#I am bound and determined to make some bat houses

[hillbillyoracle]

It’s funny. I really don’t think of myself as an outdoorsy person. I’m not one to seek out interesting hikes. I geocache sometimes but mostly in town. 

But as I was researching what it would take to get my little side yard certified as wildlife habitat, a lot of the projects I’m looking at are ones I desperately wanted to do as a kid but we just couldn’t swing. One of my absolute favorite games was Sims Park Ranger and I got a Ranger Rick (and their magazine for older kids back when they had it) subscription for years growing up. My first degree program was Forest Resource Management and I wanted to either be a forester or work at a sustainable commercial forest. I spent most of the day outside cleaning off my patio and prepping the area for plants. I came inside this evening and spent hours researching projects to do outside.

And yet. 

I don’t think of myself as outdoorsy. 

Maybe it’s a gendered thing? Or maybe it’s the urban norm becoming cultural understanding that the outdoors aren’t at home? No clue. 

But when I look at it critically it seems odd. 

[kumeko]

Title: Garreg Mach Yearbook Chronicles

A/N: For the @garregmachzine I got to write four different snippets. It was a fun challenge trying to cram everything into a drabble.

Featuring: Leonie's troubles with Seteth and Flayn, Hilda charming Ferdinand to escape battle, Annette dealing with a club composed of Linhardt and Marianne, and Claude dodging Hubert's censor.

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Fishing Tournament

Sitting on the banks of the pond, Leonie watched as her bobber dipped in and out of the water, floating idly along an invisible current. With any luck, she’d catch a fish soon. A big one, hopefully. Usually by now she’d have caught at least one or two, but then usually she was also alone while she fished. Leonie cast an eye around her, biting her cheek at the sight of her fellow classmates. Despite how early in the morning it was, it felt like half the monastery was sitting along the pond, trying their best to catch a fish.

Then again, it wasn’t everyday that Seteth held a fishing contest. After all that’d happened in the past few months, she couldn’t deny that they needed a break like this and it seemed that everyone else agreed. Byleth sat at the docks, quietly fishing. Next to her, Sylvain lost his balance and flailed as he struggled to keep out of the water. In the distance, she spotted Caspar and Raphael comparing their catches.

“I see you are also entering the fishing contest,” a slightly musical voice asked from behind her. Startled from her thoughts, Leonie looked up in time to catch Flayn as she sat down next to her. Like, right next to her. Smiling softly, Flayn clasped her hands together as she stared at Leonie’s rod. “Did you catch anything?”

“N-not yet.” Leonie shook her head, feeling a little awkward at the proximity. Maybe if she shifted the other way—

“That is a pity.” Seteth slowly sat down on her other side, a fishing rod in hand. He cast his line, his eyes on her the entire time. “It will not be much of a contest if there are no entries.”

Leonie resisted the urge to get up and run. What was it with these siblings, pinning her in like this? She felt sandwiched, with no way to escape. “I’m sure someone will manage to catch a good fish or two. Give me an hour, and I’m sure I can wrangle up a few myself.”

“Oh, that’s great.” Flayn clapped her hands. “However, that leaves a different problem. We’ll have all these fishes, and no one to cook them.”

Leonie swallowed. This was starting to sound familiar. “There are plenty of cooks—”

“Leonie has excellent skills,” Seteth suggested, as though he’d just thought of it. “Maybe she could?”

“Really?” Flayn lit up, before flashing her an innocent smile. “Leonie, would you mind?”

She should have just listened to her instincts and run.

-x-

Crest Studies

When Annette joined the academy, she had never seen herself leading a club, or leading anything for that matter. Sure, she would join one or two, but leadership was for the elites, for Dimitri’s and Sylvain’s of the world. Well, maybe not Sylvain exactly, but there were plenty other nobles who could fit the bill. Ferdinand. Lorenz. Hubert.

Yet it was her, not them, standing in front of the Blue Lions classroom, looking at her Crest Studies clubmates. To be perfectly honest, when the other options were the lazy Lindhardt and the shy Marianne, if Annette didn’t take the lead, nothing would get done. Even now, Lindhardt was dozing on his desk while Marianne fidgeted nervously.

Annette bit her cheek. She should have joined the gardening club. Clearing her throat, she announced, “For today’s activity, we’re going to the market.”

“W-what?” Marianne’s eyes grew wide. Sometimes, it looked like she didn’t know why she was in the club. “The market?”

“Why?” Lazily, Lindhardt lifted his head and gave her a baleful glare. “That’s a waste of effort.”

From the teacher’s desk, Professor Hanneman gave her thumbs up. At least someone liked her proposition. Annette quickly refuted, “It’s not.”

“We study crests,” Lindhardt replied languidly. “It’s a waste.”

Something about him always riled her up. She could feel her hackles rising. Stalking toward him, she rested her hands on her hip and bit out. “It’s not. We need to know what people think of crests.”

“Annette’s right.” Hanneman nodded sagely, intervening before an argument started. “It’s important to consider different perspectives when studying a topic.”

“But talking to people…” Marianne gnawed on her lip. “I’m not sure—”

“It’ll be fine.” Annette clasped Marianne’s hands, squeezing them tight. “Besides, we’re going to interview later, so this is good practice.”

Hesitantly, Marianne nodded. “I-I suppose that’s true.”

“Can’t we just interview now and get it over with?” Linhardt interjected, yawning.

Annette pulled Marianne up to her feet. “We’re going to the market,” she stated firmly, refusing to broker any more arguments. “If you want to decide what we’re doing, then you be the club president.”

It was an ultimatum he’d never take, and they both knew it. With a sigh, he got up. “Fine, I suppose there’s some merit to it.”

“Good.” Annette grinned as she gently tugged Marianne toward the door. Finally, she could tell Mercedes that they’d done something other than sit in a classroom. Finally, just like all the other clubs, she was going to go out with her clubmates and do something fun.

Perhaps there was some merit to being club president, after all.

-x-

Battle of the Eagle and Lion

I’d say it is an honour to write about the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion, but that was before so many of my drafts got mysteriously burned or destroyed because if I happen to make any unflattering comments about Edelgard, I have to start over. Though I would argue they aren’t disparaging, but who am I to argue with her guard dog, Hubert?

So what can I say about the Battle? Well, I guess the obvious—all three of our houses showed what they did best: Edelgard with her strategies, Dimitri with his training, and me with my ‘schemes’. I call them strategies, others call them traps, to-may-to, to-mah-to. Honestly, I didn’t do anything sinister this time around. If a lot of students just happened to get a case of mild food poisoning, well, things happen. Raphael got it too and you don’t hear me complaining about sabotage.

Let’s see, something flattering—ah, I know! It’s actually quite impressive how much Edelgard was able to move despite her illness. Honestly, if someone had poisoned, they’d better know to up the dosage next time. Despite her thinning ranks, she managed to set up her classmates quite skillfully, and Hubert somehow managed to do a lot of damage despite looking like he needed to find the closest toilet.

Of course, Dimitri powered his way through the food poisoning. I think he’s got the strength of a dozen soldiers, or boars as Felix likes to put it. Felix also managed to move, but I think that was purely out of spite. It’s amazing what a motivation spite is. Then again, I think Hubert would know all about that, wouldn’t he?

My house, of course, were the cleverest of the bunch, carefully goading out our enemies and defeating them one by one. Despite losing our strongest member, we rallied around each other and fought back. It was a close fight by all reckoning. And honestly if Edelgard lost (notice I said if, Hubert!), it wouldn’t be all that shameful, considering the handicaps she had.

Now, you might be wondering who actually won? Why it’s (scorched words) of course! Was there ever any doubt?

-x-

Mission Battles

Out of all the school activities she was forced to do, Hilda disliked the missions and mock battles the most. With the others, she could get away with appealing her classmates into helping her, whether it was Marianne in the library or Raphael with the stables or some other poor, hapless soul who crossed her path. As long as it was done, no one was the wiser.

On the battlefield, she wasn’t quite as lucky. No one could protect her the entire time and her charms were entirely wasted on the enemy. It wasn’t like they’d stop fighting her just because she asked.

Or maybe, if she—no, no, it was best to banish that thought. Hilda gripped her axe as she studied the battlefield before her. Just ahead of her was a bandit and unfortunately, there was no ally in sight to protect her. She was going to have to cut this one down herself. “I don’t suppose you’d back down?”

The bandit roared in response, charging at her.

“Step back!” Ferdinand quickly dashed ahead of her, his sword gleaming in the sunlight as he slashed down on her foe. With two quick strikes, the bandit was down and her rescuer looked at her triumphantly over his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yes! Thanks so much!” Hilda clasped one of his hands and gave him a soft smile. She stood corrected—she could absolutely charm her way through a battle, as long as it was one of those rare cross-house battles.

“No problem.” Ferdinand smiled brightly, before looking over his shoulder at Edelgard. “As you can see, I have struck down another enemy. That brings my count to higher than yours, does it not?”

“We’re in the middle of battle, Ferdinand,” Edelgard warned, axe clenched tightly in her hands. “We’re not competing.”

“Considering how one-sided it is, I could hardly call it a competition.” Ferdinand sniped, trying to pick a fight as usual.

Judging by Edelgard’s weary expression, his taunts still didn’t work. Determining that Hilda was safe enough, Ferdinand once more returned to Edelgard’s side, no doubt challenging her once again. It was impressive how he didn’t give up. A little sad, but impressive.

If he wasn’t going to give up, neither would she. There was bound to be another sucke—noble man willing to lay his life for a damsel in dress. Catching sight of a flash of red, Hilda smiled. “Oh, Sylvain!” she called out, batting her eyes.

Perhaps she could charm her way out of fighting too.

[javier-djarin]

eep congrats on 1000 followers! this is so exciting! could i get prompt 50 with max lord?🥺💕

Do Not Pass Go

A Maxwell Lord One Shot

Ship: Max Lord x Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 1,467 words

Warnings: Soft!Max

Masterlist

Summary: Date night plans changed and now you’re having a games night with Max and Alistair.

A/N:  I’m so nervous about this one, since this is my first time writing for Maxwell Lord. I hope you enjoy it!! Thank you for the support and love!!! Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

Prompt 50: “I thought you loved me!” “Get over it, it’s just Monopoly.”

You put on a comfortable sundress and a sweater before running downstairs to meet your date. You lived in an upscale apartment in D.C., but you didn’t want to make him come all the way upstairs, only to turn around and leave. He’d been over to your place before, but you wanted to get going before the rain hit. 

After the fiasco that happened a few years ago, you were hesitant about going out on a date with this man. But, just like everyone else, he’d hit rock bottom and lost everything, except his son. You’d met him in the most cliché place, a coffee shop. You both were in line, waiting for your order when he accidentally bumped into you.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he apologized.

You smiled at him. “It’s fine. They have us packed in here.”

You heard the barista call your name and you grabbed your coffee. You hadn’t even realized who he was until the barista called his name next. You paused for a moment and glanced at him with wide eyes. “Like the Maxwell Lord?”

He sheepishly smiled at you. “I am.” He was pleasantly surprised you hadn’t turned and run in the other direction. You walked out with him, he held the door open, and you paused to continue your conversation. 

Shaking his hand, you gave him a reassuring smile. His life had been a mess the last two years with very public court cases for his crimes. But his lawyer was able to get him off with surrendering all of his assets and doing community service for the foreseeable future. He managed to start a non for profit organization that helped people who were heavily affected by his actions, which you found so endearing. Your company just happened to be one that was partnered with his, but you never met him, only dealing with his assistants. 

You had a hard time believing the man you saw on TV, confident and determined, was this humbled man standing in front of you. You introduced yourself properly and said, “You work closely with my company, Powerhouse Symmetry,” you grinned.

“I believe I have a meeting with their CEO this afternoon to discuss the new housing project,” he added.

You chuckled and nodded. “Well good luck, I hear the CEO is a ball buster, but don’t tell her I told you.”

He smiled, and you swooned a little. “I hope to see you when I stop by.”

“I’m sure you will.” 

“Maybe I can take you to dinner afterwards.”

“We’ll see.” You gave him a small wink and walked to your job, which was only a few blocks away.

Much to his surprise, when he walked into the CEO’s office that day, he saw you sitting there waiting for your meeting. You managed to keep it light, fun, but also professional. Once business was over and the committee members left, he had asked you to dinner. That was a year ago. Now, as you waited outside your apartment complex in your sundress and sweater, you smiled to yourself at how much your relationship with him had evolved. He was nothing like the Maxwell Lord of Black Gold Cooperative. He cared about exactly three things: His son, helping others, and you. 

He pulled up in his car, helping you in before climbing back in the driver’s seat. He held your hand in his, kissing your knuckles as the two of you drove away. “You look beautiful,” he said, glancing at you when you reached a stoplight.

You smiled. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr. Lord.”

He chuckled.

“What’s on the agenda for tonight?”

He sighed. “Plans changed,” he said, “My ex is leaving out of town with her new boyfriend for God knows how long. So, Alistair…”

You frowned. “Oh my gosh!” you exclaimed, “are you sure you want me to go with you to go get him? I can just meet you somewhere.”

He nodded. “Alistair loves you, and my ex deserves to see how happy you make us,” he said, his thumb running over your knuckles.

You smiled and squeezed his hand. He pulled up to the front of her house, and you both climbed out. Alistair came out, by-passing his father and running straight for your arms. “You’re here!” he exclaimed. You hugged him and glanced over to Max with a grin. 

His ex-wife walked out with a man behind her, she glared at you with her arms crossed. “This your newest one?” she asked.

Maxwell straightened, glaring at her, “She’s the same one since last year, Claire.”

“Well, he’s broke,” she spat, “if you’re looking for money, find someone else and leave my son out of it.”

You stood up and crossed your arms. “I have plenty of my own money.”

“Explains why he’s with you, then.”

You and Maxwell both tensed. You didn’t owe her an explanation of your relationship. She really was a vile woman, that held nothing but contempt for her ex. And poor Alistair was caught in the middle. “We aren’t doing this in front of Alistair,” Maxwell warned.

She huffed. “I don’t know when we will be back,” she continued.

“We can take care of him,” you piped up, “right, Alistair?”

He grinned up at you. “Can we go out for pizza tonight?”

Max smiled at his son. “Of course,” he said, “anywhere you’d like!”

His ex rolled her eyes and walked back inside. Thunder rumbled across the sky as dark clouds started moving in. Alistair hopped into the back seat. You hurried into the front, waiting for Max to start the car and drive you towards your family date. Rain started pouring from the sky as you pulled into the parking lot of a small family pizza restaurant. He said he’d go inside and pick up the pizza and take you back to his place for dinner and games.

You always loved spending time with Maxwell and his son. Alistair brought out another side of him that you couldn’t get enough of. So, when you walked into his house with the father and son, you beamed at them as he picked out his favorite board game to play: Monopoly. You smirked at him and rolled your eyes. “Of course this is your favorite game,” you chuckled.

“I happen to be very good at this game,” he chided.

“I bet I’m better.”

He raised his eyebrow at you. “This might be a big test for our relationship.”

“Daddy doesn’t lose at Monopoly,” Alistair said, crossing his arms, “except one time I beat him. We didn’t play for a month.”

You laughed. “Bring it on, Lord boys.”

“Alistair, I think we need to school her in who runs this game.”

He smiled and instantly grabbed the dog playing piece. You picked the top hat, and of course, Maxwell picked the sack of money.

Right off the bat, you bought six properties. Before you knew it, you owned all Pink, Orange, and Green properties and had houses on each. “Are you going to turn them into hotels any time soon?” Maxwell asked, glaring at you.

You grinned. “I wasn’t planning on it,” you replied, rolling the dice. “Oh, yay! Free Parking!” You landed on the spot and collected the money in the middle of the board. “I don’t want you to break your bank if you land on my hotels.”

“I can’t make money on my properties without houses,” he replied.

“I guess you could say I’m monopolizing the housing market.” You and Alistair broke out into a fit of giggles and Maxwell rolled his eyes at both of you.

He gazed at you with sad eyes. “I thought you loved me.” 

You gave him a pitying stare while resting your hand on his cheek. “Maxwell, I do love you. So, get over it, it’s just Monopoly.”

He couldn’t help but smile at you as Alistair giggled. He leaned across the board and kissed you softly. “I guess I get some of the perks of being with the most powerful woman in the house,” he mumbled against your lips.

“Blehhh,” Alistair gagged, “Do you have to do this in front of me?”

Maxwell ruffled his hair and grabbed another piece of pizza. “Yes,” he said, “so you know how to properly treat a woman.”

Alistair gagged again. “Can we play another game now, since Daddy lost?”

He rolled his eyes and chuckled. For the first time ever, he was happy with losing at his favorite game. He leaned across and kissed you again. You walked back into the kitchen to fix yourself another drink, when you heard Maxwell ask Alistair what other game he wanted to play. “Uno!”

You chuckled to yourself. It looked like your relationship was bound to be tested multiple times tonight. 

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[songtoyou]

Epiphany - Part Three

Paring: Luke Crain x Female Reader

Chapter Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 3,136

Warnings: Talks of drug use and recovery.

Description: Life has never been easy for Luke Crain. After the death of Nell, Luke realizes that he needs to make some changes. He decided to stay in Massachusetts and attend rehab. He was determined to remain on his path of sobriety. When you get assigned to be Luke’s sponsor, it opens a new door of possibilities that neither you nor Luke expected.  

A/N: We learn a little bit more about the Reader as she heads to Shirley's for dinner.  Awkwardness occurs, but Reader slowly realizes she may have deeper feelings for Luke or possibly develop feelings for him. Which she quickly dismisses. This chapter was very easy to write. It was like the words just flowed out of me and onto the screen. That usually never happens. I think it helps that Luke is such an interesting character to write for, along with the other Crain siblings. 

Note: Italics represent the past or past conversations.

Feedback is wonderful. It is nice knowing if people are actually liking this fic.

I do not permit my work to be posted on any other site without my permission.

~Hill House – 1992~

“Mommy,” spoke Nellie.

“What is it, sweetie?” asked Olivia. She placed her book down to give her youngest child her undivided attention.

Nell got up on her mother’s lap and said, “This house is too loud.”

“Too loud? What do you mean it is too loud? Are you talking about all of the work daddy is doing to fix the house?” Olivia questioned. Nell’s statement took her by surprise.

Shaking her head, Nell explained that it was not the renovations that Hugh was doing that made the house loud. “At night, there are noises. Dogs are barking. You can hear the floorboards squeak like someone is up walking the halls at night. When Luke and I checked to see if anyone was up, there was no one. Everyone was in bed. It isn’t just me who thinks this house is weird. Luke says it has a smell.”

“Sweetie, this is an ancient house. Weird noises and bad smells are bound to occur,” replied Olivia earnestly. “Trust me. There is nothing in this house that can hurt you. Not while your daddy and I are around. We will always protect you and your brothers and sisters. Okay.”

Nell looked up at her mother with her big hazel eyes and said, “You promise?”

“Pinky promise,” Olivia assured and held up her right pinky. With their little fingers intertwined, Olivia rested her head on Nell’s forehead. No one could deny that Olivia loved her children very much. They were her whole world. She would do anything to keep them safe from harm. Little did anyone know how far Olivia would go to keep her children safe.

“Fuck,” Luke let out and sighed. He was currently working on his final essay for his creative writing class. The assignment was to write a 1,000 essay about an event that happened in their life and turn it into a story. Luke was chop full of moments to choose from; however, he was unsure if writing about his mother and sister was appropriate. He talked with his instructor about his reservations on the subject. He did not want to be accused of copying Steve on writing about Hill House. To Luke, that time at Hill House was just as much his story as it was Steve’s, or Theo’s and Shirley’s.

But with the right encouragement and support, Luke felt more comfortable writing about his past. It turned out to be very therapeutic. He was finally able to complete the fourth step of recovery: ‘Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.’ He sent letters to each of his siblings, expressing his gratitude for their support and apologized for his past behavior of lying, untrustworthiness, and addiction. Shirley and Theo were appreciative of the letters, along with Steve. All three of the older Crain continued to express to Luke that they were proud of him for staying on the straight and narrow path. The Crain siblings knew they all had a clean slate to restore their once broken family.  

Unfortunately, there would be times where Luke worried that everything would come to a crashing halt. That he would wake in the Red Room once again. That all of this could be fake like His sobriety, the strengthened relationships with his siblings, being in school, and most of all, his friendship with you. The Red Room was the stomach of Hill House, as Nell mentioned. It would eventually eat anything and everyone that came into its residence. It was how the world between the dead and the living coexisted.

He brought this fear up the day before you were to come over to Shirley’s house for dinner. The one thing Luke really appreciated about you was that you always validated his feelings. You never doubted his feelings or worries. You never tried to gaslight him or thought he was making stuff up. It was refreshing to have someone believe him right off the bat. Well, besides Nell. She always believed him. You sent Luke some articles about how the brain can differentiate between reality and imagination. It was intriguing for Luke to read about the way the brain processes information. You shared that you had the same issues early on in your sobriety.

“For me, while I am dreaming, the way I can differentiate that it is not reality is that sometimes I have trouble walking in dreams. It is like my legs are refusing to work,” you told Luke. “I looked up what that meant, and it indicates that I am hesitant in proceeding forward in situations or I am trying to distance myself from facing certain life experiences, which didn’t surprise me. We all have obstacles that we don’t always want to face.”

“That is good to know. Lately, I have been dreaming that I can’t dial a phone. Like, I am trying to put in the number but keep making mistakes, or I can’t remember the number. It’s weird. What do you think that means?” asked Luke.

You told him to hold on as you looked up his concern. “It says that ‘the non-working phone or the inability to dial the phone indicates a breakdown of communication. Or the feeling of being distant or not heard when you need help. Is this the first time having these dreams?” you asked Luke.

Letting out a sigh, Luke responded, “Yes, which is weird to have them now. I don’t feel like I am having trouble communicating. Maybe it is my self-consciousness that has some issues it still needs to resolve. Before that, I would dream that my teeth would fall out. I actually dreamt about them falling out last night.”

“I used to have those dreams too. There are different meanings behind teeth falling out in dreams. Sometimes it is associated with loss, important life changes, a feeling of powerlessness, or stress, anxiety, depression, and poor personal health,” you provided to Luke.

Luke chuckled. “I have experienced all of that and more. I guess it is part of the course.”

To say that Luke had some anxiety about tonight's dinner with Shirley, Theo, and you would have been an understatement. The last thing Luke wanted was a repeat of the dinner with Joey, Steve, and Leigh. Granted, his sister-in-law was nice that night; however, his brother, not so much. Of course, that was when he and Steve did not have the best of relationships. This would be different. You definitely were not like Joey and his sisters…well…that is why he put forth some rules.

He was watching Shirley move back and forth in the kitchen as she prepared dinner. She asked Luke about possible meals that you would like so she could make something that you would enjoy. Luke shared that you liked almost everything and that you were not too picky of an eater. Shirley decided on making lasagna as it was Kevin and her kids' favorite dishes of hers. As she was already finishing up the last layer, Luke did not have the heart to inform Shirley that lasagna was not one of your favorite foods.

Soon, Theo walked through the front door of Shirley's house carrying additional groceries. "I got the wine. It's red. Your friend can drink wine?" she asked Luke as she set down the bags on the counter.

Luke mentioned that you do not drink. "Oh well, more for me," teased Theo.

Shirley confirmed with Luke that you would bring dessert. She wanted everything nice for tonight. She knew this was important for Luke, and he wanted everything to go right just as well.

"Now that you both are here, can we go over some ground rules for tonight," said Luke.

"Come on, Luke. It's just dinner with your sponsor," Theo spoke up.

"No, Theo, this isn't just dinner with my sponsor. This is dinner with my friend. Someone who I have come greatly respect and admire. I don't want either of you…to make her feel uncomfortable in any way. No interrogations or psychoanalyzing," Luke ordered.

"Okay, Luke. We promise not to step out of bounds," Shirley assured. "Right, Theo?"

Holding up the girl scout's sign, "I, Theodora Crain, pledge not to embarrass you in any way."

As Shirley and Theo stifled laughs about their little brother's worry, Luke leaned against the counter and contemplated on the next thing to tell them. He decided to the best way was, to be honest with them. Luke interrupted his sisters' conversation to inform them that he told you about Hill House…about everything that occurred.

"You what?" Shirley questioned, unsure of what he actually meant. "What do you mean? What did you share?"

"When you say everything…do you mean everything, everything?" asked Theo with a hint of irritation in her voice.

"She knows what really happened to mom, Nell, and dad," Luke replied and mentioned that it was important for him to tell you the truth. "I don't regret it. If the two of you are upset, then be upset with me. Just don't take it out on her, okay." He wanted Shirley and Theo to understand that you meant well. That you had no ulterior motives. "This isn't like Nell and her shrink. I know, deep down, that you were worried about that being a possibility, Theo."

The light slam of the oven door made Theo and Luke turn their attention to Shirley. "Okay, lasagna is in the oven. It should be done when our guest arrives. Luke, do you mind setting the table. Theo, start making the salad," Shirley ordered. This night was important for Luke, and by golly, she was going to see that it goes accordingly.

“Mom…Dad, I’m heading out. I should be home by 9 o’clock or earlier if tonight goes south,” You shouted while putting on your jacket. Before you could grab your keys and head out the door, your mother popped in suddenly from the kitchen.

“Honey, where are you going?”

You could not stop the annoyed sigh from escaping. “I told you. I’m going over to Luke’s for dinner tonight. I have told you and Dad this many times already. Now, I don’t want to be late…”

“Hold up there, kiddo. You don’t forget this,” Your dad emerged with the cake box.

“Oh shit! Thanks. I can’t believe I almost forgot the dessert.” You grabbed the cake box and made your way back towards the front door.

“Call us when you get there, sweetie,” requested your mother.

“I’ll text you when I get Shirley’s house, okay. Now, I have to get going.”

“Ask Luke if he would like to come over here for dinner,” your mother offered.  “I know your father, and I would love to meet him.”

“Mom now is not the time. I’m out of here. Love you both. Don’t wait up,” You replied and walked out the door to your car. Letting out another sigh, you started the care and proceeded to drive to Luke’s.

You knew that your parents meant well. They loved you very much. While there were times both could be very overbearing, you understood where it came from and could not fault them for it. It was just them being protective of you. At the end of the day, they would always worry about you. The constant worries your mother and father felt towards you could be jarring at times. All you wanted for them was to trust you fully. However, it shamed you the number of times you let them down. Luke shared with you the troubles he had with completing the fourth step. You told him you were not able to tackle it until the first year of your sobriety.

“We have all done shitty things to the people we love. To the people who stood by us while we walked all over them. I’m surprised my parents stood by me for so long. Sometimes I wished they had given up and just let me go to die on the streets,” you revealed honestly to Luke the night after going to the movies. “They didn’t deserve the constant Hell I put them through. I because I couldn’t handle certain…things… feelings…. emotions. The problem was…that I felt weak if I wasn’t taking heroin. Shooting up made me feel invincible. Like, nothing could touch me. I guess you know that feeling all too well, huh, Luke?”

“Yeah. I guess that is why we choose to shoot up in the first place. To not feel like ourselves. In some cases, to not feel at all. I know for me, it was to get some sense of peace,” Luke countered truthfully.

For some reason, it felt like it took longer than usual to arrive at Shirley’s house, which would have normally taken ten minutes. Every traffic light seemed to turn red as soon as you got closer. When you finally reached your destination, a quick text was sent off to your parents to let them know you arrived safely. Gathering your bag and cake box, you exited the car and walked the front doorsteps. You rang the doorbell and waited.

Thankfully, it was Luke who answered the door with a sweet smile on his face.

“Hi,” he said and ushered you to come inside.

“Hey,” you replied, wiping your shoes before stepping in the house.

You handed over the cake box to Luke, who then asked, “What kind of dessert did you bring?”

“Baklava cheesecake. It is a new item at the bakery that we’re selling.”

“Sounds really good. Uh, look, just fair warning,” Luke began to speak in a whisper, “Shirley made lasagna. I hope that is okay. I know it’s…”

“It’s fine, Luke. I can muster up the courage to eat lasagna for one night,” you answered with a light chuckle.

As you hung up your coat and bag, Shirley and Theo entered the foyer. Both said hello, and Theo introduced herself. Luke stood back as he eyed his sisters closely to make sure they both remained on their best behavior.

“It is nice to meet you finally. Luke has been keeping you all to himself, so we are glad you could come over,” Theo mentioned while leading you into the kitchen to get you something to drink. Shirley took the cake box from Luke and followed the two women.

“Oh wow!” exclaimed Shirley when she opened the box. “This looks really good. Did you make this?”

“No. Sophie, the owner of the bakery I work at did. She does most of the actual baking. I help with cake decorations. She’s a longtime family friend, so I work there to help out when she needs it,” you shared as Theo handed you a glass of iced tea.

“How about we go sit in the living room,” Shirley instructed everyone out of the kitchen. “We have about fifteen minutes until dinner is ready.”

You sat next to Luke on the loveseat while Shirley and Theo took the couch. An awkward silence ensued, with no one really knowing what to say. You could feel each of the Crain siblings’ emotions, which ranged from curiosity from Theo, indifference from Shirley, and anxiousness from Luke. You felt a strong urge to reach out to Luke to help calm him, whether it be holding his hand, linking your arm with his, or placing a gentle hand on his knee. It was a weird feeling for you to have since Luke was not only your friend but mentee. Now a sense of guilt took over you.

You were Luke’s sponsor. There is no way you could develop any deeper feelings for the man sitting next to you other than friends. It would be unethical. Luke trusted you. Breaking his trust or misguiding him would lead to a horrible conclusion. It could lead to the ultimate betrayal. When you felt a pair of eyes on you, it made you look up to see Theo staring as she took sips of her drink. You could tell she was assessing you in any way she could. You noticed the gloves on her hands, which reminded you of the story Luke shared about Theo’s ability to feel emotions through touch. You are tempted to say, “fuck it!” and give Theo your hand for her to take to get it out of the way.

“So…,” Shirley spoke up when she said your name, “Luke shared with us that you attend Middlesex Community College as an art major.”

“Yes. Studio art, to be exact. My mom really would rather I do graphic design, though.  So, I might do that when I get this degree program wrapped up,” you revealed.

Awkward silence resumed. “I have some of her artwork,” Luke piped up. “It is amazing. Like, crazy good.”

“Where did you learn how to draw?” Shirley asked.

“It was just something that I always liked doing. It helped calm me when I was…not feeling the best. I guess during my stints at different rehabs throughout the years helped…build up my artistic skills,” you replied.

You noticed Luke began shaking his right leg at the mention of rehab. You reached out to touch his left arm, and he looked over at you. “Have either of you read any of Luke’s stories he has written for school?” you asked Shirley and Theo.

“No!” Theo piped in and added, “Our little brother tends to keep his writings all to himself.”

“Well, from what he has shared with me, he is an excellent writer,” you stated. “Did you tell them about the ‘A’ you got on your last assignment?”

“Uh…no. I hadn’t,” Luke said and immediately got up from the couch. “Hey, shouldn’t dinner be done, Shirley?”

“Oh shoot. That is right. Let me go get the lasagna out of the oven.”

“I’ll get the salad and bread on the table,” asserted Theo and followed Shirley back into the kitchen.

Luke let out the breath he was holding and turned to look at you.

“Are you okay, Luke?” you asked him.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“You three seem a tad on edge. Is there any safe topic your family can talk about?” you enquired.

“Not really. I know them. They want to ask you about your addiction story and how you overcame it…all that stuff.”

“You know what…fuck it. Let’s you and I control the conversation by talking about the things we talk about, like movies, television shows, music, books…all of the stuff we talk about regularly. If your sisters join in, then that is great—the more, the merrier. But let’s not waste a whole evening because we’re worried about what your sisters think of me…or you,” you encouraged Luke.

Letting out another breath, Luke agreed. “Okay, that sounds good. You take the lead, and I’ll follow.”

“Will do,” you smiled and pushed Luke towards the dining room.

[dastardlydandelion]

casus belli

ao3 link

obligatory irl inspo link

content warnings: referenced violence, implied abuse

Max strokes her mother’s hair as softly as she can, gingerly guiding her fingertips around the goose egg where Neil whacked her with the wrench, gash no less grisly to Max’s eyes even now sutured up. It’s been hours but Max still feels rattled even though she won’t cry, can’t cry because she needs to be strong and calm for Mom. Being this close to Mom helps marginally at least. Close enough to touch and feel and watch her breathe, know she is alive even though she’d been so terribly still on the floor, hadn’t let out any sound nor even twitched after the gun went off and Neil collapsed atop her.

Max’s eyes dart toward sudden movement in her peripheral. She expects a nurse or maybe another cop but it’s Billy in the doorway, denim jacket buttoned, hands stuffed in the pockets of his blue jeans. He gives a nod, gaze flickering to her mother in the hospital bed. Max exhales softly as she draws her hand from Mom’s head and trots across the eggshell tile. She tried to call earlier but he didn’t answer. She deduces the authorities must’ve contacted him about Neil.

Max isn’t normally the hugging type but today has been an exceptionally scary day and in all truth, part of her wasn’t sure she’d ever see Billy again at all. Leaving Neil meant leaving so many things behind, her school, her friends, Hawkins. Billy too. She throws her arms around his middle and squeezes tight, tight, tight as a tourniquet.

Billy grunts, caught off guard, but then he breathes out and winds an arm around her.

“Hey, shitbird…”

Max thinks his voice sounds weird. She swallows and lets go, tugging at the drawstrings of her hoodie as she takes a step back.

“Hey,” she returns and it is the least of things there are to say. “The cops tell you everything?”

“I don’t know about everything.” Billy looks pale as his eyes dart between Max and her mother. “How’s Susan?”

“In and out. She might be in and out for awhile. Neil busted her head open and she’s still all doped up…I don’t think she remembers coming in or getting x-rays, or anything.”

Max uncertainly wiggles her hand as she glances back over her shoulder. Mom is dozing again, looks so fragile in the bed, legs swaddled so thick in their splints, toes just barely peeking out, chest tube as big around as a highlighter emerging from the slit in her gown and going into the drainage unit on the floor.

“My dad really did a number on her…”

“No shit, Billy, he was trying to kill her. He was yelling about how he wouldn’t let her run away again. ‘No more running!’ That’s what he was yelling that when I pulled the trigger.” Max rubs her forearms, swears in her soul she can still feel the recoil riddle thorough her bones.

She only fired once and Neil folded like a fancy dinner napkin right on top of Mom. Then Max couldn’t tell whose blood was whose.

“I’m sorry,” Billy grates out, grave and low.

“She’ll be fine. I’ll take good care of her,” Max declares, soft but determined. “I have practice and Mom’s bound to be a way easier patient than you were, anyway.”

She’d had to help Mom out with Billy after the Mind Flayer. Neil was weirdly gentle with Billy for a little bit in the beginning, when it looked like he might die. But when he started getting stronger and turned around for the better, Neil could barely be bothered to lift a finger. Didn’t contribute much to her brother’s recovery beyond complaining about medical bills and making a bunch of negotiations over the phone with the insurance company.  

“No, Max, I’m apologizing because this is my fault,” Billy bows his head, eyes glued to the floor as his shoulders tense. “It’s my fault he found you, I’m sorry.”

A cold feeling creeps beneath her skin.

“What?”

“It was stupid, I was stupid,” he says, voice seeping shame. “I got you a new skateboard since I broke your other one. Decided I’d mail it to you, so I got it packaged up and all that, hid it under my bed. My dad trashed my room looking for some shit he thought I stole and he found that instead. With the address.”

Max clenches her teeth. In the recesses of her mind, she realizes it was an accident. Of course it was an accident. But. The way Mom screamed. Gunpowder scorching Max’s nostrils. Whose blood is whose. Mom not moving. Safety wasn’t safety even in Springwood, Ohio with different names and plate numbers, wasn’t safe in a million years because of the way Mom screamed and Max, who hadn’t been going by Max in public in Ohio, knew precisely who and what was ripping their new life to pieces in the way Mom screamed.

It was an accident but Max can still feel the recoil, Max is the recoil and Mom was one missed shot away from a coffin. Neil swung the wrench and Mom’s lung popped like a happy birthday balloon before Max’s hands could go steady enough to pop a cap. Mom’s courage has been rewarded with broken bones and blood and confusion, but well. It was an accident.

“I tried to stop him, Max.”

“Go away.”

“I tried to stop him, I swear—“

“Go away!” Max snaps, louder. “Get away from me! Get away from my mom!”

“Who’s fighting?” her mother groggily asks as she stirs behind her.

Billy relents under Max’s dark glare, shuffling a few steps back and turning away.

“Max?”

“I’m here, Mom.” Max retreats back to her mother’s bedside and smiles gently in assurance, placing a chary hand on her forearm.

“Was that Billy?” Mom blinks up at her, nose twitching as she gives a little sniff. “You smell like Billy.”

“Uh, yeah. Billy’s here. Neil’s here too but he can’t hurt us. Do you remember that?”

“Mhm.” Mom gives the slightest of nods and covers Max’s hand with her own. “Max?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you bring Billy back? I wanna fight with him too.”

“What?” Max gasps, bemused.

“I have a bone to pick with that boy,” Mom says, muzzy eyes half-lidded as she vaguely jabs a finger in the air. “He gave my sixteen year old a loaded gun and didn’t even tell me.”

“Uh, okay, I fully understand why that would bother you. And I also didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to freak you out—“

“You should’ve told me too,” her mother declares, almost petulant as her lips purse sternly.

“—but you realize I saved us both because I shot Neil, right?”

“It’s the principle of the matter, Maxine,” Mom insists. “Neither of you asked me for permission, neither of you said a word. Billy got a loaded gun from the safe and gave it to you, so I’m upset…and I need to yell at him. Bring him back.”

Max splutters, dumbfounded. Her mother is definitely as high as a kite. Her voice is so weak Max doesn’t know how she expects to yell at all. But she can’t refuse her request when she’s somehow striking that tone of maternal authority Max suddenly feels compelled to obey, even as hurt and dopey as she is.

“Okay, Mom. I’ll go find him.”

“Thank you.”

Max tenderly brushes a kiss over her mother’s temple. When she gets to the doorway she hesitates for a few heartbeats, gaze lingering on Mom. She isn’t particularly keen on letting Mom out of her sight right now. Her stomach flip-flops the way it did a few hours ago, when they took her down for x-rays without Max in attendance.

She reminds herself it’s fine. The only person who wanted to hurt Mom is Neil. Neil is paralyzed from the waist down and handcuffed to his own hospital bed. He’s not lurking around the corner or hiding in the shadows. He's not belly-crawling the corridors like some vengeful serpent.

Neil’s room is eventually where Max locates Billy. The door is shut. The blinds are drawn. Max cannot see inside but it is Neil’s room nonetheless, an officer standing guard and munching on a sprinkled, pink frosted doughnut with such gusto it’s like he’s intentionally trying to be a cliché. Billy is a few lengths away, gnawing at his fingernails, one shoulder leaned against the wall.

“Found you,” Max greets.

Billy bites the corner of his thumbnail and stiffly lowers his hand to his side. “Found me? You’re the one who told me to fuck off.”

“Yeah, well…” Max crosses her arms as she leans against next to him, idly kicking her heel against the wall. “If you knew he was coming, why didn’t you call the cops?”

“I tried to stop him, Max. We got into it. He choked me out and locked me in the hall closet.”

“Holy shit. You got out?”

“With some splinters in my knuckles,” Billy huffs bitterly. “Yeah, wish I would’ve thought to feel up on the top shelf sooner. My old Little League bat was up there. That helped.”

“Damn…look, I’m sorry i jumped down your throat earlier, okay?” Max uncrosses her arms and glances down to Billy’s hand at his side, exhales through her nose as she notes the bloodied knuckles. “It’s been a fucking awful day and I’m trying to be brave and calm for Mom, but…”

“Don’t. I deserve it. It’s my fault.”

“You’re not the one who broke into our house with a goddamn wrench like some horror movie villain.”

Billy just shakes his head.

“Anyway, we’d better get a move on. Because my mom wants to see you but I don’t know how long she’s going to be awake.”

Billy blinks rapidly, squinting his eyes. “She wants to see me?”

“Yeah, come on.” Max grabs him by the arm and starts to pull, only to let go when his face crumples into discomfort. “Oh. Hey, how bad, um…are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just kinda stiff, long drive didn’t help.”

Max nods and leads him back to Mom’s room without any more grabbing. Billy plods beside her and now that she’s paying attention, she realizes how purposeful his steps are. He doesn’t do any of those restless little movements typical of him, no finger drumming or collar adjusting. He’s moving no more or less than he has to. Definitely sore.

Max pulls up the chair for him when they get to Mom’s room, right beside her bed so neither have to strain to reach for the other.

“There you are,” her mother announces, twirling her index finger at Billy.

“Here I am,” Billy agrees, flashes a sad smile as he slowly lowers into the seat. “Hey, Susan. How you feeling?”

“Upset,” she says decisively, narrowing her eyes as Max pointedly mouths ‘painkillers’ to Billy. “You and I need to have a talk, mister. What you did was very irresponsible and I am sorry to say I’m disappointed in you. I--"

"I'm sorry," Billy blurts, interrupting as he abruptly bows so low, like he would to dodge whenever Neil would throw shit at him. "I'm sorry, Susan. I'm so, so sorry."

Mom blinks rapidly, confused as Billy starts blubbering. His denim clad shoulders tremble as sobs quibble out of him one after the next. He keeps apologizing between them, grief stricken and fraught with guilt. She hasn't seen him cry like this since the sauna test.

"Oh my...I'm upset, yes, b-but not that upset, Billy..." Anxiety tweaks her mother's features, her fingers warily fluttering over the guardrail that separates them.

Max lays a hand on his back and leans in.

"Listen," she murmurs, gentle but firm. "If you need a minute, you need a minute but don't scare my mom."

"I'm sorry," Billy repeats, this time to Max as he visibly struggles to pull it together. "But it's my fault."

"Oh, it's not all your fault," Mom insists. "Maxine had ample opportunity to come to me about Neil's...Astral Tyrannosaur?"

"Astra Terminator," Max corrects.

"Mm, that then." Mom's lashes flutter sleepily.

"The gun," Billy echoes. "We're talking about the gun?"

"It really wasn't right to keep it from me," her mother says, adamant and perhaps a little sulky. "But I suppose I came on a little too strong. Max, could you pass me those tissues?"

"Sure." Max grabs the paperboard box on the beside table and passes it to her.

Mom pulls a few from the box and reaches up, dabbing at Billy's blotchy face. He doesn't say anything. He goes quiet, snuffling softly only a bit.

"There, there," Mom soothes. "We're all here. That's what matters most."

Max shifts her weight from foot to foot and takes the tissue box back.

"I'm okay," Mom says, sudden and hasty like she's not entirely confident. "You shouldn't worry so much...either of you."

"No one is worried, Mom," Max promises. She winds around to the opposite side of the bed and pulls up her own chair, warmly pressing her lips to her mother's cheek. "We know you're okay. Just a little banged up."

And that's an understatement, but at the very least, Mom will get better. And Neil won't. They're free.

Her mother leans in and briefly nuzzles Max's cheek in return until her face is nestled into the pillows again. Having said her piece and with Billy calmed down, she seems relaxed again. She curls toward Max as much as her upper body will allow and with a little more hair stroking, nods off again.

Billy gets up to leave. Max catches his eye and shakes her head. His mouth quirks at the corner and he resumes his seat.

[akemiozawa]

Wow your writing is so great. Loved your vam vil x reader one btw . Would you write a piece for vam malleus x reader , too?●-●

Thanks so much anon! I’ve been considering doing one for Malleus, so why the hell not?

This time, it’s centered around Jekyll & Hyde the Musical. Thankfully there’s a whole song list on here, and I’ve got just another perfect song for this scenario!

————————————————————

Dangerous Game (Vampire! Malleus x F! Reader)

In this scene, Malleus confronts (Y/N) in what secrets she is keeping from him. And what better way than through a sensual game of cat and mouse?

Lyrics key:

Malleus

You

Together

————————————————————

Your whole body was like ice. You could only look at the floor while keeping Malleus in you peripheral sight. Ever since you had fallen through that accursed mirror, came into everyone’s lives and becoming a part of (Dorm), you had a normal life. You made good friends with the students, some more better bonds than others, but no matter where you walked, every one of them warned you of the same thing over and over:

Stay away from Malleus.

At first, you didn’t know why, as you had remained on good terms with the Dia Four for a good time. Heck, like Sebek, only more subtle,you had looked up to the Diasomnia lead: his commanding presence, his abilities, even how he didn’t need to command others to respect him.

On the other hand, Malleus didn’t pay much attention to you; he didn’t see what was special about you. But with time, he felt drawn to it. Drawn to you. At first, it was a delusion of sorts, but slowly and surely, that delusion became real, deny as he might. He started to admire you from a distance: your attentive need to complete any task given, how you could silently give advice to others who had their own problems to deal with, and what stuck out more: how you seemingly treated him not as your superior, but as a normal being.

That surprised him. Normally, the student body would always hold his name with the utmost respect (or fear if you will). But you...you never saw it as that. You treated him as if you had been companions for a brief time.

But as time went on, you kept feeling your heart beat wildly whenever you saw him. You tried to deny it, but it was true: you had fallen for the fae prince. It scared you. You didn’t want these feelings to get in the way of your bond with Malleus. Eventually, you didn’t want to be noticed by him. Your best bet was to heed Idia’s advice and go unnoticed as long as you were here. Eventually, you were too scared to talk to Mal. Whenever he entered a room, you immediately left. If he was nearing a place you were at, you’d slip away into the shadows. And all that time, you hid and avoided your feelings for him.

As if that weren’t enough, you had a feeling in your stomach that Mal was hiding a secret of his own. And naturally, your curiosity got the better of you. And one day, you had ran into a dark hall, only to find him, holding a student by the wall, eyes glowing brightly. Soon, he opened his mouth, his teeth caught by the faint hall light, and dug them deep into their neck as an ear-splitting scream left the student. The sound of blood being drunk made you recoil backwards, shock encasing your mind.

Malleus was a vampire! If that also didn’t make you avoid him more, as well as make you more scared of him, then you’d be lying to yourself.

Now He was here, in your room. Standing just a few feet ahead of where you stood with your form near the wall. His emerald eyes pierced the darkness like acidic pools of anger. But he was anything but that. He was....

Determined.

After you put yourself out of his life, he grew worried. Very soon, he was obsessed with finding out the truth: what kind of secret you withheld from him. You would talk to the others, but not him? The audacity! What he had received from Lilia in the end was an answer he wasn’t expecting.

You were in love with him. But through fear, you turned your back on him in order to avoid falling for him more than you had already. And the fact that you saw him drain a student of their blood made you all the more frightened.

Now you may be thinking: Please! As if the great renowned Malleus Draconia, prince of the dark fae, pure blood vampire, and supreme house leader of Diasomnia, founded in the name of the great Witch of Thorns herself, could ever fall for a human in return! He had heard the story over and over again: how the great witch had fallen for a mortal man only to be stabbed in the back by getting her wings cut off. He could never!

....Or could he....?

The answer: YES.

Now, he had cornered you. And on the night of a full moon, no less, since his vampiric side was growing stronger. He will get the truth out of you and make you his no matter the circumstances. He needed wanted to hear it from you. And not his cohorts. Or else he’d go bat shit berserk.

“Malleus...I...I don’t understand!” Your voice was filled with confusion.

There it was again. That innocent spark in your eyes, those beautiful (e/c) eyes that drove him closer to snapping. But not at you, no. He could never hurt you. Truth be told, He had grown fond over you. Your slight naivety made him want to defend you from any dark force that may swallow you whole. Not if he could first.

“You know exactly what I mean, (y/n).” He spoke in a voice that made your bones shake.

“B-But I don’t!” your eyes darted around, scared that he knew your secret.

“I can tell when you are lying to me.” He walked forward, his steps never faltered as he neared your quivering form.

He walks over to stand right in front of you. Your heart starts to race as you watch him. As he slams both his hand on either side of you, making you squeal in fright.

“What are you gonna do to me...?” You shiver, feeling his gaze on you.

“There’s no knowing. But god, if there is one, help you if you won’t give me the answer I deserve.” He said. Something in that sentence obviously said that you’d either spill your guts or it could get worse from there. And just him being there without warning is scary enough!

His hand moves and touches your hair. You squeak and close your eyes, feeling his hand trail down to your cheek. “Are you afraid of me?” You didn’t want to answer but through some unknown force, you nodded your head lightly. “Is it because you found out who I really was?” Another nod. “You’re scared that I will hurt you?” Another nod. “And that you harbor a deep love for me that you don’t want me to know of?”

Oh shit. Out of all the questions he could’ve asked, that was the one you hoped he wouldn’t. You didn’t know what to do except open your eyes, staring down at the floor.

“And...if that were true...would the feeling ever be mutual...?” your voice was no more than a whisper, shaking like your legs.

You feel his hand leave you for a minute, only for his hand to tilt your head up. As soon as his fiery eyes met timid (e/c), a shiver ricocheted down your back as he kept his gaze on you.

“Then you’d want me to reciprocate the feeling, do you?”

Your eyebrows creased in worry, but before you could say anything, he spun you around ever so gracefully. Your back was against his chest. He gently traced your collarbone, your shoulders, with his fingers and as his lips neared your neck. You halted at the passionate touch. It felt...weird. It also didn’t help the fact that you wore your favorite tight curve-hugging dress, exposing your skin.

(Play either, first vid is a cover, the second is from the musical. I personally like the first, but whichever you like)

“I feel your fingers...Cold on my shoulder. Your chilling touch, As it runs down my spine...” you sing ever so softly, in hopes of not catching his attention to your shaking voice. But you weren’t in control of your voice. It was as if...

As if he put you under his spell.

“Watching your eyes....As they invade my soul! Forbidden pleasures...I'm afraid to make mine.” You continued, this time you felt Malleus smile lightly against your cold, bare flesh. You breathe in a deep sigh,

“At the touch of your hand, At the sound of your voice, At the moment your eyes meet mine: I am out of my mind, I am out of control, Full of feelings I can't define!” One hand enclosed around yours, as his lips edged along your neckside, goosebumps rising from the sensation.

“It's a sin with no name, Like a hand in a flame. And our senses proclaim, It's a dangerous game!” His face aligns near yours, his voice, a sensual baritone, matches your soprano-esque tone.

“A darker dream...That has no ending. That's so unreal, You believe that it's true!” You open your eyes and turn your head to see him pull your hand towards him. The palm of your hand opens as it caressed his face. His pale skin was cold as winter’s breath, prickling your hand with a cooling feel. You two make eye contact, the state of longing was faint.

“A dance of death, Out of a mystery tale. The frightened princess Doesn't know what to do!” With your head turned, Malleus used his other hand and gently reached around your head, untying the long black ribbon keeping half your hair out of your face. It fell out of its hold, flying gently down into his gloved hand. Suddenly, with no warning, you were face to face with the dark prince. Taking the ribbon he untied, he wrapped it around your wrists like rope.

“Will the ghosts go away (No)? Will she will them to stay (No)? Either way, there's no way to win!” He was gentle not to mark your skin. Not yet at least. He would enjoy the light teases.

“All I know is I'm lost (oh), And I'm counting the cost (oh)! My emotions are in a spin!” You were taken by surprise at this action. Taken and bound like a prisoner, your feelings pouring out tenfold.

“I don't know who to blame... It's a crime and a shame! But it's true all the same; It's a dangerous game!” Malleus pulls your hands to his mouth and kisses them lightly.

“No one speaks, Not one word, But what words are in our eyes.” Your voices filled the air, feelings of hunger and passion, fear and tension became a dark symphony of the night.

“Silence speaks (Silence speaks!), Loud and clear (Loud and clear!). All the words we (don't) want to hear!” He lets go of your wrists, and he moves closer.

“At the touch of your hand, At the sound of your voice, At the moment your eyes meet mine: I am losing my mind! I am losing control! Fighting feelings I can't define!” It was at this point when it felt like the world had been blacked out by a blanket of night, and the only two people left were both you and him: a simple girl and a dark vampiric princely fae.

But you wouldn’t have it any other way: to give in to your feelings, either by a spell or not, you felt like a dove, whose wings had been broken but through time and healing, you were free to fly again. Your feelings, your heart, were free to soar.

“It's a sin with no name....No remorse and no shame, Fire, fury and flame-Cos the devil's to blame! And the angels proclaim.....”

He wraps an arm around your back, as his other hand made his way to your head, tilting it back. You close your eyes waiting. You feel his hot breath against your neck before hearing his voice and yours say in sync:

“It's a dangerous game...”

A soft kiss was placed on your collarbone. Your mind was already clouded from the ministrations he was giving you. You could feel his lips nearing your neck. As you were trying to catch your breath, you could only make out a few things: the full moon showing its full light through the clear glass of your window, and Mal looking up at you. From the corner of your eye, there was a look of lust in his eyes. He brushes his thumb against your lips making you part them. You knew what the question was and with a nod of your head, Malleus smirks before his lips parted to unveil his teeth.

The rush of crimson blood, your blood, had done its job in satisfying him. It was bliss. Pure bliss. The monster within him has been tamed.

For he had found his answer through this dangerous game.

[themousefromfantasyland]

"Dark Christmas"

By Jeanette Winterson

So, people used to tell ghosts stories during the holidays. During my last posts about Christmas creatures and hidden holiday lore, I talked about this amazing, but sadly forgotten holiday tradition, and how we should bring it back. So, consider this my contribution.

I searched for a good Christmas ghost story to share, and I found a good one here

So here it comes:

We had borrowed the house from a friend none of us seemed to know.

Highfallen House stood on an eminence overlooking the sea. It was a square Victorian gentleman's residence. The large bay windows looked down through the pines towards the shore. Six stone steps led the visitor up to the double front door where a gothic bell-pull released a loud mournful clang deep into the distances of the house.

Laurel lined the drive. The stable block was disused. The walled garden had been locked up in 1914 when the gardeners went to war. Only one had returned. I had been warned that the high brick wall enclosing the garden was unsafe. As I passed it slowly in the car, I saw a faded notice falling off the paint-peeled door. DO NOT ENTER.

I was the first to arrive. My friends were following by train and I was to collect them the next day and then we would settle down to Christmas.

I had driven from Bristol and I was tired. There was a Christmas tree roped on the top of my 4x4 and a trunk-load of provisions. We were not near any town. But the housekeeper had left stacked wood to build a fire and I had brought a shepherd's pie and a bottle of rioja for my first night.

The kitchen was cheerful enough once I had got the fire going and the radio playing while I unpacked our festive supplies. I checked my phone – no signal. Still, I knew the time of the train tomorrow and it was a relief to feel that the world had gone away. I put my food in the oven to heat up, poured a glass of wine, and went upstairs to find myself a bedroom.

The first landing had three bedrooms leading off it. Each had a moth-eaten rug, a metal bed and a mahogany chest of drawers. At the far end of the landing was a second set of stairs up to the attic floor.

I am not romantic about maids' rooms or nurseries, and there was something about that second set of stairs that made me hesitate. The landing was bright in the sudden way of late sun on a winter's afternoon. Yet the light ended abruptly at the foot of the stairs as though it couldn't go any farther. I didn't want to be near that set of stairs, so I chose the room at the front of the house.

As I went to bring up my bag, the house bell started to ring, its jerky metallic hammers sounding somewhere in the guts of the house. I was surprised but not alarmed. I expected the housekeeper. I opened the door. There was no one there. I went down the steps and looked round. I admit I was frightened. The night was clear and soundless. There was no car in the distance. No footsteps walking away. Determined to conquer my fear, I walked round a little. Then, turning back to the house, I saw it; the bell wire ran along the side of the house under a sheltering gutter. Perhaps 30 or 40 bats were dangling upside down on the vibrating wire. The same number swooped and swerved in a dark mass. Obviously their movement on the wire had set off the bell. I like bats. Clever bats. Good. Now supper.

I ate. I drank. I wondered why love is so hard and life is so short. I went to bed. The room was warmer now and I was ready to sleep. The sound of the sea ebbed into the flow of my dreams.

I woke from a dead sleep in dead darkness to hear… what? What can I hear? It sounded like a ball bearing or a marble rolling on the bare floor above my head. It rolled hard on hard then hit the wall. Then it rolled again in the other direction. This might not have mattered except that the other direction was upwards. Things can come loose and roll downwards, but they cannot come loose and roll up. Unless someone…

That thought was so unwelcome that I dismissed it along with the law of gravity. Whatever was rolling over my head must be a natural dislodging. The house was draughty and unused. The attics were under the eaves where any kind of weather might get in. Weather or an animal. Remember the bats. I pulled the covers up to my eyebrows and pretended not to listen.

There it was again: hard on hard on hit on pause on roll.

I waited for sleep, waiting for daylight.

We are lucky, even the worst of us, because daylight comes.

It was a brooding day that 21st of December. The shortest day of the year. Coffee, coat on, car keys. Shouldn't I just check the attic?

The second set of stairs was narrow – a servants' staircase. It led to a lath and plaster corridor barely a shoulder-width wide. I started coughing. Breathing was difficult. Damp had dropped the plaster in thick, crumbling heaps on the floorboards. As below, there were three doors. Two were closed. The door to the room above my room was ajar. I made myself go forward.

The room was under the eaves as I had guessed. The floor was rough. There was no bed, only a washstand and a clothes rail.

What surprised me was the nativity scene in the corner.

Standing about two feet tall, it was more like a doll's house than a Christmas decoration. Inside the open-fronted stable stood the animals, the shepherds, the crib, Joseph. Above the roof, on a bit of wire, was a battered star. It was old, handmade in a workmanlike but not craftsmanlike sort of way, the painted wood now rubbed and faded like pigments of time.

I thought I would carry it downstairs and put it by our Christmas tree. It must have been made for the children when there were children here. I stuffed my pockets with the figures and animals, and left quickly, leaving the door open. I had to set off for the station. Stephen and Susie could help me with the rest later.

As soon as I was out of the house, my lungs felt clear again. It must be the plaster dust.

The drive to the station was along the coast road. Lonely and unyielding, the road turned in a series of blind bends and tight corners. I met no one and I saw no one. Gulls circled over the sea.

The station itself was a simple shelter on a long single track. There were no information boards. I checked my phone. No signal.

At last the train appeared distantly down the track. I was excited. Memories of visiting my father as a child when he was stationed at his RAF base give me a rush of pleasure whenever I travel by train or come to meet one.

The train slowed and halted. The guard stood down for a moment. I watched the doors – it wasn't a big train, this branch line train – but none of the doors opened. I waved at the guard who came over.

"I am meeting my friends."

He shook his head. "Train's empty. Next stop is the end of the line."

I was confused. Had they got off at the earlier stop? I described them. The guard shook his head again. "I notice strangers. They would have boarded at Carlisle, asked me where to get off – always do."

"Is there another train before tomorrow?'

"One a day and that's your lot, and more than anybody needs in a place like this. Where are you staying?"

"Highfallen House. Do you know it?"

"Oh aye. We all know it." He looked as if he were about to say something else. Instead, he blew his whistle. The empty train pulled away, leaving me staring down the long track watching the red light like a warning.

I needed to get a signal on my phone.

I drove on past the station, following the steep hill, hoping some height would connect me to the rest of the world. At the top of the hill I stopped the car and got out, pulling up the collar of my coat. The first snow hit my face with insect insistence. Sharp and spiteful, like little bites.

I looked out across the whitening bay. That must be Highfallen House. But what's that? Two figures walking on the beach. Is it Stephen and Susie? Had they driven here after all? Then, as I strained my eyes against the deceit of distance, I realised that the second figure was much smaller than the first. They were walking purposefully towards the house.

When I arrived back, it was nearly dark.

I put on the lights, blew the fire into a blaze. There was no sign of the mysterious couple I had seen from the hill. Perhaps it had been the housekeeper and her daughter come to make sure that everything was all right. I had a telephone number for Mrs Wormwood, but without a signal I could not call her.

The snow was thickening in windy swirls. Relax. Have a whisky.

I leaned on the warm kitchen range with my whisky in my hand. The wooden figures I had brought down from the attic were lying on the kitchen table. I should go up and get the stable.

I don't want to.

I bounded up the first set of stairs using energy to force out unease. At my bedroom I put on the light. That felt better. The second set of stairs stood in shadow at the end of the long landing. I felt that constriction in my lungs again. Why am I holding on to the handrail like an old man?

I could see that the only light to the attic was at the top of the stairs. I found the round brown Bakelite switch. I flicked down the nipple. A single bulb lit up reluctantly. The room was straight ahead. The door was closed. Hadn't I left it open?

I turned the handle and stood in the doorway, the room dimly lit by the light from the stairs. Washstand. Nativity. Clothes rail. On the clothes rail was a child's dress. I hadn't noticed that before. I suppose I had been in a hurry. Pushing aside my misgivings, I went in purposefully and bent down to pick up the wooden nativity. It was heavy and I had just got it secure in my arms when the light on the landing went out.

Hello? Who's there?

There's someone breathing like they can barely breathe. Not faint. Struggling for breath. I mustn't turn round, because whoever or whatever it is, is behind me.

I stood still for a minute, steadying my nerve. Then I shuffled forward towards the edge of light coming up from downstairs. At the doorway I heard a step behind me, lost my balance and put out a hand to steady myself. My hand gripped something wet. The clothes rail. It must be the dress.

My heart was over-beating. Don't panic. Bakelite. Bad wiring. Strange house. Darkness. Aloneness.

But you're not alone, are you?

Back in the kitchen with whisky, Radio 4 and pasta boiling, I examined the dress. It was for a small child and it was hand-knitted. The wool was smelly and sopping. I washed it out and left it hanging over the sink to drip. I guessed there must be a hole in the roof and the dress had been soaking up the rain for a long time.

I ate my supper, tried to read, told myself it had been nothing, nothing at all. It was only 8pm. I didn't want to go to bed, though the snow outside was like a quilt.

I decided to arrange the nativity. Donkey, sheep, camels, wise men, shepherds, star, Joseph. The crib was there, but it was empty. There was no Christ child. And there was no Mary. Had I dropped them in the dark room? I hadn't heard anything fall and these wooden figures were six inches tall.

Joseph was wearing a woollen tunic, but his wooden legs had painted puttees. I pulled off the tunic. Underneath, wooden Joseph wore a painted uniform. First world war.

When I turned him round, I saw there was a gash in his back like a stab wound.

My phone beeped.

I dropped Joseph, grabbed the phone. It was a text message from Susie. TRYING 2 CALL U. LEAVE 2MORO.

I pressed CALL. Nothing. I tried to send a text. Nothing. But what did it matter? Suddenly I felt relief and calm. They had been delayed, that was all. Tomorrow they would be here.

I sat down again with the nativity. Perhaps the missing figures were inside. I put in my hand. My fingers closed round a metal object. It was a small iron key with a hoop top. Maybe it was the key to the attic door.

Outside, snow had fallen snow on snow. The sky had cleared. The moon sped above the sea.

I had gone to bed and I was deep asleep when I heard it clearly. Above me. Footsteps. Pacing. Down the room. Hesitate. Turn. Return.

I lay in bed, eyes staring blindly at the blind ceiling. Why do we open our eyes when we can't see anything? And what was there to see? I don't believe in ghosts.

I wanted to put on the light, but what if the light didn't come on? Why would it be worse to be in darkness I had not chosen than darkness I was choosing? But it would be worse. I sat up in bed and pulled back the curtain a little. The moon had been so bright tonight, surely there would be light?

There was light. Outside the house, hand in hand, stood the still and silent figures of a mother and child.

I did not sleep again till daylight, and when I slept and woke again, it was almost midday and already the light was lowering.

Hurrying to get coffee, I saw that the dress was gone. I had left it dripping over the sink and it was gone. Get out of the house.

I set off for the station. There was an air frost that had coated the trees in glittering white. It was beautiful and deathly. The world held in ice.

On the road there were no car tracks. No noise but the roar and drop of the sea.

I moved slowly and saw no one. In the white, unmoving landscape, I wondered if there was anyone else left alive?

At the station, I waited. I waited some time past the time until the train whistled on the track. The train stopped. The guard got down and saw me. He shook his head. "There's no one," he said. "No one at all."

I thought I would cry. I took out my mute phone. I flashed up the message. TRYING TO CALL U. LEAVE 2MORO.

The guard looked at it. "Happen it's you who should be leaving," he said. "There's no more trains past Carlisle now till the 27th. Tomorrow was the last and that's been cancelled. Weather."

I wrote down a number and gave it to the guard. "Will you phone my friends and tell them I am on my way home?"

On the slow journey back to Highfallen House, I filled my mind with my departure. It would be slow and dangerous to travel at night, but I could not consider another night alone. Or not alone.

All I had to do was manage 40 miles to Inchbarn. There was a pub and a guesthouse and remote but normal life.

The text message kept playing in my head. Had it really meant that I should leave? And why? Because Susie and Stephen couldn't come? Weather? Illness? It's all a guessing game. The fact is, I have to go.

The house seemed subdued when I returned. I had left the lights on and I went straight upstairs to pack my bag. At once I saw that the light to the attic was on. I paused. Breathed. Of course it's on. I never switched it off. That proves it's a wiring fault. I must tell the housekeeper.

My bag packed, I threw the food into a box and put everything back in the car. I had the whisky in the front, a blanket I stole from the bed, and I made a hot-water bottle, just in case.

It was only five o'clock. At worst I'd be in Inchbarn by 9pm.

I got in the car and turned the key. The radio came on for a second, died, and as the ignition clicked and clicked, I knew that the battery was flat. Two hours ago at the station, the car had started first time. Even if I had left the lights on… But I hadn't left the lights on. A cold panic hit me. I took a swig of the whisky. I couldn't sleep in the car all night. I would die.

I don't want to die.

Back in the house, I wondered what I was going to do all night. I must not fall asleep. I had noticed some old books and volumes when I had explored downstairs yesterday – assorted dusty adventure stories and tales of empire. As I sorted through them, I came across a faded velvet photograph album. In the cold, deserted sitting room, I began to discover the past.

Highfallen House 1910. The women in long skirts with miraculous waists. The men in shooting tweeds. The stable boys in waistcoats, the gardening boys wearing flat caps. The maids in starched aprons. And here they are again in their Sunday best: a wedding photograph. Joseph and Mary Lock. 1912. He was a gardener. She was a maid. In the back of the album, loose and unsorted, were further photographs and newspaper cuttings. 1914. The men in uniform. There was Joseph.

I took the album back into the kitchen and put it next to my wooden solider. I had on my coat and scarf. I propped myself up in two chairs by the wood-fired range and dozed and waited and waited and dozed.

It was perhaps two o'clock when I heard a child crying. Not a child who has scraped his knee, or lost a toy, but an abandoned child. A child whose own voice is his last hold on life. A child who cries and knows that no one will come.

The sound was not above me – it was above the above me. I knew where it was coming from.

I put my hands over my ears and my head between my knees. I could not shut out the sound; a locked-up child, a hungry child, a child who is cold and wet and frightened.

Twice I got up and went to the door. Twice I sat down again.

The crying stopped. Silence. A dreadful silence.

I raised my head. Footsteps were coming down the stairs. Not one foot in front of the other, but one foot dragging slightly, then the other joining it, steadying, stepping again.

At the bottom of the stairs, the footsteps paused. Then they did what I knew they would do with all the terror in my body. The footsteps came towards the kitchen door. Whatever was out there was standing 12 feet away on the other side of the door. I stood behind the table and picked up a knife.

The door swung open with violent force that rammed the brass doorknob into the plaster of the wall. Wind and snow blew into the kitchen, whirling up the photographs and cuttings on the table. I saw that the front door itself was wide open, the entrance hall like a wind tunnel.

Holding the knife, I went forward into the hall to shut the door. The pendant metal lantern that hung from the ceiling was swinging wildly on its long chain. A sudden gust lurched it forward like a child's swing pushed too high. It fell back at force against the large semi-circular fanlight over the front door. The fanlight shattered and fell round my shoulders in shards of sharp rain. Flicker. Buzz. Darkness. The house lights were out. No wind now. No cries. Silence again.

Glass-hit in the snow-lit hall, I walked out of the front door and into the night. At the drive, I turned left and I saw them: the mother and child.

The child was wearing the woollen dress. She had no shoes. She held up her arms piteously to her mother, who stood like stone.

I ran forward. I grabbed the child in my arms.

There was no child. I had fallen face down in the snow.

Help me. That's not my voice.

I'm on my feet again. The mother is ahead of me. I follow her. She's going towards the walled garden. She seems to pass through the door, leaving me on the other side.

DO NOT ENTER

I tried the rusty hoop handle. It broke off, taking a piece of door with it. I kicked the door open. It fell off its hinges. The ruined and abandoned garden lay before me. A walled garden of one acre used to feed 20 people. But that was a long time ago.

There were footprints in the snow. I followed them. They led me to the bothy, its roof patched with corrugated iron. There was no door, but the inside seemed dry and sound. There was a tear-off calendar still on the wall: 22 December 1916.

I put my hand in my pocket and I realised that the key from the nativity was there. At the same time, I heard a chair scrape on the floor in the room beyond. I had no fear any more. As the body first shivers and then numbs with cold, my feelings were frozen. I was moving through shadows as one who dreams.

In the room beyond there was a low fire lit in the tiny tin fireplace. On either side of the fire sat the mother and child. The child was absorbed playing with a marble. Her bare feet were blue, but she did not seem to feel the cold any more than I did.

Are we dead then?

The woman with the shawl over her head looked at me with deep expressionless eyes. I recognised her. It was Mary Lock. She nodded at me, or at not me, at some other me in some other time, I do not know. Her gaze went to a tall cupboard. I knew that my key fitted this cupboard and that I must open it. I did so.

A dusty uniform fell out, crumpling like a puppet. The uniform was not quite empty of its occupant. The back of the faded wool jacket had a long slash where the lungs would have been.

I looked at the knife in my hand.

"Open the door! Are you in there? Open the door!"

I woke to blinding white. Where am I? Something's rocking. It's the car. I am in my car. A heavy glove was brushing off the snow. I sat up, found my keys, pressed the unlock button. It was morning. Outside was the guard from the train and a woman who announced herself as Mrs Wormwood.

"Fine mess you've made here," she said.

We went into the kitchen. I was shivering so much that Mrs Wormwood relented and began to make coffee.

"Alfie fetched me," she said, "after he spoke to your friends."

"There's a body," I said. "In the walled garden."

"Is that where it is?" said Mrs Wormwood.

At Christmas 1914, Joseph Lock had gone to war. Before he left for Flanders, he had made a nativity scene for his little girl. When he came back in 1916, he had been gassed. They heard him, climbing the stairs, gasping for breath through froth-corrupted lungs.

His mind had gone, they said. At night in the attic where he slept with his wife and child, he leaned vacantly against the wall, rolling the child's marbles up and down, down and up, pacing, pacing, pacing. One night, just before Christmas, he strangled his wife and daughter. He left them for dead in the bed and went out. But his wife was not dead. She followed him. In the morning, they found her sitting by the nativity, her dress dark with blood, his fingermarks livid at her throat. She was singing a lullaby and pushing the point of the knife into the back of the wooden figure. Joseph was never found.

"Are you going to call the police?" I said.

"What for?" said Mrs Wormwood. "Let the dead bury the dead."

Alfie the guard went out to see to my car. It started first time, the exhaust blue in the white air. I left them clearing up and was about to set off when I remembered I had left my radio in the kitchen. I went back inside. The kitchen was empty. I could hear the two of them up in the attic. I picked up the radio. The nativity was on the table as I had left it.

But it wasn't as I had left it.

Joseph was there and the animals and the shepherds and the worn-out star. And in the centre was the crib. Next to the crib were the wooden figures of a mother and child.

[confusedqueergal]

Hardhearted

This is my story for the Secret Santa 2019 event  hosted by @itfandomprompts​

My gift goes to @nadurflaa​, I hope I did a decent job!

Pairing : Eddie Kapsbark/ Richie Tozier 

Wordcount: 3945

Summary: Eddie comes back home from college for the holidays and has a unpleasant surprise waiting for him.  

(trigger warning for homophobic comments) 

It was weird to be back, although it also felt good in a way. It had been more than 5 months since Eddie had seen any of his friends. If he was being honest, he had missed them quite a lot. It wasn’t as if they weren’t talking, rather they text everyday and call each other at least once during the week. It was nice to know that the distance hadn’t changed much to their friendship. Most of the Losers club had also gone away for college, except for Richie, who had taken his first year off to travel. Bev and Bill had both gone to Stanford, Stan had gone to NYU and Ben was studying in Colombia. Mike had gone to study in the community college, not so far from Derry itself. Besides Mike, Eddie was the one who stayed the closest to their home. 

Not that Eddie didn’t want to get as far away from Derry as all his other friends. He was afraid that if he left for college too fr y that he would lose sight of one particular boy. The one he had loved for so long. But now he was back, at least for a few weeks. As he got out of the cab he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding back. With determination he walked towards his childhood home. 

It wasn’t normal to feel so anxious to see your mother after a few months. That never happened to other people, right? Eddie knew that his mother was nuts, but she was still his mother and as far as he knew his only family. His mother knew that he would be coming sometime today, so she didn’t act surprised when he opened the door. 

“Eddie, good, you’re here! Bring over the milk, would you”, her sharp tone ordered him as soon she noticed his arrival. Eddie rolled his eyes and sighed as he walked towards the kitchen. “Oh hello Eddie! how are you, Eddie? How was your trip back?”, the young adult muttered to himself as he walked back to the living room, where he now noticed his mother sitting with the town clown, Pennywise.

His name was actually Robert Gray, but the Losers Club has been calling him Pennywise for years now. The name started when other people would say that the man was wise, because of his age. Of course, being 10 year old boys the losers club decided that he was as wise as a penny, therefor the name Pennywise was created. 

Yes, it was silly, but it stuck and the Losers club wasn’t about to change a 10 year old name.

After giving the milk to his mother, Eddie sat down on the sofa, right next to Pennywise. 

“You should be grateful your mom wants you back in her house, boy”, the old clown snarled as Sonia put some milk in his coffee. 

“It was a mistake, wasn’t it, Eddi-kins”, Sonia laughed and took a sip from her coffee. Eddie frowned, not understanding what the two old bags were talking about. 

“What was a mistake, mother?”, he dared to ask. It was better to ask than to make assumption on what had her mad, if he had to believe Pennywise. 

“Oh, Edward, I was talking about the things you said before you left of course. I knew you were emotional about the fact that you would be leaving me and Derry, so I didn't say anything”, the woman smiled, but as always her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Those eyes always looked bleak, as if she never felt any emotion.

“Do you mean my coming out?”, Eddie asked taken back from the comments his mom had made two seconds ago . He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It had taken him so long to accept himself and to be comfortable in his own skin and now that he had come out to his mother and peers, she batted it away as if it was nothing. As if his feelings weren’t valid. 

“If you want to call it that, then sure”, she said, indifferent to Eddie's distressed face. 

“Ha, coming out, that’s bullshit you young folks have invented. It’s ridiculous and you should just get your head out of your ass, boy”, Pennywise laughed and Sonia nodded in agreement.

“I am sorry if it’s bullshit to you, but coming out is a struggle for a lot of people not only ‘we young folks’”, Eddie snapped back. Okay, he is willing to accept backlash towards himself, but not when it’s about the whole community. Than he is going to say something.

“Sure, boy. It really is a struggle to chose to fuck around with another man. I am sure that if it was a real struggle you wouldn’t choose to do that shit.” 

Eddie was speechless, this conversation was starting to really bother him. He has to admit, he was tougher than he was two years ago, but the words coming from Pennywise, really pissed him off.

“Robert is right, Eddi-kins, I know it’s cool to participate with all those trends, but you don't have to pretend with me", was what Sonia said and Eddie had to push the tears back. He wasn't going to cry in front of this woman who he used to see as his mother and that monster of a man. 

"Oh come one, boy, you are getting soft if you can't handle a few comments from your mother", Pennywise hissed out after he noticed the young man tear up. 

"You need to get out of here, now!", a voice urged him as he felt more and more pathetic in the presence of the two elderly. 

Pennywise was still talking, venting about how soft and weak he was, but Eddie couldn't take it anymore. He tried to block the conversation out, until something caught his attention. 

"You are right, Robert, when I heard that my Eddi-kins was friend with that useless boy, Richard, I knew he would be bad news", Sonia exclaimed as response to the last comment that Pennywise had made. 

"What are you talking about?", Eddie snapped for the first time since entering the house. 

"I always knew that that Tozier kid would be trouble. He is clearly one of those fags and that has been a bad influence on you", Pennywise outright attacked Richie and that is something that made Eddie furious. 

“You don’t know shit! Richie is one of the best people I know and you are a monster, nothing more than a fucking clown!”, Eddie cried out in anger as he hit the table with his fist. 

Shit, that hurt, but right now he only felt angry and upset. 

“Edward! How dare you say that to Robert!? Apologize, right now!”, Sonia ordered her son, as she always did. She always wanted him to do what she wanted, he had to be a clean, good boy and he couldn’t take it anymore. 

“No, mother! I won’t apologize! I am not about to apologize to a clown after he insulted me and not to mention insulted my friend!”, Eddie snarled at Sonia. It was the first time he really stood up against her, besides that time when he couldn’t see his friends anymore. It felt good! Shit, it felt really good! Sonia looked in shock, but really, she should have seen it coming. After all these years of repressing her son, of controlling him, so it was bound to happen. 

Eddie felt the adrenaline rush through his vein as he tried to figure out what he should do now. He came to the conclusion that he couldn’t stay in this house, with this woman and even less in the same room as this clown. So he turned around and started to walk out of the room towards the door, where his luggage had been abandoned not even an hour ago. 

“Eddie! Eddie! Where are you going?!”, Sonia squealed and started following him outside the door, “Eddie! Come back here!”

“Bye Mother!”, Eddie called one more time and he started walking down the road. God, how it would have been better if he had a car, right now. 

Behind him he could hear his mother, still calling his name, but Eddie was determined, he wouldn’t let her manipulate him anymore. 

Without knowing where he was headed, he continued walking as the conversation kept repeating in his head on a loop. Gosh, how stupid could I have been, Eddie thought to himself. He had really thought that his mother had accepted him after she hadn’t said anything about his coming out. 

Minutes could have passes, maybe even a few hours until his legs came to a stop. He recognized the building as one of the newer apartment buildings in Derry. After a moment he realized that this was the building where Richie lived. The man had send the losers so many pictures of his new home, he seemed so proud to have found a place on his own. Eddie had been glad that Richie had found a place for himself, why that was, he didn’t know. Eddie had thought that he envied the boy, because he could live alone while Eddie still had to share a dorm with two other people. Thinking back, it might have been more than envy, but really, it isn’t time to think of that now! Eddie felt stupid for standing there, with his bag, looking at a building. 

He was sure that if someone saw him, they would think he was a creep. He had turned around to leave, when he heard: “Eddie?” 

If Eddie was being honest, he didn’t think of the fact that Richie might see him and right now he didn’t know what to do. Play it cool and pretend that he was just passing by? Or admit that he is somewhat upset and that he kind of wanted to be comforted? Before Eddie could make a decision Richie had already reached out and now he was standing in front of the young man. 

"Eddie? Are you okay?", of course he would notice if something was wrong. 

Eddie nodded and looked his friend in the eye for the first time since he addressed him. 

Richie's eyes were filled with worry where usually there was mischief. He placed his Hand on Eddie's arm, hoping the man would see it as Richie being there for him. 

"Come on, Eddie Spaghetti, you can tell me if something is bothering you, you know that right?", the nickname came over as something reassuring. Eddie chuckled. 

"Nothing's wrong , my mother was being my mother, as always." He figured that would be enough explanation. 

And it was. Richie nodded in understanding and he pointed at his car. "Do you want to go for a ride?" 

"Ehm, sure. But where should I put my stuff ?", Eddie asked, referring to the luggage that was by his side. 

"You can put it in my apartment, I'm guessing you need to have a place to stay so you can stay with me."

"Oh, no, it's fine. I'll a motel or something…" Eddie murmured shyly, not wanting to impose onto Richie. Not that he liked the idea of staying in a motel, in a bed where multiple other people have slept in before. 

"As if Eddie Kaspbark is going to willingly stay in a motel where other people have slept!", Richie laughed, giving the impression that he had read Eddie's previous thought. 

Eddie laughed a long and didn't mind saying anything. He knew that he wouldn't stay in a motel, meaning that he would be staying at Richie's. 

Richie started walking toward the front door and after they had put Eddie's bag in the apartment, they went downstairs again and got into the car. 

"Where too, Mister Eddie Spaghetti?", Richie asked as he started the engine. 

"Where ever you want to go, Richie Trashmouth", Eddie smiled at the man and off they went. 

The ride was quiet, but Eddie liked it that way. He had to admit that it was strange that Richie wasn't blabbing on and on, but he figured he was concentrated on the road.

After a while Richie came to a stop at the side of the road, but there was nothing there, not that Eddie could see. 

"Why are we here, Richie?", Eddie wondered as he looked at the man in the driver's seat. 

"You'll see", was what he replied and got out of the car. Eddie was confused, but trusted his friend and exited the car too. Richie had walked towards the edge of the road and looked before himself. Eddie came closer to Richie and finally understood why Richie had wanted to come here. The view was gorgeous. Derry seemed so beautiful from up here. 

"Richie, what a beautiful view…", Eddie breathed put and Richie nodded in agreement. The both of them were just there and stared at the scenery in front of them. 

Richie turned back to the car and sat down on its hood. "Are we staying here, Rich?", Eddie asked. 

"If you want, Eddie", he replied with a smirk. 

Eddie laughed and sat down next to him on the hood. The two of them were quiet, but it was comfortable. It didn't take long before the sun started setting and to say that the view was breathtaking was the understatement of the year. 

Eddie was sure he was staring with his mouth open wide. Richie's laugh made him realise he must look ridiculous and he shut his mouth, his whole face red from embarrassment. 

The silence continued and for once Eddie missed Richie's rambling, so he decided to speak up. 

"You're kind of freaking me out with this silent treatment", Eddie joked, but it sounded forced and not genuine at all. 

"I just thought you would appreciate the quiet, you always complain about my Trashmouth", he simply said. 

Oh… That wasn't something Eddie had expected. 

"I… I never mean that. I thought you knew that it was a joke", Eddie murmured guilty. He never meant to hurt his friend. 

"It's fine", Richie reassured him. 

The silence came back and Eddie couldn't take it. 

"It wasn't just my mother that upset me", he started. 

"Oh, want to talk about it?", Richie suggests and Eddie nodded. He took a deep breath and kept his gaze away from Richie, knowing that he would break if he did look at the boy he loved. 

"I got home from university today and as soon as I got inside she started ordering me around. She didn't even ask how my trip was", Eddie said sadly. 

"She wasn't alone, Pennywise was there."

"Pennywise!?", Richie exclaimed. Eddie nodded. 

"And you know how Pennywise is, he was saying stuff, but what hurt me is that mum agreed with him. I know she isn't the nicest. But you know after my coming out she didn't kick me out so I took that as a win. But no, she just thought that it was a mental breakdown and that I liked participating with "trends". ", Eddie was now shaking, he clenched his hand in a fist. He then hissed in pain as it was the hand that he had used to hit the table.

"I also kind of hit my fist against the table in the spur of the moment", he muttered.  At that Richie laughed and took the hand into his own and pressed a light kiss on it. Eddie's face heated up and he avoided making any eye contact. 

"I am so sorry, Eddie, they both can suck it. They are old, bigoted people and they don't change their mind that easily. ", Richie then said, his lips still against Eddie's knuckles. 

Eddie nodded, but he felt so helpless. His eyes were tearing up and he knew that he wouldn't be able to hold tears a second time today. It was when Richie wrapped his arms around his frail shoulders that Eddie started crying. 

"It's going to be okay, Eds, I promise", Richie shushed to Eddie and the crying boy felt the need to tell Richie that they had talked about him too. 

"It isn't that that upset me, not really. But Pennywise made a comment about you, after which my mother replied that you were bad influence", Eddie whispered, scared that he would upset Richie. 

"What did he say about me?", Richie asked, not one ounce of worry visible on his face. 

"He called you "one of those fags" and a "bad influence", the words were barely audible and Eddie wasn't sure if Richie had hear what he had said, because there was no reaction for a while. Until Richie started to laugh. Eddie looked at him as if he was going mad. What was happening, he didn't know. 

"At least the clown was right about one thing" 

It took a few seconds for Eddie to process that one sentence and he immediately started arguing. 

"Of course you're not a bad influence, you are one of my best friends and one of the best people I've ever known, don't you dare to suggest that you are a bad influence", Eddie ranted, pissed off, not believing that Richie out of all the people would say that about himself. 

Richie started laughing once more and now Eddie was lost, completely and utterly lost. 

"Why are you laughing now, you asshole!?", Eddie yelled and hit Richard on the arm. 

"Because I meant that he was right about me being a fag, not a bad influence, which was never the truth, by the way. Have you met me, I am the best!", Richie laughed so much he almost fell of the hood of the car. 

Is he joking? What does he mean by that? Why the hell would he say that? The questions raced through Eddie's mind. 

"Eds, calm down, I can hear the gears turning in your head."

It was Richie that spoke up first and to be honest with you, it did calm Eddie down. 

"I didn't know you were gay?", Eddie settles for that, feeling that it would be better than any other questions running in his head. 

Richie chuckled: "I know, I didn't really realize I was until last summer."

“Oh”

That was the only thing that Eddie could say. He wanted to ask so many things, say so many things, but he couldn’t mutter anything except ‘oh’. 

After that there was silence, comfortable silence, but silence nonetheless. Both men looked at the sky that slowly turned into a night sky, the colors changing from blue to purple to soft pink and orange.

“You know what made me realize I was gay?”, Richie said after a while and Eddie shook his head. Expecting Richie to tell him, he didn’t know why he was met with silence . he turned to look at his friend and saw him biting his lip, a thing he used to do when he was nervous about something. 

“You don’t have to share it with me, it’s something personal and you shouldn’t have-“, Eddie’s sentence was cut of with: “It was you, you made me realize.”

Eddie did not expect that. At all. Richie looked over at his friend, wanting to see his reaction. His mouth was slightly open and his eyes wide. Damn, he looked cute, Richie thought. 

“Come on, say something before I make a fool of myself”, Richie laughed and Eddie wanted to say something, he really did, but no words came out of his mouth 

“Sorry if I made this shit awkward, Eds. Just forget-”

Now it was Richie’s turn to be cut off, not by something Eddie said. No, Richie was cut off by something Eddie did. He had pressed his lips against those of Richie.

Fuck, he is kissing me! Oh, shit, this is really happening!

 Eddie had picked up all the courage that was in him and did something he had wanted to do for years now. And that felt good! God, that felt so good. Richie’s lips were rough under his own, but it was the best kiss he had ever had. Not that it was hard to surpass that, he had only been kissed twice in his life. 

The kiss could have lasted a few seconds, minutes or hours, Eddie had lost all concept of time, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered besides Richie, who was here, kissing him back. 

It is Richie that breaks of the kiss, still holding Eddie’s face. He didn’t know when he had cupped is cheek, but right now he didn’t want to let go of him. 

“You are the one that made me realize too, you know”, Eddie said shyly, as if he didn’t just do the bravest thing he had ever done. There was a faint blush coloring his cheeks and gosh, did he look good! It was amazing how much the person you loved made you feel. And that is what it was, love, because this wasn’t a silly little crush. Richie loved Eddie and he has loved him for years now. It was only this summer, when Eddie was packing for college, ready to leave, that Richie could pinpoint his feelings for his best friend. The thought of losing Eddie had been so painful, he hadn’t understand it at first. It was weird because it didn’t hurt when he thought of his other friends leaving, only Eddie leaving, that hurt as hell. 

And now, Eddie had kissed him, had admitted that Richie was special to him too and that, that gave him enough courage to say: “I love you, Eddie”

No silly nicknames, no joking, just real feelings and for once the truth. 

“Really?”, Eddie choked out, his voice so quiet that Richie had almost missed it. He nodded, pulled Eddie against himself and kissed him, softer now. Tender and slow. Not hard and desperate as the first kiss. 

“I’ve been in love with you since we were 13”, Eddie said, a bit out of breath. Richie pulled Eddie closer, but didn’t kiss him this time. He just wanted to cuddle this amazing man that loved him too! How he got so lucky he didn’t know. They stayed that way and it was perfect. Stars started to appear and honestly, that was even more beautiful than the sundown. 

It is when Eddie starts to shiver that Richie suggested that they went back to his place and Eddie quickly agreed. The drive back was quiet too, but felt so different from the ride to the spot they would both see as their own. 

Richie held Eddie’s throughout the whole drive and god, did his hand feel good in Eddie’s. He still couldn’t believe that Richie was his now. Sure it may be dumb to assume that Richie wanted a relationship, but this is what it felt like. 

What if Richie didn’t want a long term relationship like Eddie wanted so badly? It is at that moment that the taller of the two spoke up again. 

“I can literally hear you think, Eds”, he laughed. Eddie blushed and looked down to their intertwined hands. 

“I know it’s stupid, but I got to ask . You want a relationship, right? Not just a one time thing?”

Richie looked over at Eddie, the man he loved, the one he had always admired, his closest friend. 

“Yes, Eddie . I really want you to be my boyfriend and to that extend, for me to be your boyfriend.” 

Eddie blushed again and smiled at Richie, his boyfriend. He knew that even though his mum would never change, even though there are some nasty people out there, he will be alright. 

Because he has Richie, just like he always had.

[picassho-18]

creative writing piece!

A/N: Hi guys! So I am in a introduction to prose writing class right now, and I just wrote a short story I am really proud of and thought I would share it on here. Its not marvel or fandom related but it is set in the 1800′s and I like to think it’s interesting! Please feel free to read it, and it would be great if I got some feedback on it! Thanks!!

Word Count: 2190

Trees on the Horizon

Short story by Kate

19 years old.

The words were simply not writing themselves down on the blank, yellowed paper in front of her. Her fingertips danced on top of the paper, fountain pen tucked in the crook of her hand as she debated the message she wanted to send. 

Elizabeth Mae Williams.

Her name was written neatly, perfectly, scrawled across the top with her best ink. But what was needed underneath was undetermined. Who was she and how did she want to convey herself?

Was she progressive? This unwavering and determined woman, alone in a cruel world made by men. Or was she someone who craved the comfort and support of one of those men? Surrendering to a role designated for women in this society that meant warmth and security, but limited any and all freedom.

While she was already her father’s possession, surely she must want escape from a limited lifestyle of servitude. But must that lead her into the arms of another man, a transference of property and dowry, a transaction, that never allows any form of decisions or wants on behalf of the woman?

Or could this promise of education provide the escape she craves? Could society be moving forward enough to allow her into a college that enables her into an independent individual?

All these thoughts swirled inside her head as she debated the perfect message, one that must convince a group of people that she was worthy of college, which would provide her passageway from the only world she knows; the ever shrinking Georgetown; a place she has called home since birth and yet her only desire is to leave it.

11 years old.

Elizabeth always sat in the front row. Every day, her mother would remind her how lucky she was that Georgetown had a schoolhouse, especially with how it allowed girls to learn with the young boys as well. So she sat upright and at attention, her eyes following the teachers every movement of her wrist as she wrote on the blackboard.

“Our lovely Georgetown has suffered many fires, but the very first one caused our town to relocate. Does anyone know what year that was?”

No one raised their hands. Elizabeth looked around, hesitant when none of the boys in the classroom appeared like they knew.

Slowly, she raised her hand, “It was in 1852, Miss Everling.”

The teacher clapped her hands together in joy, “That is correct, Miss Williams.”

The boys groaned, annoyed that she yet again got an answer correct. The few other girls glared at her from rows away. Only the red-headed boy gave her a soft smile of encouragement.

Miss Everling glanced around the room, noticing the hostility before clearing her throat and continuing the history lesson, “Alright, boys and girls. Can anyone explain how the fire department was established in Georgetown?”

Elizabeth peered around the room again, the answer on the tip of her tongue. Yet again no one raised their hands. And neither did she. Instead she looked out her window, staring at the trees on the horizon that seemed to grow farther and farther away.

12 years old.

Slowly passing the wooden buildings on their sides, the bar soon approaching on their left, Elizabeth and Mary matched stride for stride, the pair leaned close, heads tilted together. With ever so slightly hushed voices, Mary began to talk, explaining exactly what Elizabeth has been anticipating to hear since she had woken up this morning.

“And now my aunt is the Dean at DePauw University!” she exclaimed a little too loudly, earning a few undesired glances from a few of the drunks lounging outside the bar. Quickly, the pair walked past the entrance, before resuming, “she got promoted; the University thought it would be progressive and recognized her talent!”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened in surprise, not believing that a woman could actually become a Dean of the University. “Please tell me you are not joking!”

“I swear it. It is bottom fact!” Mary said, grinning madly, excitement coursing through the pair as Elizabeth heart swelled at the revelation, pulse picking up at the new possibilities springing into her head.

“Oh, how desperately jealous I am of your Aunt!” Elizabeth shook her head, grin still on her face, as she thought about how lucky —

Mary nudged Elizabeth playfully, interrupting her thoughts, “Don’t you think Dean Arabella Mansfield of DePauw University just sounds lovely?!”

A hopeful grin rested on Elizabeth’s face, as she sighed woefully, “Yes. It sounds splendid.”

14 years old.

Oh how lucky she was! Elizabeth was ecstatic, and a beaming smile shining brightly, as she had an old edition of a law textbook in her hand. The pages were battered, the spine worn and discolored, yet the name written inside the book was as evident and bright as day; Arabella Mansfield. 

Mary had requested any study materials that Arabella could spare, which led to her aunt sending back two law textbooks she had used to study for the Iowa Bar exam.

Elizabeth was walking home from Mary’s home, her heart beating fast like she just acquired pounds of treasure. 

The book opened in her hands, her fingers brushed over the pages delicately, squinting closely at the handwritten marks left behind by Arabella. Her focus was directed entirely on her new possession, her face decorated in awe at what was right there, between her hands.

She had no time to notice the approaching wagon, pulled by two brown horses, coming closer right in her path.

The man holding the reins shouted out, “Get out of the road!” trying to pull the horses to the side.

Elizabeth yelped out, barely getting out the way of the gigantic horses as they squealed at the close quarters. She lost balance, falling down, her dress now directly in the muddy water off the side of the road.

The man grumbled, “Ya damn girl!” before continuing down the road, getting control over his horses once again.

Teeth gritted, and hands clenched in tight fists, she calmed herself while her fingernails dug into her palms. Slowly, she gathered herself, trying her best to brush off the dirt and mud from her skirts, but her heart sank when she saw the book laying open, and faced down. She quickly got up and reached for the book, frantically wiping off the mud that was caking the exposed pages. Her chest tightened, tears threatening to spill down her face, but she refused.

Elizabeth straightened her back and continued her walk home.

15 years old.

Alone in the school room, save for the teacher that was gathering her worn leather bound books, Elizabeth sat in the front row, the familiar seat an echo of comfort. Her window framing a dark and cloudy landscape outside, as her classmates trudged home through the gusty winds.

Miss Everling walked right in front of the desk that separated the two ladies, soft eyes staring at the young student, “Miss Williams, do you know why I wanted to talk to you after the lessons?”

“No, ma’am. I do not know.” Elizabeth gulped, worry now eating away at her, as the teacher looked around the room, ample time on her hands.

“You are a very bright student, Miss Williams. Do you have any dreams of furthering your education?” Miss Everling asked simply, as Elizabeth’s breath caught, becoming excruciating aware of the book she had stashed in her bag, alongside her feet.

Elizabeth responded hesitantly, choosing her words wisely, “Well, it is not deemed very proper for a woman to go to a university. Not many would accept me.”

“But would you want to go? If you could?” Miss Everling continued to prod, but then said something that caused Elizabeth’s heart to skip a beat, “What if I could help you get into a University?”

Elizabeth sat completely still, confusion flooding her system, yet deep inside her, hope began to grow despite her refusing to believe.

“How?” she asked quietly, refusing to make eye contact.

Miss Everling smiled, seeing her student’s possible excitement at the notion. “I would make it work. Are you interested?”

Elizabeth stared at her, wonder in her eyes, breath caught in her chest, but she managed to nod, “Wholeheartedly.”

16 years old.

They were nicknamed the Growlers. The miners covered from head to toe in dirt and ash, save for the clean skin around their eyes, nose, and mouth. When Elizabeth and Mary would walk to the school house in the mornings, the Growlers would be breaking their fast from the west.

Today was no exception. They were huddled, coffee and biscuits scattered around the dirty bunch, nibbling hungrily around the food, most of them barely batting an eye towards the pair as they passed every morning. 

Mary always liked to pass them. For when they broke their fast, they would strip to their trousers and pants, leaving the sweaty and dirty skin of their abdomens and chests exposed. 

Elizabeth found it very entertaining,  gesturing to the men, “You are in such a dire search for a husband, are you not?”

Mary giggled under her breath, catching the eye of her favorite, one of the miners’ sons. She gave him a soft wave along with a slightly flirtatious wink, as she walked past, before whispering to Elizabeth, “Oh, however did you know?”

“It could possibly have been the desire in your eyes whenever they lack shirts,” Elizabeth stated, smiling at her friend’s action. However, there was a young miner Elizabeth looked out for; his vibrant red hair only partially covered by the ash of the mine. The books in her hands slightly forgotten as she looked for the recognizable color whenever passing, a blush creeping over her face whenever the pair made eye contact, and more soft smiles were exchanged.

17 years old.

The neighbor's old wife was in her usual position, a ball of yarn nestled on top of her lap, as she rocked steadily in her wooden chair.

 “Darling, I simply do not know why you are playing around with this little dream of yours.”

Elizabeth glanced up, seeing the disapproving frown plastered on her face.

She continued, a shadow covering her eyes, cast by the white house behind her, shaking her head as she eyed Elizabeth up and down, “You should stop before you become too unobtainable. You do not want to appear unattractive with that wild spirit of yours.”

Mr. Smith, her husband who was somewhere in the house, called out, “Is that John's daughter?”

His wife responded, “Yes, darling. She was just stopping by for a chat.” She turned back towards Elizabeth, “I really do want what’s best for you. I do not want you ruining that life your daddy worked so hard to give you.”

Elizabeth gritted her teeth slightly, stopping the rushed response she so desperately wanted to yell out, before she curtseyed, grabbing the front of her skirts in the proper fashion and tipping her head. “Thank you, ma’am. I will most definitely keep that in mind.”

Suddenly her husband called from inside the house, his voice louder and booming, causing both Elizabeth and his wife to flinch suddenly, “Woman! Get in here and fetch me some whiskey!”

The wife glared and shook her head one last time at Elizabeth before standing up and brushing her skirts off. Elizabeth curtseyed one last time, calling out to her husband inside the house, “How a good afternoon, Mr. Smith!” and nodded a goodbye to the dutiful wife, “And you as well.”

27 years old.

She sat there, alone in the middle of the school house. The chair was much smaller than she remembered; The wooden desk in front of her, covered in etchings and symbols from past students from Georgetown. Looking around, Elizabeth observed the eerily familiar walls, old and withering maps adorning the wooden planks, and the same dirty and rusted blackboard at the front of the room. Chalk laid scattered about the floor, the dust collecting in shallow piles on the floor.

The window to her right, the one she would usually sit next to, was open. Outside, she saw the familiar head of red hair, her husband giving her a moment alone.The landscape beyond him consisted of an array of trees scattered about the horizon that still called out to her, as it always has.

But now. 

Now she knew what it was like to have an education outside the four walls of the small school house. Now she knew exactly what it took to go beyond these confines of the small Georgetown, and that she had what it took to get there.

Elizabeth now knew what was beyond the trees in the horizon, and she planned to know even more.

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Let me know if you liked it! And if you would like to see more of my not fandom related writing as well! Thank you!

[ifeveristoday]

 [video description: just me yelling for seven minutes straight]

Ok. Am I ready for this?

Every issue of the Boom! Verse has been building up layers of characterizations and the aftermaths of choices. Issue 9 shows us the fallout of two major events - the showdown at Sunnydale Museum, and Xander’s half Vampire state (and what Willow had to do to get him there).

It also touches on the fact that Buffy is in the Hellmouth with no way to contact the surface world.

Yet that isn’t the most pressing matter in this issue.

Relationships are frayed.

Everyone in the Scooby Gang is isolated.

Jenny has a cat.

Sorry, that’s not thematically relevant but I, as a cat person, am legally bound to discuss when there is a cat in media.

JENNY HAS A GREY TABBY WHAT IS THEIR NAME

Spoilers and reactions to issue nine under the cut - we scream and flail like men, who needs a review?

PTSD CLUB PTSD CLUB PTSD CLUB

edited to correct that bit about Willow’s hair and level of evil it indicates

Something that Jordie used early on is the narrator POV (unreliable perhaps) and it returns to this issue. But instead of Xander or Willow, it’s Joyce. And she’s grieving about the world she’s lost but what every parent knows in the back of their mind: the world is tough and scary and so many bad things can happen. And Joyce has survived the attack but there’s no Buffy to commiserate with, to fuss over in person. (Also, what a nod to Joyce’s obliviousness in TV canon - to believe that Buffy would just go on a mandatory field trip with no phone connection.) Luckily, she has Eric, who is supportive and says all the right things. 

Joyce’s disconnect with what she feels and the outside world’s determination to ‘life goes on’ is repeated in the rest of the issue, as our favorite Sunnydale residents deal with both small and large terrors.

Revelations besides Jenny’s cat:

Cordelia works in a clothing shop and there are some Portland looking dudes roaming around Sunnydale. Or maybe it’s Silver Lake. She still has a crush on Spike, because who hasn’t met a mysterious, well-muscled stranger emerging from the forest like a person-shaped Cheshire cat and thought, “Gotta get me some of that?”

I mean, a whole fairytale industry has grown up around that idea.

But despite all normal appearances (and Cordelia is the still most ‘normal’ character) and her Cordy Crew updates, life is not going to her plans. There are fissures erupting in the sidewalk, cracks appearing in walls, people are stressed and Cordelia can’t even play with her dog without falling over said fissures. Oh, and her books are dissolving into ash when she opens her locker.

So shit is horrible.

Willow’s dyed a black streak in her hair (honey, red hair is the hardest color to re-dye to. Your hair is so beautiful and now you’ve got to tone and strip the fuck out of that streak if you want a base to dye it red again - oh wait, magic, I guess) and is being rude and abrupt and just plain Not Willow with Rose and everyone.

Except Willow chafes at the idea of there being a standard for her - why should she be just the smart capable responsible one? While a vampire doppelganger doesn’t burst out of the wall and drawls that she’s bored now, Willow is resentful that Rose and everyone else expects her to be one way when hello, the world is on fire outside.

Rose has found out about the weird shit that goes on in Sunnydale and accuses Willow of keeping things from her, including giant bats and the fact that Buffy was there, and she, Willow’s girlfriend and considerably known her longer than Buffy (imp.)  wasn’t there or told about it.

Willow naturally thinks that Rose being jealous of Buffy is just stupid, because Buffy isn’t even there and honestly she’s not even thinking about it. Which causes Rose to worry why is her empathetic Willow like this?

Which makes Willow lash out that she’s tired of having to be the one who has to consider everyone else’s feelings but her own? Why can’t she have the space to figure out what she wants?

And like that, Rose and Willow are on a break.

Xander, in direct contrast to everyone else around him, is calm and sensitive and just generally being a good bean. He’s concerned about Willow and Buffy, but he’s not crowding Willow. He’s patrolling in Buffy’s absence and making stakes and friends with raccoons - and all of his warm-heartedness and acceptance of ‘everyone’s journey is different’ upsets Giles, who is stubbly and running on presumably zero sleep as he worries about Buffy, and the break in his relationship.

Xander’s facade of handling all the weird crap Sunnydale’s thrown at him gets blown when he encounters a vampire delivery boy in the cemetery. He wins the fight, but the vampire’s words taunting him that they’re just monsters, and not in-between--unfinished like Xander is, resonates with him. Xander’s been doing so well, learning how to live and cope with his depression, being a good friend and responsible evil thwarter - and then to have Giles dismiss him so coldly? And to have one of his worst fears spoken out loud - he’s not human anymore. Not in the way that it used to count. And he’s only half a vampire - and there’s no one else straddling that line so he’s still alone. 

Everyone needs a hug.

Especially Giles and Jenny, because shit, things get incredibly real in the next act. Giles heads over to Jenny’s house to make some kind of amends, but Jenny is understandably Not Having It. Giles disregards all of her reasonable requests, pushes past her and enters her home and then tries to make her understand how really, she’s wrong and he’s right and MAYBE IF SHE HADN’T GIVEN THE DAGGER TO DRUSILLA, THE WORLD WOULDN’T BE ON FIRE.

This is a mess. In so many ways Giles is wrong - he ignored her request to stay away, he invited himself in - and then spent too long trying to make excuses for why it was OK for him to do all of that shit. And he looks a hot mess while doing so - I don’t even think it’s the artwork style, it’s just that Giles is wild-eyed, wrecked, and actually slavering at the mouth as he tries to explain his point of view. He’s feverish and Jenny puts aside her anger for a minute to get him a glass of water. Like, yes, she’s furious with him, but she still loves him, even though this scary man practically foaming at the mouth doesn’t really look like her partner.

Jenny presses him on his attempt to protect them all, asking pointedly, what about her?

Giles automatically assumes she’s talking about Buffy and assures her that he knows Buffy’s capable of fending for herself, which is exactly the Wrong Thing to Say, because as previous issues have shown, Jenny is not cool with children having to save the world, and also, Buffy’s mom? How about her, Fuckhead Watcher Man.

And Giles goes and puts his whole head up his ass as he says that there are sacrifices that come with successes, as in any war - and Jenny loses it. Because Giles rants do you think that it’s easy for him to live to believe that everything in his life is disposable except for Buffy? That nothing else matters?

And Jenny reads the underlining footnote - if nothing matters, where does that leave her in his life?

FOR FUCK’S SAKE GILES YOU’RE DERANGED GO HOME

And Jenny’s cat agrees with me and hisses at him to leave Jenny alone.

Giles exits the house wondering aloud has everyone gone mad, while a suspicious rabbit looks on from the grass.

There’s a Tucker Wells/Andrew shades of who the fuck cares interlude about a lonely kid who stalks his school facebook to read the comments about classmates and I might be callous, but I actually do not care about those type of characters because guess what, lots of lonely kids and people out there and their first thought is not to kill everyone else. Anyway, I suspect this is a side effect of the Hellmouth magnifying negative thoughts.

It lingers on Buffy’s face and the comments - “She’s weird but hot.”

Now imagine that being her epitaph. 

This pans over to the last sequence - Robin is chilling at home, and his dad (!!!) tells him to go to bed, he doesn’t care how much this town is falling apart. Robin’s dad believes in education.

And guess who shows up at his door in the late of night?

KENDRA.

And she hits him with a Star Wars reference. “Aren’t you a little short for a watcher?”

[thesportssoundoff]

Sometimes Good Enough Just Ain’t Good Enough: 10 Challenges For The Yankees Going Forward

Joey

October 21st

At the end of the year, 29 teams will head into the latter stages of the Fall simply saying they weren't good enough. On Saturday night, it was the Yankees turn to stand up, look in the mirror and say "Not good enough" as they bowed out of the ALCS in the deciding sixth game of the series. When you win 100 games, survive countless injuries, win with a sweep in the ALDS and lose on a walk off in game 6 of the ALCS it's normally a successful season but this is New York where expectations aren't the same as Milwaukee, Oakland, St. Louis or any of the teams who played into October before finally saying "Not good enough!" as they hung up their hats. The Yankees expect championships and it's sometimes mutant fanbase (of which I am firmly a member of) are now going on 10 years of no ticker tape parades. Still let's not lose ourselves to delirium and point out that this is a damn good team with a deep core and plenty of organizational depth to take the next step. The Yankees aren't falling off or in a rebuild; they have a team that guarantees every October, they'll be talking about the chase for 28 in earnest. With the season in the rear view mirror, let's chit chat about ten things the Yankees have to do or figure out as they continue that chase for 28.

1. Fire the training staff

Easy enough! Injuries can sometimes be fluky but good lord, the Yankees were besieged with them. All three starting outfielders (Judge, Stanton, Hicks) saw IL time, their back up OFs saw IL time, their starting catcher saw IL time, starting 1B saw IL time, pitchers both high on the totem pole and in the jabroni ranks went on the IL. Clean house!

2. The same ol' same ol' scramble for a lead starter

Since the end of 2016 when the rebuild was officially over, this team has been chasing  the #1 starter you normally need in the post season. At the end of the day, it's just easier to win in the playoffs when you have a game 1 starter you have endless confidence in. While Boston got away with it in 2018, they also had Chris Sale who maybe didn't pitch like an ace but was clearly one of the top 5 starters in the AL that year.  The big myth is that the Yankees don't have good starting pitching and that is for the most part a lie. The Yankees pitching after the All Star break was pretty solid and in the playoffs they got quality enough from guys like Severino, Paxton and Tanaka on an inconsistent basis. The Yankees pitching rotation is NOT awful and plenty of teams would kill for a 1-2-3 of a healthy Louis Severino, Masahiro Tanaka in big games and James Paxton after the All Star Break where he went 10-3 with a 3.59 ERA and an 11 K/9. In the playoffs, Paxton was more good than bad and Tanaka shoved in two of the three games he pitched in. That said those three have all battled injuries (Paxton admittedly pitched with a knee he never quite felt great about) and all three of them weren't good enough in the playoffs. Maybe that changes with Severino healthy, Paxton more comfortable and Tanaka staying his usual course but it would be difficult to return with the same rotation in tact and say you feel confident about your chances against the Astros. This has been a chase that has spanned three years now as the Yankees tried with James Paxton, Sonny Gray and J.A Happ, were outbit on the likes of Carlos Quintana, Yu Darvish and Gerritt Cole and allegedly never tried for the likes of Marcus Stroman, Patrick Corbin, Justin Verlander and countless others. 2019 will be yet another year where they'll enter Christmas hoping to have a starter locked up.

The two obvious names will play next week when Gerrit Cole and Stephen Strasburg take the bump for Houston and Washington respectively. In the Yankees of old, George Steinbrenner would hand Brian Cashman a blank check and tell him to pay for one IF not both. Time's have changed for better and/or worse with the Yankees. Brian Cashman is a man of due diligence and a man with the longest leash in sports. The Yankees didn't spend on Corbin, didn't try on Harper and made a modicum of effort for Manny Machado last year. In the free agent market, they're likely to not play heavily unless Hal Steinbrenner pretty much demands it.  Paying for Cole and Strasburg is the easier fix but it's an avenue they've shied away from recently plus there are teams who "need" those guys more. The Yankees probably aren't as desperate as, say, the Angels are to win in the Mike Trout era and they've got money to play with so why not? The solution may be the trade market where the Yankees can make some hay in their search for a #1. Brian Cashman has parlayed his farm system (which is still plenty deep) into the opportunity to trade for arms in the past which figures to once again be the case. Conversely in the trade market, the farm is thinner than it's been in recent years AND Cashman prides himself on not losing trades. Also there's not much TO trade out there. Obviously it's his job as a GM to go out and find a potential solution that maybe the public hasn't heard is available but right now who is the best starter knowing that the Mets and the Yankees won't trade? It's not a robust market.

So your solutions are to pull a rabbit out of your hat or pay or hope Severino becomes an ace again after an injury plagued season. I suppose the only potential opt out route would be to sign a Hyun Jin-Ryu or a Jake Odorizzi and hope you can just build a deep rotation of names and faces that will give you quantity (while not high end quality) at the end of it.

3. Figure out Luke Voit

Let's play a game.

Player A- .333/.405/.689 195 wRC+ 14 HR 26.4% K rate Player B- .280/.393/.509 140 wRC+ 19 HR 25.8% K rate Player C- .238/.348/.368 95 wRC+ 4 HR 32.3% K rate

Player A is Luke Voit during his 2018 run with the Yankees Player B is Luke Voit up until he got hurt in the London Series Player C is Luke Voit from July 12th to the end of the year

Voit will never be the guy who took over the MLB in 2018. The sample size was bound to even itself out over time and Voit was bound to cool off when pitchers got to know him better. Player B though is a borderline All Star level first basemen. A power hitter who could hit for average, got on base at a solid clip and play a somewhat manageable first base is an asset for any team but especially a Yankees squad that has been hungry for competent first base play since injuries robbed Mark Texeira of his ability. Then? Voit got hurt. Back issues limited down the stretch and as you can tell by the numbers, Player C was awful. He just looked timid and afraid like he had been sapped of his confidence entirely. Luke Voit got left off the ALCS roster and had to watch as the offense struggled without him. Imagine a confident and healthy Luke Voit at the DH spot instead of Edwin Encarnacion when he went ice cold in the ALCS and maybe the series is a bit different. The Yankees are saddled with determining which half of the Luke Voit story is the real one. The Yankees are a better team when DJ LeMahieu is freed up to play 2B where he's an insanely elite defender and Luke Voit could help in that regard. At the same time? The Yankees have been burnt in the past by gambling at 1B (like when they kept thinking Greg Bird would finally put it together) and options would help. Even if he ran out of gas, Edwin Encarnacion did some good work when he was healthy and few dudes hit dingers the way he does when he's locked in. There's also Greg Bird I guess? Which reminds me....

4. MAYBE chase better balance

I don't believe a team gets better by marrying itself to letters next to names ie: we have to have x amount of leties in our pen. I do think that the Yankees righty heavy lineup could use some better balance. The team was batting Gardner 3rd in the playoffs despite his inability to do much of anything for stretches because they felt like they needed someone to break up the righties at the top of the bill. With two lefties about to hit free agency, maybe the Yankees need to flirt a bit with shaking things up in their lineup. Getting back a healthy Hicks would help of course but in general, this team could benefit from having maybe one more competent lefty bat especially if Did is out of here. It's not the sexiest name alive but given Voit's struggles down the stretch and the fact that they could probably use a more competent 1B defensively, maybe Mitch Moreland (former Red Sox 1B) as a back up/defensive replacement could make sense. Coming off an injury plagued season where he was still pretty damn productive vs righties. Maybe this is even where Mike Ford (who caught on late) fits as a future part of the team.

5. Figure out your free agents

Dellin Betances- There's some serious rebound value in bringing Betances back at fair market value. The Yankees just never had a replacement for what Betances could do as a pseudo fireman; a guy with low contact rates who can K a side and come in the middle of an inning to calm things down. Betances at a multi year deal would be a fair and modest investment.

Brett Gardner- There's a group of mutant Yankee fans who hate Brett Gardner and I feel like people forget Gardner was supposed to be at the very most a part time 4th OF. Injuries forced Gardner to continually play and he answered the bell quite well every time. He'll likely take a step back next year BUT he'll also be asked to play less.

Edwin Encarnacion- Was absolutely brutal in the ALCS but hits for power and usually has composed at bats. Was always a hired gun who the Yankees were probably gonna buy out when the time was right.

Didi Gregorios- Ugh. Didi went from being one of Brian Cashman's biggest steals and a potential cornerstone to a guy who will probably be allowed to test the open market. Didi's strengths are his defense, his clubhouse presence and his better than advertised bat but the Yankees have been waiting on him to take a firm step into top 10 SS for about two years now and it's not coming. He deserves a lot of credit for battling back from injury but he was brutal outside of games vs the Twins. I also sort of feel like his approach is all wrong for the Yankees as its constructed. For a team that preaches patience at the place and commanding the strike zone, Didi's approach often gets worse the more pitches he takes so he often swings at the first pitch and often does so when it's the wrong time. Defensively it looked like he took a step back as well although that may have been due to injury. The Yankees are better with DJ at 2nd and Gleyber at short and a competent 1B manning that spot but they love Didi so much (and he's so valuable when he's right) that they kept forcing him into the spot.

Austin Romine- Catching across the league is bad and Romine, noodle arm aside, is a solid back up catcher. Those tend to get signed for decent coin and normally for multi year deals. As such the Yankees need to maybe consider their options at the BUC spot because they won't have Romine.

Cameron Maybin- I'm not entirely sure Maybin's got a real fit here now. If Stanton, Judge and Hicks are healthy then it's probably him vs Gardner because Mike Tauchman has a long term future here. I wish Cameron Maybin well, he was a breath of fresh of air in the locker room and he deserves to have a good spot on a team somewhere.

6. Figure your outfield situation out

We know Judge, Stanton and Hicks are going to be here. Mike Tauchman was a star and a half for a month and change before injuries finally sapped him of his super powers. Gardner is a free agent but I'm betting the Yankees will bring him back comfortably so. Beyond them you have Estevan Florial (a former Yankees top prospect on a slide), Clint Frazier (a borderline toxic fit for the Yankees) as well as pseudo OFs Tyler Wade and Thairo Estrada. The Yankees OF depth tends to get tested throughout the year but is Clint Frazier better suited to be a trade piece for some team in desperate need of an outfielder?

7. Settle the 'pen out a bit.

Yankees have four tremendous bullpen arms tied up with Britton, Ottavino, Green and Kahnle comfortably under wraps. Aroldis Chapman will probably opt out in a so-so closer's market and the Yankees will probably re-sign him (they took the PR smear after trading for him and then brought him back so clearly they value him). If not? Britton was an ace closer but in general the bullpen needs more arms. Remember the CLOSEST they got for a trade in July was for Bluejays closer Ken Giles so I'd imagine they'll poke around there too. If you can't find a starter of high quality and won't trade for one then you need one more big arm in the pen. It'd be pretty cool to both a) get a stud reliever and b) hurt your primary rivalries by signing either Joe Smith or Will Harris from under Houston.

8. Find a role for whatever J.A. Happ is.

The Yankees got ace level production of J.A. Happ when they had him in 2018 and even including his playoff bust vs Boston, bringing him back in some form or fashion seemed like a can't miss concept. Well it done missed. Pick whatever metric you want and Happ was genuinely bad for a Yankees team that desperately needed him to ONLY be a competent arm. He did improve as the season went along (imagine how awful he had to be that his last five starts with a 2.33 ERA that it managed to ONLY finish at a sub 5 ERA) and a lot of his game felt like it was just blitzed by the juiced ball and a lack of adapting to that. Happ is still under contract for 2020 and it's going to be hard to shake his deal so you're stuck with him. Figure out I guess if he's a long man, a 5th starter or a really overly expensive LOOGY type.

9. Battle royal the 5th spot

Keeping with that, the Yankees were roasted for their lack of SP depth and it showed up big last year. The fact that this team turned to an opener and wound up riding the likes of Chance Adams and Nestor Cortes as long men suggests they got got by the lack of options in the rotation. Turn the 5th spot into a battle royal position. Jordan Montgomery, J.A. Happ, Johnny Lasagna, a few retreads on other teams who are a tinkered arm angle away from being a competent 5th starter etc etc etc. Don't go into the year just figuring your minor league depth options are going to be enough because it probably won't be.

Unless you want to sign Zack Wheeler or Jake Odorizzi and be done with it.

10. Accept Gary Sanchez

I guess this is more for Yankees fans than anybody else. Gary Sanchez is a good catcher. Offensively when he's healthy, he's among the game's best and defensively? He's actually improving really well to be one of the better catches in the AL. He has a crazy throwing arm and while stolen bases are becoming less frequent, he's still got the ability to further mitigate that.  Sanchez is a good player who plays the most physically demanding position in baseball and does a good job at it. His playoff numbers were abysmal this year but I still have faith.

[jadekitty777]

Who Needs Sleep When We Have Sugar?

Alright, so, after admittedly having not such a great day I decided maybe posting up the next chapter to the Golden Hummingbird series will cheer me up (long story short, car accidents suck). The best news I have though is what was originally just 4 parts will now be 5. I started writing the new chapter earlier this week.

Fun Fact: This chapter is the first I wrote. Originally, it was meant to be a one-shot as part of the 100 Days of Taiqrow series. I wanted to sprinkle in some OT3′s and well, like Trokia, when I got started I kind of just kept going.

Word Count: 1,700

Pairing: Summer/Tai/Qrow

Ao3 Link: Who Needs Sleep When We Have Sugar?

Summary: A sleepless night leaves Tai and Qrow contemplating the fragility of memory and the effort to preserve what is left now that Summer is gone.

(A.K.A: The chapter you all knew had to be coming eventually.)

~

The shattering of glass awoke Qrow immediately.

He jumped from the bed, hand already around his weapon and heart pounding with adrenalin as he sprinted down the dark hall. As he passed the girls’ room, where a sleepy Yang was poking her head out, he told her, “Stay in your room.”

He was down the stairs and in the living room within a matter of seconds, sword up and at the ready as he surveyed the room for any intruders. Zwei wasn’t in his bed – he’d have to talk to the girls again about not sneaking him up the stairs at night. Nothing else seemed disturbed though; all the windows were intact and the front door was still secure. The only thing that seemed out of place was the light spilling from underneath the kitchen door.

He tiptoed over to it, straining his hearing, picking up on the faint sound of movement. Footsteps. There was someone inside the house! His mind whirled with tactics. Being an elite huntsman, he knew he could handle a small-time burglar, but he still knew better than to lower his guard to an enemy. If he caught them by surprise, he’d have the advantage.

He curled his hand down over the knob, all his muscles tense and ready to spring. He took a breath, counted down from three, and yanked the door open. He jumped onto the kitchen table with a war cry, “WHAT’RE YOU-”

He was interrupted by a yell and a broom being swung his way. He meant to block it, but his blade sheared right through the handle instead. By the time it was clattering on the ground, he’d gotten enough of his bearings to realize exactly who he was fighting.

“Uh. Hey Tai.” Qrow mumbled. In his field of vision, he also noticed that Zwei was scuttling about on the counter, looking for a way to get down.

Tai still had his dustpan up like a shield, and he scowled from around it. “What the hell Qrow?! You damn near gave me a heart attack!”

He lowered his sword, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Uh, I heard something break so I thought, we were, uh… being broken into?”

“And yet you didn’t think that maybe it was me?” Tai asked.

“Well how was I supposed to know!”

“We share a bed!”

“I-!” He flushed brightly and sat down on the tabletop, huffing indignantly. “Well maybe if some people weren’t scuttling around at 2AM!”

As Tai crouched to sweep up shards of glass with his newly compacted broom, he retorted, “Kettle, black.”

Qrow bit his tongue to keep himself from retaliating because he knew if they started talking about his drinking, they were going to fight. And if they fought, it would almost inevitably lead to them breaking things off between each other. Again.

He really didn’t want to have to deal with that in the middle of the night when he’d rather be sleeping. Rather, when they both should be sleeping!

“You know we have work in like, five hours, right?” When that only earned him a listless ‘mmhmm’, he went from being annoyed, to worried. “Hey. You okay?”

Tai sighed, shaking his head. “Look, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Qrow had learned years ago to never let that slide. “Why not?”

“Because it’s – it’s stupid okay?”

“Stupider than what I just did?”

He glanced up at him, appraising him carefully. “Unfortunately, it takes a special kind of talent to have your brand of stupid.”

In reprimand, he nudged his shoulder with his foot. “Then I guess you can tell me.” His leg was bat away with the broom handle. He waited, but when it was apparent he was just going to be ignored, he decided to break out his secret weapon: “Tai. Please.”

The sweeping slowed and then stopped. “It’s really nothing.” He finally said. “I just had a bad dream.”

Alarm bells started ringing throughout his head. “Again?”

“It wasn’t like the ones before.” He said quickly, giving him a faint smile. “Promise.”

Qrow eyed him skeptically. His partner didn’t tend to lie, but he did have a bad habit about downplaying the issue until it was too big to manage. It had run him ragged real fast during the height of his depression and the restless dreaming had been one of those cases. He would drag himself through the day, brushing off his waning energy, growing irritability and constant napping as nothing to be worried about. But when he couldn’t focus on even supervising his students, resulting in one of them not locking the safety on their rifle and accidentally shooting out the window, Tai finally had to come clean.

(“Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

“Because things are hard enough as it is. And I – I don’t want you to look at me and eventually just see this big tangle of problems!”

“And who do you want me to see?”

“Someone you can count on.”

“Tai, you could have a million issues, and I’d still know that.”)

Still, that had been years ago, and things had eventually settled into something normal and their little family managed to find some solace – even despite the fact he and Tai couldn’t seem to stay together for more than a few weeks out of a year. When they were though, it was undeniable they both felt the gap between them where their third partner had once been.

So as he looked into Tai’s melancholy expression, Qrow didn’t bother to pussyfoot around it, “Was it about Summer?”

He averted his gaze, tilting the dustpan and watching all the glass slid to one side. “Yeah. It was pretty dumb. We were just trying to make cookies, but I couldn’t get any of the steps right. It was like I’d forgotten the whole thing. She was so mad at me; it was actually really cute.” He got to his feet so he could dump the dustpan.

Qrow watched him and for the first time he noticed all the ingredients spread across the kitchen counter. Flour, sugar, eggs, butter. He looked back to Tai, who was placing Zwei on the floor. “So you decided the best remedy was coming down here and proving her wrong?”

That one got a laugh. “Not exactly.” He hopped up onto the table beside him, close enough their shoulders brushed. “When I woke up, at first I didn’t think anything of it. But, as I tried to fall back asleep I kept thinking about it and I couldn’t stop. Because, I realized… I am forgetting things about her. I mean, I still know all the easy stuff.” He held up his hand ticking them off as he said them: “Her birthday. Her favorite color. How she likes her tea. But then,” His finger curled inward and he pressed the fist against his chest, “There’s the other stuff. Things I know I used to know but they’re just gone now. I knew it was bound to happen eventually but, it just feels so soon.”

Qrow glanced between the impromptu baking attempt and Tai, understanding dawning. This wasn’t about seeing if he could remember her recipe. It was about keeping Summer’s memory alive.

“I know I’m overreacting but, I started to worry; what if I forget the big things? Like her voice? Or the way her laugh sounded? Or her face?”

The last one made him snort, bumping his shoulder. “Don’t think that last one is much of a concern, since we have a literal mini-me version of her running around.” He lent back some, adding, “But I know what you mean. It’s like time’s erasing her. But you know what neither of us are ever going to forget?”

He looked over curiously. “What?”

“How much we loved her.”

Tai stared.

And then he just started laughing.

“W-What?! What’s so funny!” Qrow snapped.

“It’s just - hahaha! – you saying something sappy like that!”

He slapped his arm, feeling heat rising to his face. “Shut up man! Or I’ll remind you of our third anniversary and how you tried to serenade me and Sums.”

That shut him up quick, though he still couldn’t contain his grin. “Ah, what, singing wasn’t my forte?”

Qrow groaned. “Don’t.”

“Or perhaps it wasn’t in tune to your interests?”

“Taaai.”

Before he could think of another one, a tiny voice called, “Dad?”

A second one followed, “What are you guys doing on the table?”

They both looked over, seeing the girls both standing in the doorway with Zwei at their heels. It seemed Yang had determined that something awful must have happened, because she had her training gloves on and, to act as makeshift armor, she had tied pillows around her and Ruby’s bodies.

“Oh uh,” Qrow rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, should’ve come up to tell you everything was fine.”

Ruby came skipping in, looking disappointed.  “Ahhh, but I wanted to fight for your honor!”

“My honor?” He repeated, amused.

“Yeah, the girl always has to fight for the guy’s honor.”

“I think that’s the other way around pipsqueak.”

“Nuh-huh, Yang said!”

Qrow looked over his shoulder, where Yang had clambered up onto the table. “Is that so?”

She shrugged, clinging onto her dad’s back. “It’s more interesting that way. So, what are you guys doing?”

He shared a look with his partner. Tai grinned, “Well, I was just thinking how nice it would be to pack some fresh cookies into your lunches tomorrow.”

Ruby lit up brighter than a holiday tree. “Cookies?!”

Though they were all going to be dead tired come morning, Qrow couldn’t help but join in, “Yeah and I was just about to help. Why don’t we all make them together?”

“Yeah!” Both girls cheered, Zwei joining in with a few loud yips.

Predictably, it turned into a nightmare of spilled flour, broken eggs, stolen chocolate chips and lots of loud laughter. As the house was filled with the sweet scent of baking cookies and the warmth of the oven, it was as if Summer’s presence was right there with them, hugging them as she laughed along.

-

A/N: Prompt was 94: “I had a bad dream again” (I obviously adjusted a bit)

[joelyjo]

Fic - Everything in its Place

Author: joelyjo

Rating: Strong R (sex and birth)

Summary: Scully is determined that the new baby will be born at home. Will it be peace and calm and everything in its place? Or will it be drama-filled all over again?

Author’s Notes: Written for the Nursery Files Labour (Sorry, I can’t bring myself to miss out the U) Day challenge, although it’s a bit late because I’m a bit rubbish at deadlines. Any feedback is very welcome. I’m fairly new to the fandom on tumblr, if not to writing, and eager for anything, be it positive or negative! Thanks, all.

 Tagging: @marinafrenzy and @today-in-fic

 William came into the world like a storm. When Scully thinks back to that night in Democrat Hot Springs, all she remembers is the white-hot pain and the burn of anxiety. She’d never felt more alone in a room full of people. Never been so terrified.

This time, she is adamant. It will be a peaceful birth. It will be at home and she will have Mulder with her through every contraction and every push. She tells her doctor all this and he listens, calmly and patiently.

“It’s lovely that you have such a clearly outlined birth plan, Dana. But you must remember that babies come when they are ready and things rarely go to plan. Be prepared for your plan to get shot all to hell.”

Scully sees Mulder looking from the doctor to her and back again and can read his thoughts like an open book. He does not fancy this doctor’s chances at appealing to Scully’s sense of reason and logic. “Mulder,” she says, pre-empting his interjection. “You know this is what I want.”

“Oh, I know it, Scully.” He glances again at the doctor, their gazes conspiratorial. She knows they will speak when he can get her out of earshot. Well, let them plot, she thinks. She will have this baby at home and everything will be in its place.

Six weeks before her due date, she begins to nest. The house is cleaned from top to bottom. She gets down on her knees and scrubs things that haven’t been scrubbed in decades, turns out cupboards and drawers, vacuums until she breaks the vacuum. Mulder tries to help, but most of the time his efforts end in him failing to meet her exacting standards and giving up before they come to blows over the right way to fold tiny onesies and stack diapers.

Her mood is alternately calm and zen then raging like a hurricane. She can’t sleep properly, can’t get comfortable in any position… and, just when she thinks things are at their nadir, they have a heatwave. July sun pounds down on the house and every room is hotter than hell. She curses Mulder for not fixing the AC and casts him from the house to find an engineer, but every engineer in the state is booked up for weeks. So instead she basks in front of a desk fan, takes to wandering the house in her underwear. Mulder stares and spends the week trying to hide a series of persistent erections. She is almost ready to climb into the refrigerator when the heat breaks in a massive thunderstorm that lasts most of the night.

In the morning, he brings her coffee and rye toast in bed and she feels like a different woman. She realises why when she stands naked before the bedroom mirror and sees that the baby has dropped. Mulder comes from behind her and wraps his arms around her, his big hands cupping the massive watermelon of her abdomen. “I can breathe again, Mulder,” she tells him, almost dizzy with the rush of oxygen. He smiles and kisses her neck.

“Not long now,” he murmurs and she smiles back at him. She is ready.

But nothing happens. Days pass and her due date approaches. Her bad mood returns and Mulder does his best to keep out of her way. Even that is not enough, though, and one day she follows him into work, waddling down to the basement to complain about the mess and try to take over his latest investigation. Skinner finds them arguing an hour later and nothing can hide the expression that passes across his face when his eyes fall on her swollen belly.

“Agent Scully, what are you doing here?”  His voice is full of concern, but there’s just enough chastisement to make her blood boil. She rounds on him.

“This is my office. I can be in it if I wish… sir.”

Skinner glances at Mulder and the two men share a beleaguered look. Scully’s fury mounts. She is standing behind the desk, her hands on her hips, and she knows she is more intimidating than an angry bull.

It takes them two hours to convince her to go home.

Two days later, the midwife comes to the house. Her name is Joy and she is a sweet, middle-aged Hispanic lady with amazing hair and a no-nonsense manner. She wastes no time at all in scoping out the house, sizing up where to place the birthing pool, the foetal monitor, the weighing scales, the gas cylinders. Scully is heartened by her professionalism and tells Mulder how pleased she is that they found the extra $500 for a nurse-midwife. “It’s not that I’m expecting anything to go wrong,” she tells Joy. “I’m a medical doctor myself and I’ve done this in somewhere with no electricity and no running water.” She leaves out the bit about being surrounded by alien witnesses. Joy may appear no-nonsense, but that detail is likely to send her packing. “But I am glad you are going to be here.”

“It’s nice that you’re happy and feel secure, Miss Scully,” Joy replies. “But I want you to remember that birth is a funny old game. It happens when it happens and how it happens can be anybody’s guess. Be prepared to find yourself back in the hospital because I won’t allow anything to happen that puts you or your baby at risk.”

Mulder nods in the background.

That evening, they fire up the grill and Mulder cooks steak and spicy vegetable kebabs. Afterwards, they sit together on the porch swing in the gathering darkness and watch the night insects crowding around the lamps. Mulder cradles her belly, rubbing gentle circles over the taut skin and Scully finds herself softening with his touches. “I’m sorry if I’ve not been very easy to live with these last few weeks,” she confesses.

Behind her, Mulder chuffs out a laugh. “I think I preferred being dead.”

She scowls at him and bats his bicep with her hand. “I’m huge, my feet are so swollen I can barely get my shoes on, my whole body aches, I want to pee constantly, I can’t get comfortable, I can’t sleep but I’m so tired. It’s enough to put anyone in a bad mood.”

“Yeah,” says Mulder ruefully. “I guess I never thought about it before. I didn’t really pay attention last time – there were other things on my mind.”

“I know.”

She twists and leans up to kiss him. He is warm and there is the lingering taste of spices on his breath. “I love you,” she says against his mouth. He doesn’t reply, but he takes her face in his hands and kisses her thoroughly and she hears him anyway.

Three days later, she wakes with backache and an odd feeling in her abdomen. It’s not pain, as such, but a kind of tightness. She goes to the calendar and crosses off the previous day, a habit she got into around 30 weeks and mulls the sensation over. Her due date is tomorrow. The day after Labor Day. She can’t remember clearly feeling anything similar before, but then, she muses, everything happened so fast towards the end that, like Mulder, she didn’t notice much of anything with any focus.

She showers and dresses while he goes out for a run, setting some coffee to brew when she thinks he’s been gone about his usual time. Taking her own mug of green tea out onto the porch, she unfolds one of the loungers and is dozing in the sunshine when he bounds up the porch steps, sweaty and breathing hard. He greets  her with a kiss and a cheerful, “Enjoying the holiday weekend, Scully?”

She opens one eye and regards him critically. “Ugh. Go shower and then we’ll talk. There’s coffee in the pot.”  

He nods, grins and withdraws upstairs. A moment later she hears the water start in the bathroom, then some time later, he returns in chino shorts and a tank, hair wet and with the scent of shower gel on his skin. He hoists himself up and perches on the porch rail with the kind of nimbleness that makes Scully ache with jealousy. Sitting there with his tanned, muscular limbs on show he looks all of twenty-five instead of fifty-something. “It’s Labor Day, the weather’s great,” he says. “What shall we do?”

“Have a baby?” she suggests.

“Well, yeah, there is that,” he agrees with a grin. “But what if baby’s not playing ball?”

Scully sighs. She is done with being pregnant, done to the point that any activity other than giving birth seems an unattractive option.

“I know you’re sick of this, Scully,” he says.

She makes a face. “No kidding, Mulder.”

“Yeah… No kidding. But is it better to be sick of it stuck indoors sniping at each other or sick of it outside in the sunshine with a chance of being distracted?”

Considering his suggestion, she thinks that she could quite easily hunker down here on the lounger for the rest of the day, but she can see the look in his eyes and knows that if she chooses that, he might just go anyway, without her, and that she absolutely does not want. “Okay,” she agrees.

“A walk and an ice-cream at Burke Lake?”

The idea surprises her with how good it sounds. “Yeah… Okay. You’re going to have to help me tie my shoes though.”

The lake is glorious in the early September sunshine and after she manoeuvres herself out of the car, she has to stand a moment, flexing the muscles in her back and admiring the expanse of twinkling water. Scully wonders briefly why he chose here, of all the places he could’ve picked, but can’t put her finger on a reason why. The place is sort of familiar and she figures she must have visited before with her family or maybe with Daniel or Jack – it’s the kind of place you might come with a romantic partner. He comes to stand behind her and looks out at the lake too. “Gorgeous, isn’t it?” She nods. “You up for a short walk, then?”

There are other people here, but it is not as busy as she imagined it would be, so they set off on one of the flat, easy trails along the lakeside. She feels huge and ungainly and walks so slowly she is sure Mulder must be frustrated, but he seems content to fall into pace beside her. She reaches for his hand and he takes it, interlocking their fingers and then smiling down at her, his eyes obscured by sunglasses. “Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

They walk for a mile or so, then she has to stop. Her back is still aching and although she had thought the exercise might have helped it, it doesn’t seem to have had that effect. She perches on a boulder and rolls her shoulders, stretching herself out. Mulder leaves her alone and jogs down to edge of the river to skim stones across the gently lapping surface. “Hey,” she shouts after a few moments. “You promised me ice-cream!”

He turns and grins up at her. “I sure did, Scully. You want to head back?”

“I want ice-cream.”

On the way back to the car, Scully spots a picnic area and a kiosk selling snacks and ice cream and instructs Mulder to make good on his offer. While he goes to fulfil his duty, she wanders vaguely amongst the empty wooden tables then beyond through the parkland. She finds a shady spot beneath a tree and eases herself down onto the grass, feeling a little like a camel trying to get its awkward limbs folded in just the right way. Mulder returns with two enormous cones of ice-cream drizzled in strawberry sauce and drops down beside her. They sit and eat in silence for a while, then Mulder pauses and frowns. “You are sure about this home birth thing, aren’t you?”

She blinks and turns to him. She had guessed this was coming, in fact, she’s surprised he hasn’t said something already. It’s felt like he’s been holding back since Joy visited. “It’s just… If I’d had to place a bet on where you’d want to have this baby, it wouldn’t have been our lounge.”

She is half a breath away from snapping at him, tired and defensive as she is, then stops herself. Instead, she takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Mulder, when William was born, I was surrounded by aliens, in a place I’d never seen before, with nobody I loved nearby. It was the most frightening experience of my life.” Mulder’s face is still, but his eyes are locked on hers. “I don’t know why I’ve been given this second chance, why we’ve been given this, but I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that things are as far removed from that first experience as I can make them. So I don’t want a roomful of people, and a strange hospital suite. I want home…” She reaches out to take his hand in hers. “And us.”

“Even if it’s dangerous?”

“There’s no reason to think that it will be dangerous,” she assures. “I’m fit and healthy, all the scans have shown the baby is fit and healthy too. We have Joy. We’re not hundreds of miles from civilisation with an alien threat hanging over us. I’ve done this before.”

He stares at her for a long time, then starts to nod. She smiles as she realises he is acquiescing to her wishes and squeezes his hand. He returns the gesture and then places his hand on her belly, palm flat, and holds it there. Scully watches him, remembering another time when he touched her in the same way, when she lay in a hospital bed and neither of them was sure about anything. “Home,” he says, and his voice is rough with emotion. “Us.” He leans in to kiss her, softly at first, then with a growing passion.

Breaking away, she looks around them. It is quiet but still a public place, and she can hear the distant sounds of children whooping and yelling down by the lake, the hum of a motorboat. The sun glints off faraway car windows. She hunkers closer to him and presses her mouth to his neck. “You know,” she murmurs against his skin, “they say that one of the most reliable ways to bring on labour is to have sex.”

Mulder pulls back and regards her amusedly. “Here?” She arches her brows. “My, my, Dana Scully, what has got into you? I’m not objecting, but…” Her hand closes around his crotch and his breathing hitches. “But… wow. You must really be sick of this.”

“You have no idea, Mulder,” she tells him and kisses him again. Desperation has made her bolder than she’s ever been and right now, she couldn’t care less if her priest spotted her across the parking lot.

“I’ll warn you now, Scully, I’ve had several fantasies about this.”

He bites her lip and watches, looking somewhat punch-drunk, as she straddles him, the fabric of her dress stretching and rucking up so her knees are revealed.  “Tell me about them,” she commands, and grinds down on him. Mulder’s answering groan is like fire coursing in her blood. Sex has been the last thing on her mind for months but suddenly she is consumed with aching desire. She wants him and she wants him bad.

Mulder rubs his hands up and down her thighs. “You really want to know?”

“I do,” she replies. She is rocking herself against his leg now, and she can see him through his shorts, hard like a bar. Her hands are on his button. It is crazy that she’s contemplating fucking him right here, in a public park, but her entire body seems to be humming with need for him.  

“I’ll be honest, Scully,” he says, breaking her train of thought. “Doing it outside hasn’t been in that many fantasies of mine. But…” He glances around them, listening dog-like a moment. “Making love to you somewhere where we might get caught… Now we’re talking. That one has always been high on my list.”

She’s hot now and can feel herself throbbing with eagerness. She slides his zipper down and reaches in to feel him, stroking hard from root to tip. His eyes flutter closed a moment. “Have we ever been caught?” she asks. “In these fantasies of yours?” He lifts himself and she undresses him so that he’s free. A moment later and her hand is on his cock, skin to skin, and she revels in the way his face changes. She is pretty sure she could ask him to deny that aliens exist in this moment and he’d lurch to his feet and shout it as loud as his lungs could make him.

“I did once imagine that Skinner caught us,” he says, his words made breathless by what she’s doing to him. “But all I could see after that was his face and it kind of ruined it for me. So, no, let’s say not.” He thrusts into her hand. “Is there anybody about?”

“Not a soul,” she tells him with a smile and eases up his body. His hands reach and pull aside her panties so he can push inside her. “Now shut up and fuck me, Mulder.”

And he does.

Later, they lie curled up together in the haze of orgasmic bliss, alternately kissing and dozing. He strokes her belly and teases for more until she has to push him away because her back is driving her mad now. He pouts a little, but relents and uses the rejection to rise to his feet, button himself back up and stretch. “Why here, Mulder?” she asks him as he holds out his hand and pulls her to standing. “It’s lovely, but there were lots of other places we could have gone – fireworks displays, outdoor parties, concerts…”

They start to walk back towards his car.  

“You don’t remember, Scully?”

“Remember what?”

“Long time ago… eighteen years ago, actually. I came here on a lead. There’d been a bigfoot sighting in the woods on the other side of the lake – it was a load of bull, but it was something to do on a Saturday afternoon. And you called me and we talked about stuff. We made arrangements to go for dinner that evening.” He looks down at her, his smile years away and drifting on the recollections of memory. “And when we finished up talking, just before you hung up, you told me you loved me.”

She can’t help the grin that breaks on her face. “So I’ve never even been here before?”

“Well, no, I guess not.”

A laugh burbles out of her. Mulder looks wounded.

“It’s not that funny. It’s a special place to me.”

“Oh Mulder,” she giggles, “that is so perfectly you.”

“The hazards of a eidetic memory…” He holds out his hand and she takes it. “Come on, let’s go home. We can pick up a pizza on the way back.”

They take a detour into DC to get her favourite pizza and while they’re waiting for their order, watch as a fireworks display over the Potomac kicks off. He suggests taking the pizza and going to listen to the National Symphony Orchestra on the West Lawn but she’s been before and so has he and all she really wants now is to get home, take off her too-tight sneakers, put on her pyjamas and feast on garlic stuffed crust double pepperoni and mushroom pizza.

So he takes her home and juggles the pizza in one hand as he offers the other to her to help her out of the car. The light is failing now and after he dumps the pizza on the coffee table, he goes around flicking lamps on while she climbs wearily upstairs to dress for bed.

She’s at the top of the stairs in her pyjamas when she feels a popping sensation in her abdomen and seconds later, fluid pours down her legs and onto the floor. Scully starts and takes a step backwards, gasping involuntarily as she observes the puddle she is now standing in. “Mulder!” she shouts.

“Yeah?” he calls back from the kitchen.

“I need some help here.”

He appears at the bottom of the stairs, beer bottle in hand and frowns up at her. “What’s the matter?”

“Um… I need a cloth, I think.” She looks down at the pool on the floor. She feels a bit dislocated, like she’s hovering above her body and watching rather than actually being here.  

“Oh,” he says, realising. “Okay, um. Yeah.”

Mulder makes a move to go up the stairs, then seems to remember he has a beer bottle in his hand and goes back down, darts into the kitchen and returns with a roll of kitchen towel. Working with an obvious sense of panic, he mops up the pool of fluid then looks up at her. “Are you okay?”

“Mm… Yeah?” She frowns as her abdomen tightens in a clear and obvious contraction. “Ohhh, I think this is it, Mulder.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course it is. I, er… I’ll call Joy. Can you get downstairs okay?”

She nods and, gripping the bannister, she descends slowly. Another contraction hits as she takes the final step and she balks, groaning. Things are happening faster than before, she thinks. That was just about thirty seconds between contractions. She’s about to open her mouth and explain this to Mulder, when he appears in front of her, pale-faced. “Scully, I’m making my panic face. Joy’s not answering. Her phone is going to answer machine. I’ve, I’ve left a message, but I don’t know what else to do. Do you want me to call an ambulance?”

“No!” she barks and Mulder flinches. She does not want an ambulance, because ambulances take you to only one place, the ER, and there is no way she is having this baby on a gurney in the ER. “No,” she repeats, steadier. “Keep trying Joy. She’s maybe out at some kind of party and can’t hear her phone.” Drawing in a deep breath and feeling her uterus relax, she adds, “We’ve got time. This isn’t happening right away.”

Mulder nods. He looks a little lost, which strikes her as vaguely amusing. A man who has faced mutants and alien bounty hunters and serial killers is overcome by the prospect of the birth of his own child. She reaches out a hand and pats his arm in what she hopes is a comforting gesture. “It’s going to be fine, Mulder. We got this.”

“Hm, yeah, you got this, Scully. Me? I’m not so sure. I’ve never delivered a baby before.”

“You won’t have to. Joy will answer her phone soon.”

Her belly tightens again and this time she has to close her eyes with the strength of it. How long was that apart, she thinks. “Mulder, you’ve got to time the contractions. I need to know how far apart they are.”

“Okay. Okay, I can do that.” He pulls up his sleeve and glances at his watch.

“And we need to fill the pool with water.”

Thirty minutes later and the pool is inflated and filling with water. Mulder, happy to have some distraction to keep him busy, is standing over it in a slightly proprietorial manner, watching the water rising up the sides. “You going straight in, Scully?” he asks, turning to see her in the grip of another contraction. She nods, breathing too hard to reply. She’s been walking about the lounge and kitchen, stopping only when contractions hit. Sweat is pearling on her brow and she reaches up a hand to wipe it away. She’s naked but for one of his t-shirts, her hair scraped back in a scruffy ponytail. It’s undignified, for sure, but right now, she couldn’t care less.

She climbs over the side of the pool and sinks down in the water, the t-shirt darkening. It’s warm and soothing and when the next contraction grips her, it feels a little less like she’s being held by a vice. “Have you tried Joy again?” she asks.

“Still the same.”

Scully closes her eyes and wills calm to embrace her. It’s all right, everything is fine, she can do this. Mulder can do this. She does her best not to see the anxiety behind his eyes. “We need to think of what to do if she doesn’t answer.”

Mulder takes a deep breath. “It’s pretty clear what needs to be done, isn’t it? Either I help you, or we call an ambulance. And since you seem quite against the latter option, I guess it’s you and me, Scully.”

She hums her way through another contraction, shifting position in the pool. “It’s not going to be long, Mulder.”

And it isn’t.

Forty minutes later, the contractions are unrelenting and she’s feeling an intense need to push; Mulder is behind her, hands on her shoulders, his voice in her ear, coaxing, urging, breathing with her.

It’s coming.

She can feel it in her very centre.

She shouts his name, gets up on her knees and holds his arms, vice-like, desperate. He’s still as a rock. She leans forward, presses her forehead to his, breathes his air. “Push, Scully,” he tells her. “Come on, you’re doing this. Push.”  

Behind them, the door clicks and in walks Joy, but neither of them notice. With one last, tremendous effort, the baby is born and Scully looks down to see the water blooming pink and twists around. Joy lifts the tiny body from the water and the air is instantly filled with that beautiful sound of a newborn cry. “Here you go, Mama, take your baby.”

Scully brings the squawking, bluish child to her chest and laughs deliriously, her eyes filling with sudden tears. “Oh my God, Mulder, look…”

She looks up at him and the wonder on his face is worth every hardship she’s ever endured. “She’s beautiful,” he whispers. He kisses the top of her head, then with his thumb, strokes the wet, dark hair on the baby’s forehead.

“What you going to call her?” Joy asks from the side-lines.

Their eyes lock. “Ellen,” replies Mulder. “Ellen Margaret.”

“Ellen Margaret Mulder,” Joy repeats. “Born on Labor Day 2018.”

“Kid’s already got a sense of the apt.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here earlier,” explains Joy, reaching into her bag. “I was at the concert on the West Lawn. It was just by chance that I checked my phone and realised I’d put the ringer on silent. What an ass I am!” She stands with hands on hips beside the pool, smiling down at them. “But look at the three of you! What a bit of teamwork! You going to cut the cord, Dad? Then you can hold her if you like, while I sort Mom out.”

Mulder looks at Scully and smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d like that.” She can tell he’s nervous and that he’s thinking back to that time in her apartment all those years ago, when he first held William, only to have to run and leave him mere days later. For his sake, she wants him to hold this child and never have to let go. She wants it too, but for Mulder, even more.

Joy clamps the cord, waits a moment, then instructs him to cut. “There we go,” she says. “Good job, guys. You’re an independent being now, Miss Ellen. You go on to your Daddy now while we get your Mama all cleaned up.”

Leaning down and taking the naked baby, Mulder wraps her in a soft muslin blanket. He cuddles her into his body and Scully thinks that her heart might explode from the look on his face. She’s seen this scene in her head over and over, in a thousand dreams and daytime fantasies. Sometimes the baby is William, other times she’s been unsure whether the baby is even hers. But every time, it’s been the smile on his lips that has remained with her, long after the rest of the vision has gone. And so she watches, and takes it all in… the silence in the room, the tick of the ancient clock in Mulder’s study, the creak of the floors as he waltzes aimlessly about the lounge, the softness of the light and the gentle sounds of a newborn baby, the murmur of his voice as he breathes words of love in her tiny ear, and as she watches, the undimming smile on Mulder’s face.      

 The End.

[lucienfairfucked]

I’m not going to do this in his voice because that takes more effort than I’m ready for right now... but I am going to do this.

What is your name? His name is Gideon. Sometimes someone with the unfortunate burden of a surname will ask, “Gideon what?” and he’ll stare blankly at them until they shrug uncomfortably and move on.

How old are you? He’s 38 years old when he’s shot in the head by Benny.

What do you look like? Gideon’s a bit of a visual enigma to me. In-game, he kind of just looks exactly like Gabriel, the Lone Wanderer, because it’s a very limited character creator. But I do know that he’s likely tallish and wiry, and he likely keeps his hair short.

Where are you from? Where do you live now? He was born in California. Or, New California. Whatever. I don’t know when “now” is for the purpose of this meme. He eventually leaves the Mojave to trek east with Gabriel, eventually settling in the Commonwealth.

What was your childhood like? Don’t ask him, because he doesn’t remember, and I don’t deem it important enough to create meta-knowledge for it.

What groups are you friendly with? Are you allied with any factions? Gideon has an uncanny knack with people -- individuals, you see -- and that makes him well-known to almost every organised group in the Mojave. They don’t all love him, collectively, but there will always be someone in the group who does.

Tell me about your best friend. That would be Ulysses, eventually. But before they get to that point, he’d name Craig Boone as his best friend. (If we really want to split hairs, I guess Boone still is the best friend, and Ulysses is just an-tet, with all that entails.)

Do you have a family? Tell me about them! No. He’s never really felt the need for one, either, as a family tends to keep a person bound in one place (or, to be esoteric, one self...). He likes his freedom, and the concept of family seems to be antithetical to his understanding of freedom.

What about a partner or partners? I guess for the sake of... vocabulary convenience, that’d be Ulysses.

Who are your enemies, and why? The Legion is his enemy -- and not necessarily because he wants it that way, but because there is no way Caesar would let Gideon live if he could get a hold of him. He really did get out of the Mojave in the nick of time. And I suppose Atom is an enemy, all told, although Gideon really just doesn’t pay him any attention.

Have you ever heard of The Brotherhood of Steel? What do you think about them? He knows about them because he knows Veronica. But they unnerve him and he wants nothing to do with them -- he feels guilty for not wanting anything to do with that part of his friend’s life, but, I mean, we all have those parts of life we want nothing to do with no matter how much we like someone.

What about The Enclave? Gabriel knows more about the Enclave than Gideon does, which doesn’t mean that Gabriel knows a lot, it’s just that Gideon really doesn’t pay any fuckin attention. He’s not concerned with people that, in regard to him and his everyday life, might as well not even exist.

How do you feel about Super Mutants? He avoids them. Completely. He’s never even been to Black Mountain or Jamestown. When he sees one in the wild, he fuckin books it in the other direction. ...It’s kept him alive thus far, so.

What’s the craziest fight you’ve ever been in? That one with Joshua Graham -- not with him, you understand, but the one that he started that Gideon felt compelled to assist him with. Gideon doesn’t consider himself a man of conviction, or ideals, or anything. But that whole debacle really made him wonder what kind of person he was, or what kind of person he wanted to be, or what kind of person Joshua wanted him to be... and, I mean, the existential crisis wasn’t even the craziest part. The Zion battle itself was just all manner of buckwild.

Have you ever fought a Deathclaw? Nope. He watched Gabriel kill one at point-blank range, though, without batting an eyelash. Asked him how the fuck he’d did it but all Gabriel would say is, “Practice. And a good ass gun.”

Do you like fighting? No. No, no, no. He hates it and he avoids it at all costs, which is partly why all his skill seems to be in talking and, uh... extracurricular activities.

What’s your weapon of choice? Other people.

How do you survive? Your wits, your charm, your skills, brute force, some combination? (a.k.a. what’s your S.P.E.C.I.A.L?) Definitely wits and charm. And it sure doesn’t hurt that he can run like the wind.

Have you ever been in a vault? What do you think about them? The vaults give him nightmares. He went into one once and was traumatised for months. Gabriel mocks him for it a lot, because that’s Gabriel for you, but even he’s got to admit that growing up in a vault is at least 75% of the reason why he is the way he is.

How do you beat all the radiation around here? Has it affected you? Gideon’s no Gabriel or Noah when it comes to radiation immunity, but he’s definitely able to withstand more RPS than the average human. Still, he is extremely careful about his rad intake, like anyone who likes living.

What’s your favorite wasteland critter? Definitely geckos. He thinks they’re hysterical, and most of them don’t bother trying to kill him because... you know, I figure the hyper-aggressive nature of in-game animals is mostly just a gameplay mechanic. So it’s cool.

What’s your least favorite wasteland critter? Mole rats. They freak him out so bad. Also, he’s really got to agree with Noah about mirelurks, urgh.

How do you feel about robots? Robots are friends. Of course, friendly/neutral/lawful robots are more commonplace in the Mojave. He’s had to restrain Gabriel on several occasions because Gabriel would try to engage Securitrons, assuming they’d be hostile.

How many caps do you have on you right now? Mind yo’ business.

Nuka Cola or Sunset Sarsaparilla? Definitely Sunset Sarsaparilla. Nuka Cola is way too sweet for him.

Do you do chems? Gideon did Jet once and he was awake for days, hallucinated like a motherfucker, and lived a thousand fucked-up lifetimes in the process. He’s avoided chems ever since. (He’s just extremely sensitive to mind alteration, which makes him an incredibly cheap date.)

Do you ever think about the Pre-War world? He does not. Well, not until he meets 250-year-old Noah, of course.

What’s your deepest regret? What would you do differently? Gideon lives too carefree for regrets. There’s always going to be things he wished he’d said differently (or things he’d wished he’d said at all), or paths he could have avoided if he’d been smarter, or whatever. But there’s no point in him dwelling on those things, when so many things about the present demand his attention and the wisdom he’s earned from those mistakes.

What’s your biggest achievement? Or what do you hope to achieve? I mean, if we’re going to measure achievement by how much effect it has on the world, it’s safe to say that freeing New Vegas from Mr House’s grip and crippling the Legion is probably his biggest accomplishment. But he doesn’t think of it that way -- he thinks what he did was just the grunt work that no one else wanted to, or that no one else could figure out the steps of. The thing he feels the most proud of is that walk he took through the Divide, following the voice of a man he was determined to see eye-to-eye with, despite everything.

What do you want for the future? For yourself? Your friends? The world? He doesn’t think about the world, or the future, or anything like that. He thinks about today, and the day after next, and maybe the day after that if he has to. It seems weird, since a lot of what he’s done for New Vegas seems like the carefully orchestrated machinations of a far-seeing and clever man, but really, sometimes things really just fall into place when you’re earnest and deliberate and occasionally a little forceful. What he wants is to watch the sun rise in whatever part of the US he’s in, to eat the breakfast that Ulysses has undoubtedly made, and to see what odd new things the Wasteland will offer up to test or charm him. Sometimes life really is that simple, even in a post-apocalyptic world.

[adrienaline-rushed-art]

Hunger Game

Rating: G

Genre: Rom/Com

Words: 2846

Ship: Adrien x Nino

Summary: Adrien makes up a bullshit game to pretend he hasn't been beating around the 'ask-him-out' bush for the last 3 years.

A/N: I just realized this reminds me of Rhett & Link’s “Are You Gonna Eat That”

This is for @mari-monsta happy belated you beautiful starlight princess

Ao3  fanfic

“You’re doing it again,” Alya nudged Adrien’s arm. She sat next to him in the Dupain-Cheng bakery, a bakery they frequented often for the ‘Marinette-friend-exclusive’ free treats.

The two of them were sitting across from Marinette and Nino, who had gotten themselves caught up in their own discussion about the importance of music videos. Marinette and Nino had been friends since the fifth grade and their ability to start their own conversation in a group of four proved as much. Being the new kids, Alya and Adrien clicked immediately - bad news for any teachers who didn’t appreciate playful snickers from students who were perfectly on task and behaved otherwise. They couldn’t send two students to the principal's office for being done with classwork thirty minutes ahead of time just for laughing softly.

So although the four of them had all eventually gotten to know each other and formed an unbreakable bond, there were still two separate pairs that had their own things to talk about.

“Doing what again? I’m just trying to listen to them,” Adrien spared Alya a glance before returning his focus back to the chattering pair in front of him.

Alya’s upper lip twitched, unimpressed. “You’re making the eyes .”

“I’m looking at them. You know? The way people who are respectfully listening do?”

“You’re looking at him, and no, there’s definitely more to it than that.”

Adrien glared at her. “I’m listening, Al, I’m listening. What more could I be doing?”

Alya batted her eyes, imitating the sparkling, lovestruck expression Adrien wore just a few seconds ago. “I don’t know, maybe you’re really into that eclair.”

He pouted but said nothing. Instead, he turned back to Marinette and Nino and did the only thing that would get him out of any further questions; he joined the conversation. “Filters are something to take into account.”

“That’s true!” Marinette smiled, “and then there’s lighting, which can really make or break a mood.”

Nino pointed his finger at the invisible list of points on the table, “Right, and that’s what I’m saying about camera work and editing. The angles, the cuts… it creates pacing that never goes unnoticed.”

“It’s subconsciously noticed, though. I think wardrobe is something more people relate to,” Marinette shrugged.

“But is it really essential? I mean clothes can look nice, I guess-”

“If you saw a chick wearing a nun robe in a twerking video you’d notice.”

“That’s extreme…”

“I don’t think either of those are the most important part of a music video,” Adrien interrupted.

Nino and Marinette blinked at him. Adrien paused, he’d mostly said that to suggest a compromise, but he found himself eyeing Nino.

“Well, what about the music itself?” Adrien continued.

Nino raised his eyebrows, shifting from his sideways position to face Adrien fully.

“L-like,” Adrien focused the gestures his hands were making, “the sound of the music is different in the music video. Artists put effects on it sometimes to fit the surroundings, or other times there are breaks where you could almost say the visuals are meant to be the music.”

Nino’s eyes lit up and he smiled, “Hey, yeah! That’s a really good point.”

Marinette chuckled guiltily. “Sorry, I just realized how wrapped up we got there.”

“No, it’s ok, it was interesting,” Adrien rubbed the back of his neck.

Nino reached his hand across the table, making Adrien flinch before reflexively putting his hand over Nino’s. Adrien froze when Nino looked at him oddly.

“O-oh!” Adrien retreated his hand, “i-is that not… is that not what we were doing? I thought- uh…”

Nino laughed, it was a melody that replayed in Adrien’s mind over and over again. “Are you trying to protect the plate from me?”

Adrien blinked, his eyes trailing Nino’s line of sight. Right beside his elbow was the plate of pastries, which Adrien had forgotten he’d dragged closer to himself. “Um… yes?”

In his peripheral vision, he could see Alya rolling her eyes.

“Well, you’re on, dude!” Nino lunged forward, reaching for the plate. Adrien blocked him, his arm briefly indulging in the warmth of Nino’s hand.

“Ok, kids,” Sabine stood at the doorway next to the stairs as Tom passed her, “we’re ready to lock up, I think it’s time you all went home before it gets too dark. And I’d suggest you all save some of those leftovers for later, you’ll get a stomach ache if you try to finish it now.”

Nino released Adrien’s arm and eyed him over the rim of his glasses. “You win this round.”

* * *

Adrien paced around Alya’s room, his finger hovering over the enter key of his phone. “‘So, when do I get to win the next round?’, how’s that sound?”

It had been exactly eighteen hours since Nino had challenged him. Whether or not Nino was serious, Adrien wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to pass an opportunity.

“Good, very playful, I like it. Now, sit down and relax. You’re doing great, Sweetie.”

“But, then what? What am I supposed to tell him if he doesn’t catch on?”

“Which, he probably won’t...”

“Should I be blunt? Or is that too risky?”

Alya stood up from her desk chair and pushed Adrien to sit on her bed. “Do you trust Nino?”

“Of course!”

“Then tell him, you know Nino would never do anything to hurt you. If things don’t work out the way you hoped, things will just go back to normal. Trust me, I think Nino’s that kind of guy.”

“Well…”

“If you’re comfortable, go for it!”

“Ok,” Adrien looked determined, pushing his thumb closer to the touchscreen.

“Do it!”

He tapped on the key. Alya cheered as he stared at the sent message. What she didn’t know was that the message had immediately been read.

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

Nino cringed. Now it was bound to be obvious he had already been waiting around in Adrien’s messages. He could joke about the coincidence that they texted at the same time, and while that would be true, he wouldn’t have an answer if Adrien asked him what he was going to say. Otherwise, it was a relief that Adrien had texted him first, even though it left him with no excuse as to how he read the message so quickly.

He drummed his fingers against the table. This was an important moment. The way he answered Adrien’s text was life or death. It had to be careful, strategic, witty, and suave. Nino leaned his head back on his chair and closed his eyes, taking in the melody and rhythm that pounded through his headphones. Opening his eyes, he tapped away on his phone. He crafted the message with delicate passion, his words were specific, his emojis and capitalization were analyzed for tone, and his thoughts were truthfully wrapped into one perfect sentence.

im free tonight - 1:10 PM

Nino smacked his forehead. Could he sound any more desperate? He didn’t even bother to throw in a joke, or question Adrien’s intentions, he just jumped for the opportunity like some sort of… Nino glanced at the water bottle on his desk and chugged it.

He took a deep breath. Everything was going to be fine. It was a Friday afternoon, everyone was free on Friday nights. All he had to do was wait for a response. His message had been read, Adrien was probably thinking up a response. It could be a startled response, a mocking response, or a great response! So his chances were one out of three… or one out of all the millions of terrible reactions he could think of. But Adrien wouldn’t do that, he was sweet enough to give anyone cavities just by looking at him. Clearly, Nino was overreacting. It had only been three agonizing minutes.

He just had to put his phone down and mind something else. Just wait casually… patiently. Adrien would answer.

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

Adrien wasn’t going to answer. At least, not yet. He wanted to check something to decide on his answer. Call it cheating, but Chat Noir decided to excuse himself through Alya’s balcony and said he’d be back in a minute.

“This isn’t stalking or anything,” Chat Noir muttered to himself as he crouched on the rooftop across from Nino’s bedroom, “just some guy in a black bodysuit hiding behind a chimney.”

He opened his baton, pointed the camera to Nino’s window, and zoomed in. “But this is Chat Noir! A superhero, doing his superhero duties,” he continued, “and he just so happens to be on the roof next to Nino Lahiffe’s house, and out of pure coincidence has his camera pointed in the direction of a bedroom window.”

It was going to be quick. He didn’t mean to invade on Nino’s privacy, he just needed answers. He watched Nino mess with some software on his computer, occasionally glancing at his phone. If Chat Noir didn’t know any better, Nino looked a bit impatient. He could be waiting for a response, ‘tonight’ was only a few hours from now after all.

Chat reached into his pocket and pulled out his personal phone.

Adrien: Ok! How about I meet up with you at 6? - 1:18 PM

Chat blushed and giggled into his hand.

Nino: sure, are we talkin the dupain-cheng bakery again? - 1:18 PM

Chat Noir thought for a moment. If he was being honest, he wasn’t even sure what the challenge was meant to be at this point, but he had gotten this far. Maybe it was time to be a little more blunt.

Adrien: Actually, I think I’m in the mood for a full meal, if you’re up for that? 1:19 PM

Nino: cool :D does this mean youre picking me up? 1:20 PM

Adrien: Yup ;3 1:20 PM

Nino: stop that what are you doing 1:20 PM

Adrien: ;3 ;3 ;3 1:21 PM

Nino: no. 1:22 PM

By the time he’d returned his phone to his pocket, Chat was grinning ear to ear. He saw Nino set his phone on his desk and pump his fist. Chat blushed, maybe there was a chance. Chat’s phone buzzed and he reached for it excitedly.

Alya: you’d better not be doing what i think you’re doing 1:25 PM

Adrien: Depends what you think I’m doing 1:25 PM

Alya: adrien wtf 1:26 PM

Adrien: Alright alright I’m leaving 1:28 PM

* * *

“If they serve camembert you’ll pass it all to me, right?” Plagg whispered from the pocket of Adrien’s black chino pants.

“Sshh, this isn’t the time,” Adrien rung Nino’s doorbell.

The door opened and Nino came out wearing a navy blue cardigan blue polo shirt. “Hey…”

“...hi.”

They stared at each other, waiting for a joke or cocky remark. Neither of them understood how they had gotten this far without having to make something up about whatever pastry battle they had started the day before. And now that they were about to go to a sit-down restaurant, that excuse was less likely to work.

“So, uh, we should-”

“Right, yeah, lead the way.”

“My chauffeur parked the car is over there…”

There wasn’t much talking on the ride to the restaurant. Both boys sat with their hands clasped together, peeking over every now and then. The silence was the kind that made one consider jumping out of a moving car, but the excitement kept them both sitting beside each other, silently accepting the direction the evening was going.

Gorilla dropped them by the entrance of the restaurant. Adrien and Nino chose to ignore the small smirk on Gorilla’s face as they slid out of their doors. After he drove off, they tried to relax a little.

“Well,” Adrien turned to Nino as he rested his hand on the front door, “in here, we fight like men.”

“Please, yesterday was more of a default win, you haven’t really faced me yet.”

“Fine, then. Whoever steals the most from the other’s plate wins.”

Nino snickered, “I swear to God if we get kicked out for being too messy and loud…”

“That’s the challenge, don’t break too much etiquette,” Adrien opened the door, letting Nino step in first.

Nino cleared his throat. “I see, dragging me into a battleground you have an advantage in.”

“Can’t handle it?”

“I never said that.”

It was nice to be out of that stuffy car. They sat down across from each other when the waitress led them to a table for two, smug smiles on their faces. The waitress seemed a bit confused when they thanked her without breaking fierce eye contact, and possibly a bit concerned. Regardless, she set their waters on the table and left, only glancing back at them three times. As if scripted, they both lifted their menus and didn’t break their gaze until the paper blocked their vision.

“I hope you pick something I like,” Nino called from behind the list of appetizers.

Something caught Adrien’s eye. “Same to you, just please don’t get the croquettes.”

Nino stared at the option for croquettes. “I wouldn’t think of it. As long as you don’t order any quiche.”

“No onion soup.”

Nino set his menu on the table. “Deal. And don’t even think about roasted asparagus. I’m ready to order.”

“What a coincidence,” Adrien stacked his on top, “so am I.”

They continued to watch each other closely. Nino’s eyes trailed to Adrien’s slim-fitting sweatshirt, then back to his eyes. Adrien’s eyes flicked down when Nino licked his lips.

Their eyes burned into each other, it must’ve been the competitive spirit.

“Are you two lovebirds ready to order?”

Adrien and Nino started into a loud coughing fit. Reaching for their waters they hoped to drown the blood that was rising to their cheeks.

“U-uhm, yes, actually,” Adrien put on a pretty smile for the waitress.

“Great!” she pulled out her notepad.

Adrien handed her the menus. “I’d like some quiche with a side of roasted asparagus.”

“And I’ll take onion soup with potato croquettes.”

“Alrighty, I’ll be back with your orders,” the waitress turned and left.

Nino tilted his head. “Good luck with your etiquette when you try to steal soup .”

“And good luck to you when you bring oily asparagus over this nice tablecloth.”

“So is this your secret to dieting?” Nino leaned forward, “you keep losing these types of games?”

Adrien swallowed loudly. “You’re… actually the first person I-I’ve, uh, done this with.”

“ Oh ,” Nino paused carefully, “you made it seem like it was something you were used to.”

“I just wanted to seem natural, but- this probably sounds inappropriate to anyone listening...” Adrien lowered his head shyly.

Nino laughed. “Only if you take it that way. I guess we’ve started our own tradition then.”

Adrien nodded and smiled.

They continued to chat until the waitress finally returned with a tray. “Here you go, thanks for waiting!”

They thanked her as she left and then turned to the plates in front of them. Adrien took a bite of his quiche and Nino popped a croquette into his mouth. They hummed in satisfaction before lunging their utensils towards the other’s plate. Adrien captured two croquettes while Nino took the biggest forkful of quiche he could manage. They scarfed down on their first victories before they continued. Back and forth, they proceeded to snatch more from across the table, each time trying to take twice as much.

Adrien eyed the onion soup. While Nino was busy scraping a huge piece of quiche onto his knife, Adrien grabbed the bowl and slid it over to his side of the table. Without even blinking, Nino did the same to the plate of quiche. They started to dig into the meal they had really wanted from the beginning.

“You know…” Adrien stirred his soup, “It’s almost like… we’re dating.”

“That’s crazy, dude.”

Adrien looked up at Nino, eyebrows furrowed in worry. “Huh?”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking!” Nino bit down on his empty fork, a toothy smile spreading across his face.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, even the waitress thought so…”

“... Maybe the waitress knows something we don’t.”

Nino was quiet for a moment. He studied Adrien’s face. “Can I be honest?”

Adrien nodded silently.  

“I didn’t really mind the idea of it. Actually, I liked it.”

Adrien bit his lip. “You really mean it?”

“Yeah. I’ve wanted to ask you out before even, that’s the real reason I came today.”

“Holy-” Adrien raised his hands to his temples, “kissing you right now would be breaking etiquette, wouldn’t it? And then we’d both lose.”

Nino smiled and reached for Adrien’s hand, peering up for permission. When Adrien approved with wide eyes, Nino lifted his knuckles to his lips. “What happens if we win?” His spoke against Adrien’s skin.

Adrien shivered. “Another date?”

“Date… ok, then, we have no choice but to win.”

“But, you know, we don’t need etiquette if we just leave. We could always just skip dessert.”

Nino raised his hand to call a waiter over. “I think you mean skip to the dessert. Looks, like you’re on for round three.”  

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

wow, Nino, 'dessert' huh? I should've called this the thirst games. Adrien's flirt game can get reKt

Please review! Hope you liked it, and if you're inspired to doodle please tell me I'd love to see <3

[god7072therescue]

Avenged

Hello guys! This is the third installment of the Avenged series and it is Zenny’s turn! @reifromrfa and I are having a blast working on this series and I hope you guys enjoy it too!! This is for mature audiences so it will deal with mature themes. 

Check out @reifromrfa‘s master list here!

And here is mine!

Trigger Warning: Explicit Language, Violence, Highly References and Mentions Rape, Death

He’s always been open to her about his past relationships

He didn’t want her to have any doubts or insecurities and he wanted to reassure her that he was in this relationship for good

That she was the only woman he will ever love

And MC knew that

She knew how much this man loved her and cherished her

He would do anything to make her happy

But she couldn’t bring herself to tell him about her past

Her ex, to be exact

Those were memories she was ready to bury in her past if she could

But it looked as if her ex wouldn’t let her

Zen didn’t notice her acting differently at first

How could he?

He was in literal bliss just having her by his side

He thought that her being extra clingy was just her excitement to be with him

He thought that her waiting to leave the house until he could walk her places was her wanting to spend more time with him

He thought her wanting to stay the night with him was her just being adorably attached to him

He thought

But he had never been so wrong in his life

The first red flag to him was exactly how paranoid MC had been for the past few weeks

If they went out in public, she was always the first to go down their usual checklist

Face mask? Check. Hat? Check. Umbrella? Check.

Zen just thought she was being a supportive girlfriend

So they could hide from his fans together

Him and his MC against the world~~

Wrong

It was then she started to want to stay home

She would call into work a lot

Saying she was sick

But she looked perfectly fine to Zen

What was happening at work that she felt like she couldn’t tell him?

Why was she so scared?

Any time he mentioned her work absences to her, she just said that she truly wasn’t feeling well

It was when she had not been back to her apartment in weeks

He knew there was something seriously wrong

He had seen a man threaten MC’s life and she just bit the hell out of him

No trace of fear on her face

What was scaring her to the point that she refused to go to work?

That the mere thought of going made her tremble in fear?

Zen needed answers

And he was going to find them.

Zen decided to take his bike out of storage again so he could quickly go to Mc’s apartment.

This is where she lived before she went to Rika’s apartment

It was a small apartment, not in the best neighborhood

But hey, Zen remembers those days

He remembers barely being able to pay for rent

He remembers having to cover his ears with a pillow to block out the sounds of his obnoxious neighbors.

He remembers that he was never able to take a hot shower

The things he did to obtain his dream

He parks his bike before sliding his helmet off to get a better look at the building

Come to think of it, MC had always avoided bringing Zen to her apartment

She always went to his

Was she ashamed to show him?

God, he hoped not.

He enters the building and walks up the dimly lit stairway towards her apartment door

He doesn’t see anything unusual with the door until he noticed that the door is cracked open

What the fuck?

He quickly pushes the door open and rushes inside so he can see if the person responsible for this is still in the apartment

But he is met with rose petals?

They are covering the hallway floor as he enters the apartment

He flips on the light switch so he can get a better look

And his blood runs cold

There are pictures scattered everywhere

On the floor, on the walls, on the bed

They were all polaroid photos, each one with handwritten scribbles

Zen steps into the room and bends down, picking up the closest photo

It was a selfie of MC and a man

They were both smiling happily and beneath it were the words “Our first date”

One by one, he picks up the photos, each one showing a happy couple, each one labelled with a date and a place

But when he gets to the photos on the wall, a chill runs down his spine

Because they were all candid photos of MC

MC laughing with her friends after work

“Her smile is so beautiful.”

MC sitting in the train, looking at her phone

“She’s not texting me. Who is she texting?””

MC sleeping

“She is my angel.”

MC changing

“I love the feel of her soft skin beneath my fingers.”

Zen takes a shaky breath, barely managing to control his anger

What the fuck was this?

Why the fuck would anybody do this?

This was too much; the small apartment was littered with so many photos

But it’s when Zen turns to the bed and sees the photos scattered on the sheets and pillows that he loses it

There, right in front of him, was a photo of MC

A piece of cloth tied around her mouth, clenched between her teeth

Her hands were tied in front of her, bound together with tape

He could see the terror in her eyes

“She’s so beautiful like this.”

Another photo showed her hands tied to the bedpost, her naked chest the focal point of the shot

“My MC is perfect.”

Another photo, a shot taken from above

The photographer had to be hovering above her to take that shot

Her head was turned away, tears streaming down her face

He could see her naked body full of bruises

The muscles in her thighs looked strained, as though her legs were spread and tied apart

And...oh God

Zen drops the photo, the image of MC’s tortured expression as she was raped now embedded into his mind

“She’s so happy. I’m so happy. She’s so warm and inviting.”

Zen could feel the bile rising in his throat

His hands were shaking because as he looked at the photo, with that man animal of top of her

Her focus was directed straight towards the camera

Tears were streaming down her face as a cry for help

Zen was not there to save her

He swore that he would protect her

He could feel his disgust quickly turn into rage as he continues to look around her small apartment

This animal was going to fucking pay for what he had done to MC

With his new found adrenaline pumping through his veins, Zen left the apartment 

He drove like a bat out of hell to his own apartment

Where MC was

He needed to be beside her to make her feel safe

Protected

That was the only concern in his mind.

But he was going to find this sick fuck

He would just call a few of his old friends when he had the chance.

Zen hastily parks his bike as he arrives to the apartment

He feels jittery because of the amount of anger that was building up from what he had just seen

He continues to pick up his pace until he is just sprinting to his apartment

For some reason, he felt like something was off

Like the mother fucker was near

Zen nearly breaks his own door down but stops dead in his tracks as he notices a box on his door step

On the lid it said, “ To whomever this may concern.”

With the same fucking handwriting

Zen picks up the box and shakes it lightly to see if he could guess what was inside.

He just heard papers shuffling

He almost takes it down stairs to the dumpster

And sets it on fire

But he just stares at the box in his hands before he walks down the hall to sit on a nearby bench

He sets it beside him and punches the bridge of his nose

He’s trying to calm himself down

But it was becoming harder and harder to contain

He could feel his past self reaching the surface

But he shoves that shit down

He knew that when he walked through that door, he needed to be level headed

He didn’t want to scare her even further

So he determines that he would have to curb the animosity for at least a few hours

No matter what was in that box.

He glares at the offending object then he rips the lid off of it

And his eyes widen

Because there were more pictures

But it was if the two of them

Pictures of him and MC

But in every single photo, Zen’s face is scratched out

Going on dates, sneaking around his fans,

Cooking in his kitchen

How in the hell does he have those?

Pictures of the two of them changing

The fucker had hid in his cabinet under his dresser

Pictures of the two of them making love

“But why MC?”

“I love you!”

“I cherish you!”

“You are my world!”

“You are my life!”

The handwriting along the pictures were getting sloppier and bolder the further into the box

“You are mine, MC”

“What does he have that I don’t?”

“Do I need to prove to you again how much I LOVE YOU?”

Zen slams the lid back into the box, breathing heavily as his mind races

“I am going to kill him. I am going to kill him.”

He picks up the box and walks to his apartment so he can finally face MC.

He pushes open the door, but he hears nothing but silence.

His blood is pounding as he continues to walk slowly throughout the apartment

Relief flows through him when he hears the shower in their bathroom running.

He sets the box beside the bed then he sits down so he can wait on her.

He looks around the room to see if there is any sign of the sick fuck but he sees nothing

Until he looks at their dresser

His eyes freeze on the bold, black writing sprawled across the mirror.

“MC, will you marry me?”

This sick fuck must be joking

Zen rises to his feet as he takes a closer look

He runs a finger across the writing and is smears

This was recent

The fucker was just here.

MC could feel her nerves acting up ever since Zen had left the apartment 

It felt like he was always watching her 

Taunting her 

Watching her 

Following her 

She steps out of the shower, wrapping the towel tightly around her chest 

She always felt vulnerable when she was alone

She sets her towel aside so she can slide on her underwear 

Just as she finishes clasping her bra, she hears a loud crash come from the bedroom 

She jumps and lets out a startled yelp

Oh my god, he’s here

MC scurries to the corner of the bathroom and grabs a razor because it was the nearest object near 

Oh no, not again, please not here

She begins to panic as she sees the knob turning even though she knows she locked it

It was only a matter of time before he kicked the door down

Her hands are trembling as she holds the razor out in front of her for protection

She needs to stay safe until Zen could get back 

She needs to for him 

Zen was so consumed with rage, he punched the mirror without much thought

But he is automatically brought to his senses when he hears a yelp come from their bathroom

He staggers away from the mirror as he stares down at the blood dripping from his fingers onto the floor  

The fragments are spread out across the ground at his feet 

He slowly walks over to the bathroom door and tries to twist the knob so he can reassure her that it is him 

But he stops when he hears a muffled cry from inside the bathroom 

Oh god …

His heart is breaking as he hears that sound 

“MC? It’s me, babe.” 

Zen could hear an object drop to the ground as soon as he finished his sentence 

A few moments later, the door swings open to reveal MC only in her underwear 

Zen lurches forward to wrap her in his arms because he could tell that she is terrified 

Her hair is wet, but he doesn’t care

All he is concerned about right now is making her feel safe again

His eyes could see the razor on the ground behind MC 

MC is sobbing uncontrollably into his chest 

He didn’t know what to do 

How do you comfort a woman who is going through this

So he just acts on his instincts 

He picks her up in his arms 

She instantly wraps her legs around his waist and buries her face into his neck 

She latches onto him like her life depends on it 

He walks over to the sink and rinses of his injured hand in the sink

He did not want to get his blood all over her

He would wrap his hand later, he had a feeling that it would be pointless to wrap it now

After the bleeding has stopped, he walks over to his dresser and rifles through their drawers with one hand as he continues to hold her with the other 

Thank god she doesn’t see the damage Zen has done 

He finds some of MC’s favorite comfortable clothes then walks back into the bathroom 

Because he didn’t want there to be a fucking chance that mother fucker could see her 

Her sobs have quieted down to small sniffles as he sets her down gently 

He carefully wipes the tears from her cheeks before he slides the shirt over her head then he helps her pull up her sweat pants

After she is dressed he picks her back up and goes to his closet to grab her some shoes 

He sets her on the bed so he can put her shoes on for her

MC has never felt this loved in her life

She tries to contain the tears that were already threatening to spill over because she knew that he knew 

But he cared about her first 

He didn’t push the subject 

He didn’t ask a million questions

He just wanted to see her feeling better 

After he is done putting on her shoes he picks her up once again and carries her outside to his bike 

He needed to get her away from there 

At least until their home was safe again

MC asks no questions as he carefully sits her on his bike

She looks up to his face as he places his helmet on her 

She could see the simmering anger behind his eyes 

She lightly places a hand on his cheek

This causes him to unclench his jaw and soften his eyes as he looks down at her 

He lightly kisses her palm before he gets on the bike 

Once he feels her arms wrap around his waist he pulls out of the parking lot 

He needed to bring her somewhere safe 

Somewhere he knew that he could truist 

Because he was about to go hunt this sick mother fucker down

Zen watches as the man slowly starts to regain his consciousness

He’s straddling a chair, glaring at the man in front of him on the ground

After dropping MC off, he enlisted Saeyoung’s help into tracking the bastard

And he found the man lurking around a sex shop

Buying handcuffs and leather straps

Clothes in MC’s size

And he felt his anger spike

But he waited

He waited outside, in an alley across the shop

He couldn’t be recognized so he hid his hair under a cap

Keeping his head low

And when the man came out of the shop, Zen’s eyes darted to the man on the motorcycle across the street and he nods

His old friends made sure to tail the man and nab him as soon as they got the chance

There were no witnesses

Even if there were, they knew the gang well enough to steer clear and keep their heads down

Now, he stares at the man in disgust, hatred in his crimson eyes as the man lifts his eyes and meets his gaze

And the fucker smiles

“Why, if it isn’t Zen.”

“Tell me, has she realized her mistakes? Has she finally left you to come back into my arms?”

“You sick fuck,” the actor snarls, getting up from his seat

“I saw the photos. All of them.”

“You fucking rapist. How dare you!”

“She is the most wonderful person in the world and you fucking forced yourself on her!”

Unable to hold back his anger, Zen lurches forward and his boot collides with the man’s stomach, earning a loud cry from the man

“You’re delusional to think she would ever go back to you,” Zen snaps

He leans down and grabs the man by the hair, yanking on it harshly to tilt the man’s head up to face him

“MC is my everything.”

“You made her cry. You made her suffer.”

“You are the biggest fucking dumbass to think I would let you get away with everything you’ve done to her.”

He reels back his arm and punches him in the face, hearing the satisfying crunch of his nose

He drops the man to the ground and turns away, heading back to his chair when he freezes, every muscle in his body tensing

Because the fucker was laughing

“She was crying that night too.”

“That night we made love.”

“But she was crying because she loved my cock.”

“She never cried for your cock, Zen.”

“She belongs to me.”

Zen is shaking

IN ANGER

Silently he walks forward and his hand grips the familiar handle

It’s been so long 

But he falls back into his younger days

When he belonged to this gang

And he turns back to the man and walks toward him menacingly

He stands towering over the man so he can glare deep into his eyes to show who is in power

He does not look away, he doesn’t blink, until the man slowly loses the demented grin 

As the man loses his facade of confidence, Zen begins to smirk

There is a fire behind Zen’s eyes that his gang has never seen before

Then he grips the handle with both hands and swings his metal bat as hard as he could across the man’s face

He couldn’t be prouder of this boy

The gang leader watches from the back of the room as Hyun Ryu --or Zen, the name he goes by nowadays --beats the hell out of the bastard

When Hyun contacted him, he had to admit he was a bit shocked

The boy had made a name for himself and he was happy for him

Hyun was hardworking and the gang leader used to give him shit whenever Hyun talked about wanting to become one of those pretty boys who sang and danced on stage

When Hyun left the gang, he said, “Just you wait. My name is going to be on everyone’s lips in the next years.”

And God dammit --the boy made good on his promise

But when Hyun told him what happened to his girlfriend

Well damn

Their gang stole shit

They occasionally beat people up

But rape

FUCK

That was one thing the gang leader would not tolerate

He would not let this fucker see the light of day again

But for now he watches quietly as Zen smacks the bastard with his bat

Over and over

The screams echoing around the room 

New blood splatters adding to the dry ones on the wooden floorboards

And he smiles

If only Hyun would reconsider returning to the gang

But he knew it would be futile to try to convince him to come back

The way he spoke about his current girlfriend

He sounded like a man in-love

A man hell bent on revenge

This woman changed him

And he respected that

The gang leaders waits

He waits for Hyun Ryu to empty his rage

And when the actor is done

He would love to take over and give that little shit a taste of his rage as well

Zen’s hands are shaking

He’s out of breath

He drops the bat that he’s gripping to the ground as he stares down at the bloodied man 

He is barely breathing 

There is blood covering the floor and his bat

He looks up to see his former gang leader to be smirking at him in approval 

The man is unconscious but still breathing

Still alive

“Hyun, we’ll take it from here,” the gang leader says, laying a hand on his shoulder and giving him a firm squeeze

“Go home, brother.”

“She needs you.”

Zen nods and gives the man a firm hug

“Hyung, thank you,” Zen says

The gang leader chuckles

“Anytime, brother. Anytime.”

“You won’t have to worry about this scumbag anymore.”

So Zen leaves

He changes out of his bloodied clothes and washes the blood away from his hands and arms

The loud cries and whimpers of the man still echoing in the room

He steps out of the old diner and shuts the door behind him

It’s pretty far from the city and the road leading to the diner was uneven and unused

So nobody went there

Nobody would hear the screams

Zen gets on his motorcycle and rushes back to the city, the weight of his stress from the ex finally lifted off his shoulders the further he was from the diner

He pulls into Saeyoung’s driveway and the doors unlock automatically for him

Zen takes a deep breath and goes in

And is immediately greeted by a small figure throwing her arms around him, holding him tightly

MC buries her face against his chest and holds him closer and Zen lays a hand on her head, the other hand going around her as he pulls her in for a hug

“I was so worried,” MC whispers, her voice shaky

Zen kisses the top of her head and strokes her hair, feeling her body shaking against his body

“I’m here now, MC,” he tells her soothingly, calming her with his gentle strokes

He looks up and sees Saeran looking at them from the other end of the room, leaning against the wall

Saeran raises one eyebrow and Zen nods subtly; no words were needed, the younger twin knows the actor wouldn’t let that sick ex boyfriend live for another day, not after what he’d done to MC

Saeran pushes himself off the wall and calls for his brother, who brings over MC’s belongings

“You want a ride home, Zen?” Saeyoung offers

Zen politely declines and soon, they were riding his bike, heading back to their home

Which was, surprisingly clean, the mirror he had shattered replaced as though nothing had happened

Zen has a hunch a certain raven haired man was involved but he didn’t ask any questions, focusing instead on the woman beside him

“Are you hungry, Jagi?” He asks, putting down her things on the couch

But MC reaches out and grabs his hands, trailing her fingers on his bruised knuckles

“Hyun, you’re hurt,” she whispers, leading him towards their bedroom

Zen follows her silently, wanting to tell her he was okay but the truth was, he wasn’t

His heart is still breaking

The bastard is probably dead by now, but the scars he had left on MC are still here

MC directs him to sit on the bed as she gets the first aid kit, then she sits next to him

She bandages his hands

But he could see her own hands shaking

And he closes his fingers around her small hands

“Jagi,” he says softly. “It’s okay now. You’re safe.”

Tears spring to her eyes and she looks up and meets his crimson gaze

“You’re not disgusted by me?” She asks quietly, fear written all over her face

“MC, of course not.”

Horrified that she’d been thinking he would hate her after he found out, he quickly takes both her hands in his, kissing her fingers

“I love you, MC.”

“I wish I could go back in time and save you.”

“I wish you didn’t have to go through that.”

“I should have been there, babe,” he whispers, eyes shining with tears

“But don’t think any less of yourself, please.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“You are beautiful inside and out, MC.”

“Knowing about the horrible thing you’ve been through does not make me love you less.”

“I love you more because of your strength.” 

Then he places her hand on his cheek, holding her gaze

“I’m the luckiest man on earth to have you in my life.”

“This --me --I’m all yours, MC,” he tells her

Then he places her hand over his chest, right on top of his heart

She feels his strong and fast heartbeats underneath her fingers

“My heart belongs to you, MC. It’s yours. Nothing will ever change my feelings for you.”

“So please, trust me”

“Share your worries, your fears, your heartaches.”

“I am here for you.”

“I will always be here for you, Jagiya.”

“I will always be your knight in shining armor.”

MC is sniffing as tears flow down her cheeks and Zen gives her a small smile as tears slip down his face as well

She throws her arms around him and Zen hugs her fiercely

He’s never loved anyone as much as he loved this woman

And he would be willing to do anything for her

For now, he would be strong for her

He will love her and cherish her even more to ease her insecurities and doubts

He never wants her to feel as though he sees her differently because of her past

Because he doesn’t

She is the same woman he loves

She is the same woman he wants to spend every day loving

She is still his MC

And nothing will ever stop him from protecting her and loving her for the rest of his life