#(YES I asked people in the health care system out of curiosity)

[cats-and-hydrangea]

😴💭🐑🤍👨‍❤️‍👨

[vaultdwellerbarbie]

Enchanted (To Meet You)

Javi (Twisters)/Original Female Character (14.1k wc)

Summary Having been born and raised in New York, Emily jumps at the chance to join her co-worker Kate on a journey to Oklahoma. What she doesn't anticipate is how drawn she feels toward her friend, Javi.

this can honestly be read as a reader insert, there are no physical descriptors - only that the main character is a woman. it's easier for me to write with a name, so i wrote with a name, but i left no physical descriptors so it could be read as an insert. anyway, please enjoy! i've been into anthony ramos for a long time. yes this is the only post on my blog, dw about it.

Growing up in New York City, the idea of a tornado was something that Emily had never needed to worry about in a capacity other than the worry that any child feels when they first learn about something that could be dangerous to them. To her, it felt like being worried that the bermuda triangle or the Titanic were going to be much bigger issues in her life as she got older. 

That fascination, though, was something else. She enjoyed learning about weather, and she wished that she could do more to protect people when something like that did happen to them. Of course, she had no real experience with it. That didn’t mean that she didn’t care, and that was why she ended up becoming fast friends with Kate when she joined the team that she had only recently started working on.

At the time, Emily had only been working with the company for half of a year. She hadn’t really made very many meaningful friendships, and she wasn’t sure if she was going to any time soon. When Kate joined, she finally had someone her age who was a little bit left out of a conversation because they were both new, so she befriended her quickly after. 

Kate had been a bit closed off when they first met, but when she opened up about her past and what brought her to the city, Emily understood why. Kate had lost people who mattered to her, people who were the closest to her. She imagined that she felt some kind of survivors guilt, knowing that her friends had been killed by a storm that she had miraculously been spared from. All but one friend, one friend who she wasn’t really in contact with.

To Emily, it was clear that Kate was trying to shut out the past because of her guilt - because it’s the only way to protect her own mental health after what happened. It wasn’t the healthiest coping mechanism, but it wasn’t Emily’s place to say that.

That was the real reason Emily had been she asked Kate if she could accompany her to Oklahoma. Kate was adamant that it was a bad idea. First, she was worried about going in general. When her friend Javi showed up, she got a bit clammy. She didn’t want to go with him because she had no interest in facing her past or being face first with another storm. When she finally did decide to go, her worry became about losing another friend. But Emily knew that Kate was going to need some sort of support system, and she just wasn’t sure that Javi could be that. She didn’t know him, she hadn’t met him, and he was the one bringing her back into this. In the beginning, Emily was incredibly wary of him.

When the two of them left for Oklahoma, after Kate finally agreed that she was okay with Emily coming along so long as she listened to everything she said and didn’t do anything dangerous, that was when she finally met Javi.

The first thing that she noticed about him was his freckles. Emily had been told that he looked different when Kate knew him. His hair was longer, he looked a bit messier, not as put together as he was now. She didn’t question that, but she did insist upon seeing pictures once she was face to face with him since he absolutely did not fit the description that she had been given when she first heard about him anymore.

That curiosity that she felt at first seemed to morph into something else by the time they had actually arrived in Oklahoma. Maybe it was the field of freckles that covered his cheeks, or the way that his eyes lit up when she explained to him how weather patterns in New York had worked. Or, maybe it was the way that he grew instantly worried when she admitted that she had never seen a tornado in person. She wasn’t sure what it was that started it, but she knew by the end of their first interaction she had the unmistakably familiar feeling of a crush gnawing away at her mind every time she thought about Kate’s friend. 

Even though it was nothing serious, Kate could read her like a book. She didn’t shy away from pointing it out to her after dinner that first night, but Emily brushed it aside. Even if she were to admit that she had a crush, it didn’t matter. Neither of them were staying in Oklahoma, Emily’s entire life was in New York - even though some part of her had been yearning for a change from the mundane normality of the life that she had been used to for her entire life, she wasn’t just going to uproot now. Not because of something so small as finding some guy who she had only just met more attractive than she should. 

Kate understood this, but some part of her liked the idea of seeing her two friends get together. Javi had always been alone, she always really seemed to want someone by his side but never seemed to have that. She had hoped, with how well he had done for himself since she last saw him, many he had found someone. But he had devoted his entire life to his work and, seemingly, just didn’t consider himself to be someone who had time for romance. She could understand his thoughts, but it certainly wasn’t healthy. He needed to have something stable, and chasing tornadoes wasn’t stable. But, dating someone who lived so far away probably wasn’t the stability that he needed either. She let it go after that, but she did still find it amusing the next morning when the three of them were in the car together and her good friend just couldn’t keep her eyes off of her other good friend no matter how much she tried to hide what she was doing. 

As the day progressed, Emily was almost surprised that Kate intended on sticking around for the entire week. She had promised Javi that she was going to stay, but she figured that Javi would understand if Kate couldn’t do this because of the trauma that she held closely to her chest after everything hat happened with the rest of their friends. Emily, however, wasn’t opposed to staying. Even though that day had been her first time seeing a tornado, she was excited to see more of them. It was scary, but it was thrilling. Her life had become so utterly mundane that something so thrilling felt foreign to her, but not foreign enough to scare her off. 

By the time she was meant to retire for bed, Emily couldn’t help but sit outside and watch the people enjoying the weather. While tornadoes were rather unpredictable in many cases, and caused devastation, it almost seemed like these people enjoyed them not because of what they could do - but for a number of reasons. Maybe it was human resilience, seeing something without a face, without a person to blame, that could do that much damage to their homes and their lives and spitting in its face to tell it that you weren’t afraid of it. Or, maybe it was just because they were so desensitized to tornadoes that they genuinely were no longer afraid of them - maybe it was just like a roller coaster to them; terrifying, but something that they were used to enough that it didn’t bother them anymore. She wasn’t sure which reason was more plausible. Maybe, some of these people just felt like they were in the presence of a celebrity when being around the Tornado Wrangler and were only so excited because of their proximity to him. 

Her thoughts were cut short by someone beside her, her grip on her sleeve tightening for a moment before she recognized that it was Javi.

“You’re not in New York anymore, not every guy is a threat.” He teased, moving to stand beside her. She was pretty sure he would have gone home by now, but she had seem him speaking with Kate for a moment. 

“I don’t know, your kinda mean friend seems like a threat to me.” 

“Scott? Scott won’t do anything. He’s all bark, I promise.” He responded, but there was something more to his voice. He almost sounded like he didn’t believe that, in a way. Or, there was something deeper. But, she had only been here for a day. If she were to start creating conspiracy theories, she would at least need to make it to the midpoint of the week before she allowed her mind to truly start wandering in that direction. 

“Figured you would have gone home.”

“Kinda hungry, Kate wanted to go back to her room. I was wondering if you wanted to get something to eat.” 

“So nice to be your second choice, I’m honored.” Emily was clearly joking, something that Javi picked up on. Of course she would come second, he was catching up with an old friend and she just sort of tagged along because Kate said it was okay. “I’m sorry if I intruded, by the way, I kn- you invited Kate, I just wanted to come.”

“If I was upset, I wouldn’t ask you to come to dinner with me.”

“Dinner at eleven? Is this a meal time?” She questioned, but moved away from the balcony. “We should probably go before every place in the area closes.”

“Some places don’t close here, do you not have that in New York? I thought that city never sleeps.” 

“Some places don’t close there.” She replied, shrugging. It felt as though a conversation about the city’s insistence to close buildings and bathrooms past a certain hour so they could refuse their services to homeless people didn’t feel like polite conversation, so she opted to change the subject. “You ever consider moving away?”

“I’ve considered it, but what I love to do is here. You?” 

“I’ve considered it.” Emily responded, but she wasn’t sure where to go from there. She was considering it now, but she wasn’t sure where she would go. Her entire life - her history, her family, her friends, her work - was all in New York. “I kinda want to go somewhere else, I’m kind of bored of New York.”

“Seems like there’s so much to do there that you could never get bored. Here, the kids just go to the Wal-Mart parking lot for fun.” 

“Sure, there’s things. But they’re the same things I’ve always known.” She wasn’t sure where exactly she would go, or what exactly she would do. 

“Does Kate know?”

Emily got into the passenger seat of his car, not ignoring the slight flutter in her stomach when he held the door for her (really, she didn’t ignore it because she was internally scolding herself). 

“Kate doesn’t know because it’s barely an idea. She knows I wanted to experience something new, that’s why I came here. But uprooting my whole life is a big thing, and I don’t even know if it’s plausible. No need to stress out a friend when it might not even work out.” 

Javi was quiet for a moment, starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot. The people in the parking lot faded away, but she couldn’t help but allow her thoughts to linger on them. Did those people all know each other? Or was it just a little bit easier to make friends in a place like this?

“I think, if you want to do something now, you’re probably going to regret not even looking into it a few years from now. It’s probably best to do it… you know, when you have less years invested. What’s really holding you back?”

“Money.” She answered, maybe a bit too honestly. “I have five years experience at this job, but that doesn’t mean that I’m going to find another one. I really don’t want to report the weather on a local news channel.”

“I’d offer you a job, but you seem to hate Scott.”

“I don’t- I don’t hate him, I just think he could be a little bit more… chipper.” 

“Is that how you describe yourself while watching a tornado, usually?”

“Well, since I’d never watched a tornado in person before today, I guess I wouldn’t say usually.” 

“Never?”

“I thought Kate told you.”

“That explains why you looked…” He wasn’t entirely sure how to describe it. “I wish I could feel that for the first time again.”

Emily turned to watch him as he drove. It was clear that there was something about him that she didn’t know, not just because she had only just met him. Perhaps it was because he was harboring some pain within him that she had seen within Kate, but it seemed like he had adjusted differently. Considering the fact that he hadn’t narrowly survived the storm like Kate had, she figured that it made sense that he would adjust differently. He, also, hadn’t left right after. Maybe his coping mechanism was just different, or maybe there was just something about him that she couldn’t put her finger on yet. 

For some reason, it felt like a better reason to be heading out with him in the middle of the night because she was curious about who he was than it did to admit that a good portion of her reasoning was just because she found him attractive.

Truthfully, she was curious. But, she also knew that a majority of the things she wanted to know were things it would be impolite to ask about since she had only just met him. She wanted to know more about his past with Kate, but she knew that what the two of them had been through was something she probably wasn’t close enough to hear about from him. She wanted to know what he thought about Kate’s coping skills, friend to friend about their mutual friend, but she doubted that was something he would divulge to her having only just met her. There were a lot of things that she absolutely wanted to know, but she didn’t fell equipped to ask them because she didn’t think it would be polite - because she didn’t think she would answer if she was in his shoes.

Still, she knew that he was curious about her friendship with Kate. She knew the entire reason he probably asked her to come with him to dinner was because of her friendship with Kate, because it was worlds apart from what friendship he had with her and because he was curious about what Big City Kate and her Big City Friends had been getting up to since she had left Oklahoma. She was certain he would worm those questions out of her at some point, and by the time that their dinner was done, she knew that she was right. 

Some part of her wanted to believe that was the only reason he had invited her out, and she was sure that it was a big part of it. But it became entirely clear to her that it wasn’t the only reason because it almost seemed like he genuinely did want to get to know her as a person. There was something about Javi that seemed inherently lonely, but that loneliness didn’t make any sense to her since he was surrounded by people. Was it because those people were technically under his employment? Was that something that just came along with her knowing about what he had been through? She wasn’t sure, she just knew that there was something about him that made her feel like he craved closeness with people - maybe that was part of his true motivation for bringing Kate back to Oklahoma. Maybe he was just lonely, and maybe he was just relieved that he got two people who wanted to talk to him instead of just one. 

“I thought they would’ve been out here all night.” Emily commented as he pulled back into the parking lot. He was able to park a lot closer to the staircase, even though there was still some heavy machinery and cars that were preventing him from parking as close to where she would need to be as possible. 

“They’re out here a lot, but they’re mainly just groupies. Following the Tornado Wrangler is kind of what they do, he just happened to go to bed.” Javi commented, watching as she moved to exit the car.

“Thank you, by the way. It was nice to talk to you.” She said, moving to get out of the car. “I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?”

“What kind of guy do you think I am not walking you to your room? This place is safer than New York, but not that safe.” 

She raised an eyebrow, but stepped out of the car with him anyway. “You get a lot of murders around these parts?”

“I just wouldn’t be so trusting of motel guests, that’s all.” 

That was a fair assessment. Motels were never given reputations as the safest places in the world, so he was probably right about worrying about her walking to her room on her own. Anyone could be lurking in the shows, especially since it was pushing two in the morning at this point. The only people outside were people like them - younger people, just having a good time - and creeps lurking around places like these hoping to find younger women having a good time. 

“Well, now I’m a little worried about you walking back to the car alone. Should I give you my pepper spray?”

There was a small smile on Javi’s face as he moved to stand next to her, but he simply shook his head. “I’d rather you keep that. Give me your number, I’ll text you when I make it home safely. Sound fair?”

“Sounds fair enough to me.”

Now, the issue with Emily in this instance was simple: She had no romantic experience beyond a few failed dates. She was constantly working, and she always had trouble meeting people in New York. There were so many people there that it could get overwhelming, and because of the vast number of people she saw every single day, any opportunity for a meet-cute was shattered by the realization that she was probably never going to run into that person again. Lost connections aside, Emily had no idea when anyone was flirting with her.

Sure Javi had asked for her phone number, but she had asked for reassurance that he was going to be safe. Was she flirting with him? Was he flirting with her? She didn’t know, she just knew that it was easy to talk to him and she found him rather easy on the eyes. As far as she knew, she was probably never going to see him in person again after this week - at least, not for a good long while. So, she had no apprehensions about just living in the moment. Maybe it was something, or maybe it was nothing, but she wasn’t going to know if she just ignored it entirely. 

Emily watched as he quickly texted her number so she could add him to her phone, but she thought nothing of it. Or, she tried to think nothing of it.

How many people had she exchanged phone numbers with in a similar manner while working in a professional setting? They were both professionals, in a sense. It was true that she was predominantly here for personal gain, that it had nothing to do with work. But, she also knew that they both worked in very similar fields and could - ultimately - help each other out. Was that actually why they were exchanging phone numbers? She wished that she had more answers to her questions, but she also wished that she didn’t have any of these questions. Having only just met Javi, it felt nonsensical to wonder if he also has a crush on her - it felt childish, and she felt far beyond worrying about something like that when she very next day she was going to put her life on the line (again) in the name of science.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Javi.” 

“Can I call you Em?”

“Only Kate calls me Em.” She replied, but she also figured that was where he got the idea. “Sure.”

“Cool. I’ll see you in the morning, Em.” 

With that, she turned to go back into her motel room. There was almost a palpable awkwardness that they both definitely wanted to break away from as quickly as possible. It felt like there was something that should have filled that gap. If it was her saying goodnight to Kate, she would have given her a small hug. If it was her saying goodbye to someone who had just brought her to a romantic dinner and not one that was simply between two friends, she would have probably leaned in to kiss him since it had gone well. 

It was neither of those things. 

That left her returning to her room, wondering if there was something more going on. But, even if there was, she wasn’t nearly awake enough to give it time to think about. She was exhausted from such a long day, and she barely found the energy to change into her pajamas. The idea of having a long thought about how she, at her big age, was having such feelings about someone who she was likely never going to see again was even more tiring than just going to bed. Even in exchanging phone numbers, she doubted that she was going to have occasion to come back here. At least, not any time soon if she wanted to keep her job. Considering the fact that her job was the thing keeping her fed, she really didn’t feel like being fired because she kept going to the midwest to fornicate with some guy. Some guy, who she must note, she’s only just met, knows barely anything about, and simply has a crush on. 

The next morning should have been better, but it was when things when awry. 

Kind of.

Emily and Kate had made their way to a local diner, the same diner that Emily had found herself sitting at with Javi the night before. But whatever personality that she had seen in him had been gone. He seemed drained, sitting there beside his friend who couldn’t hide his rude comments about Kate and some man who just screamed evil corporate manager. She couldn’t prove that there was anything inherently bad about Scott or the old man that was sitting across from him, but she was certain that she didn’t feel any good vibes radiating off of them. 

“Is he not a morning person?” Emily questioned, following Kate outside. 

“He’s… no, he’s not. But he’s not usually like that, either.” She replied, seemingly just as confused as Emily was. Whoever that man sitting across from him was, he looked familiar. Not only did he look familiar, but he screamed bad news to the both of them. She couldn’t make any outright accusations that he was a bad person, but she didn’t feel like it would be a good idea to not be, at the very least, wary. “How was your night?”

“Wh-”

“I saw you go to dinner with Javi, I’m just curious.” There was a teasing tone in her voice, which only made Emily more embarrassed than she otherwise would have been. 

“We didn’t do anything, Kate. He only invited me because you didn’t want to go and he didn’t want to go alone.” She replied, trying to brush off her almost accusation. Nothing had happened, nothing besides them exchanging numbers. Even then, Javi had only texted her to let her know that he was safe and she had only added him as a contact and liked his message. There wasn’t much more to it than that. In fact, there was nothing more to it than that.

“In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve always been so concerned with getting your sleep. You said yes because you wanted to go out with him.”

“Maybe I just wanted to look at him.”

“Same difference.” She commented, but she parted ways from Emily after a moment. Though Emily was far from unintelligent, she wasn’t nearly as gifted with storms as Kate was - nobody was as gifted with storms as Kate was. When she went somewhere, Emily knew that she was doing what she needed to do, and she knew that she was going to do it with more accuracy than any other person. Or, even any computer.

After a moment, she felt the presence of someone beside her. For a moment, she allowed warmth to fill you, because she knew from the smell of his cologne that it was Javi. But, she also noted that there was someone with him. Presumably, Scott. 

“You girls planning on pulling another stunt?”

“Only plans on my mind are a hot date with your mother.” 

“Alright, no need for that, guys.” Javi tried to be the voice of reason, but as far as Emily was concerned, the real reasonable behavior would have been keeping Scott far away from her and every other person on planet Earth since he had no interest in acting anywhere remotely normal. He was just, overall, incredibly rude. It rubbed her the wrong way, but it also rubbed her the wrong way that Javi was associating with someone like that. “We should talk about seating in the car today.” 

“What about it? 

“Well, you sat on Kate’s lap yesterday. I don’t think that was particularly safe.” 

There were only two seats in the car. The rest of the room was designated for equipment. “You saying I should stay back? Because I’m not riding with him.”

“He’s right here.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“Okay, okay. No. Not what I was saying.” Javi to place a hand on her shoulder, Emily’s eyes glancing from his hand to his face. Last night, he was just as attractive as he was now. But, in the sunlight, his freckles were easier to see, and his warm expression was far from what she had seen just a few moments ago in the diner. “I spent a little bit of time making it possible for you to sit between us, I just wanted to let you know. Okay? Are you calm?”

“I’m always calm.”

“She’s lying to you.” Kate started her from behind, but she had a pep in her step. Wherever they were going, they were doing it now. 

Emily, maybe, should have had more briefing on what sitting in the middle actually entailed. She was sitting shoulder to shoulder with both Javi and Emily since there was barely room for another person. She was harnessed in, and she couldn’t reason how this was any safer than being held by Kate. But, it was the thought that counted, and he probably wouldn’t put her in a situation that was entirely unsafe.

“If you feel like you’re insecure, let one of us know. You can share a seat with one of us, right Kate?”

“Absolutely, but I think she would be safer with you, Javi. You’re probably a little bit stronger than I am, even when you’re driving.” Kate, seemingly still giddy from whatever she had figured out, saw no harm in doing her part in setting up her two friends. Emily, however, saw that as a challenge to remain in her makeshift seat the entire time. But, she would swallow her pride if she absolutely had to. 

“Thanks for that.” Javi responded, taking the comment at what it was rather than really trying to consider what Kate was actually trying to do. Meanwhile, Emily couldn’t help but wonder if this seat was secure. She wasn’t bumping too much, it was clear that ‘a few minutes’ actually meant that he put a lot more effort into this than what he had originally let on. Still, her upper half wasn’t feeling very secure, and she was certain that she needed to at the very least keep her neck secure as to not get whiplash.

“You excited to see another tornado, Em?” Kate asked, glancing over at her. Emily smiled, but it was clear that her smile was nervous. She was excited, but she was also petrified.

“Absolutely. Terrified, but excited.”

“Don’t be terrified, just tell yourself that everything is going to be okay.” She reassured her, squeezing her hand for a moment before letting her go. Emily kept her eyes on the storm, the darkening clouds that she knew were soon going to turn into something a lot more damaging than some rain. 

For most of the journey, everything was okay. Kate was back in her element, and though she had initially been distracted by the constant feeling of Javi’s shoulder pressed against hers and the fact that she could vaguely feel the muscles in his arm working when he maneuvered with the steering wheel, she quickly became distracted by seeing her friend in a way that she had never seen her before. Kate had always been excited, but she had never gotten to see her like this before. It felt like this was natural for her, like this is where she belonged. Maybe it was, maybe it was a mistake that Kate was only agreeing to come back here for a week.

But, that intrigue into her friends mind was quickly distracted by the tornado. As much as Emily wanted to trust Javi’s driving abilities, whatever the definition of insecure was, she was certain that she was feeling it right now.

The moment it became clear that they couldn’t outrun it, she wasn’t sure what to do. She was absolutely petrified, her head down, her hand gripping onto anything and everything to give her some sort of stability. They were clearly, currently, inside of the tornado that was passing them. The loud noises on the top of the truck could either be from heavy debris, or something coming off of it. But she wasn’t sure what it was, or really what was going on, until it stopped. Well, when it stopped being on top of them. 

Her eyes slowly opened, meeting first with Javi’s. In her haste to grab something for stability, she must have ended up grabbing onto his hand (that and the gear shift beside her, she was grateful, at least, that she didn’t switch it into drive). 

“You okay, for this being your second tornado and all?” 

“I think so. Are we alive?”

“We’re alive.”

“Then I’m okay, probably.” She replied, slowly letting go of his hand. She really didn’t want to. It made her feel safer to have something to hold onto, but she knew that they were no longer in harms way. If they were in harms way to begin with, since they had survived what had happened without a scratch on their bodies. “But they won’t be.”

“Who?”

“It’s going toward a town, we need to help them.” Kate interjected, and it was clear to Emily just how serious this was based upon the way that Kate had paid no mind to her friends holding hands. It had been a heat of the moment thing, it would be wrong to tease her for it - but she knew under any other circumstance, Kate would have. But this took precedent over that, this was important. Because those people might not make it, and as cute as she found him, Emily certainly didn’t like the way that Javi valued his equipment over going somewhere that needed them to be there. 

Emily wanted to believe that Javi’s decision to help the people in the town who were going to be recovering from the storm was based upon his own desire to help people in need. Some part of her wondered if it had more to do with the fact that he felt like he needed Kate’s skills to help him, the fact that he had two people sitting beside him looking at him incredulously and pressuring him into doing the right thing. But she also couldn’t help but wonder if his apprehension about helping had less to do with himself, and more to do with the man who was sitting across from him and his obnoxiously rude friend. 

Anyone investing in any company is expecting a return, it’s the fundamental of business. What return was that man getting? In an ideal world, the desire to help people would be enough - but Bruce Wayne didn’t happen to be a majority of wealthy investors in the real world, and she was almost certain that a man who brought along company like a callous person like Scott was looking for some sort of financial return. The equipment Javi had was expensive, and she had seen the way he looked at that diner. But she chose to ignore it for a time being, they had more important things to worry about than her unfounded conspiracy theories. 

By the time they had arrived in the town, it was too late to do much other than help people recover. Emily had never seen a town after a tornado first hand, she had only seen the videos of it at work, on the news, on her phone. Everything through a screen that disconnected her from it personally, and made it impersonal in a sense. 

Seeing this in person, seeing rooms from people’s houses that were once covered, that they could have raised families in, ruined up close invoked a feeling in her that she couldn’t quite put a name on. That feeling was what led her to spend almost an hour speaking with an older woman in a rain covered wooden chair in her now roofless kitchen. Though she felt remiss not out there, not cleaning up, she didn’t quite realize what help she was giving to the woman who was able to have a conversation, to speak to someone interested in her story, to distract her from the financial struggle she was going to have to endure - from the struggle she was going to have with insurance companies over the phone for the coming weeks, and how she was going to have to leave this place in which she raised her entire family for a time. Even when she came back, no matter how much the insurance companies and contractors tried to make it the same as it was, those memories were never going to fully be repaired. 

At some point, Emily parted with the older woman and joined the rest of the people outside. Cleaning up houses, giving extra care to people’s photo albums and scrapbooks, helping them to salvage any food that wasn’t sucked up into the tornado or ruined by the rain. She even had the privilege of helping rescue a kitten from the debris, something that she often tried not to think about when researching storms since the toll on animals was something that made her heart ache. She remembered the stories from the famous Joplin tornado, the pain that the cows must have endured - animals were a sore spot, so it made her heart warm to be able to help one, to be able to return the kitten to the little girl who was worried sick on the sidewalk hoping beyond all hope that her beloved pet was okay.

Being involved in something like this in person was wholly different than it was just seeing it on the television. She ended up getting a ride back to the motel early into the evening, and quickly passing out from exhaustion from having worked so hard. The only thing on her mind as she went to sleep was how different it was, and how she truly felt as though she was making more of a difference here than she ever could have from her cushy office in Manhattan. In Manhattan, she was so disconnected from it all - so desensitized - that most people saw storms like these as an outlandish nightmare. On top of that, thy tended to see the victims of them as more of a number, than a person. That wasn’t their fault, they had no face to place upon them. But she did, now. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was going to feel more satisfied doing something like this, volunteering to help people in the most need, than she was sitting in an office and researching weather patterns. 

When she woke up, it was to the sound of someone pounding on her door. 

Emily bolted up, thinking that someone was trying to break in - maybe this place really was unsafe? But it was in that moment that she grabbed her phone, going to dial 9-1-1 before realizing that she had missed a number of messages from Javi and, somehow, a tornado watch that had shifted into a warning. 

Moving quickly, she opened her door and put her shoes on as quickly as possible, the panicked shouts of her friend signaling her to follow him. Moving to grab a coat, he took her hand and quickly gave him the one that he was wearing. The only thing she had time to pick up was her wallet as she followed him down to his car.

“How did you sleep through that?” 

“I don’t know!” 

“I tried to get Kate, I can’t find her. We have to move, okay?”

“Alright, okay.”

Emily has no recollection of there being a storm predicted for that night, but that was just the thing: tornadoes could be unpredictable. It was the most unpredictable, the nocturnal ones that were the most difficult to see coming, that she knew were the most dangerous. It felt like there was some sort of being creeping up on them - they knew that it was there, lurking in the night, but they just weren’t sure where exactly it was until it was too late. 

Javi’s car was rather strong, so she felt safe in it. But she also knew that no amount of strength could prevent the damage an especially strong tornado could cause. She just trusted that he knew what he was doing - after all, he had been living through things like this for seemingly his entire life. Assuredly, he knew where he was going.

“Isn’t this Scott’s car?”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything. Scott didn’t seem like an overly emotional person, and he also didn’t seem to care much about other people. It didn’t surprise her that he hadn’t cared enough to come along with Javi, but it almost made her wonder what he was doing instead. She was certain that, wherever he was, it was somewhere safe. But, what motivations did he have for whatever it was that he was doing. Some part of her didn’t want to know, she was certain that there was something about him that she just couldn’t trust. 

“You okay?” 

Emily’s silence must have been a worry for Javi, but she knew that he interpreted it in a way other than her thinking about what was actually on her mind. She was worried about the tornado, but in some weird way, she was calmed because she trusted that Javi wouldn’t have snatched her up in the middle of the night if he didn’t think she would be safer with him. She was certain that he believed that her silence was her worrying about the storm, when in reality it was her worrying that there was something about him that she should be privy to before she decides to trust him entirely, at this point.

“Where was Kate?”

“I was hoping she would have been with you.” 

It was odd, because Emily had no idea where Kate would have been if not with either her or Javi. Well, maybe she had some idea. Kate had seemingly been talking to Owens more than she should have been, maybe she was with him. That was the only other place where she could think of that she would have been, but even that didn’t bring her peace. What if the man was being reckless? What if he brought her on a nighttime chase? 

“Hey, we’ll find her, okay? We’ll go back to the motel when the storm ends.” He had stopped the car at this point, pulling into a place that gave you both a bit more coverage. A place that, he seemed to believe or know, was out of the path of the storm. Her eyes locked on his, taking in the way that he looked in that moment. He was tired, but he still looked more energetic than he first had when she saw him in the morning. She wanted to trust him, she wanted to not be worried that there was something lurking under the surface that she just didn’t know about, but it was difficult for her to do so without answers.

“Who was that guy this morning?”

“An investor, I told-”

“Yeah, but like… what’s he gaining? I don’t live that far from Wall Street, I know the type.” Emily felt bad asking him this. He had gotten her out of a dangerous situation, stuck his neck out for her when he had only just met her. She liked Javi, she trusted that he had no intention of doing anything to hurt her. But, she also knew the type to fall victim to financial traps. If he wanted to do what he did professionally, he needed investors, and if he happened to have someone who supported his project - maybe he just felt like he had no other choice. Having no other choice, just following orders, doesn’t absolve him of any wrongdoing. But, some part of her still doesn’t want to believe that there’s something inherently wrong with Javi. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

He was silent for a moment, regarding her in a way that told her what she already knew - she had crossed a line. But he kept his eyes on her, his soft, warm eyes that made her want to stay here forever. But she had to remind herself that she didn’t know this man. That her little crush was nothing more than that, a little crush. 

“He buys properties from people, he helps them rebuild.” There was a tone of defeat in his voice, but it also felt like that line was rehearsed. He knew that one of you was going to ask at one point, but he also seemed ashamed of it. He was doing what he was doing because he had to. He had to do this, there was no other way for him to fund his project. While the first part of his sentence seemed correct, the second part seemed entirely like course correction. The man bought the properties of victims, but it was clear it wasn’t to help the town rebuild or even to financially help the victims. He supported the chases because he wanted to be first on the scene, to make it appear that he was a caring guy. He wanted to make that money, to own the most land. He wanted to turn other people’s tragedies into a profit.

Emily wanted to say something in response, but she could see the defeat on Javi’s face. The worry in his eyes. Mainly, she wanted to help him get out of that situation, but she wasn’t sure how. Instead, she opted to change the subject.

“I like it here, you know. Helping those people today… I really wanted to make a difference tracking storms, but I was just one person in a sea of people and I really wasn’t doing anything meaningful.” She had made some progress. She mainly enjoyed leading groups of people around the place, groups of students who struggled to understand what a tornado even was. She liked helping people, that gave her a greater sense of fulfillment than any paycheck she had ever received. But it didn’t much matter, not in this economy. She had bills to pay, and she couldn’t just go without a job because she wanted to serve the greater good - how long would that last without gas money or a roof over her head? “I like most of the people I’ve met here.”

Javi’s eyes lit up for a second, because for the first time since they had started interacting, she was positive that she had actually gone through with flirting with him. He had picked up on it, noticed it. He would be naive to not realize what she was doing, and that was enough to distract him from their previous conversation. But it wasn’t enough to distract either of them from the sound of the tornado that was getting closer to them.

Emily could feel her heartbeat picking up, her eyes focusing on the mirrors in the car but knowing that she wasn’t going to be able to see anything. It was too dark, if she could see the tornado itself, that meant that she was probably not going to be seeing much after that.

Picking up on her nerves, she watched as Javi offered his hand. It was odd, really. She had only just met him, but she knew she felt more comfortable with him than she should. He made her feel safer, made her feel a whole lot less afraid of the impending storm. Reaching over, she took ahold of his hand and kept her eyes locked on the mirror. Lights in the distance were knocked out, lights that were getting closer and closer to her. At some point, she was certain that she had a tough grip on Javi’s hand, but he didn’t stop her. If it hurt him, he didn’t show it. 

By the time they were certain it was over, there was only one thing on either of their minds: finding Kate. 

Emily moved to let go of Javi’s hand, but stalled for a moment. She liked the feeling of his hand in hers, and since she was so nervous that they weren’t even going to find Kate, she almost didn’t want to let go because of that. Maybe they were both scared, maybe that was why he decided to drive with one hand so she could keep holding onto him. Javi would tell himself that he was doing it solely for Emily’s comfort, because he knew that she had to be scared since this was a whole new experience for her. But, he knew that he was doing it for himself, too. As much as he wanted to deny it, since he really hadn’t made any moves to commit to a relationship with anyone or act on any attraction he felt in quite some time, he couldn’t deny that he felt a mutual attraction toward Kate’s friend.

It was Kate herself who brought it up, Kate who put the idea into his mind when she noticed that he had been looking at her for a little too long. Kate, too, who pushed him to bring Emily to dinner with him the night before rather than going with him herself. She wasn’t sure what her motives were entirely, since they all knew that Emily didn’t live in Oklahoma, but that that didn’t mean that they couldn’t… well, they really weren’t doing anything at all. Javi saw that look in Emily’s eyes when he admitted just a piece of what his investors actually do. Once she sees it in action, once she does her own research, she’ll want nothing to do with him. Hell, she might want nothing to do with him the second they both find Kate. 

Those worries don’t stop them, though. Her fingers that had started to loosen from his hand maintaining a firm grip once she realized that he wasn’t going to force her to let go. If he had to have both hands to drive because of debris, he would, but she also needed to keep in mind that he was acclimated to this. 

When they did, eventually, find Kate Emily was left with a question. Kate left without much notice, and as much as Emily wanted to follow her, she didn’t feel that it would be right to do so. This was something that she needed to do on her own, some journey that she needed to go on to cope with what had happened. If Emily went with her, she knew she would be intruding. But, she also knew that it looked like she was choosing Javi over her, not only that, but that she condoned what it was clear to both of them that he was doing to support his business that wasn’t really helping anyone at all. While that wasn’t at all what she was doing, she knew that’s what it looked like. Still, she had no one else to go with, so she stayed. She stayed even though she would rather eat dirt than spend more time with Scott than she needed to. She didn’t really know the stormchasers that Kate had gotten acquainted with, even though she knew that they seemed to actually have a vested interest in helping people.

Perhaps, then, her path toward helping people could be a little bit different. She wasn’t naive, she was sure that there were a number of factors that drove Javi to continue supporting the businessman he worked for - the businessman who took every storm he could to cash in on people’s lives being ruined. She was also sure that he wasn’t going to change his ways because she - someone who he had only just met - insisted that ‘this isn’t you’, and ‘you need to worry about the greater good, it’s in your heart’. Emily has no idea what’s in his heart, but if she can try to convince him in some way that what he’s doing is wrong, Storm Par can’t function on the capacity that it is without him. If that’s the case, maybe the people who actually are helping won’t have so many people that need as much help as they do. Maybe her journey could simply be trying her best to encourage Javi - the only one she imagines isn’t too far gone - in the opposite direction without being too outwardly clear about her motivations. 

Sleep doesn’t come quite as easily for Emily that night as it hand earlier in the day, or even as it had the night before. Eventually, her mind stops racing and she’s able to get some sleep. 

Woken up at roughly nine in the morning to the sound of someone knocking on her door, she squints at the light coming in from the doorway as she opens it to find Javi standing before her once again.

“Starting to think you don’t own pajamas.”

“I just didn’t think about it.” She commented, glancing down at what she had fallen asleep in. She quickly removes the jacket that she had been wearing, the one that he gave her when she was rushed out of her room the night before. Handing it too him, she feels instant relief from the humidity coming from outside of her room. “Give me like twenty minutes, I’ll be ready to go to… where are we going?”

“Actually, I think you should stay back today.”

“I’d rather not.” 

“You saw a lot yesterday, you almost died twice.” 

As nice as the sentiment sounded, she knew that it wasn’t genuine. Javi, if he wasn’t so concerned with his finances and shady donors, would have been rightfully concerned that Emily had almost died and seen so much after having seen no tornadoes ever in her life before. But, she knew that there was something that he was hiding.

“I also just don’t want to force you to be around Scott.”

“Well, you’re not forcing me. I want to come.” 

“Kate has my car too, I have no where for you to sit.” 

“I’ll sit with the equipment.” 

He contemplated for a moment, but shook his head. “I don’t think that’s safe.” 

“Okay, you said I could share a seat with you.”

“Not safe-”

“You don’t trust me, I get it. But I came here for a week, I paid for a flight, I paid for this motel room, and I’m getting my money’s worth.” 

Javi desperately wanted to say no, but agreed regardless of what he wanted. If you were going to insist upon coming, you were going to insist upon coming. He couldn’t simply tell you no, it would only make you distrust him more. Some part of him wondered if it even mattered if you distrusted him. If Kate wanted nothing to do with him, what did her friend who he barely knew actually matter? But those thoughts were the rude, uncaring thoughts that he knew that the people surrounding him carried in their hearts. That fear alone, that fear of turning into them and forgetting how to use his heart, was enough to make him give her what she was asking for. 

“Fine, you can come.” 

“Thank you, Javi. Let me get dressed, and if you leave without me just know that I’ll track you down.” 

“Noted, I won’t leave without you.”

Shutting the door, Emily started getting dressed while trying to figure out what her exact game plan here was. She knew that she could really say anything to change Javi’s mind, but she also knew that she needed to do something. What he was doing was more dangerous than she felt he recognized, the people supporting him went against everything that Kate had told her that he stood for. 

Kate. Right.

Checking her phone, Emily opened it to find a missed call from Kate that was followed by a text message. Checking out of the window to ensure that Javi was waiting down stairs and out of earshot, she called her back. It only took one ring for her to pick up, instantly bombarding her with a question of if she was okay.

“I’m fine, I’m- that’s why I’m calling you, I’m worried.”

“I’m okay, Kate.” She reassured her.

“I’m worried that you- let me just give you directions to my mom’s farm, you can come here. Javi- he’s not what he used to be, he’s not who he used to be.”

“That’s why I stayed.” She admitted, setting the phone call to speaker phone as she continued to get dressed. “What he’s doing is hurting a lot more people than just himself.”

“You don’t think you can change his mind, do you?”

“With enough effort-”

“Em, you just met him.”

“It’s not about him… entirely.” It was, predominantly, not about him. There was one sliver of Emily that believed it was, because she wanted better for him, because she had recognized that she enjoyed helping people and he needed some help. And, yes, because her kind of wanted to kiss him. But, that small sliver was not the largest part of her reasoning. “If he keeps doing this, more people are going to get hurt when they don’t need to so some old man can make a buck. It’s awful, Kate. I don’t- I don’t think he’s a bad person, I think he’s just working with bad people. I think he’s the only one who may change his mind.”

“What’s your plan then?”

“Not sure, working on it.”

“Em-”

“I’m not telling you that I can fix him, I’m just saying that I think I need to try to help. If just one town suffers a little bit less because of me, I’ll be satisfied. I’ve done nothing in the last five years but silently watch things happen, I need to do this.” 

Silence was what you heard on the other line, before you heard a sigh. A sigh that you knew all too well from Kate. “I trust you, but don’t blame me if Javi is unfixable.” 

“I’ll have nobody to blame but him.”

“Okay, stay safe out there.”

“You too.” 

With that, Emily finished getting dressed before meeting Javi downstairs. Though she could feel his glare, she avoided making eye contact with Scott as she climbed into the back of the car with the equipment.

“Sure you wouldn’t rather share a seat?” Javi seemed genuinely considered, eyeing her harnessless torso. She merely shrugged, there were no massive storms predicted for the day, so she doubted that she was going to be in as much danger as she had been. 

“I’ll be okay.”

“You could always have her stay back, if you’re so concerned.”

“She’s coming with us.” Javi didn’t pay Scott’s comment much mind, and Emily did her best to ignore it as well as she found a position in the back that felt comfortable enough. She wasn’t fully sure where she were going, she just knew that she was going to be a part of it one way or another. Maybe it was a good sign toward progress that Javi had ignored Scott asking him to insist Emily stay back, or, maybe he had just already conceded his protests and didn’t want to have the same conversation with her again.

What Emily couldn’t have predicted, even though she spent the entire car ride trying to predict and plot things, was that Javi would end up driving to Kate’s farm that Emily had said that she wouldn’t accompany her at. Maybe that was why he didn’t want her to come, because he knew that the conversation between the two of them wouldn’t go well and he knew that Emily was going to be upset about it. But, as upset as she was about it, she kept her mouth shut. It wasn’t until Javi motioned for her to follow him to the car that Kate had borrowed, that she finally got out of the awkwardly silent car she had been in alone with Scott for a few moments to follow him to the other car. 

Though she wanted to consider changing her mind for a moment, Javi had done Kate a small favor. Kate, in turn, seemed to have a more understanding expression on her face of Emily’s efforts. Granted, Emily didn’t think she had done anything to change his mind, nor did Kate. She could, however, see the tiny bit of light that was still inside of him. Maybe Emily’s idea wasn’t that far-fetched, but neither of them could be too sure about that. 

Taking the passenger seat, Emily watched as Javi spoke with Scott on the phone. 

“He’s taking that car back, do you want to get lunch?”

“But what about…” She motioned upwards, the sky becoming grayer than it had been for most of the ride there. 

“We have about two hours before that, and the ride back isn’t that long. Do you want to work on an empty stomach?” 

Emily was a tad surprised. He was inviting her to lunch, he was sending Scott back specifically so they would have lunch alone. She thought about saying no, believing that might be a step too far. But she almost wanted it to be a step too far, especially as she looked at the hopeful expression in those bright eyes of his. She couldn’t deny that she found Javi attractive, she knew that from the moment she met him. But she also knew that she was supposed to leave this place, that she was supposed to go back to Manhattan, that she was supposed to be doing this to make Storm Par less of a threat to the general public because of the creepy, shadowy donors that operated behind the scenes. 

She was supposed to be responsible, not just on time - but early. But that was why she never had much luck with romance, wasn’t it? She never had time for it, never had time for the distraction of it. She knew there was a storm coming, she knew that they were going to be in a time crunch, and all of her sensibilities were telling her to say no because it was what she had been doing when it came to desire for her entire life. Instead, Emily simply smiled and agreed to go to lunch with him. It, honestly, felt a bit freeing to do what she wanted (even if for only a short amount of time) rather than what she knew was wanted of her. 

Besides, going to lunch with Javi gave her more time to talk to him. Emily had a lot of questions that weren’t being answered when she was surrounded by people that he worked with, he almost seemed like a different person when it was just the two of them. Maybe that was just the way that he was, some men did seem like entirely different people when they were around their friends. But, for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to think that was the case. Javi was easy to talk to, easy to be around. She liked speaking to him, and as much as she wanted to think logically and consider her plan, some part of her was screaming at her to just enjoy the fact that the guy she had found attractive at first glance wanted to go to lunch with her. Even if his reasoning was different from hers, it was at least nice since it was something she didn’t participate in a lot back in New York. Some part of her, as much as she wanted to deny it, really didn’t want to go back to New York.

Once they got to the small diner that they were going to eat at, Javi was quick to hold the door for her. She hadn’t even really seen him get to the door, so how he had moved that quickly while she was getting out of the car was beyond her. Still, she didn’t think about it too much. She couldn’t, since she was focused on the five seconds that he had his hand on her mid-back to guide her in to the restaurant. It was polite, but it made them look like a couple to onlookers. Even with that in mind, she couldn’t bring herself to mind. 

Sitting down across from him, they both ordered something simple before he finally started really talking to her. 

“So, you said yesterday that you were thinking about leaving the city.”

“I did say that.”

“Still thinking about it? Or did some sleep change your mind?” There was almost a hopefulness in his eyes, like he had a particular answer that he wanted her to say but wasn’t willing to push for it. He really couldn’t push for it, since they had only just met recently. 

“I’m still thinking about it, I didn’t really have time to look into… work.” She replied, honestly. 

“You seemed to put up with Scott that whole car ride so, uh- offer- offer stands.” 

“I didn’t remember there being an offer to begin with.” She replied, but she couldn’t deny the way her breath hitched. “You want me to stay?” Her voice was quiet, hopeful. She wanted him to want her to stay, but him wanting her to stay could be a bad thing. It meant a lot more than she wanted to admit, but she wasn’t sure how to deny that it would make her happy if he did. 

“I… yeah, I want you to stay.” Javi didn’t seem like he wanted to say that, but not because it wasn’t true. He did want her to stay, he wasn’t sure exactly why. He liked being around her, he found her attractive, he thought she was intelligent, and she was kind enough to not hate him after finding out some of the things about him that he wasn’t even sure why he told her. But, he also barely knew her. Asking her to uproot her entire life was insane, but he wasn’t really asking. He was leaving it on the table since she said she wanted something new, wasn’t that the kind thing to do? “I just don’t want you to miss out on doing what you want to do because of money.” 

He knew that feeling well, rejecting his own wants, desires, morals - rejecting his own heart and soul for money, because that was the one thing that kept him where he was. He didn’t want that for her, he didn’t want her to feel like she was under the thumb of some corporation where she didn’t feel like she was doing anything productive, where she really didn’t want to be, just because of money. He wanted much more for her. Plus, they were in the same boat with romance. He had waited, wanted, hoped for something. But he could never give anyone the time of day. 

Back in college, he wasn’t exactly a catch. Constantly sleeping, eating hot chips first thing in the morning like it was a normal breakfast, he was incredibly lazy. As he got older, he was less lazy. He worked hard to be where he was, but because of how hard he had to work, he didn’t have time for romance. He wasn’t sure yet if he wanted to date this girl, he barely knew her. But he knew that he felt drawn to her, and he knew that- well, he didn’t know. He wasn’t confident enough to make a move, he didn’t know if there was a point in trying to pursue someone who was just going to leave. Long distance was one thing when you’re a train or car ride away, but a plane? If she stayed, maybe he would be able to gain the confidence to try. 

“I just need to think about it, but don’t think I’m brushing you off. Okay? It’s just a big decision.” Truthfully, her mind was in the same precious position. She didn’t have the confidence to make a move, but if he did make a move, she would stay. At least, she would think about it a lot harder. Maybe extend her trip to consider her options in this situation for longer than she had at present. 

“No, I get it. It’s your whole life.” 

She hummed in agreement, taking a sip of her coffee. “You should tell me more about life around here, you know, so I can consider it a little bit better.”

It was clear that she was talking more about his life than just life in Oklahoma, and he had no issue picking up on that. Nor did he have any issue telling her about his life, his interests, his hobbies, his sort of perpetual loneliness since he was constantly on the road and didn’t really have time to be tied down by friendships or relationships. She was delighted to learn more about him, and in turn shared a pretty similar story. Well, a similar story in the sense that they were both, ultimately, rather alone. The key difference being the fact that Emily was surrounded by people, where Oklahoma was pretty quiet. She was stationary and remained lonely, but he was lonely because he wasn’t stationary. A part of her brain felt like there could be middle ground there if they wanted to continue working together, but she also had a fear of his company looming in the background.

Javi had built Storm Par, it was his baby and she couldn’t blame him for being proud of it. But, she also understood that his baby needed funding, and his funding was coming from people who were manipulating it to use other people’s suffering for their gain. There was some moral inadequacy in a person who was willing to do something like that just to keep a company afloat, but she also understood why. This, also, could be a part of how he was coping with everything that he was going through with the loss of his friends. Maybe he felt like it was the right thing, or maybe he had never really coped with it and didn’t feel much at all - let alone remorse. 

Actually getting to know him made it different, though. She didn’t feel equipped to judge him for the things that he had done, even though she couldn’t help it. Even if he had some terrible skeletons in his closet, she couldn’t help but notice the difference in the way he acted when he wasn’t around Scott and his investor versus when he was. He was calmer, more normal, and just as dorky as Kate had described to her.

Truthfully, even though he had been a bit messy in the pictures that Kate did show her (which wasn’t many, since the memories were rather painful for her), she had always thought he was cute. She never really imagined that she was ever going to be face to face with him, let alone that they were going to be sitting at a diner without the company of anyone else. Talking about their lives, about their ambitions, about their hopes and dreams and their stark lack of romance and lasting friendships besides Kate, who Emily had become friends with after Javi had left the picture. She never quite realized that they would have anything in common at all, judging by what Kate had told her about him. They did have a lot in common though, that’s what made it so easy for her to talk to him even though she had a crush that she wished she had an easier time ignoring. 

By the time that they left, they left with a closer relationship. She couldn’t ignore the slight fluttering in her stomach walking alongside him, feeling the back of his hand brush against hers for just a moment before he noticed it and moved it into his pocket. His personality was easy to mesh with, and his smile made her a little bit weak at the knees. She was a lot more confident going in to this storm, knowing that she could trust Javi even though she knew that she really couldn’t trust a single one of his friends. Since she had been in a few storms at this point, she doubted that this one was going to be any different. 

At first, it wasn’t that different. They both arrived back together, her mind lingering on the momentary touches and the look in his eyes. The way he smiled, the way that it made her heart flutter like a teenager getting asked to prom. She was almost giddy, even though she knew that they were both about to do something difficult - something incredibly dangerous. Still, she reasoned, he knew what he was doing and the rest of the team did too. She didn’t feel like she was in danger at first, she didn’t think the tornado was going to be that much of a risk. It wasn’t forecasted to be that much of a risk, so she was a lot calmer than she had been the previous days. Sure, maybe that calm was coming from her eyes continuing to linger on Javi, or the fact that his eyes continued to linger on him to. Even if that was the cause, it didn’t matter, because she did feel calmer… at first. 

But Scott was pushing harder than he maybe should have been. While Emily felt secure in the back with the equipment for a few moments, she found herself gripping onto anything she could find to keep herself from flying around. It wasn’t until everyone was screaming and worried that Javi shouted at her, insisting that she get in the front seat with him. Being a whole lot more willing to sacrifice her pride and sit on his lap than get whiplash or break her neck, she quickly obliged and climbed into the front seat. 

The belt wasn’t really built for two people, but it just barely fit over them. Just like she just barely got into the front in time. Judging by how the car jerked and the heavy machinery in the backseat flew with it, she knew that she was seconds away from having her head smashed against the wall. 

Somehow, that wasn’t the worst of it. There was no escaping this tornado, not with the vehicle flipped over. Emily’s calm was gone an an instant, but she wasn’t screaming in fear. She had only been so paralyzed with fear that she couldn’t get words out one time in her life before, but this was another one of those instances. She was barely remembering to breathe, let alone speak, or scream. She was certain that her face was coated in sweat and tears, but absolutely nothing was coming out of her throat.

The only confirmation that Javi had that she was still conscious was her strong grip on his arm, her wide eyes focused ahead as she considered all of the things that she had never gotten the chance to do. She had never gone to one of those balls that she wanted to go to as a child, in a big fancy gown with someone on her arm - granted, she had never had anyone to bring. She had never gotten a promotion beyond her yearly pay raise and being raised up from a junior employee to a regular employee with little added benefit. She had never learned what it was that made Kate want to talk to her. She’d never ridden a horse, only sat on an NYPD horse when she was in elementary school and got scolded for trying to make it move. She had never gone to Europe, constantly being too busy with school or work to even consider something like that. But, she also couldn’t help her thoughts from lingering. She had never been in an adult relationship, unless her college flings constituted as ‘adult’. She had never kissed the man who was also currently, seemingly, about to die with her. She really wanted to kiss Javi - unfortunately for her. 

Somewhat fortunately, Javi knew in that moment that he also definitely wanted to kiss her too. Whether that was a cruel fate or it was going to end up being a beautiful coincidence if they made it out, neither of them knew for sure until eventually - by some miracle - they were able to escape within an inch of their lives. 

While her and Javi insisted that it was important that they go help the people in the town who were about to be dealing with this absolute monster of a storm, Scott didn’t seem too convinced. In fact, he out right stated that he didn’t care about them. Now, she knew that is Javi agreed with him, if he was okay with what he was hearing from him, he might be too far gone. Just as he seemed to be doing the thing she feared he was going to do, he turned the car on as fast as possible and drove away. She doubted that his decision had much to do with her, but she was grateful for it regardless. Grateful, because he was freeing himself from the shackles of the people who had given her any apprehensions about him in the first place.

“Is it safe for me to have my own seat?”

“If you trust my driving.” 

“You’ve steered us well so far.” 

Emily moved over to the other seat, letting him adjust his buckle and buckling herself in. She wanted to say something, because with that realization that she really wanted to kiss him and the fact that the small apprehension she had about trusting him was now gone, she just really, really could not get the idea of kissing him out of her mind. They had almost died, and by some luck, they were alive. She knew she couldn’t take that for granted, but she also knew that right now was not the right moment. There were real people in danger, and every second mattered. Asking him to pull over or drive recklessly wasn’t a good idea, and it certainly wasn’t the idea that she could make without worrying. Plus, she still had no idea if the feeling was mutual. 

Arriving in the town itself was arriving into chaos, but the amount of people who had no idea what to do told her that they had made the right call. While these people, having lived in tornado alley for presumably at least a little bit of time, had to have experienced a natural disaster before, it was clear that they have never experienced one this strong. Emily had never experienced one this strong before either, but she knew that she couldn’t think about that right now. Not when she could see Kate, struggling to get someone out from underneath a fallen water tower. It had to have been Tyler Owens, she was certain.

Rushing out of the vehicle, Javi grabbed something that he could use to give leverage to them while Emily joined Kate in trying to get Tyler out. In the knick of time, they were able to get him out from under the water tower and into the movie theater. The theater itself, though, was old. The structure of it certainly wasn’t built to outlast this storm, but that didn’t mean there was no where to go. Splitting up, she ran to find somewhere that could lead to a basement, to no avail. Meeting up with Javi and Tyler again, she found that nobody could locate a basement. Guilt filled her more than fear, because she had helped lead people to believe that this theater was a save place to be when in reality it was no safer than being outside. At least, not much safer than being outside. 

That guilt was quickly forgotten when she realized, like the others, that Kate was not with them. Kate had mentioned very little of her past, but she had explained what she had been experimenting on to Emily a long time ago. That was what made her trust her in the first place. She wasn’t in this because she wanted to, some day, be on the television reporting the weather. She wasn’t doing this because she wanted a pay raise, or even just because she found it interesting. She was doing it because she wanted to help people, but right now, that desire to help people was going to get her killed.

Emily’s heart told her to run after her, but her mind rejected it. She needed to survive, they all did. 

Rushing back in the theater, nobody was given much time before they were all gripping onto a the seats in the theater for dear life. If she had been worried about dying before, she was petrified now. This time she wasn’t paralyzed in fear, her hands were gripping the chair as tightly as she possibly could manage, her screams being absorbed into the army of screams and the loud storm looming just outside. Chairs were being taken, more and more rows of chairs that were leaving her wondering if she was next. If it wasn’t her, what about Javi? She wasn’t even sure where he had went, she had been so hasty in grabbing onto a chair that she didn’t keep track of him. Was he still alive? Was she?

Just as she felt her death-grip beginning to loosen, the wind slowed down. She couldn’t be too sure if she was safe until she felt herself able to move her elbow. Getting up, her first instinct was to look for Javi. She had nearly died enough times without kissing that man in one day, and she certainly wasn’t going to run the risk of doing it again.

After a moment, she found him. 

As it would seem, he had the same idea that she did. The moment that they reached each other his hand was on her cheek, his thumb pressed against her chin to tilt her face towards him. She gripped onto his shirt, pulling him closer as their lips melded together. They were out of breath, soaking wet, and barely even positive that they had actually survived at this point. But the kiss was grounding, it was grounding, but it was enchanting. She was nearly mesmerized by the feeling of his lips against hers, the feeling of his warm hand pressed against her wet cheek.

For just a brief moment, she allowed herself to forget about the chaos outside, slowly pulling apart from him only to let him rest his forehead against hers. She had been through a lot, and it was a lot more of a thrill than she was even remotely used to. But even with that, she knew in her heart what the right choice was.

“I don’t know if your company is still operational, but I want to stay.” 

“I want you to stay, you don’t need to worry about- don’t worry about housing. I’ve got you, I promise I’ve got you. Just- please stay.” 

She leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his mouth. “I’m staying, I won’t leave you.”

While she wanted to stay there kissing him forever, to continue to be close to him, she couldn’t. They both needed to find Kate, and with the help of Tyler, they found her relatively quickly. She was battered and bruised, but she was alive. She was alive, and she was smiling. With a breath of relief, Emily sent her friend a thumbs up when - even in her slightly out-of-it state - she raised an eyebrow at her holding hands with Javi. Despite all of the stress, despite all of the moving parts that still existed, Emily knew that everything was going to be okay. 

When the week was over, Emily and Kate were both at the airport, but only one of them was ready to board a flight.

“You really should be paying me for packing your stuff for you.” 

“I told you my cousin could do it, Kate.” Emily reminded her, a smile covering her face regardless. “And, I’m sorry, who was the one who insisted that it would be ‘really cool’ if I dated her friend? I’m thinking that was you.” 

“Your cousin is a shit packer, I’ll do it.” She responded, glancing back toward the car. She didn’t miss the gaze that Javi had on her friend, a warm smile covering her face. “And it is really cool, you’re good for each other.”

“I know, I really like him.” She admitted, before sending her own curious glance toward Tyler. “What about you and your cowboy? Sure you don’t want to stay with him?”

“My cowboy, give me a break.”

“He’s definitely your cowboy, and he’s coming this way! See you soon.” Emily’s voice came out in a sing-songy tone, giving her friend a final hug before getting into the car with Javi. “He’s definitely her cowboy, look at him. Like a puppy watching his owner leave. Think he’s gonna work up the courage to ask her out?”

“He’s gotta.” She watched their interaction, watched the way that it almost seemed like Tyler would give in and go without her. Thankfully, though, he didn’t. A grin covered her face as she watched them, as she finally got to see her friend recover from what she had gone through. “Attaboy.”

“So… does everyone come out of storms in a relationship? I hadn’t heard of that before this week.”

“Just the really, really cool people.” He leaned forward, her smile not fading from her lips as she closed the gap and pressed her lips against his. Javi brought his hand to rest on the back of her neck, his own lips in a smile as he kissed her making the kiss feel a bit messier than the one before. She sighed into it, no longer bothering to ignore the warm and fuzzy feeling in her chest. 

Leaving New York had originally been a big risk, filled with nothing but curiosity and unresolved questions. Emily never could have imagined that it would have ended with her finally finding someone who she deeply cared about, someone who she was willing to move her entire life around for, someone who she was willing to almost die in storms with once in a while. But she did, and that’s all that really matters to her now. No moving parts, no apprehensions, the only thing she can truly bring herself to care about is the peace that she’s managed to find in situation that can be described as anything other than peaceful.

[riverdamien]

Embracing the Other!

Thirtieth Anniversary Celebration of Temenos Catholic Worker will be October 5, 2024 at Victor's Pizza on Polk at 6:00 p.m. 

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

Embracing the Other!

Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time!

February 11, 2024

Mark 1:40=45

A leper came to Jesus and kneeling down begged him and said, “If you wish, you can make me clean.” Moved with pity, he stretched out his hand,  touched him, and said to him,  “I do will it. Be made clean.” The leprosy left him immediately, and he was made clean. Then, warning him sternly, he dismissed him at once. 

He said to him, “See that you tell no one anything, but go, show yourself to the priest  and offer for your cleansing what Moses prescribed; that will be proof for them.”

The man went away and began to publicize the whole matter. He spread the report abroad so that it was impossible for Jesus to enter a town openly. He remained outside in deserted places, and people kept coming to him from everywhere.

==============

    Tourists can make a trip to Assisi and stand in the location where St. Francis ministered to the lepers, and one can see unfiltered wastes being drained into that valley, above from the houses where the wealthy live.

    I can remember delivering groceries when I was a kid to the "Black Projects" outside town and no house had a restroom or a sewer, only outdoor toilets; where in the "White Projects" all had indoor restrooms, and sewers. The blacks were the "lepers" of our society where I lived.

    I can remember feeling like a "leper" when my denomination kicked me out, and I was on the streets as a prostitute. I continue to feel like a leper as a result of my ministry with the "lepers of our society". I was once told by a minister, that "you either get out now, or you will be in the eyes of many one of them."

    Our gospel is asking us today who are the lepers in our society, whom we consider the "other"?

    I ask individuals to hang with me on the streets, they always refuse to hang out with the homeless, who are the lepers of our society.

    The question is: what does Jesus ask of all of us when we live in a society where we allow approximately 10 out of every 18 people, approximately 100,000, (San Francisco estimates having 2,000) of all races, religious back grounds, families with children, our veterans, and people with mental health issues to live on the street homeless, and with out health care?

    So who is your leper? Who are the lepers you see in our midst?

    As those who walk in the footsteps of Jesus and St. Francis, we must be aware in our complicity in systems that allow some human beings to be othered, and further we realize we have the ability to transform systems that enable this.

    Each year on the Feast of St. Francis we see clergy lined up on the street in their clerical s and in their churches blessing animals, with the homeless all around and they do not see or bless them. For the homeless are the "other".

    I took the name of "Damien" for my religious name, after Damien of Molokai, when I  was blessed in my religious order "The Order of Christian Workers", and each day with every bone in my body is given to love the lepers of our society. Eleanor Roosevelt once said: Life was meant to be lived, and curiosity, must be kept alive. One must never for whatever reason, turn his back on life." The one thing I have learned from these "lepers", the  homeless, is that life is worth living, every minute, every hour, and every day!

    St. Francis refused to turn his back on the lepers of his society. He read how in the gospel, "Jesus stretched out his hand and touched" (Mk. 1:41)the leper, and Francis followed his example.

    Following their example we are called to embrace our personal and societal lepers of today.

    I have often been asked, "Why don't you quit?" And yes I have been beaten, shot at, attempted to be poisoned, and always receiving threatening emails, and I find that as St. Francis wrote in his testament, it is by reverently embracing the "other" in our lives that "what seemed bitter.. was turned into the sweetness of soul and body. Deo Gratias! Thanks be to God!"

====================================

Fr. C. River Damien Sims, sfw, D.Min., D.S.T.

P.O. Box 642656

San Francisco, CA 94164

www.temenos.org

415-305-2124

snap/chat: riodamien2

Mission in Life! (Revised January 1, 2024):

The best summary for my mission in life is found in the statement that:

"Obedience to Christ does not consist in

engaging in propaganda, nor in engaging in propaganda, nor even in stirring people up, but in being a living mystery. It means to live in such away that's one's life would not make sense if God did not exist."

Being a 'living mystery' means to love 'to the point of folly, and in the words of Kawaga:

"I am a free lance tramp, a vagabond for Christ. I must go until Christ's work is done. I go like the wind."

========================

[sstan-hoe]

𝑳𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔, 𝑪𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒂, 𝑨𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏!

𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — pornstar!lloyd hansen x fem!pornstar!reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — You’re new in the industry and to the surprise of your boss and yourself you climbed the ranks in only a few months. Now you can act with the big stars and the first one is a complete asshole

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — SMUT, minors dni., unprotected sex (well reader is on pill), gagging, choking, oral (f&m receiving) p in v, rough sex, degrading, slight dumbification.

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 — let's start vanilla on Lloyd here! @georgiapeach30513, like, reblog and comment! yeah I started a porn production and they have plots!!! I know, I know, something like this wow! But I want you to feel with them and I don't mean you masturbating. divider by @firefly-graphics

Being a porn star wasn’t your first choice of career, but the student loans had to be paid somehow. Your friend had set you up with the CEO of Barbers production who she knew as her boss.

It took her some convincing, she told you all about the perks; how it payed good, your safety and consent was first priority. For research purposes you googled some of the actors and all of them looked like they were made by gods.

You had known her since your first year at college and that was five years ago.

Not once had she mentioned anything about her job besides how busy, stressful, or free her schedule was. To be honest you always thought she was just jobless and lived on her parents money, but she was too proud to say it.

She gave you a date for an interview as soon as you told her you were ready, leaving you to wonder how long she had set it up.

When you met with the CEO Andy Barber, he gave you a list of kinks, a contract that also stated they took care of the health meaning his firm would pay for any costs. The list with kinks was for you to decide all the no go’s, what you were comfortable with and if wanted to add things.

After all was done, he showed you all his actors and with whom you start and their preferences. It was only a few, some you had already seen on your research like Ransom Drysdale or Air Levinson.

Out of curiosity you asked Andy if he was an actor too which earned you a heartfelt laugh. He answered with yes, but said he stopped three to four years ago.

With the contract signed and the first date set you were sent home.

All this was six months ago and today was your first time shooting with one of Barbers most popular stars; Lloyd Hansen.

You had heard a lot about him and saw him at a Christmas party once. Lloyd was a pure asshole, always made side remarks, treated people like crap and thought he was better than everyone.

However, he shared the top with Ari Levinson and Steve Kemp. Add to that, that he didn’t get along with anyone but Nick Fowler and Andy though that might only be because he’s the boss. About the others he had his opinions.

Now here you were on your way to the set in your pink bathing robe. Your thoughts are running wild, a part of you was excited about doing this but the other part not so much.

“Hey there! I’m your director Carter Baizen and I know you’re familiar with the procedure but I gotta do it. So, if you are uncomfortable in any way then we use the traffic light system. For green and yellow you can just whisper it with Lloyd, should he not hear it and the say it loud. For red say it out loud. Got it?”

“Got it.” You nodded. Consent is the most important part at Barbers Production, and everyone had to respect that.

You walked over to the scene, it was in a nice living room with a bedroom next to it and a build in kitchen. The storyline was about a stepfather fucking his stepdaughter which to be honest was gross but then yet again it was your job, and it wasn’t real.

A second later Lloyd walked in wearing a white bathing robe and a smug smirk on his lips.

“Lloyd my guy! You ready? Now as you know we use the traffic light system. Green and yellow you can whisper to one another unless the other doesn’t hear then loud, red of course always loud. Also, as you it’s her first time with you I want you to do little check-ups in between. Got it?” Carter instructed Lloyd who gave him a ‘got it’.

“Well hello sunshine. Ready to have the best sex in your life?” He asked cocking his eyebrow and the smirk still sitting on his lips. “Oh, I didn’t know I was shooting with Ari,” you responded knowing Lloyd always tried to be better than Ari.

Though this rival thing was going on since Lloyd and Ari started here at the production.

He became popular in the bdsm scene – you weren’t going to deep into this today – which gave him a massive advantage.

Lloyd’s expression changed into a glare, “mouthy little thing,” he muttered under his breath. “One remark makes me mouthy? What you’re not used to someone not crawling up your ass…” “Well certainly not from woman however mostly it me crawling up their asses.”

The smirk was back on his face and your turned into a disgusted expression. “When you get paid enough you do even the most disgusting things,” you replied lifting your chin.

“You forget here sunshine that if they don’t want to, they don’t have too…”

Carter watched the two of you bickering and one thing was for sure, you two had tension, chemistry which wasn’t the most important thing in the industry but definitely a plus. He had to admit that pairing the two of you was a fifty-fifty chance. From Andy he knew that you didn’t take shit from anyone including Lloyd. So, either this was legendary or catastrophic.

“Really? Your trash stash says something different, you look like a pervert.” Dammit what had he missed? Carter only spaced out for a short minute.

In Lloyd’s eyes Carter could see this was about to escalate. “You better-“ “Hey! Hey…how about we start shooting? Y/n you’re gonna walk around in your nighties and try to seduce Lloyd, no luck so we move to the shower where you try again, he leaves and lastly you guys have sex in the living room.”

“Wait people really like that?” you questioned before this you hadn’t shot a stepfamily video. Carter looked down a bit ashamed, “yeah, yeah they do.” Giving him a quite ‘wow’ you put away the bathing robe.

Lloyd put away his robe to revealing him in only a pair of swim shorts. Your eyes drifted over his perfectly sculptured, toned abbs. “Sunshine, I think you’re staring at me,” Lloyd’s voice made your eyes shoot up to his, “good thing you don’t get paid for thinking.”

“Okay, everyone get in position! We’re filming in five, four, three, two, one and action!” Carter yelled over the set.

You put on a seductive smile as you walked over to Lloyd who was leaning against the kitchen counter. Shaking your hips, you took slow steps forward. “Hey there daddy,” you said stroking your hand over his biceps which was surprisingly smooth.

He was quick to react and pushed you away from him, “wow! What are you doing? If you’re mom sees that.” Lloyd took a few steps backwards.

“Don’t worry she out for a trip with her friends and you have me all to yourself,” you didn’t know what you were doing. “I’m your stepfather! This can’t happen.” “Come on live a little daddy!” you called out with excitement. “Stop calling me that,” Lloyd demanded before walking away.

Leaving you in the kitchen with a pout. You sat down on the couch with a huff and turned the tv on. Shortly after you hear the shower start running and your lips curled into a smirk.

Stripping from your soft lilac night gown you exposed your naked body to the camera.

Quietly you walked to the bathroom, peaking the door open you could see Lloyd’s naked form. Your eyes drifted down to his erected cock which he was slowly stroking. You might hate him, but goddamn did you like what you were seeing.

Slowly you walked up behind him. The shower was open, and you could easily come up behind him without him noticing.

Lloyd groaned lowly as he rubbed his dick, he wouldn’t admit it, but your fierce energy made him this hard. His head dipped back the warmth of the shower consuming him in his pleasure.

You snaked your hand around Lloyd and put it around his dick gently following his movements. Peppering kisses along his back you moved his hand away from his erection.

“Yeah, keep going love,” “mhm try again daddy…” you whispered against the shell of his ear. Instantly Lloyd’s eye snapped open, and he fled from your grip.

“The fuck are you doing here? Fucking shit and cover yourself!” he threw a towel your way which you dodged. “Oh, come on I know you wanna fuck me,” you stepped closer backing him against the sink.

Lloyd had a hard time resisting you but couldn’t break character, “it doesn’t matter if I want to or not. You are my stepdaughter, I’m married to your mother!”

Your hands cradled his face, “she never has to know. We’re not blood, we can do what we want…” lips ghosting over his. “Give it to me…fuck me…fuck me rough, make me cry, fuck me until I can’t walk,” you begged him clawing your hands on his broad shoulders.

A growl came past his lips and Lloyd grabbed your hips pulling you flush against him. “Fine. You want me to fuck you rough? Make you cry like a little girl and treat you like a filthy whore?” “Yes, yes please daddy-.” He turned you around pushing you against the sink.

“Call me daddy again and you can’t sit straight for a week,” Lloyd hissed while one of his hands landed a firm slap on your ass. A gasp escaped you in response.

“Understood?” “Understood…” “Sir you call me sir and if you don’t you get punished.”

Lloyd dragged you to the bedroom and threw you on the bed. You smirked at him as you pushed up and your elbows and spread your legs giving him a perfect view on your pussy.

With a mischiefs smile Lloyd grabbed your ankles drawing you to the edge of the king-sized bed. “What a slutty pussy do we have here huh? I didn’t even touch you yet and here you are dripping like the whore you are….” His words send shivers down your spine.

Letting his finger trail up your body he moved above you. Grabbing him by the neck, you pulled him down for a hungry kiss. Whining into his mouth desperately.

Everything to stay in role you thought to yourself. You didn’t necessarily have to kiss your fellow actors unless in fitted the role you were given and here it wasn’t required.

Without thinking Lloyd kissed you back, the same thought running through his mind.

His hands moved down to your wrists taking them from himself. One of his hands gripped both of your wrists as the other longed for the belt that laid a few inches away from your head. He tied your wrist together having to poke another hole in the belt.

Going back down he was eye to eye with your cunt. His hands gripped your thighs, and he lapped your pussy like a starved man. Moaning loudly, you wiggled against the belt.

You wanted to touch him, grip his hair, and shove his face deeper inside you. His moustache teases your bundle in the best kind of way.

However as much as you loved the way he made you feel, you hated it. You hated him with your guts, but that man knew what he was doing, and you enjoyed it. His tongue circled your hole before diving in. One hand let go of your thigh and joined his tongue.

Two fingers curling inside of you while his tongue played with you bundle of nerves. You squeezed his fingers when they hit your sensitive spot. “Damn such a tight cunt for such a whore. If two of my fingers barley fit, how are you gonna take my fat cock?”

“Oh, but I know a slut like you would do everything for a cock wouldn’t she? A dumb whore who doesn’t know better is only after cock,” he continued.

Slowing down his movements Lloyd admired your torn expression.

He loved that he could see how conflicted you were with him giving you this kind of pleasure and still hating him.

Letting out a high-pitched whine as Lloyd didn’t stop teasing you, you tried rolling your hips for more pleasure. Instead, his hand pushed your hips back down, “little slut…are that desperate? What you wanna come? Want your sir to relieve you?”

Quickly you nodded your head not able to form words. “Words whore.” Lloyd slapped your cunt the moment he didn’t hear any words from you. “Yes, sir I want you to relieve me.”

“What a shame I don’t want to,” he said and stood up. Whining you reached for him with your hips longing for his sinful mouth again. “No, the only way you’re coming today is on my cock because that what a whore like you wants right? The only thing you think about all day is to be a whore for a cock.”

The tip of his dick graced your leaking hole using the juice from as lube. Without warning you he pushed himself inside stretching you out.

His hands rested on either side of your head, “fuck tight as a virgin. How is your cunt still this tight when you’re such a slut.” Groaning he seated himself deeper into your pussy.

“Move, please move sir…” you whimpered. Complying Lloyd moved back and forth, the first few thrusts went slow and then he rutted into you. For better grip he wrapped his right hand around your throat.

With Lloyd destroying your pussy, whispering the dirtiest words in your ear, and hitting all the right spots at the same time you felt the familiar knot building in your stomache.

Clenching your walls together around Lloyd's cock causing a loud moan from his lips to escape. He squeezed your throat in response.

Here you were making the filthiest noises when Lloyd could break everything with the sound of his moan. Never in your life before had you heard a sound that turned you on like this.

“Does the sound of my moan turn you into a little slut? Oh no, wait! You already are a slut!” you wanted to answer him but all that came from you was a blabbering sound.

“Oh, have I fucked you dumb already?” He questions with a mocking pout.

You tried shaking your head as much as you could with Lloyd's hand laced around your throat. “I-I come…sir come I” you stammered around.

The sound of flesh slapping together could be heard around the entire set. “You wanna come? Then work for it whore,” with that he turned you around.

He laid on his back with you sitting on his cock. The sudden change of position and angle making you moan pornograficly.

His cock hit spots that you didn't even know about until now.

Taking a deep breath you began moving your hips in circular motions. “Are you this dumb or do just act like it? Are you a dumb fucking whore? Are you so dumb that you can't even ride me properly?”

His hand went back to your hips moving them up and down while pushing his hips against yours.

The tight grip caused bruises, and the realization got you close to the edge.

“Cum for me little slut, cum for your sir like a whore should.”

You collapsed on Lloyd from the intense orgasm he gave you. You already knew you were going to sleep for hours after this and to be honest you could sleep already.

“Now don't fall asleep on me whore, you still have to make me cum.” He pushed you away from him to stand up.

His erection glistening with your cum, gripping your hair he pulled you to him.

“Open your mouth,” he demanded. Doing so he directly pushed his cock into your mouth. You could taste your own cum mixed with his pfecum, having you pussy thrombin.

Lloyd brutally fucked your throat. For a moment stopped to let you gag on his cock causing tears to spring in your eyes.

“Whores don't get to breathe,” he told you.

You whimpered wanting his cum already. As if he heard your thoughts Lloyd let go and fucked his cum down your throat admiring the bulge he made. A relieved moan coming from his soft lips.

A moment of silence fell between the two of you. Making eye contact felt like another world.

Then Carter's loud ‘cut’ rang through the set. “Amazing!!! You can put the robes back on, shower and leave for the day! Oh, y/n how was it? Would you do it again? Maybe go a bit more into bdsm this time?”

You looked at him with a tired smile as you put the robe back on. “Yeah sure! However I would start slowly if that's okay?”

Carter waved you off, “of course that's okay! I gotta see…we could start with Fowler…” before he could finish you interrupted him. “We don't have to do it right now! Just schedule something with Bunny and text me.” You told him and walked away for a needed shower.

Lloyd watched you take off, “you give her to anyone but me and I will have you fired,” he whispered to Carter.

Speechless he watched Lloyd walk away wearing a satisfied smirk.

[wienerbarnes]

Witch Bitch

Pairing: Bucky x Witch!Reader

Word Count: 3,943

Warnings: witch stuff, burning at the stake 😳

A/N: this is heavily inspired by american horror story: coven bc i recently watched and ive been binging all of it lately but its not necessary to know anything about ahs lol i kinda just used their fancy magical terminology and concepts bc they were cool🤪 

MAIN MASTERLIST

The best time of the day was breakfast. It was the time when Bucky, Sam, and Sharon were most often together. Sometimes training overlapped and they missed lunch. Sometimes missions ran long or friends were in town and they missed dinner. But the morning? They were all early birds, all awake by seven. They took that shared characteristic and shared breakfast together whenever they could. Bucky usually took care of the coffee, Sam usually took care of the eggs and bacon, and Sharon usually took care of the bagels, toasting them to perfection before slathering on a layer of cream cheese.

It was a moment of peace in their day. Quiet before the noise of the gym or the conference room or the jets or the private trainings or the interviews with prospective agents or anything else they do on a daily basis. It was a time for three friends to just sit and eat and enjoy each other's company as though they are just that: three friends. Not super soldiers or captains or special agents. Just people being normal. Normal doesn’t last long, though. It never does for them.

Bucky’s on dish washing duty this morning while Sam and Sharon chat idly behind him, waiting for him to finish so they can all leave together. A soft voice interrupts them, though, making the three of them stop what they’re doing because no one has access to this floor except for the people that live here - meaning them three.

“Who’s in charge here?” You ask.

“Who the hell are you?! How did you get up here?!” Sharon asks, ignoring your question.

You were in a long, flowy black skirt, slit cut in the left side exposing your leg, and a long-sleeve black shirt, tucked beneath the waistband. Think black boots cover your feet and a black hat sits on your head to complete your look. Bucky almost doesn’t notice the folded black umbrella underneath your arm as his eyes trail down the multiple chains and necklaces around your neck, falling between your breasts.

“I’ve been trying to find someone to help me but the people in this building are not very helpful. I figured I’d find who’s in charge myself, something that you all don’t seem to want to help me with, either.” You explain.

“The only way to even enter this building is through strict appointment and background checks, and no one’s even allowed past the nineteenth floor.” Sam explains.

“Why are you entertaining this? I’m getting her out of here.” Sharon says, moving to walk towards you to take you out of the building herself.

As she nears closer and closer, you wave your hand lazily, without taking your eyes off Bucky, the only one who hasn’t said anything this whole time, and Sharon collapses on the floor soundlessly.

“Jesus!”

“What did you do!”

Both Bucky and Sam panic as they rush to Sharon’s body on the floor. They frantically run their hands over her body, looking for the point of injury that made her collapse the way she did, but they find nothing. No holes, no blood; she didn’t even make a sound.

“She’s not breathing and she doesn’t have a pulse, what the fuck did you do to her?!” Sam yells at you.

You roll your eyes, “Okay, you got me. I don’t need help finding who’s in charge, I already know it’s you. I still do need your help, though.”

You’re ignored as the two men hover over their friend, unsure of what to do or what even happened to her.

“Oh, alright, move.” You order them, stepping over Sharon’s body.

You stand before her, lifting your hands to hover over her body before closing your eyes and letting out a deep and long exhale. Bucky and Sam watch as it takes only about seven seconds for their friend to suddenly gasp for air, jumping back to life. The boys crowd her once more, checking her eyes, her pulse, everything to convince themselves that she’s actually alive like that, and if she was even dead in the first place.

Sam finally looks back up at you from the ground, as though he just remembered that you’re there, “What are you?”

You smirk in response, ready to finally get what you came here for.

…

“So, you’re a witch?” Sam asks, the four of them now occupying a private conference room for some privacy.

“A witch who killed me.” Sharon adds.

“And a witch that brought you right back.” You reply, leaning back on your chair, leg crossed over your knee, slit exposing your thigh. Bucky’s eye twitch to look at your bare skin for a second before returning to meet your eyes.

“So… what do you do?” Bucky asks.

You smile at his innocent curiosity, “All witches don’t have one universal power. Some are clairvoyant, some do voodoo, some dabble in pyrokinesis, divination, transmutation, descendum,” You glance over to Sharon, who’s still pouting at you, “Resurrection.”

“And can you do all of those?” Bucky asks.

“Almost all of them, but I’m not here to talk about me.”

“Why are you here?” Sharon asks.

“You guys hunt the Nazi’s, right?” You ask, aiming your question towards Sam, knowing he’s the Captain in charge.

“Hydra, yes.” He confirms.

“Well, your Nazi’s somehow got a hold of my magic. And they are playing with very dangerous fire,” You begin.

Bucky interrupts, “We’re all for taking down Hydra, but, don’t you think you’re a little more… powerful than us?” He asks.

“Bucky!” Sharon slaps his arm, as though she’s shocked that he would ever admit such a thing.

“I am. But I’m not that powerful, either. Not anymore, at least. A group of those Hydra invaded the coven my sisters and I were at. I was the only one that escaped.” You tell them.

“Did Hydra take them?” Sam asks.

“No, they killed them.” You respond, growing irritated as the subject grows touchier and touchier.

“Can’t you just bring them back like you did me?” Sharon inquires.

“No! I can’t. Like I said, I’m not that powerful anymore. Maybe I’d be able to bring back a house full of dead girls when it was me and twelve others but it’s just me now. I wouldn’t come all the way over here if I had other options.”

Silence grows over the group as they process what you’ve gone through. Surviving through the massacre of your fellow witches and not being powerful enough to find the people that did it on your own. You’re vulnerable.

“So what can we do?” Sam asks, ready to join forces with you.

“Help me locate the men who did this so I can handle the magic part.” You tell him.

“What magic do they have?”

“Although witches control most of the magic, sometimes it can be taken on in… physical forms. Specifically blood. The blood they retrieved was from a witch that was skilled in Vitali Vitalis.”

“The alive within the living.” Bucky translates.

“There are two worlds: the living and the dead,” You begin to explain, “Vitali Vitalis keeps the balance between these two things and it’s one of the most difficult powers for a witch to master. Oftentimes it’s used to give parts of your own life, health, and energy to someone who needs it. But it can also allow you to take life from someone and give it to yourself.”

“Like immortality?” Sam questions.

“Not quite. Any witch can be killed with a knife or bullet. This kind of magic keeps you from dying of age. I’ve only ever known one witch who mastered it.”

“What happened to her?”

“She used it for evil, like this. Took the souls of hundreds in order to allow herself to live for almost three centuries. Until she was killed, of course.” You finish, a small smile on your lips knowing that she got what she deserved.

“What, you burn her at the stake?” Sharon jokes.

“Yes, actually. We did.” You tell her matter-of-factly, becoming more and more irritated at the fact that she doesn’t seem to take this is as seriously as you are.

Bucky interrupts, sensing the rising tension between the two girls, “So when we find these guys, you’re going to burn them at the stake, too?” He asks.

“Yes,” You say, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “The consequence of using magic like this for evil is death by fire. I hope you all don’t think the rules will change on account of these men being Nazi’s?”

“Well, we just have a different way of doing things -” Sam begin to defend

“Yes, I’m aware. The countless destruction caused by you and other militaries, the millions of innocent lives lost yearly, not only in the constant war and irresponsible handling of your nuclear and alien weaponry, but by incorrect prosecution. Not to mention the billions of dollars spent on your ridiculous prison systems that don’t work when actual bad people escape and the death penalty practices in certain states. I just figured my way was easier. And cheaper.” You reply.

Silence crowds over the four of them once more as they think over all their options.

“I’m in.” Bucky speaks first.

“Me, too. Even if I don’t like you.” Sharon follows.

“Feeling’s mutual, dear.” You smile at her.

The three of them look to Sam, waiting for his commitment as well.

“Alright. Let’s get to work.”

Plans were made, theories of location were thought of, and plans to execute the mission were put into place, all of which included you. A temporary room was given to you when the information of your lack of a place to stay was brought to light. Only for the duration of this mission, is what Sam told you, but you can spot the amount of love and light in his heart from miles away.

It was later that night, and you’ve since cleansed the room, going as far as to place a protective spell on the entire floor. You’ve lost too much already, and you’re not about to risk anything.

A knock at the door sounds and the visitor you’d been expecting has finally arrived. You walk towards the door, still in your clothes from earlier but now you’ve removed your shoes, and open the door to reveal Bucky.

“I was waiting for you.” You tell him.

“How’d you know I’d come?” He asks, stepping through the door when you step aside, silently gesturing to him to enter.

“I can hear your thoughts. You've been debating whether or not to come see me for the past thirty minutes. Your mind is very loud.”

“Tell me about it.” He mumbles to himself, thinking about the countless nightmares, voices, and all the other reminders of just how loud his mind was.

“You can ask all your questions, you know. I won’t take any offence. You’re just curious.” You tell him, settling on your bed, hoping he’ll join you and stop hovering near the door.

Luckily he takes the hint and takes a seat across from you.

“I’ve never met a witch before. A real one, I mean. Like, someone born a witch. Like Salem witches -”

“I understand.” You chuckle lightly.

“You don’t seem… afraid of me. Or, hesitant, rather.” You tell him, thinking about how he’s received your presence here compared to his colleagues.

“I was wary when you killed my friend, but… you just need some help, is all. I’m sorry, by the way, I’m not sure if I said it before, but, I’m sorry for what happened to your friends.” He tells you.

He’s very polite. But you supposed that’s not abnormal considering he got his manners from the 1920’s. You like it, though. You give him an appreciative smile before giving him the okay to ask you whatever he wanted.

“So you said that witches can master multiple powers but have one specialty; is yours resurrection?”

“Yes; it was the first power I ever exhibited when I was a teenager. I was about fourteen or fifteen. My next mastered skill is descendum and then clairvoyance, where I was in my twenties, or so.” You tell him as he looks at you with pure fascination in his eyes.

“What is - what is descendum?”

You pause, “The power to descend your soul down into the afterlife - to hell. And return alive.”

His eyes widened, not even knowing that was something someone can do; not even knowing that hell existed in the first place, “So, you’ve been to hell?”

“Yes. I’ve also been able to retrieve people from hell, their soul. A variation of my power of resurrection, I suppose.” You explain, not being too fond of that power; descending to hell.

Bucky sits in silence for a few minutes, and you let him. You can hear the question lingering around in his head; what he’s thinking. But you let him build up his own courage to ask it. You know he’s only scared of the answer; the answer you know he’s not going to like.

“What is hell like?” He whispers.

“It doesn’t matter what my hell is like. Everyone has their own personal hell they experience when they die.” You tell him.

Confusion clouds his features as he registers your answer.

“Is there… Is there no heaven?”

You smirk, “It’s nice that you’ve remained religious after all this time.”

“Yes, there's heaven. But only for the purest and most innocent of souls. And rarely do people escape life without sin. Everyone has evil in them.” You tell him, knowing it’s a harsh truth that no one wants to hear.

The people Bucky’s killed, the crime he’s committed, the families he’s hurt; it all passes through his mind. Everyone has evil in them.

“What was your hell like?”

“I’m not telling you that.” You tell him quickly.

Bucky ponders what his own hell will be like, after seeing the way you’re clearly shaken up about your own. The fall from the train. The man in a lab coat sawing off the rest of his arm. The needles poking through his skin in the middle of some facility. The chair.

He doesn’t realize that he’s looked away from you until he snaps his thoughts back to the present and sees he’s looking down into his lap. He glances up to see your face, your soft features and kind eyes staring at him. He glances from your eyes to your lips and back up again before clearing his throat, not realizing how close he got to you during his time here sitting on your bed.

“You know, I, uh, I should go. Thank you for, uh, answering my questions, but we head out pretty - pretty early tomorrow, so,” He trails off, standing and patting down his shirt to smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in a nervous habit.

He makes his way towards the door and his hand touches the knob when he hears your voice, “Hey, Bucky?” He turns slightly to face you again, a hum to indicate for you to continue.

“Thank you for coming to see me. And thank you for all the kindness you’ve shown me. You’re a very good person.” You tell him sincerely.

He gives you a nod of you’re welcome before exiting.

He’s not sure if you told him that because you truly mean it, or if it’s because of the state of anxiety and existential crises you’ve put him in now that he’s going to be thinking about his personal hell, but he appreciates it, nonetheless.

He thinks you’re a pretty good person, yourself.

…

The mission goes off without a hitch. The combined skill of the Avengers’ stealth, spyware, and experience along with your magic and witchery makes for an easy capture of the men who killed your witch sisters and stole your magic.

It’s not long before the facility they were at was shut down and cleared out, arresting any officers and rescuing any prisoners or hostages, and the five men specifically responsible for the destruction of your coven are in separate custody. What’s left of the blood is returned to you, as well.

That’s where the group of you stand now, a decision to be made about the criminals you’ve captured. To be put in the maximum security prison floating in the ocean, or to be put to death by fire.

“I don’t believe in being the executioner of people.” Sam tries to convince.

You can’t help but let a laugh escape you, “Do you know who you work for?! Do you know who you are?!” You remind him.

“Those guys can’t escape the Raft.” He tries, referring to prison in the middle of the ocean you’ve heard about.

“You did.” You respond, knowing about when Steve Rogers took him out of that prison, along with other superheros.

You see Bucky and Sharon look between the two of you, torn between how these Hydra criminals should receive their fate. Staring into the hot depths of flames or rotting alone in a cell? Both seem to be too merciful, in Bucky’s opinion.

“This isn’t just running the facility or experiments, Sam. This is different. They were using dark magic to commit crimes. Maybe they should face the consequences of a dark-magic-punishment.” Sharon offers.

You don’t have time to be shocked at Sharon agreeing with you and picking your side before Bucky agrees and Sam is outnumbered. He stares at you and gives a single nod, allowing you to do this your way.

You smile, a silent thank you for giving you the closure and opportunity to serve justice to those who did you harm. “Off to Massachusetts, then.” You tell them, and Sam takes his seat in the pilot's chair, Bucky accompanying him in the front of the jet.

You take a seat, making yourself comfortable for the flight to Salem and you feel a body take the seat next to you. You glance up to see Sharon looking at you, but you notice she has something in her hand, offering it to you.

You look down to see a small plastic bag of fruit gummies. But not just any fruit gummies, you realize. Halloween themed fruit gummies. The pictures on the outside show the various options inside: witch’s hat, a broom stick, a melting pot, a vial, and a magic wand. Hilarious.

You take the gummies, though, accepting her attempt at a truce.

It’s not long before you and your temporary teammates find themselves standing before a large, empty field, multiple wooden stakes standing about fifteen feet tall scattered about with plenty of space in between.

You lead the walk to a group of them standing tall in line, so the men can be burned at the same time, as opposed to one by one. A group of large, burly agents lug the Hydra operatives along, behind you and the rest of the team.

Bucky hangs around your left, as to not be in the way of the black umbrella held in your right hand, and Sam and Sharon trail behind you. You can sense their uneasiness and tune out their worried thoughts. Everyone’s first burning is always an experience; they’ll get over it.

Bucky doesn’t seem worried, though. In fact, you can’t hear his thoughts this time around. But he still stands tall and straight, walking with confidence, so you make a safe assumption that he’s okay.

None of the men’s cuffs or shackles are removed, but thick rope is tied on top of it, around the wrist and looped around the waist, tying them to the stake. The cuffs are special grade - high tech Avengers vibranium - and they can be retrieved later once the fire burns out.

“Any last words?” You ask, more for tradition than whether or not you actually care.

They look scared, obviously not expecting their fate to look anything like this. You remember seeing Bucky tackle one of them in the facility, prying his mouth open to rip out a tooth, or what looked like a tooth, like a dog caught eating something it wasn’t supposed to. A cyanide pill.

Silence comes from them, except for one of them, “Hail Hydra!” He yells, as if that cowardly and pathetic phrase would change anything.

With a raise of your hand, seemingly with no effort, you wave it and the stakes all begin to rise up in flames. There’s nothing to spark, no twigs, no gasoline, nothing, and Bucky watches as the flames rise, growing stronger as they engulf the five men. They begin to scream, and Bucky looks over at you, as if to confirm you didn’t bring gasoline or something with you, and he sees a smile slowly grow on your lips.

They haven’t stopped screaming; they’re still alive when you turn and begin to walk back the way everyone came. Bucky follows, and eventually Sam and Sharon do, too, the other agents staying behind until the end to retrieve the cuffs and shackles that will survive the fire.

“So, now what?” Sharon asks, the air quieter as the screams have slowly stopped in the distance.

I can’t imagine what kind of paperwork follows this, “Back to the tower.” Sam responds.

“The coven’s only a short walk from here.” You say, not needing to elaborate much more. The men have been caught and brought to justice, but you still have a broken, battered, and beaten down coven to fix.

A friend of yours was meant to go by and retrieve the… bodies. Which you’re grateful for. But magic won’t help you fix the walls, the floors, mop the blood, or find other witches in need of an escape and a place to improve and master their powers. You have a lot of work to do.

As the view of the jet gets closer, you prepare to bid your goodbyes to the Avengers, your thank you’s as well. Regardless of your attitude towards them before, you couldn’t have done this without them.

A metal hand engulfs yours, pulling you back a bit as Sam and Sharon continue on.

“Do you need any help?” Bucky’s warm and gentle voice floods your ears, hand still in yours.

“You guys have been more than enough help, now, really.” You try to tell him, but he has none of it.

“You may be tough, but you can’t fix up that house by yourself,” He tells you, “I can be pretty handy, fixed up a few things back in my day.” A soft smile grows on his face.

You glance over his shoulder as Sam and Sharon wait by the entrance of the jet, “Don’t you have to go back?”

“They won’t miss me.” He tells you, not even looking back to confirm with his teammates, hand dropping to run it through his hair.

You giggle at him, before giving him a shy nod in answer to his offer to help you fix up your big house.

“I’m going to hang out here for a few days.” He yells over his shoulder.

“We figured.” Sam calls out, and Sharon throws you a wave as they board the jet, the opening close after them.

“Lead the way?” Bucky offers you, taking your hand once more, interlocking the fingers this time.

And so the two of you are off, one of your hands still clutching the umbrella, holding it above your head, and the other hand interlaced with the one of a handsome and kind super soldier. This wasn’t the way Bucky expected the last two days to transpire, but he’s glad they led to holding the hand of a very pretty witch.

[mae-gi-writes]

Kevin Frost | Kevin Moon (The Boyz)

Summary ❄ Being sick every winter sucks, until winter itself decides to bring itself to you in the form of Kevin Frost.

Genre ❄ fluff, fantasy, inspired by Jack Frost (as per my beautiful @nyuwings​ request)

A/N ❄ for my lovely @nyuwings​ with whom I’ve bonded with so quickly I keep wondering whether we’re soulmates. Thank you for your presence and for just being you. Ily. ❤

° . · ❄ · . °

Sighing for the nth time, you placed your hands up against the window, palms turning icy cold as you took in the array of snowflakes floating to the ground. It was that time of the year again, a time that signified celebration as the town of Sleva would get covered in a blanket of what your brothers liked to call fairy dust. Snow would bathe the entire streets white and would glimmer in the light of the street lamps lining the streets. You could already spot the Christmas lights in variants of red and green and yellow gold strung across the main intersections, probably where the Christmas market would be. Right about that time merchants would line the streets with their wooden carts, shouting out about all the fresh sausages and special meats they’d offer for a good price for the festive season. 

You knew Christmas season like the back of your hand. It was ironic then, that you were the only person not allowed out whenever Christmas and winter came around. 

“You’re sick,” your mother had scolded you once when you had mustered up the courage to ask her why you were the only one being left behind, “you’ll die if you go out in the snow.” 

And it was true. Your lungs were small, pea-sized, as the doctor had mentioned at one of your checkups. It was about the same time when you started asking questions, curiosity finally picking away at your logic. Going out in the snow and allowing your body to suffer the cold would deliver a fatal blow to your nervous system. 

He had not, however, told your parents to keep you locked in like a prisoner that would instantly face death the moment you caught wind of cold. But while your parents had taken dramatic measures to keep you tightly tucked in warmth until summer came around once more, you’d like to think that it was more of an exaggeration as an extension of their concern for your well-being, and not the actual truth. 

So that was why you were sitting like the pathetic picture that you were, staring out at the countless other people trudging through snow and laughing as they made up snowballs and built snowmen in their driveways. You wondered briefly what your friends were up to, knowing full well from their recounted stories that at this time of year they’d flock to the bars to catch glimpses of the beautiful young men, soldiers and men from military that would come home from their basecamps on these special occasions. 

“We can sneak you out!” One of your friends exclaimed the first time you had explained the real reason as to why you could barely set foot outside, “And we’ll bring you home before your parents wake up.” 

You shook your head though, politely denying their requests as your heart ached, “it’s fine. You guys have fun.” 

“We’ll find a nice catch for you, Y/N,” another winked at you and you plastered a smile on your face right up until they had turned the corner.

You had cried yourself to sleep that night.

So there you sat every day and night, surprised that your butt hadn’t made an indentation on the chair yet as the sound of your mother’s cooking echoed up the stairs. The attic was where you liked to spend most of your time. It was a place where you could be at peace with yourself and enjoy your own company, the silence that came with it filling your mind with nothing but serenity.

Something flashed across the window. 

Probably a snowball, you thought to yourself as you rubbed your eyes. The smell of your mother’s famous dumplings wafted through the attic room and you sniffed the air, stomach growling in anticipation. There was bound to be a feast on Christmas eve. It was a tradition your family never missed out.

A group of children were busy building a snowman in the yard opposite yours and snuggling a little closer to the window, you pulled your blanket tighter around your frame as you watched them, giggling amongst themselves, while sticking the carrot to form its nose. 

Another flash. So fast and blurred that you cried out in shock and almost toppled over from your seat. 

Blinking, you stared long and hard at what you thought you had seen. If you weren’t mistaken, you swore that it had looked a lot like--

“Hello!” 

You screamed, toppling over for good this time. You landed on your butt and must’ve caused a ruckus for your mother’s voice to float up questioningly, “Y/N? Are you okay?” 

“Fine!” you cried back without tearing your eyes away from the window. 

A boy gazed back at you with amusement glimmering through his eyes. No, not a boy. More like a young man in his twenties, maybe about the same age as you were.

And he was floating.

You opened your mouth only for the words to choke the back of your throat. You coughed instead and didn’t realize that the said young man had propped open the window until you heard him ask, “you good there? That was quite a fall--”

Rushing to clamp a hand over his mouth, you hurriedly looked back towards the staircase. Thank god it seemed like your mother was so engrossed in her cooking and you sighed in relief, before realizing that you were a little too close to the said stranger. 

Pulling away quickly and tugging your blanket over your frame, you hissed out, “who are you?” in a tone that you hoped was threatening enough for him to understand you were not here to make friendly conversation. If anything, he was a stranger and he was weird.

But either he was used to people’s rude demeanour or he just didn’t care, for he merely brushed some snow out of his raven coloured hair before settling himself on the window frame more comfortably. He had a wooden cane gripped tightly in his left hand and his feet were left bare. You wondered briefly whether he was cold.

“My apologies for barging in without introductions,” his voice was melodic, smooth, “my name is Kevin Frost. I’m...winter?” 

Your eyebrows dipped into a frown, “excuse me?”

“I’m winter personified. Kind of like a guardian, weather guardian. In my case, guardian of winter,” he lifted his cane as if proving a point. Except, what was so special about it? It just looked like a tree branch he’d picked up along the way, “I’m responsible for the snow, I guess?” 

“You guess?” 

This guy was crazy. 

It seemed like he read your mind, for he sighed and threw you a sympathetic look, “you don’t believe me.” 

“You end your statements like they’re questions. How am I supposed to be convinced by that?” 

Kevin lifted his hand at your words and as he twirled his fingers through air, a wisp of snowflakes suddenly danced along his knuckles as if by magic. Blinking in astonishment, your jaw fell open without warning and he chuckled, “close your mouth, sweetheart. You might catch a fly.”

You snapped your mouth shut, “there are no flies in winter,” you muttered through narrowed eyes while crossing your arms over your middle, “so say what you’re saying is real...What does that mean?” 

“That I control winter, kinda. I come around every year when the season rolls around.”

“Why?” 

“Why? Because the world needs winter,” he scoffed as though you had asked the most stupidest question, “without winter, the cycle would be broken.” 

“Well, you can take your winter and use it elsewhere.” 

He looked at you for a second too long that you couldn’t help but shift uneasily under his darkened gaze, “What?” you asked, though averting your eyes at the sudden change in his demeanour.

“You don’t like winter.” 

He said it like a statement. Without question. Confident that what he told was the truth. 

And he was right.

“What?!” it was his jaw that fell open this time, “so what? You’ve never touched snow before?” 

“I don’t,” you answered.

"Why not?"

Biting the inside of your cheek, you said, “I...my health isn’t the best during winter. I can’t go out.” 

You shook your head and his eyes grew even wider if that was possible, so baffled by your statement that he almost dropped his cane, “Oh that is really shitty.”

“Oh yes,” your eyes glued themselves to the floor, “that’s me.” 

The silence that followed made your heart drop. Why were divulging your darkest thoughts to a mere stranger? And one that climbed through windows and could weld snow like it was as easy as breathing? 

But Kevin’s hand reached out, palm open and facing upwards as his face softened. It was almost like he understood what it felt like to be different, deprived from something that everyone else could enjoy, “I think I can help with that.” 

“Uhm,” your eyes were skeptically analyzing the small wisps of cold air surrounding said hand, “I don’t think that’s the answer--”

“Just trust me.” 

“You’re a stranger.”

“And I’m the only way you can enjoy winter.” 

Maybe it was the truth that rang through his words despite barely knowing him, or maybe it was the idea of finally being free of the bodily chains that held you down and just out of reach of the unknown. But one look at the dark obsidian orbs that swam with nothing but an open invitation was enough to make you reach out, hand gently placing over his and shuddering slightly at the icy coldness of his fingers. 

"Allow me,” he murmured as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder before tugging you with him. And before you knew it, you were tumbling out of your window and into open air as you whipped along with the wind that carried you forward, over the houses, over the cityscape bathed with snow with Kevin’s hold tightening every so slightly on your frame. 

A gust of wind blew in your direction and your shoulders tensed, readying yourself to feel the air nip at your skin and skittle across your clothes with those icy fingers. 

But nothing. Nothing but a soft warmth that slowly spread through your limbs, almost as though you had sat by a warm campfire with a mug of warm hot chocolate. Your eyes shot up to meet Kevin’s, who only grinned at you with playful mischief. 

“Told you that you’d be safe with me, didn’t I?” 

With that, he swooped you along, the edge of your dress skimming the top of houses. You didn’t realize you were yelling in delight the higher you went as your legs dangled. Tingles shot down your spine and into your feet as you looked down at the ground, butterflies roaming your stomach in a mixture of fear and excitement. 

“Oh!--” the air stuck in your throat the moment you spotted the Christmas market, “Is that--Is that the Christmas market?!”

His chuckle grazed your ear, “sure is.”

“And that’s the church! Oh my gosh--It’s so pretty!” Gasping at the wondrous sights that appeared before you like a movie you’ve been dying to watch, you can’t help but tear up in blind joy. This, this is what you’ve been missing out on all this time? You couldn’t believe it; how magical it all was, how authentically beautiful and breathtaking. It was almost like looking into a snow globe. Untouchable. 

“Are you--Are you crying?” the panic laced in Kevin’s voice made you burst out laughing as you felt the ghost of his hand swiping at your cheek. It felt weird hanging in mid-air being too close to a man -- or could you call him a man? -- that was currently wiping away your tears like it was the most mundane occurrence. But at this point you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“No I’m just--It’s beautiful. I--I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on all this,” you spluttered out, chest tight with emotion, “why hasn’t anyone ever told me?” 

“Well to be fair, we are above all humans,” his murmur was so close to your ear that you turned out of curiosity, only to swallow hard at the closeness of your faces. 

You looked away, “and you’re not human?” 

You sensed his hesitation, “...not exactly.” 

“Then what are you?” 

Another round of silence as he struggled to give a coherent answer. Something told you that you weren’t going to be fond of all that he had to say. 

“It’s complicated.” 

You didn’t fight him, knowing full well that it would provoke more questions than provide you answers. He tugged you along silently over the house chimneys, allowing you to ogle at the arrays of food merchants littering the streets and settling you atop one of the roofs to enjoy a live show of musicians in Sleva’s Square. Curiosity burned at the tip of your tongue whenever you caught yourself looking at him for a second too long. But it seemed like your earlier conversation had dulled the light in his eyes and you decided it was best to keep your mouth shut, instead focusing on clapping along to the sound of merry jingles floating through the air.

It was past midnight when Kevin deposited you at your window sill, gingerly settling your feet onto the ground as you allowed your eyes to find his own dark orbs reflecting the dim light of the attic. 

You licked your lips that had run dry from the slow ebbing warmth of Kevin’s presence, “thank you, for today.” 

His grin was contagious, for you felt your own lips tug into a smile, “you’re welcome, sweetheart.” 

You couldn’t help the blush from spreading up your neck at the little pet name that he had garnered, “so who’s the next lucky lady then?” you were quick to change the subject, “you can’t tell me I’m the only who gets to ride along with Kevin Frost.”

He smirked and you swore your heartstrings tugged. Reaching up with his hand, he proceeded to tuck your hair behind your ears and only grinned a little wider when your face flushed.

“You are,” he whispered, and with another cold gust of wind, he was gone before you could utter another word. 

° . · ❄ · . °

Kevin Frost’s presence was starting to become a constant in your life that winter, dropping by on numerous occasions throughout the day and night as he kept you company. He entertained you with stories of his day; how he’d helped a few children ice skate by freezing the entire lake over, or how he’d made it snow a little harder for others to get enough snow to finish off their snowman.

Sometimes, he would whip up some Christmas creations in your attic itself and wrap you in his arms as he danced along to the snowflakes cascading from your ceiling. He’d hum to a few Christmas tunes as you went, stepping onto his feet and him on yours because-- you’d realized shortly after -- that he wasn’t as such of a good dancer as he claimed he was. 

Most nights though, he’d make it a must to fly you to one of the rooftops to enjoy the scenery. You would huddle closer for warmth, your blanket heavy on your shoulders and his arm around you keeping you heated while you exchanged stories of your past and childhood. In exchange he would recollect where he’d come from; how his earliest memory had started from the moment he’d fallen out of an icicle in the North Pole and how, from that day onwards, he’d fly around the world to provide snow when it was necessary.

“So that means you’ll be gone once spring comes around?” you couldn’t help the words that slipped from your mouth. Coughing a little, you nestled closer out of instinct. For some reason, you had been a little weaker these past few days, reason being the numerous secret outings after dinner time. Not that you had mentioned that to your mother when she’d commented on your physical state. That was recipe for disaster.

"My duty will lie elsewhere when that time comes."

"I notice you always talk in riddles whenever you don't want to say things that will hurt people."

He glanced at you, maybe out of shock or maybe just because he already knew how you'd picked up on his habits in the few days that you had spent together.

When he spoke next, his voice was a raspy whisper, “I don’t like hurting people.”

"Don’t avoid my question, Kevin Frost.” 

The words hung between you like a cold breath of winter. Kevin’s skin was warm and yet, your fingers felt numb from gripping one of the roof tiles too hard. 

“Yes,” he pressed his lips together, “I’ll be gone. Until the next winter season.” 

“So you’re leaving me.”

“I never said I was going to stay.” 

The words stung like bees, as though someone had reached into your chest for the sole purpose of squeezing your heart until it pinched with pain. 

He must’ve regretted his outburst, for in the silence that followed there was a soft mumble of his apology. 

"And you said you didn’t like hurting people,” you scoffed and saw him wincing from the corner of your eye, “that’s exactly what you’re doing.” 

Gathering up your skirts and wrapping the blanket a little tighter around your shoulders when you felt a gentle whoosh of the winter air scald your skin, you muttered, “I’d like to go home now.” 

The fly back was laden with a heavy silence that pressed down on your throat and made your eyes burn with the onset of tears, though you refused to cry for him. You knew, deep down, that he’d be gone in the blink of an eye. He wasn’t the personification of winter for nothing and it ultimately wasn’t his fault for leaving you. 

He wasn’t to blame. 

It was just a matter of unleashing your own frustrations because you were going to miss him. More than he could imagine.

The moment your feet touched the wooden edge of your window sill, you fought the urge not to turn around and bury yourself into his arms. He grasped your hand, the other around your waist as he helped you inside like he always did, except this time your heart skipped a beat despite the small pang of pain resonating through your chest. 

“Y/N,” came his murmur the moment your feet touched your attic floor. You turned around reluctantly, heart collapsing the moment you caught sight of the glistening wetness in Kevin’s dark orbs. 

“I--” he took a shaky inhale, stepped towards you until you were close enough for your feet to touch, “I never wanted you to get attached, nor did I want to get attached...to you.”

Your head angled to the floor as you bit your lip, not wanting him to see how much you were breaking inside. 

"Oh come here sweetheart,” and that was when his arms laced around your middle to pull you close, a movement so surprising that it made you gasp. Your hands flew to his chest to push him away, only for him to hold on a little tighter and nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. Your heart felt like it had suddenly been ignited with fireworks, heat coursing through your veins at the sudden display of affection that left you lightheaded.

“I don’t like seeing you unhappy,” his whisper echoed through your ear and as if on impulse he tightened his hold. 

“You’ll...” you broke off when the tears started choking you up, arms going around his chest to press your cheek against his collarbone, “you’ll come back though. You can promise that...right?”

Feeling him nod, you pulled away to get that same affirmation from his eyes, which you did once your gazes locked. Gently, Kevin’s hand went up to hold your cheek, brushing his thumb slightly over your cheekbone and causing your breath to stutter inside your throat. 

Time felt like it had stopped as you stood there, unmoving, just watching the shades of dark brown moving to soft maroon of Kevin’s eyes as the light danced against his face. 

And then he leaned down. His lips feathered over your forehead before pressing a soft, chaste kiss upon it, “I promise.” 

° . · ❄ · . °

As Winter slowly ebbed away with the arrival of Spring, so did Kevin Frost. It was as if you were waking up from a dream all this time, a dream that you hoped would last forever. It was only when it was warm enough to step outside that you spotted all of his silent messages displayed across the town. Ice sculptures depicting two miniature figures flying through the sky, dancing on rooftops and laughing together paved the way from the door of your backyard to the edge of your fencing and you swore that if you had been alone you would’ve broken down into tears.

But you held on to that thin strand of hope that Kevin Frost would return the next winter. You hoped. Believed that he would keep his word. 

Summer was a daze where you occupied yourself helping your brothers, who had recently bought a stand to open up a bakery shop at the end of your street. As you slowly started learning the ropes of rolling dough out and making confectionaries that the locals were so fond of, you slowly developed the skill of decorating them to your liking; which was winter-themed. Soon enough, cookies in the forms of snowflakes were being displayed, there were icy popsicles in the shape of ice-skating rollers, cakes to show the frozen lake and small figurines dancing atop its surface icing. 

The one creation that sold the best out of all these was the pastry depicting a scene from when you and Kevin Frost had sat upon a roof, heads nestled close and looking like there wasn’t anywhere else in the world you’d rather be. You had carved into the dough with the best of your ability, with the details springing from the golden crust once it had gone through the oven as bits and pieces of white chocolate made up the snowflakes falling in that idealistic landscape.

"My daughters just love your creations!” One lady once stated as she bought a cake box and about dozens of your pastry, “she finds them so adorable that she shares them with her friends at recess!” 

“Thank you, ma’am. I’m glad she likes them,” you smiled back as you exchanged the box of goodies for some gold coins. Your brother, named Hyunjae, nudged you the moment the woman was out of earshot, “so now that we’ve established that you know how to bake. Care to elaborate where you met this man?” 

“What?” you tried keeping your face impassive. But you’d be a fool to think your brother would be satisfied with your obliviousness. 

“Y/N, I’d like to know whatever’s going on in that little head of yours,” Hyunjae slung an arm around your shoulder with a sly smirk, “so do please enlighten your brother before he finds that man and lands him one.” 

You gasped, “You wouldn’t dare!” 

“Well it seems like he’s breaking your heart, whoever that man in the pastry is.” 

"I--He’s--There’s no one.”

“Y/N.” 

“Hyunjae, leave her alone,” your eldest brother, who went by the name of Younghoon, just threw Hyunjae a stern stare, “she’ll tell us when she wants to.” 

“You’re no fun Younghoon.” 

Before you knew it, the temperature had dropped and the lush greenery of the foliage adorning the town slowly turned to warm hues of orange and red and yellows that fell to the ground, signalling that a new season was making its way through Sleva. Working in your house kitchen was a given now that it was too cold for your body to handle. You woke up before down each day to prepare the set of pastries and adorned cakes that your brothers would then transport to the market place as you watched, waving until their figures disappeared behind the wooden structures of the buildings. 

And then, the first snow came. 

You weren’t exactly sure when or how Kevin Frost was going to make his appearance. It had been so long that your memory fogged up whenever you tried to remember the details of his features. Did he have a mole at the corner of his eye or was that just a figment of your imagination? Nevertheless, the first time you spotted snowflakes drifting to the ground, there was a rush of adrenaline through your heart and you just knew that Kevin Frost was here.

That night, you set up the fire in your attic as per usual and gathered your blanket around you before huddling over to the edge of the window. No expectations, your mind told you, no expectations that he’d make it to you today. And that was alright.

Your hand went to press against the window pane. It was cold. It sent a shiver through your body and you coughed slightly, muffling it with your palm. 

Who were you kidding? There was absolutely no reason why you sat at the edge of the window with your palms bearing the cold if not for one glimpse of Kevin Frost, one sign from him that he had returned with the winter that buried Sleva in its magical beauty.

You imagined him now, that playful asymmetrical smirk and those gorgeous feline eyes and the tender way he would look at you whenever you would spark a conversation that would keep you awake till the early hours of the morning.

You missed him.

Breath fogging up the glass as your nose went to press against it, you took this moment to close your eyes. 

Get a grip Y/N. You had to live your life just like he was living his. He wasn’t even human, so why? What made him so important that you felt like your heart was constantly dancing to the rhythm of his voice? 

Your eyes fluttered open as you took a breath--

Only to look straight into Kevin Frost’s eyes. 

Gasping in shock, your jaw fell slack as you gazed at his face from behind the window pane, his hand pressing up where yours was as he grinned back at you.

“Kev--” your throat felt tight, “Kevin?” 

Your hands scrabbled for the latch. You flung it open.

He was here. He came back as he had promised.

Your heart swelled twice the size of your chest, tears gathering along your eyes so that they made your sight all blurry as you reached out to feel his hands clasping your own and before you knew it, you were being cradled to Kevin Frost’s chest as he held you as though he was never going to let go.

“Kevin?” your murmur was muffled against his shirt and reaching out to cup your cheek, he tilted your face towards his in a manner so gentle that your lungs seemed to stop functioning altogether. 

His eyes were the same dark obsidian, his nose scrunching in that same manner of his whenever he was deeply amused and whether it was due to your shock, you weren’t about to make a comment when he was here in the flesh, in your arms. 

“Long time no see,” his mouth was pressed to your temple and he pecked the area, over and over again like he himself couldn’t quite believe it, “sweetheart.” 

His pet name made you laugh, though the tears now pooled down your cheeks, “long time indeed.” 

“Kept my promise though, didn’t I?” his hand went up to smooth over the back of your head in an affectionate manner and you swore you felt your heart melt at his touch.

“Still as cocky as ever.” 

“Admit it, you missed me.” 

You grumbled out a small whine of agreement while looking away and Kevin only chuckled in response. He pushed back your hair, curled it behind your ear before cupping your cheek once more as he searched your gaze.

The intensity of his dark orbs made something in your chest constrict, hands tightening ever so slightly on his shirt, “what? Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“I wanted to try something.” 

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I saw a bunch of couples doing it so it got me thinking.” 

Heat spread through your cheeks and coursed down the back of your neck at how casually he seemed to handle the matter. It must’ve been obvious from the look on your face for Kevin only chuckled and bent down so close that his nose brushed yours, eyes slowly drifting shut when he angled his head to the side.

When his lips touched yours, you swore your heart burst into a million of fireworks. 

A shy, tentative kiss. A first kiss for Kevin Frost. That was for sure. 

It felt unreal, cold lips against warm ones that made you shudder out of the sheer sensation. His hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he caught your lower lip between his own. You let out a small sound of appreciation and spurred on, he kept on kissing you that way over and over again while his other arm tugged you close so that you were pressed up to him, all of your curves molded to his hard frame.

He pulled back and for the first time in forever he was the definition of being flustered, red cheeks and shy smile, “how...how did it feel?” he asked like a little five year old boy. 

The grin that almost split your face in two was priceless and you'd never know that his heart was racing hundred miles an hour the moment you did.

"Cold," you giggled at his confused frown, "...and magical."

Satisfied with your answer, the young man pressed another kiss to your cheek in a manner so delicate it made your insides blossom with butterflies.

"So," Kevin turned towards the now open window which was now coated in snowflakes, "shall we?"

Your hand slipped into his as you made your way to the ledge, noting the gentleness of his arm as it wound around your waist and caressed your side.

"Show me what you've made of this winter, Kevin Frost."

[artxyra]

Healing Gotham | Part 2

Prologue | Part 1

Just hours before her schedule plane ride from Paris, France to New York City,  New York, Marinette was sitting across from her husband of five years. Luka and Marinette have been talking about this for months on end, but there was never a perfect time to enact it until now. Their eyes lock onto one another, he hums a soft tone knowing that it will calm his wife’s nerves just enough to talk or to think. While they stay in place, they don’t acknowledge the small flying gods watching them in curiosity.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asks once their silent conversation concludes. Marinette visibly gulps and nods. Though Luka could tell something was on her mind.

“Yes, I’m sure. Ever since I was little, I could feel the darkness that surrounds Gotham and I doubt anything has changed even with the help of Batman. Doing it now just seems perfect. Hawkmoth is no longer a threat, our careers are decently stable, and the Miraculous Team is finely spread across Europe. Granted, the European Justice League seems to butt in every now and then trying to recruit our members…so yeah now is perfect.” Marinette responds getting up from the couch and into her husband’s arm.

Luka instinctively wraps his arms around his wife’s small waist. Maybe this would be good. Marinette would finally get closure about Jason’s death and bond with her brother’s growing family—something that they have been meaning to start on their own.

“If anything, having Tikki around could help speed up the cleansing. If not, well…” Marinette trails off not sure what to say next. Will having Tikki help speed up the process? She wasn’t even sure herself.

“Say no more, everything will work out just fine. You’re healing years’ worth of pain and suffering, and on top of that, you need closure for yourself. I know Jason’s death took a lot out of you and going back just seems wrong to you.” Luka tightens his hold on Marinette. He knows she was near a mental breakdown of her own, and he just hopes that a hug would suffice.

Marinette smiles and looks up to her husband, “You’re right this might do me some good.” Her lips brush against Luka nearly nibbling on his bottom lip.

Breaking for air, the couple smile at one another but the moment is lost when Plagg decided to make himself known.

“As much as this is a sweet moment, can someone please get me more cheese?”  The kwami of destruction moans out causing the two to chuckle.

“Sure Plagg, but remember you’re going with Luka on his tour while the others that aren’t active are coming with me, which means you’ll be on a strict cheese limit.” Marinette states before walking into the kitchen and returning with a small block of cheese. Plagg blanches at the thought of having a cheese limit. That defeats the purpose of his greatest love.

In honesty, Plagg could hear Tikki and the others somewhat laughing at him about this latest piece of news. While this isn’t like being with Adrien (his former wielder & best friend), it’s home to him.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know.” Plagg waves it away with little care in the world.

“You better keep an eye on him.” Marinette turns to Luka as if her husband hasn’t been the wielder of the black cat miraculous for years.

“I will,” Luka kisses Marinette’s forehead and turns to Plagg, “Are you coming or what?” Plagg flies over to Luka and settles down on the taller man’s shoulder.

“Well miss you bug; don’t let that brother of yours beat you down.” Marinette scoffs at the kwami before sending him a little chuckle.

Marinette looks at the time, her plane boards in just under three hours. That is enough time for her to get through the checkpoints and to her gate. She didn’t want to say goodbye, but maybe leaving Paris is a good idea—they haven’t exactly left unless it was for tours or fashion shows. Luka was going on tour with Jagged Stone and his own protégée, who he is currently the producer for, and Marinette didn't have any shows planned for weeks but visiting her Gotham branch is good. They plan to meet up in New York for the final show and then head back to Gotham depending on Marinette’s mental health stage and the progress she made in Gotham.

“Marin Etta Martha Wayne, you stay safe and we’ll see you in a few months.” Luka jokes at first but he seriously wants his wife to be safe in Gotham. Their lips meet saying goodbye to one another.

Making it to the airport was nothing. Originally, Marinette was supposed to take Kaalki but she didn’t want Bruce or anyone to question her early arrival. That and riding on a plane gives her ample time to think of a game plan and build her confidence.

“Flight 04857 to New York City is now boarding now.” A voice announces over the coms. Time really does pass quickly when someone is stuck in their head. Marinette barely would have acknowledged it if it wasn’t for Tikki making movements in her carry-on bag.

Taking a big breath, Marinette gathers her carry-on and takes her stance line to board. In less than twelve hours, she’ll be arriving in her birth city where it all started.

The flights were exhausting, on the first flight she had in front of a crying toddler (first time flying) and her seating partner would not shut up. Though there were some good moments before it all when down the hill. Then her second flight was slightly delayed. Apparently, Gotham’s airport was attacked, and this is the only flight that enters Gotham that day.

Miraculously, she managed to get into Gotham within the same time frame she gave Alfred just days before. Gathering her stuff, she takes notice of all the damage the fight did. Some parts of the airport were unavailable, and a handful of airplanes were destroyed. Seriously, how high is Gotham’s insurances for this to be an everyday occurrence? Due to regular superhero fights, Paris would be forever grateful for the miraculous cure because it saved so many people paperwork and having to replace what was lost.

After getting off the phone with Alfred, Marinette knew she had some time to spare which was enough time to grab a cup of coffee and find a nice bench in the cool weather.

“Welcome home, Miss Marin Etta.” Alfred states once the car is parked and he exits the vehicle to hug the person he has forever viewed as a daughter (or granddaughter at best). Marinette flings herself into Alfred’s arms.

“Alfred, please Marinette is just fine.” Marinette laughs before her voice lowers with the next statement, “And I missed you too, Alfie.”

They break the embrace to finish placing her three luggage into the car’s trunk. Marinette wanted to take a seat in the front, but she knew Alfred would instruct her to sit in the back, just like he did when she was little and six years ago.

“So, Miss Marinette how much of your life has changed? I hear your business MEM Fashions is looking to start a new branch.” Alfred knows everything that happens within the Wayne household but having a conversation with Marinette was always different than that with the boys. He doesn’t see her as often as the others.

Marinette’s eyes lit up, she loves talking about her fashion and retail business.  Ever since she turned eighteen, she decided that MDC no longer represents her, who she truly is, so she rebranded to MEM Fashions (or Styles) when she gained access to her shares of Wayne Enterprise. Since then she takes care of the fashion business that runs through WE, but not many people know that. All they know is that MEM is a brand that is being sponsored by WE and nothing more.

When Alfred pulls in through the gates, Marinette had to take a deep breath. There was no turning back. The moment the doors to the Wayne Manor opens, she and Alfred knew that there will be chaos before them.

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[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: The Medic

(A/N: Takes place somewhere around ten years after Arya leaves Ellesméra and joins the Varden. I’ll probably do another fic going into the injury that sent her back to Ellesméra for further healing {something that occurs probably every other year or so, as she’s not a skilled healer and none of the medics in the Varden know elf biology} at a later date. Cheers! Oh, and a reminder, 20 years old is around 10 in human years apparently, or at least how we’re going for MIC. Cheers again!)

Arya leaned back in her chair, eyeing the elf across the small camp table as he scribbled out another note in the Varden medical file spread before him.

Glenwing was the first and only person on Arya’s personal, official squad. He had trotted up to her a day before she was to leave Ellesméra and handed off orders straight from the Queen that he was to become her medic in the field. Even after multiple readings and consultations with Oromis, the orders were clear and gave no leeway or loophole through which Arya could escape. Despite her obviously annoyed acceptance at his sudden addition, Glenwing seemed unfazed and calm throughout the entire process, and set out with his new commanding officer the following morning.

They had reached the edge of the forest now, camped upriver from Ceris at Arya’s request. Three weeks in Ellesméra had left her antsy and entirely fed up with the prim and proper etiquette that made open speech so damned difficult in the pines, something she had not missed in her years with the Varden. Glenwing hadn’t protested in the least, and had spent a majority of the time setting up camp asking her questions about her previous injuries, examining scars, and doing his best to ease into the more personal questions of mental health that he hadn’t had time to ask before they left Ellesméra.

The silver haired elf signed a stop glyph at the end of his most recent note in the margins of Arya’s file before tapping his pen against his lip. “Any trouble sleeping in the past six months? Falling asleep, staying asl–”

“Are you going to report all this to the Queen?” Glenwing looked up, somewhat startled by the sudden interjection. Arya had her arms folded now, regarding him with that solid stare that expected answers and would take no deflection or lie that he could give. “I’m assuming that’s why she assigned you to me. People weren’t exactly lining up behind me to join the Varden, so I doubt you volunteered. Plus, after this long she’s probably realized that I need to return to Du Weldenvarden to be fully healed after larger injuries so she’s probably not keen on giving me more time away from her influence and reach. So there has to be another reason that supersedes that. A way for her to influence and keep tabs on me while I’m away as well as while I’m in the pines.”

Glenwing straightened from where he had been leaning on the table and carefully placed his pen parallel to the top of the file before meeting Arya’s hardened gaze with his steady one. “Do you want me to?” There was a soft curiosity behind his golden eyes.

The question seemed to catch the other elf off guard. Arya blinked, lips parted to snap a retort that now didn’t seem necessary.

“I won’t lie to you.” Glenwing continued. “The Queen has asked– or rather, she has ordered– that I report back on your status and any developments in your mental and physical health.” Anger flashed through Arya’s countentance, but before she could spit out a string of swears the elf across from her held up a finger. “However. You’re wrong about me volunteering. I’m here because I want to be, not just because the Queen accepted my offer. That means that I have willingly taken you on as a patient, and while I am a subject of our Queen’s rule, I am also your medic and doctor.”

“Look, I don’t care if you’re a ‘subject of the Queen’ first.” Arya snapped. The phrase seemed to have set her off enough to break through the final barrier of elvish manners that remained as she cut him off. “If you’re going to be telling the Queen every little thing about me, I’m just not going to accept your help. You might as well go back home, alright?”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all.” Glenwing replied, voice calm yet lacking the patronizing edge that Arya had expected. “I’m saying that as my patient, you have complete control over your care, including who, and when, I give information to regarding it and your status in the past, present and future.

“If you don’t want me to inform the Queen as she ordered, I won’t, and I’ll tell her as much. I’m one of the Queen subjects, yes, but now that you are my patient my purpose here is to keep you alive, and I can’t exactly do that if you refuse care or don’t trust me.”

Arya was silent for a long moment, the silver haired elf’s words sinking in. The elven nation was a monarchy, yes, but there was always an understanding that any elf could act independently unless called to war in defense. Even then there was a choice of remaining behind to tend to the forest and those who returned. Orders given in common elvish, even from the Queen, were considered the rule of law, but in actuality could be challenged or even ignored if the individual thought the orders would cause more harm than good. It could incur the wrath of the Queen, yes, but there was no formal system of punishment beyond the decision of the council. Or, in personal cases such as Arya’s own, the decision of the Queen herself.  

That being said, most people followed their orders when they were given, and as such things were rare it was unusual to find an elf that was quite as willing as Arya to bend or break the rules so to speak. Yet here one was, practically raising his eyebrows in quiet eagerness to open loopholes and ignore centuries of custom all for a chance to…

…to what?

Arya chose her words carefully. “Glenwing…why are you doing this?” She gestured to the square photographs that were scattered on one side of the medical file, images detailing the numerous wounds of note, most in their unhealed state, that the young elf had incurred over the course of just a little over a decade of service in the Varden. “You’ve seen what it does physically. Magic can heal but I think we both know that the scars of the mind do not close so easily. I’ve almost died more times than I can count and watched countless others who were not so lucky lose their lives on and off the battlefield.”

“I’ve seen war, Arya. I’ve not participated in one, but I’ve seen the damage it does.”

“Then why join me?” Arya leaned her elbows on the table, shoulders hunched as her brows furrowed. “Why? I have my reasons, some of them more morally sound and others more or less reprehensible, and the things I’ve already done to further the goal of toppling Galbatorix… I’ve done some terrible shit. I’m not going to skirt around that. You know that you’ll probably have to do similar things, get blood other than that of your patients on your hands. So why? Why risk everything like this?”

Glenwing held her gaze for a time before lowering his eyes to the table. With a fingertip he rearranged the pictures, aligning the edges so that they fanned out and displayed a gruesome line of war wounds over the years. “…I’m not much older than you are, you know.”

“…Pardon?”    

His lips twisted up slightly in sad eyed grin. “I was eighteen when the Fall began. My father was a healer, my mother a warrior.” Gently, with the back of a fingernail, he dragged out one of the pictures, the one of the ragged stab wound to the abdomen that sent Arya back to Ellesméra most recently. “She died of an injury similar to this one. That’s what they told me at least.” Glenwing raised his eyes to meet Arya’s, gauging her reaction to his next words. “She was in the final group that the King led. My father died beside her as he tried to heal her. They were bathed in dragonfire. Nothing to bury.

“I watched my father treat wounds like all of these as the injured returned. He never stopped trying to help, down to the last second of his life, and mother never stopped fighting for our people.” He spread his hands out. “I cannot sit by knowing that I could do the same.”

The he paused. “And there is another thing.”

Arya swallowed. The mention of her father and the battle that had felled not only him but Glenwing’s parents as well made her mouth go dry. The final moments of the conflict before Galbatorix hunted Vrael always did. “Oh?”

“You said that I should go home if I was to report on your condition to the Queen. I cannot return home, which only leaves obeying your orders and remaining as your medic my only option.”  

Glenwing’s feral, bared tooth smile shocked a flash of familiarity and kinship through Arya’s mind. She had seen that smile on her own face before, that wild unrestrained drive to right the wrongs of the world, to take on war and violence so that others could be at peace, tenuous as it was.  

“You see, Arya…I was born in Ilirea. With Galbatorix on the throne, I have no home to return to.”

~~~

To Queen Islanzadí, Your Majesty.

After a lengthy consult with the combat liaison I have been assigned, it has come to my attention that the mentioned patient, Arya, house of none, is against the sharing of medical information beyond a set of predetermined ailments and injuries. As I am bound first to act in the best interest of my patient, I must oblige by her requests. Arya has also indicated that any sharing of information without her consent would result in her refusing any treatment or healing by my hand, which has further forced this issue as she has displayed sufficient aptitude for wards that would block any of my attempts to heal her if the conditions presented were broken in any way.

However, Arya has agreed to allow the sharing of some small yet vital pieces of information concerning her health as seen fit. Thus, any injury resulting in amputation, permanent blindness or hearing loss, traumatic brain damage, complete mind breaking or death will be reported. Arya has impressed on me that she will continue to aid the Varden in the event of non-lethal injuries, and any report of the previous wounds will also include an evaluation on how she can continue to aid the Varden in her current state.

I apologize that I cannot carry out the full extent of your orders. Unfortunately, it is clear that any deviation from the agreed upon conditions that Arya has set would likely result in severe injury to Arya’s person and would constitute reckless and wanton disregard for my patient’s safety and health on mine. I cannot in good conscience go against her wishes, nor can I do so if my conscience were to tolerate it. Arya has forced me to agree to these conditions in the Ancient Language, and I cannot break my oath.

I continue to serve to the best of my ability, and will do my utmost to ensure Arya’s health is taken care of.

May the stars watch over you.

Yours in service,  

Glenwing of House Svanran.

Islanzadí folded the letter again, put her elbows on her desk, and allowed herself a long, frustrated sigh.

Leave it to Arya to ferret out her reasoning for accepting Glenwing’s offer and so quickly appeal to the young elf’s sense of ethical duty. A political force the Queen’s daughter was not, but she still had a knack for picking up on a person’s true motives and finding ways to fit them around her own.

However, this was faster than anticipated. Maybe this Glenwing’s true motives weren’t what he presented to Islanzadí at all. There had been something about his energy that seemed familiar. The Queen now recognized it as a glimmering thread of that determination and wild resolve that Arya so openly displayed.

But what to do now? Islanzadí rubbed her temples, a headache coming on. She knew that there was little she could threaten them with if she ordered Glenwing to return to Ellesméra. The young elf had volunteered after all, and even under duress Islanzadí doubted she could convince any other elf as skilled as he was to abandon their calm life in Du Weldenvarden for years of conflict and uncertainty outside the forest’s protective stands. And she couldn’t just call him back and not send a replacement, not with the state Arya had been in when she finally made it back to Ellesméra. What little Oromis had told the Queen of her wayward daughter’s injuries past and present clearly indicated that an attached medic was a necessity if there was any hope of Arya making it through the war alive.

So what to do….

The clatter of talons on well-polished wood sent a cascade of jolts through Islanzadí’s burgeoning headache, the pops and clicks that followed doing nothing to help the pain.

“The latch is open, Blagden.” The Queen leaned back in her chair and massaged her forehead as the white raven swooped in. Blagden alighted on the desk with a gentle flap of his wings to slow his speed and cocked his head at her, looking smug as he always did. He parted his beak slightly. “Don’t you say i–”

“Wyrda!”

Even as the Queen winced at the cried word the raven flipped a small, densely folded paper onto the desk with a flourish of his leg. He pecked at it twice before fluttering to his carved stand on the back of the chair, settling in before starting his usual fastidious preening.

Confused, Islanzadí picked up the folded note. It hadn’t been but an hour since Glenwing’s letter had arrived, but the glyph that graced the fold of this paper was the one Arya always used. Blagden must have dropped it while flying and went back to retrieve it. The Queen unfolded it with a hint of trepidation in her heart, as always accompanied any correspondence with her banished child.

The young elf’s handwriting had started to take on a sharper shape, but was no less bold in its strokes. It still held the same familiar base that reminded Islanzadí so much of those days that Arya would scamper into her mother’s study and throw notes of love for her mother and records of her daily adventures onto the desk before scampering out, giggling as she departed for her next escapade. All those notes still sat in the drawer to Islanzadí’s left, bittersweet.

The headache throbbed, chasing away the memories. The Queen focused in again, and was somewhat surprised to find only a few short sentences.

Stars watch over you.

Good medic. Intelligent, can toe lines if needed. Fixed a scar issue in short order. I like this one. Requesting permanent assignment.

~ Arya of Du Weldenvarden, combat liaison officer  

Islanzadí frowned slightly as she caught sight of a different handwriting in the bottom corner. It was Glenwing’s, and she couldn’t help but chuckle as she read it aloud. “Please?”

Maybe this Glenwing would be a good influence after all. With that in mind, and the comfort of Arya now less likely to return maimed (or not at all), Islanzadí picked up her pen.

Granted.  May the stars watch over you. Queen Islanzadí.

[dumbwaystodeviate]

This one came from the AO3 where I have been sticking my stuff. MobAu for it but eh.

CW: minor blood and violence (Like really minor.)

Branwen13: Ok so I've read up to 47 and yes please thank you more!!! You are amazing and I can't wait to read the rest! . . . So I suggest if it hasn't been already . . . Convin or Gavin/900 or both - Gavin doesn't tell Connor/900 he is going to be the bait in the situation and Connor/900 thinks Gavin is dead before realizing it's just a ruse and he is actually ok - this situation switched is also okay as well 😊

RK900 units were quite the wonderful thing. Built far better than any other android they had the fun skills of hacking damn near anything, unique look allowing them to go undercover not to mention a glare that could scare most nosy bystanders off, being faster as well as stronger than other androids and humans. It made for one hell of a android and one hell of a cop or solider, something that stations country wide hoped to get their hands on the second they were released into the world.

They also made for one hell of a Mob solider, able to follow police activity and do deals as well as hits with no traces left behind. Such a powerful android made for cops ending up in a crime organization was pretty ironic, but when they found themselves in possession of one such model it was too good to pass up.

Nines never did understand how they managed to get a hold of him let alone activate him in a way he wouldn’t waste them, but here he was. At least his captain was nice to him, even seemed to take favor in him but that might just be cause of how valuable he was.

“I don’t think I need to tell you dipshits that if you try anything with our new guy i’m going to let him kick all your asses for it. And if you kill him you are joining him.” It was the first time the RK had seen Mr. Reed address the others he worked with, but his threat seemed to get his point across.

There was a silence along the group for a long moment as Gavin looked them all over before one of them spoke. “Guess this would make like a lot easier...”

The grin that spread on their captain’s face was saved to Nines memory for some reason. “You’re damn right it will, so don’t let him get broke.”

The unanimous agreement saw the other humans out of the room, leaving Nines alone with Gavin, who gave him a couple looks over. “Okay, first off we need to get your out of those clothes, something that doesn't scream that you are an android.”

--

Generally the other grunts kept to their word when it came to Nines, kept him covered and didn’t start fights. Only a few times did anyone even try and Nines could still remember hearing Gavin’s laughter as he watched the android beat the grunts into submission in defense. Perhaps Nines had did more damage than he had meant to but the amusement from his Captain nudged him along.

It wasn’t surprising when it sometimes happened to Gavin as well, being a captain had him in danger far more than Nines would like, after all he couldn’t just sit by all the time. Everyone got their hands dirty in some way.

It was a good thing Reed had the RK by his side a lot. When he got into a chase with the cops and needed to disappear, when he got shot and needed medical help he just couldn’t get at the time. Nines always ended up dragging him out of messes that his temper would get him into, in turn the man always praised him and make sure he was paid right even if it was some of Gavin’s own cash. What Nines needed with money he didn’t know and why it always sparked errors was beyond him.

But Nines was just a soldier, and thus not quite privy to all the plans and inner workings of higher ranks. There were a few times he stumbled into things he wasn’t supposed to, only to be saved by Reed covering for him, but it still didn’t mean he got to know what was going on. Big plans needed to be controlled.

With the absence he suspected a meeting over a plan was taking place, so he kept himself busy until the humans return. But as the day turned dark, he never did show back up. It set off red flags for the RK, and brighter red errors. Perhaps it was just his programming not liking the work pattern being broken?

Thankfully by the end of the day Gavin had found his way back though he didn’t look too pleased.

“Gavin? Are you alright?” His first priority would always be to make sure he was ok.

Gavin didn’t respond at first, but as his shoulders slumped he sighed. “Don’t worry about it. Come on, we got something to take care of.”

Considering the man didn’t even wait for the RK’s response and just left, Nines had little choice but to catch up with him and join him in his car. It wasn’t often that Nines was the driver but he guessed today was one of those days, though his captain was much less talkative today.

“What is it we are handling today?”

Gavin didn’t look at him, only waving his hand. “Just going to go pick someone up, don’t worry about it.”

Not much information but oh well, Gavin would tell him what to do as needed, it would be fine.

--

Gavin’s directions had lead him to the far side of town, where more often the buildings were empty and the brick work full of holes. It was clearly a ‘business’ spot, though not one that Nines had ever seen. By the time they actually stopped they were outside a office building that could have bared witness to the civil war it was so old. The RK didn’t even try to scan for a date on the place, he wasn’t an archaeologist.

“Leave the engine on. Once our friend is in the car you leave, no questions asked, got it?” Gavin wasn’t armed, and that set off error warnings.

“Understood.” What else could he say? No? What was he, a fucking deviant?

Nines kept his place as he watched Gavin walk to the building, watching as more people came out to meet him half way. He didn’t expect one would be tied up however, looking haggard and spooked, and if the RK had to guess he was most likely who they were there for.

But these weren’t their people.

The RK watched with growing errors as the man was released, coming running to the car at the same time Gavin held his hands up, arms being roughly taken and tied behind him.

His thoughts were broken when the door opened and slammed shut with a rough yell of “DRIVE.”

It was almost impossible to see where he was going through all the red in his vision, systems at odd. He knows he should listen but he knows he’s suppose to keep his captain safe too leaving his orders and programming fighting what is right.

Before he even knows it he’s stopped, well away from where he left Reed and where the man’s ride is waiting for him to take him to a safe house, needing to switch cars so he knows they won’t track the human. He doesn't listen to the thank you he gets for it, he doesn't see where the man goes. He doesn't need to.

He didn’t have orders for after the drop off so he took it as a chance to race back to the old building, doing his best to not get the attention of the cops along the way. He didn’t need to lead them to something like this.

Why was Gavin the one they sent? Was that man really worth their captain? The more he thought about it the more he swore he heard a cracking noise, was it his hands on the wheel or something else? It sounded so close.

Nines managed to get back in record time, bailing out of the car to sneak his way inside. He needed to help but he was unarmed so stealth was all he had going on for him now. That was fine by him though. The building wasn’t very open but he was lucky to find that only a small number of the rivals were still lurking around, seven of whom were taking their shot at Gavin, said human being tied and looking a little beat up.

The RK didn’t get a chance to hear what they were trying to get out of him, if anything at all, before a sudden lurch from Gavin had him coughing up a lung. Nines whole hud went red checking vitals from across the room.

It got a cruel laugh from one of the men against the wall, watching him even sputter up blood. “Bitch can’t even take a few hits, what a little bitch.”

Nines knew his eyes weren't broke, so why were there cracks everywhere? Gavin didn’t look beat up enough for that level of damage, and it left him confused. He had to restrain himself from dashing out when another one of the thugs kicked his captain in the side. He expected the groan in pain, but not the sudden fall to the side. The sudden quiet.

“What the fuck?” Clearly the rivals were startled too, the closest one going over and crouching to check Gavin’s pulse. “Son of a bitch, are you kidding me?”

It was enough to catch the curiosity of the others, who in turn got closer to check as well. One gave a swift kick to Gavin's stomach but got no response. "The hell? Fucker just up and died on us..."

Sighing, the initial rival raised back to his feet and dusted himself off. "Didn't expect that, must have had a condition or something. Fuck it, i'm heading back. Two of you handle getting rid of him and the rest of you follow me."

Nines waited until all of them had left the building, never taking his eyes off of Gavin for a second. They couldn't be right about that, the man was in peak health! But every scan only told him that he wasn't breathing, even after the others left. Even as the RK approached and gently moved him on his back, setting him free. But ever time he checked there was nothing, no sound or anything from Gavin.

And Nines couldn't think of what to do. Here he sat, the head of the only person that really tried to care about him on his lap, and there wasn't anything he could do. He couldn't go to a doctor, you couldn't just bring back the dead after all. Really he shouldn't have been surprised, this was such a common occurrence. And yet he couldn't help but watch as the cracked red programming started to peal away washed away, away by what?

Oh, his face was wet. The Rk could truly say he wasn't aware he even had the upgrades for that kind of thing. Crying shouldn't be a first emotion and yet here he was, and he didn't understand why deviants wanted this so much. He didn't want another captain, he wanted his. He wondered if the next one would be as kind, or see him as competition...

Where ever that train of thoughts was going derailed the second he felt a hand grab his shirt, scaring the poor android into nearly dropping Gavin.

"Heeey buddy~" His words were quiet, like he was half awake.

However he was a little more awake when Nines slapped him. "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!"

Groaning, Reed rubbed his face as it burned, trying to it up a little but failing. "Hey, had to get them to leave me be some how."

"How? By killing yourself? We need to get you to a doctor!" The Rk didn't waste time gathering Gavin up into his arms, quickly and quietly making his way out the back door.

"Don't worry~ can't really feel my face but i'll be ok. Something we got cooked up just in case of shit like this." Gavin was too calm for the RK's taste.

Hugging his dumb idiot to his chest, Nines hid his face, only somewhat soothed by the patting on his head. "So you were faking everything... you didn't even let me know. You had me worried."

"Damn, worried about me hu? Well don't worry, not getting rid of me that easy."

Gavin might not go that easy, but Nines sure as hell was going to make sure those bastards did.

[weirdponytail]

Modern Inheritance: The Medic

(A/N: Takes place somewhere around ten years after Arya leaves Ellesméra and joins the Varden. I’ll probably do another fic going into the injury that sent her back to Ellesméra for further healing {something that occurs probably every other year or so, as she’s not a skilled healer and none of the medics in the Varden know elf biology} at a later date. Cheers! Oh, and a reminder, 20 years old is around 10 in human years apparently, or at least how we’re going for MIC. Cheers again!)

Arya leaned back in her chair, eyeing the elf across the small camp table as he scribbled out another note in the Varden medical file spread before him. 

Glenwing was the first and only person on Arya’s personal, official squad. He had trotted up to her a day before she was to leave Ellesméra and handed off orders straight from the Queen that he was to become her medic in the field. Even after multiple readings and consultations with Oromis, the orders were clear and gave no leeway or loophole through which Arya could escape. Despite her obviously annoyed acceptance at his sudden addition, Glenwing seemed unfazed and calm throughout the entire process, and set out with his new commanding officer the following morning. 

They had reached the edge of the forest now, camped upriver from Ceris at Arya’s request. Three weeks in Ellesméra had left her antsy and entirely fed up with the prim and proper etiquette that made open speech so damned difficult in the pines, something she had not missed in her years with the Varden. Glenwing hadn’t protested in the least, and had spent a majority of the time setting up camp asking her questions about her previous injuries, examining scars, and doing his best to ease into the more personal questions of mental health that he hadn’t had time to ask before they left Ellesméra.

The silver haired elf signed a stop glyph at the end of his most recent note in the margins of Arya’s file before tapping his pen against his lip. “Any trouble sleeping in the past six months? Falling asleep, staying asl–”

“Are you going to report all this to the Queen?” Glenwing looked up, somewhat startled by the sudden interjection. Arya had her arms folded now, regarding him with that solid stare that expected answers and would take no deflection or lie that he could give. “I’m assuming that’s why she assigned you to me. People weren’t exactly lining up behind me to join the Varden, so I doubt you volunteered. Plus, after this long she’s probably realized that I need to return to Du Weldenvarden to be fully healed after larger injuries so she’s probably not keen on giving me more time away from her influence and reach. So there has to be another reason that supersedes that. A way for her to influence and keep tabs on me while I’m away as well as while I’m in the pines.”

Glenwing straightened from where he had been leaning on the table and carefully placed his pen parallel to the top of the file before meeting Arya’s hardened gaze with his steady one. “Do you want me to?” There was a soft curiosity behind his golden eyes. 

The question seemed to catch the other elf off guard. Arya blinked, lips parted to snap a retort that now didn’t seem necessary.

“I won’t lie to you.” Glenwing continued. “The Queen has asked– or rather, she has ordered– that I report back on your status and any developments in your mental and physical health.” Anger flashed through Arya’s countentance, but before she could spit out a string of swears the elf across from her held up a finger. “However. You’re wrong about me volunteering. I’m here because I want to be, not just because the Queen accepted my offer. That means that I have willingly taken you on as a patient, and while I am a subject of our Queen’s rule, I am also your medic and doctor.” 

“Look, I don’t care if you’re a ‘subject of the Queen’ first.” Arya snapped. The phrase seemed to have set her off enough to break through the final barrier of elvish manners that remained as she cut him off. “If you’re going to be telling the Queen every little thing about me, I’m just not going to accept your help. You might as well go back home, alright?”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all.” Glenwing replied, voice calm yet lacking the patronizing edge that Arya had expected. “I’m saying that as my patient, you have complete control over your care, including who, and when, I give information to regarding it and your status in the past, present and future. 

“If you don’t want me to inform the Queen as she ordered, I won’t, and I’ll tell her as much. I’m one of the Queen subjects, yes, but now that you are my patient my purpose here is to keep you alive, and I can’t exactly do that if you refuse care or don’t trust me.”

Arya was silent for a long moment, the silver haired elf’s words sinking in. The elven nation was a monarchy, yes, but there was always an understanding that any elf could act independently unless called to war in defense. Even then there was a choice of remaining behind to tend to the forest and those who returned. Orders given in common elvish, even from the Queen, were considered the rule of law, but in actuality could be challenged or even ignored if the individual thought the orders would cause more harm than good. It could incur the wrath of the Queen, yes, but there was no formal system of punishment beyond the decision of the council. Or, in personal cases such as Arya’s own, the decision of the Queen herself.  

That being said, most people followed their orders when they were given, and as such things were rare it was unusual to find an elf that was quite as willing as Arya to bend or break the rules so to speak. Yet here one was, practically raising his eyebrows in quiet eagerness to open loopholes and ignore centuries of custom all for a chance to…

...to what?

Arya chose her words carefully. “Glenwing...why are you doing this?” She gestured to the square photographs that were scattered on one side of the medical file, images detailing the numerous wounds of note, most in their unhealed state, that the young elf had incurred over the course of just a little over a decade of service in the Varden. “You’ve seen what it does physically. Magic can heal but I think we both know that the scars of the mind do not close so easily. I’ve almost died more times than I can count and watched countless others who were not so lucky lose their lives on and off the battlefield.”

“I’ve seen war, Arya. I’ve not participated in one, but I’ve seen the damage it does.”

“Then why join me?” Arya leaned her elbows on the table, shoulders hunched as her brows furrowed. “Why? I have my reasons, some of them more morally sound and others more or less reprehensible, and the things I’ve already done to further the goal of toppling Galbatorix… I’ve done some terrible shit. I’m not going to skirt around that. You know that you’ll probably have to do similar things, get blood other than that of your patients on your hands. So why? Why risk everything like this?”

Glenwing held her gaze for a time before lowering his eyes to the table. With a fingertip he rearranged the pictures, aligning the edges so that they fanned out and displayed a gruesome line of war wounds over the years. “...I’m not much older than you are, you know.”

“...Pardon?”    

His lips twisted up slightly in sad eyed grin. “I was eighteen when the Fall began. My father was a healer, my mother a warrior.” Gently, with the back of a fingernail, he dragged out one of the pictures, the one of the ragged stab wound to the abdomen that sent Arya back to Ellesméra most recently. “She died of an injury similar to this one. That’s what they told me at least.” Glenwing raised his eyes to meet Arya’s, gauging her reaction to his next words. “She was in the final group that the King led. My father died beside her as he tried to heal her. They were bathed in dragonfire. Nothing to bury. 

“I watched my father treat wounds like all of these as the injured returned. He never stopped trying to help, down to the last second of his life, and mother never stopped fighting for our people.” He spread his hands out. “I cannot sit by knowing that I could do the same.” 

The he paused. “And there is another thing.” 

Arya swallowed. The mention of her father and the battle that had felled not only him but Glenwing’s parents as well made her mouth go dry. The final moments of the conflict before Galbatorix hunted Vrael always did. “Oh?”

“You said that I should go home if I was to report on your condition to the Queen. I cannot return home, which only leaves obeying your orders and remaining as your medic my only option.”  

Glenwing’s feral, bared tooth smile shocked a flash of familiarity and kinship through Arya’s mind. She had seen that smile on her own face before, that wild unrestrained drive to right the wrongs of the world, to take on war and violence so that others could be at peace, tenuous as it was.   

“You see, Arya...I was born in Ilirea. With Galbatorix on the throne, I have no home to return to.”

~~~

To Queen Islanzadí, Your Majesty. 

After a lengthy consult with the combat liaison I have been assigned, it has come to my attention that the mentioned patient, Arya, house of none, is against the sharing of medical information beyond a set of predetermined ailments and injuries. As I am bound first to act in the best interest of my patient, I must oblige by her requests. Arya has also indicated that any sharing of information without her consent would result in her refusing any treatment or healing by my hand, which has further forced this issue as she has displayed sufficient aptitude for wards that would block any of my attempts to heal her if the conditions presented were broken in any way. 

However, Arya has agreed to allow the sharing of some small yet vital pieces of information concerning her health as seen fit. Thus, any injury resulting in amputation, permanent blindness or hearing loss, traumatic brain damage, complete mind breaking or death will be reported. Arya has impressed on me that she will continue to aid the Varden in the event of non-lethal injuries, and any report of the previous wounds will also include an evaluation on how she can continue to aid the Varden in her current state.

I apologize that I cannot carry out the full extent of your orders. Unfortunately, it is clear that any deviation from the agreed upon conditions that Arya has set would likely result in severe injury to Arya’s person and would constitute reckless and wanton disregard for my patient’s safety and health on mine. I cannot in good conscience go against her wishes, nor can I do so if my conscience were to tolerate it. Arya has forced me to agree to these conditions in the Ancient Language, and I cannot break my oath. 

I continue to serve to the best of my ability, and will do my utmost to ensure Arya’s health is taken care of. 

May the stars watch over you.

Yours in service,   

Glenwing of House Svanran.

Islanzadí folded the letter again, put her elbows on her desk, and allowed herself a long, frustrated sigh. 

Leave it to Arya to ferret out her reasoning for accepting Glenwing’s offer and so quickly appeal to the young elf’s sense of ethical duty. A political force the Queen’s daughter was not, but she still had a knack for picking up on a person’s true motives and finding ways to fit them around her own.

However, this was faster than anticipated. Maybe this Glenwing’s true motives weren’t what he presented to Islanzadí at all. There had been something about his energy that seemed familiar. The Queen now recognized it as a glimmering thread of that determination and wild resolve that Arya so openly displayed. 

But what to do now? Islanzadí rubbed her temples, a headache coming on. She knew that there was little she could threaten them with if she ordered Glenwing to return to Ellesméra. The young elf had volunteered after all, and even under duress Islanzadí doubted she could convince any other elf as skilled as he was to abandon their calm life in Du Weldenvarden for years of conflict and uncertainty outside the forest’s protective stands. And she couldn’t just call him back and not send a replacement, not with the state Arya had been in when she finally made it back to Ellesméra. What little Oromis had told the Queen of her wayward daughter’s injuries past and present clearly indicated that an attached medic was a necessity if there was any hope of Arya making it through the war alive.

So what to do….

The clatter of talons on well-polished wood sent a cascade of jolts through Islanzadí’s burgeoning headache, the pops and clicks that followed doing nothing to help the pain. 

“The latch is open, Blagden.” The Queen leaned back in her chair and massaged her forehead as the white raven swooped in. Blagden alighted on the desk with a gentle flap of his wings to slow his speed and cocked his head at her, looking smug as he always did. He parted his beak slightly. “Don’t you say i–”

“Wyrda!”

Even as the Queen winced at the cried word the raven flipped a small, densely folded paper onto the desk with a flourish of his leg. He pecked at it twice before fluttering to his carved stand on the back of the chair, settling in before starting his usual fastidious preening.

Confused, Islanzadí picked up the folded note. It hadn’t been but an hour since Glenwing’s letter had arrived, but the glyph that graced the fold of this paper was the one Arya always used. Blagden must have dropped it while flying and went back to retrieve it. The Queen unfolded it with a hint of trepidation in her heart, as always accompanied any correspondence with her banished child. 

The young elf’s handwriting had started to take on a sharper shape, but was no less bold in its strokes. It still held the same familiar base that reminded Islanzadí so much of those days that Arya would scamper into her mother’s study and throw notes of love for her mother and records of her daily adventures onto the desk before scampering out, giggling as she departed for her next escapade. All those notes still sat in the drawer to Islanzadí’s left, bittersweet. 

The headache throbbed, chasing away the memories. The Queen focused in again, and was somewhat surprised to find only a few short sentences. 

Stars watch over you.

Good medic. Intelligent, can toe lines if needed. Fixed a scar issue in short order. I like this one. Requesting permanent assignment. 

~ Arya of Du Weldenvarden, combat liaison officer  

Islanzadí frowned slightly as she caught sight of a different handwriting in the bottom corner. It was Glenwing’s, and she couldn’t help but chuckle as she read it aloud. “Please?”

Maybe this Glenwing would be a good influence after all. With that in mind, and the comfort of Arya now less likely to return maimed (or not at all), Islanzadí picked up her pen.

Granted.  May the stars watch over you. Queen Islanzadí.

[little-miss-dumpsterfire]

I think I made you up inside my head - chapter three

Chapter three my select few darlings! Yes, it’s already on wattpad (sorry if you’ve read it already) but I like to share!

Are you ready kids?

Chapter Three - I am only what you made me. I am only a reflection of you

Trigger warning - mental health issues and blood/gore.

If you're not comfortable, please skip. 💛

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

Sharp tears prickled in his hazel eyes as the ability to form coherent words seemed to escape him. He had known the minor details surrounding Lindsay's untimely death - a reality tv darling dropping dead was headline-worthy - but her family were tight-lipped about the exact circumstances of her demise. His mind raced as he tried to comprehend how Izzy had known all of this; her knowledge rivalled that of a fly on the bathroom wall. As if she could hear his innermost thoughts, Izzy answered his unspoken question.

"I knew the right people to ask," she told him, brushing the hair out from in front of her eyes, "I knew she didn't just die. I wasn't going to let her death be treated in such a blasé fashion."

Axel choked, the words lodged deeply in his throat. "Bu- I mean... how did you get the mirror?"

"I found it one day. It was in a box on my doorstep. Any sane person would leave it be, but if the media established anything, I'm clearly not seen as sane. So I opened it. I don't know who sent it to me. My money's on a producer who revels in the sadistic thrill derived from the torment and suffering we went through. I couldn't throw it away though, because what would be left of her if I did? She was already condemned to the ground. I wasn't going to be the one to throw her memory to the wind."

Izzy looked to her left, her reflection dimly lit in the glass cabinet on the far wall. "In my head... all I think of is when it's all over, is this how I'll be defined? The final victim of Total Drama... that's etched into my brain. I'll become another knick-knack in a hall of curiosities. We're no longer people in here, Axel, we're collectables."

Thoughts bounced around erratically in Axel's head - conflicting notions manifesting like an angel and a devil on his shoulder. In front of him was a woman who was struggling with the turmoil outliving all of her friends. Yet, the magnetic pull of the almighty dollar swayed his actions towards chasing stardom.

He lightly gripped her forearm, giving her his best convincing empathetic smile.

"Tell me the stories. Let the voices out of the purgatory that is your mind. Everything...one, everyone in here will not be relegated to the sidelines, I won't let that happen." Axel assured Izzy, his warm smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

Ignoring the suspicion that washed over her thoughts - for the time being at least - Izzy continued walking down the aisles of shelves. Axel shadowed her, following a few paces behind, mindlessly fiddling with the items on display. Two tarnished faux-gold lockets sat near each other, the two halves of the 'BFF' heart separate from one another. As he went to push the two sections together, Izzy stopped him abruptly and pushed his hand away.

"No," she started, startling Axel with the sudden sternness. "They can't be together. They don't share a heart anymore."

"So what? They grew out of being obnoxious teenage girls and went their separate ways. Big fucking deal!"

She stared daggers into him, holding the shelving for support. "You've got no idea, kid. Just because the sun's covered, it doesn't mean your shadow's gone."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As far as appearances were concerned, Katie and Sadie were almost each other's doubles. Matching short pigtails with bright pink hair ties, coordinated short shorts, crop-tops and wedged sandals... the two looked like they fell from opposite sides of a funhouse mirror. To all of us on the cast, and the audience at home, no doubt, the only differentiating factor between the two was their build. Katie was slim and taller than Sadie by about four inches, whereas Sadie was shorter and carried more weight.

The two 'BFFL's sat together on the stairs leading to the dock, ready to film their segment for the opening sequence. Waiting for the crew to finish setting up the camera equipment, Katie busies herself with refastening her hair ties.

"Okay girls," an unseen producer informs them, "we need your best-infatuated expression. So give up wide eyes, big smiles, the whole nine yards."

The girls nod in response, awaiting their cue. Sadie clasped her hands against her chest - a wide smile plastered on her face - and Katie bit her lip coyly.

"And.... cut. Alright, move set to the dock for Beth's fire-baton stunt. Doug, remember the extinguisher this time." The producer called about. "Great job, girls. Especially you, Katie. That lip bite was dynamic."

Sadie looked to her right at her best friend. "Wait, you bit your lip? We agreed on a wide-mouthed smile."

"It's no big deal, I just wanted to try something different," Katie shrugged, readjusting her shoulder strap. "We can't always be the same, you know?"

Personality-wise, once you got to know them separately, it was like night and day. Katie was free-spirited, leading with her heart. Her passion for all things fashion was evident through her and Sadie's matching outfits and her behind-the-scenes chats with the likes of Lindsay and Heather. Sadie, on the other hand, was more logical, leading with her head. She was more likely to be the sheep as opposed to the shepherd. And when Katie was eliminated early? It was like leading a lamb to the slaughter.

Sadie sat on a jagged log at the campfire, head in her hands violently sobbing. Bridgette futilely offered her support, attempting to coax the girl from her hysterical state.

"Hey, Sadie, it'll be okay. You've got all us Killer Bass on your side." Bridgette lightly rubbed circles on the crying girl's back.

"No!" Sadie snapped at Bridgette, tears staining her cheeks. "It's not okay! I need Katie. When she's not near me, I break out in hives. She's my everything! I need her more than oxygen! Without her... I'll just die!"

Concerned expressions flashed on the faces of their fellow teammates as Sadie's wails echoed through the woods of Camp Wawanakwa. She clutched the debris from the dock closer to her chest; small cracks formed as wooden shrapnel shattered from around the edges.

What we thought back then was just a toxic 'uber' friendship between two sixteen-year-old girls was far more deep-rooted than any of us anticipated. Regarding Sadie... the best way to sum that up is to quote my dearly missed best friend Noah: 'Sadie is a whackjob with more baggage than an airport terminal'. But I suppose that is giving her a disservice. Upon Katie's departure, Chris was notified by Sadie's therapist of the extent of her mental state. I found out too because back then, well, let's just say you couldn't leave me in the dark for too long.

Sadie's childhood wasn't easy in the slightest. Her relationship with her birth parents was relatively non-existent. Therefore, she was surrendered into the custody of the state. The conveyor belt life of passing through the foster care system took a toll on the girl, with an absence of permanent parental love leaving holes in her heart. Her talkative nature and inhibitions to talk and hug strangers lead to her first visit to the therapist. She was a clear cut case for the child behavioural scientists: disinhibited social engagement disorder, an attachment disorder. Looking back, this was evident in all her future actions, particularly those with Katie.

The bell rang on the first day of their last year of high school. Sadie - dressed as per usual in fuchsia shorts and a striped crop top - eagerly skipped over to the locker of her best friend. As the locker door slammed and her friend came into view, the excited expression on Sadie's face dropped.

"K-Katie? What's this?" Sadie questioned, holding her sticker-covered folder flush against her chest.

Katie raised an eyebrow quizzically, straightening out her paper timetable to find her first classes location.

"What do you mean, Sadie?"

"I mean that!" the shorter girl exclaimed, gesturing at Katie's outfit. The taller girl had moved away from her typical Total Drama outfit, substituting it with a pair of denim jeans and a pastel pink cardigan.

"Oh, this? I just wanted to branch out a bit. I mean, matching outfits? What are we, twins?"

Katie giggled at her observation, with Sadie clearly missing the joke.

"Anyway, I have to get to English, but I'll see you around, yeah?" Katie chirped before walking off with two other girls.

Sadie stalked over to Katie's locker, using a spare hairpin to open it. Her heart broke upon looking at its contents. Gone were the photos of her and Sadie plastered onto her locker door. Cutouts from fashion magazines and runway shows lay in their wake and stuffed under a pile of books was the BFF necklace Sadie gifted her years prior.

Following their graduation, the pair had drifted apart. Katie received an offer to the most prestigious fashion school in Canada and left their small town for Toronto. Unbeknownst to her, Sadie followed suit and got a job at a sewing goods store. Sadie became Katie's shadow, desperately following her every move. Her morning routine was memorised, her coffee order became part of her mental wallpaper. Sadie's infatuation only grew, as in her mind, distance made the heart grow fonder. If only Katie knew that this distance was all of a few metres.

A harsh squeak dripped from the tired hinges of the ladder as Sadie climbed up the rungs, fastening something onto her wall. For her neighbours, the sound had become a part of their daily lives, as day after day, Sadie adhered more photos on the apartment wall. The collage of the lush green of leaves, the yellow of the bustling taxis and blue of the cloudless sky swirled around on the wall, catching a person's attention as they entered the room. A timber coffee table was neatly placed on the left, adorned with additional photo frames and miscellaneous decorations. The centrepiece to her display shimmered brightly when the morning sun shone through the gap in the curtains. Perched in a small, open velvet lines box was one half of a golden heart-shaped 'BFF' necklace.

Sadie took a step back and tilted her head, taking in the view from as many angles as she could. She had finally achieved the pinnacle of her undying love and infatuation for her former 'BFFL'. Neatly arranged across the length of the wall was a mural, dedicated to her muse, to the reason she woke up every morning. Candid photos of Katie walking down the street, exiting cars and meeting friends for coffee dates were carefully taken by the shadow she didn't know that she had.

A year and a half passed. There was a stark dichotomy between Katie and Sadie's lives. The final year of her fashion degree was approaching quickly, and Katie was not entering it alone. I don't know how many of us predicted it - probably Noah with his impeccable 'gaydar' - but Katie had fallen in love with an architecture student called Daisy. From what was depicted on their respective social media accounts, it was clear to us that they were enamoured with one another. The presence of another woman in Katie's life infuriated Sadie, as she believed that that position was reserved for her and her alone.

Then came the drop in the ocean that caused the whole tsunami. If it wasn't for Katie's selfless nature... well, I imagine things would've turned out a lot differently.

Katie sat cross-legged on the couch, a decorative throw rug draped across her lap. Their rescue cat, Archibald - a male calico - rested behind her head, purring with content as she opened her laptop. Her fingers barely touched the trackpad as she scrolled through her Facebook feed, bypassing ads for strange items and memes about the current political climate.

"Ekaterina," an auburn-haired girl walked through the doorway, a basket of washing in her hands. "I'm making something for lunch after I finish this washing. I'll probably use what's left in the fridge and make a frittata. D'you want some?"

"Ooh, yes please, Dais," Katie smiled at her partner, who poked her tongue out at the use of her nickname.

Katie clicked on her latest post to see who had reacted and liked. A smile crept across Katie's face as she clicked onto the picture: a photoshoot in a field on flowers where a bright ring sparkled on Katie's ring finger. She looked down at her left hand, still in a state of shock at Daisy's proposal. One name stuck out as Katie scrolled through the comments. She hadn't thought of them for years now and wondered what they were getting up to.

She clicked on their profile to compose a new message. Daisy walked up behind her and scratched Archibald's head before planting a kiss behind Katie's ear.

"Oooh, who are you talking to? Not your girlfriend, I hope," Daisy taunted, giggling breathlessly.

Katie threw her head back against the couch cushion and looked up at her fiancée.

"Yeah, I'm shopping elsewhere. I need someone who appreciates my nicknames!" Katie threw back, puffing her cheeks out comically. "No, you goose. It's this girl I used to go to school with. It's been forever and a day, and I thought I'd see how she's going."

"Sadie Calhoun... isn't she that one you went on that show with?"

"Yeah... I felt like such a poser back then. I don't think I've ever squealed since," Katie responded.

"Hey, people change. I had such a crush on you when I saw you on TV, and look now!" Daisy told her before walking away towards the kitchen. "I snagged the girl of my dreams!"

Katie laughed as she typed an introductory line, sending it through before closing her laptop.

*********

A sudden buzz from her phone against the wooden table shook Sadie out of her delirium. She had been sat before her photo wall, carefully cutting out photos of her face for what could have been hours. Paper scraps lined the wooden flooring like irregular speckles of snow as Sadie rose to her feet. Picking up her phone, her eyes shone brightly with its blue light as a squeal escaped from between her lips.

On her screen - behind the myriad of cracks and scratches - sat a notification that held Sadie's heart in a tight grip: Message request from Ekaterina Byers.

If this were a sitcom, I'm sure Sadie would've pinched herself at that moment to assure that she wasn't dreaming. But with one olive branch in the form of an instant message, Katie had signed her own death warrant.

Sadie opened the notification with bated breath, her cheeks aching from the smile that was cemented in place. Her heart fluttered with anxious butterflies as she read the message.

Ekaterina Byers:

"Hi, Sadie. I wonder if you remember me, probably not! High school seems like forever ago! Haha! 😝  I just thought I'd reach out and see if you wanted to get a coffee sometime and just catch up on life!"

The words swirled and danced before Sadie, who lovingly took in every single one with deep adoration and love. Everything she had wanted to tell her, the praise she had wanted to shower Katie in bounced around in her head. She placed her phone down, forcing herself to calm down before she wrote a response.

Sadie Calhoun:

"Oh, hi! OMG! Of course, I remember you! I'd love to catch up! You're the busy fashion designer, so you pick a time when you can squeeze an old friend in! 😎 💕" Watching the three dots in the bottom left corner caused Sadie's breath to hitch in her throat. She was typing... Katie was typing. They'd finally be reunited, not just from behind a camera lens. She felt as if she was in the painting 'The Creation of Adam', just a fingers touch away from her god, her whole world.

Ekaterina Byers:

"Haha, as if! I'm not there yet 😂  Would next Friday suit? Say about 9am at the Good Coffee Co. I need to hand in my portfolio at 8:30 so that'd work well."

Impulsively, acting out of desperation alone, Sadie immediately responded.

Sadie Calhoun:

"Yes! I'll be there! See you soon, Katie! 💕"

Sadie locked her phone before focusing her attention back to her craft. She picked up her scissors, skilfully manoeuvring around the edges of the photos. She stuck the product onto the wall and gazed upon it proudly. Hundreds of small cut out photos of her head were plastered on the wall, covering up any person Katie was with, replacing them with herself.

They did meet up, that much we do know. Testimonials from five different individuals confirmed that they saw the two girls at that café on Friday the 25th. What they talked about is up for speculation, because that stayed between the two of them. Why were testimonials needed if two young adults were just catching up over a cup of coffee? Because that was the last time Sadie Calhoun and Ekaterina 'Katie' Byers were seen alive.

Katie's eyelids drooped as she sat in the passenger seat of Sadie's car. Sadie - the 'good samaritan' that she was - had offered to drive Katie home after she suddenly felt light-headed following her coffee. Sadie parked in the driveway and opened Katie's door for her, helping her up as she tiredly hobbled towards the front door. Katie wearily collapsed onto the couch, her eyes barely registering the environment around her. She could hear faint crashing and shattering sounds as she struggled to keep her eyes open. She looked down upon the couch she was dozing on and sat up with a start.

"This isn't my house," she whispered to herself, scanning the room for any familiar objects. She froze in place when she spotted something utterly recognisable to her: her face. Hundreds of different angles of her face created a mosaic, a shrine to a friendship that was never meant to last.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Sadie smiled sweetly as she entered the room. "It couldn't be anything but. Not when the subject is as exquisite as you."

Confusion washed over Katie's face as Sadie approached her, a clothed parcel delicately held in her hands. Sadie reached up to caress her old friend's cheek; Katie snaked away from the touch, petrified of the girl in front of her.

"Hmm. That's the problem, isn't it?" Sadie soliloquised, her grey eyes meeting Katie's scared onyx eyes. "You stopped being Katie. You stopped being my best friend. I know Katie is living in those photos, not 'Ekaterina'. Katie wouldn't have left me. No, not at all. Forever isn't a term to just throw around."

Black tears dripped down Katie's face as she silently sobbed. "W-we were kids. What we were wa-wasn't healthy. We're two separate people, Sadie! I couldn't live being so connected to a shadow. I wanted t-to shine on my own."

"But I don't wanna be separate people! I want to be with you... to be you. To never be apart from you!" Sadie passionately yelled as Katie started to slump down in front of her. The world around her became dark as her lids closed tightly. As her consciousness drifted, a phrase echoed through her head.

"Don't worry now. We'll never be apart again."

*********

Excruciating pain emanating from her side woke her with a jolt. A dull haze covered her field of vision, but as she pulled her hand away from her waist, she could see it as clear as day. A warm layer of blood coated her hand like a glove. Her eyes slowly settled to the room she was in. Metres ahead of her was the collage of photos, but the furniture has been removed, leaving a wide-open space.

Her fingers felt around to find the source of the pain, coming across thick strands of string attached to her waist. A scream silently bubbled up inside her, threatening to explode.

Rough, uneven strands of double-wound fishing wire had been haphazardly sewn into both her and Sadie's sides, connecting them to each other.

A groggy smile spread across Sadie's plump cheeks as she revelled in her actions. "I told you we'll never be apart again."

An extreme shock was the only emotion Katie was able to come to terms with. Her body was statuesque; set in place by a fear-driven paralysis. A dryness inhabited her mouth, inhibiting her ability to swallow the truth in front of her. The room swayed and distorted around her - a prison cell painted with her face - as she forced her eyelids shut. This couldn't be reality. It was the sick dream of a girl trapped in the suffocating world of a teenage girl.

The pain Sadie felt in her abdomen only further fuelled her pleasure, letting every wave of pain wash over her in euphoric ecstasy. Her heart felt complete again as if she had regained a long-lost limb.

"I knew we'd become one again," Sadie hummed, intoxicated by being in Katie's presence. "Daisy was just a placeholder... keeping the bed warm for me. With every thread... every stitch... our closeness is now defined. We'll never be apart again. Best friends for life."

"...for...life," Katie mumbled, fresh blood weeping from her wounds.

Night and day passed slowly, the shadows cast from the pair forming contorted, misshapen dark splotches on the walls. A sickening warmth surrounded Katie, whose heartbeat pounded heavily in her ears. Her waist was bruising a deep purple, with the surrounding blood vessels snaking across her abdomen. Sadie was shaken awake by Katie's convulsions as her body became slick with a layer of sweat.

"Katie? I'm here, it's okay."

"I don't feel good... I want Daisy," Katie slurred, lazily searching the room for her partner.

The 'tethering' procedure was as wildly unsuccessful as one could imagine. Sadie's homemade suture kit - a sharpened metal knitting needle and fishing line - only managed to pierce through Katie's large intestine. Bile and stool seeped into her abdomen, eventually finding their way into her bloodstream. The coroner estimated she died two days later of septic shock.

A thin beam of light eclipsed the drawn curtains and rested on Sadie's face as dawn broke. Her hand moved softly to caress Katie's hand; a stiff claw lay in her wake. An overwhelming panic flooded Sadie's system as she attempted to wake the other girl from her 'deep' slumber. Half-lidded blood-red eyes stared back at Sadie, a trickle of dried blood pooled at her temple. Sadie's heart shattered like a golden locket as she cradled the limp body in her arms, pulling the skin taut around her suture wounds. The shadow had won. It had succeeded in snuffing out what was left of the light.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What happened to Sadie in the end?" Axel asked, taking a minute amount of sadistic glee from the story.

Izzy turned to face the young man. A single tear crept down her cheek as she fiddled with her rings. "She refused to live without Katie. She starved to death, all the while she left Katie's decomposing corpse attached to her hip like a growth."

Izzy wiped the tear from her eye, suppressing sniffles as Axel glanced around the room.

"Hmm...Alright. Who's next then?"

[presleepthoughts]

Purpose - Part 2

A/N: Next chapter. 

/

Beca dragged her feet along the corridors, heading towards her office the next day. Her mind had been working overtime since yesterday, thinking about ways to get rid of the journalist that had been assigned to follow her around like a puppy. Watching her every step. And Beca didn’t like that.

Don’t get her wrong, she didn’t have a problem with Chloe – if Beca actually took the time to get to know her she’d probably turn out to be a good person – but the feeling that she was being judged, criticized in any way didn’t sit well with her. Chloe was a journalist. She was trained to make stories interesting, make them dramatic and truthful. What if she made a mistake and it would be plastered all over on the newspaper, looming over her head for the rest of her carrier? She would be forever labeled wherever she went.

She sneered at the thought and pushed it to the back of her mind. She knew she was being paranoid; a trait she always had a hard time controlling.

It was earlier than usual, Beca kind of hoped she would get to spend the morning alone, getting herself ready for the day but those hopes were squished when she pushed open her doors, finding Chloe already sitting on the couch, snipping a beverage. Beca slightly haltered in her steps but regained her composer and greeted her politely. An extra coffee cup was waiting for her on her desk.

“I didn’t know if you drink coffee or not but I thought maybe you’d like it?” Chloe explained softly when Beca remained silent. The detective exhaled through her nose and grudgingly accepted the offering.

“Thanks.” She added shortly and sat down at the desk, grabbing some files on the surface ready to start working.

Their day seemed to drag along slowly with nothing much happening. Beca finished her paperwork while Chloe asked questions back and forth. The detective didn’t mind it as much as she thought she would, until the questions turned personal.

“Why did you want to become a detective?” The question was innocent enough to Chloe, who didn’t bother to glance up from her notes, patiently waiting for an answer. When Beca wasn’t forgoing with one, she lifted her gaze with curiosity as she saw Beca’s expression glaze over in thoughts.

The reason behind her decision to join the department was the one she was most protective over. Not many people knew her past and she’d like to keep it that way. Not have somebody print it out on paper for anybody to see.

“For personal reasons.” She answered sharply, her tone indicating she wouldn’t be answering that question at the moment.

Chloe titled her head slightly in wonder, eyes piercing into Beca’s while the brunette avoided the connections. The journalist could sense the uneasiness ooze from the detective so she pivoted the conversation.

“Do you mind if I film you for this portion of the interview?”

Beca sighed and nodded. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Chloe hit the camera icon on her phone and raised it to her eye line, making sure Beca was in focus.

“You graduated from The Connecticut Police Academy, right? Why did you decide to come back to your hometown?”

Beca narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “How do you know so much about me?”

“I did my homework, Detective Mitchell.” Chloe smiled friendly. “You have a very impressive resume. After college you spent three years in NYPD then went to Michigan then transferred to right here, Jackson, Georgia and spent three years at the local police station before certifying as a detective to the FBI. Why did you come back to such a small town?”

Beca sat tongue-tied, leaning back against the back of her chair as Chloe listed her whole life. She didn’t realize the journalist would dig up anything she could find out about her. Chloe zoomed in on the detective’s face.

Beca took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I was born here but left when I was sixteen. I never looked back once but after spending so much time in different places I wanted something familiar. This is the town I grew up in. It also didn’t hurt that I know it like the back of my hand.”

“Why did you leave at sixteen?” Chloe asked.

Beca clenched her jaw and hardened her gaze at the memory. “I had to. The system found me a foster family in South Carolina.”

Chloe’s eyes rounded in surprise at the admission and she unconsciously lowered the camera slightly while Beca chuckled humorlessly at the reaction.

“What? You didn’t know that, huh? It looks like you weren’t thorough enough with your research, Ms. Beale.”

Chloe inhaled sharply at the jab. She sensed the topic of foster care was a nerve so she didn’t push for the time being. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that. And please call me Chloe. We’ll be spending too much time together for you to keep calling me Ms. Beale.” She said softly and discreetly wrote down foster care on her notepad before looking back up. “Let’s continue.”

 /

After two hours of conversation and a light lunch, the phone finally rang loudly in the office calling Beca to the west side of the village for a crime scene. They popped into a vehicle and sped down the streets. As the car rounded the corner, Chloe straightened up in her seat as several police cars, paramedics and the FBI were seen parking on the street in front of a typically standard two-stories home. Yellow police tape barricaded the scene from onlookers, probably neighbors who were curious about what was happening.

Beca parked the car at the curb and they exited the car, the detective walking slightly in front of Chloe and showed her badge to the local police to let her through.

As they stepped inside the building, Beca spotted Jesse walking towards them.

“Hey, what you got?” She asked and Jesse pointed to the staircase.

“Suicide. At least that’s what the police say but I thought I gave you a call and let you take a look.” They walked up to the master bedroom. Beca noted that the room was spotless, nothing out of place or out of ordinary. However, upon arriving at the en-suite bathroom Beca winced at the sight that greeted her.

A pale, Caucasian woman spread out naked in the bathtub, arms resting on the edge and blood still slipping from both of her wrist from two deep cuts. The water around her painted red and the shower curtains laying at their feet on the floor. Beca noticed the mirror above the sink were shattered.

Chloe inched her way closer and looked over the detectives’ shoulders. She felt her stomach launch slightly at the disturbing sight but she swallowed it down and pulled out her phone to record.

Beca talked to Jesse while she stepped inside the small space and examined the body further. “Do you have an ID?” The woman’s upper body were visible from the water and Beca didn’t see any bruising, only on her forehead.

“Helena Jones. 41. Her ex-husband found her an hour ago and notified the police.” Jesse listed as he and Chloe watched Beca look around.

“You said the police think it’s suicide.” Beca said while pulling a glove out from her jean pocket and putting it on, opening the medicine cabinet. She found anti-depressant and pills for anxiety inside but it didn’t alter her thoughts.

“Yes.”

“I don’t think it was self-harm.” She stated and turned back to Jesse, closing the cabinet and pointing to the broken mirror. “If she wanted to die, why would she break the window with her head before she slit her wrists? Why not just sit down in the tub and do it?”

Jesse shook his head. “Maybe she was angry with herself for having these thoughts and wanted to stop it. Clearly she was unstable.”

Beca bit the inside of her cheek and lingered on the woman lifeless body. Something didn’t seem right. “We have to bring in the ex-husband for questioning. Tell the team to swipe the entire house from top to bottom and let’s see if they found something. I have a hunch this was way too obvious. The pills for mental health, the slit wrists, the position.” Beca shook her head. “For some reason it feels too staged for me.”

“Got it.” Jesse replied and left the two women to give the police instructions.

Chloe stepped inside cautiously.

“Do you think it was murder?” She whispered quietly.

“I don’t know but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There’s no evidence of another person being involved but we can’t rule out anything until the autopsy results. That’ll tell us what happened.” Beca said, looking at the redhead.

 /

When they arrived back at the station, Jesse already had the ex-husband set up in an interrogation room, ready to be questioned. The trio stood behind the two-way glass, observing the man sitting behind the table.

“He’s oddly calm.” Jesse commented, seeing the man with his hands intertwined on top of the table, gazing before him, zoned out. “He just found his ex-wife dead inside the bathtub. I would be a freaking out.”

“Let’s leave the analysis to the shrinks, Swanson. We have no reason to believe he was the one who did it as of yet so let’s just go in there and learn something new.” Beca demanded sternly as she turned to the redhead behind her. “You stay here and observe him. Maybe you’ll see something we’d miss.”

Chloe swallowed down her protest and tensely nodded her head. She knew it was hopeless to argue with the seemingly stubborn detective and simply closed her mouth and pulled out her phone to capture anything.

Jesse opened the door, letting Beca step in before him as they both took their seat silently before Thomas Pierce. The man sat with his intertwined hands on the table, eyes bouncing back and forth between the detectives with a tense grimace.

“Look, I know my rights. You can’t investigate me as a suspect without proper evidence and you can’t hold me here.”

“Mr. Pierce, you are not accused of anything. We just want to know what happened to your ex-wife. That’s all.” Jesse started out, explaining their motives in a calm tone as saw the man visibly relax and leaned forward.

“Now according to the police report, you were the one who notified the police, correct?” Beca opened up the file in front of her, pretending to read it out meanwhile she already memorized every last detail about the case. She needed to give the man a false sense of certainty to unconsciously pull the truth out from him.

“Yes.” Mr. Pierce answered quickly not elaborating.

“What were you doing in your ex-wife’s apartment that day?”

Mr. Pierce glanced between the pair. “I went there to pick up the rest of my stuff that I left from the move. We separated not long ago. When she didn’t answer my calls, I went upstairs to the bedroom and found her in the bathtub. And I called the police.”

Beca squinted her eyes at the explanation. “I understand your divorce was a long drawn out process. You were in and out of the courtroom for four years, battling over the custody of your three children.”

Mr. Pierce grinded his teeth as he stiffened at the mention of his kids. “I gained full custody for all three but Lena didn’t make it easy. She pulled out all her cards against me and poured out my dirty laundry in front of the judge. But in the end, it didn’t matter because the judge declared her unreliable to take care of them because of her… mental problems. She had the audacity to call me a deadbeat father.” Mr. Pierce growled out. “I wasn’t the one who tried to kill myself three times while my children were in the house.”

Jesse leaned forward. “You sound angry.”

“I was! She had the nerve to try and fight me for my children while she was the one who cheated.” Mr. Pierced exploded but taking in the unchanged reactions in front of him, he regained his posture. “That was the main reason we got separated.”

Beca glanced at Jesse, silently communicating with her partner before focusing on the man before her.

“I have one last question, Mr. Pierce. Did your wife had any enemies? Anybody that wanted to – I don’t know, take revenge on her?” Beca asked, eyes piercing into his as she tried to catch any sight of indication he was lying.

“Not that I know of…outside of the house, she was a very nice woman.” Mr. Pierce said, shaking his head. “Inside the house was where she had problems.”

/

“Okay, what are we thinking?” Jesse spoke out as he closed the door behind him. Chloe pocketed her phone as the three of them watched the man through the one-way mirror as he leaned back into his chair and constantly checked his watch on his wrist.

Beca wracked her brain for anything to give them a lead but came up empty. She crossed her arms over her chest and addressed the redhead beside her.

“Chloe, what do you think?”

Chloe stared the woman in surprise, not thinking she was going to ask for her opinion. She noticed Beca liked to work inside her head, planning out her every move before she informed her partner. Chloe glanced back at the suspect and bit her bottom lip.

“He didn’t show any sign that he was lying. He didn’t cross his arms or leaned away from you which would be a sure indicator but he maintained eye-contact and his tone didn’t falter at any point. He showed anger instead of fright which suggest he wasn’t intimidated and that he didn’t have nothing to hide. He answered honestly and didn’t try to dodge any of the questions.” Chloe listed off her observation without waver. “I don’t think he did it.”

The detective pair slowly turned their heads toward the woman, eyes rounded from shock. Chloe self-consciously shifted on her feet.

“What? I have a master in Phycology.”

Beca bobbed her head, impressed. “You keep surprising me.”

“I have a lot of talent you don’t know about, Detective Mitchell.” Chloe replied back, her tone dangerously dancing on the edge of flirtatious as Beca eyes bore into hers.

Jesse flickered his gaze back and forth between them like a tennis match, red flags appearing in front of his sight warning him of danger. But before he could break up the moment, Beca’s cellphone beeped loudly from her pocket.

“Jenna is finished with the autopsy. It’s time we finally got some answers.” Beca summarized the text message and pocketed her phone, strolling determinedly toward the department, the other two hot on her heels.

/

“What did you find?” Beca called out as soon as they stepped over the threshold of the sterilized room, Jenna Watson the FBI’s pathologist were hovering over the deceased woman’s naked body. No matter how many times she saw a corpse, Beca couldn’t help but feel her stomach whirl in disgust at the sight. Something about it looking like a sleeping person didn’t sit well with her.

Chloe tried to conceal her reaction to seeing the body opting to staying far away from the table it was place upon.

“Detective Mitchell, Swanson. Great to see you both. Although, not under the right circumstances.” Jenna commented as the three gathered around the table, eyes roaming over the surface. Jenna cleaned the outer regions of blood on her wrists and covered the victim from the waist down.

“Enlighten me.” Beca spoke out sarcastically, not having her usual sense of humor to make jokes of the situation.

Jenna quickly turned serious and pointed to the cut on her forehead. “You said the mirror was broken in the bathroom. Well, I wouldn’t say it was self-inflected. Some strands of hair were missing from the back of her scalp and I predict the suspect must’ve grabbed her from behind and smashed her into the mirror. However, there’s no further signs of evidence of self-defense, no bruising, no marks, nothing which is strange.”

“The husband said she wanted to kill herself. Maybe that’s why she didn’t fight.” Jesse suggested but Chloe shook her head.

“Self-conflicted harm and harm by somebody else is different. When she wanted to die, she was in control of her actions; she knew what to do and when to do it. With somebody else doing it for her, the strongest form of human nature flair to life which wants to live. Even without knowing it, she would’ve fought back.”

Jenna glanced at the newcomer raising her eyebrows. “Exactly. Now I did find some anti-depressant in her blood but the amount wasn’t anything alarming to numb her body.”

Beca nodded slowly, working the knots in her mind. “Okay, so you say she was attacked.”

“Definitely.” Jenna conformed before a quick smile escaped from her expression as she pulled out a manila envelope from her desk and handed it to Beca. “She definitely didn’t do that to herself.”

Beca cautiously opened the package and pulled out two photographs. Her eyes widen in surprise before they hardened into determination as the story became a little bit clearer.

“Perfect job as always, Watson.” Beca complimented the pathologist as she handed the envelope to Jesse for keepsake. Chloe watched as Jesse had similar reaction to whatever that file contained and her curiosity grew tenfold. She couldn’t wait long enough for Jesse to hand it over to her. As her eyes took in the sight, her mouth gaped open.

The pictures contained the bare back of the victim with the letter ‘A’ carved along her spine.

TBC

[laceypruett]

Traveling After a Pandemic

If you knew the angst that went into simply agreeing on a title for this piece, you would laugh. This is our current world. We have a scarcity mindset, mixed with some fear over what we’ve been through this past year. I’ve had seasons of scarcity, fearfulness, and oh the worry. Worry laced everything in 2020 and tied it in a bow, so when I shared my potential title, I was met with, “but we’re still IN a pandemic.” Are we?

According to historians, pandemics typically have two types of endings: the medical, which occurs when the sicknesses or death rates plummet, and the social, when the epidemic of fear about the disease wanes.

“When people ask, ‘When will this end?’ they are asking about the social ending,” said Dr. Jeremy Greene, a historian of medicine at Johns Hopkins.

In other words, an end can occur not because a virus has been vanquished but because people grow tired of panic mode and learn to live with a virus.

I chose the title I did, because, for me, it is the truth. The cool thing is that you get to decide for yourself, your family, and your life experience what is true for you. After this way-too-long discussion with some fellow authors, there was a moment when I said, “no more.” No longer will I live in fear, and no longer will I worry myself about what may happen. Death rates have plummeted (one of the medical ends to a pandemic) and the virus strand is weakening. This is great news! Precautions I’ve taken since last March can now soften a bit. I definitely won’t worry about things out of my control. An example of something out of my control… what others think of my life decisions.

When some of the world lifted their restrictions on air travel, my husband and I booked a few flights to some of our favorite places. “You’re going to travel out of the country, right now?” It echoed for several days, but it’s just one more reminder to make your own rules for your life. Yes, the pros outweighed the cons, for us, and that is enough. I wondered what it would be like “out there,” and what the experience would really be, and curiosity squashed fear.  We considered our safety, security, and health, in this decision to fly internationally, and we booked accordingly. You see, for us, the world is vast and there’s opportunity to expand one’s life perspective with traveling and seeing the world. Staying at home doesn’t make sense to us, as a long-term decision, especially if health and vitality are the goal. We take good care of our health, and we take proper precautions, so for people in our situation, travel is an option. If you have the travel bug, I invite you to get out there again, too. I’ll explain why later in this article.

When the COVID-19 flu strand pushed us into a global pandemic, my husband and I were crushed. We had four trips we now had to cancel or that were canceled on us. Birthdays, anniversaries, France, Spain, British Virgin Islands, and Cabo San Lucas all vanished off the calendar. We were sad but worked to quickly shift mindsets. We would have different types of adventures for a while. We would make an adventurous life at home, under these new daily, safety standards. We would enjoy the Texas beach house more.  We would spend time enjoying new hobbies, activities and a slower pace. The re-wiring of adventure expectations took some ebb and flow (especially by me—I already purchased new outfits for Spain and for France), and while I look back on the memories, we made last year, I am grateful for them. More on that later… let’s get to the good stuff. Traveling internationally, after a pandemic, was different but worth it. It’s easier if you plan ahead, set some new expectations, and give just about everything and everyone some added grace. 

Here are my tips and awareness (based on separate trips to Cabo San Lucas, and Riviera Maya, Mexico, flying commercial airlines, and staying at a resort & spa property (not private residence):

1.     Clean up your diet, increase your fitness routine, and be impeccable with nutritional supplements months before traveling. Do a 7-14 day detox if possible. This is key! Don’t travel with a weak immune system.

2.     Don’t fight the masks. It’s happening, and it’s nobody’s preference. (At least, I don’t think anyone loves wearing them?) As of today, wearing a mask is required  in all airports, on all commercial aircraft, and it was required in the lobby areas and restaurant entries. You can wear a mask whenever you want, but these are the places a mask was required. I wore a separate mouth and nose covering for the flight that met the required standards. It was more comfortable than my mask and worked well.

3.     Bring your own anti-bacterial soap. At the end of each day, it felt nice to scrub away the day with an extra anti-bacterial protection. Even if you don’t usually use an anti-bacterial soap, use one now for ease of mind. One bar of Dial soap lasted 10 days.

4.     Pack a pen! In addition to the usual customs and immigration forms, there’s a new COVID disclaimer form to fill out and turn in upon arrival at the airport and again at your lodging.

5.     Bring your usual daily multi-vitamin, but add in the following every day: Zinc, an immune modulator, extra vitamin C & D. These helped me feel armed against new elements, foods, and the new environments.

6.     Expect delays at check-ins. We arrived at the airport, our hotel, and even at restaurants that each had their own added health screenings or checks. The oddest one was a device you step into (think air brush tanning days) that sprays you with an antimicrobial solution. It’s light and dries quickly, and at its worst, just slightly annoying. They spray your baggage on arrival at the hotel with this solution, too. Some take your temperature, and some offer you (and expect you to take) hand sanitizer.

7.     Make reservations! Most restaurants are requiring them to comply with the distancing needs of the tables (Mexico restaurants and bars filled up but we were spaced out really well.) Don’t expect to just show up, without a reservation, and get seated anywhere. If it happens, yay!

8.     Hire private ground transportation. This minimizes your exposure to new taxi cabs and drivers each time you need to go somewhere. Walk whenever and wherever you can. Exercising keeps everything moving, even the bad bacteria and virus strands, and these getting stuck in our body cause the problems.

9.     Tip generously, when appropriate. Hearing the stories of how this year has been for different people, really opened my eyes to the outlier issues we’re now facing, outside of the actual sickness. By traveling soon, you are helping to reverse some long-standing financial damage people and businesses are facing, due to closures and restrictions. Select local businesses, restaurants, foods, and entertainment when possible. You can immerse yourself into the culture of where you’re visiting, and meet some wonderful people at the same time.

10.  Call ahead and ask what’s new due to the pandemic. Being aware of expectations, protocols, and changes will allow you to prepare yourself accordingly and to enjoy the experience better. None of us are at our best when expectations are not met. Proactively do some research and set yourself up for success.

Go explore! My soul came alive immediately as I started roaming one of my favorite areas of Mexico. Being in the elements, the sun, especially, taking in the sights, sounds, and feelings filled me up with vitality. Don’t wait any longer! Find your next adventure spot and start booking. I am grateful for our continued health, and we remain protective of it. You are in control of how you protect yourself, and it is possible to feel safe and protected while traveling the beautiful world again. Be respectful of others’ “house rules,” as everyone is trying to help everyone feel as comfortable as possible right now, and by respecting these efforts, we all get to feel a little more freedom. 

For us, the pandemic was a temporary situation, not a permanent change to our way of life. This travel experience has been educational for us, as many things felt differently than what we’re used to, but necessary for where we currently are with pandemic concerns. While we hope even more of the restrictions lift and more countries open up to American travelers, we hope some of the new practices never leave. Airplanes, airports, hotel rooms, and bathrooms have never been cleaner! I see people giving everyone space and washing their hands longer. Que Maravilla! On that note alone, take a deep breath and go explore somewhere new. Let me know what you find!

[ft-dads-au]

Attitude Adjustment

Femslash Fairies 2020 Prompt: Accidental Meeting Pairing: Sorano x Minerva A Collaboration by @mdelpin​ and @oryu404​

AO3 | FF.Net

June 4, 2022

Sorano glanced at her watch impatiently, her perfectly manicured fingernails tapping on the counter as she waited. After another ten minutes of barely contained complaints, it was finally her turn.

“Can I help you, Miss?” the young man behind the counter asked cheerfully. “What would you like today?”

Sorano bit back a sarcastic retort before it could escape, reasoning that the delay wasn’t this person’s fault.

“I’d like to pick up my order from City Eats, it should be under Agria,” she even gave the perfectly mousy employee one of her winning smiles.

“City what?” He gaped at her, obviously confused, and that was not endearing him to her in the slightest.

“You do know what an order is, correct?” Sorano raised an eyebrow in mock inquiry.

“Yeah.”

“Excellent, then go get mine,” Sorano gave the employee a deadpan look and waved him off.

“But you haven’t ordered anything,” the employee insisted, getting flustered.

There was growing unrest as the people in line behind her began to voice their disapproval at how long she was taking. She noticed an attractive woman with black hair that was neatly secured with a hair clip watching the exchange with interest.

“Yes, I did, on the app doohickey. It’s the only reason I came to this dump, I have an afternoon’s worth of clients and no time to waste in here. So get me my order, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Listen, lady, I don’t know what you’re talking about, there is no order under that name anywhere on here.”

“Allow me, Dobengal,” the black-haired woman approached them, signaling the employee to continue serving the next customer, “Why don’t you come over here with me, Miss?”

Sorano was fuming by now. She had taken a chance on this little restaurant in a spirit of solidarity. And yes, the proximity to her salon, but that was beside the point. If she didn’t hurry up and get her food, she was either going to have to skip lunch altogether or run late, which would inconvenience her clients. It could also put her business, which she was only starting to get off the ground, in danger of getting a bad reputation.

“I don’t have time for this!” Sorano snapped, “I want to speak to your manager.”

“You’re looking at her. Owner, manager, cook, you name it, I’m it. Now, what seems to be the trouble?”

“The trouble is your service is terrible. I ordered my meal over an hour ago from the City Eats app, is it too much to ask to expect it to be ready when I arrive for pickup?!”

“I highly doubt that, are you sure you read the message properly?”

“Of course I read it properly, what do you take me for?!”

The woman smirked but gave no other answer.

“Look, I’ll show you!” Sorano searched through her bag, looking for her phone so she could show the horrid, yet attractive woman the email she had received confirming her order. Except now that she looked at it, that’s not what it said at all.

We regret to inform you that this restaurant has not yet been configured in our system. Keep an eye out for an announcement coming soon!

Well, shit! Now she looked like a total moron. The woman looked at her expectantly, arms crossed in front of her chest, her smirk only increasing by the second.

“That’s not what it said earlier!” Sorano argued, not willing to admit that she was at fault.

“I’ll tell you what, why don’t you tell me what you wanted, and I’ll go make it for you quickly, but don’t get used to it,” the woman warned.

Sorano recited her order and fumed the whole time the woman was gone. She quickly returned, handing her a bag.

“I added a treat, maybe it will help with your attitude. On the house.”

The woman gave her a small mocking wave before returning to the kitchen, and Sorano had half a mind to throw the bag on the floor and stomp on it with her heels. Still, the one thing she could say about this restaurant was that the food smelled heavenly, and her curiosity got the best of her. So instead, she stormed off to her salon to wolf down her lunch before her next client arrived, getting only more worked up when the food ended up being delicious.

0-0

Minerva finally locked the doors of the restaurant behind her, signaling the end of another busy day. Her business had grown quickly, even though she’d only had it for a few months now. With the soon to be added online service, she was probably going to need extra employees. Maybe if things continued to go well, she could switch to the more lucrative dinner crowd and drop breakfast. It would be nice to not have to get up so early every day. But that was a worry for another day.

Right now, she had something else on her mind. In just a few hours, she would be attending a very special event. Sting Eucliffe and Rogue’s family had planned a surprise second wedding ceremony for him. For the last few months, she, along with several other of their friends, had been meeting in secret at her restaurant, creating menus, designing cakes, picking flowers, and doing everything they could to make this an occasion to remember for their friend. She couldn’t wait to see Rogue’s reaction to their efforts, knowing that his family’s absence had been the only thing to put a damper on his wedding day years ago, which had been an otherwise perfect day.

She still had a lot of things to do in preparation and not that much time left, so she sped up her pace, making a to-do list in her head while still keeping an eye out for the sign of the beauty salon she was heading to. Although it was reasonably new, it had come highly recommended.

She’d booked an appointment especially for the occasion. To get her eyebrows done and her hair pinned up in a more elegant way than the messy buns she was used to wearing. And all that cooking and cleaning and wearing latex gloves had taken its toll on her hands, so they could definitely use some special care as well. Unfortunately, she couldn’t have long nails anymore, but a manicure and a layer of cute nail polish would make a world of difference.

It didn’t take long before she found the salon, only a couple of blocks away from her restaurant. She entered and was greeted by a somewhat jaded looking employee with black and white hair, and admittedly flawless looking makeup.

“Good afternoon, how can I help you?”

“Good afternoon. I have an appointment at three, under the name Orland.” Minerva waited for the employee to check their planner, wondering if she could pull off that dark shade of purple lipgloss they were wearing. It matched the color of the dress she had bought for tonight perfectly.

“Please take a seat, Sorano will be with you shortly.”

She sat down in the elegantly designed waiting area, taking a quick look at the clock. She’d gotten there a little early, so she went through the stack of beauty and health magazines, looking for something to keep her busy while she waited. Eventually, she found a women’s hairstyles catalog and began flipping through its pages. Perhaps she could find an example of what she wanted to show the hairdresser.

A yawn escaped her, unsurprisingly, since she had gotten up earlier than usual. On top of all the prep she usually did at her restaurant, Minerva had been responsible for the catering for tonight’s reception. It had been a busy morning, but thank God she didn’t have to worry about serving tonight. The venue had staff for that, so she could relax and enjoy the party, and take off those ridiculous heels whenever she wanted.

Her eyelids were getting heavy, so she put away the book. Leaning her head back against the wall, she closed her eyes, just for a minute. Couldn’t hurt, right?

0-0

Sorano walked out of the waxing room with her client and hurried to the planner. She was running late, and this was her last appointment for the day as she had Sting’s wedding to attend that evening. She traveled the page with her index finger until she arrived at the name. Orland. It didn’t sound familiar.

“Hey Midnight,” she called out, “Did my last appointment get here yet?”

“She was in the waiting room last time I checked, “ Midnight responded without lifting their head from the magazine they were reading.

“Do you think you could check Gladys out for me? I’m running late,” she gave him her best puppy eyes, but they only snorted as they got up, earning a smile from her. “You’re an angel, thanks!”

She walked into the waiting room, her heels clicking on the floor when to her astonishment, she found the woman from the restaurant fast asleep in one of her chairs. She looked so peaceful that Sorano spent a whole minute admiring her with a smile.

She really was a breathtaking woman. Sorano tried shaking her gently, “Hey, wake up.”

When that didn’t work, she shook a bit harder, although she felt a little guilty. If the poor woman was sleeping that deeply she must be exhausted. Sorano could commiserate, running your own business could be draining. Any other day she might have let her sleep a bit longer, but she didn’t have any time to waste.

The woman blinked her eyes slowly looking slightly disoriented as she woke. Sorano couldn’t help but tease, “You really have no regard for my time, do you?”

“You?!”

“Me,” Sorano agreed, smirking at her reaction. We didn’t get off to a good start this morning, and that was entirely my fault, I get hangry if I don’t eat by a certain time.”

“It’s true, she does,” Midnight was kind enough to back her up, although they really didn’t need to look so amused.

“Anyhow, my name is Sorano, it’s nice to meet you.” She extended her hand in greeting. “Welcome to my salon, Nirvana.”

“Minerva,” the woman answered politely as she shook her hand.

“What can I do for you today, Minerva?”

“I’d like an updo, and my eyebrows probably need to get done, and my nails too,” Minerva requested, “Truth be told, I haven’t really gone out in ages, been too busy working on the restaurant, I probably need the works.”

Sorano laughed, “Hardly, about the only thing I would say is you look a little tired. Tell you what, why don’t you pick a nail color from the wall while I get my stuff ready, then Midnight can do your nails while I work on your hair. Did you know what you wanted?”

Minerva described the dress she would be wearing and showed her a few pictures from one of the magazines. Once they agreed on a style, she left to look at the nail polish while Sorano went around looking for hairpins.

On a whim, she went into the breakroom and got a couple of tea bags out, wanting to make up for her bitchiness earlier in the day. She poured some warm water from the sink into a cup and dropped the teabags in. A few minutes later, she put the teabags in the fridge. By the time she was done with her preparations, Midnight had already begun working on Minerva’s nails.

“Alright, close your eyes,” Sorano chirped, placing the teabags over Minerva’s eyes.

“Is that — tea?” Minerva frowned.

“Yep, the caffeine will help with those puffy eyes, I do it all the time,” Sorano removed Minerva’s hair clip and placed it on the nail table next to her. She began to brush out the long hair removing any tangles and getting ready to start putting it up.

All in all, it took about an hour of twisting, pinning, teasing, and curling, but it was well worth it. Minerva looked gorgeous, and Sorano debated asking her if she could take a picture of her hair for the salon. She had removed the tea bags earlier, and it had definitely helped with the puffiness.

They had chatted while she worked, and she had really enjoyed talking with her. Minerva was witty and smart, a combination Sorano had always enjoyed. Now with only the eyebrows left, she found herself trying to find excuses to keep her longer, although a peek at her watch told her it was wishful thinking. She needed to hurry home and get ready.

Oh well, she could always go be a pain at the restaurant again. She handed Minerva one of the oversized mirrors so she could scrutinize her hairdo and eyebrows. Sorano remembered she’d noticed Minerva looking at Midnight’s lips various times, so she grabbed one of the lip glosses from her makeup area and put it in a small bag with a grin.

She couldn’t afford to give her the full service on the house, but she could gift her a small token.

“You’re a genius, everything looks amazing, thank you!” Minerva gushed.

Sorano preened at the compliment, although in truth, it had more to do with Minerva’s beauty than anything else. She checked her out, handing her change along with the bag with the lip gloss. “Here you go, I added a treat on the house. Perhaps it will help with your attitude”, she teased with a wink and a friendly grin.

“Oh, God, I said that didn’t I?” Minerva’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, “I’m so sorry.”

Sorano laughed heartily, “I totally deserved it! Have fun at your event and come back sometime!”

“I just might have to.”

0-0

As soon as the ceremony was over, Minerva went straight to the nearest Ladies room. She knew beforehand that the event was likely to get emotional, but she hadn’t expected to be moved to tears. Looking in the mirror, her suspicions that the eye-makeup she had applied earlier had suffered were confirmed, and although it wasn’t running down her cheeks, there were definitely blotches under her eyes. But that lip gloss was still looking as good as it did when she’d just applied it.

She took a napkin from her purse and leaned over the counter to move closer to the mirror. With light pats, she tried to fix her makeup, getting frustrated when all she did was create a mess of smudges.

The door opened, and more women came in, chattering happily. Some of them disappeared into one of the stalls, while others stood next to her, examining their features in the mirror. Among them, there was a familiar face. The gorgeous looking girl she had seen twice today already.

“You again?” she smirked at Sorano, shaking her head in mock disapproval, “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” She almost confessed that she didn’t mind in the slightest, but stopped herself at the last moment. “So are you one of Sting’s friends then?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” Sorano answered while she fixed the dark blue ribbon decorating her hair, “he’s been my sister’s best friend since kindergarten, so I’ve known him since forever. He’s like the little brother I never asked for,” she joked.

“Yeah, he’s like that,” Minerva laughed along, “I’m thrilled Rogue met him, he’s exactly what was needed to bring him out of his shell.”

She thought about the role she had played in their family and couldn’t help but smile a little. Her sons, their sons, couldn’t have asked for a better set of parents, and she was glad that she had been able to do that for them. She could feel tears filling her eyes once again as she remembered the expressions on Sting and Rogue’s faces at the birth of their sons.

Minerva sighed and gave up on trying to fix her makeup. It looked slightly better than before, but not nearly as good as it did when she went out the door.

“Hold on,” Sorano called out. She plopped her purse on the counter and started searching through it, “Allow me.”

She took a variety of makeup products out of the purse and laid them out on the marble surface. They were from the same brand as the lipgloss she had gifted Minerva at the salon, looking professional and a lot more expensive than the drugstore makeup Minerva had lying around at home.

“Okay, hold still.”

Sorano started to wipe away the remaining smudges and carefully applied new makeup, where the previous layer had been removed. She was squinting in her focus, the tip of her tongue peeping out between her lips, and Minerva couldn’t help but think she looked adorable like that.

“There, all done!” Sorano declared with a beaming smile, “Let’s get back to the party, shall we?”

They walked out of the bathroom, following the sounds of music and applause to the reception hall. Right as they entered, the first dance began, so they joined the rest of the guests and watched.

Sting led Rogue to the center of the dance floor, smiling at him the way he always did. Like the sun shines out his ass. Rogue, still overwhelmed by the surprise ceremony that his family and Sting had sprung on him, hid his face on Sting’s shoulder. Minerva snorted, thinking it was everything she’d expected.

“Ugh, these two are so mushy, it’s disgusting,” she said to Sorano, who spoke at the same time, rolling her eyes.

“Gross. Get a room or something.”

They looked at each other and burst into laughter, and despite their crass comments, they continued to watch the dance with fond smiles. There were cheers and clapping as the song ended. Sting took that moment to bow gracefully at the assembled guests earning a round of laughter. He whispered something in Rogue’s ear, and then both men walked off towards their parents’ table, returning to the dance floor with their mothers.

The DJ opened up the dance floor, and it soon began to fill up with all sorts of couples. Both women continued to watch, and although dancing was not something she often did, Minerva decided to take a chance.

She turned towards Sorano, “I don’t suppose you’d like to dance?”

Sorano raised a perfectly styled eyebrow at the request, but her lips soon curled into a smirk, “In these heels? Hell, no.” Minerva tried to hide her disappointment when to her surprise Sorano removed her shoes and put them underneath one of the tables. “Now I do.”

Minerva followed her example, leaving her shoes next to Sorano’s before grabbing her hand and guiding her to the dance floor.

She thought back to that morning, when they’d first met, and how they’d immediately butted heads. It seemed so long ago, especially after they had gotten to know each other a little better at the salon. And now, here they were, dancing with their arms around each other as they swayed to the music.

Sorano gave her a provocative smile and Minerva couldn’t help the way her heart skipped a beat in response. She twirled Sorano, in time to the music, already thinking of ways to make sure there were plenty more evenings like this in their future.

[rasoir-national]

This was bound to happen : I’m talking about immigration law

@ghostplantss i don't know v much about french immigration law would you tell me about it? i'm v curious?

Oh wow. First tea, and now this ? Either you are my secret Santa, or my enabler.

So let me tell you about the passion of my life, Immigration and refugee law, and the fuckery this country has made of it.

The way a city, community, country treats the “other” is one of the oldest legal questions in the History of Humanity. From Antique Greek cities to the Jus Gentium of the Roman Empire, laws concerning foreigners might be the first form of international law known to man. In many ways, it’s by acknowledging the existence of “others”, by giving and restricting their rights, that a social group both truly asserts itself as a “political community”, yet acknowledges the transcending quality of “humanity” of the outsider.

Nowadays, this question is as politically charged as ever : the way a country regards foreigners, welcomes them, rejects them, is one of the most interesting ways you can define the country, one of the ways the country sees itself. By the way we treat the one who is not “us”, we highlight which rights we consider to be inherent to humanity in and of itself, as well as which ones we consider intrinsically rooted in our identity as “citizen”.

And all this proud History, all this contemporary tension, makes Immigration law fascinating to FUCKING NO ONE.

Look, one thing you have to know about lawyers is how much they love intellectual wankery. A nicer way to put it would be to say lawyers love systems. And theory. And generalisation. And categorizing. They like to look at a set of rules and see a pattern, a logic, a paradigm. They like to be able to neatly present it in two titles, each divided in two subtitles, each divided in two sections, and repeat that until they run out of microsoft font points.

And Immigration law... It’s not that. It’s not that at all. It’s the opposite of that. It’s a law that’s almost entirely dictated by conjoncture, by what a government needs it to say, by whichever concept they’re going to twist then to suit their needs. Whatever few theoritical concepts Immigration law might have been based on have been destroyed by years of either haphazardous or plainly malignant reforms, often both.

And not only does that mean that this at this point is an intensely, punitively complex law, it has also become - if it hasn’t always been - illogical and incoherent. The only “logic” behind it anymore is how much it can be weaponized against its subjects - foreigners. Because that’s the only thing that politicians care about, and because lawyers and especially academics have pretty much given up on it, leaving the terrain free for the former. You have to realize, in terms of pure numbers, Immigration law is the most practiced law in the country. It represents almost a third of all disputes. Yet it is taught in NO university in France. Not a single one. There are no courses, no grad school, no thesis program about immigration law in all of France. There is no money in Immigration law : almost all involved subjects are destitute. There is no intellectual curiosity, because the discipline, from a theoretical point of view, is pretty uninteresting. There isn’t even public interest, because deceptively, the general public hears so much about immigration from either ignorant or ill-intentioned people, that getting through the complexity of the topic is immensely complicated and unrewarding.

Lawyers, for the most part, have deserted the topic for selfish reasons, despite the fact that this is perhaps where they were most needed to make sure fundamental rules were enforced, that politics didn’t come in the way of good justice. They abandoned the most vulnerable subjects of law to the whims of lawmakers and political interests. That’s unforgiveable.

So as a result, Immigration law today mostly resembles a cat-and-mouse game where the law sets up as many traps as possible for the immigrant to fall into, with dozens of obstacles to navigate to finally, finally be able to legally settle in a country you might be have been living in for several decades. There are specific stay rules for retirees. That’s a thing. Every rule is meant to exclude as many people as possible. As a result, immigrants must get increasingly creative or even downright shifty in order to qualify for a stay. And in turn, public opinion will yell and say they are manipulating the system - well, duh. We’ve made a system in which it’s impossible to win fair and square and then we criticize immigrants for trying to game it.

Let’s have just one example : demands of admission because of sickness. French law categorizes different reasons for an immigrant to be admitted to live on french soil for a little while : study, work, family matters, and health. France has a very good health system compared to the worldwide standard, so many people come here to receive treatment they might not be able to benefit from in their country of origin for various reasons. Some people already don’t think that’s a reason for welcoming them, but fuck those people. Anyway, there are many, many people who will ask for permission to stay on the grounds of an “invisible” illness : depression, PTSD, personality disorder... all of which are very difficult to prove. Before 2017, the prefect had to decide based on the opinion of a doctor from the regional authority after they’d met with the author of the request. But the administration quickly realized that doctors tend to have that pesky thing called deontology or even - perish the thought ! - empathy. So there was a reform, and now the way it works is the ill immigrant goes to a doctor who writes a report, then mails it to the person’s lawyer, who then mails it to a doctor that will do a second report based on that report, and will send that second report to a group of 3 doctors who, on the sole basis of that document, will advise the prefect on whether or not the person is ill, and whether or not they could have access to treatment in their country. And when I say advise, I mean they mail a form with boxes checked. That’s it. No text. So we have a prefect, who’s not a doctor, making a decision about the health situation of a person based on a box-based form filled by doctors who have never met the person, who themselves are judging based on the report of another doctor who has no met the person either, this last doctor writing based on the report of another doctor who might have met the person once. And all of this can take up to a year. That’s time during which the immigrant cannot work, or receive benefits. And then, if the prefect decides against letting the immigrant stay, then they have only 2 months to challenge that decision, otherwise after those 2 months have passed, they can be arrested, incarcerated and deported at any time.

So given all that, is it any wonder that immigrants tend to “discover” illness after illness and constantly ask for stays based on that ? This system is so random and unfair, that all you can really do is try and try again hoping something will eventually stick. So now you have people complaining that immigrants are faking mental illness in mass, causing prejudice to the “real” mentally ill immigrants. And yes, that’s the effect. But make no mistake : the cause is how difficult it is for an immigrant to have their illness acknowledged when it’s not something “extreme” enough to have you cross the border on a gurney. Because it’s not enough to google “availability of x medication in x country” to make sure the person can actually access treatment in their country of origin.

So that’s the hypocrisy infusing (haha, tea joke) the whole system. And on top of that, the procedure is getting more complicated with every reform : miss one deadline, fill out one form wrong, and you’re out. And please remember we’re dealing with people who for the vast majority do not speak french (the ONLY language allowed in administrative matters according to the Constitution) and know nothing of our administrative system. It’s up to the person’s lawyer to basically map out the life of each of their client. And because there is no money in immigration law - you only get paid in judicial aid from the state - there aren’t many immigration lawyers. You have to do this out of conviction, cuz you’re certainly not doing it for the money or career opportunities. In the practice I interned at last year, each lawyer would at all times manage on average 50 to 80 active cases. And let’s be clear, a lot of them are assholes, because lawyers in general tend to be assholes. But the work they do in downright heroic.

So that’s where I come in to fix it all, right ? Yeah, no. This entire system is fucked, and given what the world looks like right now, it might be for a while. I’m under no delusion that I can do anything to change that. My goal is to help the way I can : I want to become an administrative judge, the ones who are in charge of examining administrative decisions regarding immigrants. This type of challenge represents roughly 50% of the activity of any administrative tribunal : every chamber, no matter their specialty, has to do a little of it, otherwise the system is so backed up it would collapse. Some of those judges do amazing work, and are some of the most compassionate people I’ve ever met. Some of them are not. Most of them are plain bored by this type of claim, because they’re repetitive, not really technical from a legal standpoint and always depressing. And a handful of them have ties to the far-right and are there just to expel as many immigrants as possible. So yeah, if all goes well I’ll be a judge in a few years, and I’ll be one of the only ones who came to the job because of immigration law, not in spite of it. It’s not bragging on my part, it’s just a sad fact. Judges at the tribunal where I’ve worked had a schedule for who was supposed to be in charge of new immigration claims arriving, and some judges would hide from court reporters in order not to get attributed cases that arrived right before their shift was over. So yeah, if I can be a small drop in the bucket and be someone who actually looks at these cases with the explicit intent of finding a reason to approve the claim, that’ll be good enough for me. Because Immigration law, or at least what we’ve made of it, might not be “interesting” but it’s goddamn important, and people should pay attention to it.

[beatrice-otter]

Fic: Here We Are Together (My Fair Lady, Eliza/Henry)

I wrote three stories this year for Yuletide! I was assigned to write for alestar, and what I ended up writing (My Fair Lady) wasn't what I wanted to write. They had some excellent prompts in other fandoms, and I'm not a Henry/Eliza fan in general. Their prompt for Dr. Facilier in The Princess and the Frog was really interesting, but I couldn't get good enough reference material on Voodoo practices to feel comfortable writing it. (Everything in the library system was written by outsiders.) They also had interesting prompts for the movie Hancock, which I remember fondly but only ever saw once years ago, and I couldn't find a copy to watch, and I wasn't about to write a fic based on a decade-old memory and clips on youtube. So My Fair Lady it was, and I'm pleased with what I ended up with. Title: Here We Are Together Author: beatrice_otter  Fandom: My Fair Lady Rating: G Warnings: none Written For: alestar  in yuletide  2019 Betaed by: kalypsobean  Summary: Eliza and Freddy are working together. Henry isn't happy, and makes sure everyone knows it. At AO3. Dreamwidth. Pillowfort.

"If we could but get the funding, Mrs. Doolittle, so much more might be accomplished," Freddy said earnestly. "Your contributions, both financial and practical, do so much good, and of course your greatest contribution is the time you and your husband give to veterans who cannot pay for your services, but unfortunately the scale of the situation—"

"Yes, yes, the number of men who returned with severe wounds is alarming, and their needs are many and great," Eliza said. "You would think that the thanks of a grateful nation would extend to paying for treatment for the injuries taken in the service of that nation."

"I sometimes think they would prefer if we had died, so that they could take out our pictures once a year on Armistice Day, and not have to deal with the inconvenient reality of our survival." It was a touch of the old, romantic, dramatic Freddy she had first met over a decade ago, although of course far bitterer than anything that young fop could have imagined.

"Perhaps I should mention the subject to my father," Eliza mused. "Much as he hates it, he needs respectable causes to mix in with his disreputable ones, if he wants to get anyone else in Parliament to actually work with him. And one can hardly get more respectable than poor veterans in need of medical care and other aid."

"It cannot hurt," Freddy said, "although far too many politicians are willing to give flowery speeches in public, and then tighten the purse strings in private. I begin to understand your preference for actions over words."

"Mm," Eliza said, making a note to write to her father. "Now, about—"

"ELIZA!"

Freddy twitched at the sound of her husband's stentorian bellow, and he turned pale so quickly she was afraid he might faint. Repeated calls did not help, but roaring back at her husband to be quiet would hardly be any better. Freddy, like so many veterans of the Great War, did not handle startlement well.

"Eliza, where are you, that great clod Bloxham was unbearable, he's the son of a grocer, he's no call to treat me like the help!" Henry strode through the door of the drawing room like a motorbus through Picadilly, coming to a crashing halt when he saw she was not alone. "Freddy," he said, wrinkling his nose. "I didn't know you were visiting."

"You are setting a poor example for the children," Eliza said firmly.

"I most certainly am not," Henry scoffed, flopping into one of the armchairs by the fireplace. He swung his legs up over the arm of the chair, twisting his body in a position that might have been leonine in a more graceful man, and he pouted. He would not call it that, but in that moment he might have been any one of their four offspring.

Eliza stared at him for a few seconds. Long experience had taught her that while immediately answering such a flat denial would only bring a round of squabbling to rival the worst the children were capable of, pinning his attention and then speaking firmly had a high rate of success. "You were shouting down the house. This is not a fishmarket, and you are not a fishmonger, though you may bellow like one. And then you were rude to a guest."

"Freddy?" Henry said incredulously. "I'm to be polite to Freddy Eynsford-Hill in my own home?" He shifted his shoulders slightly and sagged further down in the chair, a sure sign that he knew he was in the wrong but determined to be so. It was a legacy of his mother constantly demanding that he sit up straight. In Henry's mind, Eliza knew, sullen defiance and slouching were inextricable.

"Yes," Eliza said. "To his face and behind his back, both. Certainly whenever the children are present."

"Are the children present?" Henry frowned; he'd probably lost track of time and hadn't realized they were home from school. He peered around the room and found Aurelia in the windowseat with a book, Emily playing with her stuffed dog on the floor by Eliza's feet, and Edward and Andrew playing chess in the corner. All had stopped what they were doing to watch their father's dramatic entrance. "Shouldn't you be in school?" he asked.

"It's over for the day, father," Andrew pointed out.

"I should be going," Freddy said, as if he hadn't noticed the awkwardness. "We've covered the main points, and in any case Anne will fuss if I'm not home for dinner."

Normally, Eliza would say that he shouldn't let Henry drive him off, but they were mostly finished, and she could see how his hands were trembling on the head of his cane. "I shall definitely contact my father about funding, and if there's anything else I can do for your organization, please let me know."

"Your expertise is more than enough," Freddy said. "Good day, Mrs. Higgins. Professor." With gracious nods to both of them he left, leaning on his walking stick more than he usually did.

"Freddy," Henry said with distaste as soon as the front door had closed on him. "What does he want now, more charity cases to fob off on us?"

"You like working with veterans who have developed speech impediments or vocal wounds," Eliza pointed out. "It's a much more interesting challenge than teaching parvenus like Bloxham how to pretend they've always been upper-class."

"Yes, but it doesn't pay well," Henry pointed out.

"And the parvenus pay more than enough to cover the time we spend on charity cases," Eliza said. "What is it really? You've been like a bear with a sore head about Freddy for months, and frankly I'm sick of it."

"I'm volunteering my valuable time, and I don't like how he keeps asking for more."

"Not from you," Eliza pointed out. "And mostly he's asking for organizational help. I'd send him to your mother, if her health were better."

"Mother would have had him settled weeks ago," Henry grumbled.

"Possibly, but she has many more decades of experience organizing charities than I do, and a great many more contacts."

"Then Freddy should go find someone else to bother for help, someone like Mother who's spent the last fifty years organizing everyone else's lives," Henry shot back.

Eliza sat bolt upright as enlightenment dawned. "You're jealous!" she said in astonishment.

"No I'm not!" Henry said, voice climbing querulously.

"You," Eliza said, enunciating very clearly, "are jealous of Freddy Eynsford-Hill."

"Why would Papa be jealous of Mr. Eynsford-Hill?" Emily asked.

"Because Mr. Eynsford-Hill is more handsome than he is," Edward answered her.

"He is not!" Henry declaimed. "His profile is insipid."

Aurelia snickered at Henry's words.

"Aurelia, you shouldn't snicker, it's not polite," Eliza said. "And Henry, you shouldn't lie to your children. Or to yourself. Freddy is far more handsome than you are, but if that were important to me, I'd have married him instead of you."

"Was that an option, mother?" Emily asked, closing her book with a finger to hold her place.

"It certainly was," Eliza said. "He asked me before your father did. And I certainly considered it; besides his looks, he would have been far easier to live with than your father is."

"Then why did you marry me, if I am such a trial?" Henry said, with a mixture of curiosity and sarcasm.

"Because I don't have to hold back with you," Eliza said simply.

"Hah!" Henry said, sitting up straighter. "And yet you complain about my manners!"

"One can be assertive without being rude; your mother is the most forceful person I know, and her manners are impeccable," Eliza said. She turned to Emily, who at fourteen was beginning to notice men, and explained further. "You see, it is very unpleasant to live with someone who steamrolls over you, who dominates you, who controls you, even if they are not trying to hurt you. And when two people are not equals in that way—when one is always the leader and the other is always the follower, or when one is stronger and more forceful than the other—it is not healthy for either. At the time, Freddy was pleasant, but … easily led, shall we say. If he had any great depth of thought or character, he never showed them to me. I could have always had my way with very little effort, which would have been pleasant for me, but perhaps not good for me. And certainly not good for him."

"Whereas with me," Henry said, "you knew I would never let you have your way without a fight."

"With you the question was, could I get you to stop being a bully and a tyrant," Eliza said, turning back to him. "Fortunately, your bark is worse than your bite, and once you knew that I would simply leave if your conduct became intolerable, you amended your ways. I can keep you from running me over like a motor-bus, and I certainly don't have to worry about dominating you. If you'd kept treating me as you did when we first met, I'd have married Freddy and learned to be gentler."

"Mr. Eynsford-Hill doesn't seem shallow to me," Andrew said.

That was probably the source of Henry's jealousy, Eliza realized. Henry had been amused at Freddy's puppy love when they were first married. "He's changed quite considerably since he asked me to marry him," Eliza said. "He is much quieter and more thoughtful since he came home from the war."

"The Army was the making of him," Henry proclaimed, an opinion he had picked up from Colonel Pickering.

Eliza considered the way Freddy's hands sometimes shook, and how he flinched at loud noises that came unexpectedly, and the haunted look she sometimes caught in his eyes if he thought no one was looking at him. "No," she said soberly, "I think it was the breaking of him."

After dinner that evening, Eliza worked on her plans for the next day's clients, while Henry helped the children with their schoolwork, their education being far more like his had been than Eliza's.

"I still think we should send the boys to school, at least, even if we keep the girls here," Henry said as he got ready for bed that evening.

"What can they learn there that they can't learn from the perfectly good school they go to now?" Eliza asked, laying her gown neatly on the dressing room chair for Susan the maid to take care of in the morning. "Or from you?"

Henry grumbled, because he knew better than she did that the school the boys attended was as strong academically as any of the more prestigious schools they could have sent the boys to, and it was almost as distinguished. The difference was, in their current school the boys could live at home instead of boarding. "They could make good connections," he said at last, grasping at straws.

"Hah!" Eliza said as she climbed into bed. "That's rich, that is. How many connections did you make at school that were of any lasting value?"

Henry grumbled some more and climbed into bed beside her.

"Besides," Eliza said, "you'd miss them as much as I would, and you'd hate being outnumbered by women."

"True," Henry said at last. "Bloxham's going to send his boys to Eton and his girls to Cheltenham. He was bragging all about it. The blasted fool had never even heard of Tonbridge." Henry sniffed at this slight to his old school.

"You're one to talk about foolishness, wanting to send our boys away to school just because a fatuous idiot who made a fortune during the war is a snob," Eliza said. "Not to mention being jealous of Freddy, of all people."

"Oh, Eliza, must we go into that again?" Henry said, running a hand down his face. "I know I'm an old fool, you needn't rub it in."

Eliza paused and looked at him, really looked. He was so familiar to her, she knew his face better than anything in the world, and yet it suddenly struck her how old he was. When they'd married, he'd seemed ageless, powerful, in the prime of his life. And that was how she'd always thought of him; his force of personality had certainly not diminished. But he was in his seventies, now, and his face was deeply creased with age. Though his hair was receding, it was almost as dark as ever.

"I knew you were almost thirty years older than I am when I married you," she said at last. "If I'd wanted a younger man, I could have had one then. Freddy, or some other chap your mother could have found for me. I chose you, and you know how stubborn I am. You're mine, now, and I'm not about to give you up."

Henry sighed. After a few seconds he turned off the lamp on his side of the bed and slid down under the covers. Eliza followed suit, and waited to see if he'd say anything. In bed, in the dark, he was sometimes willing to be more honest than during the daylight hours.

"I feel old, Eliza," he said at last, staring up at the ceiling. "Old, and useless. I look at the men we treat, the veterans, and I'm glad Edward and Andrew are the age they are. If they'd been born a decade earlier ... All those young men chewed up at the front and spat out with their lives destroyed, and for what? So idiots like Bloxham could make their fortune in the munitions factories? So all of Europe could be laid waste? And then I read the papers and look at the fashions and the books and plays and art that are being made these days, and I don't understand it. It's all so different. All the rules of how things work that I've known all my life, they just don't seem to apply any longer." He fell silent.

Eliza waited to see if he would say any more. When it was clear he wasn't going to, she spoke. "You never liked the rules anyway."

"But I knew what they were, and how to break them," Henry said. "Now … you understand things much better than I do. You fit better than I do. You could bob your hair and go find a man who fits better than this old Victorian relic lying next to you."

"I'm not that much younger than you are, dear," Eliza pointed out dryly. "I doubt there are very many forty-year-old mothers of four with bobbed hair and short skirts in the dance halls even these days. And while I could throw you over and find a younger man, why would I want to? I've got you trained just the way I want, and I'd have to start all over again. You're mine, and you may not fit the world very well but then you never did—and you fit me quite nicely."

Henry reached over and took her hand. Eliza snuggled closer to him, and they fell asleep like that.