#1. by far the most widely sympathetic illness

[cesium-sheep]

waiting for my hematology/oncology appt next week in the back of my mind like "maybe it is cancer. that would be nice." hashtag just medical neglect things

[lubdubsworld]

Blackberry Winters.

Part 1

Namjoon Werewolf Au !

Alpha werewolf!

Heavy angst.! Pregnancy, unrequited love, hate to love, prejudice, mental health issues.

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

There is a tide in the affairs of men, which , taken at the flood leads on to fortune. Opportunities had to be seized and made use of and you had to be bold and confident in order to lead your people to fortune.

Namjoon, as the head alpha of the Kim clan, knew this better than anyone else. Which was why he was here, in a meeting with alphas from the three neighbouring clans lining his boundary lines, hoping to get permission to access the seven or so aquifers that lay to the east of the packhouse.

The rains had been kind to them, the reservoirs were full but he wanted to make sure they had a backup plan just in case things went south in some way. His father had taught him that. Being prepared for the worst was second nature to him now. The land around the aquifers was rich and fertile and Jungkook had already let him plant tangerines and apples in the area for the little ones. The harvest was generally shared between the two clans and Namjoon was grateful for the easy camaraderie that the alpha of the land offered him.

The land belonged to alpha Jeon , a dear friend by all means and he knew that Jungkook would grant him permission as he always did . But still it was never a certainty. The council members had the final say and many of them held a grudge when he refused to marry Jungkook's sister last spring. That had been a no brainer for him. Junghee was beautiful but also like a sister to him, besides being incredibly intelligent. He didn't need a wife like that. And that was why he had picked, Jiah.

Sighing, Namjoon glanced back at the campsite where the women were gathered, sitting in small groups and laughing around a blazing fire while a few alphas hung about roasting meat and passing out moats of wine around . His eyes fell on his wife, timid and shy , sitting away from the rest and regret churned. He had been impulsive. She was ill suited to be his wife , and the last three months had been a bitter wake up call. Namjoon was well read, eloquent and bold. His wife was barely illiterate, with a stutter and shifty eyes that never met anyone's gaze head on.

He had chosen her because she had seemed docile and pliant and while she was definitely that, she was also ....at the risk of sounding rude and unkind, very very boring.

A simpleton. She seemed to know nothing about anything, content to disappear into the shadows, to hide and hang back and practically become one with the upholstery when he asked her to sit next to him.

It had been three months and they had barely spoken beyond a dozen words. It was awkward and stilted and just plain uncomfortable, sleeping with her. Sex was supposed to fun and passionate and filled with excitement and desire but with her , it was a chore he couldn't wait to cross off his list.

Leaning back against one of the poles holding up the makeshift tent, he watched her as she scooted away from one of the older omegas in the Jeon clan, the lady looking startled at the reaction. He shook his head in despair. He hadn't even wanted to bring her along but his mother had insisted. Something about her being young and innocent, too shy to stay behind with strangers for two whole weeks while he traveled to the Jeon's .

How was he supposed to explain that they were strangers as well ? That despite the label of mates, despite the fact that he had been the one to choose her, he felt nothing for her? Not even the idle curiosity one felt for strangers?

It was partly her demeanour, but mostly her appearance. She wasn't well groomed and it always made him frown. He had hoped that she would at least keep herself presentable, maybe hire the weavers to make her a few new tunics .

Something colorful and patterned like the ones the other omegas wore during festivities. The Kim clan had a lucrative fabric trade with the Min pack , and Yoongi and Hoseok always kept the most luxurious and vibrant silks and fabrics for him.

Jiah had shown a brief and fleeting interest in the luxurious threads, when his mother had brought her along to the tailor to get her wedding trousseau done....but the moment the young beta had asked her questions about her likes and dislikes, she had recoiled and went back into her shell. Namjoon had watched the whole scene, annoyance growing with every passing second. He wanted her to be pliant but also independent. Low maintenance . But apparently he would have to hold her hand through everything.

And that's when he'd begun to actively distance himself from his wife. He didn't have the time nor inclination to help her navigate her new life. He was busy, what with autumn coming to an end and the first chills of winter already beginning to permeate the air. The betas and alphas in the pack were already occupied with hunting enough meat to last them the winter, the women busy with curing the meat with spices and salt.....

He should have left her behind with them.

" A coin for your thoughts, Alpha Kim?"

Kim Jisoo came to stand by him, her scent of floral dust and vanilla cloyingly sweet on his senses. She had helped him with many a rut and he had always nurtured a sweet spot for the omega who was well versed in many languages. She was also one of the courtesans they had brought along for the evening entertainment. Jisoo slipped her hands through his arm and he smiled, letting her brush close to his torso.

His gaze went to his wife, who was staring at him, eyes blank and lips parted softly. She looked a little upset.

Which was understandable but still annoying. They weren't in love or anything and he wasn't cheating on her. Jisoo was a friend. He was allowed to have those. Jiah had no right to look at him with suspicion or with entitlement. He didn't owe her all her time. He wondered if she would react if he were to confront her now. As it is , he let himself stare right at her, half wishing that she would talk back to him.

But the moment their eyes met, Jiah looked away, entire body shifting as though in embarassment. He frowned , but lightly patted the soft fingers curled on his arm. He turned to Jisoo with a smile, taking in the pretty elfin features. The perfectly curled hair , threaded with gold and jeweler pins fell in soft ropes around her face, her lips tinted red and her cheeks brushed rose. She looked enchanting and unreal and he felt his blood stir in arousal, the need to feel her under him suddenly overwhelming.

He glanced back at Jiah and she looked a little green , her face ashen. His eyes narrowed when she shifted and looked around in a mild panic. Oh God, what was it now?

Irritable, he gently pulled away from the beautiful omega next to him.

" Excuse me, dear. I need to check on my wife." He said apologetically and she frowned staring at where he was looking.

"What's wrong?" Jisoo asked sharply but he ignored her, already moving to his mate.

Which was just as well, because the moment he reached her, her eyes rolled back and she toppled right into his arms.

She had fainted .

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

" I'm sorry we had to cut this short but I hope your mate feels better soon, hyung." Jungkook's voice was laced with genuine concern and Namjoon nodded, hugging the younger alpha tight.

Junghee looked just as sympathetic, next to him.

" She'll be fine . I tried to get her to stay but she's been panicking a lot and refuses to let any of the healers here examine her. I think she'll be more comfortable with your pack healer. " She said gently.

Namjoon nodded, glancing back at Jiah who sat side-saddle on one of the smaller ponies, her eyes wide and face still ashen. He had tried to tell her it would be okay , but she had insisted on going home. The stark terror on her face had unsettled him deeply. He didn't know why she was so scared of the Jeon healer? Could it be because he was a man? Whatever the reason she hadn't let him examine her and because he couldn't ask her to just forget about the whole thing ( he was still head alpha , he still had to set an example as a caring mate. ) Namjoon had been forced to arrange for their return back home.

He had left Seokjin and Taehyung behind to carry the talks on his behalf, and Jisoo stood a few dozen feet away looking annoyed as he gave her

an apologetic smile.

The journey back to the Main village would be a couple of days and he had packed enough food for the both of them.

As he turned back to mount his stallion, he caught a glimpse of her face as she stared at him.

She looked lost , apologetic and clearly upset.

And he wondered if he would have to spend the rest of his life reading her face, trying to figure her out.

He has no interest in either.

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

The journey became incredibly tiring, especially when the skies opened up on them. Rain Lashed the ground , intent on soaking the earth and Namjoon watched her shiver, trembling as they all huddled beneath the shade of some trees, blankets wrapped tight around her thin torso. Why was she so thin? Why did she look at food like it was poisoned?

They were only a mile from home but had to stop, the deluge was far too strong for the animals to see ahead of them.

Namjoon himself sat next to an omega from the clan. He recognised her as one of the maids his mother had given to Jiah.

" Is your mistress doing well?" He asked gruffly and the omega startled, bowing twice in respect before answering.

"I...she ... She doesn't say much, alpha." The girl blushed under his gaze, looking away nervously and he frowned, glancing back at Jiah.

So it wasn't just him, then. She didn't trust anyone. He stared at her till she felt the heat of his gaze and looked up, eyes wide like a startled bird, like one of the starlings that nested in the wooden beams of his hut. She looked surprised, then terrified, eyes darting away at once and he tried not to growl in sheer frustration.

He wondered if it was because of his face.

Namjoon had no large feelings about his looks but he knew he was far from beautiful. ( A/N : A whole lie , I know but please bear with me for the story :*) it was one of the reasons he had wanted a plain looking bride. But perhaps his own chosen mate had , had dreams of marrying a very handsome man? Perhaps she had been infatuated with someone like that , from the clan?

It wasn't a far fetched idea. But still, she had been free to refuse his proposal. When he had first met the clan's watchkeeper, old man Gong in the humble hut on the outer borders of the pack land, he had made it clear that it wasn't some kind of order. She was free to refuse.

But she hadn't.

She had merely bowed and agreed and promptly appeared with a satchel full of her things and followed him back to his own home.

So why did she continue to act like she was here against her will?

It irked him no end.

As the skies cleared, they began their trek again and Namjoon pushed thoughts of her out of his mind. He had to plan for the winter, make sure there was enough food and also make sure they had enough herbs and liniments and oils in the apothecary. Mind drifting off to the countless things he was responsible for, Namjoon forgot all about his awkward mate and the reason they were going back home in the first place.

Which is why, when they reached home and he took his bath, cleaning himself up and finally settling down to some delicious food from the kitchens , his mother's words made him drop the chopsticks in shock.

" She is with child."

Namjoon stared at his mother in complete shock.

Fuck.

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

Authors Note : I had this idea and just had to write it. Hope you guys enjoyed it.

[ncitygirls]

matryoshka - part 1, 4k

sibling!johnny, taeyong x f reader, mark x f reader, platonic/‘sibling’!haechan

nct crime au, angst, cw: character death, death, mental illness, police, injury, violence

300 days

There are few people who can disarm a man like Johnny Seo. Since the rather untimely, and inexplicable death of his mother and father at the tender age of fourteen, he quickly adopted this persona. He considers it a token from his late mother. She had always said, in a voice as soft as the breeze in spring, that to be polite is to be in control. He holds himself to that quite forcibly, reminding himself time and time again that there is power in making others fold to him. At time it is as simple as approaching an adversary with a smile, and awaiting the flare in their skin, the bugle in their veins and the ripple in their muscles. There are few who can disarm Johnny Seo. But few does not equate to none.

“When will you discharge her?” Johnny began, the words rolling off of his tongue with an air of nonchalance that bordered on flippancy, but an edge that was new to even him.

“Mr Seo,” without thinking, Johnny rolls his neck, bracing himself for a response he knows he will refuse. He thinks it odd to loathe an act he is yet to commit, especially when he can still prevent it. What he hates more however, is that you are here to witness it. When the doctor sighs, letting his glasses hang around his neck, he smiles sympathetically. Johnny sees nothing but pity. “I’m not sure how else to say this, but physically? Your sister is stable enough to go home. When we went in to remove what was left of the bullet fragments and saw to her ruptured spleen, we managed to mend her torn ligaments. Her blood work came back clear, and for the most part, her vitals are stable. With a few weeks of physio, I think we would be able to discharge her. Ideally, she could go home this week.”

“Wonderful,” Johnny’s hollow cheer guides his hasty movements as he, unthinking, strips you of your blanket to reveal a sight he thinks might change his mind. Rows of red line your skin, moons of dried blood covering the heels of your palms. He cringes at the dirty cotton cuffs that strap you to the metal frame of your hospital bed. Johnny can’t seem to make sense of the sight. “Did this happen during the shooting?”

“No, Mr Seo,” the doctor shakes his head, his frustration with his patient’s only living relative shedding every second he watches Johnny take in your limp frame. “It is like I was saying. Miss Seo is fit enough to leave. But mentally-”

Johnny simply raises his palm, ignoring the tears that pool in and out the corners of your eyes, a steady stream gathering in your hairline as you relive the events the two refer to so flippantly. “She will do better at home.” It is unclear for whom the assurance is intended. The doctor, you, himself. It is all just hope. So it doesn’t matter. “She will do better once she’s home.”

“Mr Seo, as your sister’s physician, I must implore you to reconsider.” Johnny understands where the doctor is coming from, he truly does. Johnny, taught well by his father, prides himself in being understanding. Like his father before him, Johnny prides himself in being calm in the face of not only danger, but regular folk - those who go about their lives, slaves to normalcy. Those who live life year to year, those who plan their lives, who wake up to sleep, expecting to see the sun once again. Those who consider life a right, rather than a privilege. Johnny has come to understand men like this. Not by choice of course, but because he had to. Especially once you met Taeyong.

2,109 days

“I met a guy today,” the words crackle through the phone, Johnny’s fingers stilling as he finally takes a break from his work, placing a mental bookmark on his train of thought. He wants to ask where, but he doesn’t enjoy seeming interested in affairs of the heart. They sicken him. “He was really weird,” you hum as you kick the curb, swinging your arms as you traipse through what Johnny thinks must be your university campus. He pretends he bother to know your schedule, but never has a reason for why he always gets himself up before you leave every morning. “A good weird,” you add, “his clothes hardly fit, they were all baggy. It’s hard to explain.”

“You kids and your trends,” he huffs, spinning in his chair to watch the city, eyes landing on the bell tower of your campus. “What happened to a nicely fitted suit?”

“It’s a college campus, John. Plus, it’s like half ten in the morning,” you can hear his next question before he even asks. “I mentioned his clothes because I wanted you to envision him, not judge him.”

“Well, I am envisioning a bum.”

“Okay, but envision a cute bum,” you try. “A beautiful, cute, funny bum.”

“That is still a bum, y/n.” You hear the faint sound of floor boards creaking, a telltale sign that he’s pacing. “Did he ask you out?” You hum in agreement, always too shy to admit anything so personal outright. It is times like this he wonders why you bother calling him and not just Haechan. He’ll never tell you this however. Lest he lose his spot as your first call. “I hope ope he’s taking you somewhere nice?”

“Yeah, of course,” he knows you’re lying. He knows it’s Hyuck’s you're both going to. Not that there as an issue with Hyuck’s. Even if you’ve already had the menu four different ways, front to back and then back again. It’s where you take all your first dates, you give Haechan a chance to size them up, figure out if they’re worthy. “I just wanted to tell you first because I think he’s a real contender this time.”

“And you’ll be late home, so you won’t be making dinner again?” Your affirming grunt forced a long sigh from Johnny. However, no matter many times he claimed his annoyance was due to your absence inconveniencing him; you both knew the loneliness bothered him now. “Well, have fun.”

“I’ll try,” you sing. “And I’ll bring that coffee cake you love so much, okay?” Johnny offers his own affirming grunt. Though it sits a couple octaves below your own, you hear the sliver of joy he lets through. “Love you.”

He doesn’t respond. He had already hung up.

300 days

“Mr Seo?”

Johnny had finally shrugged off his suit jacket and let his shoulders sag when he heard his name for the umpteenth time that day. He wanta to ignore it, but what would mother say?

“Yes?” SMPA. The badge is hard to read as it glistens under the glaring hospital lights. But he can’t miss the shape, the obnoxious insignia.

“Good evening,” the detective starts, his smiling eyes are in direct contrast to the gloom and doom of the last few days. Johnny wonders if smiling with teeth is proper practice when greeting someone who almost lost their little sister. “I am Detective Lee, I have a few questions for you about the shooting at Hyuck’s Diner. If you have a moment.”

“Of course,” he sighs, straightening his spine. “I am sure you are aware, but I wasn’t there.”

“I think it’s lucky you weren’t,” the detective adds, a sad smile settling on the bed to your right. “I am a friend of Donghyuck’s.”

“Oh,” there’s a short second where Johnny feels an odd sense of comfort, one he believed would only come when you finally opened your eyes. He also feels some guilt. “I didn’t know he had any other friends in Seoul, I tried to reach everyone I could.”

“And thank you for that,” the detective lets his eyes fall on his friend’s unmoving figure for a moment, his gaze returning to Johnny when he feels a familiar prick. “I have been hard at work on this case. I received word you did not wish for your sister to remain in hospital. May I ask why?”

“It is a public hospital,” Johnny responds, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I can afford better.”

“Then why did you let her stay?” The detective asks, scribbling away. Johnny wonders what dictates the parameters of an investigation versus a friendly conversation. “Her psych eval?”

“No,” he sighs, eyeing Haechan to your right. “They wouldn’t let me take him too,” when the detective tilts his head, surprise evident in his round eyes, Johnny lets himself laugh for the first time in over a week. “You wouldn’t want to be me when she wakes up to find I left him behind.”

2,361 days

It is past midnight when you fly into Johnny’s bedroom, a dew gathering on your forehead, chin and neck. In his sleepy haze, he hears only the end of your ramblings, your steps ordered in a manner Johnny can only describe as frantic. It is not in his nature to panic, he leaves such trivialities to you. But when your wide eyes find his, fear brimming as you scramble to get ready, you throw him your phone and he finally sees why.

“There are a bunch of guys who won’t pay up at Hyuck’s and he’s scared. Let’s go.”

That’s how Johnny found himself parked outside Hyuck’s Diner in downtown Seoul, just north of the river. You didn’t give him a chance to park up as you dashed out the still moving vehicle, door left wide open. Johnny is thankful it’s late, but quickly notes it being far too late for Hyuck’s to still be open. As he parks up, he watches you storm into the near empty diner, sees the relief on Haechan’s tired face as you round the bar. Johnny can’t really make out what you’re saying, but he can see the fire in your eyes. He sniggers as he stalks after you, seeing his mother in them too.

“I said, pay up, or give it back.”

“That’s funny,” one of the burly men says, food spitting out his mouth and onto the clean bar top as he laughs in your face. While Johnny only counted two from outside, he can now see a third standing off to the side. When his eyes meet Johnny’s, he falters slightly, thick hands running through his hair as he avoids Johnny’s haunting figure hovering by the only exit. “Who exactly is gonna make us?”

“Me,” you grin, reaching for the back of his head and slamming it hard down onto the bar. You hear Haechan yelp in what you assume is fear for his newly polished, now dented bar top. As the guy to his left lunges at you, you’re quick to utilise your surroundings. Johnny almost applauds your ingenuity as you quickly reach for a used butter knife and practically mutilate the man’s fist. It is then Haechan disappears from your side, his head nearly halfway down the drain pipe as blood splurts onto his newly polished, now dented, now blood stained bar top. The first guy had rounded the bar, only to be met with a fist to the throat, and knee to the gut. Johnny sees you’re expecting something to happen as you repeat the motion before seeing sense. With your hand latched to his collar, you drag his doubled over body out onto the street before you knee him again.

In the middle of the intersection pours his unpaid bill, meeting one end of the deal. Johnny laughs at how visibly dissatisfies you are, considering how long their bill actually was. You fish his wallet out of his back pocket, taking a few hundreds to cover the balance. “Who even carries cash anymore?”

Johnny wonders too as you pass by him, walking back inside and turning on the third guy. “Your friend covered yours, so you’re free to go.” As he scrambles to leave, he keeps his eyes fixed on your brother, halting when Johnny moves to stop him, a lone finger pointing toward the man's weeping companion.

“Take them with you.”

It’s a few seconds before their presence is no more than a distant memory. Johnny is quick to clean the bloody bar top, and rearrange the furniture. He even loads the dishwasher as you tend to a still queasy Haechan. “When I text you, I didn’t think you would do all of that,” he huffs, backtracking as he notes the hurt look in your eyes. “I mean, I am so grateful. Really, I am,” he smirks, fatigue stealing the light that usually fills his eyes. “But I didn’t know you were The fucking Bride.” When you roll your eyes, he presses on, glimpses of his usual self slowly return as the adrenaline begins to kick in. “No, honestly! I wish I had cameras in here because- fuck! That was insane!”

“Alright, whatever. Get your things, you’re staying with us tonight.”

“Do you think they’ll come back?” Haechan asks, the worry in his tone hurting you beyond belief. “Do you think I should call Mark again?”

“Who, the cop? No, they won’t be coming back, trust me,” you hum. When Johnny emerges from the back, drying his hands on a clean rag, you jest, “no thanks to angel eyes over there may I add.”

“Oh my god, hyung! And you!” Haechan restarts, allowing you to pack up his things while he recounts the terror in the third man’s gaze as he locked eyes with your brother. “It’s like he saw a ghost or something.”

“Yeah,” you laugh, grabbing Haechan while Johnny locks up. “Or something.”

It’s nearly dawn when Haechan crashes. It was Monday and he needed to find cover for the open. But getting cover didn’t stop him fretting, and no amount of herbal tea nor booze could settle a frantic Haechan. It is laughable though, how it took no more than a film opening to send him off. You slip away at sunrise, snuggling up to Johnny who gave up on sending you away shortly after your parents passed. However, he still makes sure to express his disdain for the affection.

“At least stick to your side, y/n-”

“Thank you for coming tonight,” you breathe, clearly uninterested in satisfying his request. “I know you have to be up soon, and I’m sorry. But having you there was- yeah. Thank you.”

For the first time in years, Johnny lets you snuggle with him. An hour later, for the first time ever, Johnny lets Haechan do the same. He fears that this might become a pattern, the two of you craving so much affection it might suffocate him. Johnny knows it just might, but has found peace in that. Much like he has found peace in your insistence that Haechan be one of you. Because he is one of you, he too left orphaned at a young age, you took him under your wing. So much like that day, as Johnny falls asleep to the sound of your light snores, he also decides-

300 days

“He’s family.”

“He speaks so highly of you both,” Mark adds, smiling thankfully at your sleeping frame. “But I’m sure he would forgive you for doing what’s best for her.”

“She wouldn’t.” Johnny adds, though a part of him knows he might have trouble forgiving himself.

“What is it you do for a living?” Mark asks, eyes quickly scanning Johnny’s crisp suit. “I can’t say I recall Hyuck ever mentioning it.”

“A bit of this and that,” he jokes, glancing towards you. “That’s what she calls it.” He hates the melancholic tone he has adopted. It is pitiful. “After our parents passed, I took over their pharmaceuticals company just after I turned twenty-one. We dabble in everything; medicine, cosmeceuticals, nutrition, you name it.”

“That must keep you busy.”

“I work from home,” Johnny knows he is being foolish, trying to falsely place an accusation in Mark’s assumption. Johnny knows he fell into the classic trope of throwing himself into his studies, and then his work, just to avoid the harsh reality that his parents were gone and they were never coming back. He would readily admit he abandoned you in the beginning to grieve on your own, to figure it all out on your own. He just wouldn’t take that from a stranger. “I tried to be around for her as much as I could.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Mark’s smile is kind, full of unfiltered sympathy. Johnny wonders if you have to practice such a thing, and if so, whether someone should have the doctors do the same. “I just wonder if you are wearing yourself thin is all.”

“You needn’t worry about such things Detective.” Johnny reminds, drawing the line between the two so simply, his eyes flicking slowly to Mark’s badge. “Worry about the case.”

“Of course,” Mark rushes, scrambling to defend his statement. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

“And I you,” when the doctor enters to take both yours and Haechan’s vitals, he greets Mark warmly. Johnny feels no resentment to this warm reception, none whatsoever. But he can’t help but wonder what about him denies him the same warm greeting. He is quickly reminded of the first time he was to meet Taeyong.

1,977 days

“Your knees are shaking the counter, hyung,” Haechan sniggers. He knows he shouldn’t, he does. But he can’t help but bask in his friend’s nerves. How can the coldest man he knows be so scared to meet his sister’s boyfriend. As calm and collected as he behaves, Haechan is no stranger to worry, and it worries him to no end how the evening will go. From what he has heard from you, Taeyong is as nervous as one can be. And yet, your main concern lies in how your brother will react, and Haechan is an empathetic soul. He just knows he will feel it all. “Your vibe is really killing the mood, lighten up.”

“Shut up, kid.” Johnny warns, eyeing his watch every so often. “They’re late.”

Strike one.

“You know what y/n is like, she’s probably trying to talk him out of it.” Haechan notes how innocent Johnny looks with his head tilted, confusion bleeding into his features. “You are pretty scary hyung, maybe she thinks you’m scare him off.”

“Maybe he isn’t worthy then.”

Strike two.

“Or,” Haechan sings, adjusting his embroidered apron, Hyuck’s opening anniversary gift from the very man he is about to berate. “Maybe you’re not ready to watch your sister grow up, so you sabotage everything with your scary eyes and bad vibes,” Haechan shrugs with his chin in his palm, blinking sweetly at Johnny who resists the urge to flick his forehead.

“Don’t you have coffee to go pour?”

Haechan sniggers once more as he does just that, refilling Johnny’s coffee and shrugging. “Or maybe they’re stuck in traffic.”

So he can’t fly?

Strike three.

300 days

After a few hours, Mark returns for a detailed description of the three men he suspects may be involved in the shooting. Johnny says as much as he can recall, even going as far as to emphasise the detective’s lack of involvement. He suspects it is in direct retaliation to his earlier comment and ignores it, though Johnny quickly sees his own guilt reflected back in the detective’s guilt ridden eyes. “Will that be all?”

“Almost-” Mark starts, before glancing over at you. “I just,” he can’t seem to push past the lump in his throat. Johnny has given him everything he knows, that much is true. But after speaking with the doctor, Mark can’t help but wonder. “Why haven’t you tried speaking to her? Doctor Kim said she may respond well to a familiar voice.”

“I’m not sure what to say.”

Mark knows it’s a loaded statement. One dripping in regret, in guilt, and in shame. But Mark can’t afford for Johnny to be ashamed. Not with Haechan lying unconscious as you lie there, reliving that day over and over and over again. Mark needs you to wake up. But Mark also swore to never relinquish his compassion. All Mark knows of you is the stories he’s heard through Haechan. Though some have a rosier hue due to his familiarity with you, Mark is sure there is no exaggeration in your case. You are a good person. One who cares deeply, who loves deeply. Mark thinks those parts of you are the ones Johnny can tap into. He just won’t.

“Haechan was my first friend in Korea. When I moved here as a kid, my parents worked at the orphanage he was at. He made fun of my Korean for a year straight before I could finally understand and speak fluently enough to defend myself. But, I guess it was okay, you know? He was helping all the same. I was a scrawny kid, I used to get picked on a lot. He was always there. Even though he got beat up too. He’s in all my earliest- my best memories. growing up. He’s like my brother. If he was awake, I think I’d-”

“But he isn’t,” Johnny reminds, eyes locked on your sunken face. Johnny knows what Mark is doing, he knows the tactic very well. He is quite acquainted with guilt as a form of persuasion. “He’s not awake, detective. The doctor said he doesn’t know if he will ever wake up. You know, I overheard the doctors say they haven’t seen spinal fractures that severe in their fifty years of combined experience. They said if Haechan ever opens his eyes again it will be a miracle. If he walks again? This hospital would be internationally renowned. Those surgeons would be infamous. But they can’t. They can’t so it. They can’t do it because they don’t have the facilities for such an operation, and even if they did, Hyuck couldn’t afford it. Even if he could afford it, y/n would have to wake up and give them the okay, because this idiot made herself his guardian so he could practically sell his soul for the loan for that fucking diner.

“So, I’m sorry, detective. I’m sorry that the only thing standing between you ever seeing your friend again is my selfish sister.”

“Mr Seo-”

“But you must agree, she is selfish. She thinks she’s the only one hurting, the only one who has lost something, lost someone.” Mark only sees what Johnny is doing a few seconds too late. As Johnny raises a lone finger to his lips, his eyes catching on the stream pouring down your temples. Mark’s heart nearly beats out of his chest as your vital signs begin to whir, the machinery at your bedside coming to life as Johnny reminds you that, “people die every day. Our parents, Hyuck’s parents, and now Taeyong-”

“Don’t!” You scream suddenly, your body nearly thrashing off of the bed. Johnny fears the force with which you rise could snap your arms in two, but nothing is more worrisome than the bloody red rimming your crisp white eyes; the visible and painfully rapid rise and fall of your chest; the tremor in your chapped lips. “Don’t! Please! Please don’t say it-”

Johnny had never moved so fast. His hands clinging to your trembling frame as he stroked the back of your head. He chanted quickly in your ear, pleading with you to stay with him as he promises to stay. “I won’t go anywhere, I won’t leave you. Never. I promise. Just please, stay with me, okay? I need you here, Hyuck- Hyuck needs you, okay? I need you to stay with me, we’re all we have. Please, y/n-”

Mark couldn’t help but feel intrusive. His earlier pushing began to feel filthy, unfair, unjust. But how could he know you were this far gone, this distraught. Nothing is more sickening than the soft, croaky ‘yes’ that spills from your lips. Your bloodshot eyes lingering on his frozen frame before you see Haechan. You tremble again, your body nearly convulsing as you recognise the boy beside you.

“Shh, he’ll be okay- I promise- we’ll get him help. I promise you- we’ll be okay.”

Johnny rarely spoke out of hope. He was a man who would cling so tightly to reality, you would sometimes joke that his knuckles would snap from the pressure. But as he holds you tightly in his arms, rocking your hollow frame back and forth, he realises he has nothing more than hope.

But since when has hope ever been enough?

[obae-me]

Beneath Still Waters- CH 1

Miracle Meeting

Word count: 3600

Summary: It’s the first of many strange meetings you’ve yet to come across. As you feel you’ve hit rock bottom, someone comes along to give you an opportunity. Feeling like you have no other choice, you pack a bag and head to a town known as Old Midev, the place where your adventures will soon begin. 

Tags: (Mostly) Human AU, second person view, gender neutral reader, I do not endorse always following the advice of a stranger, but for trope purposes, it’s fun.

They say that despite the appearance of calm surfaces, you should always be aware of the danger of currents churning just beneath them. There’s a point people warn you about, for once you drift too far from shore, there’s a good chance you’ll never be able to come back, even for all your fights and struggles. The best thing for you to do at that point is move with the flow, all the better to keep your head above water. Is that what your life had come to at this point? Had you been swept along by unseen forces, working to barely keep afloat? 

A little raindrop made its way down the glass pane, weaving and shifting past other stagnant dots of moisture. The trail it left formed small beads before it drifted down too far, disappearing from view. The locomotive ticked and churned along its path, unaffected by the storm outside. You sighed, changing your posture after having sat in your current one too long. Everything in your body was stiff, your muscles were sore, but most of all you were undeniably nervous. Was this a mistake? You wondered. Had it been too good to be true? But at this point...was there a better alternative? In all honesty, your life was at a low point. A very low point. Due to circumstances beyond your control, you’d lost your job, been told you had to find a new place to live by the next month, and finding any sort of stability financially, mentally, or otherwise seemed nigh on impossible. 

That was, till about two days ago. Trying to scrounge up any semblance of peace, you’d taken a trip to a local park. Disheveled, heartbroken, you sat on a bench, pondering if soon you’d have to sleep on this very seat in the near future. At that point, it seemed like a very real possibility. Little kids threw balls at each other and screamed in joy, the birds around you sang without a care. Everyone else looked happy. Everyone else didn’t seem to struggle as you did. And while it seemed silly, you couldn’t help but seem envious of everything. Envious of the adults who seemed to have everything together. Envious of the free birds. Even envious of the little flowers planted in their permanent little pots. 

“Mind if I sit here?” A gentle voice snapped you out of your thoughts, some worry racing through your mind, wondering if the stranger had noticed how bitterly you watched the passersby. The man was a kind looking soul; bright blue eyes, dark-toned skin, well-kept clothes, a shining smile on his attractive features. A soft breeze ruffled his curly brown hair. He pulled his ivory jacket closer around him, adjusting the blue scarf around his neck, the ends of the fabric billowing behind his shoulders. Something about him struck you as otherworldly, but you couldn’t place it. 

Aware of the way you looked compared to him, you scooted a little closer to the edge of the bench, straightening your own clothes in an attempt to make your hoodie and sweatpants a bit more presentable. “Uh...sure…” 

As he sat down, he thanked you only to apologize right after. “I’m sorry, I just had a feeling...maybe you could use some company.” Had you really looked that pathetic? Like a wounded animal left on the side of the road and calling out for help? You refrained from making a comment, hunching your shoulders instead. The stranger tilted his head at you, then lifted his chin to observe the puffy clouds drift up above your heads. “A beautiful day,” he expressed. “Don’t you think?” Really? Out of everything that could’ve possibly happened today, a charming yet odd stranger basically asked how you thought the weather was? Was it a good day? Was today, a day you’d been handed two rejected applications, a day you’d been hunting for anyone to take you in, a day you felt as if nothing could get worse, a good day? “It doesn’t have to be a good day,” he started, speaking as if he’d directly read your thoughts, “For it to be a beautiful one.” The breath in your lungs stopped for a moment as you observed him with semi-wide eyes. How did he…? The man simply shot you a sympathetic grin. “Ah, sorry for the assumptions. It’s just, in my line of work, you tend to see a lot of people sport the same expression. I couldn’t help but notice it on you when I passed by.” 

Some heat poured into your cheeks. So you had been that easy to read. A small family walked by in front of you, one of the younger children running too far ahead. Their guardians hurriedly reminded them not to go too far. Once they passed, you straightened your slouched posture, taking a deep breath. “In your line of work?” 

“I’m a doctor,” he explained. 

“Ah…” How much despair had he seen, how many grief-stricken people had left such an impression on him that he could simply tell how someone was feeling just by their face? Was he an empath or just observant? It doesn’t have to be a good day for it to be a beautiful one, he’d said. The leaves off the trees shone different shades of green, some shifting to warm hues in preparation for the approaching autumn, rustling under the beams of sun branching out from behind the clouds that rolled past the grey-blue sky. The air was crisp enough for jackets, but not yet cold enough for coats. You could smell the aroma of freshly baked goods, the air carrying the scent from the bakery just across the street. It was...rather stunning. “I’m going to be homeless.” The truth slipped out of you before you could process even moving your lips. With it, your emotions followed, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve been working towards has failed. My efforts amount--they amount to nothing! I don’t even know where to go or-or what to do anymore.” A choked back sob made your voice waver. “I’m sorry...I don’t even know you, I--I’m sorry. I don’t know why I just shared all that with a stranger.” The tears slowly began to dry as you brushed them away with the back of your hand. 

“Dr. Matthews,” he stated. “But you can call me Simeon.” 

You blinked, sniffling a little as you glanced quizzically at him. “Huh?” 

He rummaged for a few things in the confines of his pockets. With an outstretched hand, he offered you two things. One, a tissue, something you accepted with more than a little sheepishness as you dabbed the end of your nose with it. The second was a business card. It was a white and rather professional looking little paper with gold lettering. The name and title ‘Dr. Simeon Matthews’ was printed on the front, along with his email, business phone number, and website address. “Now I’m not a total stranger.” He smiled earnestly, and something about the idea of a doctor easily convinced that simply sharing a name would immediately make you acquaintances let a bubble of amusement float to the top of your mind. 

“Simeon?” You repeated, and he nodded to confirm you’d gotten it right. The vowels slid past your lips. “It’s a nice name.” 

He beamed at the compliment. “Thank you.” His long legs shifted and his hands fidgeted in his lap as he struggled with an internal thought. “Tell me...have you heard of Old Midev?”  You hadn’t. In fact, you couldn’t even tell what he was referring to by name alone. A book? A show? An illness? “It’s a little old town quite a ways from here, but it’s where I grew up. It’s so small most maps don’t even bother displaying it,” he chuckled. Homesickness stood out behind his eyes, his smile a lonely one. “It’s been quite a while since I’ve been home...Do you like house-sitting?” His question left you stunned, and a pit formed in your stomach. You could connect the dots. Was he inferring what you thought he was? 

“Simeon!” A high voice turned both your heads. A child about the age of ten or twelve was awkwardly running towards the bench with a little plastic container in his hands. Golden hair bobbed across his forehead as he stood before the man and presented the container; a little cupcake with pink frosting and pearl-like sprinkles dwelled inside. From under the kid’s blue jacket sleeves, you spotted bandages as well as a medical bracelet covering his wrists. “I managed to get one! They let me watch them make it fresh! Doesn’t it look delicious?” 

“It looks amazing, Luke!” Simeon addressed the pale child. “But remember what I told you about running?” 

Luke huffed and raised his nose. “I’m old enough to buy this by myself! I can handle running a little.” 

“I just want to be cautious is all,” Simeon assured him. The doctor used a hand to gesture towards the kid. “This is Luke, he’s a patient of mine.” Your heart quickly sank. It explained the bracelet, why Luke looked too pale, why his bright tufts seemed so thin. Simeon noticed your face quickly drain, and he playfully ruffled Luke’s hair. “He’s been a fighter, but it’ll end up being moot if you waste all your energy running around like a rabid chihuahua!” 

Luke, affronted, swatted Simeon’s hand away and fixed the stray strands. “I’m not a chihuahua!” There was fire in him yet. He pulled the cupcake box closer to his chest like he had to protect it. His sweet innocence and their wholesome dynamic let a smile curl across your face, something that hadn’t happened to you for a while. “Who’s your friend, Simeon?” 

The man hesitated. He didn’t know how to explain that you two had literally just met, and your name had yet to be announced. He’d probably refrained from asking in the event it would make you uncomfortable. You drifted your sight between the two of them, the sense of unease devoid from your intuition. Usually you could trust your gut on sketchy strangers. The two of them felt warm, safe, strangely familiar, like you’d been fated to cross paths. Some faith in your humanity was restored, and as you looked at Luke, you remembered that other people were suffering too. If he could, you too could fight a little longer. With a little sigh, you let some of the heavy weight of hopelessness slide off your shoulders, and you shared your name. 

And that was simply the beginning of your journey. A meeting of miracles. 

Simeon had asked you again how you felt about house-sitting, and before he took off with Luke, he encouraged you to give the number on his card a call once you’d thought it over. Now here you were, on a train to this town of his, doing something potentially reckless. Old Midev...small alright. After you’d double checked Simeon’s doctorate claims, you’d searched this town. It did exist, but it took you a while to find it. For the longest time, the only result that would show up were some crackhead conspiracy posts on a mystic sea creature written by someone calling themselves The Sorcerer. There was only a lake in that town, nothing really seaworthy about it. Nothing really note-worthy about it, in fact. From the overhead map view, you could see a school, a library, a park, a gym, a grocery store, a few other scattered businesses--basically the bare minimum--and that was it. There were only about 800 people, and even that was slowly declining as residents moved away. But in that town held the potential of some support, a shelter, some hope, at least until you could get back on your own two feet. 

The train buckled a bit, the speed starting to decline. You picked your head up, eyes heavy as you’d almost begun to nod off. Only now did your heart begin to pound. New people. A new environment. Would you be able to tell people you were basically someone’s charity case? That you were going to be squatting in someone’s empty home till you could sort yourself out? Groaning, you tapped your feet against the floor to get your nerves out. It took about another ten minutes before the train came to a complete stop. The luggage you’d brought with you resided in a single large suitcase in the proper compartment. Everything else you owned you had boxed up and placed in a storage unit in your old city. 

If the station you stepped out onto was a testament to what the town was like, you could see that it truly lived up to the name Old Midev. The train had pulled next to the only station in town. It almost seemed as if the station itself was built before the rails, and they conveniently converted it into a station as an afterthought. It looked more like a barn than anything. A little red wooden building with rusty red walls and white trim that had begun to chip and grey with time. The platform was decorated with log benches, carved animal statues, and barrels that had been cut in half to serve as flower planters. There was a nice little overhead to keep people--and you--from standing out in open weather. Even though it was still raining, it had lessened to a light sprinkle. As you tried to move, your luggage quickly got snagged on a nail sticking out from the creaking floorboards underneath you. With a tug, you got it free. The pistons to the train hissed as they prepared to shut the doors behind you. It’s your last chance to turn around. It’ll be hard to get out of this if you stay, you told yourself. And yet you stood your ground, watching the train start to chug away. 

Simeon had given you some insight into a few things before he’d so graciously purchased your ticket for you. One, he told you that you were welcome to stay as long as you needed. Yes, this town housed his home, and yet his work had him traveling constantly, so there was no one there to look after it. Two, his extra set of keys was in a compartment behind a wall plaque with a proverb on it. And three, a friend of his would be waiting at the station when you arrived to help take you to the house you’d be staying at. Only...you were seemingly the only living soul around. Swiveling your head to observe the area around you, you only further confirmed this. There was no one else here. No one was sitting down, no one was inside the building when you peeked in the windows. Being alone in...such an unfamiliar place...out in the middle of nowhere. Your blood started to run cold. Should you have done more background checks on Simeon? Yes, there was a website and a secretary and Luke and everything...but maybe it had all been staged! Was it all fake? Did you make a mistake? What were you even doing hopping on a train to come all the way out here?! Sure you had joked about dropping your entire life to move to a desolate place and change the way you lived, but you never thought it would be this frightening in the moment!

“Hey.” The monotone voice of someone behind you made you shout. You quickly turned, placing your suitcase in front of you in the event you needed to use it as a shield. You’d brought a self defense keychain with you and hidden it in your sleeve. Up until now, you hadn’t had to use it yet...but you would if you were desperate. There before you, occupying the space you could’ve sworn was empty, was a man; ripped jeans, dark circles under his eyes about as dark as the large sweatshirt he was wearing. Floppy purple hair with frosted ends hovered in front of his vision. He had a chain around his neck, a dirty look across his face, and a strange intense stance. You were dead. You knew it. Somehow you’d been fooled into coming here, and now you were about to be killed. “Are you the person Simeon sent?” 

Oh...was this the friend Simeon had talked about? Your nerves were still on edge, but you found it a little easier to breathe. “Y-yes...are you…” 

“Yeah. He sent me here to pick you up. I’m kinda late, I-” He was interrupted by his own large yawn. “I overslept. But it’s whatever.” Wasn’t it already dipping into the late afternoon? There was still some trepidation inside you, and he must’ve finally noticed your defensive stance. “Oh. Simeon told me to say ‘seraph’...I think it was the word.”  Seraph had been Simeon’s little safety measure to try and ease your anxiety and to prove who to trust. It was such a random little word, you’d doubted anyone could come up with it without being told by Simeon first. Your shoulders loosened a bit. Although, still...not to stereotype...but you found it interesting that a character like Simeon would be friends with someone like...this person before you. He appeared as if he’d torn up his entire wardrobe with a set of knives and yet looked entirely comfortable about it. Like...soft-emo-core. And yet their clashing attire wasn’t what bothered you...it was Simeon’s angelic nature vs...this person’s apathetic attitude. Well, who were you to judge? Simeon just always threw more surprises at you. 

“Yeah. That was the word.” You sighed and rubbed the back of your neck. “Thanks for coming to pick me up. I wouldn’t know left from right here.” 

His blank face managed a little laugh. “Most people don’t. Anyway, come on, my brother has the car running.” He already started walking off, not even bothered to check to make sure you were following. You muttered some curses in your head before dragging your heavy suitcase behind you, trying not to trip on the uneven platform. 

“Your brother?” 

“Yeah, I don’t like driving,” he replied, kicking a few stray rocks as he hopped off the platform and onto an unpaved road. A large four-door red pickup truck was idling a few feet ahead. Through the darkened window, you could see another man--the brother, you pieced together--eating behind the wheel. You grimaced. Getting inside a vehicle with two people you didn’t know was exactly the sort of thing you’d been told not to ever do. The one time your escort actually looked back was the time you’d hesitated. “What,” he smirked. “You think we’re going to murder you or something?” 

You stopped in your tracks. “Maybe! I don’t know you!” Your accusatory tone came out of nowhere. “You still...Simeon told me the name of the person coming to get me. You haven’t told me your name.” 

He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth. Even if he’d told you, you weren’t sure you'd fully believe him. The main factor that contributed to some trust was all thanks to the person who rolled down the window of the truck, swallowing another handful of fries. “Belphie! Why didn’t you help them with their suitcase?” The name was right. Simeon had told you the person coming to get you would’ve been called Belphie. Strange name. Much like the password, you doubted anyone would’ve just made up a name like that on the spot. 

“Eh. I didn’t feel like it. It looks heavy,” Belphie admitted. You almost glared at him. What is with this guy?

The other man opened the door and stepped out of the truck. He was wearing a tracksuit. Red jacket and matching crimson pants, both of which had black stripes running vertically up the sides. He was wearing a black shirt underneath, a little bright stain of some sort smudged on his chest, probably some condiment from what he’d been eating. Unlike his brother, he had bright red hair and an expressive face, although his voice shared the same consistent and unwavering deep tone like his sibling. He stepped towards you, almost giving you a heart attack when you realized just how tall and muscular he was. God help any creature that dared to upset him. When he moved his arm in your direction, you felt faint, but then he simply grasped your luggage with one hand and plucked it up from the ground, settling it gently in the bed of the truck. 

He turned on his feet towards you, Belphie slinking away to get into the passenger seat of the car without even offering to help. “You’re MC, right? Simeon told us some about you.” The doctor hadn’t known you for very long, so the ‘some’ must’ve been the whole...rock bottom explanation. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder to point behind him. “That’s my twin, Belphie.” Twins? They didn’t exactly strike you as such just on an observational standpoint, but it’s not as if twins were always identical. “Sorry about him. He gets grumpy when he’s tired.”

“It’s okay…” You mustered up a polite grin. 

“You can call me Beel.” Beel opened one of the backdoors to the car, quickly clearing the backseat by shoving old takeout bags into one slightly bigger bag before settling it on one spot on the floor, looking a bit proud of his swift cleaning job. “Hop in, MC. Let’s bring you to Old Midev.” 

[tlhnetwork]

NOVEMBER’s Chain of Gold Flash Fiction by Cassandra Clare

A Lightwood Christmas Carol, Part 1

LONDON, 1889

Will Herondale was full of Christmas spirit, and Gideon Lightwood found it very annoying.

It wasn’t just Will, actually; he and his wife Tessa had both been raised in mundane circumstances until they were nearly adults, and so their memories of Christmas were of fond family memories and childhood delights. They came alive with it when the city of London did, as it did every year.

Gideon’s memories of Christmas were mostly about overcrowded streets, overrich food, and over-inebriated mundane carolers who needed to be saved from London’s more dangerous elements as they caroused all night, believing all trouble and wickedness was gone from the world right up until they were eaten by Kapre demons disguised as Christmas trees. Just for example.

Born and raised a Shadowhunter, Gideon, of course, did not celebrate Christmas, and had always borne London’s obsession with the holiday with bemused indifference. He had resided in Idris for most of his adult life, where the winter had a kind of Alpine profundity, and there was nary a Christmas wreath or cracker to be found. Winter in Idris felt more solemn than Christmas, so much older than Christmas. It was a strange facet of Idris: where most Shadowhunters ended up celebrating the holidays of their local mundanes, at least the ones that spilled out into street decorations and public festivals, Idris had no holidays at all. Gideon never wondered about this; it seemed obvious to him that Shadowhunters didn’t take days off. It was the blessing and the curse of being one, after all. You were a Shadowhunter all the time.

No wonder some couldn’t bear it, and left for a mundane life. Like Will Herondale’s father Edmund, in fact.

Perhaps that was why Will’s Christmas spirit annoyed him so. He’d come to like Will Herondale, and consider him a good friend. He hoped that when their children were older they too would become friends, if Thomas was all right by then. And he knew Will deliberately presented himself as silly and rather daft, but that he was a sharp and observant Institute head, and a more-than-capable fighter of demons.

But when Will insisted on taking them all to see the window displays at Selfridge’s, he could not help but worry that perhaps Will had a fundamentally unserious mind after all.

“Oxford Street? Days before Christmas? Are you mad?”

“It will be a lark!” Will said, with the slight lilt into his Welsh accent that meant he was a little too excited for his own good. “I’ll take James, you take Thomas, we’ll have a stroll. Have a drink at the Devil on the way back, what?” He clapped Gideon on the back.

It had been a long time since Gideon was last in England. As one of the Consul’s most trusted advisors, Gideon not only lived in Idris but rarely found opportunity to leave. He also remained so that his son Thomas could breathe the healthy air of Brocelind Forest, and not the air of this filthy, foggy city.

This filthy, foggy city, his father’s voice echoed in his mind, and Gideon was too weary to silence his father’s voice as he usually did whenever Benedict crept in. More than ten years dead, yet he had not shut up.

His brother Gabriel lived in Idris, too, and for less obvious reasons. Perhaps it was not only the bad air; perhaps they both were happier with a good distance between them and Benedict Lightwood’s house. And the knowledge that its current resident would barely speak with either of them.

But now Gideon had come to London, with Thomas, just the two of them, leaving Sophie and the girls behind. He needed advice about Thomas, people with whom he could discuss the problem discreetly. He needed to talk to Will and Tessa Herondale, and he needed to talk to a very specific Silent Brother who was often found in their vicinity.

Just now he was wondering if that had been a good idea. “A good bracing walk” was exactly the kind of English nonsense he’d half-expected Will to suggest for Thomas, but “a good bracing walk down the most crowded shopping street in London three days before Christmas” was a level of nonsense he had not been prepared for. “I can’t take Thomas through that crowd,” he said to Will. “He’ll get knocked around.”

“He isn’t going to get knocked around,” said Will scornfully. “He’ll be fine.”

“Besides,” said Gideon, “we’ll get looks. Mundane fathers don’t usually walk their babies in prams, you know.”

“I shall carry my son upon my shoulders,” said Will, “and you carry yours on yours, and Angel protect anyone who complains about it. Fresh London air would do all of us some good. And the windows are meant to be a spectacle, this year.”

“Fresh London air,” said Gideon dryly, “is thick as molasses and the color of pea soup.” But he acquiesced.

He had left Thomas in the nursery, where Tessa kept a watch over him and James. A full year older than James, Thomas wasn’t always good at understanding what James could and couldn’t do or understand. Tessa had been concerned that James would end up hurt. Gideon, though, was more concerned about Thomas, who was still smaller than James, despite the difference in their ages. He was paler than James, too, and less sturdy. He had only recently recovered from the latest of his terrible fevers, which had brought a Silent Brother, unfamiliar to them, to their house in Alicante to examine him. After a time the Silent Brother declared that Thomas would recover, and left without any further conversation.

But Gideon wanted answers. As he picked up Thomas now, he couldn’t help but think about how the boy was hardly any weight at all. He was the smallest of all “the boys,” as Gideon thought of them – of James, and his brother’s son Christopher, and Charlotte’s son Matthew. He had been born early, and small. They had been terrified the first time he caught fever, convinced it was the end.

Thomas hadn’t died, but he hadn’t fully recovered either. He remained delicate, weak of constitution, quick to illness. Sophie had fought harder than anyone to drink from the Mortal Cup and become a Shadowhunter, but now she was forced to fight a far worse battle against death by their son’s bedside. Over and over again.

Sighing, he took his son to fetch their coats for their bracing Christmas walk.

As expected, Oxford Street was a madhouse of pedestrian shoppers, carriages, gawkers, and menacing groups of roaming carolers. Gideon would just as soon have glamoured them all invisible from mundane eyes (although one of the groups of carolers were obviously werewolves, who had exchanged Acknowledging Looks with Gideon), but Will of course wished to bask in the experience.

James also seemed mostly intrigued by the noise and lights, giggling and yelping at the merry scene around them. A London boy from birth, thought Gideon, and then thought, well, but I was a London boy from birth, and this is too much commotion for my liking. For his own part, Thomas was quiet, watching with wide eyes, clutching onto his father’s shoulders. Gideon wasn’t sure how weakened Thomas still was from the last fever and how much he was overwhelmed by the crowds. In some ways, when he wasn’t sick, Thomas could be guilt-inducingly easy to care of; he rarely made a fuss, just looked out into the world with those large hazel eyes, as if aware of his own helplessness and hoping not to be noticed.

Will waited until after they had already joined the crowds at the windows of Selfridge’s and Will had made a number of nonsensical exclamations of delight of the “By Jove!” variety. He had held James right up to the glass to examine the scenes in detail, which seemed to revolve around some blond children ice skating on a river. Gideon had pointed things out to Thomas, who had smiled.

Only once they had stopped to purchase some hot cider from a man hawking it down a side street did Will say, “I heard about Tatiana’s son Jesse. Dreadful business. Have you spoken to her?”

Gideon shook his head. “I haven’t spoken to Tatiana in nearly ten years, or been back to the house.”

Will made a sympathetic noise.

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence,” said Gabriel.

“What?” Will said.

“A coincidence,” said Gabriel. “That both her and I have children who are—sickly.”

“Gideon,” said Will reasonably, “forgive me for saying so, but that is a load of codswallop.” Gideon blinked at him. “For one thing, you have your beautiful daughters, neither of whom were more than usually ill when they were babies. For another, all of what happened to your father was his own doing, and happened long after you were born, and neither you or Gabriel were sickly.”

Gideon shook his head. Will was so kind, so eager to spare him the consequences of his family’s sins. “You don’t know the extent of it,” he said. “The extent of Benedict’s experiments with dark magic. They were ongoing, from as long as I can remember. The demon pox just sticks in the memory, because it is rather lurid.”

“And also we were there,” said Will, “when he turned into a giant worm.”

“Also that,” said Gideon grimly. “But two sickly sons, small and frail—I cannot say with certainty that it is a coincidence, that it has nothing to do with the depredations of my father. I cannot risk the possibility.” He looked at Will imploringly. “It took Jesse years to become ill,” he said, “and Thomas has been ill so much already.”

There was a profound silence. Quietly, Will said, “You sound as if you mean to do something.”

“I do,” said Gideon with a sigh. “I must look at my father’s papers, his records of what he called his “work”. They are at Chiswick, and I must go and ask Tatiana for them.”

“Will she see you?” said Will.

Gideon shook his head again. “I don’t know. I hoped her anger would cool, over time, and her resentment. I hoped the fact that the Clave gifted her with all my father’s wealth and possessions would help her find peace.”

“Well,” said Will, “if you go, you absolutely must leave Thomas with us.”

“You wouldn’t want him to meet his aunt?” Gideon said innocently.

Will looked at him seriously. “I wouldn’t want him, or any of my children, on the grounds of that house!”

Gideon was taken aback. “Why? What’s she done to it?”

Will said darkly, “It’s what she hasn’t done.”

Gideon could see Will’s point. Tatiana hadn’t done anything to the house. Nothing to change, or clean, or preserve it in any way. Rather than restoring it or redecorating it to her own tastes, Tatiana had simply allowed it to rot, blackening and collapsing in on itself, a ghastly monument to Benedict Lightwood’s ruination. The windows were clouded, as though fog were seething indoors; the maze, a black and twisted wreckage. When he opened the front gate, the hinges screamed like a tortured soul.

It did not bode well for the emotional state of its resident.

When Benedict Lightwood died in disgrace from the late stages of demon pox, and the full history of his infamy was revealed to the Clave, Gideon laid low. He didn’t want to answer questions, or hear false sympathy for the damage done to his family name. He shouldn’t have cared. He’d known the truth of his father already. Yet it stung his pride, when he shouldn’t have had any pride left in his besmirched name.

The houses and the fortune were taken away from Benedict’s children by order of the Clave. Gideon could still remember when he had found out that Tatiana had brought a complaint against him and against Gabriel for the “murder” of their father. The Clave had first confiscated their possessions, and finally laid out the situation: Tatiana Blackthorn had petitioned the Clave for Benedict’s fortune to be given to her, as well as the Lightwood’s ancestral house in Chiswick. She was a Blackthorn now, not the bearer of a tainted name. She made many accusations against her brothers in the process. The Clave said they understood that Gideon and Gabriel had had no choice but to slay the monster their father had become, yet if they were to speak of technical truth only, Tatiana might be considered correct. The Clave was inclined to give Tatiana the full Lightwood inheritance, in hopes of settling the matter.

“I will fight this,” Charlotte had told Gideon, her small hands tight upon his sleeve and her mouth set.

“Charlotte, don’t,” Gideon begged. “You have so many other battles to fight. Gabriel and I don’t need any of that tainted money. This doesn’t matter.”

The money hadn’t mattered, then.

Gabriel and Gideon discussed the matter, and decided not to contest her claims. Their sister was a widow. She could live in the former Lightwood manor at Chiswick in England, and at Blackthorn Manor in Idris, and welcome. Gideon hoped she and her son would be happy. As it was, Gideon’s memories of the house were, at best, ambivalent.

Now he waited at the front door, its paint mostly peeled off, with deep gouges here and there, as though some wild animal had tried to get in. Maybe Tatiana locked herself out at some point. After a time it swung open, but waiting behind it was not his sister but a ten year old boy, looking somber. He had the midnight black hair of the father he’d never met, but he was tall for his age, willow-thin, with green eyes.

Gideon blinked. “You must be Jesse.”

The boy narrowed his eyes. “Yes,” said the boy. “Jesse Blackthorn. Who are you?”

Jesse, his nephew, after all this time. Gideon had asked so many times to see Jesse when he was a child. He and Gabriel had tried to go to Tatiana when she had the child, but she turned them both away.

Gideon took a deep breath. “Well,” he said. “I’m your Uncle Gideon, as it happens. I am very glad to make your acquaintance at last.” He smiled. “I was always hoping for it.”

Jesse’s expression did not improve. “Mama says you are a very wicked man.”

“Your mother and I,” Gideon said with a sigh, “have had a very…complicated history. But family should know one another, and fellow Shadowhunters, as well.”

The boy continued to stare at Gideon, but his face softened a bit. “I have never met any other Shadowhunters,” he said. “Other than Mama.”

Gideon had thought about this moment many times, but now found himself struggling for words. “You are…you see…I wanted to tell you. We have heard that your mother doesn’t want you to take Marks. You should know…we are family first, always. And if you don’t wish to take Marks, the rest of your family will support you in that decision. With the—the other Shadowhunters.” He wasn’t sure if Jesse even knew the word Clave.

Jesse looked alarmed. “No! I will. I want to! I’m a Shadowhunter.”

“So is your mother,” murmured Gideon. He felt a slight twinge of possibility there. Tatiana could have disappeared like Edmund Herondale, abandoned Downworld entirely, lived as a mundane. Shadowhunters did, sometimes; though Edmund had done it for love, Tatiana might do it out of hatred. That she had not gave Gideon hope, although, he was sure, foolish hope.

He knelt down, to be closer to the boy. He hesitated, then reached out for Jesse’s shoulder. Jesse stepped back, casually avoiding the touch, and Gideon let it go. “You are one of us,” he said quietly.

“Jesse!” Tatiana’s voice came from the top of the entrance stairs. “Get away from that man!”

As if prodded with a needle, Jesse leapt away from Gideon’s reach and retreated without a further word into the shadowed recesses of the house.

Gideon stared in horror as his sister Tatiana drifted down the stairs. She wore a pink gown more than ten years old. It was stained with blood he well knew was more than ten years old as well. Her face was drawn and pinched, as though her scowl had been etched there, unchanged for years.

Oh, Tatiana. Gideon was flooded with a strange amalgamation of sympathy and revulsion. This is long past grief. This is madness.

His little sister’s green eyes rested on him, cold as if he were a stranger. Her smile was a knife.

“As you can see, Gideon,” she said. “I dress for company. You never know who might drop by.”

Her voice, too, was changed: rough and creaking with disuse.

“Have you come to apologize?” Tatiana went on. “You will not find exoneration, for the things you have done. Their blood is on your hands. My father. My husband. Your hands, and your brother’s hands.”

And how was that? Gideon wanted to ask her. He had not killed her husband. Their father had done that, transformed by disease into a dreadful demonic creature.

But Gideon felt the shame and the guilt, as well as the grief, as he knew she intended him to. He had been the first to cut ties with his father, and with his father’s legacy. Benedict had taught them all to stick together, no matter what the cost, and Gideon had walked away. His brother had stayed, until he saw proof of their father’s corruption he couldn’t deny.

His sister remained even now.

“I am sorry you blame us,” said Gideon. “Gabriel and I have only ever wished for your good. Have you—have you read our letters?”

“I never was fond of reading,” murmured Tatiana.

She inclined her head, and after a moment Gideon realized this was the closest she would get to inviting him in. He stepped across the threshold nervously and, when Tatiana did not immediately shout at him, he continued inside.

Tatiana led him to what had once been their father’s office, a sculpture in dust and rot. He averted his eyes from the torn wallpaper, catching a glimpse of writing on the wall that read WITHOUT PITY.

“Thank you for seeing me,” Gideon said as he took a seat across the desk from her. “How is Jesse?”

“He is very delicate,” said Tatiana. “Nephilim like yourself wish to put Marks on him, because they are intent on killing my boy as they have killed everyone else I love. You sit on the Council, do you not? Then you are his enemy. You may not see him.”

“I would not force Marks on the boy,” protested Gideon. “He’s my nephew. Tatiana, if he is that ill, perhaps he should see the Silent Brothers? One of them is a close friend, and could come to Jesse at our house. And Jesse could know his cousins.”

“Mind your own house, Gideon,” Tatiana snapped. “Nobody expects your son to live to Jesse’s age, do they?”

Gideon fell silent.

“I expect you want Jesse to marry one of your penniless daughters,” Tatiana went on.

Now Gideon was more confused than offended. “His first cousins? Tatiana, they are all very young children—”

“Father planned alliances for us, when we were children.” Tatiana shrugged. “How ashamed he would be of you. How is your grubby servant?”

Gideon would have struck any man who spoke of Sophie so. He felt the rage and violence he’d known as a child storm within him, but he’d desperately taught himself control. He exercised every bit of that control now. This was for Thomas.

“My wife Sophia is very well.”

His sister nodded, almost pleasantly, but the smile quickly became a grimace. “Enough pleasantries, then. You came to Chiswick for a reason, did you not? Out with it. I know what it is already. Your son is like to die, and you want money for filthy Downworlder remedies. You’re here as a beggar, cap in hand. So beg me.”

It was strange: Tatiana’s obvious, undeniable insanity made her insults and imprecations undeniably easier to bear. What was she even saying? What Downworlder remedies? How could remedies be filthy?

Had Benedict destroyed Tatiana as well? Or would she always have been like this? Their mother had killed herself because their father passed on a demon’s disease to her. Their father had died of the same sickness, in disgrace and horror. Will Herondale could dismiss it all as nonsense, but could it be a coincidence that Tatiana’s son, and his son, were both sickly? Or was it some weakness in their very blood, some punishment from the Angel who had seen what the Lightwoods truly were and passed his judgment upon them?

“I need no money,” Gideon said. “As you well know, the Silent Brothers are the best of doctors, and their services are always freely available to me. As they are to you,” he added with emphasis.

“What, then?” Tatiana said. Her head cocked slightly.

“Father’s papers,” Gideon said in a rush of expelled breath. “His journals. I think that the cause of my son’s illness might be found there.” He found he didn’t want to say Thomas’s name in front of his sister, as though she might decide to conjure with it.

“A man you betrayed?” Tatiana spat. “You have no right to them.”

Gideon bowed his head to his sister. He had been prepared for this. “I know,” he lied. “I agree. But I need them, for the sake of my child. You have Jesse. Whatever our differences, you must understand that we could both love our children, at least. You must help me, Tatiana. I beg you.”

He’d thought Tatiana would smile, or laugh cruelly, but she only gazed at him with the impassive, mindless stare of a dangerous snake.

“And what will you do for me?” she said. “If I do help?”

Gideon could guess. Get the Clave to leave her alone, to let her do as she wished with Jesse, for one thing. But in Tatiana’s madness, who knew what she would come up with.

“Anything,” he said hoarsely.

He lifted his head and looked at her, at his mother’s green eyes in his sister’s pitiless face. Tatiana, who would always break her toys rather than share them. There was something missing in her, as there had been in their father.

Now she did smile. “I have just the task in mind,” she said.

Gideon braced himself.

“On the other side of the road from this estate,” Tatiana said, “is a mundane merchant. This man has a dog, of an unusual size and vicious temperament. Quite often he lets the dog run free in the neighborhood, and of course he comes straight here to make mischief.”

There was a long pause. Gideon blinked. “The dog?”

“He is always making trouble on my property,” Tatiana snarled. “Digging up my garden. Killing the songbirds.”

Gideon was utterly positively sure that Tatiana did not keep a garden. He had seen the state of the grounds on his way in, left to crumble as a monument to disaster no less than the house itself.

There were definitely no songbirds.

“He’s made a disaster of the greenhouse,” she went on. “He knocks over fruit trees, he throws rocks through windows.”

“The dog,” Gideon said again, to clarify.

Tatiana fixed her piercing gaze on him. “Kill the dog,” she said. “Bring me the proof you have done this, and you will have your papers.”

There was a very long silence.

Gideon said, “What?”

[ifanfictionella]

Vampire falls

Vampire falls chapter 1- this is our town and we run the show

Under her feet the staircase creaked, the feet belonged to Mabel Maria Pines,the once bubbly carefree resident of gravity falls Oregon, known by everyone in town. That was of course a different time in the town's history, before the vampires made themselves know, before everything changed. Gideon Gleeful, of all people, was the ruler of the vampires. Mabel sighed in expiration, she was the main bait for Gideon, he wanted her, her everything and it made her absolutely sick to her stomach to think about.

The day he went missing they figured out things had to change, the men were all gone and soon most girls followed suit. Those left ran.

Not that they would get very far.

The dresses tended to keep movement restricted, Victorian ladies didn't get very far when the ripper attacked.

Oh and vampires were faster.

The shack seemed like a perfect place, some supernatural barrier kept them safe

But they couldn't be in there forever, they had to eat.

At the kitchen table sat the ginger girl she had once looked up to with such a high regard,

Now?

Now the two were complete equals in pretty much every way.

"good morning Mabel , sleep well"

No

"Yeah,you?"

"I slept good, thanks"

They were both lying, Wendy's voice was scruffy and scratchy and she couldn't hide the bags under her eyes. None of them could.

The act of constantly playing cat and mouse, day in day out was getting to them.

Food was on the decline and soon they'd have nothing, no choice but to give themselves in.

The brown haired girl walked towards the sink and poured herself a glass of water, the world outside the shack was what she had to fight against, plants were over growing and coming from the forest- it meant protection

From him

Without even thinking about it she put a hand to her bare neck where her first bite mark was.Her fingers seemed to fall into the holes made by the piercing teeth.

He'd grabbed her by the arm when it all started, she could feel him cutting off the flow of blood in her arm, she knew he wasn't letting go of her.

"Get off of me" she screamed as she tried to fight to get away from him.

She just had to get back to the shack, back to where she was safe.

He pulled her by the waist so her back was against him, she felt his breath on her neck as he moved her hair out of the way.

This is the end she had though, this is where death finally catches up to me.She gasps as the fangs pierce the skin and she starts to feel faint.

She shakes her head moving her hand away from her neck and putting the cup on the side next to the sink before turning back to look at wendy "So do we have any plans for the vampires,then "

Wendy didn't look up instead just shaking her head and scrolling through what looked like news, they didn't hear from the rest of the world much

The rest of the world already didn't know of the town, who would care now?

"The rest of the world is still functioning, without us" Wendy said, finally looking up from her tablet.

She didn't look the same anymore, neither did Mabel, Wendy's hair had lost it's natural shine and her body was starting to lose its shape showing that finally the vampires were getting to one of them. Mabel on the other hand had started to fill out her body while at the same time grabbing onto whatever food it can find. The dress made it seem worse, gideon had personally picked out the dress for her, the note he had left was even more chilling

'I'll have you dressed up, by my side for my personal use'

She had thrown the note away and crawled into the corner looking at the dress on the hanger with her mouth covered, she wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, she just wanted to go back to the life she had before. This wasn't something a newly turned 13 year old should have to think about.

"Actually"

Mabel turned her head to look at wendy again, the ipad was face down on the table and she looked serious now

"I've been thinking about this for a while, it's kind of this make or break plan for us though"wendy went to rub her shoulder and look down at the floor, the corset of the black dress seemed to hold her completely in place.

She looked like a maid and it wasn't fitting

"I'm listening"

Wendy looked up at her "Storm gideons castle"

Mabel looked at her with wide eyes before shaking her head and turning it into a determined nod- it was the logical next step, there was nothing else the group could actually do.

"Just give the world and we'll go"

They could fail, they could fail bad

They could die

Or worse, they could become the vampires

The monsters

There was movement above them, the other three presumably had woken up to the night ahead. The vampires basically forced them to work on a night schedule, it just worked so much better for them

There was no point trying to escape during the day because they would be found

That was worse than death

Punishment would be slow and agonising, a simple neck snap would be too quick.

Soon Wendy and Mabel were not alone, tambry gretta and candy had joined them in the kitchen. Wendy seemed to have switched into leader mode by this point, ready to give the girls what they needed to do that day.

"Alright girls, here's what we're running low on, water, food and medical supplies'' Tambry says checking a list that they had put up near the pantry where most of the food used to be kept. She then turned to younger girls who were all standing up against the sink.

Candy had brought mabel's choker down from her bed so she was adjusting the strap of leather around her neck

It was the only thing that actually kept her safe

"Candy and gretta are going to be getting the food that we need, basically fruit and veg is what we need right now,if you can get a hold of bottled water do it"Tambry then turns to look at mabel with what seems like a sympathetic eye "Unfortunately mabel that puts you alone getting the medical supplies we need"

Mabel nodded at tambry before looking over at wendy for a second or two "I'm sure ill be fine, besides he won't send out a higher up vampire for a store break in"

Tambry nodded at her before dismissing herself, the other two girls took this as an opportunity to grab their weapons should they get caught by a vampire on this venture. Mabel's own weapon, her knife , was downstairs within one of the walls.

There was a spare under her pillow, she just liked this one the most.

It was the knife that started it all really, the note that alerted her to vampires having been pinned to the wall of the shack with that knife.

She'd been the one to pull it out, not dipper.

She pulled it out of the wall, pulled the skirt of her dress up so that one of her legs was exposed enough so that she could reach the strap she had made from an old belt.

After a long while of this the skin had basically made a ridge for where the knife could go, the tip sometimes cuts the skin which leads to her getting found easier.

A hand grabs her shoulder

She acts quick grabbing her knife out of the strap and turns around holding her knife in the air. Wendy had been the one to grab her shoulder and thank goodness was able to grab Mabel's arm before the knife got lodged into her neck-- that would not have been easy to explain.

Mabel lowers her arm and puts the knife away before turning to look at Wendy again. She has a worried type look on her face "we need to act quick,gideon will be getting restless,he'll come for you mabel and you know it"

Mabel sighs before nodding at her "I know, he's got me and it's just waiting for him to strike"

She didn't like admitting she was playing into someone's hands

On the other end of the town was the Northwest mansion, it had lost any of the colour that may have been within the walls of the mansion.In the study that had once belonged to Preston sat the vampire who had started the first town take over in a few centuries.

He grinds his teeth together as he walked around the study "He's late" He practically growled it as he stopped at the desk putting his hands on the desk before pushing books out of the way "He's always late"

He looked up at the picture he had left in Preston, some portrait of his wife and daughter- clearly he didn't value it all too much, much less his daughter when they fled the town.

The slouching position wasn't much to his liking so he stood up, picking up a glass and taking a sip from it staring at the door with a glare. Not even the sound of some human girl getting bitten from three rooms down softened the glare.

She was out there, she was growing weaker and she couldn't deny him for much longer.

Part of the deal was done, the boy was missing to finish the deal.

"What a dangerous glare" a voice said from behind, gideon turned to see him

"You're late"

[the-busy-ghost]

Thoughts on TSP S2E05- The Plague

Well that was An Episode. Actually I thought the writing in this one was a little better than the other episodes (at least until the last three minutes or so, what the fuck), and I did like some of Katherine’s speeches this time. Nonetheless some thoughts:

- Firstly, I would like to see the casting call. Do they cast for ‘Whispering Lady #1′ and ‘Whispering Lady #2′? Seems like you could make a career out that, given how often they appear in period dramas.

- How long has Sir William Compton been ill? I know the plague was a terrifyingly quick disease but you would think someone would have noticed he looked a bit peaky BEFORE he dropped dead in the middle of the hallway. Also they’ve established that he’s the physically closest person to the king and yet nobody is at all focused on checking to see if Henry is well?

- I really feel like they’re setting up Anne and Katherine’s relationship to be Bessie Mark 2. Like Anne is going to be portrayed as a close attendant and confidant and then stab Katherine in the back, thus robbing Anne (and indeed Bessie) of any independent motivation or justification.

- Could they call this episode Bessie Blount and the Fastest Three Year Pregnancy in England

- And while we’re on the subject poor Bessie. I really feel like she’s been robbed a little by the writing (not by the actress, Chloe Harris is great). She doesn’t get to say a word in her defence until halfway through (the silent Other Woman), and then we’re supposed to believe that being the king’s mistress was such a huge dishonour she’d be chucked out, and then the only reason she is restored to favour is probably going to be because of Katherine? That’s a lot to saddle on one woman. I was already a supporter of the Bessie Blount defence squad and I am quietly seething on her behalf. Also I feel like they could have had Katherine help at the birth IN LITERALLY ANY OTHER WAY THAT WAS VERY GROSS AND NOT AT ALL SAFE AND THEN YOU JUST LEFT HER THERE BLEEDING AND FUCKED OFF WITH HER BABY

- Katherine “what did you think I was going to use it for” WELL SURE I DON’T KNOW KATHERINE BUT HOW IS THIS BETTER??? The Myranda absolutely JUMPED out here, I cannot even BEGIN to describe how appalled I am.

- Also again is this supposed to be a sympathetic portrayal? Snatching baby Henry away from his mother before she’d even held it? Even if you hate her it’s a dick move especially since you are known to dislike the pregnancy and you also just pulled a knife on her? And you won’t even hold your own daughter so like double shit?

Anyway moving on...

- They are really playing up the ‘Wolsey lives vicariously through Henry’s mistresses’ vibe this episode. It is A Lot

- Also how does Stafford always manage to say things in literally the grossest way possible. Who gave Olly Rix these lines.

- Lol @Wolsey just dropping his cardinal’s hat casually into the conversation. Classy.

- Nobody “understands” Henry. Except Wolsey of course. Poor misunderstood baby king, AYE RIGHT.

- Mary’s storyline was actually pretty well done. They ARE cute. But I suppose it’s easier to pull off the ‘beautiful princess in arranged marriage and secret wedding’ plot than anything more complex like Margaret’s. I’m still not over the fact that that is very clearly Waddesdon though.

- *Technically* I’m not sure their marriage actually counts as treason, in the terms of the fourteenth century treason acts, but I’m no expert on that so I could be wrong. Just seems that period dramas throw the word treason around a lot when it had quite a specific meaning in England (in Scotland not so much, it’s a very flexible word there).

 - Mega Feminist Katherine of Aragon refusing to touch her daughter and continuing to refer to her as a ‘useless girl’. 100% Accurate and Feminist portrayal this (not). But Girl Power right?

- Awkward sex scenes GALORE this episode

- Margaret’s storyline was... somewhat comprehensible this episode but still a bit naff. Not the actors fault, they are doing their best. But I suppose it works? I do have some specific thoughts on details on that though, so more below

- Do I have to keep pointing out that James V WAS the king not the future king? Did you all miss the mourning coronation or something? Also the ‘Stewart clan’ does not “insist” on anything, because that is waaaaay too simplistic and also the wrong terminology.

- Albany’s line about ‘civilised company’- I mean as a Scot OUCH but also it’s quite believable coming from him I suppose, wee John was not a huge fan of Scotland.

- Holyroodhouse was not part of Margaret’s dower so far as I’m aware? At least it wasn’t traditionally part of queens’ dowers in Scotland and it wasn’t in any of the documents I’ve seen made at the time of her marriage.  It also had a freaking abbey attached to it (though tbh, that had fallen into decline a bit by the early sixteenth century). So why not pretend you’re using one of Margaret’s actual dower houses, further north? Also if I were Angus and I was trying to hide out from the Duke of Albany while illegally retaining control of James IV’s illegitimate children, I would probably go to the much more secure castle of Tantallon, not Holyrood. But everything has to happen in Edinburgh I suppose.

- Ok it’s a tiny detail but I am still exercised about the Presence of James IV’s illegitimate children. Firstly, how are they all still kids?? The only one who should still be under the age of twelve in 1516 (or 1519? God knows when this is) is Janet Stewart, the future Lady Fleming and daughter of the Countess of Bothwell. There is no evidence that she was ever raised at court and her mother Agnes was still very much alive (she actually spent Christmas with Margaret Tudor at Morpeth after the queen’s flight into England). 

The others were either dead (Alexander via Flodden and a few who died in infancy), married adults (Katherine, Countess of Morton, and Margaret, Lady Gordon- the latter *might* have also been in a relationship with Albany’s older brother Alexander Stewart at this time, it’s unclear), or teenagers approaching adulthood who were either on the continent or in Albany’s camp (James, Earl of Moray). 

SECONDLY how does it AT ALL fall in Margaret’s purview to raise them, let alone that of the Earl of Angus. Margaret could theoretically have stepped in as a benefactor- that’s not unknown and the royal family was a wide concept so Albany and Margaret sometimes did act on behalf of royal cousins and illegitimate children- but Angus? Even Jane Stewart of Traquair would theoretically have more right to one of the children than him (and NOT because of some stupid ‘Stewart clan’ nonsense) since wee Janet Stewart was probably her first cousin. (Margaret Stewart, Lady Gordon was Angus’ first cousin but once again, she was a married woman with children of her own). Although if they’re implying this was a political move on Angus’ part then that would have been a smart move- having custody of James IV’s illegitimate children could be quite useful politically, as later events involving both Albany and Margaret Tudor showed. But since the show has sort of been implying that they’re useless and that Margaret is stuck with them, it doesn’t make a lot of sense.

- Also none of this is how a pre-contract works, and while we know very little about Jane Stewart of Traquair anyway, it’s clear that the show knows even less. But we love to see the Earl of Angus torn to shreds by both Margaret and Jane. One would hope that that was him Telt but sadly we all know this isn’t the case.

- Oh and a woman! In Scotland! Who is Scottish! We’re not cryptids after all! And she was then immediately chucked out.

- Also he just... walks off?? No attendants, no kinsmen, no horses? Do the writers have any idea of the level of power and status the Earl of Angus theoretically held?

- One of the men behind Margaret had A Line. I fear this is how Henry Stewart is being introduced to us.

- Can they shut up about the god damn kilts for TWO. MINUTES.

- BUT the real award for the most truly disappointing thing about this episode goes to the fact that we are now unlikely to get the Margaret and Mary reunion we all deserve. I mean I cannot BELIEVE this show passed up the opportunity to show the Queen of England and the dowager Queens of Scotland and France all acting in consort after the Evil May Day Riots. But then I suppose they would have to deal with that event in a sensitive fashion which like, I do not see them doing. I am genuinely disappointed by this, since the actresses are doing their best and I think it might actually have been a good scene. And it would have been an excuse for some fabulous costuming.

Anyway. That’s about all I’ve got.

[queenhelenblackthorn]

Chain of Gold Extra, November: A Lightwood Christmas Carol, Part 1

LONDON, 1889

Will Herondale was full of Christmas spirit, and Gideon Lightwood found it very annoying.

It wasn’t just Will, actually; he and his wife Tessa had both been raised in mundane circumstances until they were nearly adults, and so their memories of Christmas were of fond family memories and childhood delights. They came alive with it when the city of London did, as it did every year.

Gideon’s memories of Christmas were mostly about overcrowded streets, overrich food, and over-inebriated mundane carolers who needed to be saved from London’s more dangerous elements as they caroused all night, believing all trouble and wickedness was gone from the world right up until they were eaten by Kapre demons disguised as Christmas trees. Just for example.

Born and raised a Shadowhunter, Gideon, of course, did not celebrate Christmas, and had always borne London’s obsession with the holiday with bemused indifference. He had resided in Idris for most of his adult life, where the winter had a kind of Alpine profundity, and there was nary a Christmas wreath or cracker to be found. Winter in Idris felt more solemn than Christmas, so much older than Christmas. It was a strange facet of Idris: where most Shadowhunters ended up celebrating the holidays of their local mundanes, at least the ones that spilled out into street decorations and public festivals, Idris had no holidays at all. Gideon never wondered about this; it seemed obvious to him that Shadowhunters didn’t take days off. It was the blessing and the curse of being one, after all. You were a Shadowhunter all the time.

No wonder some couldn’t bear it, and left for a mundane life. Like Will Herondale’s father Edmund, in fact.

Perhaps that was why Will’s Christmas spirit annoyed him so. He’d come to like Will Herondale, and consider him a good friend. He hoped that when their children were older they too would become friends, if Thomas was all right by then. And he knew Will deliberately presented himself as silly and rather daft, but that he was a sharp and observant Institute head, and a more-than-capable fighter of demons.

But when Will insisted on taking them all to see the window displays at Selfridge’s, he could not help but worry that perhaps Will had a fundamentally unserious mind after all.

“Oxford Street? Days before Christmas? Are you mad?”

“It will be a lark!” Will said, with the slight lilt into his Welsh accent that meant he was a little too excited for his own good. “I’ll take James, you take Thomas, we’ll have a stroll. Have a drink at the Devil on the way back, what?” He clapped Gideon on the back.

It had been a long time since Gideon was last in England. As one of the Consul’s most trusted advisors, Gideon not only lived in Idris but rarely found opportunity to leave. He also remained so that his son Thomas could breathe the healthy air of Brocelind Forest, and not the air of this filthy, foggy city.

This filthy, foggy city, his father’s voice echoed in his mind, and Gideon was too weary to silence his father’s voice as he usually did whenever Benedict crept in. More than ten years dead, yet he had not shut up.

His brother Gabriel lived in Idris, too, and for less obvious reasons. Perhaps it was not only the bad air; perhaps they both were happier with a good distance between them and Benedict Lightwood’s house. And the knowledge that its current resident would barely speak with either of them.

But now Gideon had come to London, with Thomas, just the two of them, leaving Sophie and the girls behind. He needed advice about Thomas, people with whom he could discuss the problem discreetly. He needed to talk to Will and Tessa Herondale, and he needed to talk to a very specific Silent Brother who was often found in their vicinity.

Just now he was wondering if that had been a good idea. “A good bracing walk” was exactly the kind of English nonsense he’d half-expected Will to suggest for Thomas, but “a good bracing walk down the most crowded shopping street in London three days before Christmas” was a level of nonsense he had not been prepared for. “I can’t take Thomas through that crowd,” he said to Will. “He’ll get knocked around.”

“He isn’t going to get knocked around,” said Will scornfully. “He’ll be fine.”

“Besides,” said Gideon, “we’ll get looks. Mundane fathers don’t usually walk their babies in prams, you know.”

“I shall carry my son upon my shoulders,” said Will, “and you carry yours on yours, and Angel protect anyone who complains about it. Fresh London air would do all of us some good. And the windows are meant to be a spectacle, this year.”

“Fresh London air,” said Gideon dryly, “is thick as molasses and the color of pea soup.” But he acquiesced.

He had left Thomas in the nursery, where Tessa kept a watch over him and James. A full year older than James, Thomas wasn’t always good at understanding what James could and couldn’t do or understand. Tessa had been concerned that James would end up hurt. Gideon, though, was more concerned about Thomas, who was still smaller than James, despite the difference in their ages. He was paler than James, too, and less sturdy. He had only recently recovered from the latest of his terrible fevers, which had brought a Silent Brother, unfamiliar to them, to their house in Alicante to examine him. After a time the Silent Brother declared that Thomas would recover, and left without any further conversation.

But Gideon wanted answers. As he picked up Thomas now, he couldn’t help but think about how the boy was hardly any weight at all. He was the smallest of all “the boys,” as Gideon thought of them – of James, and his brother’s son Christopher, and Charlotte’s son Matthew. He had been born early, and small. They had been terrified the first time he caught fever, convinced it was the end.

Thomas hadn’t died, but he hadn’t fully recovered either. He remained delicate, weak of constitution, quick to illness. Sophie had fought harder than anyone to drink from the Mortal Cup and become a Shadowhunter, but now she was forced to fight a far worse battle against death by their son’s bedside. Over and over again.

Sighing, he took his son to fetch their coats for their bracing Christmas walk.

#

As expected, Oxford Street was a madhouse of pedestrian shoppers, carriages, gawkers, and menacing groups of roaming carolers. Gideon would just as soon have glamoured them all invisible from mundane eyes (although one of the groups of carolers were obviously werewolves, who had exchanged Acknowledging Looks with Gideon), but Will of course wished to bask in the experience.

James also seemed mostly intrigued by the noise and lights, giggling and yelping at the merry scene around them. A London boy from birth, thought Gideon, and then thought, well, but I was a London boy from birth, and this is too much commotion for my liking. For his own part, Thomas was quiet, watching with wide eyes, clutching onto his father’s shoulders. Gideon wasn’t sure how weakened Thomas still was from the last fever and how much he was overwhelmed by the crowds. In some ways, when he wasn’t sick, Thomas could be guilt-inducingly easy to care of; he rarely made a fuss, just looked out into the world with those large hazel eyes, as if aware of his own helplessness and hoping not to be noticed.

Will waited until after they had already joined the crowds at the windows of Selfridge’s and Will had made a number of nonsensical exclamations of delight of the “By Jove!” variety. He had held James right up to the glass to examine the scenes in detail, which seemed to revolve around some blond children ice skating on a river. Gideon had pointed things out to Thomas, who had smiled.

Only once they had stopped to purchase some hot cider from a man hawking it down a side street did Will say, “I heard about Tatiana’s son Jesse. Dreadful business. Have you spoken to her?” 

Gideon shook his head. “I haven’t spoken to Tatiana in nearly ten years, or been back to the house.”

Will made a sympathetic noise.

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence,” said Gideon.

“What?” Will said.

“A coincidence,” said Gideon. “That both her and I have children who are—sickly.” 

“Gideon,” said Will reasonably, “forgive me for saying so, but that is a load of codswallop.” Gideon blinked at him. “For one thing, you have your beautiful daughters, neither of whom were more than usually ill when they were babies. For another, all of what happened to your father was his own doing, and happened long after you were born, and neither you or Gabriel were sickly.”

Gideon shook his head. Will was so kind, so eager to spare him the consequences of his family’s sins. “You don’t know the extent of it,” he said. “The extent of Benedict’s experiments with dark magic.  They were ongoing, from as long as I can remember. The demon pox just sticks in the memory, because it is rather lurid.”

“And also we were there,” said Will, “when he turned into a giant worm.”

“Also that,” said Gideon grimly. “But two sickly sons, small and frail—I cannot say with certainty that it is a coincidence, that it has nothing to do with the depredations of my father. I cannot risk the possibility.” He looked at Will imploringly. “It took Jesse years to become ill,” he said, “and Thomas has been ill so much already.”

There was a profound silence. Quietly, Will said, “You sound as if you mean to do something.”

“I do,” said Gideon with a sigh. “I must look at my father’s papers, his records of what he called his “work”. They are at Chiswick, and I must go and ask Tatiana for them.”

“Will she see you?” said Will.

Gideon shook his head again. “I don’t know. I hoped her anger would cool, over time, and her resentment. I hoped the fact that the Clave gifted her with all my father’s wealth and possessions would help her find peace.”

“Well,” said Will, “if you go, you absolutely must leave Thomas with us.”

“You wouldn’t want him to meet his aunt?” Gideon said innocently.

Will looked at him seriously. “I wouldn’t want him, or any of my children, on the grounds of that house!”

Gideon was taken aback. “Why? What’s she done to it?”

Will said darkly, “It’s what she hasn’t done.”

#

Gideon could see Will’s point. Tatiana hadn’t done anything to the house. Nothing to change, or clean, or preserve it in any way. Rather than restoring it or redecorating it to her own tastes, Tatiana had simply allowed it to rot, blackening and collapsing in on itself, a ghastly monument to Benedict Lightwood’s ruination. The windows were clouded, as though fog were seething indoors; the maze, a black and twisted wreckage. When he opened the front gate, the hinges screamed like a tortured soul.

It did not bode well for the emotional state of its resident.

When Benedict Lightwood died in disgrace from the late stages of demon pox, and the full history of his infamy was revealed to the Clave, Gideon laid low. He didn’t want to answer questions, or hear false sympathy for the damage done to his family name. He shouldn’t have cared. He’d known the truth of his father already. Yet it stung his pride, when he shouldn’t have had any pride left in his besmirched name.

The houses and the fortune were taken away from Benedict’s children by order of the Clave. Gideon could still remember when he had found out that Tatiana had brought a complaint against him and against Gabriel for the “murder” of their father. The Clave had first confiscated their possessions, and finally laid out the situation: Tatiana Blackthorn had petitioned the Clave for Benedict’s fortune to be given to her, as well as the Lightwood’s ancestral house in Chiswick. She was a Blackthorn now, not the bearer of a tainted name. She made many accusations against her brothers in the process. The Clave said they understood that Gideon and Gabriel had had no choice but to slay the monster their father had become, yet if they were to speak of technical truth only, Tatiana might be considered correct. The Clave was inclined to give Tatiana the full Lightwood inheritance, in hopes of settling the matter.

 “I will fight this,” Charlotte had told Gideon, her small hands tight upon his sleeve and her mouth set.

“Charlotte, don’t,” Gideon begged. “You have so many other battles to fight. Gabriel and I don’t need any of that tainted money. This doesn’t matter.”

The money hadn’t mattered, then.

Gabriel and Gideon discussed the matter, and decided not to contest her claims. Their sister was a widow. She could live in the former Lightwood manor at Chiswick in England, and at Blackthorn Manor in Idris, and welcome. Gideon hoped she and her son would be happy. As it was, Gideon’s memories of the house were, at best, ambivalent.

Now he waited at the front door, its paint mostly peeled off, with deep gouges here and there, as though some wild animal had tried to get in. Maybe Tatiana locked herself out at some point. After a time it swung open, but waiting behind it was not his sister but a ten year old boy, looking somber. He had the midnight black hair of the father he’d never met, but he was tall for his age, willow-thin, with green eyes. 

Gideon blinked. “You must be Jesse.”

The boy narrowed his eyes. “Yes,” said the boy. “Jesse Blackthorn. Who are you?”

 Jesse, his nephew, after all this time. Gideon had asked so many times to see Jesse when he was a child. He and Gabriel had tried to go to Tatiana when she had the child, but she turned them both away.  

Gideon took a deep breath. “Well,” he said. “I’m your Uncle Gideon, as it happens. I am very glad to make your acquaintance at last.” He smiled. “I was always hoping for it.”

Jesse’s expression did not improve. “Mama says you are a very wicked man.”

“Your mother and I,” Gideon said with a sigh, “have had a very…complicated history. But family should know one another, and fellow Shadowhunters, as well.”

The boy continued to stare at Gideon, but his face softened a bit. “I have never met any other Shadowhunters,” he said. “Other than Mama.”

Gideon had thought about this moment many times, but now found himself struggling for words. “You are…you see…I wanted to tell you. We have heard that your mother doesn’t want you to take Marks. You should know…we are family first, always. And if you don’t wish to take Marks, the rest of your family will support you in that decision. With the—the other Shadowhunters.” He wasn’t sure if Jesse even knew the word Clave.

Jesse looked alarmed. “No! I will. I want to! I’m a Shadowhunter.”

“So is your mother,” murmured Gideon. He felt a slight twinge of possibility there. Tatiana could have disappeared like Edmund Herondale, abandoned Downworld entirely, lived as a mundane. Shadowhunters did, sometimes; though Edmund had done it for love, Tatiana might do it out of hatred. That she had not gave Gideon hope, although, he was sure, foolish hope.

He knelt down, to be closer to the boy. He hesitated, then reached out for Jesse’s shoulder. Jesse stepped back, casually avoiding the touch, and Gideon let it go. “You are one of us,” he said quietly.

“Jesse!” Tatiana’s voice came from the top of the entrance stairs. “Get away from that man!”

As if prodded with a needle, Jesse leapt away from Gideon’s reach and retreated without a further word into the shadowed recesses of the house.

Gideon stared in horror as his sister Tatiana drifted down the stairs. She wore a pink gown more than ten years old. It was stained with blood he well knew was more than ten years old as well. Her face was drawn and pinched, as though her scowl had been etched there, unchanged for years. 

Oh, Tatiana. Gideon was flooded with a strange amalgamation of sympathy and revulsion. This is long past grief. This is madness.

His little sister’s green eyes rested on him, cold as if he were a stranger. Her smile was a knife.

“As you can see, Gideon,” she said. “I dress for company. You never know who might drop by.”

Her voice, too, was changed: rough and creaking with disuse.

“Have you come to apologize?” Tatiana went on. “You will not find exoneration, for the things you have done. Their blood is on your hands. My father. My husband. Your hands, and your brother’s hands.”

And how was that? Gideon wanted to ask her. He had not killed her husband. Their father had done that, transformed by disease into a dreadful demonic creature.

But Gideon felt the shame and the guilt, as well as the grief, as he knew she intended him to. He had been the first to cut ties with his father, and with his father’s legacy. Benedict had taught them all to stick together, no matter what the cost, and Gideon had walked away. His brother had stayed, until he saw proof of their father’s corruption he couldn’t deny.

His sister remained even now.

“I am sorry you blame us,” said Gideon. “Gabriel and I have only ever wished for your good. Have you—have you read our letters?”

“I never was fond of reading,” murmured Tatiana. 

She inclined her head, and after a moment Gideon realized this was the closest she would get to inviting him in. He stepped across the threshold nervously and, when Tatiana did not immediately shout at him, he continued inside.

Tatiana led him to what had once been their father’s office, a sculpture in dust and rot. He averted his eyes from the torn wallpaper, catching a glimpse of writing on the wall that read WITHOUT PITY.

“Thank you for seeing me,” Gideon said as he took a seat across the desk from her. “How is Jesse?”

“He is very delicate,” said Tatiana. “Nephilim like yourself wish to put Marks on him, because they are intent on killing my boy as they have killed everyone else I love. You sit on the Council, do you not? Then you are his enemy. You may not see him.”

“I would not force Marks on the boy,” protested Gideon. “He’s my nephew. Tatiana, if he is that ill, perhaps he should see the Silent Brothers? One of them is a close friend, and could come to Jesse at our house. And Jesse could know his cousins.”

“Mind your own house, Gideon,” Tatiana snapped. “Nobody expects your son to live to Jesse’s age, do they?”

Gideon fell silent.

“I expect you want Jesse to marry one of your penniless daughters,” Tatiana went on.

 Now Gideon was more confused than offended. “His first cousins? Tatiana, they are all very young children—”

“Father planned alliances for us, when we were children.” Tatiana shrugged. “How ashamed he would be of you. How is your grubby servant?”

Gideon would have struck any man who spoke of Sophie so. He felt the rage and violence he’d known as a child storm within him, but he’d desperately taught himself control. He exercised every bit of that control now. This was for Thomas.

“My wife Sophia is very well.”

His sister nodded, almost pleasantly, but the smile quickly became a grimace. “Enough pleasantries, then. You came to Chiswick for a reason, did you not? Out with it. I know what it is already. Your son is like to die, and you want money for filthy Downworlder remedies. You’re here as a beggar, cap in hand. So beg me.”

It was strange: Tatiana’s obvious, undeniable insanity made her insults and imprecations undeniably easier to bear. What was she even saying? What Downworlder remedies? How could remedies be filthy?

Had Benedict destroyed Tatiana as well? Or would she always have been like this? Their mother had killed herself because their father passed on a demon’s disease to her. Their father had died of the same sickness, in disgrace and horror. Will Herondale could dismiss it all as nonsense, but could it be a coincidence that Tatiana’s son, and his son, were both sickly? Or was it some weakness in their very blood, some punishment from the Angel who had seen what the Lightwoods truly were and passed his judgment upon them? 

“I need no money,” Gideon said. “As you well know, the Silent Brothers are the best of doctors, and their services are always freely available to me. As they are to you,” he added with emphasis.

“What, then?” Tatiana said. Her head cocked slightly.

“Father’s papers,” Gideon said in a rush of expelled breath. “His journals. I think that the cause of my son’s illness might be found there.” He found he didn’t want to say Thomas’s name in front of his sister, as though she might decide to conjure with it.

“A man you betrayed?” Tatiana spat. “You have no right to them.” 

Gideon bowed his head to his sister. He had been prepared for this. “I know,” he lied. “I agree. But I need them, for the sake of my child. You have Jesse. Whatever our differences, you must understand that we could both love our children, at least. You must help me, Tatiana. I beg you.”

He’d thought Tatiana would smile, or laugh cruelly, but she only gazed at him with the impassive, mindless stare of a dangerous snake.

“And what will you do for me?” she said. “If I do help?”

Gideon could guess. Get the Clave to leave her alone, to let her do as she wished with Jesse, for one thing. But in Tatiana’s madness, who knew what she would come up with.

“Anything,” he said hoarsely.

He lifted his head and looked at her, at his mother’s green eyes in his sister’s pitiless face. Tatiana, who would always break her toys rather than share them. There was something missing in her, as there had been in their father.

 Now she did smile. “I have just the task in mind,” she said.

Gideon braced himself.

“On the other side of the road from this estate,” Tatiana said, “is a mundane merchant. This man has a dog, of an unusual size and vicious temperament. Quite often he lets the dog run free in the neighborhood, and of course he comes straight here to make mischief.”

There was a long pause. Gideon blinked. “The dog?”

“He is always making trouble on my property,” Tatiana snarled. “Digging up my garden. Killing the songbirds.”

Gideon was utterly positively sure that Tatiana did not keep a garden. He had seen the state of the grounds on his way in, left to crumble as a monument to disaster no less than the house itself.

There were definitely no songbirds.

“He’s made a disaster of the greenhouse,” she went on. “He knocks over fruit trees, he throws rocks through windows.”

“The dog,” Gideon said again, to clarify.

Tatiana fixed her piercing gaze on him. “Kill the dog,” she said. “Bring me the proof you have done this, and you will have your papers.”

There was a very long silence.

Gideon said, “What?”

[littlemisskookie]

We’ve Got You: Pt. 2

We’ve Got You: 1 2 Ship: Hoseok | Reader | Yoongi Description: The line between fiction and reality blurs further, and you’re unsure whether or not your best friends improve or worsen it. Warnings: Death, Mental Illness, Threesome, Dom!YoonSeok, Dirty Talk, Spit Roasting, Intercourse, Oral, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Unprotected Sex, Creampie Word Count: 3,441 A/N: I didn’t even plan to write part 2 but here we are- the conclusion.

"I don't understand any of it! I thought this medication was supposed to work, or do something. But she's still... she's still seeing them," Jin seethed, his tone exasperated. 

Dr. Kim sighed, giving the man a sympathetic look. "Medication does take a while to work. Besides that, many have to try out different antipsychotic pills before finding one that works for them. If there was one pill that could immediately cure symptoms of schizophrenia, the world would be a far better place. But perhaps you're right. I'll look into switching her from Abilify to something stronger or more suited to her needs."

"Y'know, doc, sometimes I start thinking that they're real. Like she's got those two assholes just following her around and trying to... I don't know, take her. I see them for a moment and I'm convinced I'm the delusional one- but then I remind myself I'm just letting it get to my head."

"It's normal for you to be feeling this way- there's a lot of stress for taking care of someone with this disorder," Dr. Kim reminds him. "I'll remind you that if you ever feel the need to send her to the ward, we'll be more than happy to take her in."

"Is this normal, though? For someone of her condition?" Jin ponders. "I've been doing so much studying on this, but usually the hallucinations or delusions don't pertain to... well, dead people. To people she knew."

"There is a first time for everything. Besides, she's displayed other symptoms that link up to it. Stress tends to trigger mental illnesses, and it's usually around this age where it pops up for the few people who do have this disorder. Besides, according to your records, your family does have some history of schizophrenia. She's shown the symptoms of delusions and hallucinations, but another thing you've got to remember is that people with schizophrenia tend to be more of a danger to themselves than others. That's especially concerning considering what you told me happened last night. If she continues to show this sort of behavior, we may have to detain her regardless of you admitting her to the hospital."

Jin sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. "I understand, Doctor. I'll keep her safe, trust me. What should I do in the meantime?"

"There's not much else I can advise other than what you've been doing. Just make sure she takes her medication and keep her out of harm's way. It's the bare minimum you can do for now until we get more done," Dr. Kim advises.

"Alright, thank you, Doctor," Jin says. He leaves the office to see you, sitting in the chair, leaning back and crossing your arms. He feels so, so tired, but he wouldn't show you that side of him. He didn't want you to believe that you were a burden.

"So, what'd Dr. Kim say? Should I be locked up because I'm crazy?" you huff. "I would think that I'd get to listen in on those conversations. I'm still a functioning member of society, might I remind you."

Jin offers a weak smile of amusement, glad you still had some pep to you despite the lack of sleep. "Y/N, I think we should talk."

"This again? To scold me?" You huff childishly, but he knows you're only playing. You understood his concern.

He leans in front of you, holding your hands in his and locking your gaze. "Y/N, you're an adult. As you said before, you're a functioning member of society. But you and I both know that... Well, you're sick. Really sick. I'm- We're, trying our best to help you. But you've got to help, too, y'know? We wouldn't be here if we didn't care, and you know I only want the best for you. I only want to help."

Your hard stare softens when you analyze the expression on his face. He's gotten paler these past three months. There were circles under his eyes, and he seemed very sullen and skinny. Your brother was handsome, no doubt, even now. However, he seemed to lose the glow that once was.

"I know," you say slowly, diverting your gaze to your lap.

"I know it's normal for someone of your condition to truly believe what she... sees. But surely there's a part of you that knows that what you're seeing... it's not there. Yoongi and Hoseok are dead- they died three months ago. I know you need time to cope- they were your best friends and it's only been a few months. But you're only going to end up hurting yourself and me if you continue chasing after something that's not there."

Your eyes began to well up with tears. "I know... I just..."

"You miss them?" Jin offers for you.

"You don't understand. It seems so real. I can feel them, touch them, hear them. It's them through and through and... it feels like they're still there."

"Y/N, you saw their bodies at the funeral. You know what happened."

"I know, but don't you ever wonder... just wonder if ghosts are real? I've been thinking so much about it. No hallucination can touch me. No hallucination can seem so... so lifelike. It was just like them."

"Hallucinations and delusions are common for someone of your condition. I did ask the doctor about it, though, since it is... special. Most only have auditory hallucinations, but as he pointed out there was a first time for everything. As for physical interaction, I can't say I know much about that. I'm no expert, and the best I can find is through scholarly documents. But I am trying to use what little I know to help you," Jin says.

"I know. They always hated that about you," you smile weakly.

Jin mimicks it. "I need you to cooperate, though. When you... see Yoongi and Hoseok... don't follow them. They're not real. Don't do anything they want- they can't really harm you. You have to remind yourself that they're not real because they've caused nothing but harm. Even after death, apparently.  Another thing that's common for people with your condition is that they tend to be more harmful to themselves than to others, despite popular media has shown. Think to yourself whether or not something's truly tangible, and what the ultimate consequences are. It'll be hard, I know, but I want you to try."

"I understand," you say softly. 

"Good. I talked to Dr. Kim about getting you a new prescription since the pills we have doesn't seem to be very effective. If the new meds work out, you won't be seeing them again," Jin smiles, the sentiment one of good intent.

You didn't find it nearly as comforting.

-

You're woken in the middle of the night, the two of the boys beside you on the bed.

Yoongi smiles at you, combing his fingers through your hair- just like he used to. It feels so heartwarming and comfortable that you let yourself melt into the sensation, humming quietly in content. Hoseok, meanwhiles, snuggles into your side, affectionate as ever, curled up in fetus position as he wraps around you like ivy.

"How'd you sleep, beautiful?" Yoongi whispers in your ear, voice husky. "Did you have sweet dreams?"

At that, your eyes snap open. You realize despite the fact that his fingers thread through your hair, you can't feel his breath on your neck. You couldn't even feel Hoseok's chest rising and falling with his breath.

Because neither was breathing, to begin with.

You pull back from both, sitting up to stare at them with wide eyes through the dark. "You're not real," you whisper quietly.

Hoseok scoffs at that, rolling his eyes as he stretches. "Is that more bullshit your brother is spewing?"

You squeeze your eyes shut. "Please stop. You're not real and I know I miss them but... This hurts too much. Seeing you, feeling you, as though you're actually here."

"We are here, Y/N," Yoongi says, his voice soft as he presses a cold hand to the side of your face. You look up at him, still present. "You feel that? You feel me?"

You reach up to the hand on your cheek, but you can't make out a pulse. You don't know if it's because your brain can't make one, you're just too sleepy, or something else. "I don't know anymore. Hallucinations... they can touch you... I think..."

Hoseok grumbled at that, pulling you to him, your back flush against his chest. "Hallucination, huh? Could your imagination really even compare to this, though?"

You whine, arching your back when one of his hands gropes your breasts, his mouth finding its way to your neck, nibbling, biting, and licking in that way he knew you loved. You gasp in surprise, but his other hand comes up to your mouth, blocking the noise. "Shh, baby. Wouldn't want your brother seeing you getting off with a couple of hallucinations, now would we? Now be good and spread your legs for Yoongi."

You comply, your legs shaky as you spread them for the older man, relaxing when you feel his veiny hands massage the skin, loosening your muscles.

Yoongi and Hoseok had shared you plenty of times, and other times when it was only two at a time. The sort of polyamorous relationship shared between three friends. You kept it a secret, however, knowing your brother wouldn't approve. Turns out that the secret would be taken to the grave.

Yoongi tugs down your pajama shorts, sucking in a sharp breath once he sees you're not wearing any underwear. "No underwear, huh? Dirty girl. You were just begging to get fucked tonight, weren't you?" Yoongi questions, his thumb twirling around the small nub in a way that made you keen. "That's right, get nice and wet for us baby. We'll show you how real we really are."

The hand that Hoseok had clasped over your mouth now shoves fingers inside, muffling the moans as Yoongi continued his ministrations, two fingers delving inside to roughly finger you, knowing you can handle it.

"Do you remember the first time you did this with us, Y/N?" Hoseok questions. "On prom night? How we shared you in the back of a dirty old limo, with the driver oblivious to what was happening in the back? To how wet you were and what a nasty girl you were for us?"

You nod, some of the drool going down your chin and onto Hoseok's hand. Your eyes roll back as Yoongi leans down, capturing the small nub in his mouth and sucking harshly, his ministrations rough in an effort to get you to cum as soon as possible.

It had been three months since you had been fucked, and God had you missed it. Hoseok pulled his hand down, forcing you to look directly at Yoongi between your legs. His stare was predatory, locking with yours as he feasted between your legs, enjoying the way your eyes started to glaze over.

"That's right, baby, look at him. He's taking such good care of you, isn't he? He's getting you ready for cock. We've held back from you for long enough."

Yoongi's gaze stays locked on yours as he stimulates your g-spot and clit, trying to get you to race towards the edge. Your tells begin to show, from the slight quiver in your thighs to the glaze in your eyes as you tumble towards the edge of subspace.

"That's right, cum for us," Hoseok rasps in your ear. "There'll be more where that came from."

You find your orgasm washing over you, and the moan is suppressed. Yoongi holds your thighs down, still lapping at your heat, doing his best to overstimulate you as you soak the sheets. You whine in pain at the sensation as Yoongi continues to lap at your clit, but Hoseok only pets your head, calming you as you let the pain subside for pleasure, another orgasm, though less intense, coursing through your veins.

Yoongi comes back up for air, his face glistening with your juices. He grabs the back of your neck, Hoseok letting go of you as Yoongi presses you towards his own body, smashing your lips to his. You taste yourself against his tongue, and you feel yourself getting hot all over again at the thought.

Yoongi breaks apart, a string of saliva connecting you now parting into nothingness. "Still think we're just a figment of your imagination, baby?"

Your face goes red, and your mind is still hazy despite the fact you're wide awake now. "I... I..."

"She still doesn't know, hm? Maybe she needs a bit of cock to help get her senses straight," Hoseok chuckles. "Get on your knees, baby. It's time to take what's ours."

You obey, your limbs shaky as you get on all fours. You observe Yoongi, who has now yanked down his boxers and pants, stroking his length before you. Your mouth waters as you remember the girth of his cock, and how deliciously it would stretch you. Hoseok's cock wasn't as girthy, but he made up for it in length, always using it to mercilessly batter your g-spot.

At that thought, you feel the blunt head run over your folds, a low hiss coming behind you from Hoseok. "Fuck, I've missed this." He pushes inside, an easy slide from the copious amount of lubrication, and both of you gasp at the feeling. Hoseok stills inside of you, and reaches forward, grabbing your face and opening your mouth, pushing your head towards Yoongi. "Why don't you suck him off, Y/N? He was so nice to you. It's only right to return the favor."

You nod, opening your mouth in compliance. Yoongi accepts the invitation with little fanfare, pushing inside of your mouth as you begin to bob your head. Yoongi fucks your throat as Hoseok begins to fuck you from behind, both of their paces controlled and in rhythm, as though the two were synced.

Hoseok grabs fistfuls of your ass before pushing his chest against your back, his face next to yours as he observes how lewdly you swallow Yoongi's cock whole. "What a good fucking girl for us, taking our cocks so well."

"Shit, baby, just like that," Yoongi grunts, his hips stuttering slightly as he continuously dives into the warmth of your mouth. "You were made for our cocks, weren't you?"

You can't even nod up at him, fucked out as you rock between the two men, your mind going plank as you enter another plane of consciousness. All in a result of an orgasm that consisted of being sandwiched between two men. Everything seems to go into a dreamlike state, a subspace only they could bring you to.

Before you knew it you were swallowing all of Yoongi's cum, and Hoseok was filling up your pussy with a low grunt. You were brutally used by both men, with three orgasms now to boot.

Yoongi wipes the sweat from your brow, smiling fondly at you. They both look at you as though you're their world- a look you'll never forget. "Still think we're imaginary, Y/N?"

"No," you say, your lashes fluttering as you slowly come down from your high.

"Then come with us," Hoseok smiles. "It's time we finish what we started."

-

"Here again?" you whisper quietly, looking down at the seemingly endless abyss below the bridge.

"It's the simplest way," Hoseok shrugs.

You ponder for a moment, tossing the switchblade from hand to hand. "I didn't give it much thought last time you tried to get me to do this. But it's clear now that I think about it what you want from me. My only question is why."

Yoongi gives you an understanding smile. "Ah, you've figured it out."

"What can we say? We picked a smart one," Hoseok chuckled.

"If I cut this, we'll all fall and die. But you two can't die, can you? Because..." You suck in a deep breath. "Because you two are already dead."

The two are quiet for a moment, your words hanging in the air.

"What is it like? To die?" you question softly.

"It's quick. As you know I died on the spot. Hoseok wasn't so lucky. He had to go through a lot of pain and even a coma before he died," Yoongi pointed out.

"I remember," you say, tears welling up in your eyes at the memory. "They wouldn't even let me see him."

Hoseok gives you a warm side hug, embracing you. "It's alright, Y/N. I'm here now, aren't I?"

"Yes, but..."

"You wanted to know how death was like? It's painless when it comes, but with this method, it's quick. I don't want it dragged out for you the way it was for me," Hoseok says.

"We just want us all to be together, Y/N," Yoongi tells you. "We promised we'd always stay by each other's sides, right? We're a team, a trio. We'll never love anyone else as much for as long as... Well, ironically as long as we lived. You belong with us, Y/N. Even you know this. We wouldn't be here if you didn't."

You were conflicted. Could this be your mind playing games with you in order to bring about your doom? Or were they really ghosts set out on doing unfinished business... which was reuniting with you.

You swallowed hard. 

"What about Jin?"

"What about him?" Hoseok scoffed. "Y/N, he thinks you're crazy- he thinks you're delusional. We're telling you we're real, and he's been out here drugging you, about to take you to some ward. He feels burdened trying to brainwash you and take care of you. He doesn't have your best interests at heart like us."

"Yes he does," you begin to defend.

"No, he doesn't," Hoseok clarifies. "He's always had the goal of keeping us apart. He's going as far as to get you drugged up on something new, isn't he? So you'll no longer see us? Do you never want to see us again?"

"No," you say. "I love you. More than anything."

"Then let us be together finally," Yoongi says, taking your hand in his and bringing the switchblade up to the rope. "We'll finally have our happily ever after, just the three of us."

You nod, the two of them giving support as you begin to drag the blade across the rope.

You're down to the last few threads when-

"Y/N!" 

You turn, seeing Jin run towards you. You hold the blade up above your head, eyes wide as you threaten to bring it down. "Don't come any closer!"

Jin freezes in place before the bridge, panicked. "Y/N, don't! Please, let's just go home!"

"No! I'm not going anywhere, Jin. You've got to understand that. You've kept me away long enough," you say. "Yoongi and Hoseok... They're real. They're here, with me. They're real!"

"Y/N, Yoongi and Hoseok are dead. Please, we can get you the help you need. They have a division at the hospital to help you-"

"No! No more doctors, no more pills, no more treating me like I'm crazy!" you exclaim. Your eyes water as you stare at your brother. "I'm a burden enough to you, Jin. Let me go."

His eyes get glassy as well, and a lump forms in his throat. "I just don't want to lose my baby sister."

You falter at that, slowly lowering the knife to your side. Hoseok, however, grabs your hand, halting your surrender. "Remember what we said," Hoseok hisses at you.

"He's my brother," you whine.

"And we're your best friends. You didn't choose to be siblings with him, but you chose to love us," Yoongi says.

Jin sees you speaking to yourself at the bridge, and quickly makes out what he believes is going on.

"Y/N, I can't see them," Jin says. "Doesn't that prove anything to you?" 

"You can't see them?" you question, eyes wide.

"Because he's a fool. You see us because of our bond, Y/N. He's blind," Yoongi hisses. 

"Y/N... please..." Jin begs.

"He's going to send you away to some ward because he thinks you're crazy," Hoseok tells you. "Do you want that? To be locked up and become a prisoner? You're not crazy, Y/N. You're not."

You stop for a moment, torn between two worlds. 

You look up to Jin with glassy eyes. "Maybe I should've died in that wreck, too."

"Y/N, wait-"

"I love you, brother."

With that, the bridge came falling down.

[hookedontaronfics]

First Contact series - Part 5

Title: First Contact - Part 5 Read the previous installments here: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 Rating: M Pairing: Taron x OC Warnings: Some mild cursing, brief sexual mention A/N: Jess and Taron have a perfect summer day together, but will her insecurities get in the way? I hope you love reading the fifth installment of the First Contact series as much I have loved writing it. The series will eventually involve more mature themes as it develops, so be warned! Enjoy! x

The day had dawned hot and steamy, and transitioned full on into boiling by the time my boss cut work short for everyone. Our office didn’t have air conditioning, and everyone was starting to feel ill from the sticky air in our high rise. No amount of fans could seem to relieve it, and most of the men had loosed their ties and collars. I could feel the heat from the baked concrete of the sidewalk burning through the soles of my shoes as I walked quickly toward the tube station, hoping there would be some relief underground.

The cafe tables on the sidewalks that were usually so full for lunch hour were completely empty, and the few people scurrying about were sticking to the shadows cast by shop awnings. I’d felt temperatures like this in my hometown in America almost every summer, but air conditioning was everywhere across the pond. The heat felt much different when you couldn’t get away from it.

I texted my flatmates to see how they were surviving the heat. Jules complained it was brutal and then said she and Mary were just planning on heading to Hampstead Heath; there really was no other way to deal then to wade neck-up into the bathing pool.

<Oh God, that sounds perfect. We closed shop early and I’m heading back. Wait for me!> I quickly texted back. I caught the train and was soon back at the flat. My friends were already clad in bikinis under their summer clothes, waiting impatiently on me to arrive. Even Tim looked uncomfortable in the stuffy flat, and I felt bad for him.

I quickly changed into the floral high-waisted bikini my friends had convinced me to buy. I was a bit self-conscious about my love handles and stomach, but they swore up and down it highlighted my curves in all the right places. Still, next to my willowy friends, I sometimes felt like a bit of a lard. But today was too hot to care about how I looked, so I pulled on a pair of shorts and a tee over the swimsuit and stuffed the essentials like sunscreen and a hat into my beach bag.

“Alright?” I said, as Jules gave me a once-over and tsk’d slightly. She walked over to me and grabbed the hem and material of my baggy shirt, quickly doing a knot in it and tucking it under so it was not only a lot more form fitting, but also showed my midriff slightly.

“Now we’re ready,” she smiled, waving her finger in my face when I tried to protest. “You’ve got a figure all the guys would die to be with.”

“Jules!” I groaned slightly. 

“Oh we know,” Mary said with a smirk. “There’s only one person you want to be with right now, and so far that hasn’t happened yet. You just need to get laid!” she added with a squeal.

“We are not having this conversation right now!” I yelled, yanking open the door as my roommates just cackled and followed along. 

As we walked back toward the tube entrance, my mind shifted to Taron, whom I hadn’t seen for the past week or so since I’d been sick. We’d been texting most days, and even tried to make plans, but he’d had to cancel and apologized profusely for not being available to see me. I understood being a busy adult; I’d had my own share of things to get done. I found that I missed him, though, and I was surprised by the yearning to see him smile at me again.

Almost as if my thoughts had summoned him, my phone pinged with a text. <I think I’m melting. It’s bloody hot. Hope you’re getting on okay.>

<Just heading to Hampstead now with the girls. Our flat was suffocating.>

<Likely the only thing to do today> he responded.

In some strange dash of courage, I decided to suggest he join us. <Bring your mates> I added hopefully. <It’ll be fun.>

“Who are you texting?” Mary asked, making me jump slightly. I hadn’t realized I’d totally zoned out of the conversation with my friends.

“Just Taron,” I replied, my heart stupidly starting to race as I waited for his response.

“So when’s he going to take you out again?” Jules asked, poking me in the side. “Or is he one of those slow-burn types?”

“He’s busy! He’s got plenty more important things to deal with then me,” I defended. “Besides, I’m sure if it got out that he was dating a nobody the internet would shit itself. He’s probably been coached on this a great deal.”

“You’re not a nobody, Jess,” Mary said, sympathetically. “You’re really brilliant and if he doesn’t see that then he’s blind.” 

“Yeah, fuck what the internet thinks,” Jules added, an older lady huffing disprovingly at the language. “You’re an absolute catch.” I truly had the best roommates a girl could ask for.

Just then, my phone screen lit up again with Taron’s response. <I’ve got something later today but I don’t see why I can’t drop by for a bit. See you soon.> The thrill that ran through me was undeniable.

We grabbed another train and no one seemed remotely bothered by our decided lack of clothing, as everyone was too hot to care. We rumbled our way to Hampstead, knowing it would be crazy busy with everyone else having the same idea. There were only a couple of sparse clouds in the sky as we paid our fare, and I suggested we go to the mixed pool this time instead of the ladies only. My friends both gave me looks, and I had to admit that Taron was supposed to be bringing a few friends along to join us.

“Oh my god, when were you going to tell us!” Jules squealed at me.

“I don’t know! I didn’t want you both to give me shit!” I laughed, as Mary joined in on the excited squealing.

“You’re going to see Taron shirtless ... in person,” Jules said wickedly. “Maybe he’ll even ask you to rub sunscreen on his back, eh?” she said, digging her elbow into my side.

“Ow!” I laughed, grabbing my side and being reminded of how not-skinny I was. “Or he’ll take one look at me in my suit and run screaming the other way.”

“Oh please,” Jules said, as Mary sighed. “You’re totally hot.”

“Yeah, I am hot, sweltering really, and it’s about time we got in this bloody pool,” I laughed, trying to ignore my insecurities about my body as we found a place to dump our stuff, tore off our outer clothes, and ran straight into the water, probably amusing everyone around us as we shrieked about how cold it was.

“That’s one way to cool off,” Mary laughed, her teeth chattering a bit.

“You’ll get used to it soon enough,” Jules grinned as we bobbed there in the water like everyone else. Just a bunch of heads floating about, I giggled at the stupidity of that thought. We chatted for a bit and grew accustomed to the water, and I tried not to stare at the shoreline too much in anticipation. I didn’t exactly want to come across as desperate. We eventually clambered out of the water to try and soak up some sun, spraying on sunscreen and laying out on our towels.

I was just about to think Taron would stand us up when I heard his laugh floating across the grounds to us. I sat up and instantly wrapped my towel around myself. “Hey hey hey ladies!” he grinned, holding out his arms wide as he strolled up, a cap pulled low and his sunnies giving him a bit of a chance to not be immediately recognized. He had two friends with him who were both quite fit themselves, but I only had eyes for Taron as the three of them settled in on the ground with us. Jules and Mary were quite beside themselves. “Well look at that, we match up. These are my mates, Jack and Gavin,” he said with a grin.

We introduced ourselves as well, though I was pretty sure somewhere in a hazy memory of the karaoke bar we’d all met Jack before, but Gavin was new, and Jules had instantly started chatting him up.

“I’m glad you made it,” I smiled at Taron, admiring him just a bit in the tanktop and swim shorts he was wearing. Boy if I didn’t just burn up right then and there, I thought.

“I’m glad I did too,” he grinned back. “I’ve been missing you.”

“You have?” I asked, biting my lip a bit shyly.

“Of course. It’s not been my choice to be so busy, but I’ll figure this out.”

“Yeah?” I couldn’t help but smile. “What’s this thing you’ve got going on later?”

“Oh! Yeah that. Just some old mates from school invited me out to Streatham Common for a bonfire night,” he grinned.

“A bit hot for that, isn’t it?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

“Perhaps, but it’s the best place to see the stars in the middle of London. Would you like to see it for yourself?” he asked cutely. “That is, of course, if you haven’t got plans already.”

“No, no plans. I’d love too,” I grinned back.

“Good, now that that’s settled, shall we get out in that water before we all melt?” he asked, standing up and pulling his tanktop off. I felt my breath catch in my chest, and I was glad my shades were dark because oh, was I staring. He was a bit sweaty and the way it glistened on his chest gave me thoughts I should not have been thinking.

“Come on then,” he said to me, offering his hand as Jules, Mary, Gavin and Jack had already headed for the water. He helped me stand up, but I was still clutching the towel around me with one hand and there was a hint of understanding in Taron’s eyes.

“You needn’t be shy around me. You’re gorgeous,” he said softly, reaching over and gently taking the edges of the towel from me and pushing it off my shoulders, letting it drop to the ground. “That’s better,” he said, looking me over and smiling sweetly. “Alright?” he asked me, and I nodded. He took my hand and we made our way to the water, finally joining up with our friends.

We talked and laughed a bit, and with the rest of my body under the water, where no one had to see it, I could forget about my insecurity there. That is, of course, until Taron suggested we play chicken fight. Jules was instantly for it, Mary seemed confused as to what that meant, and I wanted to sink to the bottom of the pool. There was no way I was getting up on Taron’s shoulders for the world to see.

“Come on, love, it’s fine!” Taron grinned at me, excited about his fantastic idea.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I said under my breath while Jack explained the basic premise to Mary.

“That’s nonsense. Hurt me?” Taron laughed, taking a deep breath of air and ducking under the surface. I nearly fell over when I felt his hands on my legs, pushing them apart enough to get his head between them and standing up, boosting me up out of the water as I shrieked loudly. I clutched at his head to keep from falling over as he just laughed his ass off. “Not so bad, is it?” he smirked, holding onto my legs as I tried to not hyperventilate.

“Holy fuck, Taron, warn a girl next time,” I said, Jules already up on Gavin’s shoulders too. Mary was struggling a bit to get on Jack’s, making everyone laugh, but finally she was up too.

“Let the games commence!” Taron grinned, as Jules and I were the first two to face off. We were quite evenly matched, and it took a fair bit of wrestling, but eventually I prevailed, knocking a shrieking Jules over into the water.

“Yes! We did it!” I squealed happily to Taron.

“Yeaah!” he said, patting my thigh happily and making me feel something strange in my chest as I realized that his fingers were against my bare skin.

Next it was Mary and I, and she royally kicked my butt, managing to push both me and Taron over backward into the water, both of us coming back up for air, sputtering and laughing.

Taron pulled me in close to him, making sure I could breathe and running his fingers along the exposed skin of my waist under the water. “T...Taron?” I stuttered slightly.

“Hmmm?” he said, grinning at me, the sunlight bouncing off the water and making his hazel eyes sparkle.

“Your eyes look rather blue at the moment,” I smiled, running my hands through his wet curls. “I always thought that color-changing eyes were the prettiest. I’ve just got boring brown ones.”

“Boring? Have you gone mad?” he asked, his gaze holding my own. “You just haven’t seen them the way I have. When the sun shines down on them, they turn straight to amber. And there are these little gold flecks that always make them look like they’re dancing.” No one had ever said anything so lovely to me in my life, and I quite forgot how to speak.

“Rematch!” Jules yelled, interrupting our moment, which was fine because I had no idea how much longer we were going to stand there staring at each other if she hadn’t. We even got a few other people involved in the game until we had all worn ourselves out, returning to our towels and letting the sun bake us dry again. The boys had brought snacks and even a Bluetooth speaker to play some tunes, and we spent an incredibly enjoyable afternoon together.

Eventually we decided to head on home, the sun making us all feel a bit knackered, but before we parted ways Taron grabbed my hand in his and placed a sweet kiss on the back of it. “Be ready at 8, yeah?” he smiled, and I nodded, feeling giddy inside.

We made it back to our flat, where Jules and Mary both decided to take naps. I felt the need to freshen up so I ran the water in the bath, still mulling over the image of Taron in my mind, the sun on his shoulders and happiness in his eyes. I slipped beneath the surface of the bath, sighing as the warmth enveloped me. I closed my eyes and could still see him smiling at me, focusing on the muscles of his bare chest that I had wanted to run my hands over so badly, the way his wet swim shorts had clung to his thighs.

“Shit,” I breathed, feeling turned on and letting my hand drift down between my legs, gasping slightly as I imagined what it might feel like if it were Taron’s fingers. I rubbed myself a bit, my breathing coming in short gasps, trying not to moan in case Mary or Jules overheard me. But it was no use; I’d not been able to get off in quite a while. I had no idea what was wrong with me.

“Damnit,” I said, splashing water onto the floor in my frustration as I knocked the back of my head against the edge of the tub. I sighed and sat there for a moment, tearing up slightly and then quickly wiping them away. “Right, get over it,” I told myself. I quickly finished bathing and focused on getting myself ready, which didn’t consist of much. I figured I didn’t need to be made up for a bonfire.

Once Jules and Mary were up from their naps, we ordered some takeout on delivery and sat eating and chatting in front of the telly. Taron arrived promptly and I waved goodbye to the girls. I wasn’t exactly sure who we’d be hanging out with, so Taron filled me in as he drove us out to the nature preserve. It was still warm out, so I’d just dressed in shorts, a tee and sneaks. Taron parked us and we made the bit of a hike toward the woods, Taron holding my hand the whole way there.

He was warmly greeted by his friends once we arrived, and cutely introduced me to everyone. They were all so sweet and welcoming to me, and we were both handed beers. We took a seat on a log, but it was still too warm to have lit the fire. Everyone was hoping that it would cool off once the sun went down. We laughed and talked and drank, and Taron kept his arm draped around my shoulders. It felt amazing to be included in this way, and I started thinking that maybe we really were “together.” But he’d never actually said it out loud, and one thing still worried my mind.

The temperature cooled off as the sun sank toward the horizon, deepening the shadows. After the fire was lit, and most of Taron’s friends were too, Taron grinned over at me and cutely flicked the tip of my nose with this finger. “I told you I’d show you the stars. Come on,” he said with a wink, grabbing two fresh beers and taking my hand again. 

“Where are we going?” I laughed, following along dutifully. “Won’t they miss us?”

“Trust me, you won’t want to go missing in these woods, it’d likely be til Sunday before anyone knows you’re gone,” he smirked.

We trekked through the trees a bit on a well-worn path, giggling when we stumbled over roots until we’d gotten to a small clearing. In the middle was a pickup truck, older but not rusted out. It looked like someone had been taking care of it, though how it’d ended up in the middle of the trees was beyond me. Taron pulled back the cover and then let down the tailgate, helping me climb up. I was shocked at what I found; the bed of the truck had been completely covered with cushions and blankets and pillows. It was rather soft and I felt like I was sinking into it as Taron clambered in after me.

I grinned as he settled in next to me, and we both leaned back and stared up at the twilight sky. We were quiet for a few minutes as I watched the stars slowly blink into existence, one by one. “This is really gorgeous,” I whispered, feeling Taron’s fingers playing at the hem of my shirt. All the beer I’d drunk was making me feel rather heady, and when his fingers connected with my skin, I could barely breathe. “Not nearly as beautiful as you,” he said, before taking a swig of his beer, almost as if he was trying to gather his courage.

I wanted him to kiss me so badly, but I was also afraid for it. What if, from that single kiss, he could detect my entire history? What if he could taste the brokenness on my tongue?

He turned over onto his side slightly, and I did the same. We were so close in the darkness, sharing the same air, and I could feel the tension vibrating between us. “Taron,” I breathed his name, as we slowly drifted closer, our noses touching and then finally our lips. That first kiss was so gentle, but the power of it blew me away. It wasn’t demanding, or selfish, or greedy, or any of the other things I knew a kiss to be. “Jessica,” he said against my lips, his arm sliding around my back and drawing me in for more.

When we broke apart I was breathless, speechless, unable to form a single thought, and I imagined Taron felt the same. There was nothing of the world but this singular moment, Taron and me, the sounds of the woods surrounding us.

“I...uh…” Taron laughed awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. “That was good, right?” he asked.

“Just shut up,” I laughed, burying my face against his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, and we laid like that for a space. I was warm and fuzzy inside and everything felt perfect - until I opened my big mouth.

“T, can I ask you a question?” I said against his chest, and he hummed slightly.

“Yeah, anything,” he replied, running his fingers through my hair.

“You don’t already have a girlfriend, do you?” I asked, his fingers going still. He didn’t say anything at first, and I wondered if he’d even heard me, but then he sat up, pushing me off him.

“Why would you say something like that to me?” he asked, the darkness masking the pain in his eyes. “Why would you insinuate I was being unfaithful to someone else? I’d never do that, Jess!” he said, anger lacing through the hurt in his voice.

“What? That’s not… what I meant. I just didn’t know!” I tried to explain, but nothing seemed to be coming out right.

“Do you bloody think I’m an animal? I wouldn’t have been pursuing you if I had a girlfriend, for Chrissake,” he said. “All of this wasn’t just to get into your pants. You’re not just a good fuck for me, you know!” he said, grabbing his half-empty beer bottle and lobbing it angrily into the woods. I heard it smash somewhere against a tree. “Fuck,” he said. “You know what, find your own way home,” he said, hopping out of the truck and fleeing the way we’d come.

I sat there in stunned silence, not even sure what the hell had just happened. “Taron?” I asked, and nothing but silence answered back. I jumped down to the ground, pushing the tailgate and cover back into place before using my phone’s flashlight to make it back down the path. I could see the glow of the bonfire through the trees; we hadn’t been that far away, so I wasn’t feeling scared that I was lost. But I was hurt, and confused. It’d been an honest question and I didn’t understand Taron’s flash of anger. In my haste to return, I tripped over something and crashed to the ground, scraping the palms of my hands and my knees, but I barely noticed.

I pushed myself back up to my feet and retrieved my phone before finally making it back to the circle. I frantically tried to find Taron, but was told he had already left. I tried not to cry then, feeling the sense of abandonment sweep through me. I hated that I felt that way; he didn’t owe me anything, after all. I was just a fan, and he the famous actor. He could go back to his life like none of this had ever happened, but I felt irreparably changed somehow.

I managed to bum a ride from one of his friends, thankful they weren’t much for chatting. I’m not sure I could have kept it together well enough to pretend my night hadn’t gone totally to shit. The flat was completely dark when we arrived, and I was thankful Jules and Mary were already in bed. “Cheers,” I said to the driver before jogging up the walk and letting myself in. I headed straight for the bathroom and shut myself inside, my hands shaking as I tried to doctor my bloodied palms and knees. I left my dirty smoke-scented clothes on the bathroom floor and crawled into bed in my unders. I hugged my pillow to myself tightly and finally allowed myself to cry. I checked my phone again; Taron hadn’t texted. I wanted to let him know I’d gotten home safely, but I didn’t think he’d care.

I eventually cried myself out, and felt Tim jump up on my bed. He settled down in the crook of my legs and purred. “At least you still like me. No one else gives a toss,” I sniffed, feeling sorry for myself. I set my phone on the nightstand and sighed deeply. My chest hurt, my palms were stinging, and everything felt out of place. The only thing to do for it was sleep, so I left myself crash, afraid of the hard truths I was going to have to face in the morning.

Can Jess mend her relationship with Taron in time? Find out in Part 6.

[ninasfireescape]

Jessica Jones season 3 review

Back when Jessica Jones started, more than three years ago, it was all I heard about on social media. It was up there in my top tv shows. There was something about it which set it far above other superhero content. We were not just presented with a big bad who was a crime lord but given what was a very real metaphor for the abuse faced by women. The show was an examination of rape culture and mental illness, all while keeping up the action typical of the genre, and kept me gripped from episode to episode. I watched at least one season of every other Marvel Netflix series and none of them quite compared. Though they could be enjoyable at times, their storylines were all over the place, they were too long so that you could easily zone out, and their villains felt laughable.

I really hated season 2 of Jessica Jones. I remember very little of it but the villain was introduced so late and the stakes did not feel high enough. So I had no idea what I should think of Jessica Jones season 3 and as a result, I kept my standards fairly low. Where did it lie in comparison to its predecessors? Somewhere between the two. On the level of most of the other series. Enjoyable enough but not something that you feel such a compulsion to continue watching. Something that you will have forgotten within a week of watching. However, I did have a lot of thoughts about it.

Firstly there is the feminist message of it. This came very naturally to the first season given the subject matter. The first season exposed something that was real for many women and that genuinely felt like a horror story. Trying to continue in the same vein was what really ruined the initial villain of this season for me. The bad guy, Sallinger, quickly became a straw misogynist, defending himself by ranting about how the only reason Jess was after him was because he was a white man and she’s must hate him. Sure, some men actually think like this but it took away much of his depth and felt like it was trying to bash in a feminist subtext that would have been there without him.

Now onto the conflict between Jess and Trish. I found Trish to actually be the most sympathetic character of the season which was ironic since I strongly disliked her last season. Meanwhile, I started to become irritated with Jess. She became patronizing and unnecessarily rude to everyone (her attitude towards her secretary was particularly mean) and it seemed like the writers were trying very hard to make her ‘’’edgy’’’. Jess clearly suffers from PTSD and is an alcoholic and I would have liked to see her receive help with this but it isn’t even suggested. This might have been a plotline in later seasons if it hadn’t been cancelled but I really wish it had been addressed more earlier on. Season 1 definitely focused on Jess’s mental health much more.

We saw the message that we have seen again and again in the superhero genre: if you kill bad people that makes you just as bad as them. At this point, we’re all tired of it. So when Trish killed some abusive men including the man who murdered her mother, I fully understood her actions. Yet she was treated as the real villain of the season. It felt hypocritical of marvel. Have we forgotten that Jess murdered Kilgrave in season 1? Have we forgotten the Punisher’s entire characterization involves him killing bad guys and he just gets called an antihero and gets his own tv show?

Jeri is a very difficult character to form an opinion on. I found her a very interesting character in season one. Though she was morally grey, for the most part, she was on the good side and we saw her with a woman she loved a lot. We have to remember she was the very first MCU LGBT character and is the most prominent out of those in their Netflix shows so it is rather suspicious that their she happens to be a very corrupt, self-serving figure. I became very angry with what they did with her in season 2 as she started to fall into the disgusting trope of the predatory lesbian. In season 1, she was very in love with her assistant who was likewise in love with her but in season 2, we hear she is being accused of sexual harassment by her, leading to Jeri saying something along the lines of “what did she expect, wearing a skirt that short, she was asking for it.” So we’re having the only major lesbian character use widely recognized rape culture phrases? Cool. And naturally, her storyline in season 2 became about her dying. Because what else can you do with a lesbian character? In season 3, I began to enjoy her storyline again but she still remained an incredibly horrible person. She manipulated her ex-girlfriend whom she hadn’t seen in 25 years and whom she had cheated on into breaking up with her husband and ultimately ruined her life. It was meant to be justified by the fact that Kith’s husband turned out to actually be bad but Jeri didn’t know that in the first place. Kith deserved far better than Jeri.

Jessica Jones has always had a problem in its treatment of characters of colour, particularly women of colour. I’ll admit I didn’t notice it so much during the first season because I was a lot younger and not as aware of the tropes as I am now. This season did not break that pattern. The women of colour are never major antagonists but they tend to be minor characters who cause inconveniences to our white protagonist and whom we are meant to disagree with. In season 2, we had the bossy Latina ex-wife of Jess’s love interest. In this season, we had the two policewomen trying to arrest Jess for a crime they believe she committed, a Latina woman who called the police on Jess, a black TV presenter who disagreed with Jess and Malcolm’s girlfriend, Zaya, who despite being listed as a series regular had a very minor role. Of course, there were also the characters of Kith and of Gillian whom I have just discovered is played by a transgender actress which is a very big deal for Marvel. However, they still lacked a voice in the narrative.

I was upset with how mistreated Zaya was by the narrative. She was working for Jeri and Malcolm was keeping secrets from her so of course she did not know for certain who was innocent and who was guilty and she was just doing her job, yet we were meant to see her as being in the wrong. Malcolm was the sweetest character in season 1 and possibly my favourite and he continued that way in season 2. My opinion of him during season 2 did start to go down when he went to a gay club for the purpose of blackmailing a closeted man and then got angry when said man hit on him. In season 3, he was lying to his girlfriend and cheating on her with a white woman which exemplifies the mistreatment of women of colour as love interests, especially love interests to men of the same race as them.

TLDR: Things I liked: Most of Trish’s storyline, Kith (although she should have had more of a role), cameo from Luke Cage!

Things I disliked: Dismissal of Jess’s mental illness, Jeri, Malcolm, Erik was a boring character

[loniface]

1. What would you consider your favorite holiday? Why is this? I prefer the day after Valentine’s Day because of all that discount candy, but if ya’ll wanna see me get all mushy-gushy, Valentine’s Day is also mine and the dude’s anniversary of being a couple, so I’m biased.

2. When did you last fight with your significant other? We’ve yet to have a fight.

3. Do you do any special workouts to stay in shape? I currently don’t do a damn thing and I hate my body for it.  But, when I am getting into shape, it’s mostly crunches and walking.

4. If you’re a girl, do you have big hips? Too big? I got my grandma’s wide-ass hips and a flat butt.

5. Do people tend to call you by any certain nicknames? Only special people--and they know who they are--can call me Lonz.

6. When was the last time you had alcohol? What kind? It’s been so long, I can’t remember.  I take too many meds to take a chance on alcohol.

7. When was the last time you talked to your father? Like a few minutes ago.

8. What are the last four numbers of your phone number? 2013.

9. Is there anything / one you’re losing faith in right now? I’d say ‘humanity’ but there are still good people out there.

10. When is the next time you’ll eat chocolate candy? I just had an ice cream cone and I got like three cookies left in the pack.

11. Is there a day you’d just like to forget? Which one? Can I blot out my entire 20′s?

12. Are you someone who takes too many surveys? Probably, but I like answering questions.  I found this one ironically.

13. Girls, do you think you look good in dresses or not? I don’t do dresses/skirts/shorts.  I do not like my thighs touching.

14. Do you have a whiteboard in your room to remind you of things? Nope, but all my sketchpads are filled with random notes.

15. When was the last time you used a Kleenex? Why? I have no idea.  I tend to not get sick.

16. Do you prefer surveys with long or short questions? I like those that I can answer more than a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to.

17. Have you ever taken a pottery class before? No, but I’m not against trying.

18. Do your parents treat you like you’re still a child? My parents tend to act like I’m fragile thanks to my mental illness, but really, they just leave me to my devices for the most part.

19.Who is your significant other and how did you meet? I’m not ashamed that I had to use a dating service to meet my dude.  He had been living in the city close to me at the time, but he wound up moving back to his hometown after we met in-person and we kept in-touch and became a couple after the fact.

20. Do you talk to people out of the blue? @cloudsfall gets random texts out of me but that’s because I love her and miss her.

21. What was the last nightmare you had about? Anything odd? My nightmares are usually a variation of actual past traumas but I’ve thankfully only had the usual zombie nightmare as of late.

22. Is your life basically based on deja vu? Or, not so much? My life is kinda same ol’, but not that monotonous.

23. When was the last time someone dumped you? Probably 2011 or 2012.

24. Can you recall your eighth birthday? What was the cake? Nope, can’t remember the birthday but there’s always been cake involved.  I know that much.  My mom always baked whatever flavor I wanted and it was usually vanilla/chocolate with cream cheese icing.

25. Do you feel like you’re losing someone close right now? I feel I’m drifting from a lot of people because of different interests.  Perhaps it’s because I have too casual a relationship with everyone that I feel I don’t have to talk often to anyone until I realize how much time has passed since I did talk to them.  Does that make sense?

26. What color are the buttons on your remote? I’m too lazy to even look for it but it’s probably black, white, and grey.

27. What is the one stereotype people label you as most? The Artist.

28. Can you count how many lovers you’ve had on one hand? Yes, and you can even cut off a few fingers and get the same effect.

29. Do you like dark chocolate or white more? What about milk chocolate? I don’t like dark chocolate at all, but give me all the rest, especially with a raspberry filling, yum.

30. Who makes you the most angry in your life right now? My neighbor’s little yappy dog who barks 24/7.

31. How many times have you seen Star Wars? Be honest. I’ve seen every movie except The Last Jedi at least once.

32. Can people normally tell your mood, by your facial expression? I have a pretty good poker face, but my eyebrows give me away.

33. What was the last number you pushed on your phone? Hell if I know, I keep my phone’s history pretty clean.

34. Do you like flowers? What’s your favorite kind? I like flowers, but I don’t like their short lifespans.  Don’t really have a favorite, but if it’s purple, it’s awwwright in my book.

35. How many grades have you failed in your life? Never failed a class despite my absolute dumbassery in all things Math.

36. Do you own a car? What car is it? Yes, a 2002 Ford Escape named General Thibodaux II.

37. What is your favorite show to watch on television? I don’t watch television?  I’m so far behind on everything anyway.

38. What are the initials of your last ex? CR, I think.

39. Are you someone who can easily keep a secret? Yeah.

40. Do you understand algebra, or have you ever? I was home-schooled in the eighth grade, and my teacher wasn’t very sympathetic to the fact I Did Not Understand Pre-Algebra and it just snowballed from there.  I had to take remedial courses in college and still don’t know why there’s an alphabet in my math.

41. Do you or have you ever had a problem with going barefoot? I hate wearing shoes but I had reconstructive surgery (hence being home-schooled) and my feet are super-sensitive to this day, so I tend to keep shoes on until I’ve had my nightly shower for their own protection.

42. What is one thing that tends to freak you out? Extreme close-ups of eyeballs.

43. Have you been swimming so far this year? How much? Nope, weather doesn’t permit it yet.

44. Do you ever think you’re being cheated on? I have been.  Spoiler alert: it’s not That Great.

45. When was the last time you painted something? A few months ago, I painted a 3D Bulbasaur planter that I gave @luxwing for their birthday.

[ourghoststories]

Silver-tongue and the Sovereign Part 1 [Loki Laufeyson x OC]

Word Count: 1000+

Warnings: Domestic Abuse? sorta, violence, 

Another boring day in Trihlorre, I was being constantly looked down on due to my adoption from the land I was birthed in, Northiem; I know not of my true parentage and have instead been taken in by these egotistical cowards, who are now considered my family by many, but not I.

I am Lunera Atlene, Goddess of solemnity and the mind, my family is waging a war, they do not even know the consequences of, it is a war they will not win, but alas, they are too naïve to even consider their spiteful daughter's point of view; Regardless, I was sent into the depths of Asgard, to the yearly Gala they have, to spy and find out important information – which I knew would be unlikely, even with the numerous people of great power.

Many pillars punctured the roof in order to support the oversized roof above my head, in all truth, I had no idea whatsoever of where I was headed, I passed a few guards, who's stray eyes wandered upon my tall figure as I glided through the halls, that's when I heard the voices echo, that's where I then followed.

I was dressed in a silk, green dress with ribbons and a cape, various precious jewels peppered around me and had been embroidered delicately by hand.

After the countless steps I took, I reached where the noise was coming from, voices had tackled the classic music into substitution, all people with big egos were what I could sense, tsk, tsk, how foolish they were- buried in their own self-worth and plethora of greed; this would eventually be their undoing.

Many couples dressed in stunning, priceless jewels and gowns- hues of bright colours and patterns, carelessly littered the ballroom, feigning their love for one another- and those, the few that were real, disgusted me... How could they claim they had truly felt love? When they had not felt the wrath, and scars it left behind; it made me feel ill, but I had to focus on what I was really here for.

I tried to look inconspicuous, little did anyone suspect, I was incognito- and for reasons not of my own, which infuriated me immensely, I was but only a slave to them, whereas in reality, I was so much greater- than they; I dimly grabbed a glass of they drink they were serving.

The aroma wasn't anything different to what I expected, mead, typical- I downed the glass knowing the effects wouldn't become anywhere near prominent before I elegantly placed the glass on the table and exited the room in search of adventure.

The shadows danced off the walls, but, it only humoured me as I continued deeper and deeper into the infamous castle, I heard footsteps of what I could only assume was a guard, before I tried to hide- and failed, as I was shoved against the wall, the cold brick tickling my back.

"Well, well, well... what do we have here?" the man glowered, as he chuckled amusingly- almost as if he had just made me a victim.

His appearance was dark and eerie; his green eyes matched his suit, his black hair was slicked back as an attempt to keep it tame, a mischievous smile danced its way across his pale face... this could only be one man, Loki.

"None of your business, fool" I spat in retaliation.

"Feisty, just how I like them... Oh, but it is... you see, when some fair maiden is snooping around my dearest house, it is my job to make it my problem" he mocked, tracing my face with his finger.

"have you no respect Loki? I am far from what you dismiss me as, a 'fair maiden', be it? I do not think so, you have reached far beyond into something you wish you had not. I could rip your innards from your body if I wanted" I said darkly.

Loki chuckled darkly "have I really pried into something you wish I had not?".

"If only you knew... I am not going to elaborate for a nosey trickster such as yourself" I said plainly.

"You humour me, Lady...?".

"Ha, you think I will tell you that? Then you are an even bigger fool than I once thought, no, to you I will remain nameless" I taunted.

"Amusing. Regardless, I will find out who you are... You never answered my question, what are you doing down here in the archives?" he chuckled, still pinning me to the wall.

"to answer your question, I got lost... I was trying to get back to the ballroom" I lied, effortlessly- although I assumed he could see straight through it.

"I see... I shall escort you back then" he laughed, not believing in my lie.

"If you wish, though, I do not require it" I dismissed as he moved backwards to let me walk freely.

"What brings you to this amazing Gala?" he asked as we walked back, sarcasm dripping from his every word.

"If I told you that, I'm afraid it would put me in some trouble, and that, I do not need right now- not that my family would care..." I trailed off.

"oh? You have family issues as well?" he asked, fastening his pace so he was walking beside me.

"do you take me as a moronic creature? If I revealed that, you would know why I was here" I said strictly, getting nervous- I didn't like to talk about it.

"fair enough, but, I will find out" he replied, as quick as lightning.

"that I do know, and whenever you do, it will be fine, just not now- it will be too risky... I would tell you but, trust is something I don't have with many, especially you"

"Very well. I suggest you do not 'accidently stumble' upon the archives again, especially if the guards – or heaven forbid, Odin catches you" he warned uncharacteristically.

"that, I will not do, I appreciate the warning Loki. I believe we have arrived at our- or my, destination" I nodded gratefully, as we walked into the hall once more.

Some classical music lulled the room, making the talk die down, "Would you like this dance?" Loki asked, placing his hand on my waist.

I chuckled, glancing down at the floor "I feel that if I disregard your invitation... You may be displeased- I wouldn't want such an offer to go to waste though. Don't think I will ever listen to you, because you are mistaken".

He raised his hands in surrender, "I wouldn't dare hit a woman, unless of course I had to".

"You would be right about that- let us not hesitate" he grinned widely.

Loki gently placed his hands either side of my waist, while I placed mine of his shoulders "you know, you are naïve to think that anything will come of this" I explained.

"Oh, I know, but it won't stop me from trying to get to know you" he laughed.

Everyone's attention was averted to the two elegant souls, gliding on the dancefloor "what? Do you all have nothing better to glare at... voiceless-pillocks, the lot of you" I hissed.

They glared for a while longer before they turned back to what they were previously doing, "hmm? She has class? Who would've thought?" he muttered to himself.

"you won't be surprised when you find out about me, although I don't believe you'll find much, apart from my adoption records" I said firmly.

Loki cocked his eyebrow in surprise, "trust me when I say, I know all too well, how that feels" he said sympathetically almost? No, more like agreement.

"I don't trust you but I believe you Loki, it is time for me to leave, I have got what I needed- maybe even a little more, thank you for your hospitality" I bowed before I exited, leaving Loki speechless and standing shocked.

I headed back to Heimdall "Lady Lunere, do you wish to head back to Trihlorre?" he asked, readying his spear.

"yes please Heimdall, I owe you, conflict between our two realms was never my intent, I thank you graciously" I smiled thankfully.

"it is no problem, you don't owe me anything" he smiled, before he sent me back to where I dreaded most.

When I returned home, I headed straight back to my chambers to take a long, deep sleep.

A/N

Also just a warning all the chapters have heaps of words, like 1000 - 2000+ so enjoy the content.

So I wrote this last year... I just stumbled upon it again and have started writing some more to it because it didn't (and still doesn't) have an ending, I'm super proud of this story so far and have been eager to post it for ages. Tell me what y'all think x

[ayellowbirds]

Keshet Rewatches All of Scooby-Doo, Pt. 14: "Go Away Ghost Ship"

("Scooby-Doo, Where Are You", Season 1 Episode 14)

AKA "An Improbably High Number of Chef Disguises For an Episode About Pirates"

The episode begins with a foggy night at sea; a sailor aboard a large vessel catches sight of something strange through the mists. A tattered-looking ship from the age of sail? Flying the Jolly Roger?

Sure, that’s a rational conclusion. The view does indeed switch to the deck of the “ghost” ship, revealing a cock-eyed ginger buccaneer laughing madly... and then the view fades to a malt shop as the music goes from menacing to mellow.

I’ll note that his is at least the third time we’ve seen that hot rod parked next to the Mystery Machine at a malt shop. Who does it belong to? What’s their story? We may never know. 

Inside the shop is an almost 1:1 reproduction of the newspaper-reading scene from episode 3, down to the pink drink with extra straws. The news this time? One “C.L. Magnus”, a shipping magnate, claims that the recent rash of disappearances of oceangoing vessels are caused by the revenge-seeking ghost of Redbeard. Shaggy hopes his “super duper sandwich” isn’t a target, a reasonable fear since it’s about as big as an oil tanker.

With Scooby’s assistance, Shaggy ties a string around his sandwich, compressing it from a height that reached from his waist to his shoulder, to a fruitcake-dense sandwich of more normative volume.

He doesn’t notice that Scooby is still holding one end of the string, however, and when he closes his eyes in anticipation, Scooby gives it a yank and opens wide, downing the entire thing in one go. “Ree-lishus!” Scooby chortles to himself, while Shaggy is left confused and hungry. Man’s best friend.

The rest of the gang do not pay attention. They are used to the boy and his dog with their bottomless appetites. They do not look directly at it, and late at night, it will keep them from sleep.

Velma and Daphne seem oddly sympathetic to the plight of Mr. Magnus the Magnate, with Velma calling him “poor” and mentioning that he’s going out of business, while Daphne calls him a “nice man”. Fred suggests they help solve the mystery, and leads the gang to Magnus’s luxury penthouse apartment.

The gang act as if they somehow know of Magnus, and that it’s perfectly reasonable that they could show up unannounced and offer their assistance free of charge. Magnus’s butler is not having any of that.

“Not to be disturbed”, he intones in a voice rendered by John Stephenson as a riff on a Boris Karloff performance. If Magnus is not to be disturbed, mister, you’re setting a bad precedent.

The gang decide to sneak in, convinced Magnus will accept their help if they can just talk to him, and they dress up as “room service”.

There’s a few obvious problems with this, aside from an attempt at unlawful intrusion into someone’s home. For starters, the butler has just seen them, and yet Velma and Shaggy do not adopt more of a disguise than throwing on aprons and hats. Second, it’s an apartment building, not a hotel. Apartments tend not to have room service.

Third, as the butler notes when they push past him, it’s 11:00 PM. No wonder Magnus wanted to be left alone! When the gang wind up tumbling into a pile of teenagers and a Great Dane and are forced to explain themselves, the scene transitions to Magnus relating how his ancestors were responsible for ending the original threat of Redbeard, and that the pirate is now seeking revenge. As he relates this, Scooby notices his butler watching from behind a curtain....

The butler is so obviously telegraphed as the culprit, that it’s obviously not him, but there’s ultimately no resolution to this bit—a comic book adaptation made him out to be a spy from an insurance company, leading me to wonder if that had been part of this episode left out of the final production.

The gang take a motorboat out in the middle of the night, having drawn conclusions about the scheduling of Redbeard’s attacks that apparently completely elude the Coast Guard and other authorities. They spot a “mysterious’ fog bank, moving ahead of the real targeted freighter and playing a decoy foghorn to try to lure out the pirate ship. Shaggy observes the fog is thick enough to cut it with a knife, and Scooby...

I can excuse the fog-cutting as a cartoon gag but Scooby where the jinkies did you get that knife? Has Scooby just had a knife on him this whole time? 

The gang has little in the way of foresight when it comes to villains actually planning violence, and the ghost ship appears on a collision course prepared to ram their tiny boat. When Shaggy tries to put the outboard motor into “double full-speed reverse”, it tears a chunk of the boat off as it zooms away on its own, and their little boat is struck, cutting it in half!

That one-word response from Fred is his single best line in the series so far.

Split up in the most literal and forceful manner possible, Shaggy and Scooby squeeze in through a porthole while Fred, Daphne, and Velma climb the side of the boat, all seemingly unnoticed by the pirates. Each team seeks both the others... as well as some clues. Scooby and Shaggy run into Redbeard himself, who gives chase and menaces them with a flying sword.

It’s the specifics that make Shaggy such an icon of cowardice. The audience can’t be left to assume that this is a friendly ghost sword, wielding by some cavalier Casper. Stuck between a ghost and a sharp place, the boys are forced to plead for their lives as Redbeard and his “ghost” crew bear down on them.

Meanwhile, the other three members of the gang wander around the unrealistically massive interior of the ghost ship, wondering about its emptiness. They catch sight of Redbeard walking around and laughing, but quickly lose sight of him while sneaking about, leaving the viewer unclear on the timing of this scene. Is it while Shaggy and Scooby are being chased? Before, or after?

It doesn’t matter to the writers, because it’s clue time!

Before it can be explained to the viewer that dry ice (AKA frozen CO2) is notable for rapidly sublimating into a misty-looking vapor even at temperatures well below the freezing point of water, and that it does so especially dramatically when exposed to liquid water, the trio are locked in the room by Redbeard.

A scene transition back to Shaggy and Scooby shows that Redbeard is also standing over them, who observes that he’d spare their lives if they were “good for anything”. Shaggy says they’re good cooks, which seems to confuse Scooby as much as it does the viewer, but the threat of losing their heads motivates him to go along with it.

Oh, and Shaggy finds another use for his chef getup from when they tried to break into C.L. Magnus’s apartment, which i guess he’s just been... carrying around?  Deciding that they need to make a stew that a ghost will enjoy, Scooby and Shaggy mix in chains (for rattling), ash from the fireplace, cobwebs, and on Scooby’s suggestion, an enormous bar of soap.

Shaggy, you’re a track athlete. This is how you get a fungal infection.

Alternatively, he means he hardly ever uses it as an ingredient, which is almost worse, because it implies that sometimes Norville “Shaggy” Roberts does use bar soap as an ingredient.

Redbeard has some doubts about their creation, and insists that they eat it. After some hasty mouthfuls, Shaggy hiccups out some bubbles, and Redbeard simply sits and watches as Shaggy suggests to Scooby that they “bubble our way out of here!”, turning to face the ghost pirate and spewing a screen of soap bubbles at him.

As the chase scenes continue amidst things like Shaggy utilizing his vocal talents and shadow puppetry to convince Redbeard’s goons that their captain is pointing them in a different direction, and falling overboard in a basin—forcing Shaggy and Scooby to hand-paddle after the ghost ship’s wake—the pirate vessel pulls into a skull-shaped cave in the middle of a rocky cove.

You know, i feel like Hanna-Barbera cartoons ill-prepared me for the utter lack of skeletal rock formations in real life. If i ever want to live on a mountain shaped like the yawning maw of an angry skull, i’m probably going to have to make it myself.

Fred identifies this as “a secret cove on Skull Island”, but i feel like, you know, someone ought to have noticed the enormous sea cave formed by the skull-shaped part of a place known as Skull Island. Unless Skull Island has lots of skulls. Maybe it does!

There’s a brief and confusing gag where Scooby notices their paddling after the ghost ship has attracted a shark, which—oh, wait. It’s just a dorsal fin, which Scooby realizes when he lifts it out of the water to inspect it. Just a dorsal fin, skimming the ocean surface and following them around.

What.

The gang reunite in the caves, and Fred realize that the folded paper hat Shaggy has been wearing since casting Redbeard’s shadow was made from a ship’s manifest, indicating the contents and value of C.L. Magnus’s cargo freighter... that is, the one that sails tomorrow, rather than the one that they were attempting to raid that night. As the gang gather more clues that the ghost pirate is no ghost at all, they find a treasure chest with a talking pirate skull inside that pops out and demands “the password, you swabs!” via a miniaturized microphone and speaker hidden in its jaw. 

The gang try several piratical passwords, but it’s Shaggy’s suggestion that works:

This is the weirdest callback to a previous episode. Beyond the secret passage that opens in the wall, the gang find countless crates and barrels of stolen cargo, and the ghost pirate crew, flying sword included. The resulting chase leads to the gang hiding among the cargo, where Scooby and Shaggy discover...

An entire shipment of Scooby Snacks, further solidifying that this is just a known product, something on the market that has Scooby’s own name on it. Emboldened by biscuits, the antics kick into high gear, with things like a battle of sword vs. liverwurst sausage, toilet plungers fired from longbows, and Shaggy tickling Redbeard with an electric eggbeater that has a pistol grip for no good reason, before fleeing on an “automatic pogo stick” that is clearly a jackhammer, as Shaggy and Scooby only realize after it already starts up, taking them on a ride that winds up going up onto the ceiling and directly over Redbeard. As the resulting chaos sends Scooby, Shaggy, and the villains crashing into a pile of tires, the chase ends, and the villain is revealed as...

Shaggy is shocked that it wasn’t the butler, and the Coast Guard rep who has joined the gang on the deck of the ghost pirate ship (which, one must assume, they commandeered and piloted back out to open waters on their own) clearly wants to see Magnus’s two companions unmasked, as well, asking about their identities.

Daphne doesn’t care who they are. Well, as long as their names aren’t Merle and Taako.

The plan is explained, including the dancing sword being “operated by wires”, and the bit about the dry ice, which Velma says “everybody knows”, though the Coast Guard guy has clearly never heard of it. Scooby demonstrates, stirring up an impenetrably thick fog, which he cuts through once again with his mysterious knife.

Only this time, he cuts a giant doughnut shape in the fog, grabs it with his paws, and takes a bite out of the fog-nut, proceeding to chew and swallow.

The visual of Scooby treating a cloud of carbon dioxide vapor like it was solid matter and joyfully eating it has haunted me for decades. Dear Joe Ruby and Ken Spears, you tormented my childhood with this bit. This joke stole my innocence.

Zoinks darn you, Scooby-Doo!

(like what i’m doing here? It’s not what pays the bills, so i’d really appreciate it if you could send me a bit at my paypal.me or via my ko-fi. Click here to see more entries in this series of posts, or here to go in chronological order)

[diarrheaworldstarhiphop]

(This article is from 2016 and a great deal of the forest has since been logged)

Poland’s new far right government says logging is needed because more than 10% of spruce trees in the Unesco world heritage site of Białowieża are suffering from a bark beetle outbreak. But nearly half the logging will be of other species, according to its only published inventory.

Oak trees as high as 150 feet that have grown for 450 years could be reduced to stumps under the planned threefold increase in tree fells. Białowieża hosts Europe’s largest bison population and wolves and lynx still roam freely across its sun-mottled interior. Its foliage stretches for nearly 1,000 square miles across the border between Poland and Belarus.

Beneath its green canopy, sunlight filters down on to a panorama of skyscraper trees soaring as much as 180 feet into the air, swampy water pools dammed by beavers, and psychedelic fungi that sprout from tree trunks.

But a recently-passed logging law to allow work to begin on the old-growth forest has divided families, and led to death threats against campaigners and allegations of an “environmental coup” by state interests linked to the timber trade. The logging in Białowieża is expected to raise about 700m złotys (£124m), and pave the way for extensive and more lucrative tree clearances.

Sources say that internal government discussions have already begun on extending the new timber regime to the national park, which covers 17% of the forest and has been untouched by humans since the ice age.

Mirosław Stepaniuk says he was sacked as director of Białowieża’s national park shortly after Polish elections six months ago because of his support for turning the whole forest into a protected conservation area.

He told the Guardian: “An environmental coup is being staged here not just by the government, but by the national forestry authority. If they are successful, it could trigger a cascade, an avalanche of similar cases in other places.”

Last week, another 32 members were dismissed from the state council for nature conservation, an advisory body which had opposed the logging plan and has been accused of “inefficiency”.

“We were sacked because the new government needs scientists who will applaud increased logging, to convince public opinion that this insane idea is okay,” said Przemysław Chylarecki, one of the dismissed scientists.

Most of the new council member are foresters, or colleagues of the environment minister, he added.

but it may not be minded to challenge the logging plan. Its president, Prof Janusz Sowa, said in February: “There is [only] one method for managing forests: an axe.”

The Polish environment ministry declined requests for comment.

The new Law and Justice party government is already in conflict with the EU over issues ranging from climate change policy to constitutional interference in the country’s courts and media, which is widely seen as undemocratic.

Now, Brussels is weighing a separate court case over the law allowing 188,000 cubic metres of trees to be felled by 2021. The axe could fall on trees dotted around at least a quarter of the Białowieża forest area, excluding the national park, and possibly as much as two-thirds of it.

Katarzyna Jagiełło, a spokeswoman for Greenpeace, told the Guardian: “The struggle to protect Białowieża and make it a national park is our Alamo. This place should be like our Serengeti or Great Barrier Reef. What happens to the forest here will define the future direction of nature conservation in our country.”

Significantly, Greenpeace refuses to rule out direct action if the foresters move in. “Right now we are present in the forest,” Jagiełło said, “and whatever needs to be done to protect it, will be done.”

With the logging law now passed, the battle for its future could begin at any time.

The forest occupies a symbolic and almost mystical place in Poland’s national consciousness, and its fate stokes dangerous emotions, according to Joanna Łapińska, a 37-year-old librarian in a Białowieża group opposing the clearances.

“Friends and families have fallen out over this,” she said. “When we were out petitioning recently, a sympathetic woman said ‘I can’t let you in because I don’t want a fight with my husband’.”

“People connected with the foresters are very aggressive. They told us that we are eco-terrorists, paid by the Germans – it’s usually the Germans, Jews or Russians – and they even said that somebody should have killed some eco-activists.”

At a conference organised by the national forestry authority in December, a former forester and beekeeper close to Jan Szyszko, the environment minister, received loud applause when he said that environmental experts “should be beheaded or put in jail for 25 years. They should be deported for what they did against the forest”.

At the same meeting, Mikołaj Janowski, a councillor from Podlaskie, told environmentalists: “You are parasites. You get money for your incomprehensible, hostile scientific papers … You should be sent to Putin’s gulag for 10 years or more.”

Revulsion against environmentalists has reached the highest levels of government. Earlier this year, the foreign minister, Witold Waszczykowski, told Bild newspaper: “We only want to cure our country of a few illnesses ... a new mixture of cultures and races, a world made up of cyclists and vegetarians, who only use renewable energy and who battle all signs of religion.”

Sections of the Catholic and Orthodox churches have played a partisan role in the debate, with a passage from Genesis - “be fruitful, and multiply, replenish the earth and subdue it” - often used to justify increased logging.

One orthodox priest from Hajnówka, Leonid Szeszko, recently called for scientific, environmental and NGOs which opposed the logging plans to be banned.

Szyszko, who has championed the logging law, is a regular guest on the ultra-conservative Radio Maria, a Catholic radio station, and appears at conferences with a priest garbed in a forester’s green uniform.

Foresters are revered in Poland as patriarchs, protectors and fire-providers and retain public support in surveys second only to police and fire officers.

Critics say though, that the national forestry authority is a state-run monopoly which suffers a conflict of interests between its twin mandates to protect trees while maximising profits from logging.

“It is a schizophrenic situation,” Stepaniuk said. “They are a regular profit-making company that deals in wood. They log and sell and make incredible money. If there was any pressure to increase their profits, they would not hesitate to sacrifice environmental protection, which they perceive as their least important duty.”

More than 90% of the national forest authority’s annual 7bn złotys (£1.2bn) earnings come from the firewood, furniture and pulp trades. Little of it is seen by the communities from which the timber was logged, which draw greater revenues from eco-tourism.

The forest’s 20,000 animal and plant species and Hansel and Gretel-style interior draw hordes of visitors every year, dazzled by its heterogeneous beauty and its clean reviving air.

Tourism has helped to make Białowieża wealthier than many nearby villages but as its young people leave in search of better prospects, backing for the foresters among the elderly who remain is iron-clad, stoked by an anticipated bonanza of cheap fuel.

Elżbieta Laprus, the president of Białowieża’s village council, said: “People who live here need firewood to heat their homes and [have] a good quality of life. They want to buy trees from here.”

A five-year long bark beetle outbreak has infected up to 1 million of the forest’s spruce trees, and forestry officials are adamant that “active” forest management is now needed to save the rest. This includes the logging of trees that are more than 100 years old.

Andrzej Antczak, the associate head forester in Hajnówka forest district, is a climate change agnostic, whose buildings are decorated with stuffed mink, deer and wild boar – a sign of the influence wielded by Poland’s hunting lobby which bridges the local community with politicians.

Sitting in his forest office, he said: “The best method to control bark beetle outbreaks is to cut down affected trees and take them out of the forest. But we are prohibited from cutting trees which are older than 100 years, or in nature reserves, wet woodlands or peat bogs. More than 35% of our territory is protected and it is a very big problem.”

Bark beetles outbreaks usually affect trees of more than 80 years old, and are associated with dry conditions and a drop in lowland water tables. Because spruce trees have flat root systems, they cannot soak up enough water to produce the quantities of resin they need to protect themselves. As the infestation spreads, the trees’ bark breaks off, further preventing water being circulated to its leaves. These turn brown and fall, before the tree finally dies.

The beetle eruption is a cyclical phenomenon that began earlier this decade and may now be nearing its end, according to park scientists. But it is the second worst outbreak in the last century and experts fear it may be a sign of worse and more frequent diseases to come as climate change takes hold.

Rafał Kowalczyk, the director of the Mammal Research Institute at the Polish Academy of Sciences, argues that as temperatures warm and precipitation falls, boreal trees such as pine and spruce will naturally retreat northwards. Nature should be allowed to take its course in the forest as it has always done, he says.

Walking through a section of the woods hit hard by the outbreak, he snaps off a shard of decaying bark and exclaims: “Look at this dead spruce tree! It is probably more alive now than it ever was because so many creatures are now living on it. There are nearly 100 invertebrate species that it gives life to. Woodpeckers are searching the bark for larvae, and there is space for spiders and fungi. The tree is dead, but the forest is still alive and it will regenerate.”

Kowalczyk points to a tree trunk several metres away, lying like a toppled sentry. It has three new tree saps growing from its decaying husk. Dead spruce create light in which seedlings best suited to the conditions can grow, he says. They also carve out space for predators such as lynx and wolves to hide, house themselves, and hunt.

One is the predatory beetle, which feeds on bark beetles, according to Luc Bas, the director of the International Union for the Conservation of Nature’s European office, who argued that removing the dead wood would also remove the bark beetles’ nemesis.

Chopping down infected trees would be ineffective because “to stop the beetle attack in a managed way, at least 80% of the spruce trees would have to be removed,” he wrote in April. “This simply is not possible because the wider region of Białowieża is divided in several interconnected zones, including large reserves and park areas that may not be touched.”

The IUCN and Unesco, and many of the world’s environmental scientists, have thrown themselves into the debate with gusto. Last week, a letter sent to the Polish government by academics, including professors at Harvard and Oxford, said that the plan would destroy the forest’s ability to recover from the outbreak and mark a “drastic” break with international conservation rules.

[international conservation] rules. It will radically change the forest and will also impact the economic returns from tourism to the forest.” Any move to implement it would be “a very alarming and worrying sign for the international community.”

Poland’s government and forestry authority counter that Białowieża is not a predominantly natural forest. Logging by Germans in the first world war, the Soviet Union in world war two and, particularly, the British Century European Timber Corporation, led to significant replanting in the forest, Antczak says. The very word “spruce” in English comes from the polish “s” (from) and “Prus” (Prussia).

Białowieża’s “naturalness” has been interrupted by Polish kings and Lithuanian dukes who fed their armies on its animals, Russian tsars who turned the park into a hunting ground, and Nazi soldiers who executed and buried Jews and resistance fighters there.

But mass tree felling and replanting in Białowieża did not begin until 1920 and trees of 100 years or older – 41% of Białowieża’s total forest outside the national park – have been naturally regenerating for millennia, even if their surrounding habitat is now mixed.

Chylarecki said: “The animals need all of these valuable trees to survive. Lynx or bisons or three-toed woodpeckers will not survive long in national park and nature reserves alone. They need large forest tracts to roam in.”

A compromise agreement with the previous government in 2012 allowed an increase in local logging 50% above estimated local needs. Local people say this was not enough. But spruce wood is resinous and does not burn well, so the firewood they need would have to come from other trees.

“Everything the activists do they do against the local community,” Laprus said. “People who don’t live here want to change our lives without consulting us. If the European commission really wanted to help, they would help give us grants to change our heating from wood to gas.”

For Kowalczyk though, logging would threaten the tourist trade which employs far more people than Białowieża’s 100 local foresters. “Tourists come here to see primeval forest which is wet and wild and dark,” he said. “They are afraid of the forest but it is magical. Managed forests, you can see everywhere.”

As the sun goes down on Białowieża, a night chorus of frogs, nightingales and warblers pipes up under its clear and constellated skies. The forest is still thriving, despite the shadow of the axe.

[arnoldjaime13]

Blog Tour- ON THE WAY TO BIRDLAND by @frankmoewriter With An Excerpt & #Giveaway! @fowbooks @RockstarBkTours

 I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the ON THE WAY TO BIRDLAND by Frank Morelli Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours. Check out my post and make sure to enter the giveaway!

  About the Book:

Title: ON THE WAY TO BIRDLAND

Author: Frank Morelli

Pub. Date: June 8, 2021

Publisher: Fish Out of Water Books

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: 300

Find it: Goodreads, Amazon, B&N, TBD, Bookshop.org

Self-proclaimed teenage philosopher Cordell Wheaton lives in a sleepy, southern town where nothing ever happens; not since his hero, jazz musician John Coltrane, left some seventy years earlier to “follow the sound.” Cordy’s life has been unraveling since the night his father and his brother, Travis, exploded on each other. The night Travis’s addiction transformed him from budding musician into something entirely different. The night Travis took his saxophone and disappeared. When Cordy’s father falls ill, the sixteen-year-old vows to reunite the Wheaton family. He embarks on a modern-day odyssey with forty bucks in his pocket and a dream to find his brother and convince him to be Travis again—by taking him to a show at Birdland Jazz Club in New York City, and reminding him of the common bonds they share with their legendary hero. Cordy’s journey is soon haunted by ghostly visions, traumatic dreams, and disembodied voices that echo through his mind. He starts to wonder if the voices are those of the fates, guiding him toward his destiny—or if he’s losing his grip on reality.

Praise for ON THE WAY TO BIRDLAND: “Engrossing story and sympathetic characters. Morelli…makes it worth the trip.”—Booklist

“With a haunting secret, a brave journey and fascinating characters, On the Way to Birdland will remind readers that when you take a giant step into the unfamiliar, you might just find yourself.” —Joelle Charbonneau, New York Times Best Selling author of VERIFY and DISCLOSE

“On the Way to Birdland is a work of tremendous heart.  It sings with the joys and pains of family, hope, and impossible dreams.  A must read for everyone trying to find their way back to what matters most.”—Adrienne Kisner, Author of DEAR RACHEL MADDOW, THE CONFUSION OF LAUREL GRAHAM, and SIX ANGRY GIRLS

“Listening to and believing in our fears keeps away from a life we wish for. On the Way to Birdland shows us what’s possible when we listen to something else.”—Angelo Surmelis, author of THE DANGEROUS ART OF BLENDING IN

“With balance, beats, and rhythm, this heartfelt coming-of-age story is bridged together like a Coltrane riff under Frank Morelli’s skillful hand. ON THE WAY TO BIRDLAND and its cast of diverse, fully fleshed-out characters are now included among My Favorite Things.” –Brenda Rufener, Author of SINCE WE LAST SPOKE and WHERE I LIVE

“A classic tale of choice and chance, with more twists than a Virginia mountain road, On the Way to Birdland is a guide to finding your true self by accepting that you are ‘completely destructible…desperate not to get destroyed.'” —Valerie Nieman, author of TO THE BONES and BACKWATER (Fitzroy, 2022)

Book Trailer:

Excerpt from On the Way to Birdland (Morelli p. 16-17)

 I grip the ragged laces of a baseball that’s been sitting on the desk  so long it has its own dust imprint. I remember tossing it for the first  time with Travis and his friends at the wide-open lot on the corner of Brookside Drive. Not too far from John Coltrane’s old house. Some don’t  know, but John Coltrane grew up right here in High Point. Travis and  I used to think it was the most exciting piece of news we’d ever heard.  I still do. When Dad delivered this news to Travis one morning at the  breakfast table, my brother saw it as an omen. He saw it as a miracle. He  saw it as God speaking directly to him. That he could take his musical  talents, because my brother was a musician—and I hope he still is—to  the top, even if the starting point was High Point, North Carolina. If John  Coltrane from Underhill Street could do it, why couldn’t Travis Wheaton? 

Some folks around here say Coltrane was the greatest saxophonist  who ever lived. Travis said he was more than that. He liked to use one  specific word to describe his hero, and he’d use it all the time. To Travis,  the words “John” and “Coltrane” were synonymous with the word  “visionary.” To Travis, they were one and the same. This was how Travis  turned me onto another of my great passions in life—Greek philosophy.  I doubt he’d ever remember it, because it’s not like learning philosophical  teachings were Travis’s thing. But he told me something once, about  Coltrane and his vision. About how the ancient philosopher, Plato,  believed the rhythm of music should follow the rhythms of a life that  is orderly and brave. Travis believed Coltrane was living out the purest  form of humanity in his music and that he’d dug deep down into the past  to find it and blow it out in sweet notes from the mouth of his sax. 

Travis believed that was what it meant to be a visionary, and that  always stuck with me. It made me hungry for more, so I became obsessed  with Greek philosophers, because I figured they had a better chance of  explaining Travis and Coltrane to me than anyone else. After all, it was  Plato who also said a musician is someone who is “temporarily engaged  in works of peace.” I like that. It’s how I like to see my brother, Travis. Not  like the way my father sees him. As a failure.

About Frank Morelli:

Frank Morelli is the author of the young adult novel, No Sad Songs (2018), a YALSA Quick Picks for Reluctant Readers nominee and winner of an American Fiction Award for best coming of age story. The first book in his debut middle grade series, Please Return To: Norbert M. Finkelstein (2019) is a Book Excellence Award finalist and provides young readers with a roadmap to end bullying. His fiction and essays have been featured in various publications including The Saturday Evening Post, Cobalt Review, Philadelphia Stories, and Highlights Magazine. A Philadelphia native, Morelli now resides in High Point, NC with a brilliant illustrator and his fur babies. Connect with him on Twitter @frankmoewriter and on Instagram @frankmorelliauthor.

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram | Goodreads | Amazon

Giveaway Details:

3 winners will receive a finished copy of ON THE WAY TO BIRDLAND, US Only.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Tour Schedule:

Week One:

5/24/2021

Rockstar Book Tours

Kickoff Post

5/25/2021

Two Chicks on Books

Excerpt

5/26/2021

Jaime's World

Excerpt

5/27/2021

Jaimerockstarbooktours

Instagram Post

5/28/2021

YA Books Central

Guest Post

Week Two:

5/31/2021

Fire and Ice

Review 

6/1/2021

Living in a Bookworld

Guest Post

6/2/2021

Rajiv's Reviews

Review 

6/3/2021

@pagesofyellow

Review 

6/4/2021

@barbs_bookland

Review 

Week Three:

6/7/2021

Sj_bookshelf

Review 

6/8/2021

The Keysmash Blog

Review 

6/9/2021

Dorky Girl and Skeletor

Excerpt

6/10/2021

The Obsessed Reader

Excerpt

6/11/2021

Lady Hawkeye

Excerpt

Week Four:

6/14/2021

I'm Shelfish

Excerpt

6/15/2021

A Dream Within A Dream

Excerpt

6/16/2021

Satisfaction for Insatiable Readers

Guest Post

6/17/2021

For the Love of KidLit

Excerpt

6/18/2021

The Momma Spot

Excerpt