#...this is a really poetic exchange and it's a little haunting but in a good way???? what in the world is this

[nepenthes-maxima]

[no-saints-around-here]

Yesterday's Cage for Tomorrow's Prison: Chapter 2

Yandere Shiba & Sano Family with Baby Shiba Sister!Reader

Masterlist

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<< Chapter 1

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this was a lot harder to write than I thought, and I nearly died but unfortunately the immigration line in hell was too long

tw: heavy incest, pseudo incest, explicit smut, yandere, drugging, sexual assault, heretic religious themes, afab reader, female pronouns, dead dove do not eat

Yuzuha cursed under her breath, large orange eyes sweeping side to side as she methodically checked the storefront for any sign of you. Nothing, again. Turning to briskly walk further down the same street to the next store, the orange-haired girl already knew that you weren’t going to be there either. Hell, she could say with a hundred percent certainty that you weren’t going to be anywhere near here, even if she wasn’t done with her meticulous searching for the day. Having long lost count of the number of times she had already looked in every nook and cranny of your favorite haunts over the past week, day and night, there was simply no way she would have missed you at this point. More so, it was the sinking feeling in her gut and that third sense she had for you that confirmed your absence from the area.

Opting to sink onto one of many benches that littered the shopping street, the Shiba sibling popped open a cold can of soda, taking a chug as she took a break from the afternoon sun in the shade of a tree, watching the rest of the world go by. Nameless individuals bustling up and down the street, bags of things filling both arms and eyes occupied with the glamorous displays, sparing naught a second glance at her or her situation as they rushed past on an unknown countdown. An undignified sigh slipped the lady’s lips as she lowered her now half-empty can, bronze eyes glazed over as she stared up at the rustling leaves overhead, though she did still catch a few stray empathetic looks thrown her way.

The last thing she wanted was anyone’s pity, really, but Yuzuha simply couldn’t help herself looking this despondent. After all, you were gone. Missing. Lost to the greater world, and no matter how poetic one could make that sound, the simple matter of the fact was that neither she nor Taiju had seen you in a week. if you weren’t here or there or wherever she looked, then where on God’s green earth could you possibly be? Were you even still alive?

‎

The quaint little shopping street, just a stone’s throw from the Shiba family home, brought a pang of nostalgia to the lonely lady’s chest - the shops that lined both sides of the pedestrian lane had changed hands countless times, but the slow, leisurely atmosphere had remained steadfast across the past twelve years. Once considered a rare escape from the house in exchange for your good behavior, the occasionally bustling area was now more of a reminder of the recurring nightmare Yuzuha was currently trapped in. Taking another large gulp, the orange-haired lady had to quickly sit up as she spluttered, earning herself another look from a passerby to which she sheepishly apologized, before quickly returning to her pondering. Was there anyone else you could be seeking shelter with? As far as she was concerned, it wasn’t as if you had any other friends outside of your older siblings, with most being too afraid of the long shadow of Taiju and the unspoken threat that you carried with you, and the rest having already been dealt with.

While there wasn’t much to like about the blue-haired former delinquent of an older brother -  their miserable childhoods under his tyrannical rule, the physical and emotional abuse they endured for years on end, and the extreme decisions that he had driven both Yuzuha and Hakkai to at the end of their wits - for you, it had been worth it all. She hated Taiju, but there was no denying that you had been kept safe by the oldest of the Shibas all these years.

Pulling her phone out from her pocket, the second Shiba sibling clicked into her chat history with you as if on instinct, her fingers mindlessly beginning to scroll upwards through the countless desperate, unanswered messages she had sent your way. You weren’t supposed to have a phone (Taiju would never permit it, no matter what the reason is) but the simple dumbphone you owned had been a gift from your older sister with strict instructions not to breathe even a word of its existence. It had no internet functionality, since not even she would risk you being able to access the internet and its treasure trove of internet, but as the only two girls left in the household, you and Yuzuha shared some secrets and had to have a way to do so. The phone was purely just for messages and calls and the occasional simple game when their big brother wasn’t watching. Or at least that was how the bronze-eyed lady told herself.

The memories came flooding back as she finally reached your last reply, what had seemed like a reassuring “yes, nii-san!” before you all but fell off the face of the earth. Such a simple gift had been enough to endear you to her, and you had thanked her again and again through the years, always willing to answer her messages and calls quickly, humming to yourself when you got time to fiddle around with the small electronic. Yet, you hadn’t replied in a week.

‎

Standing from the bench, the lady stretched, flicking her empty soda can into the nearby bin with pinpoint accuracy as she stalked off, phone swinging lazily in one hand. A slight breeze had picked up during her rest, and though it only seemed to blow hot air down the street instead of providing any respite, Yuzuha took in a deep breath, enjoying the fleeting moment of calm. There was no point in frantically trying to call or message you, even though she had been doing so herself over the past few days; your phone was most likely dead from a lack of battery, or if you had seeked shelter with someone, the phone had probably already changed hands. 

You didn’t want to be found, certainly not by her,  that much was obvious. And your older sister didn’t blame you.

The lady turned a corner into a side alley, the cacophony of the crowds dying down behind her with every step she took further into the shaded street. She didn’t believe in the concept of sin and repentance, the same one that her older brother so conveniently ignored when it came to you, but there was no denying that she would never be able to answer for what she had done to you. There were excuses she could give herself of course; that she couldn’t ignore the way that Taiju looked at you as the years passed, as you started to yearn for the freedom of the wider world. That Taiju should take all the blame for being the one to actually deflower you in a misplaced bid to preserve your purity. 

But Yuzuha would be the one to carry the original sin even if she was just trying to do the right thing. She had been the one that had trained you, that had prepared you to take Taiju. Cleaning you up after everything that had happened, soothing the mystery ache between your legs that you complained about the next day.  Keeping you on birth control pills for years and years, never knowing when the oldest of the Shibas would make his move yet never wanting to risk anything untold happening to you. All in the name of keeping the Shiba family together, as she had promised their mother. 

‎

A pause as she came to a stop at a fork in the road, the lady too lost in her own thoughts to make a decision which way to turn.

Yet even then, as much as that was all Yuzuha would like to admit to herself, she would always share the burden of giving into temptation. She could still see the first time it happened if she let her thoughts slip; your contorted expression, furrowed eyebrows as you mumbled in your sleep, your legs crossed as you unconsciously humped your pillow - a wet dream. Taking the opportunity of when you should share her room to explore you herself, the lady let out a ragged breath as her mind recalled her slipping her fingers into the pants of your pajamas and into your panties, slim fingers finding their way towards your already drenched slit and into your warmth. Your whimper as your walls clamped down around her intrusion as she teased and prodded, bronze eyes all the way carefully watching your expression.

The feeling of you spazzing uncontrollably around her as you came in your sleep, drenching both your underwear and her fingers with a moan that sounded too awake. Yuzuha had jerked away in a panic, the elastic band of your pants snapping back against your skin, but you had mercifully fallen back asleep amidst coming down from your high. You tasted sweet, the burst of flavor as she licked her fingers striking a chord deep inside your older sister, a sweetness that she couldn’t get enough of. And while it was the first time she - or anyone really - had ever explored you in that manner, it certainly wasn’t the last time. You had turned from her baby sister into an unholy addiction that she couldn’t give up. 

Her phone lit up and began to buzz, the ringing echoing down the otherwise lifeless sidestreet. Yuzuha blinked, drawn out from her thoughts.

Taiju. Was it already time?

With a deftly press of a button, she brought the smartphone to her ear, taking the quiet path to the left.

‎

‎

There was no doubt that your siblings would be scouring the streets for any sign of you, Izana mused, the fingers on one gloved hand tapping a rhythmless tune atop the glass as empty eyes watched you consider and reconsider your decision, yet that train of thought hardly bothered him. For one, this was a privately owned shop in a rather obscure location, down several narrow and rarely trodden alleyways that no regular passerby had any business accessing. And for two, was most definitely the right decision to bring you on this little excursion; knowing your older siblings and their annoying habit of breathing down your neck about everything big and small, they would have never allowed you to choose your own unhealthy, sinful treat, let alone see the inside of a convenience store. 

Which meant that this would put him squarely in your good books, ahead of not only your wretched siblings, but more importantly, ahead of the rest of his own wretched siblings. His grip on you tightened slightly, the rate of his breathing rising.

The longer he could keep you to himself, the better.

Returning to reality from his daydreams of his life after you had obviously picked him over the rest of the Sanos, it was obvious that the colorful display of ice cream in the freezers was more akin to cocaine to you; the large selection spread out beneath you having you absolutely mesmerized with just the glass slider separating your eager hands from the delightful treats. “There’s so many…” you mumbled out under your breath, your eyes darting right to left as you leaned over the chest freezer, the colorful wrappers glinting in the reflection in your eyes. “Which one?”

Was it really that hard to choose? Not that he would know, he supposed, given that he already had his favorites delivered straight to his doorstep and barely spares a second glance to the entirety of the shop on a regular day. But even if he was usually an impatient man, this was one instance that Izana didn’t mind taking it slow, the tanned club owner leaning in so that his body pressed up tight against your own, violet eyes fluttered closed and his face pressed into the crook of your shoulder, biting back the groan he could feel building in the back of his throat. Your blood family was the last thing on your mind at the moment, and this was exactly the way he liked it. One hand resting on your clothed thigh, the other already taking the initiative to begin exploring under the hem of your skirt, it took every ounce of control he had to ignore the tenting crotch of his pants. He couldn’t wait. “Wasn’t there a certain brand you were looking for?” He breathed out into your ear, warm air tickling your skin. “Do they not have it here?”

“Y-yes!” You startled slightly at his question as if you had been lost in your own world, your hands instantly flying up to shake a ‘no’ at his question instead much to his amusement. “Um, Izana-nii, I mean-”

His hand teased at the hem of your panties, rubbing the cloth that covered your crotch lightly between the pads of his fingers, occasionally brushing against the bare lips hidden underneath. Still no negative reaction from you. “You can’t choose?”

“No,” you admitted, though your eyes were still fixed on the contents of the freezer. “I didn’t know there were so many here.”

The air-conditioning continued to whirl from above unimpeded as the world outside continued to turn, the convenient store absolutely silent save for the sound of breathing.

“Hmmm.” Violet eyes scanned the small area even as his hands never ceased their exploration - it was never intended to be a cover business, he mused to himself, given there were more convenient alternatives to launder money, but this small snack stop had finally shown its usefulness beyond allowing his men to get what they need. A tingle in the back of his neck, and Izana swirled around, only for the heavily-tattooed man serving as the cashier to immediately avert his gaze at his nasty look. “Tch.” His eyes had lingered on you for a second too long, and he didn’t like it one bit. He’ll have to get that sorted later.

‎

Unfortunately for the tanned club owner, that gut feel wasn’t just for the unwelcomed looks at his new little sister. A sudden blast of humid air and an untimely trumpet of a car horn in the distance signaled the arrival of an unwelcome guest and a disruption to his plans with the click of the store door being opened, much to Izana’s displeasure, though the fact that it was Kakucho’s voice floating over from the shelves through the now-open door and not the sound of gunshots gave a good indication of who this intruder might be. “Wait, you can’t go ins-”

”Fuck off,” returned Mikey, the cheery welcome jingle of the convenience store a stark contrast to the other’s completely unamused tone. “I have business with that asshat.”

A smack, and then a second voice piped up, drowning out the burst of protests and whines from Mikey. “Don’t be so rude to Kakucho-kun, Mikey!” Emma scolded, the click of her heels echoing up from the tall shelves of the shop as she followed the other deeper into the shop. “He’s just doing his job, you know.”

How did they know to find him here? Izana glanced back at you even as his Sano half-brother continued to complain loudly about being ill-treated and biases towards anyone who would listen (which is to say, nobody in the vicinity); you were still too distracted with the first choice you had in a long time to notice the intruders, and it was already slightly too late to make an exit before the two of you could be noticed. He would have to wait and see what happens next, he supposed, empty eyes glancing back down at you.

“Hey shithead,” Mikey started from around the corner, right as the first of his blond locks came into view from behind a shelf of snacks. “I’ve been trying to call you for the past hour-”

‎

It was at that precise moment that you made your decision, turning your head up to look at Izana, ice cream already carefully clutched in hand. “Izana-nii, can I -“ And almost as soon as the words left your tongue, you finally took note of the arrival of outsiders, perhaps catching the subtle, sudden movement from the corner of your eyes, or catching the last of Mikey’s spat words. Yet for all that was going on around him, the ifs and could-bes, Izana’s gaze and fascination was fixed on you. What would your next move be? Would you scream? Would you attempt to scurry away to hide? 

Time froze for a moment as your eyes fixed on the unseen source of the noise on the other side of the shelves. What was going on in that little mind of yours?

Yet contrary to all his expectations, you instead instantly clammed up, your jaw snapping shut like a trap around a mouse. Taking a short step in his direction and ducking behind the white-haired man, you seemed to be attempting to line yourself up in a bid to ensure that his silhouette almost covered yours perfectly from the entrance. You were trying to blend into his side, hiding from the unknown.

It was a move that was so unlike your personality that it took Izana by surprise. No doubt this smooth a movement was the result of previous practice, Izana noted amusedly as he watched you move with uncharacteristic speed, something you have had to do multiple times before. Did you think it was your siblings here to pick you up perhaps? No matter, because most importantly, it didn’t matter to him that you couldn’t have known who it was at the door - in Izana’s mind, you had picked your side, and it was his.

Alas it was too little too late. 

As soon as both of those iconic slippers left the cover of the tall shelves filled top to bottom with snacks of every kind, your presence was immediately picked up by Mikey, whose footsteps and words came to an abrupt halt, blank abyss eyes staring at you. An expected outcome, acknowledged Izana as he snaked one protective arm around your shoulders, given the now black-haired man was and is still both the Toman president and legendary delinquent. Didn’t mean much to him anyway.

“Oof Mikey!” Came Emma’s voice from behind as she ran headfirst into the suddenly still back, before the annoyed blond-haired lady stepped round to assess the unfolding situation.. “Why did you stop- oh.”

“Can I help you two?” Izana asked, the tinge of annoyance clear in his tone. The blatant stares were making you uncomfortable, and he didn’t like that one bit.

‎

‎

Walled in on four sides, three by shelves and one being Izana, there wasn’t really any room for you to run or hide, given how small the shop was to begin with. You buried your face into the side of the white-haired man you barely knew, waiting with baited breath, ice cream still clutched in hand. The hum of the chillers around you only seemed ever louder with the silence that fell upon the store.

Scanning you up and down, Mikey’s expression remained unchanged as those blank abyss eyes seemed to reflect you and nothing else, opaque windows that had helped the man hold all his cards close to his chest all these years. You looked…familiar. He’s seen you somewhere before.

Emma glanced between the two men and you, the questions in her mind only growing by each passing second. “Do you know her?” She raised an eyebrow at Izana, who only shrugged in return, unwilling to disclose any further information.

Though in another stroke of bad luck for Izana, one more for the count on this already particularly horrid day, the dots connected for the younger of the two Sano men present, and Mikey’s eyes lit up in recognition. “You’re-“ the black-haired man paused for a moment. “Hakkai’s sister?��

That was enough to spark your curiosity, and you carefully peered out from behind Izana, doe eyes catching the white illumination from the standing refrigerator to the side.  If they knew Hakkai but not Taiju or Yuzuha - could they be on your side? Fortunately, the man on the other side was one you had met before. “...Mikey-san?”

Said man nodded, taking a step forward into the direct shine of an overhead light, as if so that you could take a better look at his face. So it was you that he had been hearing the whispers about, Izana’s little bird; he could still recall that particular night twelve years ago when the Toman Second Division Vice-Captain had brought you along to the gang meeting all apologetic, insisting that he couldn’t leave you alone at home by yourself. You were as shy as you were back then, Mikey mused, taking a good look at you as you shuffled out from behind Izana, seeming slightly more comfortable now. Though he couldn’t say that he wasn’t pleased that it was you of all people.

‎

The white-haired club owner’s grip on your shoulders visibly tightened, and you winced slightly at the pressure. “What do you want?” Izana’s tone now was sharp, violet eyes narrowed at his two siblings.

Mikey was hardly affected, his gaze fixed on you even as he responded. “Shinichiro’s looking for ya. Business,” was all he said.

“Tch.” Clicking his tongue, it was clear that Izana understood the cryptic message - and you couldn’t come along. 

“I can look after her while you’re busy,” came the Toman president’s offer, his hand already outstretched and reaching for yours before his offer had left his lips, but Izana was faster, yanking you backwards and out of reach.

“Absolutely not. She will not be going with you.”

Emma, silent up till now, stepped forward, the sweep of her blond hair backwards looking much like a momentary flash of angelic wings. “She can come with me,” she proposed cheerfully, stopping to shoot a warm smile your way. You shrank behind Izana slightly, your cheeks dusted red.

But the oldest of the three showed no sign of budging. He finally had you, and he wasn’t inclined to share. “Kakucho.”

As if a fae summoned, said man appeared behind the Sano siblings with nay a footstep to be heard nor a door opened, his working red eye respectfully lowered to the ground. “Yes sir.” 

“Take her back to her room. And stay with her.” 

“Yes sir.”

Mikey didn’t seem all too pleased at the decision made without his input. That was very rude. “Hey, I said I can take care of her!” He insisted, his arm once more shooting out to grab at you as you were shuffled past the narrow shelves, though this attempted interruption was quickly stopped by Izana with a quick chop to the offending limb.

”And I said no.”

Puffing up his cheeks only made the gang leader look like a squirrel, earning him a chuckle from you which you failed to bite back. ”I’m telling Shinichiro.”

As if that was a threat. Ignoring Mikey, Izana simply opted to walk you to the door and to his right-hand man and trusted friend’s side. “Straight to her room, Kakucho,” he repeated firmly, before turning to you. “You don’t talk to anyone else, understand?”

You nodded obediently, which earned you a ruffle of your hair.

”See you later.” Izana waved off your escort party, before turning once more to face Mikey and Emma, still waiting inside the shop. “Let’s get this over with then.”

‎

‎

It was rare to see Hakkai in such a frenzy these days, Mitsuya mused, lilac eyes watching said man frantically scan the vicinity before rushing towards him from the airport terminal exit, small suitcase all but bouncing off the floor and his legs as it was mercilessly hauled across the ground.

That striking blue hair was still visible as it bobbed above a drifting crowd of unsuspecting tourists. Comfortably leaning against the door of his car, the former Toman captain took the time to review the context of the situation he had found himself in, starting with the phone call he had received in the dead of night just a day before. He had thought nothing much of it at first, despite the strange 3am call: Hakkai had been overseas on a modeling contract for an international brand for the past week, as a well-sought after model usually was, so perhaps it was just that his former Division Vice Captain had forgotten about time zone differences.

Yet even with that excuse, the whole situation only got stranger, something that even a half-asleep former delinquent-turned-fashion designer noted; the blue-haired man sounded as if he was attempting to catch his breath after running a full marathon, huffing and puffing as he struggled to say even the few words informing Mitsuya that he was already on his way back to Japan, and would contact him when he lands. Divines only knew what was urgent enough to send Hakkai into such a rash decision, though he supposed he would find out soon.

Pushing off from his car, Mitsuya raised one hand as the third youngest Shiba sibling closed the distance, coming to a screeching halt just inches away. The lilac-haired man swore he could see the smoke trails left behind from the suddenly dispersed momentum, though judging from those blown eyes and half-style hair, it wasn’t exactly the best time for a joke. “Hakkai,” he greeted simply, sliding both hands back into his pockets. “What happened?”

“She’s missing, Taka-chan,” Hakkai stammered out, one hand on his chest as if to keep both his lungs and heart from falling out of his chest. “My lil’ sis, she’s gone.”

[doctorprofessorsong]

Destiel Fic Recs

Let's all pretend that I didn't just do one of these because I have clearly been consuming fic at an alarming rate.

A Beginner's Guide to Communing with the Dead by suspiciousflashlight @huntingthehaggis (Mature, 77k,)

Listen. I am actually mad at all y'all cause this fic has existed since 2013 and nobody told me to read it until now.

Detective Dean Winchester is haunted (literally) by the murder of a little girl. Unable to move on, he makes the decision to summon an ancient creature, Castiel, using forbidden magic. But the murder is only the beginning and he and Cas find themselves in a race against time to fight an ancient evil.

This fic has everything. Immaculate worldbuilding. Trueform Cas. Impeccable humor. Seriously, I devoured it. I'm shocked it took me this long to find it (probably because it's older), but I'm so happy I did.

The Beginning by valleydean (emmbrancsxx0) @valleydean (Explicit, 129k)

A horrorfest Endverse fic, Mallory tackles what happened between the Croatoan infection and Dean and Cas' arrival in Camp Chitaqua. It's canon compliant and it really digs into Dean losing hope and becoming the darker version of himself and Cas falling into addiction and losing his angelic powers. 

It's angsty and brutal and gross in the way zombie stories are. It's also got shining moments of love in the face of hopeless odds. Plus there's a character named River so you know it's good.

I also think watching the degradation of these two characters, and the way their love can't be denied even then is just really a good read. 

Above & Below by murron (Explicit, 45k)

Speaking of older fics to lose your fucking mind over, this fic is absolutely immaculately done. Steeped in canon and set in S6, Dean, Cas and Soulless Sam embark on a journey through the circles of hell. Their mission is to recover Sam’s soul and their brother Adam from the cage.

It's really beautifully constructed with the vision of Hell pulled from various pieces of lore. This is a horror story for sure, but it's not a hopeless one. It's more like an epic mythological journey. And at its heart is the love story of Dean and Cas, and a lot of healing for Dean and Sam.

It's high concept. It's poetic. It's a top tier story to meltdown over.

Sentinel by Followsthebees (Explicit, 15k) @follows-the-bees

A delightful entry from the monsterfluffer bang, Dean finds himself increasingly enamored with a gargoyle on the roof of his work. What he doesn't know is the gargoyle feels the same way.

This has some absolutely delicious smut. 10/10 magical creature porn. But also Dean is so cute and lonely and full of love and Cas us such a delightful little creature. A fantastic time was had by all (me). Canon is integrated in a really fun way in a few places and the humor is fantastic.

Just a complete romp.

A pun regarding the word "bull" by zation @zationao3 (Explicit, series 41k)

Smutty and fluffy and oh so horny, this fic is a fun AU with light angst, a lot of sexual tension, but ultimately it's just a fun ride with a happy ending.

Castiel doesn't have time for attachments, but his money does afford him all the comforts of wealth and a string of casual lovers. When he spots Dean on the back of a mechanical bull, he decides he's found his next conquest - and a very willing one at that.

But after that night, both men can think of nothing but a repeat performance. Unfortunately, they failed to exchange numbers. Even more unfortunately, Dean just happens to be the new contactor engaged by Cas' company and therefore off limits. 

There is some delicious smut in this one. The angst is counteracted with a sweet, soft pining and a profound bond type immediate connection that is a delight to read. 

You Better Not Stay by FriendofCarlotta @friendofcarlotta (Explicit, 17k) 

A fantastic horrorfest thriller, this one delivers jump scares and teen scream delight.

Dean and Cas have been best friends just short of forever and lovers for a year. But now that high school is behind them, Cas wants to leave to find freedom from his fucked up family. Dean can’t bring himself to join him. There’s Sam and the family business.

On the cusp of separation, Dean decides to take Cas on a little date to the abandoned skating rink they used to love when they were kids. Only they aren't alone, and if they're not careful, their last night together could be their last night on earth.

This one is great for the jumps and screams. But it's the soft way they love each other and the vulnerability that make this one memorable. Dean is heartbreakingly earnest trying to impress the man he loves. And Cas is sarcastic and sweet in a perfect balance.

And you're the sky by Desirae (Explicit, 28k)

Quite by accident I have two fics on here following the missed connection/one night stand reappears in your life trope, but they are very different. This one has a lot more roommates to lovers domesticity and some delightful Wings (the show) vibes.

Dean’s best friend, Gabriel, has been grounded due to medical issues. In order to save his small airline, he calls upon his estranged brother, Castiel for assistance. Being a good friend, Dean happily offers up a room in his house to Cas. Only when he shows up, he happens to be the one who got away - a hookup who was going by the name Jimmy.

This fic is soft and sweet. There's a lot of caretaker Dean and domestic vibes. It has the soft vibes of a fic where the two main characters are circling one another and you almost feel like it's inevitable that they will eventually find their way to each other. There is some family trauma, but the angst is largely countered by a lot of intentional healing. Throw in a fantastic cast of characters and this one is definitely worth the read.

Check out my other recs at @riversrecs

[pacifymebby]

Oh wow oh wow what a chapter I'm in awe, Heaven is truly captivating and terrifying also.

There's so many things I want to say :o

First of all, I loved the description of Heaven wrapped up in Arthur's long black coat, there's something so comforting and domestic about it, so pure? I guess. In a way it shows how devoted to eachother they are that even when she's not standing next to him she's wearing his coat and in a way still has him with her.

I also adored the mention of how their scents have blended together and their love now has its own unique smell. Thats so lovely and intimate!! A really beautiful way of bringing physicality to an emotion.

And oh my god the drama in this chapter, I thought you did a truly wonderful way of describing Tommy's panic, and the scene where he accuses Heaven and Arthur has to hold her back, his arms wrapping around her, the way he has to whisper to her to calm her down! She's so fierce and formidable and even though she's described as being this delicate ethereal creature she's very much got this underlying malevolence to her which I LOVE!!!! Like, I'm a little bit scared of her and I love that.

The scene in the church had me on the edge of my seat, I wasn't exactly scared for Heaven because I had a feeling she'd be able to handle herself, I was more scared for everyone else involved because my god, I wouldn't want to be on the recieving end of that woman's wrath. I loved the brutal and feral way she killed Hughes' accomplice, there something about a woman killing someone with multiple stab wounds by a ordinary household item which really gets my "final girl" senses buzzed. You described the violence and also the emotional empty aftermath beautifully.

Oh and finally, those final words exchanged between Ada and Heaven. I gasped. Truly poetic and haunting and goodness I think I might need a moment to recover from this read, it was truly awe inspiring!!!

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  What is supposed to be a chill afternoon at the grand opening of the Grace Shelby Institute for Orphaned Children, turns out to be a nightmare: Charles is kidnapped and chaos spreads in the Shelby family. This is when Thomas remembers something you had told him: "You should keep an eye on Charles. You really should.”  He suddenly understands: You did it.

Words: 5K

TW: Angst, Child kidnapping, typical canon violence, graphic description of violence, death of secondary characters, murder, a very quick allusion to child abuse, gruesome kills, a lot of blood I guess

Notes:

✞ This chapter is based on the event of S3 Episode 6. Italicized parts are taken from the show. However, it contains many changes from the show's script, especially to accommodate this fanfiction's purposes and the characters' development.

✞ Theme song to listen to on repeat while reading if you want

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here).

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“Say it Tom, say it to ‘em! ” Arthur’s loud voice exclaimed in a joyful tone, calloused hands clapping with strength to encourage his little brother and his speech. The whole crowd, as well as you, followed his example and stood up to applaud the founder of the Grace Shelby Institute for Orphaned Children. Admittedly, you recognized that the idea of opening such an establishment was surprising yet excellent, especially coming from the family’s boss. Quickly glancing at Arthur and his smile, you could not help but melt. The blinded love and trust he had for Tommy had something admirable despite your rocky relationship with little King Shelby.

You sit back and, as you did, Arthur gently put his hand on your thigh and took a look at you, his magnificent blue eyes shining with affection. He did not need to say a single word for you to understand what was going through his mind: he was just proud. Proud of Tommy, obviously, but particularly proud to attend such a significant ceremony with his stunning woman by his side. Even though most of the town knew about Arthur’s mysterious angel, attending the event with you had something official. The butterflies in his stomach flapped their wings when he introduced you to some guests as his sweetheart — you had even overheard him calling you his “future wife”. The way some of the visitors looked at both of you, their traits stretching in surprise as they realized that the sweetest creature they have ever seen was deeply enraptured with him, was enough to fill his heart with pride. A faint smile flattered your juicy lips at such an endearing vision, the joy it brought upon you making the whole crowd disappear for a few seconds as you lost yourself in Arthur’s beauty. Another thunder of applause popped your daydreams and forced you to shift your focus back on what was going on.

In fact, the first lyrics of Immortal Invisible brought you back to reality as it echoed in the room. You were about to join the chorus, Arthur’s fingers discreetly reaching for yours as a silent request to hear you sing with that lovely voice of yours, when you caught sight of Tommy leaving the room with hastened footsteps. The aura of sorrow that emanated from him stirred both your empathy and your worries — even though you did not get along, you could not help but commiserate with him on this difficult day that reminded him of Grace far too much to handle the event properly. Thomas’ beloved wife was everywhere around you, you could sense it. Her presence was so overwhelming that one could have expected to see her walk into the room at one moment or another. The cruel truth was that she was gone for good, and what was left of her slowly pushed Thomas Shelby to the edge of depression. Instinctively, your cold little hand tightened its grip around Arthur. His company kept your mind from drifting too far in the dark waters of your own loss. And by loss, you meant your Dad, hung high on a tree, as well as your Mom and little sister who had burned on the pyre.

The room was filled with chatters and guests, whose discussions blended together in an unintelligible cacophony. Alone in a corner, a glass of champagne in your hand, you swept the room with interest without really taking part in any conversations. Somehow, huge gatherings had never been your cup of tea — you came from a small town lost in the mountains after all, not from the city. Moreover, you were well aware of the curious, sometimes snobbish looks other ladies gave you and you were not sure they would be particularly delighted by your presence. They thought you did not fit the picture with your long and braided white hair, your ivory sun dress, and Arthur’s long and black coat resting on your shoulders. To be true, you could not blame them, you did not fit in but you were also surprisingly fine with it. When your lips grazed the sparkly alcohol, you winced a little bit. As ironic as it sounded for a French girl, you despised the taste of champagne, even though you still took the glass you had been offered out of sheer politeness. Giving up on the idea of drinking it, you just sighed. It did not take long for you to grow bored with analyzing people’s faces — they were more or less the same, and most of them took the shape of women giggling when Thomas walked past them. You soon caught sight of Arthur and John, both talking to their brother.

“Fuck me, Tom. I don’t know how you do it.” Arthur stated, his gruff voice and harsh words contrasting drastically with Thomas’ elegant elocution. He had barely finished his sentence when the latter was once again forced into another formal conversation with aristocratic ladies. He took a quick look at John, who was sipping on a tea, and rolled his eyes, annoyed. Understanding that having a real conversation with Tommy was going to be difficult, he waved off the idea and finally headed back to you. As soon as his eyes fell on your frame, his face relaxed and enlightened with a loving smile.

“Oi. Why are you all alone, Angel?” He inquired, his arms wrapping around your waist and bringing you close to his body for he could not keep his hands off you for too long, “want to go back home?” Arthur laid a tender kiss on your cheek, gently rubbing the tip of his nose against your skin in signs of deep affection. Your smile widened at the sensation of his mustache, to the point you could not hold the light chuckle that escaped from your mouth. He was so worried about your well-being that he went straight to the point: if you wanted to leave you had every right to do so.

“No need to go back home dear, I do enjoy the party. I’m just not really good at social gatherings nor making new friends I guess!”

“Ada told me you can join in her conversations if ye want.” His thumbs caressed your hips in a circular motion.

“I don’t want to bother Ada. She seems rather busy.” You put down your glass on a nearby table, and snuggled in his arms, more than thrilled to have his whole attention for yourself. The slight anxiety you had been feeling vanished into dust at his soothing warmth and his manly perfume. A perfume that had started to blend with yours, hence creating that unique fragrance of your love.

“Hey Arthur, move. You know she likes me hugs the best.” John teased — he had also decided to keep you company rather than waiting on Tommy.

“I’m really going to kick yer ass John, don’t care if I do it in front of all the people of this bloody room.” He growled, pulling you even closer for he refused to let you go. Even if it was with his own brother. Your grin widened, their never-ending sibling arguments never failing to amuse you.

“I would take your brother’s threats with the utmost seriousness if I were you. But at the same time, I really appreciate your dauntless nature. C’m’here.” One of your arms left Arthur’s neck to welcome John in the hug despite the hoarse complaints that followed. John, not hesitating for a slight second, joined in and held you in his arms for a few but indescribably comforting seconds. Each time he would pull you in a bear hug, he would make you feel at home.

“Okay, enough —“ Arthur nudged his little brother in the ribs, the corner of his lips curling up in a sadistic smirk only older siblings knew how to do.

“Why don’t you hug me longer? Afraid to show your sensitive side, Mon amour?” John said, making his best impression of your French accent and the pet name you were always giving to his brother. This time you could not help but genuinely laugh, a part of you astounded by John’s ability to be that annoying. The face Arthur made, contorted with both shock and anger, only cracked you up harder. Still, you softly stroke his neck to keep his spirit quiet and avoid him throwing a tantrum in the middle of the room.

Finally resigning himself not to bounce on John and beat the shit out of him, Arthur looked at you with the most irresistible puppy eyes he could do. Sometimes you had trouble realizing he, who could look like a beaten dog, was the same man that could kill someone with his bare fists out of jealousy and fuck you roughly in the shower still covered with fresh blood right after.

“Lemme smack him, please Angel. Just one little tiny punch in his fookin’ face.” He begged, “Just to shut his bloody mouth, eh.”

You raised a brow, your hand trailing up his neck to fix his hairstyle — Arthur shivered at your touch, his whole body responding with tremors of lust that shook him to the core, “Not here. But you’ll find a good moment to avenge yourself, Mr. Shelby” You said, punctuating your sentence with a knowing wink.

“Woah, calm down Devil. I thought you’d defend me!” John retorted, pretending to be outraged by your betrayal.

“Not my fault if you’re stupid enough to believe that.” Your grin turned into a sharky smile.

“That’s my girl,” Arthur purred when looking at you, “always on her good ol’ Arthur’s side,” He pressed his lips on the side of your head, laying an enamored kiss upon it. How much you liked his way of showering you with love no matter where you were. Nevertheless, the lighthearted conversation did not last long, for an unpleasant gut feeling alerted all your senses. You slightly pulled away from Arthur and frowned, instinctively looking in Thomas’ direction. He was talking with Ada, his face veiled with a deep worry you had never seen him wearing. Something happened, that was the first thought that crossed your mind — and how right you were. At this moment, Thomas walked to you, his piercing blue eyes expressing concern. You saw him coming before his own brothers.

“Heaven, love? Are ya alri—“

“Boys, have you seen Charlie?” Thomas cut him off.

“Eh…” Arthur softly released you from his sweet embrace to focus on Tommy, “I don’t know. He is playing, ain’t he?” His smile faded away as if he had just sensed that something was wrong.

The wind changed for Thomas Shelby, whose legendary self-control broke down at the moment he realized Charles had disappeared. As your mind proceeded with what was happening, he had already started to go from guest to guest asking if they had seen his son. The more he asked, the more his placid tone turned into the painful roars of a wounded lion. All it took was one tiny second for the whole ceremony to dive into chaos.

Deafened by the sound of your own beating heart racing in your chest, you started to look around you in a vain attempt to find Charles maybe playing under a table or behind furniture. That was all you could do, for your feet seemed stuck in invisible roots that were keeping you from moving. You stood there, useless, for you did not know what to do. Maybe Charles was still here, hidden somewhere to prank his nanny? But all Tommy’s hopes and yours crumbled when Ada, so stunning in her elegant outfit, caught everyone’s attention with precious information.

“Tommy. Someone said they saw a nurse take him through the back door.”

Fuck, you thought.

“Fuck.” Arthur swore out loud, grabbing his sister by the wrists before storming out of the room with the other Shelbys.

Boom. Boom.

You brought your hand to your chest, now convinced your heart was about to burst. Something had definitely happened to Charles — as you had sensed weeks ago at the Garrison. Ripping through the lethargy you were embroiled in, you ran up the stairs and rummaged through each room to look for Charlie. Voices, all mixed, came through the opened window. You froze, listening to them.

“Arthur! Somebody saw a woman and a kid getting into a car.”

“Ah, fuck!”

“CHARLIE!”

“Where is he? Tell me.

_Someone took him. Listen to me! They put in in a car. They put him in a car and drove south. We’ve got roadblocks, we’ve got spotters. I’ll set up shop and put every man we’ve got… between here and Maypole.

_ Right. You do that.

_ You gotta go to the office. You gotta sit by the phone. Whoever took him is going to call. Polly! Let’s go, Pol! Stay by that phone. Me and John will cover the roads.”

And that was how the world collapsed on Thomas’ head. Again.

You looked at his car disappearing in the dull horizon, knowing that dark hours were awaiting all of you. Lost in your thoughts, you did not notice the mighty silhouette of the crow that was staring at you from the nearest tree with his dark beady eyes. A dull caw sound tore the silence that had fallen upon the mansion and snatched you from your anxious mind.

Caw. He mocked.

And to think it had warned you!

When Tommy stormed into the office, all of the family already gathering there, the sound of his soles hammering the wooden floor made the whole skies shiver with fear.

“Where’s Heaven?” He asked, blue eyes looking dagger at Arthur because if someone knew about you it was obviously him.

“Coming. She was with Esme.” His gruff voice retorted, trying to remain calm for Tommy’s sake.

“Esme’s waters broke,” John answered right away, “I was just with her. Running around fucking broke the waters.”

“Where’s Finn?” Thomas insisted.

“With the young’uns looking for the Riley. We couldn’t reach him.” Arthur informed before bringing a glass of whisky to his mouth and taking one big gulp. The fire that trailed down his throat almost made him sigh with momentary relief.

“I need to know who spoke. Our enemies know everything. Everything. I need to know who spoke about business outside of the family. I need to know who spoke, who they’ve spoken to.” Tommy was trying hard to remain calm but his erratic breath and the quick pace of his words betrayed the rage that was boiling within him.

“Tommy…

_ Your future wife, Arthur?”

Arthur’s pinched his lips, swallowing the furious urge to yell at his little brother for uttering such an obnoxious accusation. He looked away as he tried to keep his composure.

“I’m gonna tell myself you’re not thinking straight. Your mind’s not clear.”

“I want to see her now, you hear me?”

It was at this moment you entered the room as if you had been summoned by Thomas’ words. You had appeared in the doorframe without a single noise, Arthur’s dark coat contrasting with the unsettling porcelain of your skin and the fair aquamarine of your iris. There you stood, all the family’s eyes staring at you for they had told you it would have been probably better if you did not come. All of them were more or less aware of Tommy's hostility toward you, and they knew he would certainly find a way to blame you in one way or another.

“Speaking of the Devil.” He said with his most collected tone, while his gaze darkened at the sight of your doll face. If Arthur saw an Angel when looking at you, Thomas could only recognize the threatening shadow of death floating around your silhouette, the long coat you were wearing reminding him of the Grim Reaper’s cloak. All that was missing from the picture was a scythe in your hand, “Did you speak?” He asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You simply replied, walking to Arthur. The wooden floor creaked under your heels. You were already exhausted by his accusations you knew that were awaiting you. But still, you came, because all you wanted was to be where you belonged: by Arthur's side, supporting him.

“I know Arthur can’t keep his fucking mouth shut and tells you everything.” He quickly glanced at his brother, who was staring at an invisible dot on the wall to keep calm, and shifted all his focus back to you again. You clenched your jaw at the petty comment, “So I’m gonna reiterate the question and you’re going to answer me, eh. Did you speak?"

“I did not speak, Tommy. I said nothing.”

“Don't lie to me.” He retorted right after you finished your sentence. His hands, pressed against the table, were now trembling with a rage he desperately tried to tame, “I know you’ve got something to do with all this shit. I know that’s you.”

You opened your mouth to protest but Arthur was quicker. Grabbing your wrist in case he needed to protect you from his brother, he stepped between the two of you, “Come on Tommy, I know yer angry and anxious, but that ain’t a reason to accuse her. She didn’t do anything.”

“Ah. Arthur Shelby protecting his damn fallen Angel, I was expecting it" His eyes went from him to you several times, "Do you think she didn’t? So, can you explain why did she tell me to keep an eye on Charles weeks ago?” Tommy's words were coated with poison. The quietness of his voice, highlighted by the rumble of his growling soul, only rendered him more impressive. Silence fell over the office at such a revelation no one knew.

Astounded, Arthur turned to you and, with his brows furrowed in confusion, stared at you, “Did ya — Did ya really say that?”

You blinked, stunned by Thomas’ vivid memory and by the gleam of shock in Arthur’s steel blue eyes.

“Hey, listen. I did not plot behind this family’s back nor did I hurt Charlie or anything.”

“Why would you say that to me then?” Tommy took a few steps toward you. He would usually avoid coming to close to you when other people were around, but you were not sure he would do so this time. You wanted to back off but Arthur’s grip tightened around your wrist, for he did not know what to think anymore. “Whose side are you on, uh?” Tommy asked, "Did anyone ever wonder whose side she's on?"

“I saw a crow on my way to the Garrison and I felt it was a bad omen. And then I had a gut feeling after our conversation. That’s all, Thomas! It was just a damn clairvoyant gut feeling!” You defended yourself, before looking at Arthur, “I swear it’s the truth.”

"Yeah, the truth," Arthur repeated, trying to overcome his insecurities.

“Oh my God, keep your witchcraft-coated excuses for someone else, Heaven. You talked at best, you work with Hughes at worst. After all, you knew him before you came into our lives” Tommy tried to come closer again but Polly grabbed him by the arm, keeping him at a safe distance, “No matter the makeup and the jewels you wear they won’t hide the Devil under there.”

“Don’t imply I have something to do with that fucking bastard!” You hissed through your teeth, hatred blooming within at the sole mention of the name. This time, Arthur’s calloused hands grabbed you by your shoulders to keep you still, for you were starting to get agitated. At this point, he was not sure if he did it to protect you from Tommy, or to protect Tommy from you.

“Heaven, calm down…” He said softly, trying to ease the wildfire of your anger.

“He’s accusing me of Charles’ kidnapping, Arthur! I can’t fucking believe it!” You protested, your doll face wearing injustice like the most beautiful jewel ever crafted. Arthur kept you firmly against his chest, his arms locking around you and his hoarse voice whispering “I know love…” in your ear.

“And I can’t believe you think I'm naive enough to believe you talked to a bloody crow and got a bad feeling. Tell me where’s my son, you Devil.” Thomas growled in the background.

Polly pulled his nephew’s arm, for he was starting to be too harsh with you “Why not? She has brought a bird back to life Tommy. I would not be surprised if she saw it coming one way or another.”

“'Scuse me?” He turned around in one vivid movement, his eyes diving into his Aunt’s. He could not believe what she had just said.

Another silence flew over the room as the rest of the Shelby family confirmed Pol’s information with a nod of the head. All the people in this office had witnessed the extent of your power at the last gathering you had organized in your garden — hence the fact they were not particularly surprised by your sharp instincts. John swallowed, recalling the way the bird first twitched in your small hands before flying away, wings flapping with newly breathed energy.

“Pol’s right, Tom,” Ada started, “I usually don’t believe in these kind of things but it’s true. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

It was too much for Tommy, who already was on the very edge of his patience. There went his mind, aching at the thought of his sweet son trapped between the monstrous and disgusting claws of that twisted priest. His boy, the last thing that kept Grace’s memory alive, had been snatched from him and here his family was, defending the one that probably did it. Of course, he believed in supernatural forces — he was convinced a curse took Grace away from him — but Tommy needed a more rational explanation. He needed anything that could help to get Charles back. He brought one of his trembling hands to his mouth, gathering all his remaining strength to restrain himself in such a catastrophic situation, “She resurrected a damn bird, and no one told me…” He said to himself, " She resurrected a bird," He repeated, a faint and nervous chuckle escaping from his lips before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

“Heaven‘s really sensed it, nothing else. You know she would never harm Charles. She felt it coming Tommy. She is… She is gifted. Do you understand how useful she could be?” Polly’s words, coated with both softness and authority, managed to soothe the hurricane of violence that was raging within him. Thomas had stopped talking yet he kept looking at you with anger burning in his ice-cold eyes.

You frowned —still trapped in Arthur’s arms for your own sake—, and looked at Polly.

“Forget it, Pol. He’s not going to change his mind.” You finally said after letting out a long sigh. A part of you was well aware that bargaining with Thomas Shelby was useless. Moving your shoulders, you managed to free yourself from Arthur’s embrace and, to his greatest surprise, made your way to the exit. He almost jumped, catching your hand in his.

“Heaven.”

“No Arthur, this is fucking useless. I am not going to stay here and let him blame me for everything that happens to this family while I did nothing but share my clairvoyant feeling with him. He wants me to prove whose side I’m on? Fine! I’ll do it then! ”

Arthur opened his mouth, thinking about something that could convince you to stay but he knew you were right. He finally lowered his head, jaw clenched and eyes avoiding yours.

“Gonna come with you then,” His gruff voice mumbled.

“No, you stay there.” You said, which made Arthur frown even more and look at you with utter confusion, “Thomas needs you. He’s aching and vulnerable. Stay with him and do what you have to do, Arthur. I'll wait for you.”

“Alright.” He resigned himself, worries making his magnificent eyes shine, “ one last thing.” He said after a few seconds of hesitation.

“Hm?”

“Tell me you have nothing to do with Charles’ kidnapping.” He dared to say, feeling utterly ashamed by the fact he needed reassurance about it. But he had always trusted Tommy more than anyone else and now, he was conflicted between his loyalty to his brother and the maddening love he had for you.

“Arthur… Are you serious?” You asked, your heart hurting at such a demand. A sigh fell from your lips, whose red lipstick made even more hypnotizing. “ I promise I'm not involved in Charles' kidnapping. You have my word.” You finally said as you looked at him right in the eyes, trying to hide the pain.

“I— I trust you,” He paused, “I trust you.” He repeated, then he pulled you in a quick hug to soothe his inner turmoil. To be true, he would have probably died if it turned out you had been toying with his heart all along. But Arthur refused to believe Tommy was right, this awful thought almost leading him to the path of madness again, “Take care, love. See you later.”

You replied with a faint, exhausted smile and left the building, disappearing in the fog of Birmingham’s streets.

The fact remained that Tommy did not feel better after you left.

Or Esme getting cash for cocaine, eh, John?

All of a sudden, back in the family, Ada, eh. That’s a surprise. Out of the blue. On whose orders?

And you and your painter…

Down he went, spiraling into a paranoid craze and, to everyone's greatest surprise, you were not the only one that had triggered it.

The sound of Death Knell resonated in the night, its threatening shadow floating over Birmingham houses and souls. Following Tommy’s plan, John and Arthur roamed through the train station with the firm will of spreading calculated chaos at 10 o’clock in a grandiose murderous explosion. You can go with them but it’s better if you let them do the job, that was more or less what Arthur had told him before he left. Despite the orders given, Michael managed to leave the two henchmen behind and reached Hughes’ church without getting caught by another Peaky Blinder. It was not that Tommy’s plan was poor, but he indubitably needed to take care of this business alone. No one around him seemed to understand how deep his pain was entangled with Father Hughes. He had to wipe the priest out by himself — he had promised it to his little self after many sleepless nights recalling his dirty hands wandering on him.

And he did.

Michael was panting, a mix of thick repugnant blood and sweat dripping from his face. Still straddling Father Hugues’ corpse, the young Blinders’ hands were frozen on the knife he had thrust into the priest’s throat. The hot and sticky sensation almost made him throw up when it first poured over his skin. A crimson puddle had already formed under the body, growing bigger and bigger as minutes passed. And when that same puddle reached the floor’s grooves, it filled them with dark red blood and drew patterns on the wood.

Another grunt escaped from Michael’s quivering lips as he slowly realized what he had done. He killed. Again.

All wobbly on his legs, Michael Gray still managed to stand up and took a few steps back, his hand leaning on a bench. His fair eyes did not shift from Father Hughes’ motionless body for he forced himself to look at him— there lied the monster who had terrified him for years. There lied the child eater, his neck opened and his obscene glassy eyes staring blankly at the church’s ceiling.

Coming back to his senses the best he could, Michael stumbled to the heavy door of the room from which Father Hughes came out and opened it. All he wanted was to carry Charles in his arms, telling him everything would be fine, and flee from this cursed place. Yet, his heart missed a beat when he entered the small room and realized Charles was not there.

“Fuck!” Michael blurted out. Panic kicked in again as he tried to come up with a solution, or at least an idea of what to do. He knew he had to think, and he had to think pretty fast because Charles' life was threatened. He needed to find the kid before it was too late. The main reason behind his dedication was not only to show his worth, but also to keep a child from suffering at an Hughes’ hands ever again. However, Michael's thinking process shattered in pieces when he heard the heartbreaking cries of a kid yelling at the top of his lungs. Blood froze in his veins as he recognized Charles’ voice.

Following the screams, there was a thundering noise of something heavy dropped to the floor, and nothing. Nothing except a chilling silence that brought goosebumps to his pale flesh.

Oh no.

Michael stood still in the loud silence, as petrified as an animal in front of the blinding headlights of a car.

No, no, no!

They’ve killed him, he thought. Of course, they did. Father Hughes was probably not alone in that bloody church, even though Tommy said he did not expect them to come. Someone was here and took advantage of the chaos of his fight with Hughes to grab Charles and hurt him. Whoever his accomplice was, they had just ended Charles's life and it was all his fault. If only he had listened to Arthur. If only he had let the two henchmen do their job and handle the situation. Guilt started to beat him.

Michael shook his head, hoping it was not too late, and ran toward the direction the noise and cries came from. His heart raced in his chest as his legs almost automatically moved, winding up his anxiety like a mechanical toy, and led him to a second room he did not see at first.

“HANDS UP YOU BASTARD!” Michael yelled, storming into the room that was directly linked to a backdoor exit: the perfect spot for Hughes’ accomplice to flee with the kid in case of emergency. Or to kill him in case something happened to the priest. Pointing his gun in front of him, Michael was ready to shoot, hatred blazing in his eyes. He winced at the foul and slightly metallic smell of blood that jumped at his face as he entered the place. Michael was a brave boy. He was ready to use violence. He was ready to actively take part in the family business. Hell, he was even ready to die if that was what he had to do, but there was one thing no one prepared him to face and it was what he saw in this place.

“Oh my God!”

He cried out, his breath hitching with panic as his blue eyes, filled with tears, first caught sight of a second corpse lying in a lake of blood. If Hughes' dead body was already gruesome, it was nothing compared to his accomplice's.

The man, who was strong in stature and impressive in height, was staring at him with blank eyes, silently begging for help. His petrified face, splattered with dark blood, was distorted in a terrified expression as if he had seen the Devil itself before dying. Yet the cause of the poor lad’s death was not fright, but rather the dozen stabbing wounds that scattered his body, and the pair of huge scissors that was deeply stuck into his neck. Michael could not help but step back, so disoriented by the macabre spectacle that was in front of his bewildered eyes that he dropped the gun Tommy had given him. The sound it made when it crashed on the floor caused Charles to cry again.

“Shhhh, everything’s fine Charlie. Everything’s fine. Keep your eyes closed.” A soft and enchanting voice raised in the room, like it did the night Arthur wandered aimlessly to church. For a few seconds, Michael was convinced the voice did not come from a human being. It sounded so foreign, so alluring, it could only belong to an angel of justice, whose avenging blade fell on Hughes' associate. Then he saw her, the creature, and his eyes widened even more.

“Bloody fucking hell.“ He really tried to say something else but his brain could not proceed with the sight of Arthur’s woman holding Charles in her arms, her sweet angel face and frail body entirely covered with crimson stains.

“I know.” You simply replied, one of your hands tenderly resting behind Charles’ head to keep him from looking at the butchered dead man that had fallen on the floor when your scissors tore his jugular vein.

Michael stood still, staring at you with utter shock.

"How?" He managed to ask, one sole tear running down his cheek.

"Please Michael, don't ask questions. I just — I just want to go home." You whispered, the far too familiar smell of blood and after-taste of murder making your head spin. You closed your eyes for one second to keep the traumatizing images of your past from flooding your brain and let out a shaky exhale. When you came back to your senses, you walked to Michael and put Charles in his arms, still careful to keep the corpse out of his sight. Then you left the room.

As you passed by Father Hughes, you stopped and looked at him from above, indescribable hatred blazing in your iris.

"See you in Hell, sale fils de pute — You son of a bitch — "

Michael followed, still unable to keep his eyes away from your mesmerizing frame scattered with blood drop like millions of precious rubies. The way you looked at Hughes' corpse resonated with him so much he could not help but talk.

" Did he..." He left his sentence hanging, but you understood what he meant.

"No, he did not. But he still found another way to be the cause of my sorrow," You glanced at Michael from above your shoulder, "I'm glad you killed this bastard. There are people whose souls can't be saved, and he is one of them."

"Yes, he definitely is." Charles had calmed down in his arms, lulled by the soft movements as Michael walked outside the church by your side, "what about the second man?"

"He was about to kill Charlie and then come for you." You replied, trying your best to forget the unpleasant sensation of half coagulated blood on your delicate skin. Michael took a while to process the information and realized you had probably saved his and Charles' life.

"Are you okay?" He asked. His question brought a faint yet terribly melancholic smile to your lips for it reminded you that you had broken the only promise you did to yourself. The promise of not taking another life ever again.

"Are you?" You replied to his interrogation by another one.

"No, I'm not. I feel... Empty."

"So, you already know the answer."

When the door opened and Michael entered the house with Charles sobbing in his arms, Polly and Ada ran towards him and cried in relief as they hugged the child. Polly soon focused on his own son, whose blank expression left no doubt on what he had to do to save Tommy’s kid… He killed, and it changed him forever. She laid a gentle hand on his cheek, checking on him with tears in her eyes, knowing she could not do anything to ease Michael's pain anymore -- and what was more awful for a mother than watching his child suffer without being able to do something about it? What snatched her from the sorrowful conclusion she had come to was Ada’s gasp, who had just realized Michael was not alone. You had followed him, a cold expression etched on your face and a myriad of red ink stains soiling your whiteness.

“She helped,” Michael stated with a tired voice before anyone had the time to say something, “She helped me save him.”

Ada looked at you with surprise, trying to discover the mysteries your traits hid so well, but her focus was far too disrupted by the frightening amount of blood that was covering you. Blood everywhere on the stunning, little, murderous creature she never thought you were. Many questions raged in her skull, like a tornado of thoughts and speculations. After what seemed to be a whole eternity, she managed to speak,

“For God’ sake… It could have been dangerous!” She said, blinded to the simple possibility you had just killed someone without batting an eye, "You are wounded! Look at the blood!"

You sighed and remained silent, stealing the silver cigarette case that was on the nearby furniture. The tip of your tongue moistened your juicy lips, whose corner was stained with red lipstick you smeared all over your skin when you had tried to wipe the blood that had splattered on your face.

"It's not mine."

Your hands were still shaking from what you had to do, unpleasantly recalling their past crimes. Then, you slipped one cigarette between your teeth and lit it with the zippo you found in the pocket of Arthur’s coat that was still on your shoulders. Shivering with cold despite the fire burning in the hearth, you nestled a bit more in his coat in a desperate attempt to find a substitute for your man's comforting warmth.

"I beg your pardon? Whose blood is it?" She almost choked with surprise. Then it struck her. "Heaven..."

You did not say a single word and kept smoking in almost religious silence.

"Who the hell are you?" Ada inquired, her shaky voice coated with an odd mix of fear and fascination stirred by the eerie aura that was all around you.

You took a long puff from your cigarette before staring deep at Ada’s beautiful eyes. You looked at her for a while, then shift your focus on the fire burning in the fireplace. You watched the flames dance, the sound of wood cracking sending shivers down your spine. Ada swallowed, waiting for your answer. She, who had defended you in front of Tommy a bit earlier, could not tell anymore if you were the hero they needed or the villain they had to fear.

Saint or sinner? Spell or prayer? Blessing or curse?

Who are you, she asked.

“I am the one they really should have burned.”

A cloud of smoke came from your mouth as if hellfire was burning within you.

And somehow, it was certainly the case.

✞ gif by the talented @alicent-targaryen

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞ Normally, each chapter of this series can be read as stand-alone but not this one. It's far more enjoyable if you have read at least the previous chapter.

Tag: @meowtastick @babayaga67 @sired-to-hybridrid @shelbyssins @kxnnxyasdfg @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd

[mirandagoing4baroque]

Reader’s Notes: Tell Me I’m Worthless

I was not surprised when I got to the end of Tell Me I’m Worthless and found out the author is a poet. It almost reads like a novel in verse. I wish I had approached it that way, honestly, because I think it would have improved my experience.

This is a book that does what it sets out to do really well and I am just fundamentally not the audience for it. I am really glad that this book exists and I’m glad that I read it but the experience wasn’t exactly what I would call pleasant. It’s a book about how fascism is a haunted house and how it makes ghoulish villains and traumatized victims of us all.

It’s a very intense reading experience—pay attention to the trigger warnings at the beginning because the author is telling the truth. Because of the intense and poetic language it feels like taking whole spoonfuls of that sour powder that comes with those lollipops you get as a child. This book made me deeply uncomfortable and it was probably a good thing for me to read. But I can’t quite say I enjoyed it.

I think I was expecting something a little closer to a traditional haunted house book. I wasn’t the target audience but I hope this book finds its people, because it’s an important story and there are people who need to hear it. If you’re down for a more intense, all grown up, antifa Haunting of Hill House, and you don’t mind some very graphic and upsetting sexual content, and love words that move like a rhythm and beat like your own wounded heart--don’t miss Tell Me I’m Worthless.

I was provided an advance reader copy in exchange for this honest review.

[felassan]

Some snippets of insight from DD&D! [source & full Q&A] -

Who’s your favorite NPC across Dragon Age—the person with a small part but a big impact?

Luke Kristjanson: "Sutherland and his company from Inquisition. He and his little group were just a side thing for me and the Level Designer for Skyhold, a little piece of extra content, but we loved them so much. We were very protective of them, and building their arc was end-of-day fun. Sutherland’s a plucky guy assembling essentially a Level One D&D party to adventure and help where he can, and his table missions are full of little nods to classic adventure modules. I borrowed the name Sutherland from a college friend with the same infectious optimism. I had to include his company in Tevinter Nights, because I want their story to go on."

What Dragon Age question, conundrum, or puzzle is your favorite?

Luke: "Indirectly, the Quizquisition, the weirdo who haunts Skyhold and waylays you with trivia. It was the product of one tired day in the cafeteria, and a Faustian bargain with the Art Lead. In exchange for me adding the Quizquisition, he promised he would get us nuggalopes. So I created Lord Trifles Minutiae and his randomly rotating questions, and little did I know that 'nuggalope' would become 'war nug' and fully fledged mounts. Best deal I ever made."

Patrick: "I really like the choice about making Cole more Spirit or more Human, because it doesn't feel like there's one choice that's clearly good and one that's clearly evil. It's a choice I see people disagreeing about even when they agree on a lot of other things, and I like that a lot."

What was your proudest contribution to Dragon Age? John E.: "That's a toss-up between the Varric hug in Inquisition, or getting it so elves and dwarves could romance The Iron Bull. Both were significant technical challenges. In the case of the Varric hug, I think it was an important roleplaying moment for players to get the chance to comfort Varric, who'd been with them all throughout. In the case of Iron Bull, it was an opportunity to let more players take the romance and give dwarves and elves more romance options."

Cameron: "Daring Patrick Weekes to write an entire ability tree's descriptions in iambic pentameter (Double Daggers in DA:I). That they rhymed the ability upgrades with the base descriptions was just icing on the poetic cake."

[source and full Q&A]

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 3

A/N As promised, Jamie returns in this chapter.  He has an appointment to keep, after all.   Because I can’t think of anything more creative, this chapter is entitled “Second Appointment”.  For previous chapters, your best bet is to check out the story on my AO3 page.

The week both crept and flew past, like one of those dreams in which she ran until her lungs burned, but never managed to get anywhere.  Kinetic motion trapped in amber.   Claire never did tell Geillis about her excursion to Corstorphine Hill over the weekend, embarrassed by how it had ended.  

And now it was Thursday.  She’d opted for a protein smoothie for lunch, a meal with no chance of leaving leafy residue between her teeth.  It was likely wasted vanity.  As two o’clock drew near, she bargained with herself to abandon any hope she may be harbouring.  Jamie Fraser had shown no interest in participating in the psychiatric process during his first appointment.  Fraternal obligation had brought him to her office once, but he didn’t strike her as a man who yielded the reins of his life easily.  It wasn’t likely he would return.

When it came his distinctive knock, crisp and insistent, caught her unawares, even though she’d just been staring at his name in her planner.  She hastily pushed the items on her desk to one side, patted uselessly at her curls, and called out for him to enter.

“Good afternoon, Doctor Beauchamp,” he greeted cautiously.  “Miss Duncan told me tae come straight in.”

There was something different about him today.  His clothing, certainly.  Instead of casual wear, he wore trousers and a button down, wet splotches over the shoulders attesting to the fact that it had begun raining again.  And while he still took up an inordinate amount of space in her small office, he seemed... diminished, somehow.  A paler echo of the fireworks display of his first visit.

“Of course.  Please have a seat, Mister Fraser.”

“Jamie, if you will,” he corrected as he settled gingerly into the armchair.  “Mister Fraser was my Da.”

Something about his tone and the fact his laser blue eyes wouldn’t meet her own as he spoke the words caused her to lean into his statement.

“Did your father pass away recently, Jamie?”

A moment, an indrawn breath of panic, and then it was cleverly masked with a wry glance.

“Aye, last year.  An’ yer no’ very subtle, doctor.”

“I didn’t realize subtlety was called for,” she parried.  “You made another appointment, and I specialize in grief counselling.  Why else would you be here?”

Despite the fact that it wasn’t productive from a psychiatric point of view, she enjoyed his reluctance to hastily expose his inner demons.  Too often, her practice required her to work carefully in order to avoid shaping the pliable emotions of her patients.  While obviously hurting, Jamie had an unflinching, unalterable quality that she admired.  Not to mention that the intellectual game of cat and mouse they were playing was wildly stimulating.

“I suppose I enjoyed our conversation,” Jamie teased.  “An’ Miss Duncan’s shortbread.”

With an awkward squint that she imagined was meant to be a wink, her patient rose to investigate the current offerings on her tea table.

“Och, petit fours!” he exclaimed with childlike glee and perfect French pronunciation.  “There was a café none too far from my flat in Paris tha’ made these.  I’d often grab some on my way tae the office.”

He returned to the desk with a small plate of the pastries, pushing it towards her as he settled into his seat.

“No, thank you.  I’ve just eaten.”

Like a searchlight, his bright eyes didn’t miss much.  He glanced significantly at the half-empty plastic smoothie container to one side of her desk.  Rather than chide her for her austerity, as Geillis frequently did, he instead made a show of biting into each of the four little squares until there was nothing left but crumbs.  Her stomach muttered in complaint.

“What did you do in Paris?” she asked as he finished his snack with a contented sigh.

“Oh, a wee bit of this and that,” he demurred.  In response to her exasperated look, he continued, “I started out at the Bourse.  Futures, options, arbitrage, that sort of thing.  I have a good ear fer languages, sae from there I went into foreign exchange.  Import export, and the like.”

“You’re a financier?” she asked, somewhat more incredulous than she ought to be.  She wasn’t certain what she had pictured James Fraser doing for a living, but greasing the wheels of capitalism definitely wasn’t it.

“Was,” he corrected.  “I quit an’ came home tae Scotland last year.”

“When your father died,” she guessed.

“Aye.”

She once again had the sense of standing in front of a locked door that Jamie had no intention of opening.  Rather than hammer uselessly on its stubborn surface, she nimbly diverted the conversation sideways.

“What do you do for work now?”

A slow blink followed by a dawning smile indicated he was aware of her stratagem.

“I’m a carpenter.”

It was rare for Claire to be truly surprised by people.  She made a living reading their unspoken cues.  Twice in the same conversation was unheard of.

“A carpenter?” she repeated as though she hadn’t heard him perfectly well the first time.

“Aye.  Like Jesus, ye ken?”

With a quicksilver grin, Jamie launched into a description of his current occupation, which involved the making of reproduction antiques and custom pieces for clients around Scotland.  She realized with a start that she’d read an article about his business in a popular local magazine.  

International financier.  Self-made entrepreneur.  Tall drink of water.  James Fraser had a lot of things going for him.  And yet here he sat, paying her by the hour to listen to him avoid talking about whatever hardship had befallen him.

She mentally composed a list of the topics he was deftly avoiding with his charming anecdotes.  His father’s recent death.  The reason behind a radical change in career.  Living in the city on account of unspoken ‘family obligations’, even though his verbal reminiscence of the Highlands was so poetic it damn near made her cry.  There was something raw just below the surface of his nonchalance, and her innate curiosity cried out to find out what it was.

“You told me last week that your sister, Jenny, insisted you attend counselling.  But you said that you’re handling matters fine on your own.  Can you tell me why your sister believes otherwise?”

It might have been amusing to see such a large man squirm in different circumstances.  His left hand furrowed through his hair, setting the autumn waves on end.  His mouth, so recently relaxed and mobile as he eagerly shared the details of his craft, froze in a pained frown.  She considered whether she had pushed too hard too soon.

“I gave a lot of thought tae what ye said when we parted last week,” Jamie began at last.  “Tae be honest, it haunted me.  Jen kens me better than anyone, an’ while I like tae complain tha’ she meddles where she doesna belong, the truth is she’s truly scared fer me.  An’ even if I dinna agree tha’ my lifestyle is cause fer concern, I owe it tae her tae try tae sort myself out.  I owe her far more than that,” he finished with a rueful shake of his head.

“What kind of lifestyle has your sister so worried?” she probed.

“Whisky, women and song,” he quipped, before adding, “Weel, I canna carry a tune, but twa out of three isna half bad.”

He tried to smile away the awkward tension that descended on the office, the air ripe with unspoken words.  Claire felt disappointment whirlpool in her gut.  Just another charming rake, after all.  It really shouldn’t matter, and yet somehow it did.  More than she dared to admit.

“Yes, well, the road of excess leads to the palace of consequences, ” she sniffed at last, angry at herself for sounding like a schoolmarm.  What a bore she must seem to him, with her regimented behaviour and rigid morals.

Jamie rose abruptly, and for a half-second she imagined he might lunge at her, or storm from the room.   Instead, he spun around to face the door.  Without a word, he untucked his shirt and began to expose his lower back.

Claire was momentarily stunned silent.  Just as she managed to draw a deep enough breath to censure Jamie for his highly inappropriate strip tease, the golden velour of his lower back transformed without warning into a furrowed landscape of scar tissue, ripples and craters left by some massive trauma.  The air left her lungs on a questioning sigh.

“I ken all about consequences, Doctor Beauchamp,” he stated.  “I live with them every moment of my life.”

Her fingers found the knotted skin, surprisingly warm and mobile beneath her touch.  A shiver shimmered over the unmarred muscle of his flanks.

Before she could find any appropriate words of apology, the office door opened and Geillis stuck her head in.  She barked a cough upon seeing Jamie’s state of undress and Claire’s position, leaning across her desk.  Doctor and patient jumped apart like opposing magnets.

“Sae sorry for the interruption, but yer three o’clock is here.  Should I tell her ye’ve been... delayed?”

Jamie muttered an obscenity under his breath which Claire whole-heartedly seconded.  There was no way Geillis wasn’t going to be utterly insufferable about this.

“Mister Fraser was just leaving, Geillis.”

With a lewd wink and a nod, the door closed.

“Look, Jamie...” she began just as he apologized.  “I’m sae sorry, lass.”

They both laughed nervously.  Jamie finished tucking his shirt into his pants and turned to face the desk.

“I hope this willna cause ye any difficulties with Miss Duncan,” he began, eyes wide with concern.

“No more so than usual,” she sighed. “Geillis is a good friend.  She just... doesn’t know when to quit, sometimes,” she explained.

“Sounds jus’ like my sister.  Perhaps we should introduce them.”

She smiled, struggling to find something else to say to move past the moment.  She could hear Geillis and her next patient conversing just outside the door.  There was no time left for subtlety.

“Will I see you again next week, Jamie?” she asked, giving up on finding a more oblique way of phrasing the question that was reverberating through her mind.

Jamie’s bashful smile dipped towards the floor, causing his hair to fall in front of his eyes.

“Aye.  I’ll even keep my clothes on, if ye ask nicely.”

It was that smile, that hair, those eyes, that carried her through the rest of her week, aloft on the anticipation of something utterly forbidden.

[rosesastrology]

what does it mean to have juno in scorpio/3rd house and pallas in pisces/6th house?

Juno in Scorpio: your ideal partner is someone with whom you have a great physical and spiritual bond. They may be superstitious, into politics and conspiracies. These people are drawn to those who have that sense of darkness, and can have a tendency to attract "broken" people. As such, communication is really important in order to deduce if you want to be with this person long-term. You give yourself wholly within a long-term commitment, and are loyal to the bone if you truly care. To truly care and connect, you need that soul-to-soul intimacy and intensity, romantically, spiritually, physically. You want this person to be a little jealous, and you may be possessive over them or want them to be like that over you (usually not in an unhealthy way).

Juno in the 3rd house: Your ideal partner is communicative and smart. They talk things out with you, respect your boundaries and feelings. They don't let you go to bed angry. They talk with you, you talk together about everything. Although they have this dark sense to them, they're funny and quick-witted. They can be very rational and their mind is attractive. In turn, you exchange knowledge and ideas with them, open up to each other and talk a lot.

Pallas in Pisces: Strategically want to help others and themselves. Can be unapologetically selfless and have a deep love for art and politics. Their sense of knowing is deeper than just rationality, there's always a sense of openness for the unknown, psychic and unpredictable. Guided imagery, dream interpretation, astrology, tarot and anything related to mysticism can be used to interpret reality. Poetic and dreamy, they inspire others to find their light and love in a place that's deeper than skin. They transcend between the material and the psychic worlds, entering a realm where transition and nihilism is present. They are the guides of life, strategically testing the waters of their ultimate purpose. These people want to end the suffering of communities and are often advocates for pacifism. These people are dreamers. They dream of a better tomorrow and have great imagination that can be put into creative visual or audio work. The downfall of this is to dream instead of do, wasting their talent, these people can get frightened by their own spiritual abilities. They can shy away from spiritualism, get scared of mysticism and the coven. It can confuse them to the point of banning it from their life. More so, they can be so confused about their goals they end up isolated and in a downwards spiral, these dreams work to haunt them. There can be a fear of death and a confusion surrounding life and death, these transitions don't serve them. They can be confused as to what to believe, not tying themselves to religion or a life philosophy can alienate them. Yet once they try to seek answers within, it can become all they know. They live by the rules they give for themselves, unintentionally locking themselves within a self-made prison. Nightmares are common warnings for these people.

Pallas in the 6th house: Selfless. These people serve the world and communities. They strategize for the greater good of others. Never thinking about themselves, they use their skills to create order and routine within the situations of others. Often, these people are huge activists. They're nature lovers, often vegan or vegetarian and if they're not they often wish to be. They tend to have strong opinions about politics, agriculture, animals, healthcare and the likes. Pets adore them. They're great servers, make great schedules and are often the most reliable ones at their workplace.

[solactier]

This one’s for you @heytherestilinski

This is going to be quite the mixture of emotions, so I apologise in advance if my expression of said feelings is all over the place, but I simply must talk about the golden fanfiction that is Heat Waves and how it has swayed my soul with sounds of sweet bells.

To start, I should say, I’ve been in love with writing and reading for as long as I can remember. The ability to weave an entire world with mere threads of words is fascinating to me, always has been. I’ve taken in quite the number of books and fanfictions throughout my period of living, and considering so, I can confidently say:

Dakota’s writing is a force to be reckoned with.

But the force I speak of is the kind that is emitted from ember sunrises that one witnesses during moments between summer and autumn. They hold a certain glow that keeps a person sat there, for incessant hours, in pursuit of a special warmth that will leave them settled and content.

I have never been captured and pulled in by a descriptive style more than I was with Dakota’s, and I say this having read a multitude of her work. This author is admirable in a multitude of ways, and I’m genuinely excited for anything and everything they will produce in the upcoming future. 

I could ramble for a good bout of time about many of Dakota’s works, but that would result in a document longer than Dream’s 19 page rebuttal, so let’s focus on one (for now).

Heat Waves

Two words that hold a grand amount of weight and cause hearts to shift.

I have a lot to say about this prosperous and glorious story, but at the same time I don’t because upon finishing a chapter, be it one of the first or the last, I am rendered speechless. My words of explanation and admiration morph into vibrations of zeal flowing through my veins as I absorb beautiful descriptions and powerful dialogue.

Heat Waves chapters aren’t ones I find myself totally rereading often, and here’s why:

When reaching the end of whatever chapter and scrolling through the final notes, I am left satisfied, completely. Dakota’s style is captivating in a way that allows me to read their sentences and phrases carefully and attentively, making sure the picture painted in my mind is as accurate as possible. I will encounter a certain, strong line and read it again, and again, and again before continuing on as to ensure I consume the sentiment being served, and mind you, it was served.

I came here at first expecting the usual or normal plate-size of feelings, but oh was I wrong, I was quenched, fully fed, if you will lol.

The reason for that is this narrative is not your typical fanfic troupe.

Heat Waves is a story about messy, unpredictable love, and that’s what makes it as enthralling as it is. It is poetic as it is real.

It’s thrilling lust turned to excruciating yet oh so warm love.

Dream misses and wants to hold onto George’s presence regardless of the pain it causes him, of the internal conflicts that have suddenly surfaced, of the changes he must face and make, of the haunting dreams. 

Even if George’s actuality distresses and brings Dream affectionate confusion, he will still reach for him. He will hurt and hurt and hurt in order to grasp the heat he’s grown a little too addicted to because he prefers when George is around, rather than when he isn’t. 

Dream’s mind spirals and his feelings scatter over interactions due to him knowing George very well, yet not knowing him at all. The two could flirt and exchange the most ridiculous of dialogue and nothing would change, and that’s where a certain dilemma is contrived: How much of this is real? What is considered serious among the numerous jokes him and George make? How far is he allowed to go? All of these questions tug at the curves of Dream’s brain and heart, and he is unsure about much, but despite that, he finds himself thinking all about George, during late nights, in the middle of June. 

Dream undergoes a series of emotional disputes over whatever the fuck is happening between himself and George, and that, my friends, is the heartache that comes from truly having feelings for someone and wanting their every speckle. Of course, such strong desires can sometimes be unhealthy. Dream, at one point, is a bad friend to Sapnap (whom we all must agree to stan because damn sir your back must be hurting from carrying your two idiot friends’ passionate but disordered baggage. a king) by ignoring his calls and messages due to being caught up, tied, and trapped in the strings of yearning. This one guy is doing so much damage to Dream, but he’s fallen too far down the pit of affection to care, in fact, he luxuriates in it.

(I also honestly do not blame Dream for playing the song on loop, because same, really does make you feel things)

Dream loves George. He loves George so much that the simplest of phrases and statements set his nerves ablaze and sparks his soul with hope.

It’s so painful but so fucking invigorating.

Which is why, at one point or another, he must learn to let go, not completely, but enough to stop the analysing and obsessing and sweating and dreaming, and that’s what’s so enticing about this tale, that among the reaching, there must be patience in order to reach something stable. Dream has been going insane for far too long, pouring his heart out to the one he so desires, but with such want comes uncertainty and surprises. Who the hell would’ve thought George had feelings for Dream for a good while before reeling himself in, only for his emotions to be stimulated with affection all too unexpectedly.

and who would’ve foreseen the slap of pure angst that were chapters 9 and 10, George’s hopeful rejection.

We read the two flirt, smile and laugh until their chests ached, connect, talk and call for hours, send fucking snapchats to eachother, telling sentimental stories, and much more.

All for Dream to crumble, piece by piece, until he is on the floor and crying over missing a chance he’s been so desperately trying to take. After what felt like a blooming relationship, Dream is seen breaking.

Because George wasn’t ready.

Because George was hit by a sudden wave of emotion that is so confusing and overwhelming and what the fuck Dream.

Yet, not all has been lost. The blazing fire of yearning may have been rained on, but it has not gone out.

Because it’s not a no, it’s a not yet.

And I cannot tell you the power such a statement holds. It was such a simple phrase, yet it shook my core as it delivers something raw, something hopeful, something to look forward to and have you inhaling a breath of longing because embers are still sparking and maybe, maybe, that chance isn’t completely out of Dream’s reach.

He just has to work on listening, bettering himself, healing and reaching a point of self-contentment. A point where he knows: he’s right for George, he’s enough for George. And the same goes for the latter.

Everything is so messy and destructive and confusing, yet they still reach.

And that, that, is such a raw form of love that it left my chest tight. They both want to be the best for eachother. They want to work and try for eachother despite the pain it may bring. They wait, and with their patience comes progression, which slowly but surely, will turn into comfort.

And to have the ability to articulate and describe such a journey is insane in every sense of the world. This story takes your collection of emotions and rattles it, making you feel so much at once that when ending a reading session, you release a satisfactory breath.

It didn’t end with attained love, or accepting confessions, or a romantic moment during the visit, or promises of kisses, or whatever cliche closing you could think of.

It ended with two friends saying “see you soon”

And that was perfect.

Perfect enough leave me, the reader, content and in awe. Because this is a slow and difficult love, one that will simply need time, as time is what will heal.

I couldn’t have asked for a better ending. Dakota is truly an inspiration.

Thank you, for creating and sharing such a masterpiece of a story, and having your readers go through the entire spectrum of emotions.

I cannot wait for Helium.

:)

[dustedmagazine]

Idle Ray — s/t (Life Like)

Photo by Simon Joyner

Idle Ray by Idle Ray

Between 2015 and 2018, Fred Thomas released three albums worth of “wildly personal poem-songs about death and upheaval,” as he put it to Aquarium Drunkard, that cracked open a new musical continuum. On All Are Saved, Changer and Aftering, Thomas synthesized the many styles he wears within the indie universe into a coat of so many colors that it seemed limitless. But, surprisingly, after completing the trilogy he felt like he’d said all he could possibly say in the style, and just like that, hung it up. Thomas fans can rejoice over his full-length debut as Idle Ray, though, which slipped out into the world on a Bandcamp Friday in May, and like a punchy sibling of sorts, is still in the direct bloodline of his recent solo work.

Idle Ray is Thomas’ conscious return, after more than 20 years in the game, to how he started: recording guitar-based pop songs on his 4-track. And he’s taking the opportunity while traveling through the past to explore it from new angles. On “Polaroid,” Thomas looks through the viewfinder and sees an old way of living in sharp, self-aware focus, his voice bouncing atop a handclap-enhanced beat that recalls his old band, Saturday Looks Good To Me. He emerges alone with his guitar from behind the bristly cloud of fuzz that’s been building to let a little light in with the refrain, cleanly capping the song at both ends. “I used to have a Polaroid camera/I took it with me everywhere/I used to take pictures of people/so they’d remember I was there.” The narrator is a foil to the one in “House Show, Late December,” Aftering’s muted centerpiece, who carried a disposable for a different reason: searching for meaning in everything — “a vacant storefront, telephone wires, a cloud” — everything, that is, except people.  

There’s a renewed sense of joy to the performance on Idle Ray which is partly the result of Thomas pivoting on the fly. After a couple of years working out the material, he entered, as he put it in the same interview, “a really nice studio” only to emerge with “a mediocre indie rock record” that had sucked the life out of his hook-heavy songs. Thankfully, after scrapping the sessions and plugging in at home, Thomas was able to capture the material’s intended energy. “Dreamed You Were A Dog'' is evidence of this, and, like most songs on Idle Ray, begins by introducing a vaguely menacing scenario: “Twenty times a day the room begins collapsing/Your surroundings slip away.” When the drums hit they pack such a bright punch that they leave a mark, like taking a pair of double-taps from a paintball gun. Thankfully, the track offers an antidote to the unpleasant situation, and a continuation of an idea Thomas first envisioned on All Are Saved, of exchanging places with man’s best friend: “You dreamed you were a dog/You dreamed you had some friends who sometimes asked you what was wrong.” “Dreamed” steadies itself with power-pop poise when the change comes, but a guitar lead that sounds like a gamma ray tuned to Thin Lizzy arrives suddenly, like an unexpected form of punctuation, and sees the song to the door before it reaches the two-minute mark. 

Even Idle Ray’s quieter songs have a loud way about them, with the acoustic guitar and vocals pushed viscerally to the front a la Bee Thousand, although not quite as frayed. The comparison might be more apt in terms of their brevity, and how abruptly they come to an end, giving way to the next song.  The best (and shortest) of the bunch is “Water Comes In Through The Windows,” where Thomas’ singing fluctuates between hushed and cathartic, like Arthur Russell, and his wife, Emily Roll’s (Haunted, XV) backing vocals have this cool, whispery way of lingering in the air for longer than you expect. But their spell is quickly broken by the arrival of the insistent snare that begins “Coat of Many Colors” and the tightly-harnessed fuzz guitar that pulls the song forward towards the verse. And this might be what most distinguishes Thomas’ recent trilogy from this album: If those records are colorful, Idle Ray is textural, and a place where Thomas’ poetic lyrics share the spotlight with the instrumental and vocal hooks. 

Chris Liberato

[thoughtfulfangirling]

January 2021 Books

I tend not to come to dislike or hating things very easily. Generally, the things I try, I can find a lot I like in them and go with the flow. I feel like it doesn’t make me very good about recommending things because I’m not too picky once I get invested in things, but here are my takes on the books I’ve read this month. (I can be super picky about what I pick up in the first place, but once I overcome that and get a foothold in something, the above applies.)

Anyway, belatedly, here’s last months reads and blurbs on my thoughts under the cut (long)

1. A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J Maas

I somehow didn’t realize this was YA. It has the plot simplicity I’m used to seeing in YA but it definitely got darker and more sexual than I would have expected for the genre. I actually rather appreciate this series for that reason. It did some things alternatively I didn't expect and was quite delighted by it. Fantasy, romance (f/m), fairies, light political intrigue (setup for book 2), etc.. I have since read book 2 and would have caveats about this depending on who was interested.

2. This is How you Lose a Time War by Amal El-Mohtar & Max Gladstone

This was amazing! A quick read of poetic language and dark love across sci fi warring factions. Primarily told through a series of letters exchanged back and forth between protagonists and focused on the characters.

3. Sparrow Hill Road by Seanan McGuire

What a great ghost story! it's told a lot like a series of short stories that come together into a winding narrative of a ghost's journey through the roads of America. Heavily American mythology vibes. Fascinating world building, intriguing characters, and beautiful message and arc. I'm thinking I might pick up more from this series in October. I got pointed in this book's direction due to how the way the book is structure feeling like a great depiction of trauma and how things get segmented and out of order and intangible, and it was just a really neat book. Would definitely recommend.

4. No Visible Bruises: What We Don’t Know About Domestic Violence Can Kill Us by Rachel Louise Snyder

I’ve now read a fair amount on the topic of domestic abuse, but they have largely focused on the individuals involved, and while this book does pick particular individuals as an example of extreme DV, this book zoomed out and looked at this problem from a broader perspective, talking about stats and looking at environmental and systemic factors. It’s a dark book that gets heavy and dissects sensitive situations but didn’t feel like it failed to humanize the issue, sometimes more so than a reader may expect. I definitely found it an insightful and interesting read. It’s the first book in quite a long time that was a physical book I held in my hands. I expected I might struggle too much between it not being audio and being nonfiction, but I moved through it quite quickly.

5. Her Royal Highness by Rachel Hawkins

This was a re-read. It’s a cute little wlw class romance. I think I read it in 2018, and it was fun to revisit. It’s a quick read with some enjoyable characters, and for those who do audiobooks, some cute accents. 

6. The Magician’s Assistant by Ann Patchett

This was a beautiful story about grief and the way our connections open us up to new possibilities and changes in our lives if only we’ll reach out grasp them. It’s a slow paced story, functioning mostly in the internal monologue of our protagonist dealing with the loss of the man she’s loved and the things she comes to find out she didn’t know about him. 

7. Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

This was another reread, doing a chapter an evening with Empty. It helped so much to listen to this a second time between being able to see the pieces put down and not listening to it at such stressful times and in such a fragmented way. I love how it is somehow a puzzle, a haunting, and a journey of growth in an old relationship that seemed doomed to fail in so many ways. Plus I love big, sarcastic, sentimental butch disaster Gideon so goddamn much. XD 

8. Labyrinth Lost by Zoraida Córdova

This was very enjoyable, but I can definitely tell that I’ve outgrown a lot of YA. It’s not that there’s anything wrong these stories-I would have loved to have grown up with this book-it’s just that it lacked a complexity I’m getting used to and that I look for in these stories. I’m so glad though to be seeing more writers of color writing experiences and characters more like them getting attention in the literary world, and I will continue to find reading these stories worth it to get glimpses into that, but I wish I saw more of this sort of hype for these writers around more adult books. It’s out there I’m sure; I just have to find it yet. Working on it! But for a YA reader I think this is a great story. I like the worldbuilding so much and the costs of the magic and the journey. I might still have to check out book two when I need an easier read. 

9. Well, That Escalated Quickly: Memoirs and Mistakes of an Accidental Activist by Franchesca Ramsey

I’ve been holding onto a hard copy borrowed from a friend of this for well over a year now. I got this book around the same time I got my hands on So you Want to Talk About Race and thought they were going to have very similar contents. I was incorrect. Well, That Escalated Quickly is much more about what it means to have a popular online presence. It was a really great read in a time when being online is, right now, for many of us, the only consistent way we can interact with others. I really appreciated her sharing her stories of her mess ups both as someone who needed to be called out and as someone who, for a time, was considered a ‘call out queen’ and her thoughts on community responsibility and bearing responsibility on both ends of those spectrums: it’s not just a person who messes up who bears a responsibility to act with community goals in mind to reduce harm, but also the responsibility of those who call out and when and how those might look for most effectiveness for change, personal wellbeing, and community responsibility. (The term community responsibility I’m using probably comes more from Conflict is not Abuse than this book, but I could very well see this book being a great primer for Conflict is not Abuse and might rec this to someone not yet ready for the later.) 

10. A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J Maas

This book was a roller coaster. I started off really excited about some ideas and themes it was exploring that I don’t really see done hardly ever and was really intrigued. About a third of the way through, it did something that I felt very much undermined one of the themes I was enjoying a lot, and up until the very end, I was very close to deciding against reading book three. At pretty much that last minute though, it intrigued me enough to want to see how a thing would be played out and a resolution would be found. I don’t even know if I’d say I super liked the book and thus series by the time I was done reading this one, but I was intrigued. Sometimes I get the feeling the author doesn’t trust her audience and spells certain things out way too much, sometimes to the detriment of the plot, and I’m really not a fan of the ‘so totally outclassed, all odds staked against the heroes’ thing that’s pulled in this book that comes out of nowhere and when this time we actually have powerful characters but here we are. I don’t think I’d actually recommend the series to others unless I knew their tastes aligned well, but I think I will be finishing it. 

[theradioghost]

So I’ve realized recently that I actually really really like podcasts when my audio processing isn’t acting up (thanks tma!) and was wondering what recs you have for completed podcasts. I’m cool with basically any genre and theme, though I would appreciate a warning for tragedy. Thanks for your time!

Of course! I’ll put this one under a cut just so the length is a bit less ridiculous.

Some of my favorite completed shows are

Wolf 359 – a scifi comedy about four squabbling coworkers on a malfunctioning, isolated space station which then takes a hard right into a spectacular, heartwrenching drama. Not a tragedy, but many tears are shed when listening. Probably one of the best podcasts out there tbqh.

Ars Paradoxica – a modern physicist accidentally invents time travel, landing her back at the start of the Cold War and changing the course of history forever. The creators literally described it as “a tragedy” and they weren’t lying, although the finale is sort of hopefully bittersweet.

The Hidden Almanac – a grouchy professor in a plague doctor mask offers bite-sized pieces of history and hagiography from his fantastical world as well as gardening advice, occasionally interrupted and/or dragged off on unwilling shenanigans by his tequila-loving accidental necromancer best friend coworker. Fantasy writer/artist Ursula Vernon and her husband put this 4-minute show out three times a week for SEVEN YEARS, and it’s funny and cozy and poetic and can be found in full here, as there are too many episodes for most podcatchers to display.

Alice Isn’t Dead – lesbian Americana road-trip horror. A cross-country trucker searches for her missing wife while monsters and conspiracies pursue her across the vast empty and abandoned spaces of America. Actually also exists in novel form.

The Bright Sessions – records from the office of Dr. Bright, a therapist who specializes in people with strange and secret abilities. However, her patients aren’t the only ones with secrets. Personally this show never completely absorbed me like some others did, but the character writing is genuinely amazing. The story obviously also deals a lot with mental illness and some other difficult topics and content.

Our Fair City – the eight-season saga of the inhabitants of a post-apocalyptic underground city ruled over by the remnants of an insurance company, featuring mole people, lightning-harvesting sky sailors, giant ants, and a found family of mad scientists among others. Part comedy, part drama, all anticapitalist satire. You kind of have to give it a couple of seasons to find its stride (this was one of the very first shows in the podcast-based audio drama revival) but it is absolutely worth it. Disclaimer that while I am on the final season of the show I have not quite finished it yet.

Jarnsaxa Rising – a unique scifi-fantasy hybrid, in which a vengeful Norse giantess escapes imprisonment with the goal of destroying the gods and bringing about Ragnarok, only to find herself in a post-climate-change dystopian future.

Glasgow Ghost Stories – a Scottish woman begins noticing the many ghosts inhabiting the streets of her city; but the ghosts have begun to notice her too, and not all of them are friendly. Pigeons are involved.

Big Data – an odd little heist comedy about a rogue journalist investigating a spectacular crime in which the “seven keys to the internet” are stolen, leading to a story about hacking in which no actual hacking is involved. There are two fun side notes to it: one, everything that happens in it could technically happen in real life. Two, it involves an absurd amount of cameos from other well-known podcasts (and also Taika Waititi?), which you don’t need to get to follow the story but which make it kind of hilarious on a whole other level when you listen to those shows.

I Am In Eskew – a surreal, intense, disturbingly poetic horror about a man trapped in a shifting, malevolent, impossible city, and a woman on the outside trying to find him. Extremely good but I do recommend thoroughly checking the trigger warnings on this one. (Surprisingly non-tragic finale, although not a typical “happy ending.”)

The Alexandria Archives – half comedy and half horror, in the form of a late-night radio show at Alexandria University, on the edge of North Carolina’s Great Dismal Swamp. Half of each episode is a standalone cosmic horror story set in and around the town of Alexandria. The other half features the antics of the university’s students, including the host MW and her friends who are definitely Canadian exchange students, and not a vampire hiding from his ex and a bunch of stranded space pirates. (A little goofy? Yes, but I love it a ton for all its faults anyway. Also, some of the short stories are genuinely terrifying.)

and also, some completed miniseries!!

The Tower – a gorgeous experimental audio drama in which a young woman decides to climb the mysterious Tower, from which no one ever returns.

Time:Bombs – a comedy by the folks who made Wolf 359 about a bomb disposal squad on New Year’s Eve, trying to survive their leader’s obsession with breaking a record.

They Say a Lot of Things – upon discovering that she can interact with a dropped tape recorder, the ghost of a young girl tells her story, interwoven with the stories of those who have passed through the abandoned house that she cannot leave over the years that she’s haunted it.

Podcaster A. R. Olivieri specializes in microfiction miniseries, ranging from scifi to experimental to fantasy. (Side note, a lot of his work crosses over with the still-running scifi podcast Girl In Space, but you don’t need to have listened to GIS to understand what’s going on in his shows.)

Nym’s Nebulous Notions – a self-declared investigative journalist decides to check out a mysterious SOS signal and finds herself on a mysteriously abandoned ship – or so she thinks. Arguably a tragedy, although not necessarily in the way you might think.

Palimpsest – technically not finished, but each season of this anthology makes up a complete 10-part story, and seasons 1 and 2 are complete. Season 1 is a ghost story about a woman who is suspicious about strange happenings in her new home and her odd new neighbors. Season 2 is a turn-of-the-century dark urban fantasy about a girl who escapes her career criminal mother’s house, taking a job as the companion to what her new employer claims is an imprisoned faerie princess. (Season 3 is ongoing and is about a codebreaker who begins seeing ghosts on London’s streets during the Blitz.) It’s a heartbreaking sort of show, albeit in a very beautiful and moving way.

The Details is a short piece about an office worker who goes in to negotiate for a promotion and finds himself negotiating with the devil himself instead. The number of genuinely surprising and excellent twists it packs into just 45 minutes is really fun.

The London Necropolis Railway – a really underappreciated little fantasy-mystery about a recently-dead detective who refuses to board the train scheduled to take her to the afterlife until one of its hapless employees helps her solve her supernatural murder.

Janus Descending – a scifi horror told in two intertwining perspectives, one in reverse order and one in chronological order, about two scientists who land on a remote planet to investigate the ruins of its lost civilization, only to encounter the thing that killed the former inhabitants. A fantastic story told in a really clever and unique way, but stamp a big old tragedy warning all OVER this one, although because of the structure you technically know how it’s going to end right from the start – what makes this show so good is how you get there. It will make you cry, though.

… and also my show, Midnight Radio, which is about lesbian romance, small towns, old radio shows, the good and bad sides of nostalgia, and ghost stories.

[seanfalco]

Road Trip | Punk!AU

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Punk!Jaskier x Reader, Punk!Geralt x Punk!Yennefer Word Count: 1509 Rating: T Taglist: @nevadawolfe​ @magic-multicolored-miracle​ @coffee-and-stories​ a/n: A little bit on the short side, but I had fun getting my toes wet with the group interactions.  Part three will be coming by @ficsandcatsandficsandcats​ soooon.  :3

[ Part I ]

Part II - Out Here in the Field

Trees flew by the window, the spaces between them obscured by a wispy layer of fog stubbornly clinging to the ground despite the weak rays of sunlight beginning to stream through the clouds.  Stirring, you stretched, careful not to jostle Jaskier, asleep against your shoulder and snoring softly.  Stifling a yawn with your fist you let your gaze roam the van, quiet but for the steady breathing of sleep and the low music playing in the background.

Everyone was still asleep and it took you a moment to realize Geralt was no longer in the driver’s seat.  Instead Aevryn’s telltale wild locks were just visible over the headrest, her fingers drumming a beat against the worn leather of the steering wheel in time with the soft music she was listening to, singing under her breath.

The song was unfamiliar to you and you closed your eyes to listen, not wanting to intrude on the moment.  The man’s voice that weaved through the speakers accompanied by the mellow cords of an acoustic guitar was haunting and beautiful, the lyrics compelling and poetic in a different way from Jaskier’s, but still you found you enjoyed it.

You were just about to ask Aev who the musician was when a pothole in the road shocked the van and Jaskier jerked awake.

“What th--?” he exclaimed, sitting up abruptly, his chestnut hair sticking up where he’d been leaning against your shoulder, blinking blearily as it took him a couple seconds to regain his bearings.

You caught a flash of Aevryn’s frantic expression, eyes wide in the rear view mirror before the song cut off suddenly, switching to something different.

“Geralt, what the fu--” Jaskier began, ready to lay into who he thought was driving when he noticed it was Aevryn in the front seat.  “Aev?” he yelped in confusion, glancing back at Geralt in the back seat; sawing logs.

“When did --?” he shook his head and began again.  “More to the point, Geralt actually let you drive?”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Aevryn asked, eyes narrowing in the mirror as you fought to stifle a laugh.  

You glanced at Jaskier who opened his mouth before apparently thinking better of it and closing it promptly, throwing you a ‘help me’ look.

Bemused smile firmly in place, you shook your head, the message clear -- ‘you’re on your own on this one’, to which Jaskier’s jaw fell open as he clutched dramatically at his heart.

“I’ll have you know Geralt trusts me implicitly,” Aevryn announced from the front seat, the mischievous grin tugging at her lips somewhat spoiling her self-important tone.  “He said I’m the only one he trusts enough to drive his little Roachie.”

“I never said that.”  Geralt’s voice interrupted from the back seat and you and Jaskier quickly turned to glance at him, his eyes still firmly closed and arms crossed against his chest.  “You just happened to be the only one awake at the time and as soon as I get a little more sleep I’m taking back over.  And don’t call her that.  It’s Roach.”

A moment of silence passed before you, Jaskier, and Aevryn were all gasping with laughter; the scowl that twisted Geralt’s lips only making you laugh harder.

——

Nearly an hour later, everyone was awake and Aev announced that you’d just entered Ohio, pulling off the highway at a roadside diner for lunch.  

Piling into the large corner booth, you picked up the menu, scanning the usual diner fare, deciding easily on a burger and fries while Win gasped, her eyes going wide as she stared at you.

“We’re in Ohio right?”

“Yeah,” Jaskier answered, giving your best friend a puzzled look, but you knew right away what she was getting at, rolling your eyes.

“You have to get the skyline chili,” she exclaimed, shaking the menu.  “We’re in Ohio,” she repeated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Jaskier, Geralt, Yennefer, and Aevryn all looked to you for an explanation of your friend’s eccentric behaviour as you remembered they weren’t from the US.  Clearing your throat after getting your giggles under control you adopted your most pedantic voice in order to explain to the Brits that skyline chili was merely chili over a bed of spaghetti noodles, but that it was a quote Ohio Thing unquote.

Win groaned at your explanation, shaking her head in faux seriousness.  

“It’s not just any old chili, it’s an experience,” she exclaimed dramatically.  “There are some that say there’s chocolate in the secret recipe which gives it its distinct sweet flavour.”

Jaskier raised his eyebrows at you and you snorted.  “She’s originally from Ohio,” you explained, bumping against his shoulder, “it’s a comfort food thing.”  

“Ah, now that I can understand,” your boyfriend said with a grin.  “I’ll try it, why not?” Jaskier shrugged and Aev ordered it as well for the “experience”.

“I think I’ll pass,” Yennefer replied, looking unimpressed before ordering something else while Geralt “hmm’d”.

As you waited on the food everyone kind of dissolved into their own little pockets of conversations, and while Jaskier was engaged in a debate with Yen over the set list order you figured it was as good a time as any to ask Aevryn about that music from earlier.

“Hey Aev, what was that band you were listening to this morning?  I kinda dug it.”

Aevryn, in the midst of taking a drink, choked in surprise, the same deer in headlights look crossing her face as her eyes flicked first from Jask to Yennefer in rapid succession before returning to you.

“I didn’t realize anyone was awake,” she muttered ruefully.  “It’s just this indie musician that I listen to sometimes,” she said offhandedly, shrugging.  “None of the others really care for it, so…” she trailed off, blanching as Yennefer eyed her sharply.

Confused as to why that would seem to upset Yen so much you opened your mouth, ready to ask a follow up question when the waitress returned with the food, and Aevryn promptly shoveled a forkful of chili and noodles in her mouth, effectively cutting the conversation short, though Yen still eyed her suspiciously.

Jaskier, completely oblivious to the whole exchange perked up as his plate was set before him.  “Want a bite?” he asked, twirling spaghetti around his fork and offering it to you.  Grinning, you held his gaze as you took the pro-offered bite, covering your mouth with your hand as the chili smeared across your lips.

Wriggling his eyebrows at you Jaskier took the next bite and proceeded to make a show of chewing slowly as if deliberating.

“Hey Win,” he called across the table to your friend.  “Not bad!”

——

Back on the road with Geralt once more at the helm everyone fell back into comfortable silence, full and sleepy, the quiet broken only by the random urges to sing along to the music from time to time.  Until Jaskier sat up, blue eyes lighting up at something on his phone.

“Hey Geralt, I have an idea!” he called excitedly.

“No.”

“Oh, c’mon it’s just a teeny tiny detour,” Jaskier whined, and curious, you sat up, leaning into his shoulder to see what he had up on his phone.  It was an advertisement for this nearby eclectic road-side attraction, some sort of homespun local museum and it actually looked interesting.

You read the description aloud to dramatic ‘oooh’s’ and ‘ahhh’s’ from Aev and Win in the back seat, who both seemed in on the fun as well.

“Please Geralt, it’s really not that far out of the way,” Jaskier pleaded, leaning forward to grab the driver’s seat.  “If we’re going this road trip we ought to do it right, don’t you think?  I want to experience America, not just see it from the highway.”

Geralt sighed and turned to share a look with Yennefer.  “Oh why not?” she finally said, her lips twisting with amusement at Geralt’s momentary shock.

“Fine,” he bit out.  “Give me the directions.”

A half hour later you were completely lost and the sun was beginning to go down.

“I think we may have passed it…” Jaskier said weakly, “at some… point.”

Geralt merely stared ahead stonily.  “Yep, I think that’s pretty obvious.”

“Oh come on you guys,” you said, trying to salvage the situation; not wanting the two friends to fight any longer, and not being able to stand seeing your boyfriend look so dejected.  “Hey look at that field over there, why don’t we stop there for a bit to watch the sun go down and figure out where we are?” you suggested.

To your surprise Geralt didn’t protest, pulling off the road into the abandoned field, and throwing Roach into park.

“Okay, everyone out.”

“Brilliant idea babe,” Jaskier murmured in your ear as you unbuckled, his lips brushing against your cheek.

“I know,” you quipped, turning to catch his lips on yours, taking him by surprise before jumping out of the van, laughter pouring from your lungs as he lunged after you.

[akamaiden]

Afterlife

A/N: This is just poetic justice for my babes. Also, this contains spoilers about Endgame, REALLY BIG ONES.

Gif belongs to: @water-aesthetics

Warnings: Angst, sadness in general.

Words: 1,174.

It was a logical decision. She knew he had to do it, it was the best option. Even if she didn't want to die, they didn't have time to think in another option, to think in something to excuse the sacrifice. It had to be done. And even if it was the best option, still she had to fight. Clint, her best friend, fought her until the very last minute. Asshole. The most loyal asshole.

Natasha didn't regret jumping that abyss. She didn't have a lover or even children waiting for her to come back, like Clint did. She had to do it. She didn't have suicidal tendencies or something, but they needed that stone. It was utterly selfish thinking about her life in exchange to help literally half universe come back to life. It was logical and she even thought that maybe, just maybe, her sacrifice was enough to erase part of her life that she spent fighting in the wrong side of the war.

She remembered her own words “I've got red in my ledger, and I'd like to wipe it out.” Maybe doing this she was wiping all out.

She still remembered the teary eyes and the fear in Clint's face and God, that hurt. Clint was one of the few people that understand what she was and what she turned into after the Avengers. He didn't see her like Black Widow, he saw her like Natasha Romanoff, a simple human being and not a highly trained assassin.

“Let me go,”

“It's okay,”

Again, her own words haunted her. It was really okay, she accepted her fate easily, after all, she was so tired. It was so damn hard being an avenger, she was on this career for the last years of her life. She didn't regret it though. Thanks to what was supposed to be a mission, she ended up getting a family. People she'd fight for, people she'd go to the hell and back for, people she'd die for.

Steve would always have a special place in her heart. She admired him, maybe deep in her heart, she wished to be just like him. He has a heart of gold that maybe was bigger than his chest. She'd miss him.

Tony who always had one or two sassy phrases in his sleeves, who has such a brilliant mind. God, he was so intelligent and despite all his playboy style, was a good friend. She'd miss him.

Thor who was like a puppy, always so cheered up and everything. But once it was needed he acted like the God of Thunder that he is. She'd always remember him for someone who shares the same love for pancakes just like her. She'd miss him.

Bruce who also has a golden heart, brilliant mind and it'd always be on her heart. She'd miss him too.

Clint, who was her best friend, who was one of people that most understand her ways and always was at her side in case of any need. Clint who was designed to kill her but ended up doing exactly the opposite. He saved her. He saved her from the monster she was becoming. And helped her since then. She'd miss him the most.

Obviously there were also Sam, Bucky, Wanda and everybody else, even the new girl Carol Danvers. She'd miss fighting alongside them. She'd miss them.

But now she was in peace. She wasn't tired anymore. She wasn't fighting anymore. She was sitting on a beach, enjoying a beautiful day in the most beautiful place that she ever saw. She wished that her friends could see where she was now. She wished them to know that she was okay, she was doing good. The only thing that keep worrying her it was if they made it or not. Still, she decided to wait. If they lost soon her friends would be joining her in this beautiful afternoon. If no one showed up, that only could mean that they won. And with that, the world returned to it's normal state and that was enough to calm her heart down.

“Hello? Is anyone here?”

That voice startled her. She knew that voice. And then the fear swallowed her entire being. Her eyes scanned the place and found no one else but Tony Stark.

“What you're doing here?” she demanded to know.

No, please, no. She was almost praying.

“So this is the afterlife I suppose,” he said calmly.

“Tony what happened?” Natasha asked.

“I-i… God!” and then he run to her and almost choked her with a hug. “We miss you so bad, Nat!” he continued.

“Tony!” she yelled. “Tell me what happened,” she asked again.

“Hm, well, I putted the gauntlet with all the infinity stones in and snapped my fingers,” he took a moment to search in his mind how exactly things went.

“And then Thanos' army fell and we won,” he continued.

We won. That was all that matters. She was happy to hear that, they won.

“We won,” she repeated those words. Trying to fix the meaning into her brain.

And then she hugged Tony. We won. She held onto him for dear life. They won, Thanos was defeated and the world was at peace again. Nothing compared to the feeling of accomplish a mission.

“I think that the stones got you killed,” she said and Tony nodded. “What about the others?” she asked.

“Probably are all in black in some kind of a pathetically sad funeral, in my honor, obviously,” he said thinking.

Once she understood the meaning of this, she said “I'm sorry but we both know that Pepper will take care of your little girl. Everything's gonna be okay.”

“I know,” it was all he said.

“I can't believe you're here, I thought I got rid of you guys,” she said trying to light up the mood.

“I think this is the Avengers' heaven or something,” he said shrugging.

“Idiot,” she said laughing.

“I mean it! Also can I have a cheeseburger?” he asked to no one in particular.

“We're dead, we don't need food anymore,” she said smiling.

“Well, at least I have company. Tell me Romanoff what do you do here?” he asked looking around.

“Nothing important. But you know, I'm kinda happy that you're here. It means that I'm not alone,” she said.

“You never were. We're your family,” he said and pulled her for another hug. He kissed the top of her head in a lovingly and respectfully way.

“If you could see yourself through our eyes, you'd see how important you were, you are and always will be. I bet Roger's still crying for you,” he said.

“I love you Tony. I love them all. You guys are simply the best family I could asked for,” she said.

“Is this like compulsory retirement?” he asked.

“Yeah, it's something like this,” she said smiling.

This could sound selfish, but she was happy she wasn't alone anymore. Now she could really rest in peace. If Tony let her.

Tags: @floatautumnleaf, @feistybaby, @stanclub

[crossbows-and-moonshine]

Poetic Tragedy (Chapter 1)

So...uh… Yeah, this happened. I was in the middle of writing chapter 13 of Blood in the Water, the sequel to Such a Softer Sin, and this idea hit me and I had to get it down. No idea where I’m going with this or how long it will be, just kinda riding this one out looool.

Pre BDS because I’m obsessed apparently. I’ll get to the other like 7 BDS fics I’ve started eventually, I haven't even posted most of them yet :’)

MurphyxOCxConnor. I just can't write about one anymore apparently, I love them both too much.

Halp.

I'll warn you right now, it's a sad one and there's warnings for talk of addiction and mentions of suicide.

The title of this fic was once again inspired by a song by The Used - Poetic Tragedy, it inspired my new OC Madeleine (I genderbent the lyrics lololol).

Then in violent, frustration, she cries out to God or just no one

Is there a point to this madness and all that she was...

Is just a tragedy

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

The streets of South Boston were bitter with the harsh wind, winter was coming and that meant trouble for all of those that had no homes. Madeleine Ryan was one of those poor homeless souls. This life wasn’t new to her though, she had been homeless since she ran away at 15. Her mother was a prostitute, a junkie to top it all off. Madeleine had put up with a lot in her young years, but coming home from school to see her mother lifeless on the mattress she slept on, vomit from her mouth, well that shit doesn't leave you. Her mother had overdosed on heroin, and the state was about to take custody of her. She wasn't stupid, she knew that spelled trouble for her, she had known people from the system. So she fled. Life on the streets was hard, but it could have been worse for her in the system. One girl she knew from school got molested by her foster father, and Madeleine wasn't about that shit.

She was 20 now, or at least she thought she was, keeping track of birthdays wasn't really important now. She was nobody, she was a ghost. She didn't know what date it was, she had no clue. She had to use the weather to gauge what month it was and the only way she knew the time is if she managed to get a glimpse of a clock somewhere. She was a petite girl, lack of nourishment had left her on the smaller side, she was still a growing girl when she had taken up this life. Her long brown hair was a tangled mess in a bun that she was sure had been in for well over a year. She was filthy, she hadn't been able to bathe in far too long. The Catholic church sometimes held days where they fed the homeless, let them use the facilities to get cleaned up. It had been at least a year and she felt disgusting. But this was just how it was now. Looks weren’t a priority anymore, survival was.

Her once bright blue eyes were dulled down to more of a grey, the life had been sucked out of her living on the streets. She had seen things she never wished she had, done things she would never utter, just to survive. By the age of 16 she was addicted to the same drug that had taken her mother's life, she had sold herself to feed her addiction, losing her virginity to some old dude for $10. She had been a mess, in trouble with the law way too much, but when she got to the age of around 18, she realised she couldn't carry on that way. She was haunted by the image of her mother's dead body and she didn't want to end up the same way, getting knocked up by a customer, killing herself accidentally. That wasn't the life she wanted. She was on the straight and narrow now, she didn't steal anymore or sell her body, she had been clean for two years which was a feat considering she was faced with temptation every day. But she wanted more for herself, even if that was just still on the streets, but not sinking so low.

She was wearing a dark green chunky sweater but it did little to stave of the cold that was seeping into her bones, it was getting dark now and it would only get colder. The jumper was much too big for her and was covered in dirt and holes, much like her jeans. Her sneakers were beat up to hell and were a size too small, but it was better than no shoes at all. She had a thin blanket and she wrapped it around herself tighter to try and warm up, but it was no use.

She had been in this current spot for a week before, but she had moved a few nights ago somewhere else and it didn't end well for her, so now she was back here. She moved around a lot to stop to cops bitching at her, and this place seemed decent enough. It was the Irish part of Southie, people tended to be more generous here and she felt somewhat safer. No one harassed her here or hurt her, so when she left and found another spot, it didn't surprise her too much when she had the shit kicked out of her and had her money stolen by some addicts. The was the night before, and now she was back next to the Irish pub she felt safest at. Her cup was empty, a painful reminder of how she had let her defenses slip. It wasn't much that they had taken, but it was the money she would have used for food, and now she had nothing. Her stomach was growling painfully and she sighed, resting her forehead on her knees. It was times like this when her past haunted her, reminding her of how easy it was for her to earn money from her body and be able to buy food. But she didn't want to sink back to that, she would rather starve than degrade herself that way ever again.

She heard some voices and glanced up, seeing two men walking down the street, she recognised them. They had never exchanged words, but the boys always gave her some money as they went past before slipping into the pub every night. When they got to her, they were bantering as they usually did, she wondered if they were brothers by the way they carried on at each other. They reached into their pockets, the brown-haired one letting his smoke dangle from his lips but when he glanced at her, a deep frown etched into his usually boyish features.

“Fuckin’ Christ.” He muttered as he took his smoke in his hands and used the other to smack the dark blonde's chest. The man looked to the darker haired boy confused, huffing a ‘the fuck?’,  before he looked at the girl, his own frown taking over his face. Madeleine was confused for a minute before she realised her face was most likely bruised. It wasn't like she had seen herself in the mirror.

The blonde one crouched down in front of her and she just blinked at him, the closeness was unsettling her. He reached out like he meant to take her chin, maybe to get a good look at the damage but she looked down, avoiding his grasp and putting off a definite vibe of don't fucking touch. They might have been decent enough to give her money when they saw her, but she knew better than to trust just anyone. He seemed to take the hint, standing back up and looking at her apologetically. The brown haired one was still watching her looking troubled.

“They take yer money?” The darker haired one asked, nodding his head to her empty cup. By the time they always saw her she usually always had at least something in it. She wouldn't look at them or speak, she just nodded. Their concern was making her feel uncomfortable, she wasn't used to anyone giving a shit about her. They muttered to each other in another language and they sounded tense, it only made her even more uncomfortable.

They looked back at her and she was still sat there, pulling the blanket tight around herself and unable to look at them. She was shocked when one of them put a $10 bill in her cup. She looked up just in time to see it was the blonde one and the other one followed suit, putting in another $10 bill in the cup. She furrowed her brows, confused why they seemed to want to help her so much but she tried to ignore it, she didn't want to seem ungrateful.

“Thank you.” She whispered, her voice sounding weird even to her own ears since she rarely had the need to use it. It was the first time she’d ever uttered a word to the brothers and she was graced with matching grins. It bothered her that those grins made her feel a little weird inside.

“Not a problem love.” The brown haired one spoke with a kind smile.

“Maybe ye should stick around this area, it's safer.” The blonde one mused, glancing around the streets. Southie wasn't the best place full stop but if anyone tried to cause shit here in the Irish neighbourhood they were in, people would intervene. The girls busted lip, bruised nose and bruised jaw looked like no one had jumped in to help her. They wouldn't be surprised if she had more bruises on her body.

Madeleine nodded, looking back down. She didn’t like staying in one place for too long but he had a point, it was only when she left this area for another this happened. She had been here for a week successfully with no problems before that. Maybe she would stick around here until the cops started to hassle her.

When it became clear the girl didn't want to talk, they gave her nods and went on their merry way to the pub. Madeleine glanced at the money, taking it and putting it in her pants pocket. She didn't want anyone seeing it and trying to take it, she felt more on guard now after what happened the night before. It had been years since she had been mugged like that and she was a little shaken up. She wasn't sure how much time had passed, maybe a couple of hours, when the darker haired boy stepped outside, lighting a smoke. He was swaying on his feet a little, seemingly intoxicated. He glanced over at her and she just watched him carefully as he grinned, sauntering over.

“Heya love, mind if I sit?” He asked, not really waiting for an answer as he plonked himself down on the sidewalk next to her. She felt awkward, she wasn't used to making conversation and she hadn't expected anyone to just waltz up to her and sit with her. People usually avoided the homeless, they didn't go sitting with them. They were silent for a moment as he smoked, his back against the wall as they sat side by side. She wasn't really sure why he wanted her company.

“Ye pocketed that money?” He asked curiously, casting a side glance at her. She nodded feeling mildly perturbed he had figured that out, even in his inebriated state.

“Aye, good girl. Don't need a repeat o’ what happened te ye.” He frowned, discarding his smoke once he was done with it. He shifted to sit facing her and she blinked at him. Physical contact with humans wasn't something she was used to, it had been a few years since anyone had touched her with exception of the night before, but she liked to think punches didn't count. The man seemed to have no boundaries. He took her chin in his hand, much like the other boy wanted to do before, and she tensed. He either didn't notice or he ignored it as he tilted her head one way, then another, assessing her injuries with a frown.

The pub door opened and closed once more and her eyes looked over to see the blonde one, she couldn't turn her head fully since the darker haired boy still had a hold of her face.

“Fuckin’ hell Murph, I leave ye alone for a minute and yer harassin’ the poor thing.” The blonde huffed, staggering over, he seemed more drunk than ‘Murph’ did. He released her face then, looking a little apologetic, like he only just realised in his alcohol-soaked mind he had been touching her.

“Fuck off Connor, was just checkin’ her over.” Murphy scowled, seemingly in jest though as ‘Connor’ sat down next to him, the both of them now facing her. Awkward seemed to be the theme of the day for her apparently. Connors' eyes glanced to her once again empty cup and his eyes widened almost comically.

“Christ! Have ye been mugged again?!” He asked incredulously and she couldn't help it when her lips quirked up in a small smile. He really was drunk. Murphy snorted at him, reaching out and smacking him around the head playfully.

“She’s put it in her pocket ye dumb shite, ain't gonna leave it out for everyone te see is she? She’s much smarter than that.” Murphy grinned, making her blush a little at the compliment. He caught her eyes and gave her a cheeky wink and she bit her lip, looking down so he couldn't see her pink cheeks.

Connor smacked Murphy's head in retaliation with a huff.

“Ain’t a dumb shite, I’m a drunk shite, there's a difference.” He declared as he pointed at him, looking back to the girl and flashing her a grin. They definitely had to be brothers with the way the pair were with each other.

“So girl, ye know our names by now, what's yers?” Murphy asked curiously as he looked at her. She chewed the inside of her cheek, no one ever asked her name, her name didn't matter out here where she was a nobody. Yet these two were looking at her so intensely like her name was the most important thing they'd ever know. It was making her feel uncomfortable and awkward again, she was used to being invisible.

“Madeleine.” She whispered softly, pulling the sleeves of her oversized jumper over her hands in a comforting way.

“Well Madeleine, me lovely lass, it's a pleasure te meet ye. Sorry ye have the displeasure o’ meetin’ me dumb shite brother over here.” Murphy smirked, full on laughing when Connor hit him again.

“Ignore him Madeleine, he’s just sour that I’m the older brother.” Connor grinned triumphantly. She looked at them, once again amused at their antics, it distracted her from feeling out of place and having too much attention when their attention was focused on hitting each other.

“Fuck you, I’m the oldest and ye know it.” Murphy huffed, making Madeleine tilt her head curiously at them, how would they not know?

Connor caught her confused look and smiled at her.

“We’re twins lass, our Ma won’t tell us who the oldest is, even though everyone knows it's me.” He snickered, making Murphy roll his eyes.

“Listen here, Maddie’s a clever girl, she knows I’m the most reliable o’ the two o’ us. I knew what she’d done wit’ the money and yer the dumb shite that thought she’d been mugged again, I think we know who she’s more likely te listen te.” Murphy insisted with a lopsided grin. She blushed lightly again at the nickname, no one had ever called her a nickname. This was all new to her and honestly a little weird.

The boys carried this on for what felt like forever, just bantering with each other and trading insults. It was as if they read her well, knowing she was too shy and withdrawn to partake in a conversation, so they spoke enough for the three of them, keeping her amused as she watched them. She wasn't sure how long had passed when the pub door opened again and this time a guy with shaggy hair and a beard came stumbling out.

“Rocco!” The boys exclaimed gleefully in unison, making Madeleine snort lightly to herself. The man in question turned to look at them, a huge grin spreading on his face.

“Fuck guys! It’s damn near been an hour, everyone's wonderin’ where you got off to.” He said as he walked over, well as good as he could with how much he had drank. His eyes fell to the girl then and she felt awkward and lowered her head. He didn't make a comment though, it might have had something to do with the pointed looks the boys were giving him.

“We’ll be right in Roc.” Connor smiled, making the man nod and grin before he went back inside. She felt a pang of something that was unfamiliar with the thought of once again being on her own. She was used to being alone so she wasn't sure why the thought of the boys going was so unappealing. It wasn't like she had even contributed to the conversation, it was just nice to have company and it had been amusing for her to watch them interact. She hadn't smiled in a long time, and the both of them had made her smile a lot in the time they had sat with her. The boys watched her for a moment before glancing to each other, and she could have sworn it was like they were talking through that look.

“Why don’t ye come in wit’ us lass? Get a nice warm drink in ye and some food?” Connor suggested. Her eyes widened at the suggestion and the boys noticed how they darted to the door and back down to her hands. It was too crowded in there. Homeless people weren't really welcome anywhere, she’d been tossed out of numerous places. She was embarrassed if she was honest, she was more than aware she was filthy and looked a mess, she wasn't sure how the boys standed to look at her.

“What if we went and got ye somethin’ te eat and brought it out here for ye? Would that make ye more comfortable?” Murphy asked softly as he looked at her with a small comforting smile. Once again he seemed to read her pretty well, the boy was astute even when drunk. She thought about it for a moment, still not understanding why they were helping her or why they had chosen to just spend an hour talking to her and keeping her company, but they were offering a meal, an actual meal, and it felt too good to pass up.

“Yes please.” She smiled, her voice still small and almost timid like she was afraid to use it.

The boys exchanged a glance again and Murphy stood up, patting his brother on the back before going inside. She blinked to Connor wondering why he had chosen to stay sat there with her and not go into the warmth.

“Aren’t ye cold lass?” He asked looking concerned as he reached out and rubbed the blanket between his thumb and finger, like he was testing the thickness. The frown on his face told her he wasn't stupid even if he was drunk, the blanket was thin and wasn't doing much to help with the weather. She shook her head, outright lying to him and he squinted.

“Bullshit, this might as well be made o’ toilet paper.” He huffed, reaching out and taking her by surprise as he grabbed her hand, his eyes widening when he felt how cold it was.

“Fuckin’ hell lass, ye feel like an ice cube!” He frowned, taking both of her hands in his, rubbing them to warm him up. She was surprised at how warm he was. He was wearing his coat but it was still cold yet his hands were lovely and warm.

She felt weird at the physical touch, but the warmth felt too good for her to pull away. She just watched him carefully as he brought their hands up to his mouth and he blew on them, making even more warmth seep into her cold hands. She wasn't sure how long they sat like that for in comfortable silence before Murphy suddenly came back out with a steaming bowl of something and a cup of something hot. Connor let go of her hands, giving her a beaming smile as Murphy sat back in his place, a matching smile like he was so proud of himself for getting her something to eat and drink.

“Hot chocolate and some good old Irish stew, it’ll warm ye right up.” He grinned, handing her the bowl and setting her cup down on the floor.

“Thank you.” She smiled, enjoying the heat the bowl was giving her. It smelt amazing, she only ever managed to buy herself something small and cheap, she hadn't had anything cooked like this in far too long. In her most desperate times she had rummaged through dumpsters for leftover food she could eat. The pair of them were watching her and she just looked back, blinking at them and wondering if they were going to stare at her whilst she ate, she fucking hoped not. As if they got the message, they turned to each other and they started to talk in another language.

She wasn't sure if it bothered her, not knowing what they were saying, but their body language was relaxed and she just started to eat her food. She ate it slowly, not used to such food and her stomach was pretty small by this point. She was struggling to finish it but she forced herself to. She wasn't sure when she’d get another meal like this and she knew better than to waste it. When she was done, she set the bowl down and took the cup, sipping it slowly. She closed her eyes, relishing the taste. She hadn't had a hot chocolate since she was a child, this really was a treat. When she opened her eyes she found the boys watching her with goofy grins and she blushed, looking down.

“It's good aye? Doc makes a mean hot chocolate.” Murphy smiled widely at her, she chanced a glance at him and smiled softly with a nod. The boys didn't seem to phased with her lack of conversational skills, they didn't force small talk on her and were more than happy to carry the conversation themselves and she was grateful. This whole experience was a little overwhelming. Rocco came back out, shouting to the boys that people were waiting on them for a game of pool and she felt that disappointment again. The boys sighed and muttered something to each other she couldn't understand before looking back at her.

“Will ye be alright?” Connor asked, actually looking concerned. She nodded, mustering up a grateful smile, they had done a lot for her after all. They didn't seem satisfied but when Rocco came out once more, they grumbled to themselves and stood up. They looked down at her, almost like they wanted to say something but they seemed to think better of it, just giving her a smile and wave before they headed back inside.

She breathed a sigh of relief, as much as she enjoyed their company, it had been taxing and totally new to her, she wasn't used to this attention from anyone. She was grateful for the food, for the company and the fact they had made her smile, but she would much rather continue to be a ghost. Having no one notice she existed. For the first time in a very long time, she felt the weight of being alone. She sighed to herself, laying down and curling into a ball, her back to the wall. Hours later, she heard the boys on their way home, singing obnoxiously and laughing. She didn't open her eyes but she smiled to herself as she slipped back off to sleep.

Taglist; @risingphoenix761 @arlaina28 @daryldixonandfrogs @divadinag

[soulbranded]

fight - from @sgtjamesbbbarnes

@sgtjamesbbbarnes – one word prompts

fight :   my  muse  stops  your  muse  from  getting  into  a  physical  fight  with  someone  else. (I’m flipping the script a little bit here)

Before the Accords fiasco, the farthest she’d been from home was a few trips down to New Orleans with Pasha. But now Rachel was traveling all over the place, and not just in the continental US. It made her feel very much the small-town girl, and not in the cutesy, romcom sense. It was fucking overwhelming. Languages she didn’t understand, unfamiliar customs, police, not to mention each country’s own thriving extra-human population. She was striking deals, making alliances, tracking people down–all things she should in theory be good at, but every time her throat went dry and her stomach squirmed. When she’d caught Steve looking over a classified file and finally coaxed the truth from him, it was almost a relief. He was looking for somebody. Tracking spells were cake.

Except they had no DNA. Why was nothing ever easy?

She’d thought about the problem for a solid three weeks. The dude they were chasing–Steve called him Bucky–had quite the reputation. She’d looked him up in what remained of the Council database. His arm seemed the key. It was unique. An energy signature, mechanics, something. The answer was right there, itching at the edge of her mind, until she finally latched on to something. As she was wont to do, she went chasing after it, meaning she dropped off the face of the earth for a while with just a scrawled note that said Got a plan, be back later, don’t break any walls.  

She’d traveled to Europe on a glamoured passport. Magic made fake IDs so much easier. Her theory was a little sketchy, but it wasn’t without legs: the Winter Soldier was practically an underworld boogeyman, as old as Steve. Unless it was a Bond-esque reincarnation, some kind of enhancement had to be at work, and from what she’d read in her research–because despite her temperamental attitude, Rachel was fucking thorough–HYDRA had to be working on a serum similar to what Steve had received. If it was similar enough at the molecular level, it could provide her with at least a direction, if not an exact location. Europe was her hotspot based on her latest intel and gut instinct; Europe was familiar, the proverbial fortress on the hill, and snipers sought the high ground. Worst case scenario, she was on a wild goose chase. But hey, at least she got to play with some possibly mind-melting magic. 

In Romania, she rented a small apartment and slept the jetlag off for a few hours before starting her ritual. Oh, how she missed her metal rings in her cabin. They made it so much easier to hold a circle. But chalk was going to have to do. She drew a wide circle and put her herbs and copper bowl in the middle of it, along with a small vial that she had paid an obscene amount of money for and on which all her hopes were riding. Like called to like, so if they were even remotely the same…well, she just had to hope. And hope the spell didn’t reveal her to anyone. Or kill her. Nobody said the plan was perfect. 

Mugwort, cowslip, and iris root went into the bowl, along with a few extra ingredients. Rachel held the vial up and looked at it, then exhaled a long breath. Here went nothing. She dumped the vial–blood–into the bowl and then picked up a small knife and pricked her thumb, massaging her own blood into the mixture. A match to set the spell aflame and she was breathing in the earthy smoke. For a second, nothing happened. Then she saw a face, contorted in pain, some kind of machine attached to his head. She saw experiments. The whirred past her vision like a malicious tilt-a-whirl. She saw years of torture, of death, of pain. Memories that weren’t her own flickered like a movie reel, and above it all, it was cold. So, so cold. 

This was not her usual tracking spell. She was getting this man’s life. And she couldn’t stop it. Her mind recoiled, trying to push the horror away, but it stayed with her, an avalanche that buried her own thoughts and emotions. As suddenly as it started, it abruptly shifted. A street. Modern times. A small cafe and a man hunched over a cup of coffee like it held the elixir of life. He looked up.

Bucky.

The spell broke, and Rachel fell backwards onto her elbows, panting. Well, her brain hadn’t dissolved, but she had this weight. Everything she’d seen and felt sat on her chest in a writhing mass, incapable of being separated, just one huge jumble of misery. This was who Steve wanted to find? 

This was the fabled Winter Soldier? 

As soon as she collected herself, she grabbed her bag and gun and dashed out the door. She knew that street. It was fresh in her mind and it wasn’t far away. Her gut said the spell had ended in real time. She could make it. And she could–do what, exactly? Walk up to a deadly assassin and say Hi, wanna go to New York? 

Great, Rachel. You flew halfway around the world, cooked up some sketchy ass magic, and ended it with no plan. What was that about being thorough?

But those memories stayed with her. This man, this Bucky, to say he’d been through hell was an understatement. It made her remember a grey windowless room with a chair bolted to the floor, and an emotionless voice telling her she must have faith. Steve had faith in this guy, and she had faith in her gut, so she plowed ahead. What was he gonna do, shoot her in broad daylight?

Maybe. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, and probably wouldn’t be the last. One day she was going to learn to improve her life choices.

She rounded a corner and saw a faded red awning above some black metal chairs. The cafe. In the corner, tucked as far away from others as he could get and with his back to the building–the Paranoid Chair, as she liked to call it, which also happened to be her favorite–was Bucky. He looked like he’d gotten his clothes from a lost and found and had a baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes, but it was him. Rachel almost laughed in satisfaction. It’d worked. She hesitated for a moment, keenly aware of the gun in her shoulder holster beneath her jacket. Her gut said she needed to come at this with those memories in mind. Put the Soldier aside and remember the man. Christ, wasn’t that poetic, coming from her. 

She started walking toward him when a throng of men entered her vision, approaching from the south. They were heading straight for Bucky too, and they did not look like they’d chosen the Friend Route RPG option. Rachel sped up, but she was farther away, and had to cross a busy thoroughfare. The men reached Bucky first, and she almost got hit by a car due to her fixation on his reaction. She knew that body language. It was defensive, reluctant. Dangerous but unwilling. 

She slapped the hood of another car as she ran across the street. Bucky’s fists were clenched and the men were shouting at him in a language she didn’t understand, their faces hard with rage. The man at the front, who was approximately the size of a small mountain, drew back his fist, but she saw it first. Bucky was countering already, his left arm, the enhanced arm, ready to fly up.

Without thinking, Rachel flung her hand out and sent a spell flying. It hit the man in front and knocked him into the wall so hard it cracked. “Stop!”

The men turned in unison to look at this little redhead running up to them speaking a foreign language. Rachel drew to a halt, putting herself between them and Bucky. He towered over her, almost as tall as Steve, but she’d taken bigger fish. 

“I said stop.” She panted, more from adrenaline than the run, and magic crackled along her skin. Another roll of her wrist and she cast a glamour over Bucky. “He’s not who you think he is.”

Mountain Man eyed her. “Cine dracu esti tu?”

Rachel blinked. “Listen, just… shoo.” She made a flapping motion with her hand. She could amp up the magic and scare the hell out of them, but that risked attracting even more attention, and she actually was trying to deescalate the situation. 

“Nu este nimeni. Lasă-o din ea,” Bucky said. Rachel looked behind her at him, and he deftly sidestepped her so that he was now shielding her. She had to duck to the side to see what was happening. Goddamned tall guys.

They exchanged a few more words that Rachel didn’t understand, and their postures grew more threatening. Her interference seemed to have caused a shift in Bucky. He was trying to protect her. He pulled his arm back again, and this time she hit him with a spell, although it wasn’t nearly as strong—just enough to knock him off his balance.

“Look,” Rachel said, exasperated, and gestured to Bucky. Her glamour came off him in strong waves, but unless she was the unluckiest person on earth, these guys would see an old man instead of the true Bucky.

They looked between each other, looked at Bucky, looked at her, back at Bucky, and after several eternities, turned around and stormed away. Bucky was leaning against the wall, holding his arm. Rachel winced. She really hoped she hadn’t just given him cause for another punch.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said. “I just didn’t think it was a good idea to draw attention with a fight.”

He looked at her with haunted eyes. Rachel was suddenly freezing. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice rusty as if from disuse.

“Would you believe I’m a friend?” His face said no. “Okay, friend of a friend? I’m a friend of Steve’s.”

Now it was Bucky’s turn to blink. His eyes darted back and forth as if he were sorting through information. “Steve Rogers?”

“Yeah.” Now that the immediate danger was gone, she went into damage control and looked around. A few people were staring, but nobody had stopped and she didn’t hear any sirens, but it was probably better to get the hell out of here. “Why don’t I buy you a coffee somewhere else and tell you all about it?”

He hesitated. “No.”

Oh, how the turns had tabled. She knew that look. It was paranoia, the kind that comes when they really are out to get you. And she knew, oh she knew, that it was the kind of paranoia that wouldn’t budge.

“Bucky,” she said. “I know you got no reason to trust me. But I swear I come in peace.”

The name got his attention, and he gave her a tortured look. “What did you do to me?” He let go of his arm and rotated it, but the movement was off. It was less like working a muscle and more like realigning a transmission.

“Magic. I’m… not normal. And we’ve got some things in common.” She offered him a wan smile.

He stared at her for a long moment, and she swore he could see straight down to her bones. “Why are you here?”

That was the question wasn’t it. Ostensibly, she was there because of Steve. But after what she’d seen in the spell, she had absolutely no desire to make this man do anything he didn’t want to do. There were days she could still feel the spelled iron around her wrist. She wasn’t going to take away anyone’s will, come hell or high water.

“I’m here to talk. To give you some options, and then to do what you want. If you want to come with me, you can. If you want me to get lost, I’ll never bother you again. Either way, it’s your choice.”

His eyes cast downward for a moment, and then he sighed. “Are you okay with a bit of a walk? There’s another cafe far enough away from here we should be safe.”

Rachel smiled, and there was warmth in it. “Lead the way.”