#I guess her name is soapy

[soapy-birblover]

finally finished my wynncraft oc/persona reference sheet!!

close ups under the cut

[drabblesandimagines]

Dove (part six)

Leon Kennedy x female reader - the slowest, slow burn I swear Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five.

After the two of you had finished dinner, you’d began clicking through the channels in search of something to watch. It was far too early to go to bed, or even pretend to go to it - you’d just be staring at the ceiling, alone with your thoughts. Leon had insisted on taking the dishes to the kitchen despite your offer to help, said he’d leave them in the sink to soak. You know that’s a task you’re not going to be able to handle until your arm is free of the sling, fingers unsplintered. You want to say you’ll do all the cooking and cleaning when you can, but that implies that you think you’ll still be in the safe house, with him, in however long it’ll take to be free of the sling...

By all intents and purposes, Leon had planned to wait until you’d gone to bed to pull together his report, but the fact that Hunnigan hadn’t replied to his text yet was giving him an unsettled feeling in his gut. Maybe she was doing it on purpose, tit for tat - no information for him until he gave information to her.

After setting the dishes and pan in soapy water to return to later, he’d come back to the sofa and picked the laptop up off the coffee table, almost reluctantly.

“Er, I’m gonna start my report now, if that’s all right?”

You look at him, noting the laptop now tucked under his arm. The report, of course – he hadn’t typed it up yet, couldn’t have, not when you’d sobbed and then napped all over him.

It’s like emotional whiplash - the soft, almost domestic moments where you could pretend this whole situation was normal - it’s dinner and a movie with a friend, first date vibes but both of you too cautious to make a move.

And then there’s the startling reminder that, no, actually, you’re not even home, in a one-bedroom bungalow, no idea where you are in the state, or what state, with a man, a bodyguard you hardly know, after very nearly being murdered the day before and could possibly be murdered in the days to come.

You must’ve stared too long in response as he raises his arm to rub the back of his head – you wonder if it’s a nervous habit.

“It’s nothing to worry about, Dove. The report’s just a formality after the interview earlier, and it’s better that I submit today. It’s fine if you’d prefer not to be in the room, though. If you’re not comfortable, I can wait until you’ve gone to bed.”

“Oh… No, go ahead.”

“Are you sure? I’ll be listening over the audio again but I’ll use headphones, so…”

“Yeah. It’s fine – needs to be done, as you said.” You smile, turning your head back to the TV to end the conversation.

Leon had sat on the other couch, laptop resting on his knees, plugged in a pair of in-ear headphones. For over an hour, you’d heard him tap away at the keys, brows furrowed in concentration when you’d chance a look his way. The last few times his eyes haven’t been on the laptop screen but that of the TV, watching the dumb romance movie you’d settled on during your channel searching, hoping it would prove a good distraction.

“Leon…” You feel rude for interrupting his work, but he’d tugged out an earbud, hasn’t typed anything in a good while now, definitely not since the last ad break.

Not that you were keeping track.

“Mm?” He hums in response.

“Can I…?” He looks over as you clear your throat - start over. “Can I ask you something? If you’ve got a minute.”

There it is - the encouraging smile. “Of course, Dove.”

“It’s going to sound stupid, but those things – were they BOWs?”

“The Lickers?” The smile drops as he tugs out the other earbud. “Yeah, they are.”

“Lickers?” It sounds too cutesy for what they are, like a lollipop brand for kids and not indescribable monstrosities.

“There’s probably some scientific name that Umbrella would use, but that term came from a cop that first saw them in the Raccoon City Police Department. I guess we kinda kept the name as a weird tribute.”

“Right.” Maybe it was the cop’s way of trying to make them less terrifying on first sight.

“Why do you ask?”

“I didn’t think BOWs were actually…” You swallow, though you know it’s not going to dislodge the lump in your throat now. “..things, if that makes sense. Like, I knew we were trying to protect the public from biological warfare threats, but I thought it was man-made diseases, or poisoning the water supply… That sort of stuff.”

“You’re not wrong. Those things were once human, mutated by a man-made virus. I’ve had a fair amount of experience with different iterations of the virus over the years, unfortunately.”

“Mutated…?” You feel sick as the image once again flashes in your mind’s eye, the grotesque features of the Lickers juxtaposed with those of humans, your colleagues… “Fuck.”

“Yeah - fuck.”

“God,” you exhale, but it doesn’t feel enough. “I’ve been so naïve to what I’ve even been doing all these years - I didn’t know what we were actually trying to prevent.”

“You sound like you think you’ve been doing something wrong.”

“Well, maybe I have.” You protest. “What if I missed something that led to that the other day?”

“You did not miss anything.” He says firmly, closing the laptop – you’re not sure if he’s concluded his report or not. “Is that what happened to everyone - they were infected and then they mutated into those… those things?” You can’t bring yourself to say the identifier out loud.

“No, Dove, the… The bodies they recovered matched with the amount of people signed into the premises. Excluding you, obviously.”

“So, someone brought them there and set them on us?”

“Maybe. They’re still working on how they got in the building. They don’t exactly use doors, so…” He laughs, though it’s half-hearted.

The lump feels too big in your throat, tears burn at your eyes as you drop your head down but you know you’re not quick enough.   

Leon stands, soft footsteps on the carpet as he circles round the coffee table and sits down a cushion’s width away from you.

“Sorry – it was a bad joke.”

You shake your head, sniffling a little, eyes fixed on your thighs. “No, it’s not that, or you. It’s so stupid, but I wish I could go back and stop it…”

“I know.” He places a hand down on the sofa, swivels his knees in your direction. “But it doesn’t help to think like that – trust me. And I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to keep going.”

“And you’ve faced those things before.”

“More times than I’d like to count.”

“How do you stop them?” You look up then, wiping away the tears from your cheek with the heel of your left hand.

“You couldn’t have done anything differently back there, if that’s what you’re thinking. A couple of gunshots to the head or an explosion is the only thing that’ll stop them.”

“You can’t… you know, turn them back?”

He shakes his head, looking solemn. “Afraid not.”

“Maybe for the best. I don’t think I’d want to be turned back if I’d…” If you’d ripped off your colleague’s head.

“Hey, that is not going to happen to you.” He leans forward, places his hand on your knee - having you fall asleep in his arms earlier has removed all sort of boundaries, it seems. “I promise.”

You shake your head then. “You can’t promise that.”

“I can. I am going to keep you safe.” He pauses – wind it in a little, Kennedy. “And if it makes you feel better, you won’t be the first. Want my credentials? I rescued the President’s daughter from a cult, got her home safe.”

“The President’s daughter?” You hadn’t heard about that, but then again why would you? Probably wouldn’t want it announced to the world that the leader of the free world’s daughter had been abducted.

“Mm. She had a codename and all – Baby Eagle.”

“But you would know her name.”

“Yeah, but still used codenames on official comms.”

“So, what would happen if I told you my name?”

“Er, well, I’d…” There’s the arm raise, rubbing the back of his neck again. “I’d have to report in to HQ that your identity had been compromised, I’d be redeployed elsewhere and you’d get a new security detail.”

“Why?”

“Part of your protection is that I’m not a risk of revealing your identity if hostile forces used… certain methods of interrogation if we were to be captured.”

Your stomach twists at the code. “Torture?”

“I suppose.” He shrugs, like he’s going to collect your mail or water your plants when you’re on vacation as a favour.

“No, you can’t… How can you shrug at the prospect of being tortured for me? You don’t even know me.”

Leon wants to say he does know you, not completely but there’s things he’s picked up over the course of the day that he feels reasonably confident on. You don’t do good with sitting idle, has the feeling you keep yourself busy when you’re not locked in four walls. He got the feeling you’re thorough and proud of your work, or you were before this doubt crept in.

You like coffee with a splash of creamer, honey in your oatmeal. You don’t have any close friends or family nearby that will be wondering why you’ve gone AWOL just yet… ..and you’re definitely single, because if you had someone waiting at home you would’ve mentioned it they spoke about whisking you away to a safe house, or when Hunnigan said she was going to search your place.

He smiles. “I know you don’t deserve any of what’s happened to you over the last 24 hours, and that’s reason enough.”

“How can you be so sure I don’t?”

“Experience, Dove. Been in this line of work for a long time and, more importantly, I’ve been where you’ve been, okay?”

“Okay.” You nod, relenting. “Sorry, my head’s just…”

He squeezes your knee. “I know.”

--

You leave the bathroom later that evening – Leon had ducked in at some point and prepared your toothbrush again – and find him leaned over the sink, scrubbing at a pan and a cloth draped over his shoulder. He’s left out the medicine – two painkillers, two sleeping pills - on the counter, next to a glass of water. It feels oddly domesticated again for what all of this is.

You walk over to the counter, slowly, as he continues washing the dishes.

“I forgot to ask earlier. Have there been any updates?”

He turns, gives you a sympathetic smile. “Not yet. But it’s only the first full day of the investigation, so I’m sure I’ll hear something soon, especially since I’ve sent the report over.”

He’d sent it whilst you were in the bathroom, half-expected Hunnigan to ring right there and then but his cell had remained silent, so he’d moved his attention to the dishes.

“Yeah, suppose other things will take precedence too.” Other things meaning families to inform… What would they tell them?

You take a swig of water before picking up the pills, swallowing them all down in one. Knowing how quick the sleeping aids helped yesterday, you’re aware there’s only a limited time before you’ll feel the effects kick in.

“Well, goodnight, Leon.”

“Wait a sec.” He pulls the cloth off his shoulders and hurriedly dries his hands as you watch on, curiously. He fiddles with the watch around his wrist, pressing a button on the side, then undoing the strap before he holds it out to you. “Here, so you can tell the time. I know there’s no clock in there, so…”

You stare at the offering, not raising your hand to take it. “But what about you?”

“Got my cell.” He pats his pocket, then holds the watch out again. “It’s yours, if you want it.”

You step forward to take it, gripping it a little too tightly in your fingers. It must be your imagination because it feels warm, but that can’t be right.

“Sleep well, Dove.”

Without another thought, you lean up on your tip-toes and press a kiss on his stubbled cheek.

“Thank you.”

You swivel on your heels and walk into the bedroom, closing the door without looking back, missing out on the sight of a flustered DSO agent in the kitchen.

If it wasn’t for the sleeping pills now coursing their way through your system, you would’ve been up for hours longer, heart pounding at what you just did. Instead, you climb into bed, close your eyes and it isn’t long at all until sleep washes over you, his watch still clasped in your hand.

--

Leon’s phone finally vibrates with Hunnigan’s caller ID as he enters back into the living area after finishing his perimeter check. Had to do two rounds of the building because he knew he was too distracted on the first by your kiss, admonishing himself for being so put out of joint by a simple gesture. After his second, more thorough check of the area and confident there was still no sign of any unwanted guests, he’d headed back into the building, making sure everything was locked up before he answered the call – placing the phone up to his ear on the opposite cheek that you had kissed.

“Hunnigan!” He answers, a little too jovial, would lower if his voice if he wasn’t confident you’ll be fast asleep by the amount of time that’s passed since you took your medication. “I was getting worried you’d forgotten all about me.”

“I’m sure.” Her voice is a little tense, but he can tell she’s tired. “Just finished your report.”

“And?”

“Well, it’s not exactly airtight.”

He rubs the bridge of his nose, holding in a sigh. “What happened to innocent before proven guilty?”

“That’s why I’ve put Dove in a safehouse with you, rather than in a cell.”

“So, restrictions remain?”

“Restrictions remain.”

He rolls his eyes, grateful it’s not a video call. “Did you search her place?”

“Unfortunately not. The President wanted the surveillance department back up and running ASAP, so all available manpower had been diverted to that. The tech analyst, however, has confirmed that the breach on the database yesterday wasn’t what you’d call successful.”

Leon walks around the sofa, drops on it a little too heavy. “You don’t sound particularly thrilled by that.”

 “I’m not - the attempt itself was successful, but as soon as the system detected the forced entry, it wiped itself. Every subject that was still under surveillance has been lost.”

“Maybe that’s what they were trying to achieve.” He frowns. “Is there seriously no back-up server?”

“Analyst seemed to think it was their protocol, but it’s just a theory. Everyone who knew exactly how that division had their server set up is no longer with us.”

There’s a pause and he can hear Hunnigan tapping away at her keyboard as usual. “There is something I need to inform you of, though.”

“Right.”

“The tech analyst found the CCTV feeds have been tapped. They couldn’t trace where the feed was being diverted to, but it was definitely a system not within the DSO infrastructure. It’d been active since the attack, but they cut the connection when they discovered it.”

Leon frowns. “So, you’re saying that whoever orchestrated the attack could’ve been watching the cameras since.”

“Mm.”

“And if their objective was to leave no survivors…” Leon’s eyes focus on your bedroom door.

Hunnigan stops typing. “They’ll know they’ve failed.”

--

Part seven.

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

[krys-in-the-playhouse]

OC Brainrots #4: 'Bullying' Napoleon Hours

Haven't done a brainrot post in a while, so I thought I'd use this one to play along with Mo's (@xxsycamore/ @kissmetwicekissmedeadly 's) bullying Napoleon on his birthday prompts and see what my ikevamp girlies would do faced with the opportunity to 'bully' everyone's favorite former emperor.

For previous brainrots, check out the oc masterlist!

Thea

For Thea, I'd imagine her taking the imitating him route, more to tease him than anything. Like, maybe they're out doing shopping errands together a la that one story event where he's out getting groceries with Theo when they run into Shakespeare.

You know what, Theo can come get groceries with them too and he's a little jelly that Naps and Thea are having such a fun, silly conversation and he's feeling a little green-eyed that another man is chatting up his girl. Then, they happen across a handful of his students who asks him about this fencing technique they can't seem to get right.

Always happy to indulge his kids Naps goes to them while the other two are alone. Theo reveals about his jealous feels and Thea thinks it's cute and reminds him that she doesn't feel anything more for Naps than friendship, then proceeds to prove it by imitating him, deepening her voice, speaking in a bad French accent, and fencing with a stick she found on the ground, making Theo chuckle.

But don't think Naps will let this atrocity stand, oh no, as he sicks his students on her with tips on how to improve her form with a flourish of his cape not unlike a swooshy skirt twirl he's likely seen her do with her skirts on occasion, along with a cheeky little tease towards her in Italian (intentionally with his old Corsican accent) which makes her cringe. Theo laughs harder.

Abby

For Abby, she wouldn't be the type to intentionally bully Naps. She doesn’t wanna bully anyone, it's mean, especially someone as nice and cool as Napoleon! Would bullying even work on him? From someone like her? Surely not!

So, with that thought in mind, the best her teasing would come to is telling him something that he's been laughing at for the last five minutes isn't really that funny.

Like, she's a future person, so things in the past are going to be a little different than what she's used to in the modern day, right? Let's take laundry for example. Turn of the century France doesn't have automatic clothes washing machines and likely won't see them for a few more decades yet, unfortunately. Which means laundry day is an all-day test of strength and patience, especially when you need to wash for eleven people plus yourself. She has a personal vendetta against Arthur and his shirt fronts and collars because of the dried blood that refuses to come out and will glare at him every laundry day because of it.

On this thankfully perfectly temperate and sunny laundry day, Sebastian off doing a different chore (there's always a chore to be done in this huge mansion), but he had promised to come help her later on, so she was left on her own. And she gets to Arthur's pile of shirts that need to be cleaned and starched. And guess what she sees on the front and on the collar?

Well, she might have had thoughts of eviscerating him with a palette knife but the thought of cleaning his clothes again afterwards stayed her hand.

What she hadn't counted on was having an audience for the stages of wrath she went through as she looked at the offending white shirt. Namely one former emperor that happened to be passing by, returning from his adventures in town or something. He probably would have passed her unnoticed except he couldn't stop himself from laughing when he saw her face. First, the disbelief taking over her, moving quite rapidly to her clenching her teeth and clutching the fabric tightly in her tiny hands, to disgust, to finally letting a breath out and throwing the soiled shirt quite harder than necessary into the steel pot on the ground, splashing soapy water onto the grass. 

Napoleon laughed at the scene, loudly, making Abby jump and squeak in surprise, embarrassed that her little show had been witnessed. She wanted to go crawl into her room and hide in her shame, but laundry still needed to be done so she continued her task despite the red on her cheeks and ears making her look like a cherry tomato. Pouting, she also mumbles that she wasn't trying to be funny, making Naps smile sweetly.

He apologizes and takes off his jacket, intent on helping her to make up for laughing at her. He gives her some gentle head pats and took on the task of scrubbing Arthur's shirt for her. He then promises to threaten him for putting her through this arduous ordeal, his punishment to be to wash his own shirts if he does this again. Abby, finally, smiles a little, feeling a bit better, which makes Naps smile more, happy she wasn't angry anymore.

Thanks for coming along with me for this 'bullying' adventure with Napoleon!

[twinkletoeskc]

Untitled Marauders Fanfic Ch.4

Link to Ch. 3

Summary: Arden, Cosette, and Kalliope turn up to their Saturday morning detentions joined by the marauders. Surely no mischief will come about with this group of students.

Heavy enemies to lovers trope, slow burn, multiple relationships, multiple POVs, found family, toxic relationships, abusive families

Ships: James Potter x O/C, Remus Lupin x O/C, Sirius Black x O/C

Warnings: none

A/N: Hello everyone, thank you for the continuous support on this story it is greatly appreciated. Though some not exciting news is that after this chapter the updates will be less frequent as the first four chapters were pre-written. so please be patient in between chapters, and i will continue to post other media about the story in the meantime.

O/C Character Moodboard:

Untitled Fanfic Ch. 4

Kal’s eyes are blurry with residual sleep as she sits waiting on the floor beside the door to the Potions classroom. She leans her head against the wall, letting her eyes close. She didn’t mean to arrive fifteen minutes early, but one of the girls in her dorm sleep talks and often wakes her up far earlier than she ever wants to. 

Such was the case this morning when she awoke to the girl screaming in her sleep. Kal jerked awake, recoiled right off the bed, and entangled herself into the crimson canopy. Frightened, disgruntled, and fully awake, Kal decided that the practical course of action would be to start her day a little early, 

“What are you doing here so early?”

She opens her eyes to see James Potter standing above her, his hair matted to his head with sweat and his face and robes filthy with mud and dirt. Her face twists with disgust, and she pulls her legs into herself so he won’t dirty her pants. “Because I like being punctual. Why are you disgusting?” 

He huffs out a little laugh, running a hand through his messy hair. “Quidditch practice.” 

She looks at him unimpressed, “And you couldn’t have showered before?” 

He shrugs, “I mean, I could have, but it was either that or fit in a little extra practice time before detention.” 

“God Prongs, you’re filthy,” comes a voice from the hallway, and Remus Lupin makes his appearance. He looks slightly better than he did the previous day. The bruises under his eyes are more of a lilac than a deep plum, and he looks respectable in his corduroys and cable knit sweater despite it being so early into the weekend. He comes to stand by James and discovers Kal on the ground. His face instantly flushes with embarrassment, and his eyes shift away. 

“’Lo, Kalliope…” he mumbles. 

She frowns at her full name, grunting in lieu of a response, her eyes returning to James. “Prongs?”

He looks at her, raising his eyebrows expectantly. “Yeah?” 

“Why did he call you that?” 

A coy half smile toys on his lips, “Want to take a guess?” 

She falters, and Remus rolls his eyes, “It’s because his Patronus is a stag.” James clicks his teeth, mumbling something under his breath that sounded vaguely like “Ruined it…” 

Remus sighs; pulling his wand out of his pocket, he points it at James and mumbles “Scourgify.” The muck covering James’s body is suddenly repelled, flinging itself instead onto the walls and the floor. Kal has to duck to avoid a splash of mud from slapping her in the face. “Hey!” James gags, spitting frothy pink soap onto the ground and glaring at Remus. The boy shrugs, “You look like a prat when you come in from Quidditch looking like that. Everyone knows you’re doing it for attention.” 

“Am not.” James grumbles, sliding a hand through his hair to ruffle his flattening trusses. Kal watches the interaction with satisfaction as James continues to complain, his lips producing pink soapy bubbles. 

She can hear footsteps to her right, and as she looks that way, she can see the Hufflepuff girl from the other night in the woods walking towards them. She has a messenger bag slung over a shoulder and her wand perched lazily in her hand. A scroll of parchment suspends itself in the air before her. It appears that she is talking to herself, but upon closer inspection Kal can see that as she speaks, a quill scratches across the parchment in time with her words.

“…and as excitement for the first house match gathers, many fans are expecting James Potter to lead Gryffindor into yet another House Cup victory.” The girl finishes before flicking her wand and sending her supplies flying into her bag.

Kal’s mood sours slightly at James’s self-righteous expression. “Hello, all.” The girl says as she joins the group, and James’s eyes glimmer with interest, “Was that me you were talking about?” The girl’s head quirks as she sizes him up, “Is your name James Potter?” She asks, and James pauses, “Uh, yeah.” 

“Then obviously it was you I was talking about; well, writing about, more like. I’m doing a story on you for the Hogwarts Herald,” she sniffs, “God, you smell ghastly, do you know that?” He frowns at her, ignoring her observation “What is that?” The girl becomes distracted with rifling through her messenger bag, and it takes her a beat too long before she realizes that he is waiting for an answer. “Hmm? Oh, it’s the school newspaper. Do you mind if I get a quick interview from you, since we’re going to be in detention together and all?” Kal eyes the Hufflepuff curiously, “We don’t have a school newspaper.” 

The Hufflepuff dismisses her, “Well, yes, of course we don’t yet, but I’m working on that. So, about that interview…”  

“Hello boys,” Sirius materializes between the two boys, looping his long arms around their necks with an indolent grin. He notices Kal and his eyebrows jump with amusement, “And hello to you too cousin.” She smiles sardonically, “A pleasure.” He nods, “Naturally.” His eyes roam over the group and eventually find the Hufflepuff, “Oh, and you’re here too, uh…” 

“Cosette,” she supplies. 

“Cosette. Of course. I knew that.”

“Sirius, I told you to wait for me; I always get lost on the stairs to the dungeons,” comes a whiney voice from the dark corridor. Sirius regards the boy lightly, an eye roll present in his voice if not in his expression, “Sorry, Wormy. Got bored.” Peter Pettigrew stands on the other side of James Potter, a couple inches shorter and his insecure visage in stark contrast to James’s cocky demeanor, Sirius’s cool confidence, and Remus’s self-assuredness. 

Unsure footsteps echo their way to the group, and Arden appears from the shadows looking hesitant. 

“There you are! Just in time for the fun!” Sirius says, reclined against the stone wall with a lazy grin on his face. Arden’s eyes flit slowly across the group, and Lupin slyly ducks behind James. “You are all here for detention with Slughorn?” She asks. She’s met with a haphazard chorus of yesses, and she snorts. “What a treat,” she mumbles sarcastically. 

“What landed you three in jolly ol’ detention, hmm?” Sirius asks. “Same as you three, I suspect,” Cosette says, still digging through her messenger bag for something. She must have cast some enlargement spell to the interior because she’s elbow deep now. “Caught romping through the forbidden forest.” 

“Ah,” James chuffs, “Amateurs.” 

Arden’s head tilts, “So, you’re not in detention for the forbidden forest, then?” 

“Merlin, no. We’re in the forest all the time.” James grins, “Sirius and I got three weeks detention for putting a “hide and seek” charm on all of Slytherin’s brooms before their first practice.”

“Me too!” Peter squeaks. 

“Ah, yes how could I forget. You did a piss poor job of keeping watch.” James rolls his eyes. 

Arden’s frowns, “Their first practice was today…” 

“Well, it was supposed to be,” Sirius says, “Last I heard they still haven’t found their brooms.” 

“Blimey, three weeks detention, already? The first week of term?” Cossette remarks. 

“You landed detention the first night,” James says blankly. Cossette blinks, “Yes, well…” 

“What are you in for Loony—uh, Remus?” Kal asks, craning her neck to peek at him from behind James. Lupin startles briefly and clears his throat, stepping just so out of James’s shadow. “Well, I skipped my first class of term… and got caught faking a note from Dumbledore.” His eyes flicker ever so slightly to Arden, and her face heats up with understanding. 

Kal frowns suspiciously, “What would you need a fake note from Dumbledore for?” Lupin drops his gaze to his worn loafers, “Ah, well—” 

“There you all are! And with a minute to spare! Well done.” A jovial greeting echoes from the hallway, and Horace Slughorn appears, the colors of his fine robes dulled by the dingey dungeon light. He shuffles his way between them, unlocking the door with a quick flick of his wand. They file in behind him into the empty potions classroom, their eyes straining against the darkness. 

“I will say, I did not expect to have so many students in need of detention this early in the term.” Professor Slughorn comments, setting the wicks on a dozen candles ablaze with another motion of his wand. He settles behind his desk with a pleasant expression, the chair groaning beneath him. “And I was especially surprised to see one of my prefects on the list…” 

Arden’s face alights as his twinkling gaze finds her, “Professor I—” 

He raises a hand, a laugh bubbling up from him. “No need, Miss Wilkes.” He chuckles, “I quite fancy seeing a rebellious streak in my best students. Builds character.” He winks, and she smiles meekly. His gaze turns to find the four boys, “You lot I am less surprised to see.” 

Sirius nods in greeting, smirking, “’Lo professor.” 

Slughorn sighs, “Right! Well, thankfully I do have something in need of doing, so your time will not be wasted. I have several out-of-commission cauldrons taking up space in my classroom. I would like for you to sort these cauldrons into what can be cleaned and repaired or what must be disposed of, and I will ask you to clean and repair the cauldrons you can within your ability to do so, yes?” 

There’s a general mumbling amongst the group and Slughorn smiles, clapping his hand together, “Lovely, well, as you can see, I have already gathered the cauldrons and…” 

He trails off as a small owl flitters into the classroom, a note tied to its ankle. The owl lands on Slughorn’s desk, and the man unties the note, fumbling with the spectacles in his breast pocket before reading it. He stands quickly, buzzing with a different excitement as he crumples the note in his thick fist. “I am dreadfully sorry students, my presence is eagerly demanded at the Three Broomsticks'' His rosy cheeks glow as he adds in a conspiratorial mumble,” By Madam Rosmerta herself, no less.”  The students share an uncertain look as he titters to himself.

“So, we’re free to go, then?” Remus asks. Slughorn looks at him startled, “Oh, certainly not. I would be severely reprimanded if I let you lot loose with no work to show for it.” He slowly makes his way to the door, walking backward to keep his eyes on the students. “I will simply lock you in here until noon, trusting that you will take care of my cauldrons.” 

Arden raises a hand vaguely, “Um, Professor? Are you sure that is safe—” 

“Miss Wilkes, you wound me! I would never leave you in a situation I thought at all unsavory. Besides, I have faith in you to shape this group into some real fine cauldron repairers. By the end of your detention, you might even begin to compete with the house elves!” He makes it to the other side of the door, a cheerful smile disrupting his mustache. With a raise of his wand hand, he declares “Cheers!” and the door folds closed. 

And, with a dull thud, they are locked in.

[liskantope]

Okay, so here's the review of the Netflix limited series Maid that I said I might write (for whatever interest anyone has in it, as I'm guessing that almost none of my followers have seen Maid and I doubt this post will particularly entice anyone to see it). I've held off reading any reviews of it so as not to color my opinion.

The best I can say about Maid is that I found it somewhat educational; it was engaging; and I got to care enough about the story and some of the characters to keep watching through the ten episodes. But I otherwise found it mediocre and very flawed, though flawed in interesting ways which I think were part of what kept me watching. (Interesting enough to make a very long post, apparently.) Maybe it doesn't help that I watched it straight after finishing Six Feet Under, a truly fantastic series, and Maid was recommended to me by the same person in just as enthusiastic a tone but seemed quite meh in immediate comparison.

(Vague spoilers immediately to follow; more specific spoilers later below the cut.)

Maid is about a young woman named Alex with an almost-three-year-old daughter who has just run away from an abusive living situation with her boyfriend and is struggling to find a way out of crippling poverty to get a stable and safe life for her and her child. The tone of deliberately directly educating the audience is sprinkled throughout a good bit (though by no means all) of the script, which contributes to the "meh"-ness but which I appreciated as education, mainly of how the social services system works as well as how one gets and sustains a job as a maid doing cleaning work for different homes. (I do like the unspoken symbolism of cleaning up other people's messes as both an occupation and as the general pattern of her personal life.) An example of this "clearly written to educate" aspect to the script is all the dialog specifying the concept of "emotional abuse". (As a sidenote, I have my doubts about whether the boyfriend Sean's behavior can really be rounded off specifically to emotional abuse, which I have generally understood to mean "manipulating emotionally with words, like for instance to make the other person feel worthless, or threats of violence": some of that was going on but a lot of it was Sean scaring Alex with violent behavior (though not actually striking her) which makes her feel physically threatened, making it impossible for Alex to work or have basic adult-levels of control of her day-to-day life, etc. Sean's behavior prior to the start of the story and later is seriously abusive, but I'm not sure that the severe controllingness, just because it's not directly physical abuse, should be categorized as emotional abuse instead. Maybe I'm wrong and could find out by research that emotional abuse is defined as all abuse that isn't physical or something.)

The show mixed the modern fast-paced style of comedy with wacky side characters together with the overall drama of the situation in a way that, well, I suppose could have been done much worse. I often was able to predict the "beats" and specific plot turns just because I recognized them from tropes of standard American sitcoms and slightly soapy dramas.

Some characters are developed fairly well in my opinion (like Alex's mania-prone mother), but others are developed sketchily and inconsistently (like Sean, despite his central position in the story, or like Alex's dad who turns out to have some parallel faults to Sean's). The writers were clearly going for making Sean a nuanced character who has a nice side when he's sober but intersperses that with controlling, hateful behavior on top of his violent rages. I understand intellectually that a person can be that way, and in fact if they made Sean out to be a monster all the time I would be criticizing the writers for lack of nuance in characterization. But for reasons I can't entirely put my finger on, for the first two thirds or so of the series I found something piecemeal and not very believable about how Sean was coming across.

It's notable to me that ultimately every single female character winds up being vindicated as a wonderful and sympathetic badass (really only Alex's mother is the one that retains serious flaws and even she in the end is extremely sympathetic), while every single male character winds up coming across as a horrible person. Okay, so some would say that Nick (quickly and predictably established as Alex's main romantic interest apart from Sean) doesn't qualify as a bad guy -- in fact, he's implausibly saintly almost throughout -- but eventually he (in another predictable beat) decides his niceness is going to come to an end and is dropped completely from the rest of the story, I think the only major character whose interactions don't get tied up in a neat knot at the end. I honestly don't mind the "all women are amazing, all men are awful" outcome as much as I'd have thought I might. The main social theme of the show, besides poverty, is domestic violence after all, and while I do wish feminists didn't tend to depict it as so exclusively male-to-female in nature, I didn't particularly expect this show to be exceptional in breaking out of that.

I will also give the show credit for elevating class issues above race issues, having a diverse cast without mentioning race once apart from Alex's internal monologues about feeling like "white trash", having the rich character who eventually befriends Alex being a black woman, etc., particularly during 2021, a time in the wake of George Floyd when the overall social discourse ethos was very pressuring to Make Everything About Race All The Time.

Alex is not an inconsistently or sketchily -written character, but I would say that she's... not really a developed character at all, so much as a blank slate marked by all the complicated and difficult situations she's put in. Her programming basically consists of "be completely sympathetic at all times in all decisions she makes, and be incredibly competent at everything she tries to do" and then seeing how she goes when tons of adversity from all directions is thrown at her. I realize this is a very dehumanizing way to talk about someone, but I'm approaching her in her capacity as a fictional character consciously created by writers, and I think she was created in a sort of empty way. Oh sure, she has some vulnerabilities, and she makes like a couple of mistakes (one of them a very big one: see below cut) but always the mistake even a wise person would kind of have to make in her situation. This, more than any other aspect of the show, is what differentiates it in my view from a truly great show like Six Feet Under. Eventually some non-externally-determined personality shows through, as we see that Alex has a flair for writing, but it still comes across to me as "the writer decided on a talent for Alex to have so that she can wind up with a hopeful future".

What (in some sense deep down kind of) bothers me most about Alex's characterization is that she's just so consistently hyper-competent at doing absolutely everything she tries to do and doing it all at once while being a perfect mother to her three-year-old. I don't criticize this as unrealistic, since I actually do know people (one of them who similarly successfully struggled out of an absolutely daunting level of poverty and lack of support) like this; they are the sort of people I've bitterly described as so many more times productive than I am that they appear to have superpowers. But the show did leave me wondering, is Alex's outcome really that typical? Don't most people in her situation do several times worse at trying to get out of it, because most people have several times less competence/neurotypicality/ability not to mention a particular talent like Alex's talent for writing? And then there's the fact that, after the first half of the series highlights all the dysfunctions of The System, later in the series all these things rather implausibly abruptly fall into place for Alex. It seems ultimately calculated for good-feels rather than gritty likelihood. And, I mean, it is refreshing for not every show with obvious social justice messages to go what we might call "the Orange is the New Black route" where we have to make sure that not too much comes out okay for the characters because then we might be implying that sometimes justice actually does get done. But I see issues with both extremes here.

An interesting note: in Alex's big cathartic confrontation scene with Sean, she tells him that she has PTSD from his treatment of her, but I noticed no evidence whatsoever on screen that she had symptoms of PTSD. (There is some strong hinting of PTSD from childhood due to her father's behavior, in fact, but not from adulthood.) And just as strangely, it's never mentioned again. (As anyone here who knows my views might guess, I'm not terribly happy about this because the writers / Alex seem to be saying that having PTSD is an automatic aspect of surviving domestic abuse and that we don't need to bother to have an actual concrete definition/description for PTSD -- of course, I suppose someone who had gone through what Alex had gone through might well wind up with some kind of PTSD, but show it, please, and don't imply that it's just an automatic meaningless default.)

Anyway, not only is Alex hyper-competent, but her kid is kind of a perfect kid even at barely three years old while rolling with the very turbulent punches of Alex's chaotic life (which involves not knowing whose roof they'd sleep under from day to day). Oh, I think once it comes up that she has issues sometimes with being told that she has to get off the swing at the playground, or something. Let's just say, I know plenty enough about myself at that age to say I would not handle the chaos and instability one tenth as well and that I (and honestly most kids) might be quite visibly damaged by the end of it.

Anyway. Now for the writing at the end which killed a lot (though not all) of the respect I still had for the show. This will be more specifically spoilery regarding Alex and Sean's relationship, so is placed under the cut.

The basic synopsis of Alex/Sean is as follows. Alex and Sean, right up to the start of the series, were in an abusive relationship in which Sean had developed a violent temper whenever he was drunk, never striking her or their child but punching and destroying things near her. She decided she had enough the night the story begins, when she had to pick pieces of glass out of her daughter's hair, and runs away with the kid. It's later revealed that Sean had cut off her credit card some time earlier after she had missed a payment, so there were multiple forms of abuse going on here.

Sean manages to temporarily secure full custody of their daughter. Then he shows a better side of himself in a scene where he confesses that he needs to clean his act up and drops the claim of full custody, leaving them with equal custody. Sean manages to get sober for a while, and he and Alex have their ups and downs as co-parents. Then, in a moment of (very understandable) weakness, after Sean is super helpful to Alex when a separate crisis comes up, Alex sleeps with Sean (fulfilling another trope I have noted before), grows to trust him again, and gradually drifts towards getting back together with him.

Sean's run of acting like an angel ends very abruptly when he gets very upset over the fact that Alex just got awarded a scholarship to go to college in another state; in the next few hours he very deliberately gets rid of Alex's one mode of independent transportation giving a BS excuse and physically intimidates her when she protests (it's ambiguous but it seems not unreasonable to assume that there's no alcohol in the house at this time and he hasn't had a drink). Sean then goes back to drinking, effectively imprisons Alex in their house (her feeling of completely losing her sense of self is artfully depicted through images of her sinking into dark, deep holes), doesn't let her have a phone or a job or any access to money, and controls her every move. This is the kind of "on the bottle" behavior I was thinking of in these posts which I'm afraid tells me something pretty awful about a person even if they were to become permanently sober.

Then through a implausibly perfect sequence of fortunate developments, Alex escapes, gets a fancy lawyer to help her pro bono to gain full custody of the kid, and gains some promise of a good future. At first Sean reacts predictably badly, but then he has a revelation that he really needs to get clean in order to be a fit father and so relinquishes his claim to custody. He makes a confession to Alex's face very similar to the one he made earlier in the season (I note, never concretely naming or apologizing for the extremely abusive things he recently did to Alex, just owning up again to the fact that he can't be a parent until he's sober), and in that very conversation, offers for Alex to stop by his house to pick up their daughter's stuff, which Alex agrees on the spot to do (that's right, cheerfully walk back into the house that was your prison last time you were there -- oh and you mentioned you have PTSD from it, by the way -- alone with the man who imprisoned you). In their next scene together, Alex is leaving for college with their daughter, and she warmly tells Sean he can come visit their daughter whenever he wants, to which Sean earnestly vows to get permanently sober and visit tons. It's played as a really nice ending to the turbulent relationship between them.

Obviously the writer wasn't going to be dumb enough to have Alex and Sean get back together again in their happy ending, but man does Sean get off way too easy in this ending, and if I don't find that this decision was harshly criticized in multiple reviews, I'll be tempted to conclude that the aggressive 2010's-era form of internet feminism is truly dead (which, I shouldn't be complaining, but... it did made some good points?).

Again, the rationale seems to be that, well, Sean is a monster when drunk but great when sober, so if he promises to be sober, sure, warmly let him back into your lives. The thing is, number one, he promised to clean up his act earlier in the series and look how that turned out half a series later. And two, when Sean turned back into an abuser (an even worse one than before) near the climax of the story, I thought that was quite good writing, and that Sean's true character was finally coming together: his being so nice beforehand seemed partly just an effort to win Alex back, and once he (mostly) did, the moment she later upset him, he reverted right back to his old ways and showed his true self that had been hidden underneath the whole time and only needed to be triggered. That seemed like the overwhelmingly obvious interpretation at the time, but I guess the interpretation the writers are nudging us towards is that he was genuinely unselfishly good while sober, not trying to weave Alex back into his web or anything, and then started acting like a monster when he went back to drinking, and the solution is just to not let himself drink so that he can be a great person. It doesn't sit well with me, and that's what spurred me to write my posts of last night asking about what "good person when sober, bad person when drunk" really means.

(Disclaimer to all of this: I remembered halfway through writing this surprisingly long post that the series is based on a novel, and maybe the nuances Sean and Alex's relationship are better written in the novel version.)

[gsstories]

“Oh my god, a mosco!!” - “I’m a FAIRY!!”

-----

Slammed on the wall was a humanoid creature with its head having what looked like red flower petals but still not? The creature’s body was half really dark brown, and orange while it wore a ragged and torn cloak over its shoulders and dusty red and orange striped pants with no shoes. Around it were a few girls looking at it in confusion and slight disgust.

“...Did I kill it?” A young, slightly Asian looking girl with a large magenta bow on her head looked at the creature on the wall while a sandal was on the floor near the wall where the creature went splat and she coincidentially was missing one of her sandals. SLAP!

The girls turned and stared at a bigger girl with black skin, curly hair and green attire who just slapped the thing to the wall again. “Yeah, I think it be dead dead now!” The girl said as she pulled her hand away from the dead creature. Or so they thought, the creature started groaning in pain and annoyance, making the girls panic. “KILL IT WITH FIRE-!!”

–

‘Wait wait wait wait, we can’t start like this! Let me show you the context of this chaos!’

–--->

Earlier that day, five girls were all washing a car in the driveway, one of them just splashing others with the hose instead of actually helping clean the car. That one was Diane, a chaotic half Portuguese girl who did little to no actual work.

“Quit it Diane!” A tall, black skinned and curly haired girl with red attire named Adira yelled at Diane and huffed when Diane just giggled mischievously.

Her laughter stopped when the girl with the bow, aka Goldie, threw some water from a bucket at Diane, immediately running away cackling when Diane started chasing her.

“Sooooo, why are you cleaning your mom’s car again?” The girl with green attire asked, her name being Alanis. “It was either this or get my stuff taken away.” A girl with light pink, blue and lavender hair said as she washed the car with a soapy wet cloth, her name being Gin.

“Aight, that’s fair.” Alanis said. “Hey, did you hear about the forest fire from a few weeks ago?”

“Oh, that? Yeah, I heard. Same day of the eclipse apparently. Crazy coincidence huh?” Gin said as Alanis nodded.

“So weird! It came out of nowhere! I haven’t heard any news of anyone getting hurt though so I guess that’s good.” Alanis said.

The girls were enjoying the day just washing the car and splashing each other with water that they did not notice the rather short creature flying around the place. Adira had Diane in a headlock while Gin and Alanis laughed at the situation as GoIdie squeezed water out of her hair. The creature had been successfully kept itself hidden due to the girls paying more attention to each other than their environment but did the mistake of flying too close to Goldie, who freaked out when she felt a presence nearby and almost on instinct took off one of her sandals and threw it at the creature, the pressure of the sandal make it go splat on the wall! Goldie watched with wide eyes before calling out to the others. “GUYS!”

<----–

And that’s how we got here!

“Dude… what the fuckknuckles is THAT?!” Diane exclaimed as she and the other girls looked down at the creature that had fallen to the ground after getting slapped AGAIN.

“A mosquito?” Alanis suggested.

“Too big for a mosquito.” Adira said.

“Cucaracho!” Gin exclaimed as the creature groaned. “Should we call someone?”

“Yes but not our parents.” Goldie said.

“That much is obvious. Gen?” Gin asked as the others nodded. “Gen it is then!”

Taking out her phone, the cotton candy looking girl looked through her contacts and called the one that was named ‘Raccoon’, waiting for the person to answer. The phone rang around 4 times before the person picked up.

“What did you guys do this time?” A tired and exasperated voice asked through the phone.

“Hey, what makes you think we did anything?” Gin asked.

“You never call unless you wanna ramble or you fucked up somehow. You said you were cleaning your mom’s car, what’s there to ramble about THAT?” The girl on the phone asked.

“…Okay, we have a bit of a situation.” Gin admitted.

“Thought so. I’m coming over.” The girl sighed before hanging up.

“Sooooo…” Diane said as she poked the creature with a stick. “What do we do with this?”

“Okay, what am I looking at?” A girl that appears to be the oldest of the bunch asked, looking at the creature that was now wrapped in a towel on a bed.

The creature’s face was half really dark brown, and the other half was orange, its cheeks seemingly having what would be considered blush that could only be found on dolls. The girls were all in Gin’s room, Gen looking at the creature while the others looked at Gen.

“¿Mosquito?” Alanis said.

“It’s too big to be a mosquito.” Gen, the oldest, deadpanned.

“¡Mosco!” Diane exclaimed.

“It doesn't even resemble a mosquito! Why are you calling it a mosquito?!” Gen said as the girls just shrugged, making her groan in annoyance. “Okay, it is definitely NOT a mosquito or any kind of bug. It’s not anything like I’ve ever seen before.”

“It’s lucky Ally didn’t accidentally squash it.” Adira said as Alanis giggled nervously.

“Maybe it’s a fairy?” Goldie suggested.

Silence…

“Nah.”

“Can’t be.”

“Impossible.” “I don’t think so.”

The girls were slapped behind their heads by Genesis when they said that.

“It is clearly a fairy! Jeez, y’all dumb or what?” Gen said. “Also, why is that so hard to believe huh? Have you forgotten the amount of times you all have gotten us in trouble because you messed with some magical thing when I specifically tell you NOT to mess with?”

“Oh yeah… In my defense, I forget.” Diane said.

“Of course you do.” Gen said as she turned to the fairy. “You think it’ll wake up soon?”

“I don’t know dude, Alanis slapped it a lot.” Gin said.

Gen sighed as she sat down on the bed beside the creature. She rubbed her temples as she felt a headache come in. It hasn’t even been a week since the last magic trouble the girls have gotten into and now they have a fairy in their hands. Just peachy!

“You think it’ll be mad?” Gin asked as she poked the towel burrito fairy.

“I mean, I’d be mad if I was slapped to a wall.” Adira said.

“Heheheh, I’m in trouble.” Alanis chuckled.

“Yeah you are.” Goldie said.

“Ughh…”

The girls all snapped their heads at the sound, looking at the towel burrito fairy… who was waking up. Its eyelids slowly fluttered open, revealing mismatched eyes with the irises being orange while the right sclera was a yellow color, almost white while the left one was pitch black. Most of the group backed away a bit but Gen stayed put, she didn’t have the energy to back away from a potential threat nor did she really care.

“Ooooh, we fucked!” Diane said as the girls agreed.

“Smol!” Goldie exclaimed in awe.

“Abby would so cry at its clothes.” Alanis mumbled.

“Agreed.” Adira said.

The fairy appeared a bit groggy when it woke up but snapped open its eyes the moment it took in its surroundings and saw the girls, HUMAN girls, standing there, staring at it. 

“Hi!” Gin said to the fairy, a wide smile on her face.

The moment realization set in, the fairy’s expression turned to one of pure hatred as it tried to get out of its fluffy prison. The girls watched the creature struggle a bit and couldn't help but giggle.

“Okay, this is kinda funny to watch.” Adira said as the others chuckled.

They didn’t laugh for long, however, when the towel caught fire and turned into ashes.

Silence came over the room…

And then…

“¡Cabrón!” Gin was the one to break the silence with her scream, grabbing the fairy from the bed as she looked at the pile of ashes on it. “Now it’s gonna smell like smoke…! Dang it…”

“Unhand me this instant!” The fairy yelled in indignation.

“And the towel, the fucking towel! I am so lucky I used an old one, if I used one of the new ones, my mom would have killed me!” Gin said, not hearing out the fairy.

“Honestly, same.” Adira said as Alanis nodded.

“Me too! Ashes on the bed? Oh, that’s a death sentence!” Diane added her two cents.

“Ow!” Gin exclaimed as she dropped the fairy and looked at the palm of her hands in confusion. “Did you just burn me??”

The fairy did not answer at first, it simply flew in the air, glaring at the group of girls who either looked shocked, confused or just… bored.

“Why am I here?!” The fairy demanded to know.

“Uhh, Goldie kind of made you go splat on a wall cause she thought you were a bug so we brought you here to make sure Ally didn’t accidentally kill you when she slapped you two other times.” Diane said as she looked at Goldie and Ally.

“Sorry, I panicked…” Goldie said, a bit embarrassed.

“It’s instinct! If it twitches, ya gotta hit it to make sure it stays dead!” Ally said as the rest looked at her, unimpressed.

“Anyway, who are you?” Gen asked, turning to the fairy with a raised brow.

“Why should I speak to you maggots?” The fairy seethed at the humans.

“I don’t know. I’m kinda bored.” Gen said.

“So this is how it’s like being burned… Cool!” Gin said with a wide, very unsettling smile on her face.

The fairy looked unnerved and confused at the cotton candy color haired girl’s reaction at being injured. Seriously, what the hell?

“You gonna answer my question or question why cotton chick is a masochist?” Gen asked. “I advise you don’t do the latter, you’ll end up scarred for life.”

“Why would you humans want to know who I am?” The fairy said as he narrowed his eyes at the girl.

“Curious,” Gen said with a shrug.

“…Just that? Curious?” The fairy repeated, scoffing in disbelief. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah, I am.” Gen said tiredly. “You know, you’re kinda rude.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I supposed to care about how I treat your kind?” The fairy said in a mocking tone, grinning like a little shit, which annoyed Gen.

“I don’t know what your deal is but can you please not act like a total douche?” Gen said as she scowled slightly at the fairy.

“I could… but I only do so for people who truly deserve respect.” The fairy stated. “What, you think I should respect you lowlives? How pathetic can you be to expect such a thing from me?”

Now that made Genesis snap.

“Okay, ya wanna be a bitch now? Fine! You listen up! I was called to make sure these gals didn’t get themselves killed cause they swatted an oversized cockroach who might as well have dropped dead. I was worried that they killed an innocent creature but it seems I was wrong.” Gen scowled at the fairy, who glared back. “Who do you think you are, acting all high and mighty? You think you’re better than us huh? I don’t know who you are and frankly I could care less but I swear to whichever god exists above, I WILL make sure you pray to them if you are to insult or burn one of them again.”

The human girl and the fairy stayed silent as they kept glaring at each other for a very long while, neither breaking eye contact. Meanwhile, the rest of the girls were watching all this unfold with bated breaths.

“Okay, getting bored, Gin, I am raiding your fridge!” Diane said as she skipped out of the room to the kitchen.

“Yeah yeah, whatever!” Gin said as she looked at her burnt hands.

“Okay, let’s get that patched up.” Adira sighed as she dragged Gin away to heal her burns.

“Did we ever finish washing Gin’s mom’s car?” Goldie asked.

“Ugh, I’ll finish washing it.” Gen groaned as she grabbed the fairy. “And you are coming with. I ain’t letting you out of my sight.”

The fairy yelled at Gen and thrashed around, demanding she put them down. It even tried burning her but it just… didn’t work?

“Mom friend immunity!” Diane yelled, answering the non asked question of the fairy’s.

This was going to be annoying.

…

…

…

Hosing off the leftover soap suds from the car, Genesis was in a rather bad mood now. One because she was interrupted from doing a project, two because she had to deal with a jerk ass fire fairy who kept trying to burn her and three, she had to finish washing the car cause she doubted the other girls would do so.

“You certainly look like a ray of sunshine.” The fairy said sarcastically while in Gen’s grip.

“Shut up. I have a headache and your stupid comments are NOT helping.” Gen mumbled as she rubbed her temples.

She was feeling very drained, even speaking was too much work…

“I am aware.” The fairy said with a grin, which annoyed Gen even more.

“Okay, I am sorry my friends swatted you but can you not act like a total jerk? It’s getting old.” Gen said as she looked at the fairy she was holding.

“Like that will stop me.” The fairy scoffed.

Gen rolled her eyes, figuring she would get nowhere with this stubborn as Hell fairy.

…

“...Why does my fire not hurt you?” The fairy asked Genesis, which caught her a bit off guard.

“What?” Gen asked as she turned to the fairy.

“I said, why does my fire not hurt you? I have been trying to hurt you but it’s not like you even feel it!” The fairy said, grumbling under its breath. “It’s frustrating…”

“I… don’t know.” The girl mumbled.

“So you’re a freak of nature huh?” The fairy said, trying to get under her skin.

“Yep.” Gen said just that.

“Seriously? That’s it?” The fairy said, frowning at the girl’s one word answer.

Gen just nodded her head.

“Oh, so now you’re not going to talk? What, did I hurt your feelings?” The fairy mocked.

Gen only shook her head.

“Then why aren’t you speaking?!” The fairy screamed at the girl in frustration.

Gen just shrugged her shoulders. She felt tired so as soon as she finished cleaning off the car, she went inside Gin’s house, where she saw the girls chilling inside with Gin having some bandages on her hands. Gen grumbled under her breath, getting the attention of Adira and Alanis. “Hey, you okay?” Adira asked as Gen shook her head. “You tired?” Gen nodded as she handed the fairy to Adira before going over to the couch and laying on it, quickly falling asleep.

“What’s wrong with her?” The fairy asked, kind of confused.

“She’s just drained, is all. College applications are taking a toll on her so it makes her more exhausted than usual.” Adira answered as she put the fairy down on the table. “Let me guess, she only shook or nodded her head to any questions you had.” “Yes.” The fairy said.

“Yeah, that’s how you know she’s super drained! Like, drained enough so that even speaking is too much work!” Alanis added herself into the conversation.

 “Other times she just doesn’t feel like speaking and communicating through texts and stuff.” Adira said.

“Texts?” The fairy repeated.

“Yeah, you know, text messages.” Adira said, waving her phone around a bit.

“What is that??” The fairy asked, confused.

“A… phone? Have you ever seen one?” Adira asked.

“I have but I do not know the purpose of such tools.” The fairy said as it flew around the house, checking some of the stuff around the place.

The fairy looked around, staring at the walls and the rooms of the house. It entered Gin’s room, taking proper notice of its surroundings now. It was a pastel red color with a dresser and a large, circular mirror, white shelves on the walls that held some pretty old cartoon mouse plushies, some posters of different fandoms (not like the fairy would recognize any of them), a cream colored dress that had a closed laptop and a drawing tablet along with some traditional art tools. Near the window was a bookshelf with a collection of books, some going as far as being horror to comic books while also having some figurines placed between some parts of it and some movie DVDs too. The closet was filled with different outfits, some being different variations of red and most being pants, some even being suits. Hanging there was a pink, fluffy robe with snowflake and dogs with Christmas hats and scarves patterns. On the door were hanging different types of purses, like, a lot!

“This is… some room.” The fairy mumbled.

“Pretty neat huh?” Gin said out of nowhere while eating fried chicken, startling the fairy.

“Where did you-” The fairy said before getting cut off.

“Don’t worry about it! Anyway, you don’t know what a phone is so I suspect you don’t know what a laptop is either.” Gin said as she ate her chicken.

“That would be correct…” The fairy muttered as he looked at Gin’s food. “What are you eating?” “Fried chicken! The best there is!” Gin said, noticing the way the fairy looked at the food. “Want some?” “Me? Want your human food? Hah! Don’t make me laugh!” The fairy laughed but was cut off when his stomach grumbled.

“Ya sound pretty hungry to me.” Gin said as the fairy growled at her. “Listen, I don’t know why you dislike humans so much and I know it ain’t my place to ask about it but can you please at least just not antagonize us? You can ignore us, you can act like we don’t exist, that’s fine. But don’t treat us with such disrespect when we don't do anything.” “Your friend swatted me into a wall.” The fairy said with a deadpan at the memory, which made Gin grimace.

“Ooookay, that one is on us.” Gin said as she rubbed the back of her neck.

Silence took hold…

…

“You’re an odd one. Smiling after being burned.” The fairy said. “Why would you smile? Doesn't it hurt?” “I mean, yeah, of course it hurts. But I guess cause I don’t get hurt often, it sometimes spikes my adrenaline, like how it did when I first dyed my hair!” Gin said with a grin as she ran her fingers through her multi-colored hair. “You ain’t wrong, I am kinda odd but it beats being boring! As for the pain, why worry...? Something like a burn will heal eventually with time no?"

Gin laughed softly as she left a plate of chicken on the desk of her room as she walked to her door.  

“I will admit, my friends and I are not the most efficient of the overall human population. We are not fully sane I would say but I think we are alright. At least we are decent enough to not be jerks to customer service!” Gin stated proudly. The fairy did not understand that last bit.

“You can stay if you want, as long as you don’t cause problems. Name is Gin, by the way. Gin Rose.” Gin said. “Doubt you’ll actually use my name but hey, it’s best to know anyway right?” With that, she left the room. The fairy looked at the open door for a little while before flying over to the desk with the plate of food.

“What a strange girl.” The fairy stated as he looked at the food.

And then Eclipse took a bite…

----- So a few months ago I wrote a mini fic called When Autumn Starts about my OC Daniel meeting and interacting with Fairy Eclipse so I decided to make a longer fic where not 1 but 6 of my OCs interact with him! It was fun making this!

Hope you enjoyed this lil fic! DCA Fairy AU and Fairy Eclipse belong to @ayyy-imma-ninja (I hope I got his personality alright, I know it's not 100% accurate but I did my best!) Goldie, Gen, Gin, Adira, Alanis and Diane belong to me!

[glorious-spoon]

you say you’re tired and you just wanna close your eyes [9-1-1 |  Buck/Eddie | 1/1]

Rating: Teen Wordcount: 1400 Warnings: Presumed dead; Coma Other tags: Hurt/comfort; Pre-relationship Summary: After the lightning strike, Buck dreams.

ON AO3

The man on the TV is dead. This is the first thing Evan learns about him—before his name, even. He’s a firefighter, and he’s dead.

“Shots rang out this morning, leaving one firefighter dead and two more injured in what appears to be a targeted attack on the LAFD,” the reporter is saying into her mic. Her face is serious, her red hair windblown. She seems familiar, though Evan can’t place her. Behind her, yellow caution tape flutters around the crime scene: haphazardly parked fire engines, the burnt-out husk of a car, a blurred spot on the pavement that is almost certainly blood. Uniformed officers move solemnly through the carnage. “Edmundo Diaz of Station 118 was struck by gunfire while responding to a medical emergency in downtown Los Angeles. He was later pronounced dead at the hospital…”

Her voice seems to fade out, or maybe that’s just the buzzing in Evan’s ears as he stands there frozen in the kitchen, a soapy dish in his hands half-rinsed. On the screen, the live footage has been replaced by a still photo of a man in a blue dress uniform, dark-eyed, handsome. He’s not smiling, but his gaze seems to pierce through Evan like a knife.

Shots fired! Firefighter down! I repeat, firefighter down!

I need you to hang on. We’re so close, I need you to hang on for me.

Please just—

Evan shakes his head, disoriented. His hands are empty and the TV is off, though he doesn’t remember moving.

-

There’s a voicemail on his phone, and he doesn’t know who it’s from. A man’s voice, rough and exhausted, quiet where he’s got his phone pressed to his ear.

“Christopher misses you, you know. He’s in school right now. He didn’t want to go, but he’s already missed two days, and I can’t…” a deep shuddering sigh. “I guess you should know that Bobby made me take some time off. Said I can’t be out in the field when I’m like this. He’s right. I hate it, but he’s right. I can’t focus like this. So you have to wake up, okay? I need my partner back. And Chris—I told him you’d wake up. You’re not gonna make a liar of me, are you?” Silence. Then a soft noise, another shaky breath. “Come on. Please come back to me. Just wake up, I know you can do it.”

“I’m awake,” Evan mumbles, even though his bedroom is empty and he knows he’s talking to no one. “I’m right here.”

The message ends. Evan lowers his phone. His hand aches, like something has been squeezing it hard.

-

There are numbers in his phone that he doesn’t recognize, a stranger’s handwriting on the whiteboard calendar on his fridge. Magnets in the shape of planets.

-

The endless California highway loops out ahead of him as he drives, pavement rumbling beneath the tires of the Jeep. On the radio, Bruce Springsteen sings, You say you’re tired and you just wanna close your eyes and follow your dreams down, and Evan mouths the words along with him, glancing at the passenger seat like someone’s going to be sitting there looking back at him.

The song ends, and the radio announcer says, “We’re all waiting for you, kid. I know you’re going to wake up. I have faith in you. But don’t take too long, because we’re all—”

-

“You’re so loved,” Maddie says. She’s crying, and Evan hates that. Hates that he can’t reach out, that there’s just her voice over the phone. Just her tears a thousand miles distant. “I know you’ve always had a hard time believing that, but you’re so, so loved. And it’s not just me, it’s not just Eddie and Christopher, or Bobby, or Chimney and Hen and—everyone, you’ve touched so many people’s lives, you make the world so much brighter just by being in it. Please, Evan, please—”

He blinks. His eyes are wet, and there’s a ghost of warmth, like someone has just brushed a kiss against his forehead.

But the room is empty. He’s alone.

-

Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz passed away unexpectedly on May 17. A former Army medic, he was awarded the Silver Star for valor in combat. He continued his service in the Los Angeles Fire Department, which he joined in 2018. He was predeceased by his wife, Shannon. He is survived by his parents, Ramon and Helena Diaz; his younger sisters, Adrianna and Sophia, and his son, Christopher…

Evan sets his phone down, feeling vaguely ill. The break room at work is full of people, but he’s sitting alone at a table, and the swirl of laughter and conversation never quite seems to touch him.

Then someone settles onto the bench next to him.

“You saved my life, you know,” the man says in that same raspy, exhausted voice. Evan wants to look at him, but he can’t make his head move. “I don’t think I ever told you that in so many words, but you did. Not just when you pulled me out of there, not just when you broke down my door that night when Chris called you, but in every way since we’ve met. It took me a while to get that, and I was going to tell you, but then you—” A deep, shaky breath. “Just. I don’t know what my life would be without you in it, and I don’t want to find out. Okay? And I’m not telling you anything more than that. We’re not doing deathbed love confessions, here, Buck. You want to hear the rest of it, you’re going to have to wake up.”

“I’m trying,” Buck mumbles.

He lifts his head, but the man is gone.

Like always, Evan is alone.

-

The ocean laps at the shore, and the breeze carries the smell of salt, the sun off the water so bright it’s blinding.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” asks the boy on the bench next to him.

“I’m already a grownup,” Evan says. “What about you?”

“I want to be a firefighter like you and Dad.”

“I’m not a firefighter.”

The boy laughs. “Don’t be silly, Buck.”

He’s older now, childish softness sharpening into the beginnings of adolescence. His expression has turned solemn; his glasses reflect the sunlight, obscuring his eyes. “Dad says you can hear us and it helps to talk to you, but I don’t know what to say. So I’m going to tell you about my science fair project. We’re growing slime mold in petri dishes—remember how you helped me set it up? Dad thinks it’s gross, but I think he’s just jealous because he can’t keep plants alive. Also, I started another sample with Froot Loops, and it likes those way better than the oatmeal. Did you know that slime molds aren’t classified as fungi anymore? I’ve been doing a lot of reading on it. I have a lot to tell you when you wake up.”

-

“Listen, I know you’re having a nice week-long nap here, Buck, but it’s time for you to wake up. Jee-yun misses her favorite babysitter, it’s unbearable. Uncle Buck this, Uncle Buck that—”

“Chimney,” says the woman next to him. Her face blurs in Evan’s vision, a confused impression of glasses and a warm, exasperated smile.

“Yeah, okay. I guess the rest of us really miss you too.”

“He means it, you know,” the woman says. “We all miss you. We love you, and we miss you, and we can’t wait for you to come back home.”

“It’s killing Eddie,” the man adds.

“Chim.”

“What? It’s the truth.” Pressure closes around his fingers, and the man sounds more serious when he speaks this time. “Hey, I mean it, though. I already lost one brother, I can’t lose you too. Okay?”

They’re outside, he thinks. The sunlight is blinding.

Or, no. That isn’t sunlight. Lightning splits the sky. There’s metal beneath his hands. A sudden weightlessness catches him, and he falls, he’s falling, and someone is screaming his name, but it isn’t his name—

-

“Buck, I swear to god,” Eddie Diaz whispers.

But you’re dead, Evan tries to say, except that he’s not sure it’s true. He thinks maybe he’s been the one who’s dead this whole time. His bedroom is empty, and he’s alone because Evan Buckley has always been alone, but right now someone is holding his hand. Warm lips press a kiss to the backs of his knuckles.

“Eddie,” he rasps, and this time it feels different. His throat is raw, and it hurts to speak.

This time it feels real.

Buck opens his eyes.

[another-corpo-rat]

This was…originally very different, and fit the ‘Delicate’ prompt much better than a mere line but aw well this version flows much better. did you know the two counter-intel agents in the show had first names? Because I didn’t

Prompt: Delicate Adam Smasher/OC Warnings for mentions of blood, Spoilers for the end of edgerunners Summary: Smasher is unwinding after a dose of violence, Victoria is wound up because of the work it dropped on her lap.

.

The AV Hangar is quieter than it usually is. Most of the mechanics and cleaning staff done for the night – all except one, an intern stuck well after hours, trying not to shit himself as he fills a bucket of soapy water next to where Adam Smasher sits.

Adam doesn’t snarl at the boy to move faster; last time he did that the fuck had dropped the bucket and what was supposed to be a quick wash became a whole thing. Helped that he felt calmer than he usually did, at ease only in the way a bit of fun could conjure.

And he didn’t even have to break a joytoy or two for it to settle over him this time. He was almost grateful for that counter-intel cunt dragging him into her mess, it’s been a while since some gonk was brave enough to stand up to him. The sight of the kid donning the cyber-skeleton alone was worth it. Like a toddler wearing his father’s boots and thinking it made him a big boy. Fucking adorable.

He made sure to save it from his black-box, was in the process of uploading it to the shared folders he had with Victoria, certain his little netrunner would adore the carnage as much as he did, when he heard the elevator ding.

The intern tenses at the sound. No one else was supposed to be up here, but by the familiar click of heels he’d guess the boy would have a hard time enforcing that.

“Leave.” Victoria says sharply, her voice cutting through the empty hangar and startling the intern enough that he drops the sponge into the bucket. A few suds splash up, white froth stark against his black chrome and the kid looks about ready to shit himself at that. As if his entire purpose here wasn’t to get cleaned.

His mouth is opening and closing, a fish on a hook. “Did I stutter?” And she’s as effective a club as any to beat him against the head.

She looks like she’s about to. Adam makes sure to keep the building rumble in his chest quiet, fans close to ticking up at the building heat. She was in a mood.

“N-no ma’am, but I- I’m supposed to—” He looks to Adam, desperate. As if he was going to help.

“Listen to your superiors, yes. Which you are not doing.” Her expression eases into that dangerously kind thing, the slight little smile that’s too pointed not to hide teeth. “Why is that?”

“I- I’m not supposed to leave until-”

“Do you need a fucking escort?” The intern’s neck almost breaks with how quickly he turns to face Adam, and he’s sure the boy rattles his brain with how violently he shakes his head.  Their reactions never fail to tickle him, the sudden paling and wide eyes. Heartbeat spiking to dangerous levels of fast. It was almost as entertaining as Victoria’s annoyed little huff when the boy finally leaves. Darting across the hangar like there was something nipping at his heels.

She closes the feet of space between them, shrugging off her suit-jacket and tossing it to the floor. Definitely in a mood then. He knew the drill; let her distract herself however she chooses and she’ll calm the fuck down eventually. This was one of her newer methods of distraction. One he wasn’t going to question, not when it meant she was the one scrubbing him down instead of some shaky intern. He leans back instead of hunching over himself, watching as she rolls up her sleeves before she kneels between his legs, grabbing the sponge.

She was more thorough than they tended to be anyways, not afraid of getting rough when she scoured his finer mechanisms. He groans softly, optics dimming and head tilting back as she dislodges something that got caught in his ankle. It was like a massage, they were just missing the scented candles and oils. Maybe the weird chiming music the one that Michiko dragged him to decades ago had.

Huh. He should take Victoria there sometime. If it was still around. She’d probably enjoy the shit they do with the hot stones.

“That netrunner,” He rumbles in the deliberate pause of her sentence, as good a response as any, “did she manage to cut through your ICE?” What kind of stupid ass-

It was like she didn’t know him.

“She wasn’t even close to cracking it.” He onlines his optics as a thought hits him, lifting his head again to look at the woman between his legs, scrubbing away at the blood on his chrome with that damn little furrow to her brow.

He nudges her with his knee, waiting until she looks up to ask: “Is that what’s got you so wound up? You worried about some gutter-scum frying my circuits?” It would be touching, if it wasn’t a fucking laughable idea. She of all people should know that much. She scoffs.

“Hardly.” A bite of a word. There’s more force than necessary when she twists the sponge, red-hued water spilling back into the bucket. She slaps it back against his thigh, meeting the warning of a growl with a look before her shoulders ease with a sigh and she gets back to it. “The girl was an Arasaka asset, under our noses this entire fucking time. And she got away. Again.”

Ah, not quite gutter-scum then. But still.

“Don’t see how that’s your problem.”

“It shouldn’t be, but Mayes has decided it is.” Her next exhale is a heavy thing, her head resting against the plate of his now-clean thigh. No doubt raking through her collection of blackmail, trying to find something hard enough to slap her wannabe superior with. He knows she’ll come up empty. She wouldn’t be moping around him otherwise.

It’d be a shame to leave her so sour when he was in such a good mood.

“Well then,” he hums, reaching to tangle his fingers in her hair. The blonde locks flow easily between his fingers, soft. He’s learned how to do it so it doesn’t get caught in his joints. “It’s a good thing I have something that can make your day so much better, isn’t it?”

“I swear to God, Adam. If you pull out your cock—”

“Tempting, but not quite.”

She raises an eyebrow, but any questions she might have quieten as he sends her a recording from his black-box. Of one Kate Mayes, and the hand she had in tonight’s mess.

“Oh,” she croons, the slight knit that remained on her brow easing as her expression sharpened, golden eyes alight and lips curling into a wolfish grin. “Now that is interesting.” She’s looking more like herself now, sounding more like it too. He chuckles fondly as she rocks up and forward, climbing onto his lap and pressing her lips against his mandible. His hand settles on her ass, for support. Of course.

“So, are you gonna give this cunt hell or are you handling this ‘delicately?’” He puts too much emphasis on the word, hissing it out. They’ve had arguments – more loud disagreements, really – about how to handle blackmail. He was no better than a roid-rage manic in a china shop, according to her.

And she took her sweet ass time to do anything with it. Always waiting, calling for patience that ran out a month ago. There were instances he was close to wringing her neck in the interim.

“Oh hell no.” She says now, teeth bared in that grin he’s come to adore, “I’m burying the bitch.”

“That’s my girl.” He pats her ass. “Make sure she knows who handed you the shovel.”

[a-typical]

CALIFORNIA JOSHUA TREE

Sometimes you visit corpses all around the world and realize that the corpses dearest to your heart are right in your own backyard. When I returned to Los Angeles, my funeral home awaited—along with my long-suffering funeral director, Amber, who facilitated cremations and comforted distraught families while I was off requesting help with mutual funds from a Bolivian skull.

Undertaking LA had an un-embalmed, natural burial scheduled for Mrs. Shepard. Inspired by what I had seen on my travels, I returned to work with a new sense of purpose. In my mind, the grieving family would prepare the body with love, wrapping the dead woman in a handmade shroud lined with peacock feathers and palm fronds. We’d lead a procession to the grave at dawn, carrying candles and scattering flower petals, chanting as we went.

This burial—well—wasn’t like that.

By the time we got Mrs. Shepard into our body preparation room, she had been dead for six weeks, trapped in a plastic body bag under refrigeration at the L.A. coroner’s office. Amber and I stood on either side of her as we unzipped her bag. Mold had begun to grow under her eyes, and carried down her neck and onto her shoulders. Her stomach was collapsed, colored deep aquamarine (brought on by the decomposition of the red blood cells). The top layers of skin peeled free from her calves. The bag had been swamplike, bathing Mrs. Shepard in her own blood and bodily fluid.

We released her from the plastic prison and washed her body down, soapy water sliding down the steel table and disappearing through a small hole near her feet. Amber washed her hair, originally white but now dyed brown with blood, doing her best to work around the patches of mold growing on her scalp. We labored in silence, something about the decayed state of the body making us less vocal than usual. After patting Mrs. Shepard dry, it was clear that she was not done leaking. If Undertaking LA were a typical mortuary, we’d have all types of tricks up our sleeves (Saran Wrap, diapers, chemical powders, even head-to-toe plastic body suits) to combat the aptly named “leakage.” But a natural cemetery won’t accept a body for burial that has been treated with any of those chemical leakage treatments.

We moved Mrs. Shepard straight into her shroud, hoping to wrap her enough times that she wouldn’t ooze through. Amber had sewn the shroud herself from unbleached cotton fabric. The family had little money, and we were trying to bring down costs everywhere we could. The day before, I had received a text from Amber: a picture of a receipt from JoAnn’s Fabrics with the caption, “Guess who just saved the family 40% on their burial shroud with JoAnn’s points!” The finished product was charming, complete with ties and handles (though no peacock feathers or palm fronds).

— From Here to Eternity: Traveling the World to Find the Good Death, Caitlin Doughty

[athena-theunicorn]

WIP Sunday

Because school started and idk what day it is and time is a construct anyway and I'm pretty excited about this chapter. It's 8k words and counting.

All scenes are taken out of context and out of order from my fanfic The Memories Between Them, on Ao3 and Wattpad :)

~~~

“I have a question,” he says, his eyes closed. I’ve been reading by candle light a book I just bought.  

“I hope to have an answer,” I say, putting it aside.  

“Did we ever come to this festival?” he asks.  

I sigh. “You went to this festival nearly every year. But we only came together once, the day before the Calamity struck.”  

“Hm,” he says thoughtfully, “so the stories were true after all.”  

“Stories?” I question.  

“Prima told me the first time – well, I guess it wasn’t really the first time, but it was the first that I remember – she told me that there were stories of people that saw you at the festival the day before the Calamity, and that you used a fake name.”  

I smile a little, at the memory, and how simple he made the situation seem. When in reality my mind was racing, and had been for months. The festival was the first time I could truly breathe in a long time, right before hell broke loose. “Yeah,” I said, “all the stories were true. I told people my name was Lillian, just to escape for the day.” ��

~~~

“So I guess you two are planning to spend a lot of time here, huh,” Prima says, dunking her rag into the bucket of soapy water.  

I shrug, although she can’t see it. “I suppose we are, in between traveling and such. I’d still like to visit the other leaders and elders and such, and of course I’ll be spending time in Kakariko.”  

“Well, yeah. But you two need a home.”  

The thought sort of rocks me. I hadn’t really thought about that. I hadn’t thought about the fact I didn’t really have a home since I returned.  

“Link still doesn’t think of this place as his home. He’s said it was little more than a glorified storage shed. But maybe since you’re back and his duty is done, he’ll settle down a little. Find a place to rest.”  

~~~

I wake up at dawn. Zelda’s still asleep, her hair awry. It’s adorable, really. I go to make breakfast, but it’s interrupted by banging on the door. It startles me, and Zelda jumps from the bed with a yelp and lands on the floor with a thud.  

“You okay?” I shout.  

“... Yeah,” she replies after a moment.  

I smirk and go to the door. Prima stands there, a picnic basket on her arm. “You’re back!” she shouts, inviting herself inside after a hug. Zelda stumbles downstairs, still in her clothes from yesterday, and the quilt wrapped around her shoulders.  

“Hope you’re hungry,” I sign to her. She smiles, nodding, rubbing sleep from her eyes.  

~~~

Zelda pushed, but to no avail. It was locked. She steps back and regards it carefully. Then she takes a pin from her hair that she did up earlier, and sighed. “I haven’t done this in a long while,” she said, kneeling in front of the lock and pushing the pin inside.  

Prima and I exchange a look and watch Zelda intently, her brow furrowed in concentration as she fiddles with the pin and the lock. Silence falls, letting Zelda listen closely for the click that comes a moment later, followed by her triumphant “Yahaha!”  

I smirk as she stands, and she puts her hands on her hips in satisfaction. “How’d you do that?” I ask.  

She shrugs. “I got pretty good a lock picking back when I tried to hide from your ever-watchful eye.”  

I chuckle a little, and Prima looks between us, smirking.

[celebbun]

4, 12, 25, 38, and 44 for the ask! ♡

4- which cryptid being do you believe in?

Boto cor-de-rosa (pink river dolphin), because those actually exist. Now, do I believe it's swimming around, seducing and impregnating people? I'll leave you to guess.

12- what kind of day is it?

I met a sheltie named Francesca and got free lunch. It was pretty good.

25- perfume/body spray or lotion?

All of them, I'm a fragrant and hydrated person (though I usually find lotions to be far too liquidy, so I go for other types of emulsions).

38- a soap bar that smells good?

Avatim Boníssimo Black soap, though I'm biased because that's my daily perfume's soapy counterpart.

44- you get a free pass to kill anyone, who is it?

I shan't name names, but my basic parasitology professor, or the girl who tried to parasitise my latest paper by having our professor include her as an author (she didn't write shit).

Asks

[justhere4thevibez]

WIP Weekend Challenge

Thanks @bisexualchrissycunningham for the tag - I'm looking forward to this!

in a reblog (or new post w/ rules attached), post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

post a snippet from one of them. snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. we’re posting progress here. if you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

after you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. you must then write 3 sentences in that file. if the filename is one you can’t share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

that’s it! you can invite others to join in, or just post. if you tag me in your post, i will send you an ask request!

Current WIPs:

Dzzzz

Mzzzz

Xzzzz

I've worked on 2 out of 3 this week, so here are snippets from them - guess which ones are which stories (they may or may not be what you think they are 😉)!

Dzzzz:

“Eddie,” she said, squirming deliciously against him. “Okay, okay, I give up. I’m not stupid.” “Oh?” he dragged his mouth across her jawline. “What would you call yourself then?” She squinted unhappily at him. “You’re really going to make me say it?” “Make you?” he asked in mock offense. “I’d never.” He traced his tongue along the curve of her ear, pulling a shiver from her. “But I’ve been told I can be quite persuasive.”

Xzzzz:

“Baby?” she called cautiously, and Eddie’s shoulders sank as he sighed. She walked over and gathered up his hair where it hung dangerously close to the bucket of soapy water, securing it with one of the elastic bands around her wrist. “I’m so sorry, sweetie,” she whispered, bending down to kiss his neck.

Alright, now I tag @slumped-in-the-arms-of-fiction @sloelimbs @lokinightfury @1lostsoul0fishbowl and anyone else who wants to join!

I'm gonna go take a bath and check my asks in a hour or so!

[unknownjpegs]

tip

“What do you think, Benji?”

“Huh?” He tears his eyes away from the man sitting at the end of the bar, softens the glare into something neutral so Sunshine doesn’t think it’s about her. 

Still, Sunshine’s perceptive to stuff like that. Emotions, focus, changes in somebody’s mood. And Benji’s not real subtle about any of those.

“Matilda’s placing the order at that Thai place,” she tilts her head off to the side, where their keyboardist leans by the front door on her phone, plugging the other ear. Lark stands next to her, reading off his own device. List of everybody’s orders, he guesses. “And we’re all ready to get out of here if you are!” 

Benji spares another glance towards the other customer. He’s an open-mouthed chewer, which is what Benji had immediately noticed. Bloke’s ugly. Got a big fuckin’ loud mouth. 

Sweetheart, he’d said at the bartender. Who, Benji noted, looked like she hated the name just about as much as she hated him sitting right by her mixing station, where she couldn’t get away.

You put enough bourbon in this? And he’d turned to his friend beside him, held up the glass. I can barely taste it! Are you new to bartending? Haha!

The girl had grimaced her best customer service smile and remade it for him, just to appease. Hadn’t worked. Just a shit fuckin’ customer, he knew, not her first or the last. Probably not even that night. 

But damn, was he bad. The whole time they’d been here, the arsehole had been getting louder and louder about his displeasure. Drinks not right, television on the wrong station. Jeering little comments when the girl’s back was turned. 

“He’s being annoying,” Xavier had noted right before he’d stood to go to the bathroom. “I would have kicked him out already.”

“I’d do worse,” Benji volleyed back, glaring over the rim of his glass. 

Now Xavier’s coming back. He can see, over the guy’s shoulder, the tall redhead make his way through the crowd down the hall. He waves at Benji, big grin, and then points at the annoying guy. Mouths something obscene Benji can’t make out but knows is funny. 

And he’d focus up, try to decipher it, except the guy is gettin’ loud again, and it’s real hard to ignore. 

“We can get outta here in a minute,” he tells Sunshine, nodding at her finished drink. “I’ll get that for you, a’right? Go make sure Til got Mouse’s entree right, ‘ey? You know how she gets.”

Sunshine nods and gives his arm a hug, slipping from the chair and skittering away in that short quick-walk pace of hers.

Xavier, at his side now, slides a big palm between his jacket and his shirt. “One of the stalls in the bathroom had SpongeBob blowin’ some guy in sharpie.” 

Benji snorts, but doesn’t look away from the bastard. Xavier follows his gaze and scrunches his nose. 

“Still?”

“Still.”

“Hope she gets a tip for that. Dude’s been putting it away, look at all those glasses.” As if on cue, the guy slides a bill — a single — across the counter, rancid smug smirk on his face like he’s just done something real clever. “Oh, shit. Jinxed it.”

The bartender doesn’t hide her distaste; he can see her eye roll when she turns to close out his tab at the computer. 

“Okay,” Benji decides it, two palms slapping the counter. “S’enough of that I think.” 

He pushes away from the counter, strides down to where the duo sit.

“Hey, mate.” Nice, unthreatening grin. Easy to charm dumb bastards like him, accent and a half-hearted smile. “You leavin’ anytime soon? Need an Uber?”

“Yeah, afraid so.”The guy eyes him warily at first, but he’s drunk enough for the glazed-eye fizz of alcohol to make him friendly. “And we might, why?”

“Cool,” Benji says, nodding. “Sound.” 

He reaches under the guy’s elbow and swipes his phone. Before he or his friend can react, flicks it in a smooth-sailing arc behind the bar, where it lands in the soapy dishwater with a satisfying plop. 

The guy stands, face going red with anger — and alcohol — his mouth open in a shocked circle. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”

He takes a step forward, and then, because he’s got a decent few inches on him, glances over Benji’s head. Xavier, at his left shoulder, take a step too. Imagines what kinda frightening hackles-up expression must be on his face, tall and intimidating besides. Feels emboldened by that, so he gets right up close to the guy.

“Y’think nobody here noticed, huh?” Benji gestures around, grin curled now into a cruel sneer. He tips his chin at the bill on the counter. “You’ve been chatting’ shit all night, and then you do that? Get a couple tenners out for her.” 

The guy recoils, glaring harder now. “No, why the fuck would I do that? She kept fucking up.” 

Benji takes another step, head tilted up, something murderous on his face. “Get three tenners out, or we’ll be waiting ‘round the front when you’re ready to go.” Looks him up and down, adds: “Wanker.”

The accompanying stare-down is brief. He only grumbles a little bit, and the two rats scuttle out as quick as they’d put away drinks.

“M’sorry about it,” Benji says to the bartender when she wanders over. Hands her a few bills, adequate tip included thanks very much, to cover his and Sunshine’s drinks. “Thanks for putting up with us.”

“Um,” she says, staring down at the cash pile. “Literally no problem.” Glances at him, a bit of color high on her cheeks. “Do you want to—”

“Nope!” Xavier chirps over his shoulder, sliding perpendicular to the counter. He starts to walk, nudging Benji along with the strides and pushy hands on his back.

Lark gives them a brow-furrowed, speculative look when they finally join up at the front door. “What was that all about?”

“Poor guy was too drunk to get the tip right, and his phone wasn’t workin’,” Benji says dryly, tucking a cigarette between his teeth as they all file out. “Had to help him run the maths.” 

Xavier sighs dramatically. He’s draped over Benji’s back as they cross the lot, nearly dropping them both.

“Uncharacteristically nice of you,” Mouse says, suddenly appeared over Sunshine’s shoulder, who shrieks in terror. Ewan’s next to her with hands tucked into his pockets. They both look hazy-eyed and sleepy; snuck off for a smoke break. Maybe a bit more, if the pink flush on Mouse’s cheeks has anything to say about it.

Benji shrugs. “My good deed for the week.” 

As the group approaches the bus, Xavier quickens his pace. Gets a hand around Benji’s wrist, dragging him along just as quick. He’s gotta skip a little, laughing, to keep up. 

And then Xavier practically runs, all pretty in the darkness with the parking lot lights glinting off his hair. He shoves Benji up the bus stairs unceremoniously, then follows. Peeks his head out the door. 

“Fifteen —“ he gives Benji a quick up-down, feral grin and dark eyes so mischievous that Benji’s gotta smirk back, even though he’s a little confused. “Twenty minutes!”

“It’s fucking cold out here!” Mouse shrieks, cupping her hands around her mouth. 

Xavier cackles like a cartoon villain. “Sorry! Gotta do my good deed for the week.” Turns, catches Benji by the face for a kiss, and starts walking both of them back. Whining: “Dude, c’mon. That was hot, why are your pants not already off.”

“Oh, is that what this is? Your standards are fuckin’ abysmal, mate.” He says, shrugging out of the jacket, hands already at his belt. “Lucky me, though.”

[rustedhearts]

last christmas (steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: the return to your hometown for the holidays comes with the many ghosts of christmas pasts—including your ex-fiance, steve.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ christmas carols ✶ the library

tags: angst; hurt/comfort; reader’s parents are given names (celia/john) but no physical descriptions; reader is also given a name (lucy) because I refuse to write "y/n" but it's the same thing, still no physical descriptors; reader is a smoker because it's the 90s;

"a crowded room, friends with tired eyes, i'm hiding from you and your soul of ice. my god, i thought you were someone to rely on. me? i guess i was a shoulder to cry on,"

— last christmas, wham!

hawkins, indiana, december, 1999.

You couldn't deny—the nip of cold Indiana air was a welcome feeling after all those Californian winters. To bundle in layers of warmth and heavy fabrics, to shiver in the back of your father's sedan while he sang backup for your mother's Christmas carols: it really felt like home again.

It snowed the few days prior to your arrival, and every inch of Hawkins seemed sprinkled or covered with perfect white fluff. It'd been so long since you'd seen snow.

"I've got all your favorites stocked at the house," your mother announced from the passenger seat. "Strawberry Jell-O, Scooby Snacks—"

"Mom," you laughed. "I'm not a child anymore, you didn't have to buy all that."

She twisted around in her seat to face you. "When you're back in my house, you are a child! Let me have my fun, you haven't been home in ages."

Three years was hardly ages—but, you supposed, it was long enough. The first Christmas after you moved was too difficult to stomach back in Hawkins. The second, you were too busy with work to take even the weekend for a quick plane ride here and back. And the third, well...you still just couldn't do it. You couldn't handle seeing him again.

But this year, you decided it was enough. You had to pull your big girl pants on and buck up. It wasn't fair that your friends and family kept getting caught in the crossfire.

The car jostled through the icy driveway of your childhood home. Your father parked the car and hurried to the trunk to grab your luggage, while you slid slowly out of the backseat. Like reflex, you immediately directed your attention to the inflatable snowman bobbing on the lawn next door. The lights strung from the awnings and wrapped around the pines. The last name painted on the mailbox.

The Harringtons.

"Come on, I'll make us some tea," your mother ushered, looping her arm through yours.

Your father was close behind, crunching through the salted, icy snow mounds. You kept a close watch on the driveway next door as you approached the open garage and entered the warmth.

Luckily, there was no sign of that maroon BMW anywhere.

"So, I thought we'd go shopping at Macy's tomorrow afternoon, and then have dinner with your grandparents on Wednesday, but—"

"Celia, let her settle in first," your father interrupted, sawing into his chicken.

Your mother pursed her lips at him, but her eyes remained on you. "Oh, psh. What does she need to settle in for, she's lived here all her life! What do you think, honey, Macy's? We can grab breakfast beforehand."

You smiled at your father who passed an apologetic and knowing stare, and nodded at your mother. "Sure, Mom, that sounds fun."

After dinner, your father positioned himself at the sink, scrubbing every dish with care. He handed them to you to dry, and as he did, he watched you peek through the kitchen window toward the other side of the house.

“You think you’re gonna see him?”

You swept the dish towel over a clean dinner plate. "Who?"

Your father quirked a brow down at the soapy wine glasses. "Steve."

You barely saved your mother's delicate dinnerware. It clattered against the countertop through your fumbling hands, and once steadied, you turned to shake your head at your father, who slowed the faucet down to a trickling stream.

"N-No. No, I can't."

He held out a handful of forks. "Don't you think it's been long enough?"

"Dad..."

"All I'm saying, is...maybe you owe it to him. To yourself even. It's time to close that book for good, and you can't do that if you never speak to him again."

You plucked the towel over the fork prongs and tried to block out your father's even-toned words. He was right—he was always right. It irritated you how your parents never stopped knowing what was best. How they could always read you like a book without even trying.

But you desperately wished he wasn't right. And no matter how selfish it sounded...you just couldn't face Steve.

"I'll think about it," you managed to get out.

Your father hummed, turning the tap off. "Might be good for you, kid. Just trying to help."

You placed the forks back in their drawer. Leaning up on your tiptoes, you pressed a quick and gentle kiss to your father's cheek and smiled.

"I know. Thanks, Dad."

When the dishes had been dried and put away, and your mother was already asleep with her glasses on the edge of her nose and her magazine dangling off the couch, you tip-toed up the stairs toward your bedroom. You still knew just which steps to avoid, just which carpeted areas squeaked and groaned.

But the flash of deep red in your periphery had you halting on a croaking step. You peered through the window on your left, holding the lace drapes away to get a better view. The BMW you spent high school riding to school and football games in came to a stop behind a minivan. The driver side opened and slammed closed.

Steve Harrington in the flesh.

Bundled in a heavy, brown wool coat and carefully knotted red scarf. His hair flounced in the wind and collected snowflakes with grace. He carried a pie dish and a smile on his face. Heart in your throat, you watched him stomp through snow piles toward the other side of the car.

He opened the passenger door and greeted a redheaded woman with a kiss.

She took the pie from him, cradling it close to her expensively-adorned chest. They had matching coats. She swooped a leather-gloved hand through the front of his hair to fix a tousled wave. His lips moved in words of gratitude, and you could almost hear the octave of his voice in your head again. How he cooed when he talked to you. You could tell by the softness of his eyes, the relaxed muscles of his smile—he was doing the same to her right now.

Steve wound an arm around her waist and turned them around. He flicked his head to toss away his hair, and for a moment, you swore he looked toward your window.

You hurriedly mounted the steps and slipped into your bedroom before you could find out if that were true.

"God, Mom, my arm's about to fall off."

You waddled alongside your mother down Main Street, carrying (literally) armfuls of shopping bags. She came rushing into your room at promptly seven o'clock this morning to rouse you, throwing your drapes open and ripping off your covers. She took you to get bagels and coffee, and then scrambled into shopping mode. Macy's lasted two full hours, and you immediately felt like a teenager whining for McDonald's again when one o'clock came around and you were famished.

"Oh, quit whining," your mother huffed, adjusting her own bags on her arm. "We'll stop for lunch after this."

So, you pushed your way through another store, hitting just about everyone in your vicinity with a gift-wrapped shopping bag. You were sweating through your layers, cheeks flushed hot, and your stomach was so hollow with hunger that it felt like it would cave in. The first day back home for the holidays was truly off to a great start.

"Sorry, sorry—oh! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"So, just when the hell did you get back in town?"

Raising your eyes from the crowd of shoppers you irritated and the bags you dropped, you settled on a familiar head of shaggy raven hair and round, brown eyes.

"Eddie!"

He accepted your tackled hug with a chuckle, closing his arms carefully around your crinkling bags. The embrace lasted a beat too long before you pulled away and grinned.

"I didn't know you were comin' home this year," he said, bending to collect your abandoned bags. You strung the corded handles back over your padded arm.

"Yeah," you sighed. "Sorry, I...wasn't sure if I should..."

Eddie tucked his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, as heavy and studded as ever. It creaked when he shrugged. "No biggie. It's awkward, I get it. Amanda would be stoked to see you, though."

"Oh, how is she? How are you—and everyone?"

The pair of you squished against a shelf of holiday candles as a bustle of angry mothers pushed through. You lost your mother somewhere in the crowd.

"She's good, everyone's...good. I mean, three years, kid...it's been a while. Don't even know where we left off."

A sheepish grin concealed a pair of warm cheeks. The tops of your ears burned under your earmuffs. God, it was embarrassing owning up to your bullshit, wasn't it? There certainly wasn't a manual for apologizing to your friends for getting lost in the crossfire of a called-off marriage.

"Yeah, I know. I just...didn't know what to say to anyone."

Eddie nodded, though his eyes avoided yours. His jacket clinked with his shifting. A ringed finger spun a candle on the shelf.

“Yeah, I get that. Well…hey, we’re all gonna be down at Deb’s on Christmas Eve for drinks. Like we used to, remember? You should come.”

A twinge of sorrow tugged in your chest. You watched Eddie teeter on the edge of hope and disappointment. He knew you’d say no. He knew you’d forget them. But how many hours over a short lifetime had you spent together as friends? How many times had Eddie picked you up when your car broke down? How many times had he come crying to you when he first met Amanda and he wasn’t sure how she felt?

How many times had you broken your friend’s heart?

Swallowing, you adjusted your bags again. “Is…is he gonna be there?”

Eddie scoffed. “Steve? Nah, he’s got…stuff.”

His eyes darted to you with wide worry, and you knew exactly just what ‘stuff’ he was referring to. The red-headed beauty with the fancy cashmere winter wear, and more grace and elegance than you ever had in your entire life. The woman who meant Steve finally moved on from you.

“Oh, right,” you mumbled. Your cheeks felt lined with sickly sweetness, stomach churning with illness. “Well…if you’re sure he won’t be there, then…maybe I’ll stop by.”

Eddie pulled off the shelf of candles and grinned.

“Yeah? Oh, man, Amanda’ll be stoked. And Robin’ll be there! She’s seein’ this girl from Indianapolis who literally drives two hours every day just to see her.” Eddie rolled his eyes, though a fond smile touched his mouth. “They’re cute, though…when they’re not mouthin’ at each other in public—nah, nah, it’ll be fine. Seriously, everyone’ll be so excited.”

You giggled, enthralled by his babbling. It was funny how much changed in three years, but how some things would always stay the same.

“I’m excited, too.” And you really were.

Sure, you made friends in L.A over the years, but none—not even your closest friend and roommate Bridget—could measure up to the ones you’d had since childhood.

The kids you grew up on the block with—the ones you suffered though puberty and high school with—could never be replaced. Being around them filled you with a certain bittersweet ache you’d never feel anywhere else.

“Alright, it’s at seven like always,” he said, tapping your arm. “See you there. And good luck with these crowds.”

You laughed at his shudder and waved your goodbye. “See you.”

As he pushed his way out, you spotted the top of your mom's head hurrying your way. She grabbed your coat sleeve and huffed when she found you.

"There you are—who was that?"

"Eddie—"

"Oh, the Munson boy! Eddie! Eddie!” She began to hop up and wave to accompany her shrill exclamation. You cringed and covered half your face to silence the stares.

“Oh, shit,” she sighed, clicking her tongue. “He’s gone. That boy was always so sweet. How’s he doing?”

You trudged after your mother as she filed through the masses, willing away the hot flash of her humiliation. “He’s good. Invited me out on Christmas Eve. Apparently they all still get together.”

Your mother fingered at a candle, assessing the vessel and smell. She hummed, glancing at you. Her basket was already half full.

“Oh…that’s nice.”

Are you going to go? lingered in her reply. You chewed on the edge of your lip and shifted your weight.

“I was thinking maybe…I’d go.”

“Oh good!“ Relief visibly flooded her. “It’s about time you spoke to him again, you know. Your father and I were just saying that the Harringtons—“

“What? Mom, no,” you huffed, jaw tightening. “Steve’s not gonna be there, I made sure of it. And you’re talking to the Harringtons? Come on, why are you always meddling?”

Your mother placed the candle back on the shelf with a heavy clunk. A mother and her young son rushed by and nudged your bags. The air in there was getting stiffer by the minute.

“They are our neighbors, Lucy, and were before you or Steve even came into the world. This hasn’t been very fair on us, you know. Did you ever think about that?”

If you thought you couldn’t breathe before, it was no match for the shallowness of your lungs now. You practically felt your color drain, the heat to your body drop to your feet.

“Well…Mom, I never said you had to stop being their friends,” you muttered, following her to another display table.

“I knew having them around would be too difficult. But I also thought that, by now, the pair of you would’ve…I don’t know…”

You plucked the lid off a candle and sniffed it absently. “Gotten back together?”

Your mother glanced at you in her periphery, pursed with hesitance. She sighed, head shaking.

“Maybe. We all thought…I mean everyone figured you were meant to be.”

You couldn’t remember the last time your chest felt this heavy. The last time your heart hurt so terribly.

Well…you could think of one.

“Yeah,” you mumbled. “I know.”

Your mother watched you a moment, twisting candle lids and plucking display glitter. She let you go on a moment longer before adjusting her shopping basket and flicking her hair out of her face.

“Alright, let’s get in line. If we’re lucky, we’ll get home by New Year’s.”

the harringtons’: christmas eve, 1994

“One more, one more!”

“No—Steve! Come on, I look terrible.”

“You look glorious, honey. C’mon, blow us a kiss.”

You threw a hand out at the camera lens, but it scarcely concealed your glowing grin. The pixelated picture of your own body blurred with Steve’s unsteady hand as he fell into laughter. He could barely keep his eye on the shutter to make sure you were in view.

“Kiss this,” you announced, and the camera panned to your denim-clad backside jutting out at him.

Steve snorted, and the whir and click of the zoom creeping in came from behind the camera. You tipped your hips from side to side to flaunt your ass, and Steve’s hand suddenly appeared to pop it. You jolted upright, whirling around to gape at him.

“Steve, we’re in your mother’s kitchen.”

“You just had your ass out!”

“I was joking—ooh, I’m telling.”

“Get that ass back here.”

Steve barely managed to place the camcorder on the kitchen counter before he tackled you. The lens caught a sliver of tangling bodies—just limbs flailing and the crackled sound of laughter. You had the hiccups. Steve was out of breath. Your sleeves were the same color—matching Christmas sweaters from Grandma Harrington, who always loved you.

When he carried you into view—arms locked tight around your middle, your legs scrunched up to your chest—the pair of you were all teeth. Just smiles and nothing else.

You were so happy.

“Hey, you two! Are we havin’ pie or what?” was a muffled call from somewhere in the house.

Steve placed you on your feet and swept two heavy palms over your tousled hair. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. Even through the grain and static of the old picture, you could see the fondness in his face. How he gazed down on you like finding sunlight for the first time.

“Yeah,” he called back, and bopped you on the nose all the same. “Be right there!”

You gnashed your teeth at him playfully, and he threw a big hand over your mouth. From the way he recoiled in amused surprise a second later, you knew you had licked him.

Pie, little did you know, was code for ring. His family had been in the living room preparing for his proposal while he distracted you with affection and baking.

And when he clicked off the camcorder and snapped the screen shut, you knew he was taking you into the other room. He’d propose in front of the tree with your entire families as witnesses. He’d give you his grandmother’s engagement ring from the 50s, polished and sized just for you. She’d give you a wink from the armchair where she was sipping tea.

His mother had wedding magazines tucked away since your first date in high school. Your father told Steve when he was fourteen years old that he “better take good care of his girl.”

You were meant to be together.

What went wrong?

“You’re positive he won’t be there?”

You fumbled with the flimsy nylon toes of your black tights, cellphone wedged between your cheek and shoulder. On the other line, Bridget munched on an egg roll noisily. You could practically picture her Chinese takeout spilled over her coffee table, the terrible movie paused on the television. It was what the pair of you would normally be doing on Christmas Eve at your shared apartment.

“That’s what Eddie said.”

“And do we trust Eddie?”

You screwed up your nose, fixing the other seam over your toes. When they were where they should be, you pressed to your feet and rushed the closet door.

“Well, yeah. He wouldn’t lie about something like that, ‘specially not since we haven’t seen each other in so long. Plus…Eddie’s not a liar.”

You pulled a black skirt from its hanger and unzipped the back. You couldn’t fit into all your old clothes left over, but a few staple pieces were squeezable. This particular black skirt was from early college days, when you and Steve were rotating parties like clockwork.

You paused as you placed it on the bed. It likely hadn’t been worn since it’s last spin on a dance floor with Steve. Or was it that date in Indianapolis, the one where he surprised you with a show at the theater?

“Hello?…Helloooo?”

Blinking out of your stupor, you looked away from the skirt and toward your mirror, picking the phone up from your shoulder. “What?”

“I said ‘people can change,’” Bridget said. “How well do you really know this Eddie nowadays?”

Fingers curling tightly around the blue plastic of your Nokia, you clenched your jaw and exhaled sharply. “I know him, Bridget. He wouldn’t do that to me.”

You wedged the phone back against your shoulder and scooped the skirt up. You wiggled it on and reached behind you to zip it. Your father was watching Die Hard on VHS in the living room at an obscene volume level. Your mother was in the kitchen rolling cookies in cinnamon and powdered sugar with her stereo on.

And here you were, primping and prepping for a night out with your old CD case splayed on your bed. It was really beginning to feel like old times, and you weren’t sure how well it settled with you.

“Well…alright. You wearin’ somethin’ hot just in case?”

You smoothed your hands over your hips in the mirror and exhaled.

“Obviously.”

You borrowed your dad’s sedan for the short trip down to Deb’s. He handed you the keys with a pointed look and a demanded promise to call if you were too drunk to drive. Your mother didn’t let you leave without a Tupperware container of freshly-baked Christmas cookies for your friends.

She looked over your outfit with curious eyes. You scurried out into the cold before she could question just why you were in your tightest black clothes for a night at the dive. The cookies sat in the passenger seat until you rolled into the parking lot, and you did your best to conceal them under your coat as you wandered inside. Nothing more pathetic than a woman bringing her own food to the bar.

The bar looked mostly the same, with little tweaks and updates that would go unnoticed by those who didn’t spend most of their youth here. But they still strung the same rainbow lights from the high beams and frosted window front. They still played a mix of tinsely Christmas tunes and whatever was most popular on the radio. Still had stale peanuts in little wooden bowls and glass ashtrays on every table.

Still kept your booth near the window where your friends used the ledge as a table.

"Hey, guys..."

"Oh my god!"

Amanda was the first to leap up and hug you, jostling the table as she sprang to her feet. Robin next, her hug much softer and tame. Though already reacquainted, you accepted Eddie's hug gratefully.

"Come sit by me, kid," he drawled, shifting down to make room.

You slid into the booth and pulled the Tupperware from your coat. "I didn't come empty handed. Courtesy of my mother, of course."

"Oh, nice," Eddie exclaimed, reaching in for a sprinkled wreath. "Mama Celia makes the best Christmas cookies."

"Bleh, don't call her that." Robin scrunched up her nose. "Oh, I'm sorry, this is my girlfriend Pam. Pam, this is our friend Lucy."

You smiled at the girl sitting beside Robin and extended your hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Lucy's visiting us from L.A," Robin continued, bringing her rum and Coke up for a sip. "For the first time in three years."

You shot her a glare, and Pam shifted a glance around the table. "Oh...that's nice."

"It's complicated," you justified.

"Not really," Robin huffed. "She was engaged to Steve for two years, kept putting off the wedding—come to find out, she leaves him at Christmas without a word to anyone. Steve's brokenhearted, Lucy's living her dream in L.A, the rest is history."

A heavy silence fell over the table. Robin slurped at her drink through a thin plastic straw. You lowered your eyes to your lap and swallowed. The radio behind the bar changed to the tooting tune of "Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree."

"Alright," Eddie interrupted, a big ringed hand coming between the table. "Can we just agree to have a good time tonight? Whatever happened...it's in the past. Can't do nothin' about it now. It's Christmas."

Flicking your eyes Robin's way, you searched for her agreement before giving yours. Pam rubbed her hand over Robin's back against the booth. Amanda kissed Eddie's cheek and squeezed his leather arm. It struck you in that moment that you were at a table full of couples.

"I'm gonna get a drink."

They served spiked eggnog in copper mugs, and you nursed one greedily to wash down the regret plaguing your every thought. You regretted what you'd done, you regretted coming out tonight, you regretted not thinking this through. Maybe you even regretted coming home for Christmas altogether.

"Is Steve really not coming?" Amanda broke the ice and uttered his name sometime around eight o'clock.

The table was littered with cookie crumbs, crumpled napkins, and empty drink glasses. Someone ordered a basket of fries and they'd been picked at savagely.

Eddie glanced at his girlfriend, and then at you. You shrugged, waving it off.

"It's fine. You can say his name."

"Uh, no." Eddie cleared his throat, adjusting his jacket that creaked with the weight. "He's...meeting Jessica's parents tonight."

Jessica. Of course. The redhead with the cashmere coat and Ann Taylor sweater. You wanted to bite off the corner of the fucking table. Everyone seemed to be waiting for your response.

And maybe it was the alcohol breathing fire into your veins, or your complete inability to stay calm and collected when you wanted to lose your shit—but you decided to bite.

"Jessica...how'd they meet?"

Amanda and Eddie winced. Eddie was the bravest of the bunch, and distracted himself with breaking a bell-shaped cookie in half as he replied.

"She's a paralegal at his dad's firm. They met last summer...it only just became serious."

Ann Taylor, cashmere, and brains. She was your worst fucking nightmare.

Swallowing tightly, you smeared a stiff smile over your mouth. "Oh. Well...that's great!"

You could only sit in the silence for a moment before you slid out of the booth and snatched at your purse on the end hook.

"I'm gonna run out and have a smoke. Be right back."

They watched you rush the front door and escape into the snow without your coat. You collapsed against the brick wall, gulping in the much-needed open air. Unlatching your purse, you scrambled through your belongings and retrieved the crumpled pack of Lucky Strikes rotting in the zippered compartment with your tampons. You hadn't touched them in weeks. An early New Year's resolution to yourself to quit smoking.

But desperate times called for desperate measures.

You lit one up with hungry need and inhaled a deep drag. It immediately soothed the itch in your lungs, but did nothing for the sting burrowing a hole in your chest.

So, he was happy. He was moving on. Did you expect him to wait for you to figure your shit out forever? Did you ever even plan on coming back to him? No. You were selfish and cruel, and you never deserved Steve anyway.

But Jessica? Really? He might as well have gone through the catalogue, closed his eyes, and pointed. She was perfect. His grandmother's engagement ring would suit her better than it ever suited you.

You were halfway through your cigarette and properly shivering when you glanced through the foggy glow of the front window toward your booth. Your stomach lurched into your throat at the sight of Steve standing over the table, pulling off Jessica's coat. She slid in beside Pam and flashed a dazzling smile.

You flung yourself back against the wall. "Fuck."

Well, you could abandon your coat inside and buy a new one. You could Irish goodbye and call your friends tomorrow. You were sure they'd understand the need for a fast getaway.

You stubbed your cigarette out on the rubber bottom of your heeled boot and flicked the butt into the snow. You straightened up and whirled around.

"Hey."

There he stood, pink-cheeked and bundled up. The handsome brown coat from the other day, a black scarf wound and knotted neatly around his neck. Flurries of snow sprinkled the top of his hair like glitter. The wind spun a whiff of his cologne toward your face. He was still so fucking pretty.

You were suddenly on the verge of tears. Standing so close to him felt like looking at the sun.

"They told me you were out here." His words came with puffs of white air. He tucked his hands into his coat pockets and pulled his shoulders back.

"Yeah," you squeaked. You cleared your throat and looked toward the snow. "Smoke break."

Steve found the cigarette sizzling in the snow and hummed. The pair of you watched it sink into a divot of white for a while. His loafers crunched over the salted sidewalk when he stepped away from the door.

"Didn't know you were home."

You licked over your lips, suddenly dry and rough from the cold. "Yeah, 'til New Year's."

"Oh," he murmured. He watched the toe of his shoes crush small balls of snow on the ground. He wouldn't move his hands from his pockets.

You pressed back against the wall again and curled your arms around yourself. You could barely feel your fingers anymore.

"She's pretty."

Steve lifted his head in your periphery. The impassive softness of his face slipped. "Don't. Don't fuckin' do that."

The anger in his words hooked inside you like a grapple. There were those tears again, pricking at your lash line. You felt like you could throw up, and out into the snow you'd spew your heart. Whole and full of punctures from the anguish in his eyes.

From all those voicemails he left on your machine that haunted your sleep. Call me back, please, baby. What did I do wrong? We can work through this, we can get through this together. Please don't leave me. Don't do this, Lucy, I love you. You're fucking crushing me.

"What, you wanted me to wait? Sit around like some lost puppy dog just waiting for you to show back up?"

He was yelling now. Tufts of white air shot from his mouth in great gusts. Every one felt like a slap.

"Fuck that. And fuck you! Who does that to a person? And after three years, you're still hiding."

You lifted your head, gazing over at him sorrowfully. "I don't know what to say, Steve."

His shoulders dropped with a sharp sigh. He pulled a hand from his pocket to wipe over his face. "Yeah, well that's a real first."

Steve kicked at the wall with the toe of his boot. Shards of snow and ice fluttered off the soles.

"Were you ever gonna marry me?"

You sniffled, rubbing at your eye to will away the tears. "You don't want me to answer that."

Steve scoffed, ripping away from the wall—and you—to step toward the street. He pushed his hair back and you watched it bounce back into place perfectly.

"Yeah, you always thought you knew what was best for me. But, you know, you never fuckin' asked...I wanted to go with you. I wanted to move, I had—you know what? Never mind."

He spun around and stomped toward the door. You pushed off the wall with another sharp sniffle.

"Steve."

He stopped. Glared at the door handle with a tight jaw.

"She really is pretty. I'm just glad you're happy."

Steve yanked the door open and tossed his head over to you. "Wanna know the best thing about her? She'll never mail me back her ring."

The bar door slammed after him. He took slow steps back toward the booth, and smiled when he saw Jessica. She received a kiss on the cheek and an arm around her shoulders.

You tore Steve Harrington apart. You'd have to live with that for the rest of your life.

Dear Steve,

In true "me" fashion, I left without saying goodbye again. You'll understand how difficult it is to sit in a house right next to yours and still function normally.

I could apologize a million times over, but it would never be enough to fix what I've done. This decision will always be the biggest regret of my entire life. But I never deserved you, Steve.

You said you wanted to move, that you had it all planned out. But I watched you wince for two years at the mention of my hope to go. I watched you cringe and pull away any time someone asked what our plans were. You never wanted to leave Hawkins, and I couldn't be the one to ask you to. I knew one day, you would've hated me for taking you away.

There are a million other things I could say, but just know this:

Any woman on the face of the Earth who's known the gift of being loved by Steve Harrington is the luckiest person in the world.

Merry Christmas, Steve.

Love,

Lucy

[briamichellewrites]

2

The one percent were truly different than the rest of the population. Bria didn’t know how to do anything by herself since she always had people to do it for her. Mike caught her washing some of her clothes in the kitchen sink. He asked her what she was doing. Her assistant was out of town, so she was washing her clothes. He broke down in laughter when he saw she was using dish soap. Oh my god! He rinsed her clothes off with water before packing them up in a garbage bag.

What was he doing? He was going to show her how to do laundry. After putting all of her clothes in the bag, he brought them to her washing machine. They were not sorted by color, so he had to show her how to do that. If she mixed colors with whites, the colors would make her whites not white anymore. She was excited about learning something new.

“Bria, don’t use dish soap because it will just make your clothes soapy and it’s very hard to get out. If you do, make sure you rinse them thoroughly. Do you have laundry soap?”

He looked around but couldn’t find any. They were going to have to go to Target and buy some. She knew what Target was because she had driven past it multiple times, but she had never gone into one. He couldn’t believe that he was teaching her how to be the other ninety-nine percent of Americans. She should have been taught basic life skills.

His parents made sure he and his brother did household chores like putting their dishes in the dishwasher, cleaning their rooms, taking out the garbage, and doing laundry. They were even taught how to cook for themselves. Bria didn’t know how to do any of that, outside of picking up after herself. She didn’t cook because she just ate out. That meant she never had dishes to wash. She had hired help to clean her house for her.

Once the laundry was started, he told her that when the washer was done, they needed to be put into the dryer. Then, she would repeat the process with the next load. Her clothes were expensive designer clothing, so he took good care to make sure they were washed properly. Altogether, the clothes could pay for his student loans. That’s how expensive they were.

She had several cars she used in rotation. They were all luxury vehicles. Four of them were her father’s. Did she know how to put gas in her tank? Yes, she did. She also knew about vehicle maintenance, like going to the mechanic. Did she know how to change the tires? She did, though she never had to do it herself because she never had a flat tire before. That was fair. They went upstairs to her room. He looked through her closet and saw her clothes folded up neatly or hanging up on hangers.

She used the room next to hers as her closet for her shoes and handbags. He guessed that her collection together cost millions of dollars. He asked her if she truly understood how rich she was. Yes, she did. He sighed feeling poor. This was why they needed to teach basic life skills in school. He felt grateful his parents didn’t spoil him or his brother.

When the washer was done, they moved her clothes to the dryer before putting in the next load. Joe asked him how it went with his girlfriend when he got back.

“She was washing her clothes in the sink with dish soap. I had to teach her how to do laundry. She had also never been to Target before.”

“Uh, Mikey. Are you sure you’re dating an adult”, he jokingly asked.

He laughed. “Oh my god. She was so excited about doing laundry for the first time, though and she thought Target was adorable. This is why basic life skills need to be taught in schools.”

All of her stuff combined could pay off their student loans. Why was she doing her laundry in the sink? Her assistant was out of town. The assistant was her father’s, but she decided to work for her after his death. His estate was paying her salary. He was going to show her how to make a simple grilled cheese sandwich in the oven and then gradually show her how to make dinner for herself.

He had homework calling his name, so he decided to do it before he was distracted again. Joe was going to get something to eat. He asked him to bring him back an energy drink. It took him three hours to finish his homework. He was thankful for the energy drink Joe brought back for him. The caffeine and sugar kept him awake. He couldn’t wait to be done with college. His parents were paying double tuition since his brother was also in college at Amherst University in Massachusetts.

He was two years behind him. Mike was proud of his little brother. He wanted to be an architect and design buildings. Their parents encouraged them in whatever they decided to do. School came first. They never forgot that. He did go to different parties, but his focus was on his studies. His apartment had a landline but he had to use the school’s computers to access the internet.

Bria had a cell phone. She was the only person he knew who had one. It meant she could take calls wherever she was. She could also text. When he became rich, he would buy himself a cell phone. It would make communication easier, especially with his parents and brother. He missed his brother. They talked weekly about how things were going. Jason was enjoying his studies. He was learning Japanese, along with French and Spanish.

You should practice with Bria. He would have to do that. Why did she choose to learn Japanese? Her father wanted her to learn it because it was used in business, as was Spanish and French. She was already fluent in French, as she grew up in a bilingual household. The language was very important to her father, as was the culture.

He told him how she didn’t know how to do laundry. Who did her laundry for her? Her assistant. She also had never been to Target before. He reiterated how he felt that schools should have mandatory basic life skills for students because she was unprepared for the real world. Maybe someday she would run out of money and she would have to do everything herself. He was going to teach her how to make food for herself.

She knew how to make herself a sandwich, but that was pretty much it. If she wasn’t such a sweet girl, he never would have made her his girlfriend. Jason reminded him that not everyone had parents like theirs. Yes, that was very true. It made him appreciate everything they taught them, even when their mother made them learn piano. Yes, he remembered that.

They hated it because she wouldn’t let them play video games until they practiced. Years later, he appreciated her for that because it made him learn how to read and play music. They made plans for his graduation, which was coming up. As much as he was looking forward to graduating, it was also scary because he would be going out into the world by himself. He was looking for jobs as a graphic designer. This was adulthood. He had to move on sooner than later.

Since it was getting late, they finished their call. They both had classes the next morning. They told each other I love you before hanging up. It was ten o’clock and the apartment was quiet. Joe was asleep on his bed with his textbook open. He laughed to himself before closing the door and going into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon @fiickle-nia

[castle-dominion]

c3x18 one life to lose

Is this a porno...? Who killed Sarah? Interesting music & scenes... Martha <3 Operate a sponge? Speaking of hair? Why did he say it out loud? Does he usually? Martha come! Do smth productive! She's so right. MR: Richard darling, you are neither trained nor professional.

A writer! Why would anyone want to kill a writer? KB: Oh castle, so many reasons Castle where did that even come from? There are only three reasons to commit a murder. Yo that's a really cool death tbh. Axe severed the spinal cord & then her lungs filled with blood & she drowned??? That's insane! Why does lanie sometimes have a one hour window & today have a four hour window? Lanie <3 CSU has already been in?

Lanie is good, I mentioned how annoying they masculinize & feminize beckett but lanie is literally a mortician/undertaker/coroner/medical examiner/doctor/pathologist dealing with bloody murders, smelly bodies, & she is still the most fiery, sexy, feminine woman around.

Esposito are you flirting? Wow she's flirting right back. espt don't u have a gf? & isn't she right there with a dead body? (just had a fanfic thought: lanie asks to have sex in a coffin, mirroring ryan's previous exploits) KR, softly: Dude JE: Dude KR, firmly: Dude. Hastings: Ditto KR: You also drew a bubble bath & listened to some John Legend? Wow these two are fighting KR: Can we get back to sarah (the literal murder victim) for just one more moment? Look at eachother sus (clipping)

This one's eyes are vibrant. Castle you're an author you MUST know what shippers are. Hun why would u sue the city like that Castle that could be true, except for how dramatic you made it. Tone it down a bit & it sounds legit

Who made the board there? The murderboard guy? Set design <3 I like beckett's scarf. See more, it might be a typing thing.

FCL she died. The american spelling is interesting Yes! Wait no Wow fans. I wonder how ABC would react if we sent a bunch of axes to them demanding our ships get together. (The most popular noncanon ship is rysposito obv so the axes would be sent for them ig.) She calls her parents by their first names? W/e, good for her Mmm stirring coffee.

RC: You know whenever you say the word soapy I conjure up images KB: Castle focus RC: I am KB: On our suspect RC: Oh (clip)

I feel like the writers are sending a message to us the fans... *runs away sus after denying that she was a fan* Let her watch her shows b'y! (they're always making her some hot tomboy muscle car loving gun slinging detective & making her secretly feminine uwu totally lying. Like girl. Don't force her to be masculine in ways that don't fit her, don't force her to be feminine in ways that don't fit her, just let her be a well rounded person.)

RC: That was completely different, that was for research! JE: What was for research? KB+RC: Nothing JE: >:| KB: RC: JE: *shrug, but annoyed* M is murder. She put her appointment for her own murder in her thing (won't clip)

I love the way he says "hey. beckett." & costume update: Esposito has a normal brown long sleeve with a collar; beckett has a nice dark grey vneck longsleeve; castle has his usual, the shirt is grey & I don't see any pattern on the jacket; & ryan has a smile, a tie (red & blue, dark), & a jacket that has a pocket on the front, I love a good breast pocket, this jacket has lapels (& obv he has a pin) but the material is smth I'm unclear on, esp with the pocket, & then he's also wearing a sweater or a vest or smth. (I guess I could snap a pic)

Weird. RC: "Tell us you were alone, it will make arresting you that must easier" It doesn't sound like him. Rick u also know a lot about temptation lane. Also r u texting ur mom?

Did the writers design this episode so we stop talking about rysposito & start talking about esplanie? Wow. Also I don't like esplanie. Esposito is his last name & lanie is her first. It should be esparish. Mother.! Martha their inside source. I'm love. RC: o_o MR: Onscreen RC: *phew* MR: & off RC: 0____0 Holy crap only three weeks & that already happened! MR: gotta go *pushes her boobs up* (dsjkljfsd martha is so great, I think I might clip this)

Oh. I thought beckett was so "omg" bc she was getting a script sneak peak, not bc it was a murder motive lol.

Espt my dude you are in a relationship & like you JUST SAID she is a murder suspect. But I have to admit, watching him wave his hands to get castle into the observation room is rly cute. (CLIPPING) (Cute fistbump too) Lmao chiquitas bananas JE: No. As in the telenovela. I used to watch it growing up with my grandmother. Ok 1- I love how he says telenovela; whenever I speak a french word in english I anglicize it, but when he says a spanish word in english he keeps it spanish. 2- did you grow up with your grandmother or did you watch it with your grandmother when you were growing up? 3- You just said that out loud. You just. Said that. Out loud. Is that smth you want ppl to know? I think it's fine but I'm shocked you thought so too. (but idk how much to clip) It depends on how the system views itself. I have a friend+ who I consider one unit (therefore "a" friend+) but not one person (hence the "+") & it is in like a billion polyamorous relationships within itself, & is also polyam outwardly. With a lot of ppl it isn't out as a system. It dates outwardly as a unit (I think) but is also in inward relationships as I said. On the other hand, I've seen a system where a fronter is dating a fronter from another system, but the other alters within the system are not dating the other system('s fronter). It really depends. Also, you remember this episode?? & you're defending it so do you actually like it or?

Definitely writes death scenes for all the characters. She probably didn't write it all that night tho... Wow language

Just a fur coat. Yeah TV is hard. Writing, writing fast, filming, filming rushed... I wonder what it was like for the team to make this ep

Why is espt telling her abt ryan's findings?

Beckett using castle's writer powers to get out the info XD see he does come in handy! Castle did u lie? Meh it doesn't need to be a lie. Organ harvesting!?

Wow she's very disguised lol. Also does she have segmented heterochromia?

Ten grande for a pair of earrings? How often will you even wear them? Ryan probably wrote notes that cheesy! Just like he read eat pray love! KB & RC: *talking about the case, samebrain* KR & JE: *look at each other* *KR gestures up at them* KB & RC: *standing closer* KR: Do you two practice this when we're not around? :)) (& then espt is looking at em & ryan shuts the case of earrings right in his face) (cliping)

RC: Just trying to keep you on your toes Weird way of saying uniform. Like he was going to say uni but finished the word. Why do we have a scene looking at ryan & espt there? All they do is look at each other. Hi sweetie, is gram there? I need to talk to her. Idk why I like this line sm, i think it's just that it's a representation of family Yeah that's martha.

Castle just kicked down the door!! He actually does love his mom! The actor's version of "show me your golf swing" & it's what like frickin foreplay?

This episode is different. I think. Maybe not. I think it's neat how she says detectives ryan & esposito out loud like that. It's different. Wow. Really is an actor huh. Hey yk what good for him get a movie role. Plagiarism? No the mom. Stage left was honestly not a funny.

Costume update: I love castle's jacket Seperately was implied, castle.

The dress. & the shoes. .. Ooh & the purse! Martha already read thru the script?? NO WHO? WHO MARTHA, WHO?

Hamlet vibes. & there's the hamlet quote. KB: "We already know who the killer is so u'r wasting my time," -Me (won't clip) It's a soap opera, I had to honour the form. I like seeing the TV soap filming of this. & castle mr big dick moneybags famous writer got them to film it lol. Castle mouthing along. Woah a warrant much? yk that's valid but not a valid reason to kill. Castle it COULD HAVE BEEN HERS you ruthless drama queen.

Costume update: Castle is normal, coat & jacket are two shades of brown (but the jacket also has stripes); ryan is wearing a printed dress shirt, tie, sweater (long sleeved vneck, yk, typical dress sweater), & also has a grey coat; espt has a dark dark violet shirt with a black+purple tie; beckett has a feminine striped jacket. I love when stuff that is traditionally menswear is made into women's clothing. It has that masculine professionalism but that elegant femininity. RC: There are no shortcuts in writing KR: Nope but there is to our favourite bar. I found a new route that will get us to the old haunt in 8 minutes. (to espt) You up for a beer? *claps* Come on, *points to castle* I know the owner. (lol that's adorable & it means they actually attend the bar & he tried to find a shortcut & wants to go out with his coworkers/friends, & the little smiles on all of them) & then their three way fistbump thing (clip)

That's a big envelope. Aw he cares abt her even if he teased her. Ah he got it for her to buy her secrets. Aw that's so sweet, honestly! Also fun fact about beckett she got her tonsils removed. People are out there living without their tonsils or without their appendix. Crazy. Josh <3 Hun answer the phone before he hangs up.

Wow martha. Love her. He just shudders XD

not too many good clips, that means I'll be able to fast forward thru this ep, getting my funnies through the subtitles at double speed