all waiting at the picnic tables. Even Delly’s there. They have cider.”

They glanced around them and realized they still had no idea where they were. Katniss hadn’t been paying attention as they wound into the maze, and Peeta had clearly followed Delly’s direction. In short, they were lost. Katniss glanced upward, as a few fat drops of rain spattered around them.

“Would it be corny to say I’d rather be lost in here with you than anyone else?” Peeta asked, his lips quirked into a crooked grin.

“Oh, I don’t know. There’s a crop of freshmen on campus. Wouldn’t you rather be with one of them?”

Peeta’s eyes twinkled. “Punny.”

“Same to you.”

“You’re amazing,” he laughed, and they grinned at each other, content to joke about their predicament. Seconds later, the sky opened, lightning flashed, and they both jumped. “We need to get out of here.”

Katniss extended her hand to him. “Together?”

“Together,” he agreed as he took her hand.

They walked quickly then, alternating right turns with lefts until they began to see a pattern. Corn stalks guided their way as they wound through the maze, hopeful they were on the right track, as rain poured from the heavens. Soaking wet, they clung to each other, a lifeline in their confusion. They hadn’t seen anyone else for several minutes, and Katniss started to shake—from cold, anxiety, and frustration.

“It’s going to be okay,” Peeta assured her. Letting go of her hand, he shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. When she protested, he insisted. “I’m all right.”

“I thought you trusted me to make my own decisions,” she retorted, but her clacking teeth and shivers undermined her argument.

He wrapped his arm around her and guided them down another corridor. “I do. I promise, but your sense of direction is as terrible as mine. Let’s get out of here, and then you can go back to resisting my advances.”

“Have you been making advances?” she asked, curious.

“Since the moment I saw you across the room. You have no idea the effect you have on me.”

She’d have to ponder that once they’d escape the maze. She was too cold, too disoriented, and too woozy from the heat of his jacket and arm curled around her. The stress of the semester had been weighing on her more than she’d thought, and there was something really compelling about allowing someone else to take charge.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you,” Peeta sputtered as they rounded another corner and spied the flags marking the maze exits. His curls were plastered to his head in dark blonde waves, and he looked absolutely miserable in his soaking wet navy blue Henley and dark washed jeans.

“Wait,” she pleaded. “Wait.”

Peeta stopped immediately and turned questioning eyes to meet hers. His willingness to take her seriously without question made her smile. “What’s up?” he asked, rubbing her arms to warm her.

Katniss reached for him, grabbing his sopping shirt and tugging him to her. Their lips met as thunder rumbled above them, and she leaned into his heat. He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her to him and increasing the pressure of his mouth on hers. They stood there, tangled together, until an echoing boom of thunder shook them apart.

“Electrifying,” he murmured as lightning flashed.

Katniss giggled and burrowed into his chest. “Such a dad joke.”

“They’re coming out my ears.”

“No. Stop. That was terrible.”

“I can’t help it. They just pop up when I least expect them.”

“So corny,” she grinned.

“So amazing,” he corrected and grabbed her hand. “Let’s get out of her, ditch our friends, and get to know each other.”

Katniss nodded. At the moment, there was nothing she wanted more.

[misterewrites]

Intro to Caitlyn 102 (Mirror’s Edge)

Hey everyone! E here with another chapter. been a busy week so this is a little late but with any luck I'll have the next underground chapter out this week or maybe another chapter for this story. dunno I'm just having fun in general. I hope you are all staying safe, wash your hands, wear your mask, get the vaccine if you can, keep each other safe! Feel free to tell your friends about this, reblog it or leave comments I'd greatly appreciate it. Trying promote myself is weird haha Stay safe and have a great week!

If you’d like an easier place to read the story, feel free to follow the link below

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/76796408

Summary: Caitlyn has her target thanks to one Finnrick Drift and now it's time to break in. After she takes care a few things at home.

-----

Caitlyn sighed as she was unable to keep her eyes off the slivered hue butterfly hair ornament in her palm, the multi-colored glass shards wings stretched wide like it was ready to take flight.

It was beautiful, it was the perfect and it was expensive.

The sliver was real, none of that cheap painted copper or tin or whatever hairclips were normally made of. The different shards of glass had been painstakingly put into place, each fitting together perfectly like a completed puzzle which must’ve taken months to do by hand. And true to his word, she could feel the energy of this item, the magical thrum of its power. It no longer felt cold and distant but warm, light and carried a familiarity with it. It was strange to say but it was almost like the ornament was breathing in time with her. Like it was a part of her.

Of course it was, it’s freaking magic! Frankly magic could do whatever the hell it wanted apparently. The real question was what hidden power laid within.

Somehow in the back of her mind she knew how this thing was supposed to work: it granted her some kind of temporary movement. What that meant she hadn’t the slightest clue. She also knew it would only last an hour and would ‘refresh’ at every dawn. Because that’s a thing. And she knew the spoken word needed to activate it. Which of course meant the word was angel.

Caitlyn frowned, unsure what kind of joke this was. Finnrick had specifically called her angel twice: once when they first met and when asked what exactly the hairclip did. Clearly it was some inside joke he was in on. She just wished she was too.

“Hey Cat, you okay? You keep looking at the wall.”

Caitlyn shook herself out of her stupor and found herself staring at wide brown curious eyes that belonged her baby brother Lou.

Louis or Lou as he preferred to be called, was 7 years old (soon to be 8 next month). He had messy black hair with a cute button nose. He wore clothing typical of a child his age: A red shirt with a hero splashed across its front and baggy shorts. His sneakers were worn and frayed which reminded Caitlyn she really needed to get him a new pair. Between his chubby cheeks and the gap in his smile he was the cutest kid in the world. True he was a bit pudgy due to his lack of height though if he was anything like their father, he would grow to tower over her.

Caitlyn sighed sadly: two years and still no word of her parents. One day they just up and vanished. She used to think they had died through some cruel act of fate or misfortune. In her weaker moments, she briefly wondered if they just left Lou and her behind to start a new life.

But now, with the realization there was a whole magical world on top of her own, she couldn’t fathom what could’ve happened to them. Her thoughts were endlessly filled with possibility and none of them good. None of them made the pain hurt less.

She pinched herself as hard as she could. The sharp pain cut through her wandering mind and focused her back on the task at hand.

“I’m fine” She gave a sly smile “But have you finished your sandwich? A nice man bought it for you and I don’t want it to go to waste.”

Lou bounced up and down excitedly, pudgy hands tucked into a fist “Yes, yes I did! It was yummy!”

“Awesome!”

“Who was the nice man?” Lou asked quizzically, tilting his head to one side.

“Umm….” Caitlyn was torn: One hand she wasn’t quite sure where her and Finnrick landed on the whole trustworthy scale. On the other hand she couldn’t just say a random name. Lou had an uncanny ability to know when she was lying. Bordering on supernatural sometimes.

She glanced carefully towards her baby brother, searching for any sign of magic or mysticism in his chubby cheeks.

He scrunched his eyes wide and inched closer to her. She blinked, stumbling backwards at his sudden movement.

“I win!” He cheered with a bright smile “You blinked first!”

It took a moment for Caitlyn to process what was going on.

She laughed softly “Yeah kiddo. You win.”

“So what’s the nice man’s name? It’s not Jonas, is it? He was a creep.”

“Yeah he was.” Caitlyn awkwardly agreed. Her stomach churned unhappily at the thought of her ex. “No, his name is Finn.”

“Finn” Lou paused thoughtfully, eyes narrowed in concentration “Fiiiiinn. Finn! I like it! Fiiiiiiiinn. Can you thank him for me next time you two go out?”

Caitlyn rose a hand up no protest “Whoa, whoa, whoa slow down kiddo. We’re not dating.”

“But why not? You said he was nice.”

“I…” she glanced about the apartment wearily: Peeling paint, barely held together furniture and rent past due. So much work and effort for this ramshackle home.

“I don’t have time kiddo. I got to keep working if we wanna keep this place.”

Lou frowned, his face confused as if he couldn’t understand the word work “But you’re always working Cat. When are you supposed to have fun?”

Caitlyn ruffled his already messy hair lovingly “I’ll worry about that and you worry about having fun...and keeping up your grades.”

Lou’s ears perked up “What? Sorry, I think I hear Hedge calling me.” and without further warning, he bolted into his room, picking up his beloved turtle plush Hedge and dove under the covers.

Caitlyn couldn’t help but grin at his brother’s antics.

Then reality set in again.

She rather not deal with this newly found, barely understood magical world but regular folks weren’t paying the bills like they used to. Her fence was giving her less and charging more. Some bulltshit about paying off crooked cops or whatever. Sounded like a half ass excuse to her but they both knew she didn’t have much options.

Real gold. Any loose change from magical folks could easily lighten her burden and the promise of more sat in some entitled prick’s safe.

She couldn’t resist even if she had tried and she hadn’t tried to stop herself in years.

-----

Caitlyn waited till midnight to make her move. It was easier to blend in with darker shades and regardless of who she was robbing, she wasn’t in the business to make enemies. Especially enemies with unknown powers.

Lou was tucked into bed, nice and cozy with Hedge locked in his arms. Mrs. Palmer, a kindly older woman next door, agreed to watch him. They shared a silent knowing look with one another.

Her apartment was on the less than well kept side of town and everyone had their hands in some sort of shady business here. They tried their best to keep their noses clean but sometimes there were dips into less savory methods of getting cash.

Caitlyn was prepped for the mission ahead: A black blouse with black leggings. Thick black hiking boots for gripping walls and a leather black jacket to keep the cold and sharp pointy objects away from her skin.

She took a sad glance at the jacket, remembering all the times her father joked about handing it down to her when she beat him at arm wrestling. She could still hear dad’s hearty laughter echoing down the hall.

Caitlyn’s eyes hardened as she forced herself to look away “They left. No point in letting good gear go to waste.”

She took a deep calming breath as she ripped the tape off the butterfly knife she hid underneath her bed. She hated unnecessary violence but sometimes it took more than a good right hook to get someone off your ass. Better to have it and not need it than wind up with a bruise of regret.

She slipped the knife into her jacket pocket, slung her bag over her shoulder, nodded thankfully towards Mrs. Palmer and made her way out the door.

------

Caitlyn decided to take the long way: True it was halfway across town and took an hour of traveling but she always enjoyed the quiet that came with waiting. It calmed her, allowed her time to double and triple check her plans with the added benefit of shaking out any loose thoughts rattling in her head with each bump of the bus.

She stared at the beautiful ornate butterfly clip currently holding her ponytail up in the window. Caitlyn wasn’t sure what exactly Finnrick had given her but she didn’t want to use it at the apartment in case it didn’t do what it was supposed to. After all, suddenly having the knowledge in her head on how to work the hairclip was a bit unsettling. Okay really unsettling. Better to use it far away from Lou in case it exploded or something else nasty.

She got off the bus at last and hurried her way over to Andor’s, careful to cover her face whenever she spotted the odd store or traffic camera. She didn’t know who actually controlled them and she didn’t want to find out the hard way.

Andor’s Antique Shoppe (really cute elf boy) was the tallest building on the street: three floors that towered over the single story shops nearby. The street itself was nearly pitch black with a street lamp on either end of the block being the only source of light. Not a soul in sight.

Now was a good time as any to try out the hairclip. Caitlyn closed her eyes, exhaling slowly as she focused on the magical item. Goosebumps ran down her spine while the quiet, powerful thrum hummed softly in her ears. The word escaped her lips like it was second nature.

“Angel”

She nearly stumbled as a warm sensation filled her entire being. It covered her like a second skin and suddenly she was aware of the hairclip intimately: It’s weight, where it sat upon her head. She could feel the wings of the butterfly unfold, outstretched and ready to take flight. She heard the shimmering of magic forming into existence and she let out a surprised gasp when her feet lifted off the ground.

Caitlyn glanced in the nearby shop window, tears welling in her eyes:Beautiful translucent butterfly wings extended out from behind her. The outline of the wings were a deep rich purple with the multicolored glass stained shards gorgeously laid across its surface, each as elegant and refined as any art piece she’d ever seen. Each flutter and beat held her aloft, defying gravity’s hold on her. In the shadows of the night, the soft glow of the wings made her look like...

“An angel.” she whispered gently “I look like an angel.”

Caitlyn wiped the tears away. Technically she was a butterfly but this wasn’t the time for sentiment. She had a job to do and the longer she floated out here the more likely she’d get caught.

“Up” she murmured and the wings obliged: she rose silently skyward, each beating of the wings taking her higher and higher. The chill of the wind felt nice across her cheeks and she couldn’t help but relax in its presence.

Her original plan was to simply scale the side of the building and pick the window to gain entry but with her new found vertical movement, it was easier to just go up and over. She made sure she ascended from the end of the street and flew over to the third floor.

Caitlyn tilted her head quizzically as she found herself staring at a haphazardly open window.

“It can’t be this simple.” she narrowed her eyes suspiciously “It has to be a trap.”

-----

Caitlyn stood dumbfounded in the unguarded office of Andor.

She looked to her left then to her right, waiting for some sort of ambush to be sprung.

None came.

“Okay it is this simple.” Caitlyn whispered to herself, opting to just take this stroke of good fortune and run with it. She quietly willed the wings away and with a glitter of magic they vanished into thin air.

She crept over to the black safe tucked lazily in the corner, a stack of important looking documents just thrown on top without a care in the world. She quickly pocketed them and turned her attention to the roadblock in her way. True to Finnrick’s information, the safe itself was fairly simple and wouldn’t take much to break into. Either Andor was extremely confident in his security or really didn’t take being a crook seriously.

Not that it mattered to Caitlyn. It wasn’t her fault Andor hadn’t invested in a good safe.

She pressed her ear against the cool surface of the metal, trying to ignore the icy chill on her cheek as she strained to listen for the nearly inaudible click of the tumblers falling into place. It had taken two tries too many but she allowed herself a smug grin as the safe’s door swung open with a creak.

Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed at the sight of a funny symbol painted onto the back of the door. It gleamed with a strange unnatural light before disappearing all together. Before she could began to guess what bad news that meant, the shouts and thundering footsteps echoed from below answered her question.

“Shit.” She whispered as she began frantically grabbing everything she could: Folders, stacks of papers and clanging metal in heavy pouches. It all went into her bag with as much speed as she could muster.

The footsteps grew louder with a frantic pace. They were already on the second floor if she hazard a guess. Caitlyn made for the window and without a second thought, flung herself outside with all her might.

“Angel!” She hurried muttered but the wings were forming too slowly. She already crossed past the next floor down when they barely began to outstretch from her back. Caitlyn was no physics major but even she knew there was no way she’d be able to slow down in time to avoid breaking her neck. She shielded her face with her arms and tried not to flinch as she waited for the pain to set in.

It didn’t come.

Instead she felt herself slow to a stop midair and just stayed here. Caitlyn opened her eyes to find herself bobbing up and down inches away from the pavement. There were a pair of legs as well: Black slacks and well polished loafers with the bottom half of a black tattered trench coat.

“Falling for me angel? I didn’t expect it to be literal.”

She glanced up to found herself staring at the one and only Finnrick Drift before her, a cheeky smile on his lips and his hand held out.

Finnrick waved his fingers over her and she landed onto the sidewalk with a soft thud.

He offered her his hand but she preferred to scamper to her feet in the most ungraceful way possible. Her cheeks burned with a pinkish hue at the sight of the P.I.

“Thanks.” She couldn’t keep the embarrassment out of her voice “I….thanks.”

Finnrick nodded “Anytime.”

“WHY IS THE DOOR LOCKED?!” A voice roared from overhead.

“CUZ IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE YOU IDIOT!”

Realization knocked Caitlyn out of whatever was going on here but as she turned to make a break for it, Finnrick rose his hand to stop her.

She glanced at him, lost and confused.

“The favor. I’m calling it in.”

“What?! Here?! NOW!? You got to be kidding!”

“I kid about a lot of things.” Finnrick admitted “but not this.”

“We’re standing outside the place I just robbed! This isn’t the time!”

“Yes it is.”

Caitlyn took a step back and cast a suspicious look at the private investigator “You were using me, weren’t you? You didn’t want to get your hands dirty so you let me borrow the wings so I can steal the thing for you!”

Finnrick shook his head.

“Don’t turn this around on me!” Caitlyn snarled

Finnrick answered simply “You were clearly better at locks and sneaking around than I am. I was actually having trouble figuring how to pull this off. Every option ended with a fight with Andor. That’s why I’m out here. Why I busted every cameras on the street and managed to keep the window open. To make sure you were okay.”

“Where even were you?!” Caitlyn tried in vain to recall seeing Finnrick on the street “it doesn’t matter! You want me to trust you?! Just like that?”

Finnrick sighed tiredly “Please angel I trust you.”

Caitlyn’s eyes went cold “That is your mistake, not mine.”

Finnrick stared back at her, his dark brown eyes warm and gentle “Trusting you is my choice. Breaking it lays entirely with you.”

Caitlyn felt the rage and distrust drain out of her and replaced with a tense exhaustion.

Angel. He had let her borrow the wings and while there was no way he’d let her keep them he did give it to her for a favor. A simple favor he promised.

She sighed in defeat “What’s the favor?”

“I need a paper from the stack.”

“And if I give it to you, will you let me go?” She asked, hating how weak and vulnerable she sounded.

“No” Finnrick spoke without hesitation.

Caitlyn's shoulders sagged with disappointment.

“I will protect you.”

Caitlyn couldn’t help but stare at Finnrick: His face was scrunched up in a rather cute sense of determination and his body was relaxed. It was clear he was trying to be as nonthreatening as possible and despite her recent outburst, he seemed more concern with her than himself.

When was the last time someone offered to protect her? Granted she didn’t need any but even Caitlyn had to admit it was nice to hear.

They stood there for a moment, the angry shouts and cursing of Andor and his thugs breaking the silence of the night.

“Which paper is it?”

“It’ll be a single sheet with some fancy silvery writing on it.”

It took her no time to find it: It was thicker than all the others, written on some ancient paper that was aged yellow with time but was otherwise intact. The shining silvery writing was indeed fancy but nearly impossible to make out. She could actually feel her eyes water just looking at it and she wasted no time shoving it into Finn’s hand.

“There!” Caitlyn cast a nervous glance towards the third floor window “I kept my end. Now keep yours. Please.”

Finnrick said nothing. He instead tucked the loose paper inside his coat and offered a hand to her.

Confused but running out of options, she gingerly took his hand in hers. She flushed at how warm he was. Caitlyn let out a yelp as Finnrick pulled her in. She tried to keep her cheeks from turning a lovely shade of red when Finnrick held her close.

Finnrick began chanting, his hands drawing unseen symbols in the air. Caitlyn could feel the same warm sensation from earlier wash over her as Finnrick’s spell took effect.

-----

“FIND MY STUFF NOW!” Andor screamed with bloody rage. He was typical of an elf: Impossible well kept blonde hair that flowed to his back, piercing forest green eyes. He was tall and lean with the tackiest suit anyone had seen. Reds and pinks in some sort plaid pattern. He called it looking good. His goons called it a headache. His pointed ears twitch unhappily as he struggled to listen for any sort of sound nearby but found nothing beyond the usual quiet hum of the city.

Andor groaned unhappily as he made his way to the window. His eyes scanned the street with a clarity not even the most technologically advance camera could match. His elf eyes took in every detail through the shadows: every imperfect scratch on the brick buildings, the asphalt embedded with the grooves of tires, cracked sidewalks that spread out like bolts of lightning.

Nothing. Not a single soul was in sight. The silhouetted street was bare and empty.

“FUCK!” Andor screamed into the silence “FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! FIND THEM NOW! CHECK THE FRONT DOOR CAMERA!”

“We can’t boss, it was fried yesterday, remember?”

Andor shut the window with a violent thud.

-----

Caitlyn let out the tense sigh she hadn’t realized she had been holding in.

She instinctively looked towards Finnrick only to find empty air.

“We’ll have to be invisible a little longer. They’ll be searching the shop before they think to start fanning outside. Andor will be making the process longer. Let’s get to the end of the street and I’ll drop it then.”

Caitlyn nodded for a moment before realizing he couldn’t see her

He guided her arm into his and the pair briskly walked down the street. It felt weird to walk invisible, arm in arm, while a childish elf baby raged behind them.

When they reached the end of the street, Finnrick dropped the spell. The two reappeared as quickly as they’d vanished. Caitlyn pulled away from the detective, her body shivering from the sudden lack of warmth.

“Thank you.” Caitlyn murmured softly.

Finnrick tipped his fedora “Any time sweetie.”

“What now?”

Finnrick scratched his chin thoughtfully “It is late and staying here would be a terrible idea. I suspect we both have places to be.”

Finnrick reached into his pocket and held out a piece of paper for Caitlyn to take. She stared at it, unsure what he was offering.

“It’s my fence.” He clarified with a smile “I take it you don’t know a magical one. He’s very trustworthy and he’ll give you a fair price.”

“Thanks” she took the slip of paper “I….thank you.”

“Any time. Good night angel.”

“Wait!” She reached for him but drew back when he turned to face her “Your hairclip? The one you let me borrow?”

Finnrick’s eyes twinkled with amusement “You didn’t hear me, did you? I told you that’s yours.”

Caitlyn could hear her heart thundering in her ears, cheeks ablaze “You sure? It seems like it costed a pretty penny.”

“Pretty amount of gold.” Finnrick corrected with a wink “And I’m pretty sure. I made it for you.”

“Why?” The question slipped out of her mouth “Why me? You barely know me.”

“Not true.” Finnrick nervously bit his lip “You barely know me. I’ve been waiting for you forever now. About five yearsin fact.”

“Me?” Her blush worsened “I don’t understand.”

“You will.”

Finnrick took her hand in his once more and softly kissed it. Caitlyn could feel a flutter of butterflies fill her stomach.

He hesitated to break his hold on her but he did so respectfully. Caitlyn could see his cheeks tinged with a pinkish hue as he began walking away.

Caitlyn stood there and watched the detective vanish into the night.

-----

Okay, so she didn’t just stand there dumbfounded as Finnrick walked away. It was probably a terrible idea and definitely not normal Caitlyn behavior but she followed him.

It wasn’t too hard given her newfound verticality. She just waited a few minutes, noted the direction he was heading and flew over the rooftops. Finnrick didn’t seem to be aware he was being followed. He walked the darken streets of Newton Haven, gesturing to the odd person or mythical being cloak in the darkness. His pace was casual and unsuspecting.

Her concerns about running out of time were unfounded as about 30 minutes later, Finnrick ducked into a fairly decent apartment complex. It was better kept than hers but only by a fraction.

A dark apartment on the third floor was suddenly flooded with light as Finnrick Drift made his way inside. He hung his coat and fedora at a coat rack that stood by the door. The apartment was itself humble: he had a battered desk placed by the window, his tiny kitchen was on one side and the door to his bedroom on the other. There was a large file cabinet next to a battered, ancient fridge. Not the place of a well paid private investigator.

Finnrick sighed tiredly as he rolled up his sleeves. The way his body hunched over with the slow debilitate movements he made, it was obvious he must’ve been exhausted. But whatever he was up to must’ve been important because he began drawing on his lovely wooden floor.

Caitlyn couldn’t really guess what the detective was doing beyond the shape he was making: There was a large outer circle and a much smaller one within. An array of symbols were drawn between the two circles such as stars, a crescent moon, squiggles shaped like trees with a language she didn’t understand.

It didn’t take Finnrick long to finish. He stood at full height, wiping the sweat from his brow as he reached into his pocket and pulled a baggie. Carefully, he opened the bag and pulled out a sliver thread that seemed to shine even at this distance. He placed it within the smaller circle and outstretched a hand like he was grasping at something. His eyes, normally a warm dark brown, glowed with blue arcane power. Magical symbols formed before him and the building groaned and creaked like the mere presence of magic commanded it to speak. He lit a match, his lips moving more and more wildly yet no sound could be heard from within. Finnrick closed his hand into a fist and the symbols sunk into the circle. He flung the match onto the sliver thread and the entire glyph blazed with fire for moment. There was a flash of a brilliant light and the circle had vanished only to be replaced by some strange figure.

She was much taller than Finn, so tall in fact the top of her head nearly scraped the bottom of the next floor up. Her hair was wispy, thin threads of sliver that reached to the bottom of her feet. Her skin was pale like moonlight and two dark sunken pits formed her eyes. Her frame was lanky and unnatural like someone had pulled and stretch her into her current form. Her clothes were torn and ragged.

The figure tiled her head curiously at Finnrick who dug into his pocket and pulled out the yellowed paper Caitlyn had given him. The figure was dumbstruck as Finnrick handed it to her with a warm smile. He offered a match to the creature but she shook her head. She gingerly held the paper in her hand, staring at it like was about to vanish into thin air.

Then she ripped it. She tore at it with a fierce, terrifying frenzy. She ripped and ripped and ripped until impossibly small bits of paper rained across the apartment. Caitlyn leaned closer as previously unseen shackles formed upon the figure’s wrist and cracked wide open. They slipped off and vanished into the air.

The figure let out a manic laugh as she shrunk, her limbs realigning themselves until she looked like a proper human sized person only a head taller than Finnrick. Her thin wispy hair fattened to thick, full braids of metallic silver. Her skin remained pale but her dark sunken eyes turned a coal black, full of life and joy. Even her clothes had transformed into a splendid elegant dress that sparkled like stars.

She cried, clear streams of water running down her face as she held Finnrick’s hands tightly. She wailed and shook, unable to keep her emotions in any longer. Finnrick let her, giving only a satisfied grin in response. She handed him a handful of gold, 3 maybe 4 pieces and began patting her dress as if looking for more. Finnrick stopped her, pocketing the gold and shaking his head no. The creature was not satisfied by this and began to gesture wildly about. Finnrick remained steadfast. He gestured to himself, lips speaking but Caitlyn couldn’t read whathe was mouthing this far away. The figure said nothing as a small child matching her skin tone appeared from out of nowhere. The child gestured to his wrist excitedly though nothing was there. The figure scooped the child in her arm and gently kissed his forehead. She glanced to Finnrick and was gone. A gentle warm breeze sailed past Caitlyn’s hidden spot, dispelling the frigid 2 a.m. air.

Finnrick chuckled to himself and despite on the verge of collapsing, made his way to the kitchen. He remained there for a few minutes and reemerged with a steaming cup of those instant noodles found at the store. He made his way over to the window and lifted it open. He placed the foam cup on the fire escape and hastily wrote a note which he folded carefully next to the food.

And with his job seemingly done, he made turned off the lights with a flourish of his hand and made his way to his bedroom. He closed the door and did not reappear.

Caitlyn flew over with the few minutes she had left in her wings. She picked up the cup of ramen, contently sighing with its warmth. She grabbed the note and read it aloud, curious what Finnrick wrote.

Caitlyn felt a chill of run down her spine as she read “Hey! Noticed you watching me and given you didn’t try to attack me, I assumed you had your reasons. If you’re trying to track me for your boss, here’s your warning! I will destroy everything they hold dear. You possibly included. If you just were a person or fae that was just curious, have a warm meal on me! It’s cold out so bundle up. Have a good one and don’t touch the window. I am a powerful warder.” F- :)

Caitlyn couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across her lips as she saw the cute smiley Finnrick had ended the note with.

She held the cup close as she made her way to street level. Finnrick told her she’d understand in time. She wished she understood now but she shocked to find herself more than willing to find out.

[crusherthedoctor]

Can we have some unpopular Sonic opinions?

I tried to cram in a lot, so I hope this satisfies you. :P I tried to stick to the ones that I haven't brought up quite as often, since by this point, we all know that I think IDW's storytelling is dire, SA2's story is overrated, X Eggman is an embarrassing portrayal (at least from season 2 onwards), Blaze shouldn't be handcuffed to Silver, Shadow's backstory had issues with or without the Black Arms, Neo Metal Sonic looks silly, etc. But anyway, here we go:

- Knuckles may be tricky to incorporate into plots that don't relate to Angel Island, but making him obsessed with his duties is no better than having him forget about Angel Island entirely.

- I like Marine, and never found her annoying. Oh, I understood what they were trying to do with her, but I honestly wasn't put off by her, and found her Aussie lingo more endearing if anything. Since her debut was during the period in my life where where I couldn't stand Sonic himself, I instead thought he was irritating (and hypocritical) for getting annoyed with her for doing shit he would often be guilty of.

- Silver is just as guilty of being shoehorned into games and plots as the Deadly Six are. Having more fans than the latter is irrelevant, since we're still talking about a character who constantly has to time travel in order to be present.

- Speaking of Silver, if he has to stick around, please do something different with him. They've pulled the doomed future routine multiple times now, and it's been boring every single time. I wasn't interested when it involved Iblis. I wasn't interested when it involved Knuckles drinking the edgy Kool Aid. I wasn't interested when it involved a council of dumbasses... give it a rest already.

- The Tails Doll can work as a mildly creepy thing, with maybe more to it than meets the eye when it's time for a boss fight or what have you. But the memes about him stealing your soul are just dumb, and I thought it was dumb even back in my teenage youth.

- “Eggman is supposed to be clownish!” Yeah, well he's also meant to be a genuine villain with a 300 IQ. These qualities don't have to be mutually exclusive.

- “Sonic is supposed to have attitude!” Yeah, well that's not the same thing as being an absolute cunt. Sonic was only ever meant to come off as having an edge compared to Mario. He was never meant to be a GTA-tier protagonist.

- Rouge is not a villain, and never was a villain. Literally the whole point of her role in SA2 was to reveal that she was working against Eggman and Shadow the whole time, albeit using sneakier tactics to do so. You'd think all those people who exult SA2's story would remember this, but apparently not. She barely even qualifies as an anti-hero, since aside from stealing the Master Emerald, she rarely does anything morally questionable otherwise. She's got a lot more good in her than people give her credit for.

- Captain Whisker is a better Eggman Nega than the actual Eggman Nega. And as far as robot characters in this franchise go, Johnny's design is pretty underrated.

- I don't like Iblis or Mephiles, but I DO like Solaris, and it annoys me that it was out of focus for most of the story due to all the time spent on its less interesting halves. Had they kept the backstory with the Duke and his experiments, and worked from there, I think they could have provided an interesting contrast with Chaos (since Solaris can also qualify as a monster with a sympathetic backstory) instead of recycling the surface level schtick.

- Black Doom may technically be just as bad as Mephiles, Nega, Scourge, Mimic, etc, since he's yet another villain with one-note characterization and fucked over Eggman. But because he never gained a disproportionate fandom, he doesn't annoy me to the same extent. It's easier to ignore him by comparison, and his Dr. Claw voice and face shaped like a lady's delicate part make him enjoyable to mock.

- Likewise, while Lyric is also on the same level as these other villains, it's easier to dismiss him because I was never invested in the Boom games anyway, and being an obvious alternate universe (compared to Sonic X or IDW, which retain the Modern designs and plot elements), it never had an effect on the main series. I also unironically like his design, and if nothing else, at least this snake didn't start a hypnotism fetish across the internet.

- Sally - and the rest of the Freedom Fighters for that matter - have had their importance in the franchise severely inflated. They may have been lucky to be the face of popular media (SatAM and Archie), but they're not these magnificent entities that the game characters are but a speck of dust in comparison to. Having a “legacy” doesn't make them more entitled to shit than any other character, old or new.

- Conceptually, the treasure hunting gameplay is one of the better alternate gameplay styles IMO. But it was let down in SA2 by its one track minded radar (the levels may have been big, but I don't think that would have been an issue on its own if the radar was better). If they brought it back and made it more like SA1's treasure hunting, I'd be all for it, although it would probably be better suited for a spinoff title.

- This goes for a lot of games, but when it comes to 2D, I prefer sprites over models. Not that the Rush models are bad (though the ones in Chronicles sure as fuck are), but the sprites in Mania and the Advance trilogy are just so charming and full of character.

- I actually like Marble Zone. Yeah, the level design is a bit blocky, but I love the concept of an underground temple prison, mixed with lava elements in a zone that otherwise isn't a traditional volcano level.

- I also like Sandopolis Zone. Again, completely understand why it's not the most popular zone around, but I've been a sucker for the Ancient Egyptian aesthetic since childhood (you can thank Crash 3 for that), and Act 1 is visually stunning.

- I prefer the JP soundtrack for Sonic CD over the US version overall... but I also prefer Sonic Boom over You Can Do Anything.

- SA2's soundtrack isn't bad by any means - I love Rouge's tracks, and The Last Scene is one of my favourite pieces of music - but as far as variety goes, it's a step down from SA1's soundtrack.

- If Sonic X-Treme had been released, it probably would have been unenjoyable and confusing. Whatever your thoughts on SA1, it was probably the better option between the two as far as Sonic's first legitimate translation into 3D goes.

- I have no qualms with Modern Sonic and the other Modern designs and characters, but I also fully acknowledge that changing gears from Adventure onwards - and doing it with a great amount of fanfare - was always going to create one of the biggest divides in the fandom, and fans shouldn't act surprised that this happened. The fact that they felt the need to hype up a new design and direction in the first place (compared to Mario, who has mostly been the same since the beginning, with only the occasional minor change with little fanfare) also indicates that they weren't confident enough in Sonic and his universe being the way it was, which often gets ignored by all the “SEGA have no confidence!!!” complaints you see with their recent games.

- Unleashed did not deserve the incredibly harsh reviews it received back in the day... but it doesn't deserve its current sacred cow status either. It had more effort put into it than '06 to be sure, and I can respect that, but much of it was misguided effort, and even if you like the Werehog, you have to admit that the idea came at the absolute worst time. The intro cutscene may be awesome, as is the Egg Dragoon fight, but 2% doesn't make up the entire game. Chip was also quite annoying, and I wasn't particularly sad when he pressed F in the chat at the end.

- On the other hand, while Colours definitely has its shortcomings, and people have every right to criticse those shortcomings, a lot of its most vocal detractors tend to have a stick up their arse about the game because people actually enjoyed it, and it had a gimmick that people actually liked. Yes, it may have been the first game to have those writers everyone hates, but then SA1 was the first game to give the characters alternate gameplay styles and have other villains upstage Eggman, so...

- Forces is absolutely not on the level of '06. It's nowhere close. A game being flawed does not make it the next '06, clickbait YouTubers. Or should I say, the game they want to retroactively apply '06's reception to, since they've been trying hard to magically retcon '06's own quality...

- To echo @beevean, ALL of the 3D stories have their issues. SA1 is probably the most well-rounded of them on the whole, but even that one isn't perfect.

- To echo another opinion, although I do love SA1, I'm not crazy over the idea of a remake, and would prefer them to just take Sonic's gameplay from SA1 and work from there. Because with a remake, you're stuck in a hard spot: Do you keep it the way it is bar the expected graphical upgrades, and risk accusations of not doing anything to actually improve the experience? Or do you try to address past criticisms, and risk the wrath of the fans who will inevitably go on a #NotMyAdventure crusade about it? What people fail to consider is that the Crash and Spyro remakes were accepted gracefully because their original iterations were still unanimously beloved for the most part, whereas SA1 - and especially SA2 - have always been divisive, and have only gotten moreso over the years.

- People take their preferences for the character's voice actors too seriously. I have my own favourites like anyone else, but I don't make a big deal out of it.

- And with fandom voice actors, they usually focus too much on doing a basic impression of their preferred official voice actor, and not enough on the acting. So you end up getting a lot of fan voices who sound like decent impressions of Ryan Drummond or Jason Griffith on the surface, but they sound utterly empty beyond that impression, because there's no oomph or depth to the actual emotions. They think about the actor rather than the character, when it should really be the other way around.

- The thing with Ian Flynn is that he is capable of telling a decent story, and he can portray some characters well. But he's proven time and time again that everything will go off the rails if he's given too much freedom (ironic, given how quick he is to point the finger at mandates when something goes wrong).

- Ian Flynn and Shiro Maekawa are not the only people in the world who are allowed to write for Sonic. I understand that one should be cautious when seeking out new writing talent, but for all the fandom's accusations of playing it safe, they sure aren't in a rush to experiment outside of their own comfort zone.

- And of course, the big one: You don't fix the franchise's current problems by crawling back to its previous problems. It's much more helpful and constructive to discuss the good and bad alike with each of the games. Less “THIS GOOD, MODERN BAD”, and more “This could work, but maybe without that part...”

[fktonofwhatnow]

who wants a list of my a court of frost and starlight thoughts without context cuz youre gonna get it anyways

It's been 3 paragraphs and Feyre's talked about how much money she has at least 4 times 

"What kind of things do you paint?" “The things that need telling." what do u mean wait come back explain this to me what needs telling which story is this

Also apparently Rhys has tried to fix the slum situation but he can't because 

 It's tricky to move people out of their houses to fix them 

Aren't you like, so rich, can't you just build more houses like, in a different area and move all the poor people over there and then turn the used-to-be slums into another housing development to house more people  

"Mor shrugged, her heavy brown coat bringing out the rich soil of her eyes." Her what 

Mor: I don't know what to get Az

Feyre: Get him more knives! Guys love weapons! 

morrigan, handing azriel a knife:

azriel: all the better to stab myself with

everyone else: AZRIEL NO

Why would you give this man more sharp things he's not okay don't give him sharp things 

Apparently this whole city smells like salt and lemon verbena -squints- i dont believe u

Acofas: In which Vivane forces her husband to make her high lady too because Feminism. Honestly, Viviane is already equal in rank to Kallias in all but title why she mad

“I can let go of the taunts and the fact that he still harbors some hope of one day reuniting with Tamlin. But I cannot let go of how he treated you after Under the Mountain"

You know what I can't let go of Rhys 

The way you treated her under the mountain 

seam of my backside 

Why is ERIS HERE 

N O HES PLAYIN YALL FOR DAMN FOOLS

I love how pointless all these visits to the hewn city are 

"Why are we here? WE DON'T KNOW ! :D"

"How's your court, Eris?" MOR WAS SO DISTRACTED BY HIM BEING HERE THAT SHE DIDN'T HEAR THE ANSWER. Thanks Maas I hate it please tell me how the autumn court is doing i wanna know

Feyre: yeah theres no border expansion for any one of the courts and that's final 

Eris: you'd better tell that to Tamlin, his territory borders the human lands 

Maas: yeT ANOTHER NAME MOR HAD TO ADD TO HER HIT LIST

Isn't tamlin waiting for someone to put him out of his fucking misery anyways lmao Mor get in line to kill tamlin Right Behind Tamlin

I love that I'm just Still so confused about all this human queen business. Why do the human lands need 7 queens 

(gifts love language rant time) Excuse me why us all this gift stuff seen as a bore? Does the IC not realize how special unanticipated gifts are? "Elain isn't expecting anything from us, so just don't get her anything" ???? WHY NOT ??? THATS THE PERFECT TIME TO GET HER SOMETHING

"Azriel has always understood me. It's definitely his powers." Maybe he just gets you, bro 

Tamlin didn't have any shields around the house, none to prevent anyone from winnowing in or to guard against enemies appearing in his bedroom and slitting his throat. It was almost as if he was waiting for someone to do it." 

Feyre: bro why you so angry 

Rhys: I went just so I could get mad at Tamlin 

Feyre: Oh, that's okay, the things you said to him weren't wrong 

Rhys: I should have been the bigger male 

Feyre: oh honey you're always the bigger male, you're entitled to be be petty every once in a while ahahah 

Rhysand I just... How do you go to Tamlin's place, look into his dead eyes and consider that maybe he doesn't keep wards because he wants someone to break in and kill him and not feel a single shred of sympathy, and then decide to tell him how much you wish he would just die is that really a good idea

Cassian just said the words "little" and "Rhysie" in the same breath and I would prefer death 

Wait why is Elain mad at Nesta now too 

"Rhysand drinked deeply from his wineglass." who edited this

Gentlemales. feyre corrected Elain from saying gentlemen. to gentlemales.

Wow Feyre’s mad that Elain and Lucien don’t actually care that much about each other. “I don’t like to see either of you unhappy” it’s gonna be okay Feyre don’t force them to see each other

Please don’t make fun of the boys doin their thing okay I wanna snowball fight why are you guys judging them

I would like to personally thank Feyre for giving Rhys a boner while he’s naked with his bros

Who’s the illyrain baby now

why is feyre complaining about money when theres literally mountains of presents here

Could y'all at least pretend that you're excited to see nesta

Feyre just gave Rhys a whole ass selfie and he’s pretending he’s happy about it

Lets keep pounding the “stories that need to be told” in art in the most anti-climactic way possible

Yes we know art’s important can we also talk about how like the Illyrians are trying to rebel and i JUST KNOW that eris is playing yall

Hi Cassian if you understand nesta then why are you mad at nesta 

CASSIAN STOP BEING CREEPY WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS

“You’ll want this one” mY ASS i swear if yOU GOT HER LINGERIE

Rhys’ mom made all these dresses, just for feyre ???? I don’t believe you

[delicatelyherdreams]

Pragma(tic) 21: She Faces the End

Pairing: Persephone!Bucky Barnes x Hades!Reader

Summary: In a world where the old gods never truly died, you must learn to navigate your way through the ups and downs of immortality. And if living forever wasn’t hard enough, an ancient evil is now threatening to break free after centuries of silence. And as if that still wasn’t hard enough for you, now a pesky and infuriatingly handsome god is trying to wedge his way into your life. Gods, work, love, and conflict—what more could a goddess need? [Hades & Persephone AU]

Word Count: 5229

Warnings: Language, violence, blood, fighting, war

Pragma(tic) Masterlist

Previous 20: She Begs for a Promise

The valley at the heart of Thessaly was just as you remembered it from all those centuries ago, but the grass was greener here. It’d been fertilized by the ichor spilled by gods and titans both during the Titanomachy. Craters still dotted the earth from where lightning or bodies had struck it. There was still a trench tearing it apart from where you’d dragged your bident through the dirt, attempting to cut one of your uncles in half. It was a battleground—populated with new plants and life, but a battleground nonetheless.

The scene was one of legends: titans and gods standing once again in two lines.

The brothers stood in an arch, Kronos at the point with his brothers flanking his sides evenly. A large golden scythe—his signature weapon—filled his hand, its shaft embedded into the dirt of the earth. His lips were curled up in a lazy smirk, his eyes half-lidded and content. He was amused as he looked across the valley at you, his red eyes never leaving yours.

He and his brothers were dressed in the very basics of armor; they didn’t think they needed it. They were titans—nearly invincible. They feared nothing, least of all bodily harm.

Funny, considering how many scars coated their arms from the last war.

The gods were prepared. With your sister as the figurehead, you and Natasha at her sides, and the gods flanking you three, you stood strong. 

You could feel Bucky at your side, his aura engulfing you. He was on the side of you, separated only by your weapon which was tightly grasped in your hand. Your knuckles were white as you gripped the shaft, the stress in your body apparent as you glared across the meadow at the man who haunted your nightmares.

You hadn’t visited this place since the war, and now history was repeating itself.

The air was thick with tension. It weighed down on your shoulders like a burden, trying to shove you down into the ground and break your resolve. Neither side budged; all stood still as statues. No one wanted to be the immortal to instigate the fight. Not even your father who lived for conflict. He only smirked at you, his eyes bypassing his youngest and finding you—his firstborn and first victim.

Oh, how you loathed him. Oh, how you wished you could just end this now, snap your fingers and be back in your living room safe and sound with Bucky by your side. What would you be doing right now if none of this had happened? You’d probably be at home, maybe having brunch with your mother and Bucky or hosting your sisters for the morning. Maybe you’d be spending it on Olympus for once, roaming the shops with Bucky before getting bored of all the stares and going down to the Mortal World. Or maybe you’d be stuck in the office tackling an enormous mountain of paperwork. Whatever you’d be doing, it would be a hell of a lot better than what you were doing now.

The silence refused to let its hold of the valley go, and you found yourself begging for someone—anyone—to just break it already. It was deafening.

Your father, ironically, was the only one who seemed to catch the silent plea.

His smirk only grew as he looked at you, and, finally, he greeted you saying, “My darling daughters, at last. Right where this all began. You might’ve had the upper hand last time, but I have spent centuries growing stronger, and—Finally!—I have the power to end the gods.”

Carol grit her teeth as she stared across the valley at your father, her eyes darkening. Her back straightened and you could see the queen in her emerging. She viewed your father not as family, but as an adversary. She was diplomatic and regal as she tightened her grip on her weapon: a six-foot staff of pure electricity. The concentrated bolt of lightning crackled in response to her annoyance and agitation. It glowed a bright white in her grasp, radiating pure power. “Turn back now, Father. Your threats will not be tolerated; your presence will not be allowed. Surrender and you might just survive this encounter unscathed.”

He roared with laughter, throwing his head back. “Oh, Carol, my youngest and most naive daughter. You think you have the authority to tell me what to do? You are not a titan, you are not even the first god. That honor would go to your beloved sister now, wouldn’t it?” His red eyes found your face off to her side and they crinkled around the edges in a grin. “I never did understand why you gave up the throne, my child. It was yours by birthright.”

He was provoking you; that much was clear to see. It was almost as if he was trying to turn you against your sisters by igniting a sense of entitlement in you.

It was pathetic.

You lifted your chin in annoyance. “I am not the queen here, Father. I was wise enough to know my place.” You picked your bident of the ground and lowered the tip in his direction. “Now you heard her: surrender now or suffer the consequences. We will not hold back. You will not be spared.”

“You don’t scare me. You are nothing but a god. I am a titan—the king of the titans. I have more power than you will ever know.”

“Then how did we defeat you?” You were growing agitated now, sick of his talk. “Make no mistake, Father, we were the victors of the war. We bested you, and the only reason you managed to free yourself was that you played dirty and corrupted one of our own.”

At the mention of his efforts to poison you, Bucky bristled at your side. You could feel anger rolling off him in waves.

Instantly your hand found his and you squeezed it as if to say, “Be still. Now is not the time.”

Thankfully he understood. It was an obvious effort for him, but he did retreat a step or so back.

For once he decided to listen to you and you were grateful for that. 

This little exchange did not go unnoticed. 

Kronos’ smirk only widened as his eyes switched between the two of you. “Oh, (y/n)... You got yourself a little pet. Are you supposed to be my son-in-law, boy? Is that what this is?”

“Leave him out of this, Father,” you hissed, your voice turning low and threatening. You were not in the mood for these antics.

“And what if I don’t? What if I decide that it’s fun?” His red eyes held your gaze before dipping to your lover. “What ever happened to that nymph? Last I heard she was making love to him every night. Did she get tired of him and come to you, boy? Did she decide that she needed a god to satisfy her instead?”

“Shut up,” Bucky growled, his possessiveness coming out. 

“Oh! I see. You want to defend her honor!” Kronos cackled. “My lovely daughter has found herself a lover then—a man to finally settle down with.” He crossed his arms and looked Bucky and up and down, scrutinizing every inch of him. “A god of spring. Minor. Young. Little to no experience with real life. (y/n), you really had to pick him? He can’t protect you from anything. Or maybe you were thinking you’d be the one to protect him! Fancy that! A queen putting her life on the line to save her lover.”

“Stop,” you growled. You could see where he was going with this and it made your blood sizzle beneath the surface. The temperature dropped around you in response to your annoyance.

“You thought you’d save your precious prince? Twist the fairy tale a bit? You think you’re strong enough for that? How could you—a goddess who can barely keep a titan contained and who can be incapacitated by a small bit of poison—protect or save anyone?”

“Father, enough!” 

“You think you can save your friends? You think you can save anyone? You think you can defeat me? I am a titan! I am the first! I created you and I can destroy you just as easily! You are an insect: insignificant and puny. A waste of space! Unfit for anything you have.”

The world was turning red. The hue started at the edges of your vision and only flooded in, coating the entirety of your sight. Your hands trembled with rage. Your grip grew impossibly tight on your bident. 

His words enraged you. You knew they shouldn’t, but the taunting affected you more than you’d care to admit. You prided yourself on your power, and here he was accusing you of having not even that. But it wasn’t that the accusations angered you—no—what angered you was the possibility that he might be right.

The smile splitting his lips only grew wider. His chest puffed out in preeminence as he spoke, bolstering himself. His voice seemed to grow louder with every syllable. “You are weak. You are useless. You are still that pathetic girl I ate all those centuries ago!”

You knew Bucky’s hand was on your back as he tried to calm you, but you didn’t register it at all. Instead, you simply trembled and pulled your bident off the ground.

Kronos locked eyes with you across the valley. You could see that the anger on his face matched your own. He was mad at you. He was venting, letting loose all the feelings he’d built up over the centuries of his imprisonment. And now he was letting it go; attacking you with a first wave. His voice filled with poison as he yelled, “You! Are! Nothing!”

The scream that tore through your throat was earsplitting and you jammed your bident into the dirt beneath you. The crack that followed cut through the air and the ground, tearing a chasm in the earth. It shot at him like a flood, only halting when he drove his own weapon into the ground in its path.

The silence that followed was heavy. The gods around you looked too afraid to even speak. The titans were too stunned to move.

Only your father reacted. “Ah hah! Now there’s that fire in you I know you got from me.” He twirled his scythe in the air, the sound of the blade cutting nothing echoing through the valley. “Now come and show me that you really are my daughter.” And with that, he began his descent, his brothers close behind.

And that was your cue to move.

The world passed in slow motion as the titans and the gods moved down their respective mountains into the valley. Weapons glittered in the sunlight and the air filled with battle cries. If it wasn’t real and your immediate situation, you would have laughed at how cliche the scene was. However, there was no laughing as you saw your father’s scythe coming down in a golden arc across the length of the valley. 

Time slowed. 

Literally.

It suddenly felt like you were running through a wall of molasses. Your legs were sluggish; your body heavy. Time had slowed to a crawl and you were trapped in it.

It wasn’t just you.

Looking around, you could see the other gods were just as bewildered as you were. Looks of panic covered their faces. They didn’t know what was going on.

But you knew. With a sickening drop of your stomach, you knew.

Kronos’ sneer gave it all away.

He was the titan of time. Of course, he could manipulate it. 

The titans moved in normal time while the gods were trapped in their sloth-like prison. The titans had slowed their pace to a lazy gait, conserving energy and taunting you with their sheer presence. 

You grit your teeth as you slowly pulled your energy back. Two could play at that game. If they wanted to slow you, then you were going to take advantage of the extra time. 

The fire was slow to catch in your stomach, but you could feel its warmth bubbling up, boiling just beneath the surface. His hold on you would break at some point, and when it did, you’d be ready.

Kronos waited until the titans were nearly on top of you to release his hold. 

And, when he did, you were ready.

With your newly regained strength, you stopped dead in your tracks and jammed your bident into the earth once more. But this time, you didn’t split it.

A wave of darkness rolled out from the point of impact, rushing the titans with pure force. The sky blackened and the titans were pushed back. 

And that was all the gods needed. What once was an advantage for the titans quickly did a one-eighty and turned in your favor. 

You could see the utter shock and annoyance reflect in Kronos’ eyes as he realized his plan backfired and watched his brothers fall into the gods’ onslaught.

Outnumbered five to fourteen, the battle should’ve been obvious; but the titans possessed a strength that the gods never would. 

Crius, Iapetus, Coeus, and Hyperion didn’t hesitate to engage the fight, but Kronos simply stood back and watched, his red eyes sweeping over the valley.

You chose to do the same, leaving your bident stuck in the ground. 

Four rings of battles formed, one for each titan.

Your sisters wove in and out of the clusters, migrating to wherever their aide was needed most. Hyperion was proving to be a formidable foe for Valkyrie, Thor, and Loki. With Natasha’s help, they managed to shove down the golden titan’s sword, holding him back with their strength alone.

Maria and Clint worked in tandem with Carol against Coeus. Carol never let your uncle near her wife, protecting Maria with a fierce fire in her eyes as she let lightning fall from the sky across his body. But Maria was not useless. Armed with an elegant spear, she landed blow after blow, dancing just out of the titan’s reach. Clint stood apart from them, using his marksman aim to make ranged attacks. Arrows would sprout from the titan’s back and body at random intervals, and you knew he was hard at work. You just hoped he’d brought more than eleven arrows.

Tony and Pepper held their own against Crius. The titan of heavenly constellations was just barely a match for the husband and wife duo. Tony had armed himself with an armor of his own creation (which he affectionately named Mark 85 because it was his eighty-fifth suit) and used the built-in projectile system to rain fire down on the titan. Pepper was also adorned in an armor of Tony’s creation. The blue of her suit complimented the red of his perfectly. She provided backup and additional fire against the titan. Together, they kept the titan pinned and flailing. They were an arc of destruction.

And that led your gaze to the last battle.

It was Bucky, his mother, and the twins against Iapetus. The four gods matched the titan perfectly as blades clashed. Winnifred had her long sword interlocked with Iapetus’ spear as Wanda attacked with her magic and Pietro zipped around the titan, jabbing his sword into any gap in the armor he could find.

Bucky did what he said he would: he brought the wrath of Spring.

It was beautiful chaos and Bucky stood at its center. A king commanding his forces, he guided vines and roses full of thorns around Iapetus’ legs, anchoring him to the ground and drawing golden ichor from his flesh. He directed the thorns to bite the titan with a flawless fluidity, hardly even breaking a sweat. He was powerful and—at that moment—you understood why people called it a “force of nature.”

They were winning their fight. Iapetus buckled under their pressure, his own resolve faltering as fear took over his pale face and ichor spilled from his wounds. It was so amazing that you could’ve just cried with joy.

But, as with all things, the joy came to an end as someone moving in the corner of your vision drew your attention.

In the midst of the chaos, Kronos sauntered between individual battles with his head held high. He barely spared glances to the gods around him as some of them turned away from their own battles to try and strike him. Any feeble attempt at an attack was simply batted to the side. He couldn’t be bothered; he’d set his sights on his target and his mouth split into a sadistic grin. His red eyes bore into your skull. He was coming straight towards you.

Bucky glanced up as he felt the evil presence approaching, turning his attention from your uncle to your father. At once, his eyes darkened and he turned his body towards Kronos. His grip on his sword tightened as he moved to step in his path and keep Kronos away from you. 

Kronos simply smirked as he stared at Bucky. “Move, or I will kill you, godling,” he said, his step unwavering. 

Bucky—stupid, stupid Bucky—held his ground. “I won’t let you hurt her.”

“You don’t have a choice.” Kronos twirled his scythe and lifted it up in an arc over his head, ready to swipe down at Bucky. 

“No!” You were in front of Bucky in an instant, lifting your bident up to stop the blade of the scythe. Vibranium clashed with gold and sparks flew. It was a merciless torrent raining down on a cloudless day. Your eyes burned red through your lashes. “Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare,” you hissed. The words were nothing but a harsh growl as they cut through the air, but you weren’t playing. 

Kronos’ lips twitched up. “My, my. Such vulgar language.”

You sneered at him and addressed Bucky without ever taking your eyes off the titan, “Deal with the others; I can handle him.” 

You could feel Bucky taking reluctant steps away from you as he rejoined his fight, but he wasn’t far away if you needed him.

Kronos grinned down at you, his scythe still interlocked with your bident. “Are you sure, daughter? Are you sure you’re strong enough?”

“I know I am.” Your eyes traced the arcs that made up his face. Looking in the mirror that was your father, you could feel your heart retreating back into your chest with dread; but you stood your ground as determination bubbled up, taking the place of fear and anxiety. Your lips split into a taunting grin. “After all, you couldn’t even hurt me yourself. You had to use extortion and trickery to weaken me.”

A low growl rumbled in the back of his throat as he added to the pressure pushing at your weapon. “We’ll see who will hurt the other.”

“I guess we will.” You shoved up, using an element of surprise to your advantage to push him away and swipe at his legs. 

It was a miracle he jumped backward. The tip of your bident soared dangerously close to his kneecaps.

You recovered from your miss fairly quickly, standing and twirling around to try and land a blow.

He was ready this time as he brought his scythe up to block you. He shoved you back and made an attack of his own.

But you blocked as well.

Back and forth you danced in an endless circle of attacking and blocking. It was growing tedious honestly. But it was necessary. You couldn’t allow your focus to drop for even a second otherwise he would hurt you.

But you knew he’d hurt you anyways.

So it was no surprise when you felt a searing pain across your calf as he swiped up with his scythe and dragged the blade against the surface of your skin. 

You screamed and leapt away from him, glancing down to assess the damage. It wasn’t bad, thank the gods, but it was enough that ichor began to pour from the wound.

Kronos’ smirk deepened as he stalked towards you. But he didn’t attack, instead he circled you as a predator does to prey. His laugh was cold and deep. “It’s you and me, daughter, as it always should have been.”

You grit your teeth as you pivoted, refusing to let your back be exposed to him. You felt like an injured animal being circled by a lion: trapped and desperate. But you refused to let him see that. “I hate you,” you hissed in a low voice.

“Oh, I know you do. The feeling is quite mutual.” He twirled his scythe, the blade audibly cutting the air. “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance, back when you were only but a child. Eating you was too generous.”

“Then why didn’t you? Why didn’t you just end it when you could?”

His steps slowed until he finally stopped, and when he looked at you, you saw, for perhaps the first and only time ever, his gaze softened to an almost affectionate glance. But as soon as it had appeared, it was gone and he was gritting his teeth once more. “Call it a father’s idiocy. Maybe I did have an ounce of love for you. But whatever it was has been dead for a long time.”

The words hit you like a slap to the face and any hope you’d ever even maybe had of having even a tolerable relationship with your father vanished. Instead, red-hot rage filled you and you shot towards him.

You were before him in an instant, raining down hatred with your weapon.

He took advantage of your eagerness to attack to make a swipe at you with his scythe, this time aiming for your head. You backed off just in time to save your neck, but not to save your cheek. Pain cut across your face, thin as a thread but intense enough to make tears prick at your eyes. Even without looking, you knew that that one was most likely going to leave a scar. 

Gritting your teeth, you cut an arc through the air and the prongs of your bident fell squarely on the blade of his scythe as he blocked. You pulled away briefly before swiping in again. Once more he blocked. This time he retracted his weapon before lunging.

But, in his desperate frenzy, he overshot himself.

For once, time seemed to slow in your favor. You saw where he would land, and you acted accordingly. Stepping to the side, you waited until he was right beside you before bringing your weapon down on his back.

Golden ichor poured from his newest wound and he faltered ever so slightly.

It was all you needed. 

The fires of Hades were on your side as you attacked, unrelenting and merciless. Never once did you ease the pressure. 

The effort paid off.

Cuts of all shapes and sizes began to appear over his body as your weapon found its mark. It was an extension of you and your anger towards him and you finally let all the pent up rage go.

He was kneeling now, and he finally found the chance to raise his scythe to block you. But even with it raised, you still attacked over and over again, striking one spot with growing intensity.

And, staring down at him, you realized something.

You were winning. 

You were actually winning and it was an amazing feeling. You were making him small—as small as he made you felt. You pushed him down, blow after blow. The gold of his scythe glowed hot from the hellfire that rained down on it and the shaft actually began to bend under pressure. 

The fear in Kronos’ eyes went unmasked. He didn’t even have the strength to fake composure.

You were glowing. Was anyone else seeing this? How were the others doing? You took your eyes off of your father and glanced around the battlefield to look for Bucky.

You wish you hadn’t.

You found Bucky. He was still fighting Iapetus. His mother and the twins had been swatted to the side and were regrouping. It was just Bucky against the titan. It was a fight you knew Bucky would lose. And you had turned just in time to see Iapetus bring his spear down on Bucky’s chest, drawing a thin line of golden ichor through the god’s skin. You saw Bucky’s face contort in anguish as he was cut.

His pain made you falter.

And that’s all Kronos needed.

Suddenly his weapon wasn’t beneath yours. It was cutting your legs, tearing at the muscles in your thighs.

Burning fire shot through your body and you went down at once. Already you could feel your immortality trying to heal you, knitting together the destroyed muscle and tissue, but it wouldn’t be quick enough. You fell down hard on your hands and knees and ichor poured from your wounds, flooding the ground beneath you.

You gripped your bident tighter as you screamed and tried to muster a sitting position, but you weren’t allowed to get that far.

The curved blade of the scythe plunged into your right shoulder and lifted you from the ground like a ragdoll. You couldn’t tell if the screaming came from your own mouth or from those around you as Kronos picked you up and flung you across the valley.

Your back hit the stone of a nearby boulder and you could feel the bones cracking under the pressure. The pain was excruciating, but you couldn’t even scream. Your voice was arrested by the agony you were in. The metallic taste of ichor filled your mouth. Your blood rushing in your ears was the only audible sound for about five seconds and the red faded from your gaze. 

Through the dim haze that lingered, you could see him—Kronos—coming for you. 

He twirled his scythe in the sunlight, the blade dancing dangerously through the air. He stopped just feet away from you and stared down at you, his face betraying nothing.

You tried to move, tried to speak, tried to do anything at all, but your body would not respond. It was too busy dealing with the pain from the gaping wound in your shoulder and desperately trying to mend it. You could feel the muscle painfully knitting itself together at an agonizingly slow pace. Every second was filled with knives digging into your flesh again and again. 

But despite the regeneration, you knew it wouldn’t be done fast enough to make a difference.

Kronos sucked in a breath as he dipped his scythe, letting the blade rest just below your chin and bring it up to face him. His red eyes glowed with venom and victory and he smirked. “For 2,825 years… I have dreamt of this moment… The moment when I, Kronos, titan of time and King of all… Finally… Put an end to the wretched gods I created… Reclaim the throne that was brutally stolen from me… And killed the one person I loathe the most in this world.”

You mustered up all your strength and, not moving your neck for fear of an early and accidental death, spat at him. The ichor that filled your mouth landed on his foot—not a great distance but enough to make your point. You sneered at him. “This isn’t over. Even if you kill me, there will be those that will take you down!” Gods… Even saying that hurt you. Your breathing was growing more labored and painful; every inhale sent fire to your lungs.

“Maybe… But regardless, I will finally be victorious after I have killed the one, consistent thorn in my side.” He chuckled darkly and raised his scythe. “I wish there was something waiting in death for you, my dear, but I know the god of it and—trust me—there is nothing but pain and suffering in store for you. I have waited for this moment for too long, and now…” 

The gold of his scythe blocked out the sunlight, the glow impossibly blinding. It was all you could look at. The gold and the red of your father’s eyes. How many times had you seen those eyes and wondered why he was your father? How many times had you looked in the mirror at your red and wondered why your father hated you? How many times had you wondered what you had done to have such a horrible father?

But none of it mattered now. Looking up, you didn’t see the man who helped create you; instead, you saw a monster. You saw the man who would bring your end. 

And you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. 

Because, suddenly, you were a seven-year-old kid again.

Staring up into the eyes of your father.

Wondering what you had done to deserve such a fate.

You could hear the faint sounds of battle around you growing fainter and fainter and you knew this was it. You knew that there was no coming back from this.

You were going to die and leave everything behind.

Would your sisters avenge you? Would they kill your father once and for all or would they join you in the grave? Would you get a proper funeral with an obol sealing your lips to pay your fare to the Underworld? Imagine that: the Queen of the Underworld paying a fee to enter her own kingdom. Or was your father right in saying that only pain awaited you after death?

Would your mother cry for days after your death, wishing she’d never brought you into the world at all so that you wouldn’t have to endure such pain?

Who would take care of Cerebus? Peggy maybe? Or would she be so weighed down with grief and new responsibilities as Queen of the Underworld to play with him properly?

And Bucky…

Oh gods… 

Bucky would probably take your death the hardest. He loved you after all.

Would he find love after you? Or would he be inconsolable? Would he learn to live in a world that you weren’t in? Or would he succumb to a depression that not even his friends could rouse him from? 

You prayed to anyone that would listen that he’d be alright without you because you knew you wouldn’t rest in peace if you were the one to destroy him.

But, despite these fears, you knew they’d all be okay after you went. They wouldn’t be alone. They’d have each other.

And that was a comforting thought.

Drawing in a shaky breath, you looked up at your father and set your stare in stone. You wouldn’t let him see your sadness or despair. Instead, you’d leave him with one last image of a brave face—one that wasn’t scared of him and embraced death like an old friend.

“...you die!” He swung down at you, the gold of his scythe slicing an arc in the air.

It was only then that you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for a pain that was indescribable.

For a pain that never came. 

It should’ve been over. Is this what death was? Painless? You expected death to be painful as he cut through you, but you felt nothing.

For a moment, there was absolutely nothing; just silence. 

And then you heard it: the cry of agony.

Next 22: She Unleashes Hell

[goldeneyedgirl]

TwiFicMas2020 Day 1: Anathema

It’s that time of year again - when I bombard you with fic I’ve written over the year and haven’t posted, whether it is an outtake, part of a WIP, or something that ended up going sideways but still had some cool bits I was proud of. 

Everything will be tracked under the ‘TwiFicMas2020′ and ‘FicMas2020′ tags. Most fics are incomplete scenes - “--” is a scene break, “//” means that there’s a cut - it’s probably not yet written. 

--

First up is Anathema, the fourth or fifth attempt at the ‘Alice works in a mortuary/funeral home’ idea that refuses to solidify itself - though I think I’m getting closer. I enjoy the idea that Charlie Swan is in on Forks’ secrets (before Jacob strips in front of him, lol) and I am always here for the supernatural world being more than just vampires and shifters. 

I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading!

The day the Cullens arrive in Forks, two things happen.

The first, I draw both Death, and the Wheel of Fortune. A combination that, frankly, sounds time-consuming. I lie in bed and contemplate them for awhile. The cards are soft, from lifetimes of passing from hand to hand (my dearest and most beloved Great-Aunt Jeanne passed this set to me when she died. At the time, I was too young to understand the true gift in cards that had never before been touched by Brandon hands - before mine.) The cards are illustrated so carefully, so detailed. They smell like dried lavender and the scrap of linen that I wrap them in, and there is something so reassuring about each and every card.

I draw my cards every few days before I get up. I find it calming, the shuffle of them against my fingers, as I let my dreams fade. It’s a quiet time, and one I savour.

Eventually, I do have to get up, though. No rest for the wicked. The cards go back into the wooden jewellery box some young man carved for some young woman in Jeanie’s family long before I was even a glimpse of a thought, and back into my nightstand drawer.

I - we - live on the first floor of the Brandon Funeral Home, a perfectly respectable converted Georgian house at the end of Main Street, where it sweeps around to Cedar Road. It’s a shit place to have a corner, and more than once speed racers have spun out; whoever’s scraped off the road and our front walk usually end up in the freezers in the basement.

But I digress.

Breakfast is mundane. Dulcie is there, hair in curlers, and a frown on her face when she realises I am not dressed. I sit crosslegged across two thrift-store chairs in my camisole and booty shorts, spooning jam onto toast with the precision of a good scientist and ignore her reminding me of my dressing gown (a sturdy pink-flower print flannel that is buried in my closet. My preferred robe, a thin grey kimono, is currently in my laundry pile) and ‘common decency’, as if my elderly great-uncle is looking to leer at the decided lack of anything I have up north or down south.

Dulcie is… Dulcie. No replacement for Aunt Jeanie, but a good woman. I find it funny that Uncle Freddie is an old man now, and he still reels ‘em in. Or he would if Jeanie’s death hadn’t broken, shattered, and wrecked him. Dulcie worked for us for a few years before she set her eyes on the top bedroom and changing ‘Dulcie Dunn-Stanley’ to ‘Dulcie Brandon’.

Oh, that sounds very jaded. It’s mutual, Freddie and Dulcie. Their courtship was glacial and it’s really only recently that Dulcie’s been hinting about heading to the court house. And, honestly, whatever makes Uncle Freddie happy. Dulcie’s kind to me, we mostly get along, and her attempts to mother me are so far inconsistent - but she is usually pretty respectful.

My uncle lingers over his food; he’s got a new book open at his elbow, and no one can pry my uncle away from his books. They’re usually hardcover, non-fiction. Most of the boxes stored in the third floor are my uncles books.

After breakfast, I am banished to get dressed for work, which is in the basement today, where I am to be the hands as we prepare one Lewis Fletcher for his Saturday morning funeral. There’s a sack of bagged organs resting in the chest cavity, from the autopsy (elk or deer attack, the report says), and I get to stitch Lewis back together, get to fill him full of chemicals, seal things with putty, and get to face painting. The Fletchers are a pretty ordinary family locally, and the service will be simple - they were very agreeable when Freddie met with them last week.

I put my music on and hum as I prepare my kit. It’s no secret that an unqualified teenage girl doing this work probably breaks a lot of laws, but Freddie’s hands aren’t as steady as they used to be, and he’s old enough to remember when a family business meant that the younger generation was trained by the older at home, no degrees or certifications necessary.

Sometimes I wonder what Jeanie would have thought, me working down here like this. Would she have understood? Would she have been mad or upset or disappointed?

We’ll never know.

Freddie fetches us both a cup of tea, and hovers at my shoulder as I piece together Mr Fletcher’s chest cavity.

“Smaller stitches, Alice,” Freddie says, inspecting my work carefully. “Redo that section, stitch closer together, and small stitches.”

I nod, turning around to grab a scalpel from the tray beside me to cut the wonky stitches free and start again, and I freeze as the ice-cold feeling envelopes me. No, no, no it’s been so long…

For a moment, I am unfixed in time and space. I am still in the basement, with the buzzing fluorescent lights, and smooth metal drawers and cupboards, the stink of formaldehyde. But instead of a clean, bare second table, I am lying there. But I’m not dead, and I’m not alone. It’s him. The boy - man? - I’ve been seeing for so long, in visions and dreams. He’s hovering above me, a veritable sculpture of pale flesh as he peels off his shirt, our mouths still fused together, my hands gripping his hips. I am a much less collected figure, with my tights around my knees, one shoe still on and my shirt hiked up over my bra. Vision-Me pulls away to say something, and He laughs, and it’s then the light catches his eyes. Dark gold.

Golden-eyes.

“Oh fuck,” Real-Me says, and somehow Vision-Him knows I’m Seeing and looks right at me, where I’m standing with a scalpel in my hand.

“Alice?” My uncle’s hand on my shoulders brings me right back to the right point in time and space.

It’s at the point I hit the floor, manage to stab myself quite viciously with the scalpel and my uncle starts cussing.

It’s been a while between visions.

//

The Council was basically the reason Freddie and I stayed in Forks. It was a fifty-fifty split between honouring Jeanie’s wishes, and keeping me safe and out of sight - as if my aspirations were towards a Vegas nightclub act or international pop star. I wasn’t entirely clueless.  

Forks was built in a special place. A place where the barriers between the ordinary and the extraordinary were a little thinner, where the supernatural were drawn to. Jeanie had theorised that was why the Quileute were able to tap into their spirit wolves so easily, and why the gene remained so strong, father to son without a constant presence of their enemies. I didn’t know enough of their history to have an opinion, but Forks was definitely a place with an interesting history that very few people knew - even I only knew a fraction of everything that happened, past and present. There were very few written accounts; most of the histories were oral and passed down on a strict need-to-know basis.

The Council were definitely in the know, and had been for generations. There was Billy Black, Sue and Harry Clearwater representing the Quileute tribe, there was Charlie Swan representing Forks and everyone not in the know, and there was Freddie and I. Freddie, was technically Jeanie’s representative, and was the Mediator between the Ordinary and the Others. Jeanie’s family had been Mediators for generations, but she’d never had children, so all of that had somehow fallen onto Freddie - and me.

It was extremely useful to have the Police Chief and a Mortician working the Council - we’d had to fudge more than a few deaths. There was always someone or something passing through the Olympic Peninsula, and we’d negotiated, challenged, threatened, and banished more than a few creatures over the last few years.

Technically, all parties were allowed to bring their apprentice representative, but I was the only one of the next generation who attended. Charlie Swan had made it clear he didn’t want his daughter involved in any of this, and both Billy and the Clearwaters had decided that their kids were too young to know exactly what went on around here. I figured in a decade or so, it would just be me, Seth, and Jacob Black (no way would Leah hang around just for this shit show), drinking beer in the woods and deciding whether to burn or bury.

But tonight’s meeting was Special. Despite the fact I’d been drawing nonsensical cards for days now - the Star, the Tower, and Justice - no visions had appeared beyond a dream about a locket with ‘W’ engraved on it. I’d expected a fairly normal meeting, until Freddie had let me in on the plan - we were, apparently, meeting with the Cullen family. No one had informed me exactly what or who the Cullens were, only that they had a ‘fourth seat’ in the Council that they’d been entitled to since the ‘30s. I’d have to go through Jeanie’s diaries again - there were boxes of them in storage, and Jeanie had useful tidbits dotted throughout.

So that was why I was in the forest with my grandfather, shivering underneath two coats and in my new fleecy boots, standing around a fire pit that didn’t really do much more than illuminate the burning wood; the lanterns we’d brought were more effective.

Some days I really wished Leah or Seth or Jacob Black would attend these meetings; they’d certainly liven up these meetings a bit.

“They’ll be here soon,” Billy Black said grimly. Billy Black had it worse than the rest of us - getting out to this part of the forest was awkward and time-consuming with his wheelchair. Since these meetings were clandestine, we couldn’t build a proper track.

“The terms are staying the same?” Charlie asked, sipping from a paper cup of coffee Sue had pressed on him.

Billy frowned. “We aren’t here to renegotiate, but we will listen to their petition if they have one,” he said finally.

“What are the existing terms?” I asked, nudging a mossy rock with my toe.

“We’ll go over that later on, Alice,” Freddie said, watching the woods carefully.

Fine, obstruct my completely transparent attempt at finding out what was actually going on. I was definitely intrigued by the idea this clan had a ‘seat’ at the Council, but it involve negotiations? The only creature I could think of that would fit that kind of profile would be some kind of shifter.

I was bored.

And then the mysterious Cullens arrived.

They came out of the woods like a mist; slowly but all at once. They kept a respectful distance away from the fire pit, clad in pristine new clothing that was a touch too light for the cold weather but was good quality. There were three of them - a blond man, a brunette woman, and a red-haired boy - all three of them taller than average, and pale as snow. And they were lovely, as if Grecian statues had climbed down from their plinth and wandered off.

“Hello,” the man said, nodding at us politely. “Thank you for welcoming us to this meeting.”

“You’ve a right to be here, as outlined in the treaty,” Billy Black said sternly. “This is the current Council - Charlie Swan for Forks. My self, Billy Black, and Harry and Sue Clearwater for the Quileute tribe. Fred Brandon as Mediator. Carlisle Cullen for the Cullen Coven.”

Coven meant vampires. That dampened my spirits a little; my history with vampires was messy. Plus the few vampires that had ventured into this area had been unpleasant experiences. But as I stared at the Cullen coven, I noticed their eyes.

Golden, like liquid light.

Was He one of them? Was the Cullen coven only these three, or where there more?

“And the young lady?” Carlisle Cullen said, looking in my direction.

“My niece,” Freddie said in a no-nonsense tone. “Shall we begin?”

“I assume Ursula Altis has since passed? My condolences to her family,” Carlisle Cullen said. “I had a great respect for Ursula.”

“Yes. Ursula’s apprentice passed on several years ago, and she named Fred and Alice as her successors,” Harry said.

“I am sorry for your loss,” Carlisle Cullen nodded at Freddie and I. I half-smiled back at him. Jeanie had been gone a long time but I still missed her.

“This is my wife, Esme, and my oldest son Edward,” Carlisle gestured to his two companions.

“Oldest son?” Charlie Swan said sharply.

“Yes - I have three others, but we did not want to overwhelm you,” Carlisle said. “They are here, if you would like to meet them?”

“Yes. We want to know the entirety of your coven,” Harry said bluntly.

Carlisle grimaced and nodded. “Of course. My other children - Rosalie, Emmett, and Jasper.”

Three more Cullens materialised from behind Carlisle Cullen - a tall blonde girl who was utterly breathtaking to look at, had a displeased expression, and was wearing the genuine designer version of my knock-off winter coat. The second was a bear of a man, with the friendliest face, and curly black hair, who winked at me as he wrapped an arm around the blonde girl’s shoulders.

And then a lanky blond boy with a dark expression and wavy blond hair, who hovered in the shadows, his features mostly obscured. All of them had the same golden eyes, the same pallor and dark under-eye circles. But they didn’t look or behave like other nomads that had passed through. They looked… like a nice family.

Maybe in a decade, Jacob, Seth, and I would be joined by Emmett Cullen for the ‘burn or bury’ booze up. He looked like he’d be the most up for livening up these meetings.

“Your family has grown.” Billy’s voice was accusing, and I turned to look at his stern expression.

“My son, Jasper, joined us in 1965,” Carlisle Cullen said politely, “Looking for a different lifestyle. We have abided by your terms, and would not have returned to this area if we were not prepared to continue to do so.”

The Quiluetes weren’t thrilled with that news, and Charlie just looked kind of tired. Freddie was taking notes on his phone, and I was just cold and getting bored again… until I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye.

Jasper was prowling away from the others, closer to me, where I stood at my uncle’s side. Both eyes were on me, like liquid amber, and I finally got a good look at him.

Jasper was Him - the boy hovering over me, half-dressed on the gurney; the boy kissing my scar, and sliding in behind me in the shower. The boy that had hovered at the edges of my visions and dreams since I was young, with adoration in his eyes and gentle touches.

The boy I’d love so fiercely and deeply…

Talk about a terrible time to finally meet.

“Oh fuck,” I said, as I looked at him, eyes wide. All those wretched cliches that terrible books write about happened at that moment. I was enchanted, besotted, and absolutely irrevocably attached to this Jasper Cullen. He was mine.

“Step back!” Harry barked out, but Jasper Cullen ignored him, watching me carefully. I couldn’t help myself; I smiled brightly at him, and he kept moving towards me. Flashes of knowledge were appearing in my head, and for some reasons I kept seeing the Lovers card, still in my deck at home. I could hear people talking, getting angry, but it was like the buzz of insects as Jasper Cullen got closer to me. His hand reached out slowly, to stroke the curve of my cheek, studying me with the strangest look on his face.

And then the pain hit, like someone had shoved an ice pick through my left eye and into my brain. The visions were folding over and over, like origami, before I could decipher them. Choices being made, minds changing, so fast I could keep up. I heard myself cry out as I fell, and then everything was dark.

Then I was seeing things in real time. The way I fell, blood running from my nose, to everyone’s utter horror. My eyes were rolled back in my head, and my body jerked in a seizure a few times before I was still.

But no one could get near me. As soon as I had fallen, Jasper had crouched over my prone form, with a horrified look on his face. Everyone was yelling and trying to get closer, and Jasper let out a snarl that was, frankly, terrifying before refocusing on me, taking my hand and plucking my glove off it, to rest against his own cheek. Whatever that was supposed to achieve did nothing, and whilst everyone else was yelling and bickering, he let out a low whine that was so pathetic, if I’d had any control over my body, I would have sat up and given him a hug.

Then Carlisle Cullen placed his hands up to the Council in a gesture of peace and nodded to Emmett before approaching Jasper.

The conversation would have been too low for anyone else to hear, but not me, in whatever kind of vision this was.

“Jasper, I understand,” Carlisle Cullen said in a low voice. “But she’s got a medical condition, you need to let her people take care of her.”

Jasper growled low, Emmett’s hand on his shoulder.

“Bro, c’mon,” he said. “You’re scaring them,” he nodded over his shoulder. Sue’s face was white with fear, and I was scared that Harry was going to stroke out on the spot.

And I was there, Sleeping Beauty, with a smear of fresh blood on my face.

“I can’t,” Jasper seemed to force out between gritted teeth. “She’s mine.” It was said with determination and desperation, and a deep tenderness.

I was pleased that whatever my embarrassing collapse had been, at least I knew we were on the same page -that we knew each other and we knew each other.

And just like that, like they were magic words, my eyes open and I was back in reality, staring up at the man-boy who was staring at me like I held the secrets to the universe.

“Alice, did he hurt you?” Freddie called out in a strained voice.

“No, that was me. Too much new information,” I said, as I began to sit up, Jasper sliding my glove back on my hand before I realised it was still missing. He held out his hand to help me up, his touch so careful and gentle.

“Okay, good. Come over here,” Freddie motioned for me to move to where the group seemed to have bunched across from the Cullens. Charlie Swan looked murderous. “She’s nothing to you, boy, just let her go.”

I winced when Freddie said that, realising immediately it was like a red flag to a bull, and all of a sudden there was a lot of motion. Jasper growled, attempting to shove me behind him - to protect me? - whilst Emmett and Carlisle Cullen decided it was time to get Jasper physically under control, and pulled him back towards where the rest of the family was standing.

I tripped over a rock and stumbled but righted myself as Jasper was bodily dragged back to where Esme, Rosalie, and Edward Cullen were waiting, looking worried.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Mrs Cullen asked as I moved back to Freddie’s side, where he quickly clasped me to him, giving me the once over.

“I’m fine,” I said before catching Emmett having bent Jasper’s arms behind  his back at a hideous angle, his knee digging into Jasper’s spine. “Oh, don’t hurt him! Please!” I made a move towards them but Sue grabbed my arm, and Jasper turned to stare at me with what I can only describe as hope.

“I think this meeting is done,” Charlie Swan said finally. “You agree to maintain the existing treaty - that’s all we need. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, we don’t want to cause any issues,” Mrs Cullen said, and Freddie snorted, shielding me with his body.

I felt like a prisoner being frog-marched back to the car.

“Back at the Brandon’s?” Charlie said, as we arrived at the cars.

“Of course,” Freddie said. “Coffee and debrief.”

//

[questionthebox]

Hostilities became apparent, through my transparency of voice, part a boast part a revenge part a bounty asking to be taken in like a stray puppy, hostilities knew no bounds in me I took life and trampled all over it, bouncing off the other peoples sense of me, who Am I bought the decade of the 2010’s itself, yes that’s who I am, I am all of the dream which became a nightmare,

The decade left us all broken, unhinged, now it became a free for all, pussy showing, pussy fucking, pregnancies and abortions, drug benders and drug adventures, jobs to not work, scams to receive money that was quickly pissed away, my only regret is that I didn’t create multiple fake accounts of unemployment in 2020, like everyone else was doing, because I easily could’ve came up on 30 grand at the very least,

That was my problem I’m too late, I’m an observer, which is bad when you don’t have much, when you don’t have much you cannot wait on anyone or anything because life will pass you by quickly, life was passing everyone by which is why everyone voted for Donald Trump, which is why after Trump, everyone just resumed themselves in these holes, online, on the one hand you had people so hidden that they existed as just a mass of hatred, but the seeds of it were apparent, I remember being 22 at my girlfriends house when Daniel my friend who was born in 1996 calls me, I put him on speakerphone and he begins to in a fast monotonous voice describe how he just almost killed himself in an accident, how he probably killed someone, that he had flew out of the car but somehow was still alive, at least enough to call me of all people, they always called me, like that above mentioned girlfriend calling me in the middle of the night to rant how she was a masochist, well we were all masochists, truthfully we were all dead, we or most of us rarely bathed, we rarely worked, we were on the outskirts of nowhere, not out of choice but for the reason that felt like a second birth, we were just new adults supposedly and had no one to guide us, no one at all, and if you did have someone to guide you it meant that that person bought you jeans or paid your phone bill,

Which is what Trump understood, he understood it as much as a slumlord understands it, the slumlord understands innately why his tenants pay high rents despite living in one bedrooms full of mice and roaches, Trump with his experience running a low class cheesy casino, running slum apartments, running infomercial scams, running those money seminars people love to attend, especially people of color, understood how to talk to us, how to appeal to us, how to present to us, because we too were racist, in the mainstream they lamented what he said about Mexicans, but we all hated Mexicans, everyone I knew hated Mexicans, we all thought Mexicans took our jobs, we’re the reasons why those jobs paid us lower wages, how many times would you hear adult family members say that the job pays Mexicans a lower wage, because they know they’ll accept it, where as we won’t, no one liked Mexicans, I’d be with my best friend and his family who were Asian and we’d all start ranting about how we hated dealing with Mexicans how we hated how they act, that they were backstabbers and gossipers, that they had inferiority complexes and acted entitled, how they refused to assimilate and expected everyone to speak Spanish, the hate was there, the discontent was there, the sense of who was who, who belonged to what, was there, and we all felt, and Trump understood this but we all believed that being an “American” made us on par with what we saw on TV, motherfucker we all thought we could be on shark tank, on mtv cribs, I remember going on a field trip in high school to a live taping of this talent show in Hollywood, and I remember this couple next to me talking like they were part of Hollywood themselves, when they weren’t, they were just normal people but they believed themselves to be part of it, everyone did, which is why no one saw any of this shit coming.

Growing up, no one knew anything about politics, no one mentioned it, the most you’d hear was at least from my parents that we vote Democrat, the reasons why they voted Democrat increasingly became based upon almost a lifestyle aesthetic of hipness, with only a vague sense of social justice, I remember 2004 the second Bush election, my parents were more meh at the time, they were meh because they both were making money, and didn’t think of anything else, which is why President Bush won that second term, contrary to what is thought, the only people who opposed President Bush were these youngish white hippie types, otherwise people were apolitical or supported President Bush and the wars because they were Christian and thought of Muslims as these barbarians who sought to blow themselves and everyone else up.

[carewyncromwell]

*wiggles in delight* Okay, okay, you know it’s the POTC AU again. X3

Last part is here -- whole tag is here -- Lavender’s Blue is a folk song that dates back to the 17th century, but I used a more modern version in the link because it’s honestly the prettiest one I could find -- Leave Her Johnny is a traditional sea shanty, pinpointing it as being from the 18th/19th century, even though I haven’t been able to find a concrete date of when the original version was actually written anywhere, but whatever, who cares -- the myth of Orion and Artemis has several variations, but I just used one of the most popular ones because it fits the narrative -- I love my dear @cursebreakerfarrier and her girl Jules’s relationship with my precious boi Bill so much --

And that’s it! Let’s get right to it!! Eeeee~!!! *goes off and fangirls some more*

x~x~x~x

When it comes to dividing loot, one of the central tenants of the Pirate Code set down by the pirates Morgan and Bartholomew -- as well as every other specialized code set by individual pirate captains -- was the idea of everyone getting their fair share of whatever treasure they managed to plunder, with the Captain being awarded ownership of any ships. Thus everyone in the Tower Raven’s fleet as well as the Artemis’s crew was entitled to an equal share of the treasure the Revenge’s crew had stored away on Isle de Muerta the last fifteen years. It took a while to divvy up everyone’s shares, but even with how many people there were, everyone ended up with a respectable share, all the same. Both Jacob and Orion also quickly abdicated their possible claims to the Revenge to Carewyn -- a rather generous offer to some minds, considering it was the fastest galleon on the seven seas, but Carewyn could thoroughly understood why Jacob would want no part of it. If nothing else, he already had a rather impressive fleet, and the Revenge had the same bad memories for her as it did him.

It wasn’t long after the treasure was parsed into equal shares and the Tower Raven’s fleet departed that Bill pulled Jules aside.

“It looks like our little adventure is over,” he said with a faintly wry smile.

“...So it is,” said Jules.

She wasn’t smiling. She tried, but she just couldn’t shake the feeling that Bill was worried about something. Her wary expression made Bill turn a bit more serious too.

“You know Charlie and I won’t be able to return to Port Royal,” he said softly. “Your father could likely pull some strings to keep you from being punished, especially if you claimed we forced you, but...”

“I would never claim that and you know it,” Jules cut him off, her tone very reproachful.

Bill’s brown eyes crinkled up with fondness.

“...I know. That’s why I feel a little better telling you this.”

Taking her hand, he then slowly lowered himself onto one knee. Somewhere behind him, Bill could hear a quickly suppressed gasp of delight from Carewyn, and it made him grin around his scarlet cheeks up at Jules, whose face was also alight with surprise and a darkening flush.

“Juliette Farrier -- you are, without question, the most amazing and wonderful woman I have ever met in my life. You’re braver than a lioness and you never let anything stand in your way, no matter what the squalls. In the words of Psalm 143:8, ‘show me the way I should go, for to you I entrust my life’ -- ”

His entire face was a brilliant ruby red by this point. He bit his lip briefly, only for his mouth to spread into an even broader smile as he tried to hold in a laugh.

“ -- so...if you could accept a pirate as your husband, over a merchant or even a man of the Church...I swear to stand by your side and love you all my days.”

Jules was visibly overwhelmed. Her face flushed and her eyes flooding with tears, she found herself starting to laugh. Then she flung herself down onto Bill, grabbing hold of him around the neck and cradling his head and shoulders.

“Yes -- yes, of course I will!”

The wedding between Juliette Farrier and William Weasley was a very informal, rushed sort of affair. Since there was no church that would’ve married them and Bill couldn’t do it himself, they held it aboard the Artemis with Orion -- being Captain -- officiating the ceremony. Charlie and Carewyn scrounged through the loot remaining in the cave at Isle de Muerta to find a handsome coat made out of brown leather, a navy blue tricorn hat, a well-shined pair of boots, a rather pretty-looking off-white dress, a gold tiara, and a translucent muslin apron. Carewyn was able to cut the apron into a make-shift veil that she then helped Jules secure in her hair with the tiara.

Orion’s version of a wedding ceremony was distinctly not traditional. Rather than quoting scripture, he made a rather bizarre analogy to beavers. To his credit, it did eventually come around to the idea that they mate for life and they build their own home out of nothing together out of whatever’s available to them, which Carewyn thought was actually rather sweet.

Once the vows were read and the bride and groom shared their first kiss as husband and wife, the crew threw a makeshift wedding party on board the Artemis, with Carewyn singing a song for Bill and Jules’s first dance.

“Lavender's blue, dilly, dilly, lavender's green When I am king, dilly, dilly, you shall be queen: Who told you so, dilly, dilly, who told you so? 'Twas my own heart, dilly, dilly, that told me so.”

Once the dance was over, Carewyn couldn’t stop herself from throwing her arms around both of them, hugging them both with all of her strength. Soon Charlie had thrown himself into the huddle too, and the four were all clinging to each other, crying and smiling all the while.

“Jules,” Carewyn said seriously, “I want you, Bill, and Charlie to take the Revenge.”

The three all looked taken aback.

“What?” said Charlie.

“It’s the fastest galleon in the entire ocean, and easily the most feared pirate ship as well,” she explained, her eyes trailing from Charlie to Bill to Jules. “It may need some fixing -- I daresay it’d be a good idea to actually patch up those leaks with more than just magic, and I figure you’ll want to christen it with a new name...but...”

Her blue eyes drifted down to Jules’s shoulder.

“...If you must be considered criminals, with no chance of reprieve...then I don’t want the Navy to ever, ever catch you. I want you on a vessel so strong and so fast...that I can never catch up to you again.”

Bill, Charlie and Jules all stared at Carewyn, their eyes filling up with emotion seeing how strong of a face Carewyn was trying to put on, despite the pain she no doubt felt. Then Jules secured her arm more tightly around Carewyn’s shoulders, resting her forehead beside her friend’s affectionately.

“And if you must stay behind...then I want you to know that we’ll always...always come for you, Carey.”

Charlie nodded, resting his own head on Carewyn’s shoulder as he squeezed her shoulder. “Always.”

Bill’s eyes were streaming with tears. He seemed too overcome by his emotions to speak, so instead he brought up a hand and smoothed some hair out of his best friend’s face, placing a soft kiss to the crown of her head. Carewyn trailed a hand through his hair to comfort him.

“Look...after Percy for us?” Bill murmured in her ear, his voice choked with tears.

Carewyn blinked back her tears as best she could. “Of course.”

Not long later, Captain Jules Weasley boarded the newly christened Revolution with her First Mate and husband Bill and her Quartermaster and brother-in-law Charlie, and the three set off for Tortuga. Orion and the crew of the Artemis had arranged to meet them there and help them with ship repairs, since it would likely only take a scooner like the Artemis an extra day to reach Tortuga after dropping Carewyn off on an island frequented by rum runners, rescued, and returned to the Navy.

The next few days aboard the Artemis was rather more relaxed than on the voyage to Isle de Muerta. Everyone was in pretty good spirits thanks to the significant pay-out, so the nights were spent on deck drinking lots of rum and singing old pirate favorites like Spanish Ladies and Yo Ho A Pirate’s Life for Me. (That last one Carewyn was even able to coax Orion onto his feet and dance with her for, and the rather drunk crew was absolutely beside themselves with laughter, seeing the broad smile and dark flush on their tipsy captain’s face.)

On the last night of their voyage, however, as the sun went down, Orion did not join the festivities. The crew wasn’t too perturbed by it, as he apparently often stayed off to the side rather than get as active as he had that previous night. Despite this, though, McNully still lifted himself up into the rigging and paid Orion a visit at the helm while the rest of the crew drank and sang down below.

“Penny for your thoughts, Orion?” he asked amusedly.

Orion glanced up at McNully serenely. “Oh, merely...meditating on what would’ve happened, had the Scorpion not appeared.”

“The Scorpion?” repeated McNully, as he cocked an eyebrow.

Orion nodded up at the sky, to a certain cluster of stars.

“The Scorpion -- Scorpio. I wonder what would have happened if Apollo had not sent him to sting the heel of the hunter Orion -- what might have been his fate, then.”

McNully glanced from the constellation to down at Orion, frowning slightly.

“Well...he would’ve kept hunting with Artemis, I suppose,” he said slowly, “like he did before.”

“Yes...but would he have been able to do that ad infinitum? Would they have been able to hunt together, side by side, for the rest of Orion’s life, until he’d lived to a ripe old age? Or, like it’s said happened to the goddess Calypso...would it be too difficult for a goddess and a mere man to walk the same path for more than a short while...when the paths set before them are destined to diverge?”

Orion’s voice was very detached, but McNully knew him well enough that he could hear the quiet intensity in his voice. This thought exercise of his had been more than simple meditation, this McNully was sure of.

The First Mate considered Orion for a moment, contemplating his answer.

“...Well...I suppose that’s something Artemis and Orion would’ve probably had to plot out themselves, if it’d come to that. Reckon those sorts of things are always a 50-50 thing, no matter who the players are.”

Orion glanced at McNully out the side of his eye. “‘Those sorts of things?’”

“Yeah -- heart-related things. In the story you’re talking about, Orion was the only man Artemis ever loved, right?”

Orion’s dark eyes flickered down to the crew below. “...Aye.”

“Well, love kind of involves communication, so I’ve heard,” said McNully amusedly, “and while I’m no expert in love, I do pride myself on my communication skills. And from where I stand, I’d say that it’s up to those people to decide whether what they’ve got is more important than what ‘path’ they’re meant for or not. And unless there’s action on one or both people’s parts, there’s a 99.5% chance that both them and everyone around them will be left wondering forever what could’ve been.”

Orion didn’t answer. McNully followed his gaze down to the newly redressed Commodore Carewyn on the deck, who was leading the rest of the crew in a sea shanty.

“Oh, the wind was foul and the sea ran high... Leave her, Johnny, leave her! She shipped it green and none went by, And it's time for us to leave her.

Leave her, Johnny, leave her! Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her! For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow, And it's time for us to leave her.”

Orion’s eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly, darkening with an emotion that McNully couldn’t place -- then, rather swiftly, he turned and headed for the stairs that led down to the main deck.

“I’ll take the first watch in the crow’s nest, McNully,” he said levelly. “Please see that the crew finishes up soon, so that we can start our nightly rounds.”

“...Aye, aye, Captain.”

The crew didn’t pay mind to the Captain walking past them on his way to the crow’s nest, but Carewyn couldn’t help but notice that he avoided any of their eyes.

Not long after, the crew all started getting ready to go to sleep down below in their makeshift cots and hammocks. Carewyn, however, was too disconcerted by Orion’s behavior and couldn’t help but approach McNully. When she did, he merely shrugged and told her not to worry -- Orion liked to go up to the crow’s nest alone to meditate, and it didn’t always mean he was in a bad mood. All the same, Carewyn decided to stay on deck and take the watch with Orion.

McNully considered her for a moment, before he finally added an aside to her.

“While he’s meditating, there’s only about a 45% chance he’ll talk to you. But...keep in mind that there’s only about a 25% chance that he’d talk to me. ...I reckon those are odds worth chancing.”

And so Carewyn made her way up into the crow’s nest. She found Orion there, resting his arms on the railing of the crow’s nest with his eyes closed and head bowed.

She settled herself next to him, resting her arms on the railing beside his. At first she was reluctant to speak, considering how clearly focused he was despite his eyes being closed. Then, at last, the Commodore finally brushed her newly retied ponytail over her shoulder and settled on asking him.

“...Would you prefer me to not say anything, while we watch together?”

Orion was quiet for a moment. Then, without opening his eyes, he murmured, “...You could sing something.”

Carewyn smiled slightly. “All right. Any requests?”

“‘A Maid in Bedlam.’”

It hadn’t taken him long to come up with it. Carewyn’s smile spread a bit, before she looked out at the sea and sang it for him. 

“Just as she sat there weeping, her love, he came on land. Then, hearing she was in Bedlam, he ran straight out of hand -- He flew into her snow-white arms, and thus replied he: ‘I love my love because I know my love loves me.’

She said, ‘My love, don't frighten me, are you my love or no?’ ‘Oh yes, my dearest Nancy, I am your love, also. I have returned to make amends for all your injury... I love my love because I know my love loves me.’

So now these two are married, and happy may they be, Like turtle doves together, in love and unity.

All pretty maids, with patience wait, that have got loves at sea -- I love my love because I know...my love...loves...me."

A ghost of a smile had settled into the corners of Orion’s lips as he listened. When Carewyn finally finished, he opened his eyes and looked out at the horizon.

“Did you sing that song, while you were on the Revenge?” he murmured.

Carewyn looked at him in surprise.

“...How did you know?”

“A mermaid was singing the song around our ship one night while we were bound for Isle de Muerta. She said she’d learned the song from a maid locked in the brig of a pirate ship.”

Carewyn’s eyes softened in understanding. She looked back out at the sea too, her expression becoming a little more serious.

“...While I was on the Revenge,” she said softly, “I...well, I wasn’t myself, at points. I was scared, and angry...and that night...”

Her eyes darkened.

“...That night...was the worst of all of them. I don’t even know how I fell asleep. But I did, and...sure enough...there you were.”

Orion looked up, startled. Carewyn’s lips were spread in something of a bittersweet smile even though her gaze was still on the sea.

“I said you appeared in my dreams at random, but I don’t think that’s wholly true,” she admitted. “You wouldn’t appear whenever I felt cheerful or excited. Instead you always seemed to appear...whenever I was drowning. Whenever I was in a dark place...hopeless and useless. Whenever I most felt...like I deserved to be alone.”

It was strange saying any of this aloud. It made Carewyn feel oddly fragile and vulnerable. With a swallow, she put on the bravest smile she could as she forced herself to meet Orion’s eyes.

“...I guess...whenever I end up in that place...remembering when I was able to help you...it helps, somehow. It...orients me, like a compass. It helps me remember how much better I feel about myself, knowing that I can take care of others.”

Orion stared at Carewyn, his mouth slightly open as his eyes searched her expression. They rippled with an intense emotion, but Carewyn couldn’t quite place it -- was it empathy? Pain? Longing? Relief?

His kohl-lined eyes drifted down to his belt. Then, carefully, he detached his little black-lidded compass from his belt and held it up in both hands so she could see it.

“Would you like to hear the tale of how I first acquired this compass?” he asked.

Carewyn looked down at it curiously and nodded.

“It was a gift,” said Orion. “A gift from a king, who was captured by an enemy kingdom and then sold into slavery. He ended up on a ship owned by the East India Trading Company, bound for the Caribbean...a ship I’d joined as a cabin boy. I was fourteen, going under the name ‘Smith,’ as it was the only name I’d been given at the time, besides ‘boy.’

“Not long after the ship set sail, I overheard the king planning a slave revolt against the sailors on board -- and I had to make a choice. 1, I could report what I heard to the captain...or 2, I could say nothing. Instead I picked a third option -- I helped him. I left his manacles a little too loose that night and told him where he could safely maroon the sailors who didn’t want to stay. So when the revolt happened...the king dropped off the entire crew except me. I agreed to stay long enough to help him sail home, since he and his people didn’t have any experience sailing a British ship. The king named me his First Mate and asked me to call him by his given name...Amari.”

Carewyn's eyes widened in amazement. Orion smiled gently at the look on her face and nodded, before his expression grew much more serious again.

“It wasn’t long after, however, that Cutler Beckett -- the man who owned the slave ship -- sent pirate hunters out to retrieve his ‘stolen cargo.’ On our way back to the Ivory Coast, we were locked in a sea battle, and Amari was mortally injured. As he lay on the deck, he made me promise to take his family home...and once I did...he gave me his compass. I used it to safely sail us away from the pirate hunters and drop the crew off close to home, before I took the next ship out of Africa, which plopped me down in the Caribbean.

“When I landed in Port Royal, however, news had already reached the Navy positioned there of my ‘theft of Company property.’ I was immediately locked in irons, branded, and set to be hanged the following morning. I barely remember now how I managed to shake off the soldiers escorting me to the jail, but sure enough, I did...”

Orion’s dark eyes softened slightly -- he reached out to take both of Carewyn’s hand and place the compass gently in her hands, his own hands cupping around hers so that she’d hold it.

“...And, as fate would have it...ran straight into you.”

Carewyn’s wide blue eyes ran over his face in disbelief.

She’d heard so many bizarre tales of the infamous Orion Amari and his exploits, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember having heard anything about how he became a pirate in the first place. And to hear now that it was all because he’d helped a ship full of slaves return home...to keep a promise he’d made to someone he’d clearly respected...

She’d known Orion was a good man -- but she realized that before that moment, she’d had no concept just how good.

Her eyes softened upon the compass in their joined hands.

“...It’s no wonder you’ve kept it even after it broke, then,” she said gently. “It’s truly very special.”

Orion’s dark eyes rippled over her face. “Aye...but it’s never been broken, however much it hasn’t worked for me, recently.”

Carewyn blinked in confusion.

“My compass does not point North -- nor has it ever done so,” he explained. “Instead...it points to whatever you want most in this world. If you wished to find treasure, it would point you to it. If you wished to escape, it would point you to safety. If you wished to sail homeward ...it would point the way.”

Carewyn glanced down at the compass and then back up at Orion’s face, feeling a bit skeptical despite herself. The pirate captain’s mouth spread in an amused smile.

“You don’t believe me?” he asked.

“I didn’t say that,” said Carewyn primly. “It’s just...hard to believe...”

She once again looked down at the compass and then back up at him.

“...Is that really true?”

Orion’s eyes twinkled. “Every word.”

Carewyn considered him for a moment carefully, her eyes scanning his face as she thought this over.

“...So I suppose the reason it’s not working for you...is you don’t know what you want?”

Orion’s face grew a lot more solemn.

“On the contrary,” he said softly. “It’s more...that my heart is so focused on one thing...it’s made it so the compass, in my hands, will point nowhere else. Ever since you escaped the Artemis...it’s been locked in place.”

His hands adjusted on top of hers holding his compass, his thumbs resting on the sides of her wrists.

Carewyn’s gaze fell down to their joined hands -- then, her eyes slowly widening, she looked back up at Orion.

“...When you came to Port Royal...”

Orion inclined his head. “The compass was pointing me there.”

“And...Isle de Muerta...”

“I only found because the compass was pointing me there, too.”

Orion’s voice was still as level as ever, but he suddenly looked quite a bit paler. Something in the back of his calm, serene eyes seemed oddly tentative -- insecure.

Carewyn stared at him, hardly daring to believe it. If she was understanding Orion correctly, then...the thing his compass had been pointing toward...

...was her.

Her heart had swelled to a seemingly impossibly large size in her chest, almost painfully so. It made Carewyn unsure of what even to say or do -- she couldn’t contain her emotions, and was forced to cover her face in both hands, cutting herself off as she struggled to regain her composure.

At long last, she took a breath.

“‘She said...‘my love, don’t frighten me...are you...my love, or no?’”

Orion straightened up visibly as she slid her hands from her face, beaming up at him with perhaps the most emotional, most beautiful smile he’d ever seen on her face.

“‘...Oh yes, my dear Orion...I am your love, also.’”