#{ but what if james catches wind of similar case }

[cheekypriest]

The priest would have been lying if he'd tried to claim that having his own words thrown back at him didn't delight him in the slightest. It was such a rare occurrence to meet someone who could match his endlessly wry manner, always a quick quip dangling on the end of his tongue, a sly little remark that could so easily ruffle feathers if not make a person stop for a moment and think. Was it wrong that he partly enjoyed that? Being able to make people question themselves and what they saw around them, whether deeply or just in passing. Not by doubting their own belief systems or pushing themselves towards religion, but those little specks of 'what if' that could bubble up to the surface every now and then. After all, James enjoyed it in return, being something of a free thinker himself, despite how so many others would label him. No, they'd look at him and see nothing more than a sheep, just another soul caught in one of the many webs of lies woven throughout humanity for all manner of reasons. But once they spoke to him? Once they heard him speak, heard that wit and watched how it shamelessly danced across his ageing face, it tended to be something of a surprise.

After all, the man was still just a human, regardless of his vocation or the path he walked.

Maybe that was something Connor could understand as well. From what the Brit had picked up so far, he could see the delicate balance between compassion and coldness, always so aware of how he should be, what would work best for the current situation and likely current company as well. Or he could be completely wrong and just pinning thoughts and ideas to the younger male, but it was still fascinating nonetheless. He hadn't met someone so intriguing for quite some time, someone who could tug at the Englishman's attention, even distract him for a few blissful moments when there was an almighty sea of worries crashing down on him on the inside.

James had been sent there because the Vatican had been informed of a number of concerns in recent weeks, a rise in strange cases, not all of them reported to the police. How many had and how many hadn't? What were the police willing to admit and the same could be asked of the Vatican as well? Which was better at keeping secrets The police or the Vatican? Even James wouldn't dare hazard a guess, though the thought did amuse him to some degree.

But now things had reached a more 'mainstream' status, garnering the attention of the local police, surely the media would pick up on it as well, a strange case with so few answers, it had to end up in the newspapers or thrown onto the news at some point. It was local, new, interesting, but again, he could imagine both police and the Vatican would be eager to keep it quiet, the police because it didn't look great for others to see them so baffled, and the Vatican because -- - did he even need to continue with that? Who really needed their millionth documentary on fake exorcisms or horror movies pretending to know what it was like to face inhuman evil?

Not that the northerner partook in either. It was his job, the last thing he wanted at the end of a particularly long day was to watch a movie about what went on in his life, or be seemingly mocked and goaded by it either.

Just like how vampires didn't overly appreciate their representation in the media, some detesting it, some simply finding it vaguely amusing, while others ignored it like the plague. He'd come across a few vampires in each category, usually with very different outcomes from their interactions. There were a mountain of reasons that vampires wouldn't be too fond of said priest priest and it wasn't purely because of his faith.

His mouth tended to get him in more trouble than his beliefs ever could. Which was rather ironic.

"Such sacrilege... deliver me, O Lord, from lying lips, from a deceitful tongue." The Brit practically purred as he eyed the other man, the very notion of him being deceitful ever amusing, just another to add to the ever-growing list. Alongside all of his other lists of sins. "Wouldn't worry about it too much... give me a few Hail Mary's before you go to bed tonight and all will be forgiven." How James hadn't been struck down by the wrath of God by now even amazed the man himself, and at least his mentor, Fr. Allan, not far behind. He had to be doing something right? Or was he just another pawn that would be discarded once he'd outlived his uses? He was sure to find out one day.

"Well, as long as you don't go spreading the word about my tells to my procured flock and anyone else who's willing to listen, I'll think I'll be all right, don't you?" He didn't actually believe that Connor would go around telling people such a trivial thing, but that didn't stop him from teasing him a little anyway. This was James, after all, there wasn't much that was off limits when it came to his gentle joshings. "Christ, don't get me started on coincidences or we'll be here all night. And while I'd relish the thought of spending the entire evening with you, I don't think either of us would last long in this enigma of a building that somehow manages to make a tepid day feel like you're being cooked in a bloody oven." Or maybe it was the Britishness in him that found some temperatures harder to deal with than others. What felt like a pleasant warm hug in one country felt like he was being suffocated in another all thanks to the humidity. He was just glad that he hadn't been sent to Florida yet, he wasn't unfit by any means but even he wasn't looking forward to trying to go about his days feeling like there wasn't even a whisper of oxygen in the air.

He'd just blame his hometown and age for that little gripe.

"I don't know about that though... like I said before, what more is there to a priest's life other than battling little old ladies and their impossibly heavy handbags?" Again, that charming grin spread across his face, a low laugh leaving him as he drew in a deep breath, the tightness in his arms lessening a little as he watched with genuine delight. "After all, anyone who's clocked you walking in here has probably already spread it halfway across the city by now. You know what the general public are like, they see and hear more shit that goes on than the FBI these days. Probably half expecting me to be taken away in handcuffs at any moment... and not the fun kind." Had Fr. James ever been arrested before? No. Had he ever been in handcuffs for more -- - lewd reasons? Maybe.

"But... since you said it so nicely, how could I refuse?" Another devilish look flickered across those cool blue eyes, the man suddenly leaning back in his chair to reach for his desk and rummage through the top drawer to find a piece of paper and a pen. "You ever feel the sudden urge for a certain priest's company, you just give this number a call." He did his best to balance as he quickly noted down his mobile number before settling forward again to hold it out to Connor between his index and middle finger. "Anytime, any place." Again, he'd let the detective's mind wander as far as it pleased with that proposition. "Scout's honour."

If there were something the two of them could fundamentally agree upon, it was that true evil resided within humanity. Somewhere within the bounds of their polar opposite yet remarkably similar experiences in the world, they had both discovered this truth for themselves. James with his endless crusade to rid the innocent from the clutches of otherworldly influence, time & time again coming upon the unique cruelty only man could enact upon man. Connor as he witnessed the aftermath of wickedness, flippancy & anger, or at times even greed, & he would relive the final moments of the dead or the socially damned through their own eyes. Yet they two walked the earth as if untainted, outwardly pristine while their vibrant souls hid a dark stain beneath the skin that was seared into their very beings, marking them. The detective had never considered himself to be unclean, though he did often wonder on those late nights in his apartment alone with his thoughts, if he could ever be capable of the atrocities he had reconstructed.

Where did his thoughts begin & theirs end? At times, he worried they weren't so perfectly segregated at the end of a case, when Connor compartmentalized those visitations into another corner of the quiet garden in his mind, locking them away, only to find him again in dreams.

Oh, but he was glad for the distraction of flirtations. The clever detective was finding the audacious priest out & he was rewarded for it with compliments. How his inner self preened as the charming youth smiled that sweet, goofy smile that rounded the heights of his cheeks delicately & softened his already darling features. Quite the departure of the solemn, almost grim expression held moments before, the tender bewilderment in those hazelnut hued eyes. His gaze fell askance in a demure display of appreciation, & he sat back a touch, just a little bit straighter. Though one might easily forget his occupation as they looked upon the charming young man, it was questionable if he could ever be described as innocent. Connor was a compassionate man, his manner warm & inviting, but he was as perfect an embodiment of pride as one could imagine. Utterly in love with himself & apathetic towards himself all in one go, his ego was unusually difficult to bruise, but he did so crave validation from others. Especially those who he felt held desirable traits. James was an admittedly attractive man, charming & educated, well traveled. Being so openly peppered with compliments by such a man… how could he not feel flattered?

It only served to give him a chuckle when that very same man made passively depreciating comments about himself, teased the younger male over the absurd notion of zealotry, of fanciful things. It seemed to be a running theme between them, one Connor could appreciate the irony of as both matched wits with delighted fervor. He expected that it had been some time since the priest had participated in such lively banter, certainly that which was well received. Connor had a sneaking suspicion that not everyone was so open to James' brand of humor - surely, he was an upstart within the church. They were all so stuffy & official, assured of their importance to a higher power. God's work, & all that. James had a very refreshingly down to earth quality to him that the detective valued deeply. In a world that oftentimes felt crazy, he was desperate for something real.

Like the chemistry that was flourishing between them, the intentional way the priest observed him with that bright gaze that was so warm & yet filled with mystery. Oceanic blue that felt like a thinning veil. James wanted to open up to somebody - Connor could feel it as he teased over the younger's own compliments, & how he was wholly unsubtle in his implications of possibly granting the detective's desires. Connor felt one side of his mouth draw upwards into a cheeky half-grin as his mind conjured up a few bold, though relatively tame ideas. A hand rose to run lean fingers through his short hair, offering a moment to pause, to disengage & refocus himself. That silly little cowlick that wove itself into a darling curl against his forehead stubbornly fell back into place. “Promises, promises…” The pretty boy used James' own words against him, that soft expression of amusement lingering upon his features. A stray thought came to him as he considered that he might just catch holy hell flirting like this with a servant of god, much to his endless mirth. After all, one had to believe in such a thing for it to matter, & his companion wasn't exactly discouraging him. Quite the opposite.

But there was that lingering sense that the priest wanted to open up, that he was holding something back. Connor could feel it as those words of confirmation as to his previous conjecture over James' origins & queries of purpose sprang forth. It was mostly the latter which stirred that innate ability in him, that instinct which drove him. His subconscious noted those oh so subtle hints, unnoticeable to the average cop, but quite distinguishable to Connor. No wonder the boys at the precinct called him deviant hunter.

“Now you're being deceitful.” His response was plain & unbothered, as if he were discussing the weather. That soft amusement remained, but there was a faint intensity to him in the moment. Those soft eyes could see more than the priest was willing to give. One had to wonder if they could see right into his soul. But again, Connor smiled for him, just as sweetly as before. “& no, I won't explain your tells. If I do, you'll consciously try to stop doing them.” Brows raised briefly as he professed, head tilted gently to the side. “Right now, I'm just hoping that all of this is one big, messed up coincidence.” Sincerely, truly, he did. He wanted to think that none of the recollections of similar instances of the past would come to light now. Some part of him just didn't want to be wrong, though not entirely selflessly. He wanted to close this case, but he also wanted to see where this chemistry would take them. Was it so selfish to want both?

“That way, it wouldn't be morally reprehensible if I asked to see you again. Outside of obligations related to the case.” Well, that was just fine. Connor had never claimed to be a saint. It appeared that James was under no such expectation, either, as he had eagerly presented himself as anything but the typical depiction of priesthood. He was dashingly bold, smart & funny. He more than kept up with the detective's sass & wit, able to match him beat for beat. That in itself was a thrill. But it was more than that. “It seems like you've had a very interesting life full of experience.” Experiences that had Connor endlessly curious. “I'd like to learn more about you, if I could.” Not just about his faith or anything related to the case, but about himself. One did wonder how an individual could find themselves on the righteous path. “That is, if you're willing to put up with a skeptical nonbeliever.” Another bit of ribbing to catch the other off guard. He really couldn't help himself. It was just too fun.

[theesteemedladydebourgh]

TFTDC Ch 8 Snippet (June: in and out of focus)

as promised, i did some work on this yesterday! 🥰 i think this is no longer the opening scene of the chapter (in any case, it starts mid-scene, so there’ll be something leading up to it), but it turned out quite plotty and non-jily...so i added an extra scene from a little later on (still the same night in the fic!) to make up for it 😉 

hope you all enjoy!

JAMES

Avery raises a brow. “I hear he’s still in St. Mungo’s. Terribly tragic that you haven’t caught the perpetrator.”

“Unfortunate Moody can’t talk yet,” James responds tightly. The urge to grip his wand is so overpowering, so similar to the adrenaline that floods him whenever he’s in a duel that he almost flinches.

Avery’s face doesn’t flicker, a smooth mask locked into place over his cold eyes. “The world is a cruel place, Mr. Potter,” he says and inclines his head. “Good day.”

James doesn’t respond, shoulders locking tight, and he’s just winding up to walk away when—

“And do send my regards to your wife, will you?”

He can’t hide the slight inhale, and he curses himself for a bleeding, fucking fool when Avery’s face almost imperceptibly flashes with satisfaction. “What?” His voice is a low growl. His hand hovers by his pocket, tense.

“I was remiss in not sending my congratulations for the happy event,” Avery says. His lips twitch, though there isn’t an ounce of humor in his expression. “She’s such a…unique woman.”

Woman. Not witch.

You cannot kill him in a Ministry corridor, James chants in his mind, over and over. His neck strains, entire body locked tight. He hates this prick, with a furious rush of anger.

Avery doesn’t seem to be thrown by his lack of response; he just laughs softly to himself, the sound as equally devoid of amusement as his smile. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Potter,” he says and steps away, carries on down the corridor.

And James…he doesn’t move. He doesn’t follow Quinn Avery’s disappearance with his eyes, he doesn’t follow to strangle him with his bare hands. He stands there in the green stone corridor as Ministry employees pass around him, mentally counting to ten, twenty, thirty, forty in his mind.

On forty-five, his fingers uncurl and he breathes in, body unlocking very slowly.

Rage simmers beneath the numbers echoing in his head, and he doesn’t let himself dwell as he turns sharply on his heel. His footsteps echo, echo—

“I’m doubling the tail on Avery.”

To Lena’s credit, she doesn’t start at his slamming entrance into her office. She looks up at him, blinking slowly. Her lips go thin. ���Potter,” she sighs. Dry. “Do come in.”

James ignores the obvious displeasure on her face. The second the door clicks forcefully shut behind him, he’s speaking again. “Lena, he—“ His words cut off, strangling in his throat as he notices for the first time that they’re not alone in the room.

Aurelia Bernadette blinks at him from the corner. She’s standing with her arms crossed, a blank expression on her face. She inclines her head a little at him.

James leans back on his heels, trying not to look thrown. He swipes a hand through his hair. “I—uh…”

“You were saying?” Lena prompts, arching a brow. She looks thoroughly resigned about something, though he can’t imagine what.

James pulls himself together. Forget Aurelia. “I’m doubling the tail on Avery,” he repeats. “He’s doing something and we need to make sure that we catch him when he slips up. Amelia’s wrapping up her Norten case, so I can have her do extra—“

“Potter,” Lena says and it’s exhausted enough that it makes James stop talking, as nothing would. “We’re pulling the tail on Avery.”

James’s hand bangs against the edge of her desk. “What?”

Lena shakes her head. Her face looks more lined than usual. “The Office thinks it’s a drain on resources,” she says. “Moreno’s been gone for months, and the lead on Moody dried up. There haven’t been any new curse victims in over six months. It’s time to let it go.”

“The Office,” James repeats, experiencing the odd feeling that he’s underwater. Fuck it, no, he’s angry. “You are the Office.”

“I answer to the Department,” Lena says sharply. Her lips have disappeared, so thin and tight with her tension. “We all do.” The warning in her voice is clear. Remember your job.

Aurelia speaks up quietly. “I argued against it in the Minister’s offices.”

James starts, having forgotten she was there. He isn’t sure what he feels when his gaze settles on her—confusion? Anger? Suspicion?

Her face is hard to read, but her words don’t seem false. “I said you were onto something, but without Auror Moody heading the Department and no evidence…”

Oh.

He’s not an idiot. He’s not a fucking idot.

Aurelia trails off, exchanges a look with a grim Lena.

“They’ve lost faith in me,” James says. A muscle jumps in his jaw. “The Department thinks I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Lena’s silent, then she sighs. “James,” she says. “Maybe this is for the best. You’ve been running yourself ragged for a year.”

“I’m fine.” James realizes he’s in real danger of yelling, and he forces himself to calm. “Moody is lying unconscious in a hospital while the bastards who got him are walking free in Denmark, and Adrian could be murdered—“

“Or he ran,” Aurelia says. She purses her lips. “And as I understand, Alastor had his fair share of enemies. Any one of them could’ve struck.”

“You’re wrong,” James snaps, uncaring that he’s glaring at a superior. Lena makes a grumbling noise. He steps back, clutches his hair. “It’s—Lena, you can’t believe that everything that happened this year is a coincidence, can you?”

“No,” Lena responds and James’s shoulders drop, then she adds, “But part of being a good Auror is knowing when to follow orders.” Her eyes bore into him. “You’re a good Auror, Potter.”

The words in his throat choke. What if I’m not? he thinks, wild for one second, but then reality catches up with him. Lena. Aurelia. The office. The job he’s made his life for a decade.

His shoulders slowly drop from their tense position. There’s a horrible taste in his mouth.

Lena sees it, and she relaxes as well. “Tell your wife,” she says and her words are a bit gentler. “I’m sure she’ll be relieved to go back to St. Bart’s. And Dearborn and Black.”

Your wife.

Those words in Avery’s cold drawl made his blood freeze, but now that same phrase in his boss’s calm tone makes a flood of longing so sharp it’s almost bitter flood him. He wants her here for a moment—Lily. She’d understand why he feels like throwing something at the wall, why he can’t make his brain stop, why he can’t believe that he’s been told to give up—

No, he realizes suddenly.

And do send my regards to your wife, won’t you?

No. Whatever happens with this fucking case, he wants Lily as far away from Quinn Avery as possible. 

Aurelia’s face is hard to read when his eyes go over to her in the corner, and he can’t describe the feeling that sweeps through him. Resentment is certainly in there.

This wouldn’t have happened with Moody here.

Moody’s in the hospital, his brain reminds him, hissing low. He could never wake up. And you’re going to let it all go, because you’re such a good Auror, aren’t you?

His jaw hurts opening. “Alright,” James says and steps back. His words are stiff. “I will.”

~

*some redacted scenes of dangerous intrigues later*

LILY

She’s smiling, but it fades when she gets a good look at him. Her brow pulls tight. “Are you alright?”

James starts a little, then he’s shaking his head with a sigh. “Fine,” he says and continues to look at her. His eyes are shadowed by his specs. “How was your day?”

“Long,” Lily says with a sigh of her own. She leans back against the kitchen counter. Worry continues to prickle, but he seems normal enough. “You?”

“Same,” James murmurs, then he’s suddenly in motion, striding across the sitting room.

Lily catches his body against hers, barely has time for a half-laugh of unsurprised surprise before he’s kissing her. His hands slip beneath her robes, find the loops of her jeans and tug.

“James—“ It’s half-gasped, then fades into a sigh when his mouth—hot, familiar, mind-melting—moves against hers. His lips trail over her jaw, down the side of her neck. Lily’s head spins, and only the counter behind her and James’s body pressed on her front keep her standing.

His hand slips along her hip. Fingers play with the zip of her jeans.

Oh, Merlin, she thinks or maybe she says it aloud, addled. Her hands have somehow made it to the nape of his neck, and she tugs at his hair gently to make his mouth return to hers.

James makes a noise, an odd intensity to his ensuing kiss. He seems to be trying to get her as close to him as possible, his other hand gripping at her lower back, his leg between hers, and he doesn’t show any inclination for patience or teasing—the zip of her jeans is tugged down, his fingers slipping into her knickers…

Lily’s back arches, a strangled moan escaping. She breaks their kiss, head falling back. Her cheeks flush, flush right down her exposed neck, and the lights of the kitchen sparkle in her vision.

She lets herself get lost in the sensation without a thought—the tension winding tighter in her stomach, the sparks and shudders with the circles of his thumb on her clit, the warmth of him in front of her.

“James—“ She gasps his name, lifts her head again to focus on him with hazy eyes, but then she’s thrown.

Because he’s looking at her, as he often does while he touches her, but he looks…he looks like James. Wild hair, hazel eyes, a jaw tight with the weight of other people’s burdens. His eyes are different tonight, though. The color is darkened by shadows, and by a mix of longing and intensity and—

He sees her looking and he inhales, something flashing on his face, but doesn’t stop the movement of his fingers. He leans in, kisses her softly.

Lily’s fingers trail from his shoulder to his cheek. She lingers there, some unknown emotion rising.

Are you okay? she wants to ask again. By now she’s certain he isn’t, but she’s equally certain he won’t tell her if she presses him. She might not recognize the look in his eyes, but she’s become a scholar in the study of James Potter over the years. Just as surely as she’s learned to love him, she’s learned to know him too.

So she kisses him back, lets her mouth break away after a second to gasp out his name, a hot swear. Her fingers cupping his cheek fall to his shoulder, grip tight when her orgasm washes over her a moment later.

James murmurs things into her hair as she catches her breath. The warm lights of the sitting room glitter softly around them. Lily’s face is hot, and she presses it to his chest. Her heart is pounding loudly enough to eclipse the sound of his, but she remains there nonetheless.

Okay, she thinks. Okay. We can do this, too.

It’s a slightly nonsensical thought, but it soothes the pinch in her chest that wants to demand James crack himself open and spill his every secret to her. 

“I love you,” she whispers instead. Her cheek rests on his chest. It’s one the nights where the words come easier than usual, where she doesn’t stumble over them as much. She doesn’t know why she asks, when she knows the answer. “And...you love me.”

James is silent for a moment, then he exhales, low and slow, and his chin presses to the top of her head. His fingers sweep down her back, warm. “I do,” he says quietly. “Forever.”

There’s another pinch, in the recently forgotten corner of her mind where her anxiety dwells. Forever. What is forever? Does forever have a ticking clock, a pair of lovers with cracks in their souls?

Does forever end, is what she wants to know, but James’s odd mood is enough upset for tonight, so she forces her mind blank. “Okay,” Lily says, voice muffled by his shirt. “You better have brought back dinner.”

[beyondspaceandstars]

Around Your Neck

Bonus: Part 2

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader feat. Voyeur!Zemo Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, penetrative sex, choking, metal arm kink, fingering, public sex, voyeurism, degradation, humiliation, dirty talk - 18+, minors DNI. Summary: Zemo was quite intrigued by you and Bucky fucking on his plane that he takes some bold steps when he sees you two running off to do similar activities on another one of his properties. A/N: alright! this idea actually stems from a conversation that took place in the original ‘Around You Neck’ piece. A reader (see full exchange below) threw around the idea of Zemo watching and someone second but it took me a while to actually get down how to go about this although i think i got it I THINK I DID GOOD. i enjoyed it so fingers crossed this lives up to any expectations

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 3

Things had gotten hot and heavy between you and Bucky once again upon settling into Zemo’s place.

Once the gig was up and everyone was fully aware of your particular interest in a particular arm, you didn’t even attempt to hide your lustful gazing.

And something about that sure got Bucky going.

He pushed you against the wall of the fancy bathroom. His lips were on yours from the second he made some lame-ass excuse to pull you away from Sam and Zemo. 

Sam had chosen to ignore it, not feeling like now was the time to lecture either of you. Zemo on the other hand had watched silently as Bucky’s hand gripped the back of your neck and your thighs twitched in response before you two disappeared into the bathroom. 

You had felt Zemo’s eyes on you two as Bucky fumbled with the door before shoving you in, deepening the kiss, but you had chosen to ignore it and instead got caught up in the sensations of your boyfriend. 

Nearly everything in the world had been forgotten the moment Bucky lifted you up and your legs wrapped around his torso. He walked you carefully backward, your back hit a wall.

“You’re driving me absolutely mad,” Bucky whispered in your ear, his voice as rough and passionate as his actions. His hardness grinded into your heated core as he spoke, earning a pathetic whine from you.

“I-I haven’t done anything.” You just about giggled at the end of your claim of innocence. Bucky responded by attacking your neck with kisses, nipping and sucking as he made his way across your hot skin. 

You let out a light moan and made your own grinding actions against him. He shook his head, trying to taunt and deny you, but then little begs fell from your lips. The sweet sounds of “please” always made him absolutely weak - not that he’d ever admit it. Instead, he slowly let one hand make its way to your pants button while his metal arm held you perfectly. 

When you realized the position, you swore you could feel yourself getting wetter. Just the realization he was holding you with one arm - the metal arm - so effortlessly while his other hand started work on giving you some relief made something turn in your stomach.

Bucky must’ve realized all this as he let out a deep chuckle once he undid your pants and shoved his hand into your panties. Two fingers first started little circular motions on your clit before moving them over your soaking folds. 

He inserted the, slowly, letting you feel every inch of his fingers. “So fucking wet,” he groaned in your ear as he planted a kiss on the corner of your mouth. “Haven’t even done anything yet it’s a fucking puddle in your panties. Ridiculous.”

The degrading words did not help your situation as you let out a loud gasping moan. Bucky was enjoying this, letting you be as loud as you wanted despite the others clearly in the house. You could only hope that they had decided to leave upon catching wind of what you two were up to. 

But that turned out not to be the case. 

As Bucky began adding a third finger to the mix, the bathroom door opened. At first, you didn’t even notice it. Eyes closed, your brain was only focused on getting your boyfriend to hurry up and fuck you, you were totally lost in your own world. For your super-soldier ex-assassin boyfriend, though, it was harder for him to turn his senses off. 

Abruptly, all motions stopped. Bucky lifted his head from your neck as his fingers stilled inside you. You opened your eyes unwillingly and looked down at your boyfriend. His eyes were wide as yours were furrowed in confusion. 

A heavily accented voice cut through the silence from the doorway. “Don’t stop on my account.” 

You gasped - and this time it wasn’t one of pleasure. You started wiggling, trying to get a now furious Bucky away from you. He caught on and ripped his hand from your pants. Angry but still handling you with care, his arm placed you back on the ground. You turned away from the door, trying to fix your clothes as Bucky faced the intruder. 

“What the fuck are you doing? Get the hell out.” Bucky’s voice boomed throughout the room, bouncing off every tile. 

You flinched at the sound as you turned around, presently decent. Your eyes fell on Zemo who was currently leaning against the doorframe, a stupid smirk on his face and a fire in his eyes. 

He shrugged, completely unbothered, and slowly closed the door again behind him. “Can’t a man watch what’s happening in his own home?” You and Bucky shared a questioning glance. “You two just seem to like sneaking off. Forgive me if my curiosity has peaked but this is a fascinating situation.”

“What the hell are you going on about?” You sighed, frustrated in more ways than one. 

“I’m a man who likes to know what’s going on,” he crossed his arms, “especially when it’s happening in my space.”

“I really don’t-,”

“He wants to watch,” Bucky cut you off but his eyes were still trained on Zemo’s cocky, slightly too proud stance. Your stomach unexpectedly fluttered. 

Taking a deep breath, you asked, “W-Watch?” Your voice was suddenly weak as the frustrations - the good ones - hit you again. 

“Hmm, interesting,” said Zemo as if he was casually thinking out loud. As if this was the perfect time for some brainstorming session. Your blood was boiling at his casualness.

You rolled your eyes, biting the bait that he cast like a foolish, edged woman. “What’s interesting?”

“You didn’t say no.”

You and Bucky began spewing protests to his claim. 

“I-I was in shock-,” 

“It doesn’t mean anything-,”

“You’re insane-,”

Zemo lifted his hand to stop you both. Your two voices were getting muddled as your words fought to defend. You gave in, quickly halting all complaints. You could see from the corner of your eye Bucky watching you a bit cautiously now but you didn’t want to face him. You still, for some reason, felt hot and bothered by this… proposition.

“Am I really that insane?” He asked, taking a slow step towards you. “You think you’re hiding it but you can’t stop shifting your stance and those pretty thighs won’t stop squeezing together.” Zemo paused, chuckling a bit to himself. You glared, keeping your eyes locked with his despite how overwhelming it all was. “Are you going to tell me that I’m wrong, dear? Because I don’t think I am. In fact, I think you’d more than just enjoy it. I think you actually crave it.”

Your heart sank at Zemo’s publicized revelation. How the hell did he even pick up on that? Was he somehow in your fucking mind? Your eyes searched his expression, looking for signs that he was pulling your leg or playing some fucking games but his features were cold with a hint of curiosity. You weren’t sure what to say because, well, he really wasn’t wrong. But this didn’t stem from some blatant attraction to Zemo (even though that desire certainly was harboring deep, deep within you), you had always had some interest in sexual adventures on the more voyeuristic side. 

Bucky, however, didn’t know any of this. 

For all the intimate actions you two had already explored -- including the new-found metal arm kink -- you hadn’t brought this up, finding it to be some ultimate, untouchable achievement with your partner.

Bucky said your name, pulling you out of your dazed thoughts. You finally faced him, taking in his not-so-surprising expression of wonder. “Is that true?” There was something in his tone that made your heart leap. He was… excited, you thought. “Is this making you…”

Your mouth opened but no words came out.

Zemo opted to answer for you. “You know it is, James.”

Bucky licked his lips and took a couple of steps towards you, focused on getting an answer personally from you. He was very close now, pretty much towering of you. “Does the thought of someone watching us make you wet?”

His words hit the room like explosive bombs. You gasped at the boldness, trying to act all surprised at the question, but your body couldn’t hide anything, especially not when Bucky’s metal arm came up to trace invisible lines across your neck. He held your head up, forcing you to keep your eyes on him. The entire situation felt so powerful.

“N-No.”

Both Bucky and Zemo let out scoffs in disbelief. You sighed, defeated. 

“Oh, really?” Bucky inquired as he began walking towards you again, getting so close that you had no choice but to back up. You hit the wall once again, feeling almost in the position from earlier. 

Without any warning, Bucky undid your pants and once again shoved his hand back to your core, letting his fingers run over your folds. If your panties had a puddle earlier, it was now a full-blown ocean down there. You yelped in surprise.

Bucky hummed as he let his fingers play. “I think the thought makes you very wet.” He pressed into you just a bit more, enough for you to now feel his erection through his jeans. 

As Bucky inserted two fingers in you, he moved his head to meet yours. You grabbed onto his shoulders as the hand on your throat forced your head to tilt to the side, making room for him to whisper in your ears. 

He pumped his fingers slowly as he spoke, “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” You let out a pathetic whine. “Yeah, you sure are,” Bucky chuckled. “I can feel it. I can feel you soaking my hand and why is that? Because someone is watching you? Someone’s watching you take my fingers like a good girl while my hand is wrapped around your pretty throat, just how I know you like it. Isn’t that right, dear?”

Bucky sneered, his voice full of arousal and jealousy, at the little pet name Zemo had used on you. You just about collapsed when he spoke. If it hadn’t been for Bucky’s strong body pressing into yours, you would’ve melted into the floor. Not to mention, you could feel Zemo’s eyes taking you in, raking over you so shamelessly as you twisted and squirmed from Bucky’s skilled fingering. 

“She is quite the sight,” Zemo commented, making observations as if you weren’t even in the room. For some reason, that made everything hotter. 

“M-More-,” you choked out and began grinding your hips against Bucky’s body. His grip on your throat got a bit tighter at your movement, forcing you to let out a moan. 

“You want more?” Bucky taunted you as his thumb came up to circle your clit. You yelped, moving your hips even more. His body was still holding you down. “You want me to fuck you right here for him to see?” 

Your eyes had fluttered close by now but Bucky wasn’t dealing with that. The hand on your neck left and found its way into your hair. He gave your hair a tug, forcing you to keep looking at him. His eyes bore into yours, full of lust and pleasure. His features, though, were harsh and serious. You felt your orgasm coming in hard. You couldn’t even think straight to nod at his ridiculous question. 

Bucky seemed to know all this, though. Just as fast as he put his hand down your pants, he removed it, making you let out an angry, pitiful whine at the loss of contact. Bucky just shook his head and forced you to turn around. Now your front was completely pushed against the wall and Bucky was working fast to get your pants and panties off. 

You couldn’t really see anything behind you now and somehow, this got you going even more. You lost pretty much all control in this position. Your awareness was flying out the window. You had no idea what Bucky’s next moves would be and you certainly didn’t know how Zemo looked taking this all in.

Suddenly, though, a hand came up to your cheek, brushing back your hair. You knew immediately it wasn’t Bucky.

“You look so pretty, dear,” Zemo whispered. His hand caressed your cheek as his eyes stared into your blown-out ones. “Like an absolute goddess.”

Before you could even respond or at least show acknowledgment, Bucky entered you full force, his hips completely jutting against you. You let out a cry at the fullness, completely stunned by the boldness of your boyfriend. He groaned lowly in your ear as he worked his way well deep into you. 

“B-Bucky-” Your cries were loud as you adjusted to the size of him, now planted rightfully in you. While there was some discomfort, all you could register was the pleasure you had been denied for what felt like forever.

“Shh,” he hushed you, his mouth right against your ear. “You’re taking it so well, doll. My good little girl.”

You could’ve sobbed at his words of encouragement. He watched you for a second, still paused inside you, before feeling that you were okay. Then the pumping began, in and out of you, just as powerful as when Bucky first entered you. His rhythm was hypnotizing as he fucked you forcefully into the wall. 

Upping the ante a bit, his metal arm came around to your neck, squeezing gently but with determination. You felt yourself get wetter at the action.

“There you go,” Bucky mumbled, sounding lost in his own daze. “Just like that, sweetheart. Got me fucking you against a wall, my hand around your throat, while we have a little audience. But that’s what you wanted, right? You wanted to show off how you like to get fucked.”

Somehow, his words were so degrading yet so pleasing. They went straight to your core causing the sound of your wetness to begin filling the room. You heard Zemo chuckle at the shift. 

“Such a dirty girl you have, James.”

Bucky scoffed. “What a naughty girl I have. Didn’t even tell me she likes it when people watch.”

You whined at the statement but didn’t have much time to ponder it as Bucky pulled out of the way out only to shove right back in, forcing you to take his length in one motion. Your cries were becoming a regular thing now, completely engrossed in the situation.

“That’s it, sweetheart, so good,” Bucky grunted in your ear as his hand on your throat got tighter. “Gonna cum for me, yeah? Gonna come while he watches? Come on, doll, let him see how pretty you look falling apart.”

That was all it took. Your orgasm rushed through you the second his words stopped and he gave another strong pump. Slightly ashamed of yourself for how little it took for you to cum, but who could really blame you? Denied twice, you were always on that teetering and all that was needed was Bucky’s permission. 

You shook under Bucky as he stilled inside you, letting his own orgasm take him over. He finished inside you, groaning and moaning pleasantly in your ear as you squirmed. The sensation of it all, from the warmth of Bucky filling you to Zemo’s eyes still shamelessly watching, had you overwhelmed quickly. 

Bucky whispered sweet praises in your ear as you two calmed down. “So good for me, sweetheart. Absolutely fucking perfect. Can never get enough of this.” His words made you feel warm and definitely helped you catch your breath. 

When he saw you were going to be fine, Bucky pulled out and reached for a towel to clean you up. He was gentle and caring, a complete contrast to just minutes ago. 

Pants and underwear returned to your body and you pushed yourself slowly away from the wall, carefully finding your footing. 

Once you and Bucky had straightened up your appearance, Zemo spoke. 

“That certainly was a real treat,” he said with a cocky smile playing on his lips. You couldn’t really face him and instead focused on the floor. Bucky placed a gentle hand on your waist. “Nothing to be ashamed of, dear. I think we got what we all wanted, right?”

You mustered the courage to at least look up at Bucky who was just rolling his eyes. 

“Could you leave us for now?” Bucky sighed.

“Why?” Zemo asked. “Going for round two?”

You shook your head, fighting your own urge to roll your eyes. No matter how mad you actually wanted to be, though, you had certainly found a lot of pleasure in the events just seconds earlier.

Bucky went to snap back with some remarks but Zemo cut him off. “I’m just kidding,” he said and then began walking to the door. “Thank you for this opportunity. It will certainly be treasured.”

With that, he exited, leaving you and Bucky standing there, staring at one another. Surprisingly, nothing had felt it changed between you two. In fact, you felt better now that that little secret of yours was now out in the open. 

“So,” Bucky began with the tiniest smirk, “are there any other kinks of yours I need to know about?”

You groaned as Bucky chuckled, finding way too much amusement now. “Shut up.”

[esta-elavaris]

omg i just finished a series of assessments for the new term. it’s barely the start yet i’m already eager to graduate. anyways, why am i talking about me — aaa! i was washing the dishes earlier and i suddenly wondered if you’ll open a q&a portion as a “commercial break” for catch the winds, because i’m so curious like when did you think of the plot? how long did it take? how did you come up with theodora? i have so many questions! your book has stuck to me a lot that i still can’t get over it, and it’s been what? almost a week since i finished it? i’m a mess!

by the way, how are you doing? i hope you’re fine and practicing self-care! <3

Talk about you! I don't mind at all! I know what you mean, though - I graduated uni like four years ago but I still remember just being so ready for it to be over by the time I got to my final year. I feel like the first year is a novelty, the second year you're used to it all and have a good rhythm, and by third year you're just ready to move on. Or that was my case, anyway! It'll go slow, and then the second the final thing is handed in it feels like it all flew by, it's strange.

ANYWAY - aaaa! Thank you! I'm thrilled to hear it stayed with you for so long. Honestly, I never considered doing a Q&A thing because I just never thought anybody would be interested in something like that! I don't want to bore people who just want the next chapter haha. That being said, I'm more than happy to answer any questions you have on here! Any time, just shoot me an ask or a message, whichever works for you. I do apologise for the insanely long essay I ended up writing you here, I got carried away.

I kind of had the plot in mind for a while but in two different ways. I wanted to write a Norrington fic, and I wanted to write a "modern girl in X" fic for a long time. With the modern girl trope, my first thought was to do a Dragon Age fic, but it's been done so many times in that fandom (I know I'm not the first to do it in POTC either, but it seems to be really prolific in Dragon Age fandoms, whereas I haven't read many POTC fics because I avoid reading in fandoms I write in), so I tried to think where else it could work and Norrington was the answer.

It took a looong time between getting the idea and actually writing it, like at least a year, because I nearly didn't write it at all - and when I did, I wasn't even going to post it. I figured the idea was too far-fetched for me to be able to pull it off, and even if I did that not many people would be interested in reading it because OC fics tend to get a bad rap and "modern girl in X" fics double down on that bad rap. I was also terrified of writing in this fandom because it's so complex with so many difficult characters and so easy to get wrong, so that kept me away for a long time, but my original novel has pirates and a similar fantasy vibe so I figured it would be good practise.

I gave in and finally wrote the first chapter in the middle of the night when we were going through a heat wave that made it impossible to sleep (boo for no AC in Britain) just to get it out of my system, and then I liked the prologue enough to post it, same for the following chapter, and so on, until before I knew it we were at the start of the first movie. It was only ever for my own enjoyment at that point and I was amazed when more than ten people ended up reading it haha, I'm still stunned by how lovely people are about it. It hasn't left me alone since, although I did have a looot of doubt in the early chapters as to whether I could pull it off, because James was a tricky character to get the hang of.

Aaaand where Theodora is concerned, looks wise she's inspired by a mix of Anne Bonny from Black Sails and Sansa Stark (in the later seasons ofc) from GOT, but those aren't exactly who I picture, just a bit of a resemblance. A lot of creating her was trying to think of what sort of woman James would fall in love with, and we already have that with Elizabeth, but I didn't want to just write a second Elizabeth and put her in the story. Although where Elizabeth is concerned, I knew it was important that she and Theodora had to get along and be friends because I really didn't want to go the route of writing a female OC who immediately fought and didn't get along with the one other main prominent woman in the movies, it just felt icky, and it'd take a lot of the nuance out of the difficult situation as far as the three of them are concerned.

The good thing is, a lot of what I imagine James loves about Elizabeth are a lot of the more modern aspects of her (we stan a progressive king), so I felt like he'd be a good fit for a modern OC as long as she tried to understand where he was coming from and the parts of him that still would be rooted in the time he's from. Even the most feminist views by 18th century standards would probably still be a bit backwards by modern standards, so I knew they'd have to love each other enough to put their mutual stubbornness on hold to understand one another rather than just fighting over every little thing, because that would be exhausting.

Most of all with Theo, I wanted her to be able to hold her own in her environment without being a Mary Sue who just magically had these abilities and was good at everything. My thoughts then went to her being a soldier, but I'm sure I've read some LOTR modern girl stories (I considered writing one of those, too, because Boromir is the love of my life but I don't have the balls to touch Tolkien) where that was the case and I didn't want to run the risk of subconsciously copying them. I also don't know enough about the military to be able to portray a modern day soldier convincingly or accurately and I was worried about being disrespectful in that regard, so having her be a soldier's daughter felt like a great middle ground.

It also gives her and James common ground because she understands the mind-set, thanks to her father's influence, and the lifestyle to some extent, even in the different time period. Her father himself is majorly inspired by Ant Middleton (he did a lot of Channel 4 shows over here, I don't know if they're available to stream overseas but they're very good), and a lot of the mental toughness things he teaches her translates well to her being able to hold her own and not having breakdowns over minor problems every other chapter, but doesn't quite put her at a level where she's infallible and doesn't struggle, because that's just not human. She could climb a mountain, she couldn't go to war, y'know? At least at the start of the story. She doesn't have a choice by this arc.

It was also important to me that she felt a bit lost in the modern world and is more suited to a place where day to day life is more difficult because she thrives on that, so it's not a case of she's giving up a place where she was totally happy for the sake of James. I don't doubt that she still would, but it would feel a bit iffy. Having her be Irish also left the opportunity for a good excuse for her weird modern behaviours, a source of conflict early on in Port Royal with the other residents, and I knew I'd be able to write it decently because I'm Scottish and our history with the English/how we were (and still are, in a lot of cases) viewed by them is quite similar, even if it's not completely the same.

As far as how she and James click, I wish I could explain that but they take on a life of their own when I write them and I just let it happen. There's logic to it, I swear, but I couldn't describe what that logic is lolol. Plus this answer is embarrassingly long already so B) I think mostly it's a willingness to abandon their stubbornness to an extent where the other in concerned, and the fact that they're both fiercely loyal. I think her silliness at times also gives him the freedom to loosen up, which he'd appreciate, whereas how good and reliable he is would provide a major source of comfort and a sense of safeness for her.

All of that being SAID - I went into this story with only a few solid ideas. The Tortuga scene from the prologue, the bit where she watches Elizabeth accept the proposal, the end of the first movie, and a few parts that are going to happen between now and the end, so I'm very excited to get to those parts because it feels like it's what all of this writing has been for ahah.

And I'm doing okay, thank you for asking! Just a bit run down, but it's fine, it'll pass, and I had a lot of fun answering these questions, so thank you for that :)

[hypnoticwinter]

The Adventure of the Eidolon Chapter 12

Watson grabs at the rusty, wrought-iron fence, staring out through the bars at what he thinks is St. James Avenue, all the way on the other side of the park. “God damn,” he mutters under his breath, watching as the wind blows a collection of plastic bags and other detritus along, catching in potholes and in the wheels of the rustbuckets peacefully decaying on the side of the road. “God damn,” he repeats, turning away from the fence and striding back into the park. He shoves his hands into his pockets and hunches his shoulders against the wind; it’s managing to cut straight through his signature maroon suit, stabbing like ice at his sides.

It had been the work of a moment to bury Roan’s leg. He still has dirt beneath his nails from how frantically he had clawed at the earth, tearing it asunder in his haste to get the leg beneath the ground. He had dug, kneeling there a few hundred meters from the lip of the crater, right near the treeline, the cold, wet earth bleeding through the fabric at his knees.

Watson had worked with quiet efficiency, not allowing himself the luxury of doubt. Roan had said to plant the leg; if there were specific details on how to do it that he had missed, it was on her for not telling him. He repeated this to himself several times but wasn’t able to quell the small sliver of worry blossoming in his stomach. What if he does it wrong? What if - well, who knows? Should it be completely covered or not? Should it -

He had wiped all these doubts away and just planted the damn thing. He left a few toes showing, just in case it needed air or sunlight or whatever, and then had stood up and brushed himself off and clapped his hands together to get the dirt off of them.

And then he had looked round, eyeing the edge of the crater warily, and then turned and pressed deeper into the forest, until he had found a quiet, relatively dry spot to estimate his next moves.

Roan had taken him to the Dreamlands before, when she had thought he was a traitor to her, seemingly by just walking deeper into the forest. Watson had cast a dubious glance around at the trees; they didn’t seem particularly otherworldly, just a bunch of birches and oaks, the same as he’d expect to see in any similar forest of this age and in this climate.

Perhaps he hasn’t gone deep enough.

So Watson had gotten up and marched off into the woods, trying very hard to leave behind the image of Roan, lying in otherworldly muck and the bottom of the crater, writhing as the Cthulhi’s acid had burned her alive.

And now he has reached the end of the park and he is definitely not in the Dreamlands.

“God damn,” Watson says for a third time. He doesn’t quite know what to do. Ordinarily Watson’s life is rather simple; Sherlock had a tendency to always have a plan, and he had made it very easy to just go with the flow. Watson, bust this door down; Watson, go create a distraction; Watson, go punch that man over there; Watson, go order breakfast, and so on. When left to his own devices, Watson is beginning to realize, he tends towards floundering.

Watson doesn’t like it. A slow, smoldering current of rage is bubbling inside of him - rage at himself, rage at Sherlock, rage even at Roan, for not letting him help her. He even manages to allow himself to think that he could have helped her in her fight. Rage at Wilmarth, for being so blasé about Roan’s chances of survival.

A vein slowly pulses in Watson’s temple. “Alright,” he mutters to himself, glancing around. Nothing but trees. “Nyarlathotep!” Watson calls, his voice rising above the patter of the rain on the leaves above. He looks round expectantly, waiting to see the oblique, terrifying figure of the Great Old One step out menacingly from behind a tree or something, but as the minutes stretch onwards, nothing happens. A car backfires somewhere out on the road and Watson jumps. “Nyarlathotep?” he repeats, his voice growing uncertain.

Watson waits there for a half an hour before he accepts reality - Nyarlathotep is not coming. Either he can’t or he won’t - the specifics, Watson reflects, don’t really matter.

And once he has accepted that, Watson finds, a great weight falls off of his shoulders. He stands up a little straighter, even manages to smile a little.

Watson wants a cup of coffee. He wants to sit down someplace warm and comfortable and spend a day or two regrouping. To hell with the equinox, to hell with - he finds it somewhat surprising how easy it is to think this - with Sherlock. And to hell with the Dreamlands. If Nyarlathotep had wanted him there so badly, he’d have helped Watson a damn sight more than he had, that’s for sure.

And with that thought on his mind, and the promise of a warm room and a nice, strong cup of black coffee, he marches back through the forest, his feet tracking a straight, resolute path through the mud and dirt.

He pauses at the edge of the forest, hunkered there amid the trunks, watching carefully as the five ambulances roll gingerly up to the crater and the EMTs pour out and stare down at the mess within. A black sedan pulls up next to them and disgorges two mean-looking men in suits - government spooks, he thinks to himself - as well as…

Watson’s breath catches as the rear doors of the sedan open and the Twins emerge, looking thoroughly pissed-off. They are dressed elegantly as ever, but even at this distance he can see the way Justin glowers at Jessica when he thinks she isn’t looking. There’s a fresh bruise on his cheek, and Watson thinks he knows how he got it.

The Twins speak momentarily to the government men, who nod and head off towards the paramedics and begin to usher them away from the crater. Watson shudders, thinking of what remains in there. He looks along the treeline, trying to find the spot where he planted Roan’s leg, but he can’t remember exactly where he did so.

When he returns his gaze to the commotion around the crater he meets Jessica’s gaze, clear and grey as the ocean under a storm. They stare at each other for a second, neither moving a muscle, before she reaches over and slaps Justin lightly on the chest, not taking her eyes from him. Then Watson turns and bolts into the forest, not waiting to see if the Twins give chase.

 * * *

 There are more of them hiding in the bushes, Idriya murmurs in Nemaides’ mind, and Nemaides nods slowly, staring at the tall, lithe man standing before her on the bridge, blocking her path. His foot is tapping impatiently on the wooden slats of the bridge, and his arms are folded. His eyes are dark and impassive, so flat Nemaides imagines that she can see herself reflected in them like the mirrored surface of obsidian.

She had planned to cross the river Skai here and move deeper into the scrubby foothills towards the great port city of Dyath-Leen. The last time she had been in the Dreamlands, several thousand years ago, the river had been deeper and wider, and the bridge had been a ford. That was in the time when Sydathria was a great land, the jewel of the Dreamlands, but some doom has visited them in the time gone by, as surely as doom once came to hoary, forgotten Sarnath, with its iridescent, pestilent pools and its great worn lizard idols, so old that Nemaides did not remember when they were new.

The man before her clears his throat. He looks thoroughly unappetizing, Nemaides thinks; his hands and knees are knobbly and his face is scarred roughly, a mess of hewn tissue long since healed. His voice is rather ugly as well, a harsh

His sarong is cut too short, Nemaides thinks, eyeing his legs.

Mistress? Idriya asks, and beneath her veil Nemaides smiles.

Nothing, she thinks. Then she clears her throat. “You really ought to let me go by,” she tells the man. Somehow his face grows even uglier.

“I’ve told you already,” he says, his voice clothed in a thick Ulthar accent, “the toll is twenty drachma. If you don’t have it, go elsewhere.”

“This is the only bridge across the river Skai for miles,” Nemaides says. “And you weren’t here the last time I came this way.”

“I’m here now, woman,” he says. “Are you going to pay?”

Nemaides sighs. “I haven’t got any drachmas,” she tells him. “I’m not from around here. How about a trade? I can read palms, bless fields, make potions…”

She trails off. The man is giving her a very appraising look. She heaves out a sigh beneath her veil, barely manages to prevent herself from rolling her eyes. Idriya, she thinks, how many are in the bushes?

Four, mistress, Idriya murmurs. Nemaides makes a mental note to ask her how she manages to murmur a thought.

“Perhaps there’s something you have we might want,” the man says, his broad flat lips quirking up into a grin. Nemaides’ eyes are a little glazed; she is rummaging through her mental repertoire, trying to think of an appropriate spell. Five of them? That one is too messy…that one takes too long…that one would work but she doesn’t remember whether to call on Cthulhu or Chaugnar Faugn…that one…

The man reaches up with nimble fingers and unhooks her veil. Automatically Nemaides reaches out and punches him in the jaw, sending him sprawling to the planks of the bridge. In an instant the bushes explode with activity and the four men Idriya had warned her of dart outwards at her. She sets her face in a wicked grin and reaches down deep inside herself for the power, but finds nothing.

“Tsathoggua’s teeth,” Nemaides murmurs.

Mistress, Idriya says, her voice close to panic, but before she can get any more out, the closest one, fat and ugly and bearded, is upon them. Nemaides whips the knife out from her belt and slashes at him, but he brings the pommel of his scimitar down on her wrist and the impact jars her fingers open, sending her blade flying. She trips him, though, her heel hooking around his as she shoves him by the shoulder, sending him to the ground in a heap. She casts around in her mind for a different spell, but the second man is on her, this one tall and slender and midnight-dark. He has a truncheon or club and swings it at her head, but she manages to duck the blow and tackle him, sending the both of them to the ground. He impacts hard, but not hard enough; rather than the stunning blow Nemaides had hoped for, he is winded but still ready to fight. His hands find her throat and though Nemaides snarls and claws and gnashes at him, it’s no use. The last thing she sees before inky darkness takes her is his smug, blazingly white grin, growing wider as he throttles her into unconsciousness.

It’s nighttime when she wakes. Keep your eyes closed and be silent, someone is murmuring inside her head, in a voice clear and low and cool as spring water. Keep your eyes closed and be silent, Nemaides, keep your eyes closed and be silent, keep your…

Without thinking, she obeys the voice, but that name sticks in her mind. Nemaides…it sounds terribly familiar, but she can’t place it. Is it -

Nemaides, keep your eyes closed and be silent, keep your eyes closed…

Nemaides nearly gasps. Idriya, she whispers internally, and a vision of the spirit swims before her eyelids. She can feel the spirit’s hands embrace her all over, like a fullbody hug, she can feel the spirit’s lips on her neck.

Mistress, I was so worried, Idriya murmurs. Nemaides swallows hard; her throat is sore and there is a dull, worrying ache in her wrist, but she seems relatively unharmed. Her hands are tied to what feel like wooden posts, and her feet are tied as well - she is effectively spreadeagle, sagging from her wrists, leant half over, her head sunk onto her chest. As soon as she extends her awareness outwards into her body the pain emerges, seemingly waiting until she was awake enough to feel it. Her knees and thighs and shoulders burn, and her poor wrists are so chafed from the rough hemp ropes binding her that she nearly screams.

Damn, she thinks, we’re in a tight spot.

Mistress, Idriya says, her voice low and urgent, now don’t panic, but -

…and she is naked. Nemaides winces. Did they - ?

No, Idriya says after a moment. I watched over you, and they…they were going to wait until you were awake.

Wonderful, she thinks. Tsathoggua’s teeth, we’re in a tight spot.

Idriya is silent. Nemaides can feel her worry like a lead cannonball, sinking in the space between their souls. Nemaides, focusing greatly, touches her soul to Idriya’s, and the spirit gasps. Be calm, she says.

Mistress - !

Be calm, I said, Nemaides repeats. And stop calling me Mistress.

But what are you going to - ?

Be calm, Nemaides says again, and Idriya falls silent. If Nemaides focuses very hard, she can feel Idriya’s soul caressing hers, like a breath of cool, jasmine-scented air.

She could force herself insensate. That’s always an option. Just retreat inside of herself, fortify her mind so hard that she would appear catatonic. Nemaides discards the idea. It’s too much like surrendering. Her mistake at the bridge was so obvious it was painful. Nyarlathotep would not aid her any further, that was clear.

Her repertoire of magic that did not rely on the workings of Nyarlathotep was lacking. She could call on Azathoth, but to do so would invite disaster. Perhaps she still had some cachet with Tsathoggua…but the season is not right for her pleas to reach black, lightless N’kai, where the squat toad-thing lurks in its hateful sliminess. Invocations to Shub-Niggurath she knows, but only those for enhancing a lover’s pleasure, to bless the conception of a child, to invoke good or bad fortune, nothing useful. She could call down a flaming holocaust of Cthugha’s making, but she would burn with it.

But she would burn with it…

Idriya, she says quickly, do you have a way of killing me without devouring my soul?

What? Idriya blurts. A way of killing you?

Yes, Nemaides says. Idriya, I’m deadly serious. Can you do it?

There is a silence within her. Outwards Nemaides can hear the crackle of a fire, the murmur of quiet conversation. Footsteps pass, then stop, and a hand reaches out and takes her by the chin, inclines her face upwards. Another hand slaps her cheek, first gently, then harder. Nemaides does not move a single muscle, keeps her breathing slow and even.

“She’s really out, isn’t she?” the man handling her laughs.

“Still?” someone else asks from near the fire.

“Watch,” the man near her says, and the the hand moves down to her breast and pinches her nipple hard. Nemaides feels a spike of fury from Idriya. Idriya, she thinks calmly. Tell me. Can you kill me without harming my soul?

What? the spirit blurts. Mistress, I -

The hand dips lower still and paws at her. A vein pulses in Nemaides’ temple.

Idriya, she growls. Tell me. Please. Master yourself, girl.

“Come on,” the voice from the fire calls. “It’ll be more fun when she’s awake.”

The hand between her legs hesitates, then thrusts a finger into her. Somehow Nemaides manages to avoid screaming.

Yes, Idriya says finally. I can - I can plug an artery in your brain, and that would - that would kill you. But Mis - Nemaides, are you sure that - ?

The finger pulls roughly from her and she hears the man in front of her sniff deeply. “It’s strange,” he says, “I didn’t think I choked her that hard.”

“She’s still alive, isn’t she?”

“Yes, but she’s still asleep. Even after I -“

Nemaides hears the man at the fire get up. “You idiot,” he says playfully. “Shoving a finger in her cunt won’t tell you if she’s awake. A witch like this? She’s had worse done to her. But if you poke a finger in her eye…”

“In her eye?” the man near her asks. “Like so?”

Tsathoggua’s teeth, Nemaides thinks. Look, Idriya, kill me quickly, and whatever you do, don’t let go of my soul.

Of your soul? the spirit asks, sounding utterly confused. But what - ?

Just do as I say! Nemaides barks inwardly. The man’s finger is resting on top of her eyelid, and Nemaides can bear it no longer, she jerks away to jeering laughter. The same man who throttled her before is standing there staring down at her, unbridled lust writ large on his flat, sleek face. The man at the fire is the same one she tripped, and there is a third lurking around by a set of tents near the edge of the clearing, content to lean against a tree and watch.

“About time you’re awake,” the man before her says, taking ahold of her breast again. Nemaides turns her face away from him. She can feel a sort of pressure somewhere in her cranium, but it’s very subtle. She forces herself to keep her breathing even. “We were starting to get bored.”

“Jaisal won’t be happy if you don’t wait for him,” the man watching says. The man holding her breast snorts.

“That fucking queer won’t care what we do with her,” he says in a mocking tone. His hands roam down Nemaides’ taut belly, lingering for a moment on her shaved pubis. “You shave your hair like a whore,” he says. “How much did you charge? Ten drachma? Five?”

Something snaps within Nemaides’ head, and she lets out a low, groaning moan.

Nemaides, Idriya whispers, I’m about to -

“Just do it,” she says aloud, and the man holding her guffaws.

“Did you hear that!” he cries, looking round at his friends. “She wants it so bad that she -“

Nemaides sags forward on her ties like her wires were cut. A slow trickle of blood drips from her nose and her ears. The man holding her whips his head around, feeling her forehead clunk into his shoulder like a piece of dead meat. “What - ?” he starts, raising his hand to strike her, but as he and his friends watch, open-mouthed, her body fades like snow in the desert. Nemaides feels herself being drawn inexorably upwards, first slowly, and then with an increasing velocity, her speed building as she arcs upwards into the stratosphere. There is a curious sense of weightiness to her, and then she feels Idriya’s soul, clinging close to hers, quivering with terror. She tries to reach out to the spirit and tell her that it’s alright, that she had a plan, but the effort of fighting the strange gravity drawing them upwards is too much for her.

Nemaides surrenders herself to the pull, and for a long, long while there is nothing.

 * * *

 Watson curses as another branch whips him in the face, and he raises a hand to protect himself on his headlong rush through the forest. He can hear the crashing footfalls of the Twins, somewhere fairly close behind. Gaining on him? No, he doesn’t think so. He’s already heard one of them stumble and fall twice now, maybe Justin? He isn’t sure. It’s given him a sizable lead each time, but he knows what sort of doom he’s in for. Unless he can scale that wrought-iron fence waiting for him…maybe he can, but will they give him the time he needs to? Doubtful.

He can hear a hissing behind him, and when he turns to see what is making the noise, it sears past him, blazing hot and so bright that Watson cannot look at it. It slams into a tree ahead of him, cracking it in half and sending the top of the tree careening to the ground, setting up a haze of dirt and dust and leaves. Watson’s gait slows as he passes the tree; he glances back at it. There is something there in the spot where the - the thing struck it, something is -

a winding coil of light unfolding itself before his eyes, within his eyes, behind his eyes, like a drill but different, like an oroboros but different, like a snake with fangs and eyes and teeth but different, but different, and he cannot feel his legs or his arms or his feet, his breathing is slowing and the oroboros is staring at him, the oroboros is yawning into him like a breath of nothing, like the winged worm in dark, lightless N’kai, ai, ai, the carven rim, the steel Obos, the secret of Tsathoggua, the veiled watchers, the hidden Plateau, the Whisperer in Darkness, the lightless, shapeless, formless dimensions, the doels…

Watson wrenches his eyes shut and bowls himself blindly to the left, slamming into a tree so hard that his head throbs. Whatever lurked within the cratered stump of that tree had nearly gotten him, some animal part of his brain understands, whatever ancient reptilian ur-creature governs his instincts understands even as his conscious mind is reeling from the hideous assault of hypnotic patterns and desolate, delicious whispering, pouring directly into his brain. The reptile understands that it must run.

There is another hiss from behind as one of the Twins throws another spell at him, and Watson squeezes his eyes shut and runs, or tries to. He collides with the trees, his arms outstretched before him to keep him from breaking his nose, he trips over roots and branches, he struggles but does not dare to open his eyes, because there before him will be the oroboros. He runs and runs and runs, until he falls to the ground for he can run no more, his sides heaving as he sucks in great gulping gasps of air, tears streaming from between his eyelids. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers.

He lays there a moment longer before he dares to crack an eye open, half expecting to see the oroboros there before him, but instead all he can see are the trees. Except…wait. Something is different.

Watson sits up. He takes a deep sniff of the air; it smells different. He can’t put his finger on it, but something is different. What the hell is - ?

No rain. There’s been no rain here. He pats at the ground; utterly dry. Grass and needles and leaves. The trees - !

Watson stares up at the canopy above him; he sees pine needles and spruce leaves, nothing like the birches and oaks of the park. The trees tower far above him, far above the trees in the paltry forest in the park, and there, just there, between the interlocking branches, is an arcing shade of purple, and Watson gasps.

He’s made it to the Dreamlands. Somehow, some way, in his utter panic, running from the oroboros, he has made it to the Dreamlands. He lets out a great shout of startled, disbelieving laughter, and a brace of birds startle into the air above him. And then he gets up, dusting himself off, and sets out deeper into the forest, trying to find its edge, not noticing the many narrowed pairs of eyes tracking his every motion as he goes.

  * * *

 “Something’s wrong,” Jessica says. Next to her, Justin tugs at the collar of his dress shirt and sighs. Through the wrought-iron fence they can see a decrepit alley, thick with trash and rusting cars.

“Maybe he climbed the fence,” Justin suggests. Jessica snorts.

“Not likely,” she says. “No, the oroboros would have gotten him if he tried it. Somehow he’s gone.”

“But how can he be gone?” Justin asks. “He’s no witch, just a filthy human.”

Jessica looks at him significantly. “Better question. How is he alive?”

“Hm?”

“Remember what the Mi-Go told us? ‘Snipped him in half,’ it said.”

Justin’s face clouds. “The Mi-Go lied to us.”

Jessica nods. “We had better get back to Yuggoth and check on everything. Turn the screws on those bastards, see what game they’re playing.”

“What about Watson?” Justin asks, glaring around at the fence as though it were a personal insult.

“Fuck Watson,” Jessica laughs, gesturing with her right hand. There is a ripping noise and a door opens in the air, writhing tongues of darkness sprouting from it and withering away to nothing. “He’s just one man. What can one man do to stop us?”

 * * *

 Nemaides opens her eyes. The air is soft and dusky and warm, and somewhere near she can hear water lapping at marble. There is something tugging softly at her hair, a sweet-smelling warmth very near to her, but she pays no mind to it. Instead she raises her gaze to the heavens without moving her head, and sees only the flat empty blackness of the sky in the Other Place.

A slow smile broadens across her lips.

“Mistress?” Idriya says. Immediately Nemaides realizes that she is laying curled in Idriya’s lap, the spirit’s slender fingers entwined in her hair, gently massaging her scalp.

“Idriya,” Nemaides breathes, looking up at her. Her eyes are now the brightest, vividest shade of violet Nemaides has ever seen, and she laughs out loud as she drinks in Idriya’s face, her thin, pretty features downcast with worry. Eventually Nemaides’ grin overpowers her and Idriya smiles herself. She leans down over Nemaides, her jasmine-scented hair curtaining them, and she kisses the sorceress on the forehead, her lips soft as butterflies landing then departing.

“I knew I was growing on you,” Nemaides says, and Idriya laughs.

“Maybe a little,” she admits. Nemaides stands, groaning, and coaxes a series of cracks from her spine as she bends over, touches her toes. Her hands are shaking, she notices, and she quickly clenches them into fists, then opens them out again; no use, still shaking.

“Mistress,” Idriya says, “what is this place?”

“You’ve never been here before?” Nemaides asks, spinning, her hand outstretched to indicate the pillared facades lining the street, the roughly cobbled paving stones beneath their feet, and to the left the marble steps sweeping downwards into a cool and placid sea, its waves barely more than ripples with no moon to pull them.

“I haven’t,” Idriya says, her eyes wide. The chain leading from her nose to her ear gleams in the light, and Nemaides wonders idly whether she likes to wear it or whether she’s doing it just to please her. As soon as she thinks this, Idriya’s eyes flick over to her and the chain vanishes as though it were never there. Nemaides lets out a little snort of laughter.

“Idriya, come here,” she says, taking care not to be too harsh, not to make it sound like a command. Idriya hesitates only fractionally before she comes nearer to Nemaides, her hands folded demurely before her bare stomach, her gauzy harem pants so sheer that Nemaides could reach out and fondle the girl’s slender thighs as though she were naked. Idriya glances up at Nemaides and then returns her gaze to the ground, and in that swift glance Nemaides sees apprehension and something a little like fear.

Nemaides bites her lip.

“Idriya,” she says, “are you wearing this form because you want to or because you think I enjoy it?”

“Mistress,” Idriya stammers, “I -“

“Idriya,” Nemaides says, shaking her head slowly. “Why do you have to call me that?”

Idriya sniffs, then looks up at Nemaides, something in her face resolving itself even as she does. She reaches up and scratches at her small, blunt nose, and shrugs. “’Nemaides’ doesn’t suit you,” she says simply. Nemaides blinks.

“It doesn’t…suit me?”

“It isn’t your true name,” she says. “I can tell.”

For a moment Nemaides is at a loss for words. “What?” she blurts. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what I said, Mistress,” Idriya says.

While Nemaides is trying to figure out what in the world that could mean, Idriya stretches her forearm out, regarding it carefully, turning it over as though inspecting a piece of jewelry. Her fingers are marked with henna, and spangled with golden rings and bracelets. As Nemaides watches, the bracelets disappear, then the henna. Her clothes go next, vanishing into nothing, and then her skin turns from a healthy, human brown to a pale, ethereal white, fading at her elbows to midnight black. Her face lengthens slightly, the exaggerated beauty changing from soft and pliable to something wilder, something whose proportions itch at Nemaides’ mind. Her breasts grow fuller and her thighs and abdomen and arms swell slightly with muscle. The downy patch of hair between her legs grows coarser and darker, and her hands and feet lengthen into strong, sturdy claws, the rippling cords of tendon lying just beneath the skin like tripwires.

“If I were to appear to an equal,” Idriya says, her voice lower and cooler and with a distinct note of laughing menace, somewhere deep in her throat, “I might wear a form like this,” she says. “Does this form please you, Mistress?”

“Idriya, it shouldn’t…it shouldn’t matter whether it pleases me or not. You’re the one who has to wear it.”

Idriya sighs. In a flash her body shifts back to the same, slender, scared harem-girl she had worn before. “Do you know,” she asks, in that breathy, hesitant voice, so unlike the wild, free voice she had spoken in just a moment ago, “what ‘chaklah’ means?”

“No,” Nemaides admits after a moment.

“It means ‘whore,’” Idriya says simply. She looks up at Nemaides and shrugs, her freckled shoulders bobbing up and down in one swift, sure motion. “I cannot be other than what I am.”

And with that Idriya turns and walks off down the street of the Other Place, her hips rolling from side to side as she steps with exaggerated care over the worn cobbles. Nemaides stares after her.

“Where are you going?” she calls after Idriya, and the girl looks back at her and laughs before flickering out of sight entirely.

As Nemaides watches, Idriya pulls herself from Nemaides’ chest, flopping to the ground before her, then rising on those long, backwards-bending gazelle’s legs. The tentacles covering her mouth writhe for a moment, before she reaches out with slender, inky fingers and touches two of them to Nemaides’ forehead.

Will you wait for me? Idriya asks.

“I -“ Nemaides starts. She doesn’t know what to say.

Say you’ll wait for me, the spirit suggests, and after a moment Nemaides nods.

Those strange golden eyes linger on her for a while longer, and then Idriya leaps to her feet and sprints off, her lean gazelle’s legs clattering soundlessly over the street until she rounds a corner, leaning into the turn like a cheetah, and is gone.

And then Nemaides, blowing out her breath, staggers over to the cool marble steps, leading down into the sea, and sits. She rests her chin on her hands and tries to figure out why, for the first time in millennia, she feels like crying.

Continue with Chapter 13

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[magicianapprenticelyra]

Day 7: Free Day!

@sweetalnazar

Featuring Lyra Nguyen and Asra Alnazar; Canon Timeline

(Established Relationship)

CW: Some suggestive scenes, but it’s not explicit.

Four to five years later . . .

After everything is finally put into place, the would-be newlyweds are taken out of their respective dressing rooms. Their families watched as the couple were brought close together, just a few feet apart. Their hands are firmly planted over their own faces; Asra shifts his weight from one foot to another as Lyra bounces on the balls of her feet.

“CAN WE PLEASE LOOK AT EACH OTHER NOW?!” Lyra demands, voice muffled from behind her palms.

There’s warm laughter all around, especially as Lyra’s bouncing soon becomes her impatiently stamping her feet.

“You may!” Nadia replies with a radiant smile.

Together, Asra and Lyra countdown from three. At one, Portia passes Lyra’s glasses over to her, quickly getting out of the bride’s line of sight as Lyra places them over her eyes. In turn, her partner draws his hands together, palm to palm. He slides them down the front of his face, just stopping before his fingertips touch the end of his nose.

They lock eyes. Asra looks like someone who's had the air pulled from his chest, as if he can't remember to breathe. Lyra’s knees buckle under her, arms flailing as she catches herself before hitting the ground.

“Oh look at you!” Lyra exclaims, immediately springing up onto her feet. She pulls Asra into a delighted hug, promptly swinging him around in a circle. The skirts of their dresses billow out from the motion, their peals of laughter echoing in the Palace’s halls.

Before Lyra can get too dizzy and drop her spouse-to-be, she manages to stop. She sets Asra back down, swaying a bit. Before Lyra can fall over for real, Asra catches her, pulling her upright.

They can’t stay in the Palace for long: the ceremony is taking place at The Shop!

Nadia and Portia usher the pair into a carriage outside. In turn, the rest of the attendees get into similar transportation.

O*O*O

Praetor Vlastomil is running a bit late. This isn’t a bad thing, for it gives everyone a chance to catch up. Aisha and Salim are trading stories with Bảo, Walterine and James; Neha is chatting with Portia, with the latter helping Neha adjust the flowers in her hair.

“I’m sorry that the Praetor continues to be unreliable,” Nadia murmurs. She’s with Asra and Lyra, the three of them just a ways away from everyone else.

“He at least had the mind to let us know he was running late,” Lyra replies. Her veil is over her face, shielding her from passersby that shout their congratulations every so often. Her eyes are drawn to Asra. He’s drawn her veil over his face, resting the side of his head against her shoulder. His eyes are closed, the picture of sleep.

“I’m envious that he can fall asleep so easily,” Lyra murmurs.

Nadia chuckles. “Depending on how it goes tonight for the both of you, you’ll probably be able to fall asleep easily enough.”

Lyra blushes, averting her gaze. Her abrupt movement makes the edge of her veil tickle over Asra’s nose, making him sneeze and waking him up.

“Mm?” he mumbles, rubbing his nose with his knuckles.

“Sorry my love.” Lyra adjusts her veil as he shifts out from under it. “How was your sleep?”

“Decent,” Asra yawns, sitting up to stretch. “Any sign of the Praetor?”

“Well—”

Worm! Faust declares.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Lyra looks down to the flower basket between her and her partner’s feet.

Their familiars are waiting patiently for their time to shine. Faust was curled up in the basket of flowers. The basket itself was etched with some glyphs. Once the magic in them was activated, the basket would float. This would allow Faust to grab flowers—and their petals—with her mouth. The morph gets to fling them wherever she pleases.

Nook, Lyra’s book-shaped mimic of a familiar, is their ring bearer for the occasion. He’s in charge of a tinier basket. Nook would need to keep the longer handle of said basket between his teeth to keep pace with Faust’s floating one.

Inside the tiny basket were two paper flowers, one set in a corsage-like arrangement while the other is attached to a hairpin. Lyra had painstakingly assembled them while Asra painted them. The corsage had the red lotus, and the pin was adorned by the purple flower of the belladonna.

Respectively, they’re Lyra and Asra’s favorite flowers. Tucked safely in the center of each flower is their partner’s ring. When the time comes, the lotus corsage would be wrapped over Lyra’s wrist, and the belladonna neatly pinned behind Asra’s ear. Afterward, the rings would go to the appropriate finger of their partner’s hand.

In the meantime however, the newlyweds-to-be watch Faust slowly raise herself from her little bed of flowers, repeating, Worm!

Lyra and Asra look at each other, confused.

Nook’s eyes snap open. His four sea green eyes shift toward the right. Nook raises himself onto his tarantula-esque feet, baring his sharp teeth as he growls.

“Nook, what’s the matter?” Lyra squeaks, startled by the sudden menace overcoming her familiar.

Nadia looks toward the direction of Nook’s line of sight, immediately getting to her feet.

“Oh no.” The disgust in the Countess’s voice is palatable. Asra and Lyra blink at her, bewildered, until they see what she means.

The Praetor had brought one of his worms with him.

O*O*O

A temporary, ramshackle pen is made off to the side of The Shop in order to contain Wriggler. The servants that came with Vlastomil are very, very apologetic in expression to the more unimpressed members of the wedding party.

“Do you suppose it’s going to hold?” Salim murmurs to James, eyeing the creaky posts that were slapdashed together.

“Gods willin’ an’ we don’t have to deal wit’ anyone gettin’ bit or The Shop getting destroyed,” the latter replies in kind, their gazes drifting to their respective spouses.

Aisha is taking all of it in, bemused. Walterine and Bảo, on the other hand, are fuming beside the Countess. Nadia is giving a quiet but adamant final warning to the Praetor that if Wriggler ever shows up to another one of these ceremonial obligations again, she’d have Vlastomil replaced post-haste.

As all that is going on, Asra, Neha, Portia, and Lyra are all staring at the gigantic worm—with teeth!—in awe.

Lyra supports Nook with one forearm under him, having his backside pressed against the front of her dress. With her free hand, Lyra has it gently clasped over Nook’s mouth. That doesn’t stop Nook from growling at Wriggler, but the precaution is there. Asra holds the basket Faust is coiled up in, the latter peering nervously over the rim of it at Wriggler. 

“She’s gotten bigger since the last time I saw her—” Asra laughs as the three around him stare in abject horror.

“That worm can get bigger?!” Neha whispers loudly, incredulous.

At this point, all Lyra can do is shrug. Before anyone can say anything else, Praetor Vlastomil calls for Asra, Lyra, and their immediate families to come and step to the spots they’re going to be at.

“I don’t have all day! I have my precious Wriggler and the rest of my worms to attend to!”

“Are you ready?” Lyra asks, looking at the familiar in her arms. Nook blinks at her, his mouth curling into a grin. “Alright. Get the basket and we’ll take our places. No trying to bite Wriggler, okay?”

On it! Nook replies. Once Lyra sets him down, Nook rushes to get his basket. Some onlookers jump out of the way as he zooms past them, making Lyra laugh.

Asra waves his hands over the glyphs on Faust’s basket, murmuring the words to activate them. As Faust is lifted by the magic basket, a loud WHEE! echoing in their heads.

Lyra stands beside Asra, offering her arm out for him to hold. Asra graciously loops his arm with hers. Their expressions are mirroring each other: just a little shy, but full of adoration for their partner.

“Ready when you are, Faust!” Neha calls from off the side of the Praetor.

When Nook finally takes his place beside the morph, she commands the basket:

Forward!

O*O*O

“ . . . and by the power vested in me by the city-state of Vesuvia, I pronounce you married.” Vlastomil barely gets the words you may now—with a disgusted scoff—kiss your partner, before Asra and Lyra grab at each other.

With her veil no longer separating her lips from her spouse's own, Lyra dips him into a deep kiss. As Asra goes completely slack in her arms, Lyra wraps her arms securely around him.

Cheers and applause from their friends, loved ones, neighbors, and onlookers alike echo into the neighborhood. Bells are shaken wildly and horns are blown. Confetti and rice are thrown into the air, scattering about the ground and carried away by the wind.

She’s the one that pulls back from the kiss first. Upon seeing her partner’s face, Lyra can’t help but laugh. Asra has the most blissful expression, and she’s sure that he’s floating.

She attempts to right Asra onto his feet, but he is, indeed literally, floating off of the ground.

“Do I need to hang onto you?” Lyra asks.

“Just for a short while,” Asra replies breathlessly, eyes soft and adoring. Lyra chuckles. She acts as his anchor, having an arm wrapped behind his waist and a hand clasped with his. They turn to look on at their friends and family, now being greeted as a newly wedded couple.

O*O*O

After Wriggler and the Praetor are gone, the festivities go into full swing. Asra’s feet eventually return to the ground, but he’s still on the high of being married to the love of his life.

Nadia has to leave to return to her duties as Countess, but she wishes them well.

“Say hi to Julian for us!” Lyra bids her.

“I’ll extend your regards!” With that, a carriage whisks the Countess away.

In the meantime, the pair grab plates of food for each other, ducking past the threshold of The Shop and seeing all the tables set around so their guests could sit, eat, and mingle. Their place of honor is where the glass case counter used to be. It’s pushed back against the shelving, which is boarded up to prevent any inventory from falling out and onto the floor.

It couldn’t have gone any better.

O*O*O

As the day passes into evening, and well into the night, the guests begin to file out of The Shop. Asra and Lyra’s parents and parental figures help them to clean up the mess. James, Bảo, Salim and Walterine get the glass counter back to where it was, with Neha and Lyra quickly sweeping the floor beforehand.

Nook gets to eat whatever scraps he finds. He’s currently hidden in a corner, eating his fill as Faust snoozes in her basket.

As the table runner is placed over the display case, Walt says with a grin, “And that’s it!”

“Oh thank goodness—” Lyra leans against the top of it, slumping over from exhaustion. Asra gently pats her shoulder, garnering a few laughs.

“Before we go, Habibi,” Aisha says, coming forward, “I’d like to say a blessing.”

Lyra immediately straightens up, looking to Asra for guidance. He holds her hand, giving her a reassuring nod.

Aisha stands before the two of them. She first speaks in Zadithi, and then says in Vesuvian, “May Allah grant you blessings, send blessings upon you, and bring you together in goodness.”

“Oh, Mom—!” Asra hugs her, and Lyra follows suit. She looks ready to cry, as well as everyone else in the room.

Lyra’s eyes drift to her uncle Bảo. He’s very, very nervous.

“Bảo? What’s on your mind?” Lyra asks.

“I, uh . . .” he rubs the side of his neck, looking sheepish. “I hope this not redundant—”

With some additional encouragement from his own spouses, Bảo steps forward. “I-I have a blessing of my own. You won’t know or remember it, but I hope it mean a lot all the same.”

Bảo clears his throat, saying, “Chúc hai bạn hạnh phúc trọn đời. It means to ‘wish you both a lifetime of happiness’.”

He is not prepared for when Lyra and Asra rush him with hugs. Bảo and the others outright fall into laughter as the newlyweds lift him up in their shared embrace.

“You get pass today because it your wedding!” Bảo exclaims, legs kicking in the air until he’s set down. He’s still smiling all the same, tears brimming in his eyes.

They all join together for one final group hug. Asra and Lyra see them out the door, waving and saying their goodbyes. After making sure the front lamp is out, Lyra locks the door.

Asra hugs her from behind, nuzzling her nape. “Mm . . . you should wear backless things more often,” he teases, pressing a kiss to her exposed neck and shoulder. Lyra shivers, leaning back into his warmth.

“What, so you could decorate me with kisses there?”

“That wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it?” Lyra can feel the mischievous glint in his eye, especially when he starts to mouth over her other shoulder. Before his teeth could graze over anymore of her skin, there’s a knock at the back door.

“It’s Muriel!” Lyra wiggles out of her spouse’s hold, laughing softly as a soft whine passes from his lips.

Upon opening the door, the two of them see that Muriel’s wrapped up in his massive cloak, his head and part of his face covered as usual. However, the collar and manacles he bore for so long are now a distant memory. None of them know exactly when Muriel’s gift of being forgotten stopped working, but it wasn’t long after the Alnazars and Aster-Nguyen families started getting more and more involved in and around his life.

“Hey Muri,” Lyra greets, smiling softly. “We saved some food for you and Inanna. Lemme grab the basket.” She ducks away to do that, allowing Asra and Muriel to catch up for a bit.

“Our parents were asking for you,” Asra murmurs.

“They know I don’t like crowds. Or people,” Muriel replies in kind.

“They know; Mom and Dad are still going to invite you for lunch or dinner at their place. It’s the same with Lyra’s parents too.”

“. . . they don’t have to.”

“They want to—”

“They want to!” Lyra echoes Asra, returning with the basket. She holds it out to Muriel with a smile “Here it is. We made some lemon squares for you too.”

Muriel sighs, exasperated. Still, he accepts the basket of food.

“We can’t thank you enough for the rings, Muri,” Asra says. He and Lyra hold up their hands, the wooden rings shining in the moonlight. “They fit perfectly.”

Muriel’s smile graces his face. Upon seeing their delighted smiles in turn, Muriel flushes. “It-it’s no big deal. Congratulations. Bye.” With that, Muriel trundles off into the darkness, heading back to the forest.

Lyra closes the door, shaking her head. “One of these days we’re gonna get him to come to dinner with us and our parents.”

“Give him time. He’ll come around.” Asra stretches, languidly leaning his front against his spouse.

Lyra chuckles, angling her body so that Asra can have his arms around her shoulders. She leans back against the wall behind her, shivering as the stone chills her exposed upper back.

“Mmm . . .” Asra tucks his face into the crook of her neck.

“You okay?” Lyra asks, angling her head so that her cheek could settle against the side of his face.

“Yeah. Tired . . .”

Lyra quietly tuts, nuzzling him. She kisses his temple, murmuring, “Sounds like bedtime.”

Asra snorts, leaning back so he can bat his eyes at her. His white eyelashes flutter enticingly, but Lyra’s resolute.

“We have the morning, my love,” Lyra counters, laughing as Asra pouts. She stands up and away from the wall. She remains steady when Asra wraps his legs around her waist, locking his ankles behind her lower back. 

Lyra reinforces her hold on him with her hands against the underside of his thighs. She makes a beeline for the stairs, ascending them carefully with her precious cargo in her arms.

“We’ve been up all day and I am sure you just want to flop into bed—”

“—with you—!” Asra protests. When a yawn betrays him, Asra nuzzles into the side of Lyra’s neck.

She chuckles. “All right all right,” she relents, pausing midway up the stairs.

Lyra leans back a bit, allowing Asra to untuck himself from her neck. Their foreheads touch, their lips gently brushing against each other as Lyra deftly makes her way up the rest of the stairs.

A/N: Final Word Count: 2,800+ words

This is were I found the blessing Aisha says to Asra and Lyra [LINK]. I apologize ahead of time if I misrepresented any part of that.

Happy belated birthday to Asra and Faust! I’m glad I took the extra day to get this finalized. I loved writing every bit of it.

Thanks again for sweetalnazar and the rest of the participants for making this event possible and enjoyable! Have a good day/night!

[Asra’s design is from his official Wedding Charm design from Nix Hydra, and Lyra’s wedding charm art is done by @agent-darkbootie​]

[extremelyblackandwhite]

the light in the piazza

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: love at first sight trope

summary: sergeant james barnes of the 107th meets a woman in while stationing in florence. inspired by the song the light in the piazza 

I don’t see a miracle shining from the stars, I’m no good at statues and stories, I try. That’s not what I think about, that’s not what I see, I know what the sunlight can be ...

Wishing, wishing is a funny thing. When you wish for something you always think of the end goal of your wish, you never wonder how the universe will grant you your wish, in what conditions. It is not like you wish upon a star with a whole essay and plan of how your wish should be given, you just wish for it. Some wish for love, some wish for fame, for glory and riches, but no one wishes for something in a specific way that won’t guarantee the bittersweet hand of the universe. 

James had been the most recent victim of wishing carelessly. In this case, James wanted to travel, wanted to leave Brooklyn and see those places that were somehow always plastered in the highly stylised adverts stuck of the walls of his dead beat neighbourhood. He left Brooklyn, he had travelled. He had seen England, Ireland, Scotland and most recently Italy. The consequence? War. Suddenly, all those dreams of becoming the man in the airplane drinking expensive champagne and travelling to European dream lands were misshaped into flying in army airplanes and going to camps where hope was something that had begun to disappear.

The Italian base camp was no different. The soldiers were tired, those with wives and families only mumbled their names at times, the single ones had began to get tired of the nurses and girls that would come to entertain and help the tropes and those who had someone waiting for them back home had started to believe it was time to say goodbye. Hope was running low, but not for the Howling Commandos. No. Their motto was ‘as long as there’s a bar and you get to sleep another night, there’s hope’, but James was starting to lose hope. 

Today however was the day James lived by. Free day. They got to do whatever they pleased, whenever they pleased. James used this day to go sight-seeing, grab some postcards from his sister and try and rejoice in the twisted wish that had been granted. Florence was no different, he was walking around the piazza del duomo, looking at the view and how stunning it was. He stopped by a small shop, looking at the painted small postcards, offering the clerk some money and turning to face the middle of the piazza to return to the camp until he saw a small straw hat with a green ribbon wrapped around it fly aimlessly in the wind. James carelessly grabbed it from the mid air, wondering where the owner was. The owner of the hat wasn’t far as he saw a girl rush through the crowd dressed in a fancy outfit. He had seen something similar in the fashion magazines his sister would bring home. The new look, if he remembered. Hers was a shade of sunny yellow with green accents which matched the ribbon on her hat. 

She stopped in front of him, a look of uneasiness yet relief on her face. He finally could get a good look at her, along with the fancy and expensive dress, she had white gloves on adorned by a pearl bracelet on her right wrist with matching white lower pumps. Her hair was pinned back, showing the pearls on her ears and the camera hanging from a tan piece of fabric. 

      - Penso che ... uhm, I, how do you say ... cosa di testa? - James Barnes was a hundred per cent that he completely butchered the Italian language. Head thing? What was he thinking? 

      - You’re American? - the woman asked, noticing the slight Brooklyn accent in the middle of what was the worse Italian pronunciation she’d ever heard in her whole life. 

      - Oh god, you speak English. I have your hat. - he was nervous. Why? He did not know. He did not know why he was tongue tied in both Italian and English in front of the most polished woman he’d ever seen. She couldn’t be older than him, he actually thought she was even younger considering the lack of an engagement ring on her finger. 

     - Thank you so much. - she gave him the sunniest smile, sunnier than the dress she was wearing. James handed her the hat which she held with both hands in front of her abdomen. - My mother would kill me if I lost another hat. 

     - God thing I was here then. - god James sounded like Steve. That’s it, his power did not work outside of Brooklyn. 

     - I’m Y/N, by the way. - she extended one of her gloved hands and James wondered if his hands were good enough to hold what looked like the most softest piece of fabric he’d seen. 

     - James Barnes. - he shook her hand, a bit hypnotised with her. She had to be the prettiest woman he’d ever seen and he had some many women before.

     - Are you a soldier? - she noticed the mossy green suit he was wearing.

     - Sergeant, actually. We’re stationing here for a few days. 

     - Me and my mum are visiting. My dad is here on a business affairs and we thought to come and say hi. 

     - That’s a nice camera you got there. - suddenly he realised he was staring to intensely at her chest where her camera was resting. God, was he spastic? She pulled the tan string over her head, holding the camera with the hand he had just shook. - I, me and my friend Steve have this jar we put quarters in every single day to try and buy one of those. 

     - Do you wanna take a picture? Maybe to send home?

     - Really? - his eyes lit up like a child during Christmas. - No, I don’t want you to waste your film on me.

     - Well, you did save my hat so the least I can do is give you a free picture.

     - No, I don’t even know how use it. 

     - It’s easy. - she handed him the camera, standing by her side. - You look at this little window and find something you wanna take a picture off, spool the window and press the silver button. 

     - Are you sure it’s okay? - he asked, looking at the scenery through the small window of the camera. He slightly shifted the camera to face her, catching her staring at the church in front of them and clicked the silver button, she flash making her slightly turn her face to the ground. - That’s a heavy piece of machinery. 

     - Dad says it’s the future of fil ...

     - Y/N! - a much older woman dressed in a more fitted burgundy dress with a matching burgundy hat rushing towards them. - I’ve told you several times not to run off, what if someone kidnapped you? Or worse, robbed you?

    - Mum, this is Sergeant Barnes, he saved my hat. This is my mother, Margaret.

    - Oh thank you so much. Unfortunately, we have an appointment, I’m sorry we have to ...

    - What appointment? - Y/N interrupted, returning the camera to its resting place against her chest while placing her hat on top of her perfectly brushed and pushed hair.  

    - Let’s go, Y/N. - her mother turned on her back, walking straight ahead expecting her daughter to follow. Y/N gave him an apologetic look, knowing how her mother was when her plans got ruined and when she talked with someone she did not deem worth their time and attention. 

    - Wait, Y/N ... - James carefully grabbed her wrist, as not to alarm her mother who was walking with a might. - Where are you staying? I’d love to take you for dinner. 

    - I’m staying at the Grand Hotel. Go through the back. - she smiled at him before rushing to follow her mother wherever she was going, an ever so slight blush settling on the apples of her cheeks. 

Night couldn’t come earlier, the hours that once seemed like seconds took years to pass by but night eventually came and he found himself standing at the back of the Grand Hotel. It was a huge contrast to the front of the hotel, mostly filled with employees smoking or making out with the daughters of their clients. Speaking of which, he saw her come through the back door wearing a dress in the same shape as the yellow one except in a floral pattern, with a pink ribbon wrapped around her waist. 

    - Y/N. - he raised his hand calling for her attention. - You look beautiful. 

    - Thank you. We have two hours until my mother wakes up and realises I’m gone. 

    - I only need a hour ... Oh god why did I say that?

    - I have your picture by the way. - she opened her little bag, searching through it to hand him a black and white slightly sepia coloured photo. He smiled at it for a few seconds, realising he was now one of those army soldiers who had a picture of a lady in their pockets the whole time. - Where are we going?

    - I have no idea. - he started to walk the beautifully lit streets that made him forget they were in the middle of a war period. - So, Y/N, where do you live?

    - Well, right now we’re in London but next year we’re in New York. It always depends on where dad has business. 

    - Hey, I’m in Brooklyn, maybe you could come and visit me. My mum makes the perfect Sunday dinner and my sister can be less annoying than she normally is when there’s guests.

    - I’ve never had a Sunday dinner.

    - What? No way, doll. Do rich people not eat dinner? Is that why you’re all so very rich?

    - No, we normally have a very late supper with some hors d'oeuvres and wines. 

   - Well, you don’t know what you’re missing.

   - I guess I’ll have to take you on that offer then.

   - And you can meet Steve. He’s pretty scrawny but he has some fight left in him, probably would win the war if they allowed him. 

                                         PRESENT DAY (ENDGAME)

Bucky stood on the sidelines as he watched the funeral go through. He felt dirty, he shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be watching the funeral of the person he caused the most pain to. The worse however was Steve, he knew what he was about to do, he knew what he was about to go to. Sam was a great guy but Sam was not enough to make Bucky want to stay.

His hands went to his pocket, taking the worn out picture he had gotten from the museum, the picture of her. The picture had grown old, so had him and so had she, but he could still remember it like it was yesterday. No one could steal that memory, the memory of her kissing his cheek goodbye before she got back to hotel, the memory of the sun hitting his skin when he took that picture. 

   - It’s been 80 years, Buck. Wanna tell me about her? - Steve patted him on the shoulder. Bucky just smirked, turning his head slightly to stare at him.

   - No, I don’t think I will. - he used the same sentence Steve normally used when speaking about Peggy which always drove him off the wall.

   - You should come. 

   - I don’t think the James that she’s expecting is me anymore. 

   - If it doesn’t work, you can always return. What else do you have to lose?

He stepped with Steve onto what he thought looked like something out of a sci-fi movie, his eyes still on her picture as they stood in New York. He knew where she lived, she had wrote to him a few times during the war so he knew where to find her. Steve gave him a sympathetic smile, hugging his friend before they went their way. He wondered what she’d think or how he was going to explain the metal arm or the hair. 

James found himself standing in front of her home, fist coming to knock on the door. A slight commotion could be heard outside the door as the slight sound of heels was heard from inside the house. He thought about leaving, this was a bad idea, no, this was a terrible idea. As he was about to leave, the door opened. He saw her standing there, a blue dress on, hair free from any tight hair dos. 

   - James? - she questioned, recognising that face anywhere. 

   - Hi. - he didn’t know exactly what to tell her or how to say hi after all those years. The person he saw in his dreams at night was standing in front of him.

   - You know, it’s extremely rude to leave a lady waiting so long. - she leaned against her door. 

   - My apologies. - just like that he was that hopeless soldier in Florence. 

   - Y/N, who is it? - a man dressed in a dapper suit joined her by the door.

   - Oh, daddy, this is Sergeant Barnes, the soldier I spoke about. 

   - Oh, the hat guy. Come in, we’re having brunch and there’s always space for another one. 

He took her hand, walking into her home. 

Sometimes the universe puts you through one hell of a ride, but it eventually grants you your wish.

[missymallow]

Drarry: James

---

Harry raised an eyebrow when a young boy stopped in front of their table, prompting him to paused the spoon full of treacle tart into his mouth midway.

“Hello, there.” Hermione greeted the little boy kindly. “Are you lost?”

Her question, however, was left unanswered as the boy keep his eyes boldly locked dead into Harry's eyes - face remained blank, expressionless.

Harry blinked, continuing his treat’s journey into his mouth in a slow motion, as if a sudden jerky movements will scared the boy away.

As if.

His action only managed to make the young boy narrowed his eyes, and Harry swears the young boy's eyes turns slit, forcing him to quickly chew his food and swallowed.

“Can we help you?” This time, it was Ron who ask.

Again, the question left unanswered.

The young boy took a step closer to their table, peering his eyes up to Harry in an inspection manner and runs his eyes to Harry's nest of a hair down to his worn out trainers.

Harry restrained himself from fidgeting when the young boy curled his lips in distaste, before he shook his head mumbling something Harry couldn't quite catch on.

The three of them shared a look when the young boy stepped back, lifting a hand to pinched the bridge of his nose. It took a few moments when the young boy suddenly straightened up, squaring his shoulders and held his chin up as he gave Harry a small sneer.

That look managed to steer something in him. He'd seen that look before, even if they were in his distant memories. Especially when the young boy stared at him under his nose, all in his compact size glory.

Merlin.

“Potter.” said the young boy.

Harry almost choked into nothing, unconsciously tightening his grip the glass he was holding and force himself to stay collected. Merlin, but there's only one person could make his name sounds so distasteful.

“Pardon?”

“Harry Potter, was it?” asked the young boy with a pinch look, as if saying Harry's name was a pain.

He shared a confused looks with his friends before he nodded, “Yes, I am Harry Potter. Do you need anything?”

The young boy cocked an eyebrow in what Harry can conclude as an amusement, and shift to crossed his arms together. “In fact, I do.”

“Godric, he reminds me of someone.” Harry heard Ron mumbled under his breath and he can't help but agree. As reluctant he was to admit, there was one person that came into his mind.

“Well,” Hermione softly begin, when the young boy only gives Harry a menacing look. “What do you need?”

“A word.” stated the young boy simply, “With Potter here.” he gestured to Harry with a nod and Harry swears this young little boy only need two bulky shadows leering behind him to complete the look.

“What is it, then?” said Harry, deciding to intimidate the young boy by crossing his own arms, giving him a challenging stare. There's no way he was going to cowered under this little devil's finger.

The young boy however, only send Harry a smirk.

“Nothing much.” He sniffed and change his demeanor as he gave Harry a cold look, “Only to remind you that the next time you decide to stick your dick to somebody, just make sure you don't leave your little sperm around and leave them unattended.”

If somewhere in the future someone asks Harry how far his jaw can hang loose, he'll answer, down to the floor. He could see from his peripheral view that his friends adopted a similar state as him.

“Kneazle got your tongue?” the young boy tilted his head, glowering.

"Wha- may i know who your parents are?” asked Hermione slowly, having the first one to recovered from their state of shock.

“Parent.” The young boy corrected, glancing briefly at Hermione before he dragged his eyes back to Harry with a look that he can't grasp. “And a bloody amazing one at that.”

“He conceived me when he was 18 years old, by the end of his Eight Year on Hogwarts, and he raised me by his own without expecting someone to come and share the burden with him.” The young boy continued, getting more upset than he already was as he set his arms loose, curling his hands into fists by his sides. 

Eight Year.

There was only one batch of Eight Year's students and they were the students who didn't managed to complete their seventh year because of the war. At that, they shared looks with one another. Clearly trying to match faces of their fellow Eight Years with this young boy who giving them - Harry - a menacing looks.

Harry frowned. He can't help but feel like the young boy was trying to tell him something he doesn't know. Perhaps- Oh Merlin, Harry instantly straightened in his seat, alarmed, as he took a careful look of the young boy.

His hair was almost black but not completely. In fact, they were actually closer to a dark brown while his eyes were green, though they were mixed with a dust of grey when Harry took a closer look. His feature- almost pointy everywhere but clearly softened by his other parent's feature. He actually resembled of someone from his memory, and if Harry were to change those dark hair to a white blond, he'll look exactly like-

“Ah, Harry…”

It feels like a cold wind went right through him, draining all his blood as he stared at the young boy in horror.

“Perhaps we might know your parent?” Hermione’s voice brought his soul back to his body, and he found himself clenching his hand tightly that he'd sure it will leave marks.

The young boy throws him a knowing smirk, now relaxed and smug that he managed to get through Harry's thick head and turned to Hermione with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Of course,” said the young boy easily, smiling too innocent for their liking. “In fact, you might know him too well, what's with you being best friends and all.”

“What do you mean?” Ron prompted.

“Ah,” The young boy grinned, locking his hand behind his back as he tilted his head, “Perhaps I should draw a scar on my forehead?”

Harry’s body went rigid at the conformation, wide eyes locked with the young boy who gave them an easy smile. He suddenly felt numb, locked onto his place unable to move even when the young boy suddenly turned to look beyond the window glass and frowned in worries.

He pressed his lips together and turned back to the three stupefied adults. “I must go now, Dada must be worried.” He quickly adjusted his clothes and took a few steps away from them when his hand stopped at his front jacket. He quickly backtracked and slapped a small folder to the table, right in front of Harry. “In case you're wondering if I'm telling the truth.”

With that, the young boy quickly took his leave and when the cafe's doorbell chimes as the door was closed, Harry snapped out of his stupidity.

He pushed his chair and stands up, taking the folder into his hand as he moved to tracked down the young boy's steps, ignoring his friends’ calls.

“Harry, do you really need to go?”

“Yes, this is something I need to do for myself. I'm tired of living for everyone else, I want to live for myself.”

“And leaving me here all alone by myself?”

“You know it hurts me to leave you, but I can't live like this anymore.”

“I understand, and you know I don't want to be the reason why you're miserable anymore.”

“You're not. You know you're more than that.”

“Promise me we'll write to each other?”

“I promise, and I'll be back. I promise I'll come back, please wait for me.”

“I will, we will.”

“We?”

“We'll wait for you.”

Except that he didn't come back. He didn't writes. In fact, he had forgotten all about it, lost in between searching himself together with his friends, travelling through the globe.

He had forgotten his promises.

He has forgotten about him.

He stopped on his track when he found himself standing in front of the cafe, eyes gazing around wildly looking for the young boy when he caught him just in time to see him running towards a man, a very familiar man who sighed in relief at the sight of him and immediately dropped on his knees as he gathered the young boy into his arms, murmuring in between themselves.

He suddenly feels like the air knocked out of his lungs.

“Neville…”

He watched as the former Gryffindor turned to his right, shouting a name and not long after, a familiar man runs into the scene, his white-blond hair glistening as they make contact with the sunlight.

Harry felt like his heart stopped beating before they were filled with heaviness, swelling and eating his feelings as he watched the white-blond haired kneel next to Neville, taking his turn to hug the young boy who melt in an instant, wrapping his hands around the adult’s neck.

Harry watched as they stayed like that for a moment before they let go off one another. The young boy straightened up while Neville smoothly dust his clothes and stands up. But Harry ignored those in favour of taking in the sight of the white-blond haired man.

“Draco…”

He's always been beautiful, so delicate yet so strong. He's the reason why Harry managed to pick himself up after the war, reason why Harry managed to keep sane. He's the reason Harry left, because he wanted to fix himself.

He left and yet never came back.

The years have been good to Draco it seemed; he looked healthy, he looked happy, he looked as if the sun shines on him, he looked beautiful, he looked gorgeous when he smiles and he looked-

Pregnant.

Heavily pregnant.

Harry has a sudden difficulty with breathing as he watched Neville pulled Draco up to his feet and closer to him, a hand wrapped around the blond’s shoulder while the other goes down to meet Draco’s hand on his swollen stomach. His face painted with worries which make Draco laughed, as he swatted the hand away. Neville said something with a determined look and crouch down to give the pregnant man's stomach a few kisses. Draco rolled his eyes, but let the man do what he wanted with a fond look.

Harry’s heart clenched painfully. His weight suddenly buckled beneath him and he got to hold on to the nearest wall to steady his body.

The young boy suddenly turned around as if he knows Harry was watching and gave him a blank look and shrugged, locking their eyes a few moments before he turned when he noticed the adults were walking away.

Harry watched as Draco laughed at something Neville said, who wrapped his arms securely around Draco’s shoulder. They let the young boy stepped in between them, moving apart as each of them take a hold on the young boy's hands, walking happily away, and further from Harry.

Harry didn't realise tears escape his eyes.

Merlin, but he just lost something precious, someone dear to him. Someone who must have been waiting for him to come back.

“We'll wait for you.”

Was it too late now?

---

Part 2

cheers x

[wienerbarnes]

Cheek to Cheek (3/5)

Pairing: Bucky x Criminal!Reader

Word Count: 1,497

Warnings: Injuries, creepy kidnapping environment

A/N: wouldnt be my series if i didnt post late :) ngl i got drunk and forgot LMAO but here’s part 3! ill post again tomorrow to catch up <3

SERIES MASTERLIST

Bucky ignores Sam’s phone call asking him to go help out the next day. He’s set up a last minute appointment with his therapist after what occurred in that room yesterday; an appointment he’s on his way to now. As he reaches a stoplight on his bike, he pulls out his phone and listens to the voicemail Sharon left him late last night.

“Hey, Buck. Don’t worry about helping out tomorrow. I know Sam will ask you, but I can tell you need to rest. We’ll get this case figured out; we’ve already exposed her as a fraud. We’ll probably do some more interrogating tomorrow, she’s probably orchestrating the kidnapping for some reason. I’ll keep you updated. Take care.” Her voice cuts off with a beep in Bucky’s headphones and he lets out a sigh as the light changes.

He continues along the road, absentmindedly looking about his surrounds, when something catches his eye.

A light up sign of a waterfall, the neon not yet turned on now during the day, with the word “NIAGARA” spelled out; the building looks like a bar of some sort.

“Waterfall. W-water falling. N-not water.” Your voice flashes in his mind.

Don’t let her get in your fucking head, Barnes. Fuck! Get a hold of yourself, Bucky scolds himself. As Bucky nears the corner of the next block, he sees a statue of an angel with wings.

“An angel of stone.” He’s reminded of you again.

He turns right at this block and decides to take the long way to his therapist’s office. He lets out puffs of breath to calm himself and stop from freaking the fuck out. “It’s nothing. You’re creating coincidences in your mind.” Bucky says to himself.

As he drives down the alleyway, he slows down next to a large building, a warehouse. There’s a sign on the fence that says “CONDEMNED”. The chain around the lock has been broken.

“A cellar… Warehouse, condemned.”

Bucky parks his bike. 

He quietly sneaks throughout the warehouse, gun and pocket flashlight drawn in front of him. The warehouse is almost pitch black inside, smelling of gasoline, garbage, and death. There’s a steady dripping coming from somewhere along the ceiling and an occasional flutter of bird wings of pigeons who got lost in there. He eventually comes up to an open space, still lit candles scattered along the ground. Must of been recent if they’re still lit. Something shiny catches Bucky’s eye and he kneels on the ground to get a closer look. A gold bracelet. A very familiar looking bracelet. A bracelet he saw in one of the photos of Elizabeth Hawley Sharon showed him two days ago. He picks up the bracelet in his metal hand and stuffs it in his jacket pocket. He looks forward a few feet in front of him and sees a wire coat hanger on the ground.

“A-and a hanger. They whip him with a coat hanger. A wire coat hanger…”

Bucky cancels his appointment and calls Sam.

…

“They made a positive ID on the bracelet you found, Bucky. Good work.” Sharon praises him as they meet back at the tower.

There’s a moment of silence as Sharon and Sam organized their notes from the crime scene they’ve just left. The crime scene Bucky stumbled upon.

“I lied to the FBI about how a found the warehouse.” Bucky blurts out, not making eye contact with either of his partners.

“Excuse me?” Sam stares at him.

“How’d you find it?” Sharon’s voice raises.

“...It was where she said it’d be.” Bucky says and his teammates sigh with annoyance.

“Bucky, what if it was a set up? You could be dead right now!” Sharon scolds him.

“We have to go back and interrogate her again.” Bucky says. Sam and Sharon glance at each other before looking back at Bucky.

“We have three more days until those kids are dead and then our only connection to this case gets lethal injection two days after that. It’s the only thing that’s worked.” Bucky rationalizes to them.

Bucky sees the gears turning in their heads as they think about the non-existent other options they have.

“I’ll call the ward.” Sharon says before walking out of the room.

…

“His eyes are cold. So cold.”

“Describe him.” Sam demands.

Your eyes look tired as they look at Sams. You almost look childlike. Like a toddler who’s gone too long without a nap. Or a hug. Or any kind of touch that didn’t inflict pain. Bucky doesn’t know what it is, but he feels something deep down inside him for you. Maybe it’s sadness. Maybe it's pity. Maybe it’s his own instinct to save and take care of people. Maybe it’s guilt. For what, he’s not sure. But he wants to help you so bad and you don’t seem to know what you need help for.

“I see a, a scar. Tall, pale guy. Late 20’s.” You begin. You pause and your brows furrow as your lip begins to tremble ever so slightly. “He’s looking at Elizabeth. He’s gonna get the hanger…” Tear quickly gather in your eyes and you shut them tight.

“Where is he?” Sam asks.

“By the window… he’s waiting… It’s a small boathouse on Lake Seneca.” You finally force out, your voice thick with emotion.

“You got that?” Sam turns to Sharon as she wordlessly finishes writing in her notepad before standing and collecting her things, Bucky following suit.

The three of them begin to file out of the room when she stops them.

“Miss Carter?” Your voice whispers.

Sharon turns to look at you, waiting for whatever you’re going to tell her. “Don’t go near the white cross… We see you down… and your blood spills on the white cross.” You warn.

Sharon looks at you for a few more seconds before walking out of the room, her two partners following after her.

…

The three suit up in silence in the jet ride there. Tactical gear, guns and knives, and bullet proof vest for Sharon. Bucky insisted she wear one after that white cross comment from you.

The boathouse looks abandoned. Grass is overgrown, floorboards of the front porch are torn to shreds and the paint is chipping on the sides of the house. There’s silence as they approach; not even crickets are sticking around this shit-hole. 

The air is cold and sharp, as though there’s thousands of needle pricks hitting Bucky’s skin as he walks, no matter how slow he steps. It’s the kind of atmosphere that makes you want to rip your hair out for no reason, or just scream into the void as loud as you can. It’s the type of atmosphere that can make a person go insane if they’re around here for too long. It’s eerie. And Bucky hates it.

The three of them finally enter the building, immediately finding Elizabeth and James tied up in the corner of the room. Sam rushes to them to rid the gags from their mouths and untie their restraints.

“Sweep the docks!” He orders.

Bucky and Sharon head off in a similar direction but split off at the docks to clear the area.

Sharon’s steps along the end of the dock are silent. She sees the water at the other end shifting calmly due to the small boat tied to the pillar. She raises her gun and flashlight towards the boat, the large tarp draped over it raising her suspicions. The longer she stares at it, the less sure she is that there is or isn’t something under there. 

It all happens in a second. It one small crease in the tarp that outlines a body and she yells, “Special agent! Don’t move!” before a shot is fired and knocks her off her feet.

Her back slams against the ground and a groan escapes her and the boat motor echoes into the night as it speeds off. She feels large hands rip her tactical gear open and she peeks down to see one single bullet lodged into the bullet proof vest. She glances at Bucky, who’s lightly feeling over her arms and the rest of her torso to ensure there’s no other injuries, and she closes her eyes again in both annoyance and getting the wind knocked out of her.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., get medical ready back at the tower, just in case.”

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky sighs and glances around the area before noticing something.

“Don’t go near the white cross… We see you down… and your blood spills on the white cross.”

A tall white cross, standing about fifteen feet tall stands at the corner of the dock where Sharon lays. If not for her bullet proof vest, her blood would’ve splattered across the white frame.

A shiver crawls up Bucky’s spine and a hand on his shoulder makes him jolt.

“C’mon, man. Let’s get her up. Hopefully Red Wing caught some footage of the boat we can analyze back at the tower. Elizabeth and James are waiting on the jet hooked up to IV’s.” Sam informs him, crouching down to his level so they can hoist Sharon up.

Bucky’s takes one last look at the cross before walking with Sam back to the jet.

[blazerina]

Messed Up (MC x Ethan)

Messed Up (MC x Ethan)

Word Count: 1682

Summary: Sequel to "Do No Harm" – Allie misses Ethan but doesn’t know how to process her feelings and emotions (shocker!) so she tries her best to ignore them, but Ethan has other plans for the two of them.

Author’s Note: I love Ethan Ramsey. He’s becoming one of my most favorite LI’s – perhaps even more than Drake or James…but he doesn’t top Damien…yet! This is kind of a silly little story using a prompt that @parkerattano requested of me a long time ago…I had to find a way to get these two back together because I have more in store for their future! Thank you as always for reading, commenting and re-blogging. It means so much! Thankful for you all and hope each one of you reading this is well. xoxo

--

Stupid. I’m so stupid!

Allie sighed, trying to get herself together. This was at least the third day in a row she had found herself crying in a bathroom stall, hiding away from the rest of the hospital.

He tried to say he was sorry.  At Donahue’s. He tried to apologize and that’s SO hard for him.

She shook her head silently and let the tears fall.  Rolling some toilet paper around her hand, she gently dabbed her eyes and sniffled. For a month she had been chastising herself for not talking to Ethan.

There wasn’t anything about that man that she didn’t miss.  

His rough, calloused hands.

The scent of spice, old leather and scotch that hung in the air long after he’d left.

The way he pulled his glasses down to the end of his nose so he could adequately stare at her with his piercing blue eyes and unearth her soul at the same time.

Why am I so afraid? She asked herself.  

There had once been a time she trusted him with every part of her life.  

Am I just being stubborn?

Allie sniffed again and looked up at the ceiling, trying to make the tears stop. She closed her eyes and remembered only a few nights ago when she saw him at the fundraising gala for the new children’s hospital.

**

She had been watching him for some time. Making the rounds. Shaking hands. Smiling through his clenched jaw. Exchanging pleasantries and being the charming doctor he was expected to be. When he walked through the door with a busty blonde, Allie felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her and she almost left…but decided against it. If all she had left was her career, than she would work damn hard to make sure she was seen with the best of them.

As Allie got up the nerve to work the room, she heard Ethan’s voice close by while she reached for another glass of champagne from the servers who were canvassing the crowd.

“Blair. Stop it.” He instructed his date. “That is not becoming of a lady who wants to dine with doctors and other intelligent human beings.”

“You don’t think that’d be cute?” Her voice was loud and sharp, scraping against Allie’s eardrum. “Why doesn’t everyone just serve spaghetti and let the couples by tickets. A spaghetti dinner just like Lady and the Tramp. When they share the noodle and have to kiss? It’s just soooo adorable!”

Allie’s eyes were about to pop out of her head as “Blair” squealed. Gently, and gratefully, taking the champagne from the server, she turned around to face Ethan who was only a few feet behind her now.

She wanted him to know she saw him with her.

“I will not tell you again.” Ethan tried to pull Blair closer to him, but Allie could still hear what he was saying.

“Sharing a single strand of spaghetti is NOT romantic. Life is NOT a cartoon. Do not continue to bring this up! This is a dignified, who’s who of Edenbrook, invite-only event and you are ruining it.” He seethed.

Blair wasn’t phased and smiled up at him through big blue eyes, batting her eyelashes.

“I am going to get a drink. Do. Not. Move.” Ethan practically ran over Allie who was now standing awkwardly close to him.

Catching a few stray drops of champagne from the flute as it tipped a bit in her hand, Allie waved with a mischievous smirk on her face.

“Whoa there.” She steadied herself and her smile grew as Ethan made eye contact with her.

“You know, I never liked that movie.” Allie took a drink of her champagne and nodded in Blair’s direction.

“Too sad.  When that one little scotty dog dies and when Tramp gets sent to the pound?! I just couldn’t take it.”

“Allie.” Ethan was not amused.

“Please.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’s okay though!” Allie assured him. “The young ladies these days love Disney. You can keep her occupied with Disney movie marathons while you work the night shift!”

She raised her glass to toast him.

“Good luck with that one!”

After a patronizing pat on his shoulder, she slinked off before he could say anything in reply. She finished the rest of the champagne in one gulp and didn’t look back, but knew with certainty that he was watching her walk away.

**

Allie’s memory was interrupted as someone knocked on the door to the stall.

She paused, making sure she heard right and someone knocked again against the cold metal.

“Dr. Valentine? Is that you?”

Swallowing hard, and not recognizing that voice, Allie dabbed again at her eyes and tried to collect herself fast.

“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Yes – can I help you?”

“Sorry to bother you ma’am but there’s an emergency in room 108 and we’ve been trying to find you. I know you’re on break but the attending specifically asked for you.  Apparently you saw a case just like this last week…”

“Yes, yes – I think I know what this is about. We’ve seen several similar cases the past few days. Patients with the same symptoms all coming from the same apartment complex…”

Focusing now on work, Allie was back and in control of her emotions.  She followed the nurse out of the bathroom and repeated the room number, walking fast and stopping at another nurse’s station along the way to get information on the patient.

“Allan Daniels. 43. Difficulty breathing and swallowing. Fever with chills.” She read it aloud as she walked towards 108.

Knocking briskly on the door, she started speaking as she entered, “Okay Mr. Daniels let’s see what I can do to help you feel better today…”

As she looked up she came face to face with Ethan, leaning against the end of the bed, relaxed, not smiling but not mad either.

Allie was stunned.

“Ethan?” She stammered. “But how did you? This is a chart and a real patient and…”

“You think you’re the only one who’s friends with the schedulers and nurses around here?” He raised an eyebrow, challenging her.

Already emotional, Allie couldn’t contain the wave of tears that had only partially fallen only moment before in the bathroom.

“What are we doing?” She whispered, not moving, frozen place.

“What I’m doing…” Ethan emphasized, “Is telling you I love you. And that I’m sorry. And that I’ve never missed the presence of another person more.”

“You’re stubborn.” He continued, still resting on the end of the bed, hardly moving. “You can be mean, especially when provoked. You’re tough. You don’t back down. And that makes loving you sometimes so hard…but so worth it.”

“Look who’s talking!” Allie smiled, wiping a few rogue tears from her cheeks as Ethan continued.

“Please. Forgive me. I want to be us again. No more hiding. No more dodging each other. We have to talk. I want everyone to know that you are mine and I am yours. HR be damned.”

Allie closed her eyes and brought a hand to her forehead, trying to sear this memory into her brain. She was afraid she was dreaming, that this wasn’t real, and at any minute Sierra or one of her roommates would wake her up and tell her to go to her room because she’d fallen asleep on the couch.

“I messed up.  We messed up. We lost us along the way but it’s not too late. If I learned anything from Naveen’s sickness it’s that time is of the essence and it’s never too late. You taught me that, Allie.  I am who I am today because of you.” Allie noticed his fist clench as he finished.

The tension in the air hung above them like a dark storm cloud on a rainy day; thick and plapable.

“Allie.” Ethan pleaded. “Say something.”

He stood up and moved closer to her, searching her eyes.

“I thought you moved on…” She choked out, a few more tears falling now. “…that girl at the gala…”

Ethan sighed.  

“Are you kidding? I should be offended you think so lowly of me. She’s my cousin’s daughter. Looking to get into nursing school. Complete bimbo. I owed him a favor. He let me borrow his boat, I told him I’d help her make connections. I can’t help that she’s never been around real people before.”

Allie crinkled her brow. “For real?”

Ethan nodded. “I swear. I left her in the parking lot with an Uber driver probably 5 minutes after you accosted me at the gala.”

She rolled her eyes and stifled a laugh. Ethan always had a flair for the dramatic when it came to someone criticizing or challenging him.

“Ethan…” she looked up at him with a tear-streaked face and red-rimmed eyes.

“Are you sure? I mean, after all this…between us…and the things we said and the way I’ve acted…”

Ethan cut her off with a kiss.

“I’m sure.” He responded, keeping eye contact with her while both hands held her face.

He rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief.  She leaned into him and both of them melted into each other without giving it another thought.

**

Still slightly confused and shocked from the emotional rollercoaster of the past few months, Ethan and Allie walked hand and hand out of the hospital at the end of Allie’s shift.

“There is one thing I really need to tell you.” Allie said, seriously, making sure Ethan was paying attention.

“You know…I don’t really hate that movie…right?” She whispered, smiling up at him. “I actually think the spaghetti scene is really cute…”

Ethan chuckled and rolled his eyes and stopped in his tracks, taking in the sight of her, holding her hand tightly and watching her without saying a word.

“Maybe one day, Rookie. But ONLY for you.”

He kissed her quickly and they continued their walk to Ethan’s car, finally relaxed and with each other – where they each knew they belonged, all along.

[timeagainreviews]

Twin Peaks s01e01 “Traces to Nowhere”

Happy New Year, and welcome back to Twin Peaks, friends. Before we dive further into the mystery of Laura Palmer, I would like to tell you about my friend Jason. Jason was a pal of mine in high school. We used to hang out, listen to music, watch TV, and smoke. He lived with his girlfriend at the time who was also my friend. This may sound sappy, but around these two, I genuinely felt like the best version of myself. I miss those days incredibly. Jason also happened to be the first person to ever introduce me to Twin Peaks. One night, he and a friend were watching the movie as I came over to buy a bag. On that day, I discovered what was to become my newest obsession, one of which would stick with me for the next eighteen years of my life. Sadly, Jason and I fell out of contact and we lost track of one another.

I mention this because I recently heard through a mutual friend that Jason died two years ago. I'll not go into the details, suffice it to say, it was too soon. I always wanted to track him down to say hello, and now I'll never get the chance. While my friendship with Jason was immensely rewarding, one of the most persistent things he left me with was a love for Twin Peaks. Much of my personal philosophy comes from Twin Peaks, and it continues to inform the person I am today. If it weren't for Jason, I wouldn't be me. Therefore, I would like to dedicate this article in his memory. To Jason Walton- My friend in the stars.

Thank you for allowing me that moment, friend. Now if you remember, we left off on kind of a spooky note. Through some sort of line of sight, Sarah Palmer was given a vision of a gloved hand retrieving James' half of the heart necklace from where he and Donna had buried it. Dale Cooper, after a long day of detection, has turned in for a night of sleep at the Great Northern hotel, which is exactly where today's episode begins.

I've read in the past that you can tell right away when David Lynch is directing, or in this case, when he isn't directing. This is not a complaint about director Duwayne Dunham's work, but there is a clear departure from the slow wave of emotions that permeates the pilot episode. However, the more straightforward procedural pacing works much to the episode's credit. Being written by David Lynch and Mark Frost, this episode is drenched in Twin Peaks tones and textures. I'd go as far as to say Dunham does a damn fine job following the hard act that is David Lynch.

We start with a pan across Cooper's hotel room. As I've done with my Doctor Who reviews, I found myself trying to see this scene as though it were my first time. You watch Twin Peaks for eighteen years, and you tend to forget just how strange the decor at the Great Northern truly is. Off-camera we can hear Agent Cooper talking to Diane through his recorder. As the camera searches across taxidermied deer hooves holding hunting riffles, and ornate nature paintings, we fall upon Cooper, hanging upside down by a pair of metal hooks around his ankles. It's never explained why he's doing this, but for some reason the late '80s and early '90s had a weird thing about hanging guys upside down as so form of exercise. Michael Keaton did it in Batman, Patrick Bateman had one, and even Dale Cooper. Perhaps it was quick way to indicate both athleticism and eccentricity.

Cooper, hanging about in his hot dad garters and boxers dismounts from his perch with an ease that is both impressive and sexy. Before ending his recording session with Diane, Cooper waxes philosophical about Marilyn Monroe and the Kennedys. In a way, this is Lynch and Frost drawing parallels between the deaths of both Monroe and Laura- two blonde women surrounded by powerful men and mystery. It's fitting when you consider that Lynch and Frost's first collaboration was in the form of a Marilyn Monroe biopic which never came into fruition. In many ways, the project laid some of the groundwork for what would become Twin Peaks.

Starting his day right with a balanced hotel breakfast, we're treated to yet another fascinating glimpse into Cooper's diet. As Sheriff Truman says later in the episode, he must have the metabolism of a bumblebee. Cooper orders a breakfast he refers to as "hard on the arteries," which is as hard as he wants his eggs. He wants his bacon super crispy- cremated. It may sound as though I'm exaggerating, but I've always loved watching Cooper order breakfast. He seems to revere food in a way not regularly seen on dramatic television. The morning coffee is more than one of the best, it's "damn fine." People have complained that the way people talk about food in Twin Peaks is weird. Sure, maybe in life creamed corn isn't an allegory to pain and suffering, but we've all been there when someone is having a similar reaction to the stuff. Food is personal, and it's a part of everyone's lives, why wouldn't characters talk about it?

Arriving at the tail end of Cooper's order is Audrey Horne, who has seemingly grown a good six or seven inches of hair overnight. Out of all of the mysteries in Twin Peaks, this was the least perplexing. Somewhere between filming the pilot and the first episode, Sherilyn Fenn grew her hair out, and it looks stunning. Everything about Audrey is stunning. Her eyebrows are stunning. That sweater is stunning. But at the moment, it is she who is stunned by Agent Cooper. Just as charmed by his eccentricities and his slicked black hair, she approaches Agent Cooper and asks to join him. Immediately Cooper sizes up that she finds him attractive, she's not exactly hiding it, and neither is he for that matter. For many fans, this is the moment the ship of Cooper and Audrey set sail. I personally always prefer the version where Cooper does the adult thing and doesn't date a high schooler.

After questioning Audrey, Cooper heads off to the Sheriff Station where they seem to still be having their breakfast as everyone he encounters has a mouthful of donuts. I'd also like to note the weird guy with a welding torch and ladder near the entrance. Twin Peaks is a lived in world filled with these people toiling away. Sheriff Harry Truman, mouth full of donuts, can't get a word in as Cooper flies into the room. After spelling out the itinerary, Cooper disappears to "urinate." This marks the first of many references to Dale Cooper's pee. Much like Tom Hanks, our favourite FBI agent is passionate about pissing. It's one of those life things, like food, that Twin Peaks likes to celebrate. Sometimes it's really nice to have a good piss, therefore sometimes Twin Peaks is about having a really good piss. I'm being completely earnest here.

Dr Hayward arrives to the sheriff station to report the findings of the post mortem. Unable to carry out the procedure himself, he outsourced the job to a nearby colleague. I've always admired the way Warren Frost plays this scene. His sadness seems to come and go in waves of realisation. There are the same echos from the pilot episode present here. From the report we learn that Laura died from a loss of blood from numerous shallow wounds. She had bite marks on her shoulders and marks on her arms from having been bound. She had also had sex with at least three men the night of her murder. The doctor also concludes that there is no doubt that Ronette was also present. As Dr Hayward relays this grizzly tale, his eyes wander to the photo of Laura. Pangs of sadness wash over his face as he questions who could do such a thing. He was the doctor present at her birth. She was his daughter's best friend. Laura was family to him.

On the other spectrum of family, we join the Johnsons at their incomplete home. Unable to just ask Shelly if she would do his laundry, Leo has to play mind games. He asks her if she did his laundry and chastises her as if catching her in a lie because his bag of nasty truck cabin clothes are still dirty. Eric Da Re is not a great actor, but there's something perfect about that. Leo is a big asshole that gaslights his wife, I don't expect much depth there. The only good thing I say about him is they got rid of his awful perm from the pilot. Even the way he pinches her cheek is controlling and unnatural. There's clearly no love between them, which is why when she discovers a blood-stained shirt in Leo's laundry she hides it. With Laura recently dead, and his behaviour as of late, this could be evidence. When he comes back later in a frenzy to find said shirt, he flies into a rage at its absence.

We're back at the Sheriff Station where we learn James Hurley owned the other half of Laura's necklace. As compared to Bobby's interrogation, James is Mr Manners. He answers all of Agent Cooper's questions with a quiet intensity. He admits to shooting the picnic video, and to owning the other half of the necklace, but not knowing who dug it up. He was also aware Laura was taking drugs but tried to get her to stop. On the night she died, James picked Laura up on his motorcycle. Acting strangely Laura disembarked from his bike, a disagreement ensued, Laura told James she loved him and disappeared into the woods. Cooper seems pleased with this information. We're then shown slow-motion picnic footage of Laura smiling at the camera. A somewhat cheesy "Help me," is played over the sound of wind and haunting music. It's a sort of fourth-wall-breaking that makes Twin Peaks feel as though not only the town, but the show itself is haunted by the late Laura Palmer.

Bobby and Mike, freshly arrested from their fistfight with Ed argue in their holding cells about the money they owe Leo Johnson. After being briefly questioned by Agent Cooper, they're both sent away with a warning not to harm James. James is also released into the custody of Big Ed, who confides that he believes the bartender, Jacques Renault,  slipped a Mickey in his drink. Ed wasn't just meeting Norma that night, he was also staking out Jacques' activities as a suspected drug dealer.

Speaking of Norma, we're given a brief but intense encounter at the general store between her and Nadine. At this point in the show, Nadine is completely bonkers. While I don't feel like she becomes any less touched in the head, we do begin to see more depth to her than just Ed's crazy wife. Wendie Robie is so good as Nadine, that Peggy Lipton only really need to react in kind as Nadine goes on about her drape runners. You can tell there's a quiet rivalry between the two women, both of whom resent one another for what they represent to one another. Norma is the woman Ed loves, and Nadine is the woman that stole him from Norma. When Nadine emphatically mentions the cotton balls that will make her drape runners completely silent, Norma can only stand as if in disbelief. It's the epitome of "weird flex, but ok." It doesn't help that all of this cotton ball talk is nestled into a conversation about Ed being in intensive care. Nadine exits as soon as she entered, leaving poor Norma looking confused and slightly violated.

Speaking of forbidden love, we're given a great scene between Donna Hayward and her mother, Eileen. We learn that despite her grief for Laura, and the guilt it makes her feel, Donna is finding herself loving James. Despite the nightmare that surrounds her, this love for James is like a beautiful dream. Eileen encourages her to invite James over for dinner, which she does. When watching James meet the Haywards I couldn't help but think of Eraserhead. In both, we get two entirely different, albeit very Lynchian "meet the parents," scenes. While James isn't asked to carve any manmade chickens, the awkward politeness permeates both scenes. There’s a sort of wholesomeness that borders on absurdity. Watching James make small talk in his big boy sweater is about the cutest damn thing that you almost forget how violent and terrifying Twin Peaks can be at times. This is something lifted straight out of the Waltons with it's cheesy Americana and good-natured sincerity. Of course, not everyone is as pleased about this new pairing as Mike and Bobby spot James' bike outside Donna's house.

Meanwhile, Dale and Harry find their way at the Martel residence to speak with Josie about her language classes with Laura. Through body language alone, Cooper deduces that the Sheriff and Josie are an item of sorts, as indicated at the end of the pilot episode. Pete is his usual charming self, offering up a cup of Joe to our boys. We're given another Cooperism as he asks for his coffee "black as midnight on a moonless night." That's pure poetry. We don't learn much from Josie here, other than the fact that Laura used to tutor her English and that she seemed distracted the last time they met. The biggest takeaway from the scene is that somehow Pete accidentally brewed a pot of coffee with a fish in the percolator. This is easily one of the most iconic scenes from the original series. Jack Nance was a treasure, and I will never not feel absolute delight when he comes rushing in just a touch too late- they've already tried the coffee.

Josie is called away for a phone call from the ice queen Catherine who informs her that shutting down the mill for the day cost the company more money than it was worth. After hanging up with Josie, we can see Catherine is in a strange motel, sipping champagne with Ben Horne. They're clearly working against Josie, but it's no secret that neither of them trust one another. Everyone is playing the double secret con, and it doesn't make a whole lot of sense. However, we do learn that the two are on again off again lovers. On the other side of town, Deputy Hawk follows up with Ronette's parents at the hospital. The Pulaskis don't have much information other than the fact that Ronette used to work the perfume counter at Horne's Department Store. As he is leaving, Hawk sees a suspicious one armed man skulking around the morgue. Following his gut instinct he starts tailing this mysterious figure through the dark halls of the hospital. Upon entering a room alight in a trippy dayglo black light, Hawk finds himself alone. Whoever this mystery man was, he disappeared into thin air.

A lot of this episode's theme seems to centre around the relationship between the parents and the high schoolers. Along with her conversation with her own mother, we get a scene between Donna and Sarah Palmer. Sarah, still sick with grief, seems genuinely pleased to see Donna until she sees Laura's face superimposed over Donna's. As she's pulling her closer she gets another vision, this time of a creepy grey-haired man sitting at the edge of Laura's bed. Sarah goes into full-on panic mode in a way only Grace Zabriskie is capable of delivering. Leland rushes in to whisk Donna away from the traumatic experience. In his own home, Bobby is getting a stern lecture from his father, Major Garland Briggs. The Major awkwardly tries to treat Bobby with some tough love, but ultimately misses the mark. Bobby's problems are bigger than anything his poor parents could fathom. The Hornes also experience a bit of domestic turmoil with Ben confronts Audrey about how her conversation with the Norwegians cost their family greatly. But unlike the Briggses, if Ben wanted to understand Audrey's rebellious nature, he only need look in the mirror.

Let's take a moment now to consider Laura Palmer. She was a troubled teenage girl with a drug habit, yes. Add to that being homecoming queen, in Spanish club, tutoring immigrants, caring for Audrey's special needs brother, and even heading Meals on Wheels for the elderly and shut-ins. It's the Meals on Wheels program that brings Cooper and Truman to the Double R Diner, where Laura used to work. We learn that Laura didn't just head the program, she created it. If any fictional characters were gunning for sainthood, Laura would be high on the list. It's easy to see why losing her has wounded the town so completely. The Log Lady approaches Cooper about Laura Palmer informing him that her log saw something the night Laura died. However, Cooper's reluctance to ask the log directly leads to her leaving before relaying the log's message.

Fresh off her shift from the Double R, Shelly returns home to Leo who has just put a bar of soap into a sock. He questions her about the bloody shirt, but she feigns ignorance. He tells her he's going to "teach," her about respecting people's property as he advances toward her with the sock swinging over his head. We can only look on hopelessly as the brutish Leo approaches a cowering Shelly. The scene graciously cuts away, as we know what comes next. The episode concludes in Dr Jacoby's bizarre Hawaii themed office (or maybe apartment, maybe both). Inside a fishtank sits three dried out puffer fish filled with blinking lights like paper lamps. After putting a tape into his stereo he dons a pair of giant headphones revealing a taped conversation from his former secret patient- Laura Palmer. He pulls coconut from a palm tree and settles in to listen to his tape. He opens up the coconut to reveal the other half of Laura's necklace. It appears that Dr Jacoby was the one following James and Donna into the woods.

The contents of the recording are revealing, not just about Laura, but also about Dr Jacoby. Laura's flirtatious nature indicates that we can add one more sexual partner to Laura's list. She mentions how James is sweet but too dumb to talk to her about her problems like Jacoby is capable of doing. But part of the brilliance in the scene is that you can also sense that Laura is acting for Dr Jacoby. Fulfilling the role of a young helpless girl who loves him, so that he may fulfil some role she needs. Whether it be a form of protection or just a soundboard for her problems, she had him wrapped around her finger. So what is this ritual of Jacoby's? Are these the actions of a killer reminiscing over the trophies of his hunt, or a man grieving the real, if not inappropriate relationship he had with a young girl? As the tape continues, we hear Laura talking about a man in a red car who can really light her "F-I-R-E." She continues to make a confession about a mystery man, but the audio drops out, leaving us only the doctor's perplexed face to clue us into what she said. The credits roll as we're left wondering.

Truth be told, I could have written this review without having to rewatch the episode. I try and rewatch Twin Peaks in its entirety at least once every one or two years. However, I am glad I did revisit this one as there are lots of little pieces of minutiae I may have overlooked. More than anything, I was curious to weigh Dunham's directing against David Lynch's, and I have to say, it's not bad. The tone is correct for the series and the emotions are played for real. It's always going to be different because the two directors are different people. But as certain episodes in season two prove, some directors begin to parody Lynch's style, adding weird for the sake of weird. But this early on, it is as though Twin Peaks is a juggernaut of unstoppable creativity. Even the duller storylines take on the energy of the greater mystery. Lynch only directed a handful of the original series episodes, which is why the next episode I'm reviewing is an especially exciting one. Not only is episode two (aka the third episode) directed by David Lynch, but it also begins to introduce some of the more metaphysical elements of the series. You could almost say that Lynch directs the most important episodes, and my god is this next one a doozy.

Well, friends, that's all from the world of Twin Peaks for now. I'll have the next review up soonish, but not before the new Doctor Who review. Speaking of which, it is now less than an hour until it airs! Who else is excited? What a great way to ring in the new year! See you all soon!

[letters-from-the-three-houses]

If you don’t mind, can I have Disney headcanons for the blue lions? What movies they like, how much they like it, stuff like that. I’ve been,, all over the place with the Ashe Aladdin AU (I made this an ask w/ bae-leth) So I feel very Disney. Maybe the other houses too?

disney!! here are the aladdin!au asks in question for the curious: [1] [2]

i did all the houses because why not, and i included affiliated companies (e.g. pixar) so it gave me more freedom (i added a 'true' disney film for everyone just in case though). there are also non-disney films that i included for some of the characters bc they seemed like the type to like them c:

hope you like it!

black eagles:

edelgard - she’s the type that watches it only when she has free time. she doesn’t exactly have a favourite, but she thinks all of the toy story movies are great (pure disney: the great mouse detective, for its mystery and sherlock holmes-like main character; the climax scene keeps her on the edge of her seat)

hubert - (watership down, wallace and gromit, any tim burton film) he likes more serious, psychological thriller movies so disney doesn’t really suit his tastes. if he had to choose, james and the giant peach (pure disney: hunchback of notre dame)

dorothea - she’s loves all of the musicals, and the ones with great songs. so films like the princess movies, enchanted, tarzan, etc. are right up her alley! she lives and breathes high school musical. her favourite disney song of all time is cinderella’s 'a dream is a wish your heart makes', and she tells everyone to give sequels a chance

ferdinand - he won’t admit it, but he likes the aristocats because of the soundtrack. doesn’t watch/care for disney though

bernadetta - the chronicles of narnia was her entire childhood. whenever she rewatches it, she eyes the fantasy cg with pure fascination and daydreams about being in narnia (pure disney: live action alice and wonderland for the same reason)

caspar - (sharkboy and lavagirl, home alone) hercules! when he saw it as a kid, he idolized hercules so much he wanted to grow up like him. you can still catch him whistling 'zero to hero' every now and then. cars is also a fun ride, as is sky high

petra - she thinks mulan is awesome. she admires quasimodo (hunchback of notre dame) for triumphing despite all the difficulties he encounters as well, and talks about it to hubert sometimes

linhardt - (space jam) holes. the movie is juuust weird enough for him to stay awake and not doze off, but even then he’s kind of meh. either version of fantasia is way too weird though—he’ll ditch it before you can even say 'mickey' (pure disney: honey, i shrunk the kids)

blue lions:

dimitri - (the polar express) lion king because he’s basic there’s something admirable about simba’s journey to become a king. also because lions. he unironically enjoyed frozen and likes a lot of classic christmas films

dedue - (prince of egypt) all of disney’s nature documentaries; he thinks the penguins are cute. monsters, inc. makes him happy because he imagines himself as sully, felix as mike, and dimitri as boo

felix - pirates of the caribbean. he can try to hide the fact that he once cosplayed as jack sparrow when he was fourteen, but his friends will never live it down. in a similar vein, ghost in the shell 2 and zorro bc he’s an edgy weeb

mercedes - (sound of music) mary poppins. she likes the dynamic between mary and the children, and 'spoonful of sugar' is her go-to song while she does chores. bridge to terabithia also has a special place in her heart. she doesn’t actively go out and watch movies though

ashe - (an american tail, balto, land before time) he a) loves animals and b) loves the ones centred around families, so he likes brother bear, finding nemo, lilo and stitch, etc. his favourites are bambi and coco bc bambi kind of reminds him of himself and miguel’s family is his ideal family. also, both of the goofy movies. without fail, he will always tear up once the credits roll for the fox and the hound

annette - (all of the barbie movies) a hardcore disney fan. her favourite princess is rapunzel (tangled)—bc exploring the world? curious about everything? perky and sweet? she really connects with her! would sing 'i see the light' in the shower. loves one hundred and one dalmations, lady and the tramp, and a lot of the cute romantic ones. goes on a disney marathon with mercie and ingrid every summer

sylvain - he once saw the incredibles on the big screen and thought it was great. would also enjoy the sorcerer’s apprentice if he bothered to watch it (pure disney: ratatouille)

ingrid - (charlotte’s web) only watches disney with annette. fond of up and all of the winnie the pooh films for their heartwarming stories

golden deer:

claude - the emperor’s new groove. the constant thrills and kuzco’s sass keep him engaged throughout the whole film. he also likes zootopia for its intrigue and well-timed jokes, and he managed to correctly guess who the mastermind was way before the movie ended. also loves robin hood and national treasure. he’s probably a huge movie junkie so he likes a lot more films outside of disney!

lorenz - (who framed roger rabbit) he doesn’t really enjoy any of the movies. if you twist his arm, he’ll maybe say pocahontas (bc he secretly likes 'colours of the wind')

hilda - if you ever complain about the princess diaries, she’ll kick you out of the dorm and never let you back in until you apologize. she’s more of a fan of the live action films, especially if they star lindsay lohan

raphael - (cloudy with a chance of meatballs, kung fu panda, all of the lego movies, despicable me, ice age, madagascar) chicken little. it’s just a coincidence that a lot of the movies he likes coincidentally involve food, he swears. he likes chicken little because it’s fun and aliens. a big, big fan of happy-go-lucky, light animated films—disney or not

lysithea - (jimmy neutron) wreck-it-ralph for its zany story. she’s the one that thinks the 1940 version of fantasia is a cinematic masterpiece

ignatz - cult classics like the sword in the stone, the black cauldron, treasure island, and atlantis bc my boy has good taste he likes the adventure and world building. milo is his spirit animal

marianne - (anastasia) wall-e. she can relate to it really well, and her heart warms once wall-e finds a friend in eve. like dorothea, she also enjoys enchanted and a lot of the disney sequels (lion king 2 and cinderella iii, to name a few)

leonie - (how to train your dragon) brave + the rescuers. probably rolls her eyes whenever there’s a romance scene on the screen. just in it for the action and adventure

[asks are open!]

[accio-spaceman]

VORTEX Magazine - Issue 122

(April 2019)

Download PDF version for FREE on the Big Finish website

Partners In Time

At last! The Doctor and Donna are back!

[Above Cover for “The Tenth Doctor Adventures Volume Three”, featuring (l-r, top-bottom) Catherine Tate, David Tennant, Jacqueline King, Bernard Cribbins, and two Judoon.]

The Doctor and Donna Noble are arguably one of the most popular Doctor and companion pairings ever, and their adventures in space and time continue in The Tenth Doctor Adventures Volume Three. David Tennant and Catherine Tate reprise their TV roles for a second run of audio adventures from Big Finish.

(Full Article Under Cut)

Producer David Richardson says: “I actually got very nervous in the weeks before recording, as I did on their previous box set. You are just so aware that you are going to be working with two of the biggest stars in this country, and you want them to have a brilliant time and for the whole thing to run smoothly.

“The night before recording I just told myself, forget the nerves, treat it like any other production and it will be great. And actually by the time David and Catherine arrived at Moat Studios, the nerves had totally evaporated.

“David and Catherine don’t behave like stars – they walked in as two normal people who get on with everyone. When you’re sitting having a cup of tea with David Tennant talking about The Avengers or whatever, you’re really just chatting to a lovely human being.”

It was director Ken Bentley’s first time directing David and Catherine, and before recording began he admitted to Vortex: “I’ve not had much time to think about it as we’ve been extremely busy through August and September. I only just managed to squeeze in the time to schedule it!

[Above (l-r) David Tennant and Catherine Tate]

“I’m like any fan, dying to hear what the Nobles, Wilf and The Doctor get up to. What a dream cast!” 

– Russell T Davies

“I always get excited about working on a new range. The bit I love the most about directing is working with actors, and to work with actors new to me is always something I look forward to.

“In my line of work it’s the rehearsal room and the recording studio where the magic happens, and it’s always a treat to watch professionals bringing roles to life.

“All actors work and respond differently. Part of my job is to quickly figure out how an actor likes to work so I can help make the recording go as smoothly as possible for them – and for everybody else. It’s a challenge I enjoy and I like to get it right. So it’s exciting for me to work with an entirely new team and to figure out what makes them tick.”

[Above Cover for “No Place” by James Goss, featuring (l-r) Bernard Cribbins, Catherine Tate, David Tennant, and Jacqueline King.]

The first story in the set is No Place by James Goss. Script editor Matt Fitton says: “We knew straightaway we could bring the wider Noble family into it by having Donna and Sylvia together, so we gave James that brief. It meant it had to be set on Donna’s contemporary Earth, since her mum isn’t aware of her space and time travel yet.”

Former Doctor Who showrunner Russell T Davies, creator of Donna, Sylvia and Wilf, tells Vortex: “I’m so excited about the return of the Noble family. I put in a request to Big Finish never thinking they’d actually pull it off. But, I might have known, they’re unstoppable! Marvellously, I haven’t heard the adventure myself yet, so I’m like any fan, dying to hear what the Nobles, Wilf and the Doctor get up to. What a dream cast!”

Jacqueline King was delighted to be back as Sylvia.

She says: “Since we finished on TV I’ve seen David a couple of times, and I keep in touch with Bernard because he’s so gorgeous! He and I did the quiz show Pointless. And Catherine was in a play which Bernard and I went to see together, so that was lovely. We’ve just not been all together so there was so much to catch up on. I felt desperately maternal towards Catherine, wanting to know how she was!

“I was very jealous that David and Catherine were going on to do more stories over the next couple of days without Bernard and myself. Bernard and I were joking, asking, How can you do that? That’s just disloyal!

“It was lovely, and if we could have carried on I would have but it was just one day. It would be heaven if we could do more!”

Matt continues: “James came back with this ‘haunted makeovers’ idea which was great, and as it was being developed we asked James to keep in mind a role for Wilf in case we were able to get Bernard Cribbins – perhaps just a cameo role. As it turned out we learned fairly early on that we could have Bernard for the whole day, so it all worked out perfectly and Wilf was fully included in the episode at the storyline stage.”

In a similar vein to what the TV show did at the time, No Place taps into the zeitgeist of what is currently popular on TV, which in this case brings in the feed of ghost and home makeover reality TV shows.

“If you’re a fan of either Buzzfeed Unsolved or Homes Under The Hammer you’ll find lots to love in this.” 

– James Goss

James explains: “Honestly, when you think about it most horror films are home makeover shows! Family moves into house on haunted graveyard. Tries to do it up. Ends up running away screaming/being dead/finds out they were always dead so probably shouldn’t have bothered wallpapering the downstairs bathroom. This was inspired by that. Imagining a horror film but with Kirsty Allsop following our screaming family about. And making the screaming family the Doctor, Donna, Sylvia and Wilf.

“If you’re a fan of either Buzzfeed Unsolved or Homes Under the Hammer you’ll find lots to love in this. We’ve got a ghostbox, we’ve got replacement light fittings, we’ve mysterious voices, we’ve endless discussions about plumbing. The one thing we couldn’t do was Hammer’s endless, appalling punning music track. (Presenter: ‘They really do love this hopeless place.’ Music: ‘We Found Love in a Hopeless Place’)!”

Producer David Richardson adds: “I’m struck by how creepy it all sounds. Some of the sequences in the old house are really unsettling even without any effects or music, which is a sure sign of how great the writing, performances and direction are.”

[Above Cover for “One Mile Down” by Jenny T Colgan, featuring (l-r) David Tennant, a Judoon, and Catherine Tate.]

One Mile Down by Jenny T Colgan continues the Doctor and Donna’s adventures when they find themselves in an underwater city and encounter the Judoon.

Matt continues: “In terms of using new series monsters, the Judoon are one of the most recognisable and the Tenth Doctor has some history with them, meeting them several times during his era.

“Because of what’s been established on screen there are certain monsters he’s meeting for the first time, but with the Judoon he knows what they’re about and how they work. They are not power-crazed evil monsters, they are mercenaries working for other people, and their agenda isn’t always immediately clear. It’s nice to have that bit of potential uncertainty – are they an ally? Are they a threat? We get to play with that in this story.”

“We have individuals in the Judoon ranks which we’ve touched on before. There’s the trainee, Klo, who starts to side with the Doctor and Donna, realising they can do some good during the story, which is a fun thing to play with.” The story’s setting lends itself to a good soundscape, with a city beneath the waves.

Matt explains: “In the TV episode Smith and Jones, the first thing we see the Judoon do is control the rain and send it upwards with their H2O scoop.

“That means we can make use of their technology which lends itself perfectly to an audio story.”

Of course, Donna has also encountered the Judoon on TV, and Matt adds: “Watching Donna in The Stolen Earth, we get a reaction from her to the Judoon, but when we checked with Russell he watched it back and felt there was no reason why Donna couldn’t have met them before.

“What’s clearly a surprise to her is the Doctor speaking Judoon, so we were very careful not to have him doing that in front of her.”

[Above Cover for “The Creeping Death” by Roy Gill, featuring (l-r) David Tennant, Catherine Tate, and Lauren Cornelius dressed in 1952 London period-costume, holding a torch.]

Concluding this series is The Creeping Death by Roy Gill.

David explains: “We asked the writers for short pitches – I think they might have sent in three ideas each. I’ve actually been keeping a list of things I want to see in a Doctor Who story, one of which was ‘The London Fog of 1952’, so it was a no-brainer when Roy pitched that one!”

Roy was delighted to be able to write for David Tennant, a fellow Scotsman, as well as Donna.

He admits it was: “Hugely exciting. They’re one of my Doctor Who dream teams, really. The Doctor and Donna are best friends, they’re fast and funny, they wind each other up but most importantly they make each other stronger and better. Their dialogue was a joy to write – and yes please, if the opportunity ever comes up, I absolutely want to do more!”

Roy travelled from his Edinburgh home to attend the recording at Moat Studios in London, and has plenty of happy memories from the sessions.

Roy adds: “Oh, loads! David asking, ‘Is that a Scottish accent?’ as soon as he met me – and then me kind of over-explaining where I’m from (sorry, David...). Catherine cracking up over her lines about ‘bad air’ and cheese and onion crisps… How quickly all the big, exciting scenes flew by in the recording booths.

“Stephen Critchlow talking over lunch about the classic Who he’d been watching with his daughter. Lauren Cornelius telling me she’d loved her character and the story so much that when she got the script she read it from cover to cover then immediately turned it over and read it again! Theo Stevenson saying he’d watched David Tennant’s Doctor when he was about 10 or 12. He was thrilled to be in a Doctor Who – making us all feel ancient!”

Producer David adds: “This story is brilliant! Just a character piece about a group of people lost in the fog and there’s something really nasty out there… David has some terrific speeches, Catherine gets to play out some lovely relationships with the guest characters, and the whole thing feels like it was on TV back in 2008.”

Director Ken Bentley was relieved when recording was complete after three successive days in studio – which Big Finish rarely do.

He explains: “It’s great to know we have a complete box set in the bag! These days availabilities are such that we’re squeezing in recordings as and when we can, sometimes over quite long periods of time. It’s rare to record three days straight and know you’ve got it all, but given the schedule we’re all on it’s a huge relief!”

“The whole thing feels like it was on TV back in 2008.” 

– David Richardson

Responsible for music and sound design is Howard Carter, who says: “I’ll usually go through and work out if there are any background or atmosphere tracks that reappear throughout the play, or any individual recurring effects (specific vehicles or weapons, for example). If so I will create these in advance and add them to the project library so they are ready to drag and drop in when I’m working. I’ll record the foley sound as I go and layer up all the relevant backgrounds and effects scene by scene. Once the full play is assembled I’ll send a draft off to the director and move on to the score.

“I will usually spend a couple of days scoring a play although if there’s more time I will always spend longer (I’m a composer by trade!). At this point I know the play well so will have a sense of the mood, style and pacing.

“If I’m working on a completely new play I’ll create a template and start adding instruments and sounds as I see fit in order to start with a completely fresh palette. Every play is different so I don’t have one fixed approach. There are scene breaks which usually need a cue, and there are sometimes musical directions in the script, but otherwise a lot of the process is instinctive. A play may need a lot of music to keep energy levels up and maintain a sense of pace, or it may need the music to really take a background role and just glue certain elements together. Each one is unique.”

– VORTEX Magazine, Issue 122, Pages 4-8

THE TENTH DOCTOR ADVENTURES VOLUME THREE IS OUT IN MAY ON CD AND DOWNLOAD.

The Tenth Doctor Adventures Volume Three is out in May on CD and Download.

The special edition release comes complete with exclusive production notes, storyboards from Mike Tucker and costume designs from June Hudson.

For full details visit www.bigfinish.com .

(Edited to include Lauren Cornelius’ name in the image description of “The Creeping Death” cover.)

[go-diane-winchester]

The Travis Aaron Wade debacle and why you should care.

I only write about my boys, Jensen and Jared, and any harm that I feel is coming their way.  That harm comes from Misha's mobilizing and his poisonous fanbase.  So why am I talking about this?  It's got nothing to do with Jensen and Jared?  Well, actually, it does.  And I am starting to feel, maybe Wade is innocent.  I am not saying he is, because the case is still pending.  But, thus far, he has only been accused.  He hasn't been proven guilty.  I am an abuse survivor, having dealt with this horror three different times in my life, twice as a child and once as an adult.  If Travis did do any of this, I would back up his accusers, I don't care how much of a friend he was, to Jensen and Jared.  Abuse of any kind is intolerable and in Travis's case, some minors were involved.  That is unforgivable. 

Travis Aaron Wade, in case you didn't know, was accused of sexually harassing and stalking fans at cons and then via social media around 2015.  When I first heard this, I believed it because the allegations came at a time when I was fast asleep with regard to this fandom.  Even then, I frowned when a recognizable name popped up in this debacle:  Emily Rose.  So I guess I wasn't as fast asleep as I thought.  Emily is the fan who got into a fight with William Shatner over destiel.  He even accused her Anti-Bullying Twitter page of being biased.  I don't just believe anything this person's name is attached to, because she is a very devious creature.  So recently, I decided to dig deeper and came across a report on this case.  Upon reading it, I realized something.  Almost every single person who has accused Travis is either a minion or heller or both.  People mentioned in the case are also minions or hellers or both.  That is too much of a coincidence.  This is the list of the accusers and the affiliated parties in this case:

Ashley McClintic  [first accuser]

Theresa Cotter/Lua James  [fled California after Travis's home was vandalized]

Monica Gleberman [lied that she has sex with Jensen and Jared]

Lexi (Alexis) Cooper (@lexicooperxo / @hugsforthemish)

Stacy LePore

Emily Cleghorn [Emily Rose - refused to help Travis when his account was hacked]

Michele Villery  [Monica's friend - defamed Travis online]

Jackie Bojarski [Monica's friend - defamed Travis online]

Kristin Justice [claimed Travis kissed her in crowded room]

Reba Snodgrass (@RebaWinchester / @Mishanews)

Jessica Halliday 

Jenna DeViller

Kim Swartz

Falon Yates

Janelle Clay Davis [stalked Travis online mobilizing fans against him]

Rike Marie, or Melanie Adeline (@mishasdiary [sent nudes to Travis]

Dominique Teagle

Sgt Stephanie Fiebke [mocked Travis's military career]

Sara Burnhope

Katie Maie Aucter

Elizabeth Wera [told the truth and then retracted statement]

Michelene [only name provided in this report]

Jenna [no other name provided]

What are the odds?  The only people Wade went after were Misha's fans, and the only people who tried to help them were Misha's fans.  Nope!  Something is very off about this whole scenario.  This case is a legal one now, so there are certain receipts that are unavailable.  However, most of the information, corroborated with many receipts, is on this site:  http://www.spntrollsvstravisaaronwade.com/.  Be warned the some information is withheld due to the ongoing investigation and the reporter does become subjective.  There is also some hearsay in the report, something I am not crazy about.  Hearsay has no place in an investigative reports.  But the report is thorough, and has various receipts.  I am not telling you to believe everything.  I am just telling you to keep an open mind. 

After reading these reports, about the accusers and their accounts of the events, I have to say the whole situation seems fishy.  The accusers made really far-fetched claims and there is proof that some of them not only lied, but some of the sympathizers were stalking Travis for years now, hacking into his account and stabbing a knife into his front door with a note threatening to kill him, his family including the family dogs.  Two of the victims confessed to lying about the accusations.  The first is Lexi Cooper. 

The second is Reba Snodgrass [Mishanews] who was doing a con called Wayward Con, which is why she apologized to Travis.  She wanted him to do the con.  She did a video confession, but after being reprimanded by hellers on social media, she recanted the apology.  Many of the accusers set up gofundme and similar accounts asking for money for legal fees, but never approached lawyers.  The more I looked into this, the more sorry I feel for Travis.  I am not saying I know what happened, but so far, they look more guilty than he does.  Why was there such a full blown ambush against him?  If he is innocent, then there were some possible reasons. 

Travis was threatening the spinoff

Travis, and I didn't know this, is quite a popular actor, even amongst SPN fans.  Fans were choosing him over Kim and Briana.  If CW got wind of this, they might have cancelled the Wayward idea and pushed for something with Cole, Travis's character.  The hellers didn't want this because their logic was that if they could make Wayward happen, they could make destiel happen.  So they couldn't afford for Wayward to fail.  That is why Travis had to go.

Travis threatened Cockles

Apparently Travis has said something sweet about Jensen and Jared's friendship.  Clif [who is an idiot] made a big deal out of the whole issue because of the possible tinhat angle of what Travis was saying.  As a PR person, I would like to tell Clif: stop acting like a suspicious idiot.  No one is drawing more attention to the tinhat thing than you are.  Try being subtle, stupid fool.  You are causing more ripples, instead of letting it just slide.  Well, Clif was not the only one that was affected by Travis's lighthearted comments.  The hellers were adversely affected too.  There are tinhats amongst them, who believe that destiel is cockle's fault.  This man's admiration for a friendship rubbed them the wrong way.  He needed to be punished.

Threat to Misha's ''popularity''

Misha has been on the show for ten years.  No one is demanding for a spinoff for him.  Not even his own hellers perhaps because they know Jensen wont join Misha, and Castiel is not entertaining by himself.  This new guy pops up and suddenly he is very popular.  An account called Tara Larson appeared on Twitter, on the 22th of December 2017, accusing Misha of sexual harassment during his photo ops.  Any idiot can see that although none of the pictures are tasteful, they are requested and paid for by fans.  So that is not sexual harassment.  Fans gave their consent and none of them look like minors.  Neutral fans are many things, but they are not stupid.  The over-reacher's in our fandom are hellers.  The hellers allege that Travis's assistant Vicki did it to tarnish Misha's name.  Why would she do that?  What does Misha have to do with this debacle.  The evidence they use, is this one.  Vicki is grey.

However, if you read the whole exchange, you see this:

So Vicki knows what a bibro is?  She used to be a fan long before the word bibro was born, so she knows the fandom lingo that is not even part of all the fan's lexicon?  I know of hellers who don't know what a heller is.  Read the whole exchange here:

http://www.spntrollsvstravisaaronwade.com/events-by-year/2017-2/

Nope, the whole thing sounds suspicious.  Especially since, at the time when the account was started and active [it has probably been reported and removed now] Vicki and her daughter were, allegedly, both in surgery.  Possible scenario is that one of the hellers set up the Tara Larson account to make Travis look like a bully and to make Misha look like a victim.  Because why would Vicki do something like that and then confess to it like an idiot.  And on social media no less, even though monitoring social media is part of her job.  Either that, or they doctored the screenshot.  I think the hellers feel Travis was competition for Misha.  According to one heller, who knows Misha personally, this is what she said to Travis about Misha.

Now, a few of them are starting to feel the same way about Alex Calvert perhaps because he is a younger, handsomer, shinier new replacement for Misha.

Why I care and why you should

So far, I have received messages from hellers about Jared's ''bad working conduct''.  I have posted on people saying that he abuses his power and Misha on set.  One heller told me, Jared intentionally cracked her rib by hugging her too hard during a photo op.  I made a post about that.  Travis's reality today might be Jared's reality tomorrow.  They have accused him of racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia etc.  Whose to say they don't take this route tomorrow?  I mean, it hypothetically worked on Travis.  It might work on Jared.  Especially since, they hate Jared more that Travis.  And Jared is a friendly ''run across the road to meet the fans'' type of person.  One big accusation and boom! it's over.  Ironically, everyone distanced themselves from Travis when the scandal hit except Jared.  Eventually even he had to distance himself, perhaps by the behest of his manager.  It was far too sticky a situation.  Travis has dealt with the stalking, harassment and vandalism for three years and counting.  I think that is too much for anyone to deal with. 

Who knows what the legal outcome will be.  I don't know Travis well enough to make any claims about him.  Although from what I read, he does seem like a very stupid man with a big mouth.  A gullible sucker, if you catch my drift.  However, if someone out there does know the truth, please speak up.  Remember, if you know something about Travis that is incriminatory, and you remain quiet, you are part of the problem.  If you know of his innocence, help him, the way you hope someone will help Jared one day.    Either speak to Travis's lawyers or send a confidential email message to this reporter at:  info@spntrollsvstravisaaronwade.com.  Informant names will be kept confidential.

[lizartgurl]

Perfect Marks (Aqualad x OC Soulmate AU)

Word Count: 6200+

Summary: Write something on your skin, it appears on your soulmate’s skin as well

My sole goal of joining tumblr was to make decent Kaldur content and this shows it. I don’t think I’ve ever written anything this fast-paced, and I had no idea a one-shot would turn out this long, but I really enjoyed writing it!

Based off of @the-shadow-of-atlantis‘s soulmate au for Kaldur and her oc, Annabella (x) and inspired by @writing-yj‘s The Bird Tattoo xreader  series (x). You guys are both incredible writers, and I love reading your fanfics :)

@staar-sailorr @super-spoiler @lesbianstargirl @flamebiirds @princes-jasmine (please let me know if any of you do not want to be tagged in my oc fics in the future. i’m just tagging you for now becuz)

The morning of her first day of high school, Emma Grayson screamed.

Half of Gotham must have heard it, if not the entire manor. Rick, just down the hall, skid right into the bathroom door trying to help.

“Emma, what is it?”

“Just look!” Emma shrieked, shoving her arm in his face. Her little brother's eyes went wide at the thick black marks winding up and down both her arms.

“You and Roy went out clubbing last night and didn't bring me?” He asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

“Well how do you know we didn't sneak Wally with us?” Emma snapped.

He shrugged, leaning against the doorway with an insufferable smirk that he couldn't hide. “Wally and I are too tight for him to leave me out of any shenanigans.”

Bruce materialized in the doorway before Emma could smack Rick, and sighed as he saw the marks on her arms.

“You don't remember getting any tattoos yesterday?” He asked.

“No.” Emma shook her head.

“And you're not hungover, so you probably wouldn't have blacked out,” he murmured, taking Emma's arm in his hands to examine the marks. “Do they hurt at all?”

Emma shrugged. “They itch a little, but not painfully.”

Bruce nodded. “They must be your soulmate's markings then. Probably tattoos.”

Emma sighed. She herself wasn’t very artistic, so she never would have drawn something so elaborate on herself, but she never took into account that her soulmate might be. And if they were tattoos, that meant that even if her soulmate showered five times a day, they would never come off of either of them. Emma was absolutely terrified of needles and vowed to never get a tattoo. She never thought she'd be paired with someone who got those giant sleeve tattoos, much less tattoos at all.

“Get dressed, make sure you don't have anymore. Richard, you go get dressed too. I'll see you both downstairs for breakfast in a minute.” Bruce instructed.

Emma locked the door behind them and bravely faced her reflection in the silver-framed mirror. They each started on her hands, snake heads, with no embellishments other than an eye and an open mouth. The snakes then twisted around her arms three times and continued on to her shoulders. After taking off her PJs and turning around a couple times, she found that they connected, arcing down to her lower back.

A few minutes and a couple puffy eyes later, she met Bruce in the dining room, taking her usual place across from Rick.

“For you, Miss Emma.” In addition to her breakfast platter of eggs and bacon, Alfred handed Emma a jar of concealer that matched her skin tone.

Bruce wiped his chin of jelly from his toast. “With tattoos of this size, keeping them hidden is vital to your secret identity. Not only would people try to replicate the tattoos to claim to be your soulmate, they would also connect Finch and Emma Grayson with the similar tattoos.”

Emma nodded, and began to apply the concealer to the back of her hands. Her school uniform and her Finch uniform already had long sleeves in case of such a situation. Now the rest of her wardrobe would follow suit. At least Gotham was miserable, cold, and wet ninety-nine percent of the time.

Alfred dropped Emma and Rick off at Gotham Academy before taking Bruce to the WayneTech offices, and Bruce made a big show of seeing his children off on their first day of a new school year for the all-seeing public eye.

“We can look more into them tonight, Emma. How about that?” He offered with a winning smile, a last attempt to cheer her up.

“Sure,” she smiled back. Rick had already run off for the building with the middle school classes. Emma was moving up to the high school building this year, with grades nine through twelve.

She plopped into the open seat between Barbara Gordon and Lucas Fox in first-period chemistry.

“Hey, Emma! How you doing?” Babs asked, sounding peppy and upbeat.

“Long morning.” She groaned.

“As always on the first day of school, huh?” Luke asked with a chuckle.

Emma giggled too. Her friends knew just how to cheer her up, even if they didn't know what was going on.

“Emma?” Barbara was squinting at her hands, “Are you wearing-”

“Good Morning!” The chem teacher trilled along with the bell, and Barbara forgot what she was going to say.

Head cushioned in her arms in the edge of the second row, Emma snuck a look at her two closest friends, who both had their sleeves rolled up to their elbows in the warm classroom. She had to settle for just taking off her sweater.

Luke and Barbara were the two smartest students in their grade at prestigious Gotham Academy, which rubbed off on Emma. They were both in the computer science club. Luke was in robotics club, and wanted to be an engineer like his father, Lucius Fox, head of the R&D department of WayneTech. Barbara's father was Police Commissioner James Gordon of the GCPD, and spent every spare moment in the library. Emma took to joining her, and Rick and Luke would join them.

Instead of paying attention to the long list of safety procedures that Doctor Crane was going over, Emma spent first period thinking over whether or not to tell her friends. Would someone overhear? Would they let things slip?

It would just have to be another secret she kept from them.

~

Bruce was gone from the time that they got home to late at night, so Emma persuaded Rick to help her look through all the books that the Manor’s library had on Soulmates and their markings, so long as they got to watch Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark while doing it.

Most of the books Emma read were general knowledge. Whenever you wrote or drew something on your skin, it appeared on your soulmate’s body as well. Mostly it was just notes and reminders, doodles in the midst of boredom, but tattoos were a popular tactic to try and find your soulmate quicker, by looking for the exact replica of your tattoo on someone else.

There were several books on the language of markings, symbols ranging from elaborate to simple that could send a certain message to your soulmate were they also well-versed in the language of markings. Emma didn’t find anything resembling her soulmate’s markings in any of those books, so she tossed them on the floor with Rick’s books, which had slid off his lap after he fell asleep shortly after Indy entered the Well of Souls.

Sighing tiredly, Emma shut off the TV, but the excitement of her soulmate’s markings and the first day of school all rolled into one left her exhausted, and she never wanted to leave the sunken cushions of her favorite TV couch.

Shrouded in night, the room faded into darkness. Emma removed her sweater to use a blanket, and stopped.

“Rick,” she whispered, jabbing him in the shoulder.

“Huh?” He asked, “Is the movie over?”

“You fell asleep, but look,” She held out her arms, bare beneath her t-shirt. The black, geometric shapes were now outlined by a faint blue glow, reflected on Emma’s face. The light itself seemed almost alive, and thought it could have been the lack of sleep, Emma thought she saw it swirling around the room, back and forth like an ocean’s current. Beautiful and powerful. Magical.

Rick laughed giddly. “That’s so cool!” He said, suddenly awake.

Emma laughed too. Maybe her soulmate’s markings weren’t so bad after all.

~

Weeks passed without them fading. Bruce had been right about them being tattoos. They itched like fresh tattoos, though the ink wasn’t in her skin. Alfred gave her a soothing skin balm to rub on her arms before she went to bed each night, guided by the blue lights. They made the perfect night light, though Emma had long since outgrown such things. She’d jolt awake from a nightmare, only to have the magical light envelop her with a tingling sensation somewhat like an electric shock. It was comforting, like a never-ending hug.

Sometimes, on patrol, when Bruce wasn’t looking, Emma would take off her glove and let the snake-head glow, smiling somewhat as she showed it all of Gotham City. Her soulmate must really like snakes, and if they cast the light that her tattoos did, maybe they were a magician like Zatara.

Emma desperately hoped that her soulmate was a hero. She wanted to be able to tell them everything, to share both parts of her life with her soulmate.

“Woah,” Wally gaped appreciatively as Emma showed off her right arm in the seclusion of a back alley in Star City, just outside the “Arrow-Cave,” or the “Quiver,” which Ollie was convinced would catch on.

Roy nodded, but from the way his lower lip jutted out as he slowly nodded, it was clear that he was impressed by whoever had etched these tattoos.

“Show us your tattoos again, Roy.” Emma said. She rolled her sleeve back down, cutting off the light.

Roy rolled up the right arm sleeve of his shirt, exposing the small constellation on his shoulder. The big dipper, or the bear and the birds according to those who had generously raised him. It was a permanent reminder of his childhood and what he had learned with them. After Emma smiled, he showed off the tattoo on his left shoulder. The one from his soulmate.

It was a perfect circle, a shield, he insisted, with the head of Medusa and several wriggling snakes spreading from the center. The Aegis, Athena’s shield. Obviously his soulmate had a penchant for Greek mythology.

“I’m thinking of getting a tattoo,” Wally lounged against the brick wall.

“Oh really? What would you get? A hot dog?” Rick asked, balancing in a handstand on top of the fence that cut the alleyway in half.

“Ha, ha.” Wally huffed, offended. “What would you get, Boy Wonder?” He demanded.

“A bird, duh.” He flipped in the air, landing neatly in front of Wally, “A robin, to be precise. Right behind the ear.”

“What about you, Emma?” Roy asked. “If you got a tattoo, what would you get?”

Emma leaned back on top of the trash can, using her arms to prop herself up. “Probably a music heart, with the treble and bass clefs twisted into the shape of a heart.” But she still wasn’t certain. That didn’t seem special enough compared to her soulmate’s tattoos, or Roy’s tattoo, but it was the best that she could come up with in two seconds.

Rick and Wally were still bickering. “So if it’s not a hot dog, what is it then? Nachos?”

“No! It’d be  the digits of pi, stretching from my right hand to my left, like Emma’s!”

“Nerd.”

“Geek.”

“Aren’t those the same thing?” Roy asked as the younger two continued to yell. He knew better than to expect an answer.

Emma shook her head, grinning at the secret she was keeping, this one more for her own amusement than out of necessity. Rick had sketched out where he wanted his tattoo earlier, and now it was hidden beneath his raven-colored mop. And when Wally had taken off his mask to eat some of Ollie’s cookies in the safety of the Quiver, Emma glimpsed a few wobbly sharpie lines in Rick’s non-artistic peeking out from under the bright red hair. Wally was too distracted to notice it for himself, and it was hidden beneath his lightning bolts whenever Rick had been looking at him.

The next day at school, chem class was cancelled because Doctor Crane was missing. Emma and Babs went to the library while Luke finished his homework in the computer lab. Alysia Yeoh wrote her phone number on Barbara’s hand in black pen as the three discussed Harry Potter and the New Hunger Games movie. Then in the middle of civics class, the same ten numbers jumped out at Emma, faint on the back of Luke’s writing hand and nearly made her spit out her strawberry lemonade.

She texted Roy in glee so she wouldn’t blurt out and ruin the surprise for Luke. He let her, though he wasn’t really the kid of person that got obsessed with soulmates.

Emma, however could not wait to meet her soulmate.

~

Batman called in Flash and Aquaman to help out with a new villain, calling himself “Scarecrow”. Finch was texting Roy with updates every five minutes, and managed to catch the end of Aquaman’s reply as the Batmobile roared towards the Harbor.

“I will be bringing an apprentice of sorts with me.”

“You have an apprentice?” Batman asked. His monotone betrayed no surprise.

“A recent development, I will admit. It will not be a problem, will it? I want to get him started as soon as possible, and after all, Flash and yourself have sidekicks of your own, as does Green Arrow, some of them younger than Aqualad.”

“I take it that’s his name, then?”

“I take it will be fine, then?”

Robin snorted. It wasn’t every day that they heard a member of the Justice League sassing Batman. Typically, Wonder Woman was the only person who could get away with that, on account of her lack of weaknesses. Aquaman may or may not pay for that comment sooner or later if he didn’t watch his back.

“Meet you at the rendezvous point.” Batman cut off the transmission, glaring at his kids in the mirror. Finch only shrugged back at him. Her tattoos were itching again.

Flash pulled up seconds before the Batmobile came to a complete stop.

“Ha! We were here first!” Robin cackled.

“Only counts if you’re out of the car, boy wonder,” Kid patted him on top of his head. Emma grumbled, wishing that Roy were here, so at least she wouldn’t feel like an outcast to their flirting. She pulled out her phone again.

“Finch, phone away. Scarecrow can track the signal.” Batman instructed. She shoved it securely in her belt pocket.

“So how long did Fish man say it’d take him?” Flash asked.

“He’s probably taking the scenic route to show Aqualad around,” Robin piped up.

“Aqualad?” It was Kid’s turn to be surprised now.

In answer, there was a splash from the docks, and Aquaman flew out of the water, crouching in a majestic landing a moment later. A smaller splash followed, with a much less graceful landing that nearly sent the poor “Aqualad” stumbling back into the water.

“Woah!” Finch lunged forward, grabbing his wrist.

“Th-thank you, my lady,” He fell over himself to find his balance, bowing as courteously as he could with sea legs.

“Oh, no worries!” Emma insisted. “And- and you can call me Finch, please.”

“Apologies,” He said immediately, “I am afraid I am not used to the surface yet, it is still very new to me.”

“You will get used to it, Kaldur’ahm,” Aquaman gave a broad smile, clapping his new protege on the shoulder.

“Robin, Kid Flash, I would like to introduce my protege, Aqualad.”

“Cool!” Kid sped over, nearly shoving Finch to the side to shake Aqualad’s hand. “I’m Kid Flash! The coolest superhero around, but you can call me Wally when we’re off-duty.”

Robin saluted. “I’m Robin. Call me Rob. And you’ve already met my sister, Finch.”

“Yes, I have. It is wonderful to meet all of you.”

“Well, there’s also Speedy, but his mentor has a hot date with Black Canary tonight so they’re all currently unavailable,” Kid Flash snickered as their mentors discussed the issue at hand.

Finch gave him an elbow in the gut. “So, Aqualad, how long have you been working with Aquaman?” She nodded towards the adults, and Aqualad followed her indication.

“How are you working with Aquaman?” Robin asked, “I didn’t know the guy had any kids.”

“He does not,” Aqualad assured him. “I am one of his subjects. About two weeks ago, Ocean Master and his followers attacked Atlantis. Though he appeared to best Aquaman, my friends and I, students at Her Majesty’s Conservatory of Sorcery, were able to distract Ocean Master long enough for our king to recover. To show his gratitude, he gave us the opportunity to become his protege. I was the only one who accepted. I have spent the past few weeks training with my king and learning more about the surface world, the dangers it faces, and the threats to Atlantis.”

“Hey, kids! Gather round!” Flash beckoned them over, and Emma groaned inwardly at being called kids. They were on the younger side of teenage years, yeah, but the work they did was anything but childish. Unless you were Wally, and then you could be immature about anything.

While the adults had the dangerous job of actually going in after Scarecrow, the kids were designated to the much less dangerous assignment of patrolling the perimeter to make sure that Scarecrow nor his recently-acquired henchmen got away.

Finch didn’t mind it that much, she could get away with being lazy when Batman wasn’t looking over her shoulder every second, but Kid and Robin were a little upset at being left behind. They mirrored each other, chin propped up in one hand each.

“Why did Batman need to call us in again?” Kid asked. “I mean, isn’t he always like, ‘Bleh bleh, I work alone, bleh bleh,” He imitated the dark and scratchy voice of a vampire.

“Scarecrow’s only weapon is his fear gas, and he’s trying to figure out how to transform that gas into a liquid to infect Gotham’s water supply, and maybe the whole coast, and he needs someone in forensics who can track the fear gas chemicals super-fast, like your uncle. I’m pretty sure Aquaman invited himself along when Flash blabbed about the possibility of the coasts being affected.” Robin listed off.

“Well, the oceans are Aquaman’s responsibility. He takes that very seriously,” Aqualad was the only one of them standing at attention. His eyes were used to the dimness of the water, giving him an edge in night-vision. “He is a very good king, and he does not wish to let down his people.”

Finch set aside her phone. “It sounds like you really respect him.”

“I do. He has been very kind to my family. I admire his heroism for Atlantis and the world.”

Emma’s mind suddenly swelled with curiosity about Atlantis, but before she could ask, the doors of the warehouse they’d been staking out blew open to smoke, and about ten dark-clothed thugs ran out, coughing violently.

“Is that fear gas?” Kid asked.

“Nah, that’s probably just Batman’s smoke pellets.” Emma shot her grappling cord at a tower of cargo containers. “Try to keep up, Gentlemen!” She sang, swinging off towards the escaping thugs. She landed on one, taking him out. Another got a kick to the jaw, and the other hit her in the back. She staggered forward to regain her balance, alone against nine. Maybe she should have waited for the boys, that way she wouldn’t have been alone in facing them.

The thugs said nothing, but grunted, swinging and lunging at her as she danced around them, doing what she could to stay out of their grip and take advantage of any openings.

“Finch, look out!” It took a moment for her to register the almost-unfamiliar voice before Aqualad shoved her out of the way of a thug sneaking up behind her, getting trapped in the bear hug grip instead. Aqualad refused to lose his cool, and took a deep breath. A blue glow started at his shoulders, twisting down his arms, and letting out a burst of bio-electricity that stunned his captor with a scream.

“Woah,” Wally’s eyes were wide with admiration.

Emma’s eyes were wide too.

His tattoos glowed a warm blue hue.

And they matched the marks hidden on Emma’s arms.

~

“Emma, get up.”

“No.”

“We’re gonna be late for school.”

“Go without me.”

“No.” Still in his PJs, Rick took a flying leap at Emma’s queen-sized bed and bounced until she threw off her covers and started bouncing with him.

“So you met your soulmate, huh?”

Emma bit her lip before she could bite back with a “You too”.

“I thought I was ready to meet them, but I guess I’m not,” She said, still bouncing.

“Well, you don’t have to tell him. Not yet, anyways,” He pointed out. “Me, however, I’m not gonna be able to hold this in for very long.” Emma suddenly wanted to shout out that Wally was Rick’s soulmate, but she held herself back.

“It feels wrong,” Emma said, landing on her butt. Rick landed next to her, bouncing a couple times.

“He’s from Atlantis. He should have been soulmates with someone from Atlantis, someone who understands his tattoos and markings and their cultural significance,” She traced the tattoo up her right arm, an eel, not a snake. Aqualad had told a nervously curious Wally last night. After the fight and noticing Aqualad’s tattoos, it was like someone had flipped a switch from casual to awkward. She couldn’t even look at him without turning bright red. According to the marks on her skin, this was the man she was destined to spend her life with, to fall in love with. And she had known him for less than a day.

“You could always learn more about Atlantis. Ask him, talk to him.” Rick pointed out. “I think Bruce gave Aquaman a water-proof cell phone for AL to use. I can look up his number if you want-”

“No, I can ask him next time we team up, thank you very much.” Emma interrupted.

She sighed. “It probably would be a good idea to start there, though.”

Rick hugged her, his arms around her neck. “It’ll all work out, you’ll see.” He promised.

Emma hugged his arms, holding her little brother. “Thanks, Rick.”

“Master Richard! Miss Emma! You’re going to be late for school!”

~

The team was formed a few months later. Roy refused entry to the kiddie club, leaving an opening for Superboy and Miss Martian, neither of whom had any markings for themselves or from their soulmates. Emma was ecstatic, though both she and Aqualad missed having Speedy around. Artemis came next, an arrow tattoo wrapped around her bicep, and Speedy became “Red Arrow”, to show that he was moving on.

In the Junior Justice League base of Mount Justice, hero aliases were traded for civilian ID’s and nicknames. Wally remained the only one in confidence of Finch and Robin’s secret ID’s, but other than the three of them, there was Conner, Megan, Artemis (yes, it was the same as her hero name), and Kaldur.

Kaldur’s maturity and level-headedness got him elected team leader, in charge of organizing missions and getting the ragtag team to work together. Emma found herself sticking close by to help out with paperwork and discussing team problems and training with Kaldur. Not just because she wanted to get to know Kaldur, but because she felt so comfortable with him. She could talk to him about how red skittles were clearly the best out of all skittles, and he would listen intently. She could ask him a rhetorical question and he would answer patiently, or he would help her find the answer. He put time and effort into her, and she did the same. He was still studying and experiencing Surface Culture, and Emma loved explaining things to him.

Time set aside for mission discussions more often than not turned into these discussions of almost nothing. Kaldur was quite businesslike, compared to everyone else, at least, but Rick insisted that he “melted” around Emma.

“Still think that fate made a mistake?” He asked.

Emma shrugged. “I feel guilty for hiding it now. What if he thinks I only spent time with him because he’s my soulmate and not because...” She trailed off.

“Because you really care about him?” Artemis asked, loudly sipping a can of pineapple juice stolen from Wally. She and Megan knew, of course. Those things tended to happen when you shared a locker room.

Emma shrugged. “I just don’t think I’m ready yet.”

The others were, though, and she could tell.

“It’s not their secret to tell.” Roy told her over the phone. “If any of them so much as blurt the world ‘soulmate’ in Kal’s direction before you give the okay, I’ll kick all their butts.”

“How do you put up with it?” She asked him. Roy was basically a best friend to both Emma and Kaldur. Keeping it a secret from one of them had to be hard.

“I’ll admit, it’s hilarious seeing you two blushing and talking like that and he apparently doesn’t get a clue.”

“You jerk!” Emma threw a pillow at the wall to substitute for throwing one at Roy.

“Seriously, Em,” His laughter had faded, “You like him, don’t you? And he likes you. What do you have to lose by telling him?”

~

Nothing. She had nothing to lose. Or did she? She couldn’t tell, and it drove her insane.

“Is something bothering you, Finch?” Aqualad asked.

“Dragonfire,” She reminded him, flexing her new wings. A gift from her old friend the Joker.

“Yes, of course. My apologies,” He still bowed his head formally. Emma liked it when he used Atlantean mannerisms.

“It’s okay, I like that you still call me that sometimes.” She liked it so much her stomach tickled. She passed it off as her new powers being irritating.

Raquel overheard, and like the others she had it.

“We have to set them up,” She declared to the team while Kaldur and Dragonfire were off doing “important paperwork”.

“Agreed,” Artemis pounded her fist on the island counter for emphasis.

“But how are we going to convince Dra that she should tell? The longer she waits, the more nervous she gets.” Wally said

“Shouldn’t we let them decide?” Conner tried to say.

The PA switched on in a burst of static. “Team, report to the mission room.”

According to intel from Batman, Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, had escaped from Arkham Asylum and was hiding somewhere in Miami, Florida. The team’s mission was to find Scarecrow and whoever was helping him, and make it hard for Scarecrow to hurt anyone until Batman and the League could come in and deal with Scarecrow themselves.

While everyone else donned a tank top to go with their shorts, Emma stuck with her usual long-sleeved shirt in the Florida sun.

“Are you not hot in that?” Kaldur asked.

“I’m fine,” Dragonfire insisted with a smile. Several girls walked past, admiring Kal’s tattoos, and Emma turned away, just a little bit jealous. Of course, it was her own fault for not being more open about their marks in the first place. The team was split up patrolling the city. Kid Flash and Robin scouted out the perimeter, Superboy, Miss Martian, and Artemis had the malls, Zatanna and Rocket had the streets, and Kaldur and Dragonfire had the beach. They walked in silence, side by side through the warm sand, keeping an eye out for any shady or straw-like figures.

And then Kaldur reached down and took Emma’s hand.

“Huh?” She didn’t realize that she’d said that out loud, as if he’d said something she’d misheard.

“I thought that it would sell our inconsequential appearance if we pretended to be a couple,” He said, “Is that alright?”

Emma smiled, thankful that her blush was hidden beneath her sunglasses and the brim of her floppy straw hat. “That’s just fine,” She assured him.

It wasn’t awkward, and it certainly wasn’t boring when Kaldur was around. There was no doubt about it, Emma knew that she was in love.

And then there were screams.

Emma tried to stop the crying child that was running down the beach, but she only screamed louder and ran in the other direction, avoiding anyone who reached out or stopped to try and help her, until she finally fell to her knees, curled up in a little ball. More kids were appearing with those symptoms, jumping at every little movement or sound. Fear gas.

No time to wait for the League, Dragonfire and Kaldur sprinted the way the kids had come.

“Aqualad to Team, come in, the symptoms of mass fear gas have been spotted on the beach. Rendezvous at our coordinates ASAP.”

“Kid Flash to Aqualad, Rob and I found the remains of a lab used to create fear gas about five miles inland.”

“Tag and bag the evidence, then come help us,” Dragonfire instructed. More and more people were screaming out of fear now, not just the kids.

They spotted Scarecrow out at sea, on a rickety old boat bobbing on the waves that were becoming more and more tumultuous every second. Had the clouds been that dark and ominous a second ago?

“Hold on!” Kaldur shouted. Emma wrapped her arms around his torso as he dove into the waves, holding on for dear life as he made for the boat like a torpedo. He shot out of the water and Emma spread her dragon wings, dropping him on the ship like a bomb. Scarecrow threw canisters of fear gas at both of them, but Emma fried them with her electricity, negating the anxiety-inducing abilities. Her fists crackled and her hair billowed with static as she hovered above the ship like a bird of prey, providing cover as Kaldur fought off Scarecrow’s guards. Emma went for the big man himself. It was strange to think that this was her old biology teacher, but given how teachers were treated in America, she really couldn’t blame him. She swept in with a hook to the jaw, sending him stumbling backwards.

“How do we stop it, Crane?” She demanded, going for intimidation. The guy liked fear, right?

“Such power...” Crane hissed, “Tell me, child, what scares a god like you?”

Emma shot him in the arm with another lightning bolt. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Scarecrow grabbed at her shirt, tearing off some fabric. She threw him off with another blast of electricity that tore her shirt even more. It wasn’t made of the same durable stuff that her uniform was.

“Dragonfire!” Aqualad shouted, “I think we have been exposed to minimal effects of the fear gas!”

“Probably!” She agreed, ducking under Scarecrow’s hit. “Try to stay focused! You can fight it off!” She promised.

She turned back to Scarecrow, who now had an aerosol-like can pointed at her face, and sprayed before jumping over the side of the boat. His henchmen follow suit, and Dragonfire heard the sound of a submarine roaring away below the choppy waves.

“Dragonfire!” Aqualad caught her as she rubbed at her eyes, coughing violently.

“Dragonfire, Finch, hang on, you can fight it,” He urged, setting her down on the

Emma heard none of that, her ears were too clogged, no matter how she tried to shake off the fear gas.

She looked down at her arms, the sleeves of her shirt completely gone. Kaldur looked down and saw them too. He quickly pulled away, backing up several steps.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Finch’s voice quavered, echoing in her ears as Aqualad swam in and out of her vision.

It cleared long enough to see the disgusted look on his face.

She was out cold before she hit the water.

~

Emma awoke tangled in soft white sheets. She hugged herself, running her fingers against the rough ink. They itched more than ever now, reminding her of what happened on the boat.

Kaldur hated her. He had to. She hated herself.

“Good, you’re awake,” Black Canary smiled down at her kindly, approaching the side of her bed.

“You’re all right,” She said at the sight of tears flooding Emma’s eyes. “The fear gas should be just about flushed from your system by now. Aquaman and Batman are helping to oversee the cleanup of Miami Beach, and even though Scarecrow’s escaped, no one was killed. Wonder Woman and Flash are making sure that everyone receives a vaccination for the fear gas.”

That did little to assuage Emma’s rapidly beating heart. “Is Kaldur-” She stopped herself, “Is Aqualad okay?” She whispered.

Canary’s smile brightened. “That’s right! He’s your soulmate!” She patted Emma’s bare arm, “Just one moment, I’ll go get him for you.”

“No, Dinah wait-!” The door whisked shut behind Dinah before Emma could finish.

She leaped to her feet, shaking like jello. She had to get out of there, she couldn’t face Kaldur like this. She grabbed a change of clothes, lying on the counter, and tripped over her big feet. Seconds before she smacked into the linoleum, strong arms with too-familiar tattoos caught her, lifting her up.

“Hi,” Kaldur said, giving a small smile.

Emma pushed him away, falling back into the bed. “Go away,” She demanded, throat thick with tears.

Kaldur’s eyes went wide, glancing between his tattoos and the marks on Emma’s arms. “Finch? Are you alright?”

She shook her head, “Just leave me alone!”

“Finch, what is wrong?”

“Don’t call me that!” She screamed. “I get it, I’m not what you wanted in a soulmate, I’m sorry to disappoint you,” She sobbed.

“But even if you hate me, I have to tell you that I love you. I have been since I met you, before I even knew that we were soulmates.”

Now, Kaldur’s face was screwed up in confusion. He was usually so passive, it was strange to see him like this.

Having said that, Emma was unable to keep her mouth shut. “I love your sincerity and your honesty, your kindness and how much you care. I love your curiosity and fascination with every new thing you find out about the surface world. I love your patience and your smile and that little laugh you make when Rick and Wally are kidding around because we know they’re soulmates but they can’t tell. I didn’t want to tell you I was your soulmate because I wanted to make sure you liked me for me, and that I liked you not just because you were my soulmate.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the blanket in her hands, worried that it might tear if she held it too tight, but it was better than letting the tears she was holding back burst out.

There was she soft pad of bare feet on tile, and Kaldur’s rough but gentle hands brushed some hair from her face.

“I do not hate you, Finch. It would be impossible for me to do so.”

She gasped and opened her eyes. A few tears fell, but Kaldur helped her wipe them away. “I have loved you for a long time, but I hope you can forgive me for not coming forward with my feelings before.” He paused, taking her hand in his. “I was afraid that if you were not my soulmate, you would not be open to dating other people.”

She almost laughed, throwing her arms around him. Kaldur returned her embrace.

“I love how kind you are as well. Your impatience is endearing, and I find it amusing how I seem to be the only person you are patient with. I love how you are always so happy and smiling. I love how stubborn you are, and your commitment to justice for those who need it.

“And I love the fact that you are my soulmate.”

~

“Are you seriously getting nachos?” Artemis asked, looking at the stereotypical designs that were offered at the most popular tattoo parlor in Happy Harbor. “A lightning bolt would be ten times cooler.”

“Lightning is fleeting but food is forever,” Wally said, attempting to sound old and wizened.

“Yeah, at least until you eat it,” Rick snickered.

“I think I might get lightning,” Emma said. “Or maybe a tiny dragon.”

“Definitely get a dragon,” Raquel agreed, “There’s like fifty heroes who have lightning iconography. You’re the only one who’s got dragon wings.”

“What about Man-bat? Or Blue devil?” Wally pointed out.

“Dude, they’re a bat and a devil, not dragons.” Zatanna said, coming back from her seat with several magical sparkles sprinkled around her wrist like a bracelet. A few moments later, the same style appeared on Raquel’s wrist to go with the white comet on her forearm.

“My turn!” Wally declared with glee, hopping up to the table Zee had been at. “I want the first seven digits of Pi on my ankle,” He said, settling on a price with the tattoo artist.

“What about you, Conner, what are you getting?” Megan asked.

“I can’t get anything here, I’m too strong, but Clark has some tech at the Fortress he can use to put the Superman symbol on my bicep if I really want it.”

“And you do, don’t you?” M’gann giggled.

“Yes, I do.” He nodded firmly. “What are you getting?”

“I don’t know! There are so many cool designs!” She squealed.

“What do you think, Kal? It’s gonna be your tattoo too,” Emma leaned against his shoulder, wearing short sleeves in the summer for the first time in two years, arm in arm with her soulmate.

Kaldur held up the piece of paper he’d been doodling on. “How about this?” He asked, pointing to a small drawing in the corner. A pair of dragon wings, just like hers.

Emma beamed and kissed his cheek. “Perfect.”

[themusingsofjericho-blog]

Façade (Flashback)

Flashback For:

@AFewSpills

@OhShesBossy

TW:

Mental/Physical Abuse

Attempted Rape

GW: 

Smut

Smudger hummed quietly to himself as he bustled around the kitchen, getting ready to cook up a delicious breakfast. He already had a nice, hot pot of coffee brewing behind him, and he was prepping the ingredients in order to make his famous chocolate chip pancakes, before moving on to the usual bacon and eggs. The sounds of David Draiman's voice serenaded him quietly in the background, since a certain guest was still fast asleep up in the guest bedroom...

Over the last three days, Smudger had been allowing a dear friend of his to stay with him until she could get back on her feet. She had shown up at his door, naked as the day she was born, with nothing but a thin sheet to protect herself from the cold. On top of that...her face was covered in dried blood and fresh bruises. Smudger didn't even hesitate when he saw her in the state that she was in. Using his best stern teacher voice, he told her to come inside and sit down. He loaned her a pair of his best pyjama pants and a t-shirt, before making her a hot cup of tea to help warm her up. And, judging by the looks of her injuries, he knew that he was in for a fucking horror story...

The young woman in question's name is Carla Swayze. Or, Nurse Swayze, to her colleagues and patients at Los Angeles General Hospital. The very same hospital where his best friend turned brother-in-law works as a doctor. The two had been introduced when his younger sister, Rebecca, had brought her over after school one day, because the two had a project that they were working on for their chemistry class. He was sitting in the living room when the two girls walked through the front door, and the second that his eyes had met Carla's...

He couldn't help but feel instantly smitten by her...

His first impression of Carla was that she was bright, beautiful, outgoing, asute, and very wise beyond her years. He also noticed that her sense of humour mirrored his own, due to how hysterically she laughed at some of his wise cracks and impressions. Hell. She nearly pissed herself when he did his dead on impressions of Austin Powers, Dr. Evil, Fat Bastard, and Goldmember. It wasn't long before the two started to become extremely close, to the point that their friends and family started to wonder whether or not they were dating. They were asked about this, day in and day out, and the answer was always the same...

The answer was "No."

Smudger never told Carla that he had feelings for her, out of fear of being rejected. Nevertheless, he knew that she was The One for him, right from the very beginning. But, despite the fact that they weren't dating, there was one particular night that the two had given into their urges. And, this was a night that he never, ever forgot...

It was the night of Senior Prom. Smudger's parents had allowed him to throw an after party at the house, under the condition that he and Rebecca cleaned up whatever potential mess was made. Both siblings agreed, and they made sure to keep their word. Drinks were flowing. People were dancing and having the time of their lives. And, to no one's surprise, Carla ended up being Smudger's prom date. Hell...he didn't even need to ask her to go with him. She just approached him at his locker one day and told him straight up that she would be his date. Smudger knew better than to say no to her, given the fact that he was planning on asking her to go with him, anyways. Carla had gone upstairs to use the bathroom, and Smudger followed her to make sure that she was okay and that no one tried to do anything inappropriate. But, when Carla emerged, she had gone up to him and asked if she could talk to him about something in private. Of course, he was puzzled, but, he told her that she could and the two retreated to Smudger's room

He should have known that something was up when Carla locked the door behind her. He, at first, thought she locked it so that guests wouldn't drunkenly barge in and interrupt them. Pretty normal for someone to do, right? Well. Not in this case. Carla clearly had something planned, and it sure as shit wasn't a heart to heart between best friends. That became obvious when Smudger was suddenly pinned against the door, and Carla had kissed him before he could ask her what the fuck she was doing. The second her lips met his, it felt like time itself had stopped. Everything started spinning around him, and it was as if it was just the two of them in that big house. They ended up making love for the very first time, all while Take On Me by A-ha blasted from the stereo in the living room. They gave each other their virginity, and it was the most incredible experience of Smudger's young life...

But, little did he know, that his life would soon take an unexpected and tragic turn...

The two had lost touch after Smudger moved away to Scotland after his parents' deaths. He didn't even say goodbye to Carla. He knew that seeing Carla cry would be too much for him, and he needed to get out of Los Angeles for a while to grieve. Despite the distance, he never stopped thinking about her. And he regretted not telling her that he loved her...

Smudger had absolutely no idea about Hank until he moved back to Los Angeles. He had gone to Carla's apartment to go and visit her to catch up, and he will never forget how cold Hank's voice sounded when he asked Carla who was at the door. And his eyes...his eyes were filled with obvious jealousy and disgust. How dare Carla have male friends, right? Carla swore up and down that she was happy, and that Hank was just too protective for his own good sometimes. But, the look in her eyes stated otherwise. Smudger could see the pain and sorrow whenever she spoke, whether the conversation was about Hank or not. But, up until a few nights ago, Smudger had absolutely no idea about how much of a monster Hank truly was...

Carla broke down in tears as she finally confessed to him what truly went on behind closed doors. She had been introduced to Hank through her other best friend, Emily. Hank was a friend of George, Emily's husband, and she thought that the two of them would make a perfect couple due to their similar personalities. At first, Hank seemed like a perfect fit for Carla. He was sweet, charming, funny, kind, and - in Carla's words - absolutely fucking adorable. The two had decided to make things official after nine months of knowing each other, and...that's when everything started going downhill...

Carla had brushed off Hank's outbursts of jealousy at first, thinking that he was just being your average protective boyfriend. But, once he was comfortable enough, his harmless behaviour started to escalate. He put a GPS tracker in her car and phone, that way he could see where she was going and who she was with every time she left the apartment. He started showing up at the hospital whenever Carla was working, thinking that she was having an affair with Rusty, who worked there as a doctor. Hank knew that Rusty and Carla were close friends, and, in his delusional mind? He saw that as a threat. Though...any man who dared to breathe in his girlfriend's direction was a threat to him. And, of course, security was always called to escort him off the property. He was eventually banned from the hospital altogether, after he had assaulted Rusty for simply giving Carla a comforting hug, due to the fact she had an extremely frustrating shift

And, as if Smudger's blood wasn't already boiling as he listened to Carla's tearful confession...she told him that the blood and bruises were the result of Hank assaulting her...

The assault had taken place only an hour before Carla had shown up. She told Smudger that she was on her period, and Hank had demanded her to give him oral sex. Carla refused, due to the fact that she had just gotten home from work, and all she wanted to do was eat her sushi and relax. But, instead of being a rational human being and respecting her right to say "No" to him, Hank decided instead that it would be a good idea to grab Carla by the hair and throw her violently to the ground. He kicked her in the stomach to knock the wind out of her, and he had punched her so hard in the face, he ended up breaking her nose and both of her orbital bones. And she was told that if she told anyone about this, especially George (who works for the LAPD SVU), that he would kill her

Smudger had heard enough at that point, and he told her in that same stern teacher voice that she needed to go and talk to the police after she finished her tea. Carla protested at first, but, she eventually gave up after Smudger gave her a very stern lecture. He drove her to the station, and he will never forget how fucking white George went when he saw Carla's injuries. She was immediately brought into a room to speak to one of the female officers, and he watched as Carla broke down once again as she relayed the same story to her. She was instructed to file a police report, and she had gone the following day to James' law office to file a restraining order. George, Henry, and Gordon had escorted her back to the apartment to grab her belongings, and Hank had threatened her the entire time she was there. And, with George's suggestion, Carla had her phone secretly recording their interaction for the courts to hear, just in case she needed further proof. God Bless you, Georgie!

Smudger had just finished making the bacon and eggs when he heard footsteps coming from the staircase. He turns his head, a small smile forming on his lips as his eyes settle upon the still sleepy blonde who was now beginning to zombie shuffle towards the kitchen island. He warmly tells her good morning, only for her to grunt sleepily in response. He wanted to tell her how adorable she looked when she was sleepy, but, he figured it would be wiser to just chuckle and tell her that breakfast was ready. Carla flashes him a small smirk, before sitting down at the island and digging into the food that Smudger had placed down in front of her.

The entire time Carla was eating, Smudger couldn't help but look over at her. Even with her hair all in a mess, no trace of makeup on her face, and clad in a black, silk nightgown, she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on. But, he was far too terrified to express to her how he truly felt...

He didn't want to make it seem like he was taking advantage of her, given the fact that she was dealing with an extremely messy situation with an extremely volatile man. Her injuries looked worse now than what they originally did, and, he knew it was going to take a while for them to heal. Seeing her in that state broke his heart, and he silently prayed that Hank would get a good, hard punch in the face by Karma for what he had done to this wonderful woman...

Carla had already finished eating, and Smudger had taken her plate away so that it could be washed. He could still see Carla out of the corner of his eye, and he could see that she was looking at him. He thought nothing of it, until he saw Carla get up out of her chair in a slow, almost hesitant way. Frowning now, he turns around so that he was facing her, before asking in a gentle tone...

"Carla? Honey? Is everything alright?"

Smudger had no idea what his words were about to cause, until Carla started speed walking towards him. She crossed the distance between them faster than she had ever moved in her life and crashed her lips against his before he could say another word, tears streaming down her cheeks as she did so. Smudger whimpered as Carla's mouth shaped itself to his. It felt just like it always had between the two of them. He forgot all about the situation with Hank as he wrapped his arms tightly around her. Nothing else mattered except her. Just her. That was it.

Carla moaned as she felt Smudger's tongue plunging into her mouth, her mind going completely blank. At that moment, she couldn't think about anything except the man holding her and how much she had missed him. She had been so worried about him for so long. She couldn't hold her emotions back any longer. She pulled back slightly, resting her forehead against his and looking into his eyes.

"Let's go upstairs..." she whispered, "get you out of those clothes..."

Smudger whimpered again, unable to stop himself.

'God, I've missed hearing you say that..." he whispered back, a few tears of his own sliding down his cheeks. He buried his face in her neck, praying this wasn't all some cruel dream.

Carla laughed softly as she took Smudger's hand and led him upstairs. She pulled him into the guest bedroom, shoving him onto the bed and crawling on top of him.

"I've missed you so much, Smudger..." she whispered into his ear just before plunging her tongue into it. She rocked her hips against his, moaning as she felt his erection pressing against her. Her entire body was throbbing with a need that only he could fill.

"Take me, Smudger..." she pleaded, "I need you so much..."

Smudger let out a low moan of longing before he could stop it. He ran his hands along Carla's legs, slowly pushing the hem of her silk gown up over her stomach. He reached down and slid his thumb through the lace of her panties before sliding them down her legs and tossing them to the side. He tangled his fingers in her hair, kissing clumsily along her neck and shoulder as he moaned again and lifted his hips for her.

Carla moaned at the feel of Smudger's warm lips on her skin, the feeling of his strong hands on her body. She slowly ran her hands down his chest, over his stomach to the top of his pyjama pants. She slides his pants and boxers off his hips before reaching down to wrap her hand around his shaft. She began to stroke him, rocking her hips in time with the movement of her hand as she kissed along his chest. Her long hair created a curtain around them as she kissed her way up his neck.

"Oh, Smudger..." she moaned.

Smudger gripped Carla's hips, pulling her harder against him.

"Fuck, Carla..." he gasped, "it's been too damn long..."

He lifted her up, grinning when she did the same with him, and slid her down onto his shaft with a loud moan of longing. He didn't move for several moments, simply enjoying the feel of being inside of her again after so many years.

Carla gasped as she felt Smudger fill her completely. She slowly rolled her hips, moaning as she felt the head of his cock rub against her G-Spot. She leaned down, kissing along the side of his mouth as she rode him. Hank didn't matter to her at that moment. The only thing that mattered was Smudger. He needed her, and she realized that she needed him just as much. She didn't want to think about what would happen later. This was their time, and she was taking it.

Smudger whimpered as he felt Carla tighten around him. He grabbed her hips a little tighter, guiding her along his length as she rode him. He arched his back as a sudden wave of pleasure crashed over him, her warmth overwhelming him. She felt just as good as she always had. This was what he had been needing...this moment...this time with her. He moved his hands up her back, pulling her as close as possible as he started lifting his hips to meet her as she continued riding him.

Carla moaned, fresh tears falling down her cheeks as she felt Smudger's emotions. She held him as tight as she could, her body growing hotter as they continued to move faster. Their bodies easily fell into the same easy rhythm they had always had with each other. Her heart felt as if it would burst from her chest as she felt the familiar tightening in her stomach, knowing she was close, covering his mouth with her own and plunging her tongue inside.

Smudger whimpered as he felt Carla's tongue dancing with his. He dug his nails deeper into her skin, thrusting harder and harder. He knew that she was close, and he wanted her to let go and let it out.

Carla shuddered as she felt the pleasure in her body increase. She pulled back from the kiss, letting out a scream as she lost herself in orgasm.

Smudger growled as he felt Carla's body clench around his. He threw his head back, shouting her name as he felt his own release wash over him. It had been so long since an orgasm felt so good, and he didn't want to let her go. Not again...