#I had too much faith in my abilities and because of that I didn’t spend enough time building myself a safety net

[strohller27]

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[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hi, I was wondering if you could create a scenario where reader is in the garden working and gets hot and sweaty and Donna just becomes a mess and when Reader goes to take a shower and undresses in front of Donna, she just devours her in the shower (smut pls).

Also could you please make Donna G!P?

Thank you!!!!

Yess!!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :))))

Heat

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, gardener! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI, fluff

Word count: 5,199

Summary: It's a hot day and you want to take advantage of that...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!!I love you all!!!

“Okay, okay... You don't like me and I don't like you either,” you said, pacing from one side of the garden to the other. “I know that you were born and raised here, with only one promise in your minds: to take revenge on the woman who took the lives of your ancestors. Well, it's time to decide who is stronger.”

Saying that sentence, as if you were really participating in a witch hunt, demon hunt, or something similar, you triumphantly waved the pruning shears in your hand with a sinister smile.

“Pray now, my dear enemies, because I’ll have no mercy.”

It might seem like you took your job as a gardener too lightly, but in reality, it was quite the opposite.

Luck seemed to smile on you since you were just a little girl, granting you an innate ability for plants. Luck? Oh yes, of course.

In a place like that, in that village lost between mountains, which didn’t know the world and which the world didn’t know, to have a skill beyond knowing how to sew or farm was to consider yourself lucky.

Your friends grew up with you, but none of them were left. Some married, others were sent to the castle to serve Lady Dimitrescu. Others, unfortunately, could not bear the thought of spending the rest of their days praying to Mother Miranda and the Black Gods.

In your youth, you had considered all of those possibilities. Serve, marry or surrender. There were few options and you didn't like any of them. You were never exactly the most faithful of the villagers, nor the most interested in men. You also didn't think giving up was something to be proud of.

No, you hadn't spent your entire life surviving hunger and the Lords of that place only to be dinner for a filthy lycan. Your life was worth much more than that, and that's how you wanted to be seen.

At first it might seem that knowing how to tame a wild garden could only lead you to be part of the castle's army of maidens, but you soon discovered that this curious skill opened different doors for you, the doors of the Beneviento Estate.

A monstrously large woman, a deformed fish man and a crazy man with a factory. Each and every one of the Lords was the reincarnation of any nightmare. All but one.

Unlike her siblings, Donna Beneviento was not huge, she didn’t live in a disgusting swamp and she didn’t experiment on corpses (you thought she didn’t, of course)

She was a lonely and sick woman, according to the villagers. No one who had the audacity to enter the forest and reach her territory had been lucky enough to tell it. You knew that there was no reason to think she wasn't as dangerous as they said, but she didn't seem as terrible as you had heard, especially after knowing her.

Yes, she could be a strange woman, not specially talkative, disturbed and embarrassed by her appearance. But, the danger word didn't appear in your mind when you offered to tend her garden.

Well, okay, maybe you had forgotten to remember that you were the cheekiest girl in the entire village and that an army of Lycans or nightmares wasn't enough to wipe the sardonic smile off your face.

If Donna hired you because of your ability to not fear the fear itself, or on the contrary (and as you later found out) because the garden of that mansion was a complete disaster was not important to you.

The point is you had been working for the Lord for almost a year, and for just over six months you had been totally addicted to her. Yes, you could not see her face, it was strange to hear her talk, but, without knowing how, she began to form a kind of dense cloud between you. A cloud of sexual tension you already took for granted since the first time you heard a shy laugh behind that black veil.

Did you always have to look for the most complicated woman? You couldn't live any other way.

Comments, mockery, hints that weren't so... After so much time behaving that way with the lady in black, you thought you should already be at the bottom of that beautiful waterfall but... No, you were still alive and that shy laugh was more and more frequent.

Were you playing with the most dangerous woman in the village? Of course you were, and you wouldn't stop until that tension dissipated, or until you died trying to get to know Donna Beneviento better, just a bit better. Well, quite a bit, well, until your smile could make her realize your addiction to her presence.

But even if you considered that little game of cat and mouse one of your favorite hobbies, you never neglected your work. That didn't mean that your drama queen skills didn't brighten up the boring task of making that garden stop looking like a jungle.

“Ugh, the sun has taken that warming thing seriously,” you sighed, running a hand over your sweaty forehead, looking at the unusual clear sky of that morning. “But that's not going to stop me,” you said amused, squinting at a corner full of weeds, to which you had already sworn revenge.

Taking off your shirt, leaving you only in a thin tank top, you continued with your work, even though the heat was getting more and more intense.

“A few rays of sun are not enough to stop me,” you growled, bending down to pull a tuft of damaged grass that was resisting your pulls. “You won't be able to beat me, you will never beat (Y/N), the Superhuman and Invincible Plant Warrior... Come on...”

With a strong tug, that rebellious little plant gave way to your hands, but you fell backwards to the ground with a thud.

When you caught your breath, you opened your eyes. The sun was very bright, but it was partially eclipsed by a black figure looking down at you, Donna.

“Superhuman and Invincible Plant Warrior?” the lady murmured, with a low but amused tone, or so you imagined.

“You can call me Plant Warrior, for short,” you said amused, standing up and dusting off your scant clothing. The lady laughed, causing your corners to rise again.

Was Donna really a hobby for you? Was she something else? How did you really feel about her? Too many questions.

“Do you want something, Donna?” you asked elegantly, but with that darkness shadowing your kind smile. “Or did you just want to see me?”

The lady shifted in her place, not responding to the hint that had become routine for a long time. The woman simply shook her head, confused, as she played with her hands in front of her body.

“Today is a hot day,” she commented with that hoarse, soft tone, damaged by lack of use, at least with anyone that wasn’t you.

You nodded, taking off your gloves and moving your tank top to give you some air.

“Yes, I think that if you varnish me a with gravy, in two hours I will be completely done,” you joked, now yes, earning another one of her shy laughs, one of those that you didn't want to stop hearing. “(Y/N) baked… Or better, (Y/N) in her sauce. What do you say?”

“I'm sure you're delicious,” she said, with a dark voice, making your smile grow even more.

“You think so?” you asked, getting a little closer to the woman in black, who made a move to back away, but she ended up staying in her place, as if regretting having made that comment.

“Um, yeah, um, I…” she stammered, clearing her throat and averting her gaze from yours, or so you thought. That damn black veil… “I think you've done enough for today, (Y/N). You are free to leave if you want.”

“Oh, well, I still have that dark corner over there,” you said, scratching the back of your neck, disappointed because that tension didn't seem to want to end, as well as Donna's shyness, which was surely preventing her from disappearing.

“It doesn't matter,” she whispered, shaking her head. “You're going to get sunstroke if you spend another hour out here.”

“I... Okay, okay, you're in charge,” you said with a sigh, with a more serious, sad look that you hoped she would understand. You were deluded, Donna could never understand the complexity of human emotions, but you couldn't blame her for that.

“Wait, (Y/N),” the lady said, running to your side when you grabbed your jacket, ready to return to your lonely cabin, to your life far away from Donna.

You enjoyed that abruptness for a moment and turned around in an elegant manner.

“I, um... Hey, I made some lemonade and... I thought you might like it... You know, it's, it's hot,” the lady stuttered as you walked back to meet her, eyebrows raised.

“Oh, sure,” you said, maybe too quickly.

The lady in black nodded elegantly and turned around, entering the house and timidly gesturing for you to follow her.

The sound of the clock was the only thing that could be heard in the old living room. Sitting at the table, you looked at each other in complete silence while your body refreshed itself with that delicious lemonade. It could be one of those situations that you imagined at night, but you knew it wasn't.

Despite being right where you wanted, next to whom you wanted, shyness appeared in your thoughts, quickly devastated by the impudence with which you lived your life.

“Well...” you whispered, playing with the ice in your glass.

“Well,” she repeated, in an almost inaudible tone, thus showing she was also nervous, like always when she was close enough to your mischievous smile.

There were no more words. The clock's hand was once again the dominant sound of that gloomy mansion. Luckily, the fact you had entered that place for the first time gave you the opportunity to spend time looking at each of those details. It was a huge house, really big, too big for just one woman and her sinister puppet who, mysteriously, showed no signs of life.

“So... Plant Warrior,” Donna murmured, moving the black cloth from her face to take a sip from her glass. You smiled, pouring more liquid into yours.

“Superhuman Warrior,” you corrected, tipping the jug into the lady's glass.

She shook her head and your ears were blessed again with the sweet sound of her low-key laugh.

“Have you ever taken something seriously?” she asked, with an informal tone, but retaining the elegance that was expected from her position as a Lord, something that… Well, it made the sinful sensations that ran through your body only increase.

“Hey, I take it seriously,” you protested, amused, frowning and crossing your arms.

You didn't know why, but that posture made the lady move nervously. You had forgotten that you were only wearing a tank top. Just to think that your shamelessly exposed body was making Donna nervous made the thoughts stop being lustful and become even more lustful. Stop, (Y/N)

“What exactly do you take seriously?” she asked, tilting her head to emphasize she was looking directly at you.

“To work for you,” you answered, hiding your sinister smile behind the glass of lemonade, which was beginning to drip onto your skin.

 Is that why the lady shifted again in her chair with a strange sigh? You wanted to think so.

“Superhuman Warrior?” she asked with a soft tone, implying that there was a smile forming on her mysterious face, a smile that you were dying to see.

“Oh, come on, I just did a little imagination exercise. In this boring village you have to find a way so the shadows don't kill you,” you explained, realizing your mistake immediately. “Um, well, not boring, because thanks to the blessing of the Black Gods and Mother Miranda…”

“Boring, huh?” Donna said, crossing her arms, annoyed by your careless words.

“No, no, no...” you said, moving your hands to emphasize your correction. Too late. “Not boring because… Well, because… It's, it's fun to know when you're going to die torn apart by a lycan and of course, Miranda's masses are very, very funny,” you joked.

“Of course, I'm sure you have a lot of fun,” Donna said, with a slightly darker tone and a superb posture, very attentive to your reaction.

Making a strangely embarrassed face, you scratched your head, searching in the deeps of your mind for some witty response.

“Of course, I'm laughing my ass off,” you said with your eyebrows raised, trying to maintain a calm tone, not being sure if this unusual conversation would serve to understand or study the limits of her patience or simply to put an end to them.

“It's funny,” Donna murmured, nodding, relaxing her posture. You looked at her confused. “I don't remember having seen you in the last… 10 masses.”

“No? Oh, of course, with that thing on your face it's sure hard to see anything,” you joked, closing your eyes because your way of being had overcome the circumstances.

Donna snorted, going completely silent for a moment, frozen in time.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, changing amusement for concern. She nodded slowly, resuming her movements.

“I'm sure I haven't seen you, (Y/N),” she whispered, her voice breaking, probably because of your unfortunate comment. “I would remember.”

You faked a smile when you saw that at least that time, you had emerged unscathed from your impudence.

“Yes, yes, the girl who snores in the last row, that's me,” you joked again, drawing another shy laugh from her lips from the lady in black, who shook her head again.

“You have no remedy,” the lady whispered, with an amused tone, which was distorted when your hand ran over the skin just above your neckline, shiny with sweat.

Noticing her incipient nervousness, you did it more slowly, leaning over the table to give her a better view of what seemed to distract her that much.

“Check it next time,” you whispered in a honeyed tone, savoring the words and the slight tremor that shook her glass as she looked away from it.

“Do you want me to prove that you are a liar?” she asked, regaining her composure at the indiscreet vision of your soaked body, of your… too noticeable feminine attributes.

“Non si può mai sapere,” you sighed, happy for having found the perfect situation to say that phrase that you had been rehearsing for days.

Donna laughed, moving her body subtly, crossing her arms.

“Nice try,” she whispered with a dangerous, somewhat dark tone. As always, it was impossible for you to know if a smile adorned her face or rather your horrible pronunciation had offended her. You hoped it was a beautiful smile.

“I'm doing my best,” you said, taking another sip of lemonade while raising and lowering your eyebrows mockingly.

“I'm not going to raise your salary because you learn Italian, (Y/N),” she said, imitating your gesture with an overwhelming calm, like everything she did.

“Come on, I've been learning for months,” you joked with a smile that looked like a pout. “I already know how to say hello and goodbye.”

“It's the same word.”

“Yes, but… What a word...” you said, shaking your head, putting on an intellectual face, something you didn't know how to do at all.

Again, her soft, velvety laugh reached your ears like the best of balms.

Silence fell on you like a heavy weight, one that forced you to lower your shoulders and your gaze.

“I would like to know something else about you,” Donna murmured, with a sigh inaudible to ordinary mortals, but not to you, who looked up surprised by that phrase that came from nowhere.

“Oh, um...” you murmured, a bit confused.

“Do you feel uncomfortable?” she asked suddenly, probably seeing your doubtful and surprised attitude.

“No, no, no, not at all, it's just that...” you said, with a fake smile, controlling the nerves that were beginning to rise through your heated body. “Well, I'm not used to you being interested in me.”

“Do you think I'm interested in you?” the lady asked, with a superb posture again. You frowned, but kept that smile. Again, she had gotten nervous.

“You just said you wanted to know things about me. That's being interested,” you joked with a dark voice, leaning discreetly again. “Or maybe… You are interested in other things about me…”

“Yes, I mean, no,” Donna stammered, uncomfortable with the indiscreet exposure of your sweaty body to her gaze. “Why are you that way?”

“What way?” you asked, feigning disorientation. “I was born with this body.”

"No, no," Donna interrupted, defensively putting her hands in front of her torso. “Why are you so...?”

“So…?”

“Uhg, so… You,” she finally said, shaking her head, her chest rising and falling due to her heavy breathing. Maybe you were pulling the rope too tight, maybe not.

You shrugged, with an expression of not knowing what she meant. Playing with fire, that was the greatest of your hobbies.

“Are you nervous, my lady?” you said with a sensual tone, with a look that could easily melt the ice in your glasses.

“Don't call me...” Donna protested, gently hitting the table with her fists. “… My lady. You know I hate it.”

“Um...” you murmured, pretending to look away as you moved your top to give some air to your heated body, a sight that Donna didn't want to miss, but from which she immediately looked away, embarrassed and shifting nervously in the chair.  “Do you know what I hate?”

“No,” the lady in black responded, with a dry, abrupt tone, thus revealing her obvious discomfort.

“The beautiful women who cover their face,” you murmured, with that slight hope that her nervousness and your impudence would have an effect on the lady.

Donna growled, looking away for a moment. She seemed thoughtful and the room fell silent again under your watchful gaze.

“Yes, I meant you,” you commented amused, leaning back in the chair, rocking it carelessly. Donna shook her head, crossing her arms again.

“You are unbearable,” the lady whispered, bringing her trembling hands to her veil. You widened your eyes, not believing your stupid words had any effect. Maybe she felt something similar to what you felt, even if you still weren't sure exactly what it was.

Slowly, that horrible black veil disappeared from your vision, revealing a beauty far superior to what you imagined. Perfect features, a face destroyed by a horrible scar that you barely paid attention to. Donna was so much more than you expected.

Your smile reached your lips and your eyes reflected the visual pleasure of her hidden beauty, an unimaginable one, which made you seriously think about whether it was really lustful addiction, or love.

“Just what I thought,” you murmured, feigning disinterest.

“What?” she asked, making an attempt to cover herself again, something you prevented by reaching out your hand and gently grabbing her wrist.

“You're beautiful, Donna,” you whispered, keeping your gaze on that bright eye, full of insecurities and fear of your reaction.

“Don't you get tired of lying?” she asked with a brusque tone, breaking free from your grip and leaving the cloth on the table, with a look of panic that predicted an imminent nervous breakdown.

No, that wasn't going to happen while you were there.

“Show me that I'm not lying, come on... Smile,” you asked with a pleading look. Your fun attitude towards life was like a lifesaver in the middle of the ocean. You weren't safe, but at the same time you were.

Her reaction was immediate and the light of her smile reached your gaze.

“You see? What a beautiful smile you have...” you sighed, holding her hand again at her nervous look, at that smile that was twisted by your caresses on her skin.

After a few moments in which the tension was already overwhelming, she released herself from your grip, from your soft fingers, standing up from the chair.

“I think, I think I have stolen you too much time, (Y/N),” Donna murmured, looking at the floor, avoiding at all costs looking at your face, or your body. “You should go home.”

“Mm,” you murmured, nodding a bit disappointed, tilting your head toward the window, where the sun was shining tirelessly. “If I don't get roasted along the way...”

“Wait,” the lady interrupted, grabbing your wrist just as you grabbed your stuff. “Ma, maybe you want to take… A shower, you know, to cool off. I wouldn't want you to get sick.”

“Oh, it’s a good idea,” you said satisfied, pretending to think of an answer you already had.

Again, silence. You looked at the lady expectantly, and she discreetly looked at the corners of your body. Poor thing, she had perhaps forgotten she was no longer wearing the veil and you could see where her eye was going.

“Ahem,” you said, stamping your feet impatiently, startling Donna, who shook her head as if she were coming out of a fantasy.

A fantasy about you? Hopefully…

“Oh… What?” she stammered, confused.

You laughed, shaking your head.

“Tell me where the bathroom is. Or do you prefer to wash me by yourself?” you hissed with a purr, leaning into her ear. She laughed, gasping displeasure at your flippant comment.

“Come,” she said simply, turning around elegantly and leading you towards the stairs.

You walked slowly, taking a curious look at the portrait that adorned the wall. What a horrible picture. Donna was beautiful in person, just the way she was.

“Towels,” she pointed out once in the bathroom, handing you said objects abruptly. You nodded passively. “And, well, I suppose you know how a shower works.”

“No, normally I wait for it to rain to wash me,” you said sarcastically, leaving the towels in the sink and winking at her. She laughed nervously, looking away from you.

“You never take anything seriously...” Donna whispered, shaking her head.

You blinked mockingly and reached for your top, which fell off you with a gasp of relief. Donna gasped in surprise.

“What are you doing? Can't you wait for me to leave?” she asked offended, looking anywhere except your now exposed torso.

“Do you want to leave?” you asked, walking slowly towards her, running a hand over the exposed skin of your chest. “I think you are comfortable here.”

She shook her head, unable to stop her gaze from going straight to your glistening breasts, sighing nervously.

“(Y/N), no...” the lady protested when your steps got too close, when your gaze went down her body.

“Mm, how nervous you got, huh?” you purred, leaving subtlety aside, taking her trembling hand to run over your bare skin, something that, fortunately, she didn’t prevent, breathing with increasing difficulty.

“You make me nervous, (Y/N),” she murmured, closing her eye due to the closeness of your lips to hers.

You brushed against them, caressed them without kissing them, making Donna squirm in frustration. Your eyes opened to study her trembling, the closeness of her body to yours. A smile spread across your face as you saw a deformity at the bottom of her dress, a small bulge that betrayed her arousal.

“Well, well, well... You still keep a secret, huh?” you whispered, biting her ear to distract her from the caresses that went down her waist until you touched her erection with the palm of your hand, caressing it through the fabric “A big one…”

“Stop, I...” she protested, moving away from your libidinous touch, one that made her breathing even more complicated.

“You're sweating, Donna,” you murmured, not accepting her nervousness, her embarrassment. “Maybe you should take a shower too.”

She shook her head, covering the bulge of her dress with her hands, trying unsuccessfully to escape your gaze.

“I, I, I, I'll wait for you outside,” she said, turning to hide her blush, her excitement, all those things that you didn't think she could feel with you. You resist, shrugging your shoulders.

“As you wish, but there's room here for both of us,” you hummed, taking off your underwear, letting it fall to the floor as a challenge. Donna turned slightly to admire the sight in front of her and ran out of the room.

“Next time I won't make it so easy for you,” you hissed to yourself, turning on the faucet and feeling relief from the cool water that fell on your body.

As if you hadn't been about to do something so dangerous with a dangerous woman, you washed yourself calmly, humming songs you heard one day. At least until the bathroom door swung open and you frowned.

“Cazzo, (Y/N)...”  Donna gasped, getting rid of her shoes erratically while her hands undid the buttons on her dress.

“Have you forgotten something, my lady?” you asked amused, continuing to rub your body to tease her even more. Donna growled, quickly undressing and entering the shower next to you, pushing you against the wall.

“Shut up,” she ordered you nervously, just before grabbing your face in her hands and kissing you wildly, unexpectedly. You smiled, trying to tame those anxious, erratic kisses, trying to grab her waist, rubbing yourself against her body under the cool water of the shower.

Everything happened so fast that you didn't even stop to think about your victory, the one that you matured for months, that you worked on in subtle and not so subtle ways until the brunette's defenses collapsed at the sight of your body damaged by the heat.

The kisses were tireless, the kisses traveled to every possible corner. There was nothing but you and Donna in that small shower, nothing but a simmering burning desire, one that tasted better than the most delicious of delicacies.

The caresses, although they were naughty, were also dedicated to exploring every part of Donna's body, a body always hidden by a black as dark as the night, like a veil that extended beyond the one that covered the beauty of her smile.

The gasps were camouflaged with the sound of the water rushing against the floor, the humidity of the cold water joined with your saliva mixed in those burning kisses, in the sighs, in the gasps, in the moans that came when her hips brushed yours, impatiently.

“Turn around and lean,” the doll maker ordered you, with a firm voice that showed the authority of a village Lord.

Had you been playing with her so much that she had lost her usual elegance and delicacy? It didn't surprise you, nor did you care, you just wanted to have her, her to have you. At that moment you just wanted to be for her, you just wanted to exist for her.

With a mischievous laugh and a defiant look, you obeyed, leaning over the tiles. It didn't take long for Donna to move, standing behind you, hugging your body, your breasts, rubbing, feeling, squeezing every part she could touch, every inch that now belonged to her.

“Please, my lady...” you said, biting your lip, bringing her hips closer to yours, rubbing her erect shaft, eager to explore your wetness.

“Don't call me...” she growled, giving you an unexpected hair pull as she discreetly fulfilled your wishes, entering you with a gentle movement, letting your body adapt to her size. “… My lady.”

“As you wish, my lady,” you teased, moaning at the feeling of her shaft running through your wetness, sliding between your walls without any difficulty. Donna laughed in annoyance, moving abruptly, probably as punishment for your audacity.

“You don't learn, do you?” she said, when your walls stretched enough to allow a constant rhythm, a wave of pleasure that your body accepted willingly, compensating you for all those nights when you imagined something like this.

You shook your head as you moaned at those perfectly calculated movements, at the feeling of her nails digging into your hips while hers moved rhythmically, stopping just when you needed it most.

Donna also stopped talking, replacing the words, the soft reprimands with tremendously sensual moans, discreet but eager, almost as much as her erection inside your body, wanting to touch every inch of your depths, wanting to mix with your overflowing moisture.

It was frenetic, terribly erotic and sensual. Nothing like what you had experienced before. You couldn't tell if those new sensations were purely due to sex.

Maybe in your life you were never so lucky to make love with someone for that very reason, for love. Yes, it was time to recognize the evidence. You were crazy about Donna. The question was: was she crazy about you? Her body said she was.

“Donna...” you said, with the sound of the water camouflaging your voice, not enough for the brunette to lower the intensity of her thrusts and moans, stopping digging her nails into your skin to gently caress your back, making that those little cramps you were beginning to feel to became more and more intense.

A moan was her response, while her hips resumed their movements so as not to lose the pleasant sensation of being inside of you, of sliding over your body as if it were hers. Certainly, it already was.

“(Y/N)... Sto per venire…” she whispered, changing that constant rhythm for a more erratic, more intense one, which made you close your eyes and let her hands hold your body while you let yourself be carried away by the sensations that, for you, were already enough for you to release.

“Fuck, yes!” you moaned when your orgasm finally made its way through your body, making your walls dance around her, thus causing her own release, which made a humid, burning heat contrast poetically with the cold water.

The water now only muffled your nervous breathing. Your body relaxed as Donna pulled out of you, making that obscene heat run down your leg, joining the water that ended its way into the drain.

Slowly, you turned around, kissing the brunette without giving her a second to breathe, hanging on to her body, caressing her cheeks, her waist, everything you could and your body allowed after the ecstasy.

“(Y/N)... I know I can be a… Killjoy… But, but… I'm in love with you,” she told you, moving away from your tireless kisses for a moment.

“I think that's pretty obvious,” you joked, making the lady shake her head, with a tired sigh.

“No, it is not. I'm not a woman who just wants to... Have a good time,” she explained, turning off the shower so you could hear her voice clearly.

“Well, we had a good time,” you continued joking, hanging on to her neck.

Donna rolled her eye with a tired sigh.

“If you don't feel the same, I want you to tell me,” she said with a more serious tone, cupping your face in her hands, implying that this was not the time to joke. It never was.

“Donna, I'm crazy about you.”

[dream-with-a-fever]

but i’m a fire and i’ll keep your brittle heart warm (snippet)

by dream-with-a-fever (me) / societysgot (ao3)

harry/ginny, oneshot, canon compliant, missing moments during OotP

“So, I take it that cave in the mountains outside Hogsmeade wouldn’t work as a meeting place with Sirius?” She said, bringing them back to their conversation in the library.

Harry shook his head. “Definitely not — how did you know about that?”

“I’m really into mountain hiking,” She replied, without missing a beat.

Harry gave her a quizzical look before her face broke out into a smile, and she laughed.

“I’m joking - I've never done it,” She said, with a snort, “Hermione mentioned doing it with her family once — no, Sirius told me about it over the summer, back at Grimmauld place.”

“You and Sirius talked?”

For some reason he hadn’t even considered the fact that the Weasleys had been staying there for several weeks before Harry’s arrival. Jealousy bubbled in him momentarily, at the thought of them all spending their summer together, while he was stuck in privet drive. They had probably shared meals, swapped stories, made jokes. He vaguely remembered the youngest Weasley holding court up one end of the table on a particular evening, chatting animatedly with Remus, Tonks and Sirius. She had almost seemed like one of the crew. He just hadn't given it much thought until now.

She gave him a quizzical look, and he realised he must’ve been silent for a beat too long.

“Yeah, is that… alright with you?”

He forced out a laugh. “Yeah- erm, of course. I just didn’t think — I don’t know.”

“Well, he’s cool. Got a great muggle music collection. You’d probably know some of ‘em? There’s one band — super good called The Beatle and—”

“The Beatles.”

“What?”

Harry suppressed a smile. “Never mind.”

“They're really good. But, he mainly talks about you, you know,” She said, after a beat, “Raves about you actually.”

Harry sighed, like this was a real inconvenience.

"Oh, I am sorry," said Harry, fighting back a grin.

"I told him, I said Sirius, I haven't got all day - but the man's relentless. Wanted to know everything."

“That must’ve been terribly boring.”

“Very," She hummed, noncommittally. "You know, Harry Potter — famously boring.”

“Glad you agree.”

“Well, we can’t have everyone inflating your ego now, can we?”

Harry spluttered for a moment, before she continued.

“Not that a bit more arrogance on your part would be bad. You could be a lot worse. Look at Percy.”

“Thanks, Ginny.”

“Very welcome,” She said, breezily before clapping her hands together, “Anyway — if the cave isn’t an option, and all the fires are being guarded…”

“Well…not all of them,” Harry said, a look of realisation crossing his face.

When he looked up she was grinning widely at him, eyebrows raised. It was then that he looked around, and realised they were outside the Gryffindor common room — the trek from the library was like muscle memory to him now, and still their arrival had come as a shock to him.

The fat lady was chatting animatedly with her friend Violet from another portrait when they approached; both shrieking with laughter like a couple of hyenas, passing a bottle back and forth of some kind of mead that most certainly was not from the fat lady’s portrait. They were completely obvious to the two students stood outside.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your study session,” Ginny suddenly said, scrunching up her nose, looking rather guilty, “I know you need all the time you can get, you know, with the OWLs coming up so soon.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Have a lot of faith in my academic ability then, do you?”

She choked out a laugh, whipping her auburn hair out of her eyes. “Not what I meant and you know it. Though if you hanging around Ron every minute of every day is any indication of your intelligence…”

“Pretty sure you spend more time with him than me,” Harry replied, looking aghast.

“Yeah — because he’s my brother - I'm stuck with him, aren't I? But you voluntarily spend every waking moment with him. I mean, think of all the brain cells you must have lost already…”

“See, that’s—”

“But there’s still time to save yourself from ruin, I reckon. Just gotta get back to the books.”

“Well, that’ll be hard, seeing as you got me banned from going back into the library ever again…”

She elbowed him hard in the side, and Harry looked up, surprised at the contact. But Ginny seemed unfazed - like this was nothing out of the ordinary.

“I think I’ll take that chocolate egg back then,” She demanded, flicking a curtain of red hair behind her.

Harry scoffed. “Pretty sure you already ate most of it—”

And that earned him his second jab in the ribs. He glanced down at his feet, suppressing a grin.

Their slight cofuffle had caught the attention of the fat lady who now, having finally noticed their presence, began to complain at their frankly insulting dawdling (‘I don’t have all day, you two!’)

They parted ways in the common room; Crookshanks trotting over to the youngest Weasley the second she had stepped through the door; Harry making his way up to the boys’ dormitories.

He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

(Unbeknownst to Harry, it was the best sleep he had had in weeks.)

[mcuamerica]

The Shadowsinger: Twenty-Three

Warnings: Healing wounds, mentions of parental abuse, mentions of death, ACOTAR series spoilers.

Pairings: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: As an official part of the IC, and an Oristian Illyrian warrior, you heal with your mate as you fight battles for your Court.

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters or plot lines, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

Graphics are my own. If you use, please give credit!

Series Masterlist

Your leg and your wing were the two things that still bothered you. With the infection that took root in your calf, it was harder to heal. Meaning that you now limped just a little, and Madja said it may never fully heal. Your wing, as well, was still healing. The top tendon that went about halfway down your wing snapped. Madja did everything she could to piece it back together, but it was too thin. You could fly short distances. But not in the cold and certainly not with any other weight on you. You worked with Madja, Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel to get the strength back up, but nothing was really working. Not yet. You still had faith your wing would get better and you could fly in the Illyrian ranks one day.

You decided with Azriel that you wanted to wait to offer him food, to accept the mating bond. The flash of hurt in his eyes had you scrabbling to explain you wanted everything to be back to normal, to not be at war. You wanted Feyre here.

You didn’t want a large ceremony. But just a small one with your family. And then Az and you would go up to the mountain cabin and spend however long you needed to officially mate.

So you waited. As much as you wanted to accept the bond and mount him almost every minute of the day, you wanted to have a proper future. You didn’t want to be mated in the middle of a war. The prospect of losing him when the bond was accepted… you didn’t dwell on it too long.

So you waited. And fought alongside your family when the time came. The worst of it was the night Azriel returned with Elain, Feyre, and some human girl. Your heart almost shattered at the look of his wings. How badly he was hurt. Was this what it was like for him when you returned from the Blood Rite?

You sat by his bedside, forcing him down and keeping him from going off to spy or fight or whatever he wanted to do. Because he needed to rest and heal.

You stood on the battlefield as Illyrians died, as Nesta saved Cassian. As Amren unleashed herself onto the army and brought victory to you all. You watched by Azriel’s side as Rhys died, and was then brought back to life when Feyre pleaded for his life.

You spent the next Solstice with them all, watching as Feyre’s sister, Nesta, withdrew into herself more and more each day. You became somewhat friendly with her, while Azriel took to helping Elain. Not nearly as close as she was with Amren, though.

You stayed with Mor and Feyre as the boys had their snowball fight, Azriel coming out the victor (again). You were his reward that night.

Once Solstice had ended, you started planning the mating ceremony. Or dinner, as you called it. You planned to make Azriel’s favorite meal with Nuala and Cerridwen.

Azriel and you also started looking for a new place to live. Feyre and Rhys offered to let you stay in the River House once it was built, but you decided you wanted your own space. You didn’t want the House of Wind or the Town Home. You wanted your home. One you could build with Azriel. Neither of you have ever truly had the ability to call a place your home. It was always owned by others.

So you bought a decent sized home on the River, not too far from the River House, and began making it just that. Your home.

After getting a bed, the dining room was the main thing you focused on. You wanted everything to be perfect because this was where Azriel and you would officially accept the bond. You could technically stay in the house for your mating, but the cabin was better cause there was no one to hear you. And if you knew anything from the past year, it would be that Azriel and you would disturb your neighbors. Maybe even Feyre and Rhys down the street.

Your shadows were still gone. And you knew in your gut you wouldn’t get them back. Not unless something terrible happened.

When you came out of the Rite, you were a different female. You were an Oristian, which many of the Illyrian males wanted to reject, but they couldn’t argue with what was final. Above all else, you weren’t alone anymore. You think the moment you chose to defend your brother, almost dying because of it, was the moment your shadows knew you didn’t need them anymore. You had always been fiercely loyal to your chosen families, but never to your blood.

When you exited that cave many many years ago, you were lonely and desperate. You were lost and didn’t know where to turn, so you found comfort in the darkness and the shadows were the ones to be there for you through everything. But you didn’t need them now. You had your family, chosen and blood (though, it’s still just Varyn that you trusted). And you were finally happy with your life. Your family. You didn’t need the shadows for comfort.

You didn’t think the shadows came to Azriel for the same reason they came to you. Yours was in need of survival while his was a triumph in darkness. A way for him to make the best of the terrible situation he was in. Once you completed the Rite, proved to yourself that you could survive without anyone’s help, the shadows had done their job. They had made sure you were safe. And it was now on you alone to protect yourself.

You couldn’t winnow yet, but you tried every day with your Siphon. It never worked. So you relied on your mate and the rest of your family.

You went to group meetings with the priestesses, helping them through their trauma. And sharing your own. You even saw Gywn at a few of them, and you were glad to see her somewhat happy. Healing. Slowly.

And then came the day you were dreading. Before the mating dinner you wanted to go to Valorworth. First to invite Varyn and Wessian to join the dinner, but also to see your blood family. To announce to the new camp Lord that you would be coming once a week to check on the females’ progress in training. You would be visiting each camp and giving them the next month, to get their acts together before you and Cassian would return to fix it. And to quell the murmurs of rebellion.

You took Azriel’s hand, smiling up at him as he winnowed you both to Valorworth. The rest of the Inner Circle was at the River House. This was something you would do with your mate. And if you needed comfort, a drink, or a night out afterwards, they would be there for you.

You watched from the hill just south of the camp. The same smells from Windhaven were present. But it was different. The air was slightly thinner, higher up in the mountains. Though you weren’t scared. You wore your Illyrian tattoos now, going across your chest, shoulders, and mid back. You were an Oristian. One of the top warriors of Illyria. You were to be a commander of the first female unit in centuries.

You wore your Siphon proudly on your right hand, while the pure black dagger hung on your waist. Twin to Azriel’s Truth Teller. And you had two swords across your back. You took up archery, Rhys and Feyre being the ones to teach you. Rhys taught you how to maneuver the Illyrian bow while Feyre taught you proper aim. You were an Oristian. You would not be afraid of your father and elder brothers. Not when you were higher rank than them. Not when you went through so much to come to this moment.

You greeted the camp Lord, the son of the one that you remember. Marc, the male that your father wanted you to marry 150 years ago. His father died in the final battle against Hybern, and he took the title of camp Lord.

He was surprisingly respectful. Maybe it was your new title. But you bet it was your towering male mate that was scowling at every single person that looked at you the wrong way. Az was itching to accept the bond, and his need to protect you grew only more when you approached your father’s cabin and told him you would be back. He didn’t want to leave you alone with him, but he knew that if something went wrong, he would be there in an instant. And he sent a few shadows with you to be his eyes and ears.

“Father.” You said once you crossed the threshold. He survived the battle and so did your brothers. You weren’t sure whether to be relieved or upset. But chose not to dwell on it for too long. Your older brothers, Corin and Caden, were in the small sitting room as well, monitoring your every move. Scanning you over to see the steel on you. And your Siphon.

“(Y/N)… I see you’re still alive.” He said, standing up. “I’ve missed you. Why haven’t you visited?” He asked, a knowing smirk on his lips. You wouldn’t play into his games.

“You will be seeing much more of me now.”

“Is that so?” He asked and smirked. “Come to infiltrate our camp with your females?”

“No, I’ve come to teach the females how to be the warriors they want to be. If they choose.” You said and glanced around.

“Those your shadows? It’s a poor excuse for a Shadowsinger.” He motioned to Azriel’s shadows that swirled around your feet.

“I don’t need my shadows anymore. I’ve relieved them on their duty.” You said and looked down as Az’s shadows stayed close to you in a protecting manner. One swept up and brushed against the back of your neck in comfort. “These are my mate’s.” You said.

Your father scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m surprised the Spymaster would waste his time on you.”

“Unlike you, Rechard, most males like a female who can protect herself.” You said. “This is not why I’m here. I’m here to inform you that if I so much as hear about you helping these so-called rebels, you better believe I won’t hesitate to kill you. Or maybe I’ll let my mate do it for me, he certainly knows how to take his time with males that have hurt females.”

You turned around, walking straight out the door. They didn’t stop you.

A/N: only one more chapter left! (This format might be off, I’m posting from my phone)

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Taglist

Tagging:

@cherry-cin @cleverzonkwombatsludge @nickishadow139 @complete-randomness2 @lilah-asteria @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @mariahoedt @6v6babycheese@secretsthathauntus @krowiathemythologynerd @fightmedraco @he6rtshaker @kayla-rose15 @aelincaddel @mfri06 @hauntedstudentobservationus@brieflyclassymortal @read-write-sleep-startover @krowiathemythologynerd @ialwayscryatendings@chxosangxl @tanyaherondale @randombibitch @plants-w0rld @etsukomoonbeam @riorgail @herondale-lightworm @panther-girl-124

[shawnxstyles]

come back…be here

DATE: JANUARY 11, 2023

summary: tom has to film a movie in london while you have to stay and work in new york. the distance drains you both, craving to be closer than a phone call. once the challenges subside, you’re in his arms and everything feels like home again.

request: yes!! read this for more information!

song: Come Back… Be Here- taylorrr / Car’s Outside- james arthur

words: 4.1k

warnings: heavy on angst!!, fluff, SMUT (m-receiving [oral], f- receiving [fingering], unprotected sex [two positions], dirty talk, praise kink), little language, and pining. (dramatic lol)

note: i used a quote from cherry because it’s one of my favorite lines with tom and i think it would be perfect here. this is very dramatic, but i don’t care :D #angsty

—

NEW YORK

The sun peeks out from the curtains, alerting your body to wake up. The rays cause your weary eyes to squint as you push yourself up from the bed. You breathe softly in the silence of your own presence. Tilting your head, you gaze at the emptiness that lies in bed next to you. You frown when you feel a pang of pining form in your chest. Ruefully, you untuck yourself from the covers, feeling colder than you did yesterday. And the day before that. And the week before last. It felt like the longest two weeks of your life and you still had two more to go.

Tom had gone filming in London for a movie he was extremely excited about. You knew he had no choice: it was going to happen eventually. But that didn’t make the goodbyes any easier. And it felt harder this time.

This wasn’t your first rodeo being a famous actor’s girlfriend; Tom’s left to film a variety of movies while you were together. The longest he’s ever been gone for was two weeks without a break, and that was a struggle.

It was a tradition for you two to call each other every night, even if you were exhausted from a long day and he was tired from filming. You imagined the way his lips spoke I love you when you talked on a normal phone call, but it would never amount to him physically whispering softly in your ear.

You wanted to go with him, you really did. You’ve been to London countless times to be with his family, so it wouldn’t have been a big deal. However, you were battling for a higher position at work and your absence for a sudden vacation wouldn’t make you look too good.

Tom had convinced you to stay, knowing how important your job is to you. In reality, you didn’t need a job if you were going to spend the rest of your life with a Hollywood actor, but you both knew that wouldn’t stop your independence from flourishing. You loved being with Tom because he encouraged you to not only be better, but to be great, and to be you. His faith in you has gotten you through some of the toughest moments of your life. Tom could say the same for you. He admired your hard work and independence so much that it motivated him. You were the brightest light in his life that saved him from any harmful darkness.

You didn’t have a doubt in your mind that you loved each other. You only fell harder every day.

As you sourly complete your morning routine in empty silence, you get dressed in your work clothes before heading out the door. Work helped distract the depressing yearning in your chest as you competed for the promotion. The days felt slower the more that passed, the desire to stay focused leaving your mind with the lack of motivation. You didn’t rely on Tom’s ability to encourage you, but God, did it help. His presence alone was graceful and endearing. He could convince you to run a marathon at midnight if he simply gave you those adorable puppy eyes that make you fold every time.

Every night, you leave work at the same time, rarely staying late. Every night, you do your nightly routine after a quick shower. Sometimes, you added a good cry because you just needed to cry. But every night for the past two weeks, you lie in bed with heavy-weight eyelids as you wait for a phone call.

—

LONDON

For most of his scenes, Tom got to wear a watch. It was hard for him not to avert his eyes to the time as he waited for the film to wrap up for the day. If he didn’t get to wear a watch, he would ponder at the sun’s angles to determine how long it would be until nightfall. When the sun would dip just below the hills, he knew he was a day closer to being home to you.

He packed the small carry-on he brought to set and quickly left with short goodbyes to the crew and his cast mates. Tom was staying at his parents’ house, since it was close to where the movie was being shot. He tried not to be loud when he trudged through the dark hallways of the house, feet padding the sleek, wooden floors.

His body collapses on the creaky bed, drained from constantly missing you. Yes, his job was physically and mentally demanding; some roles took him months to prepare for, like Cherry. But he swears your absence makes his heart beat slower, like he’s deliberately dying without being with you. It was killing him to be hundreds of miles away from you for so long without a break.

Tom’s muscles and brain scream at him to close his eyes just for a moment to rest, but he refuses. He hasn’t gotten any decent sleep since he’s left your side, and he hopes it doesn’t affect his acting. He silently showers, cleaning the work of today off of him. Painfully, he continues to resist the urge to consume himself in his duvet, eyes fluttering and nearly rolling backwards. The electronic vibration in his hand jolts an ounce of energy in his muscles, allowing him to answer before he passes clean out.

—

NEW YORK

“Hey,” You breathe out weakly, eyes sorrowful. You attempt a smile, but it’s too weary. Your face feels too heavy to make such a joyful expression.

“Hey, baby,” Tom croaks with his cheek squished against a pillow. His voice was gravelly and shushed, his eyes mostly closed, even as your face was present in front of him. All he needs is your voice, the perfect lullaby that can send him straight to sleep.

“I miss you,” Lip quivering as you sigh the words. Your teeth clench as you hold back the sudden urge to cry. You take the rest of any energy you had left to maintain your emotions, so Tom doesn’t worry too much. You both know how badly you miss one another, but Tom doesn’t need to know that you’ve been crying alone. “a lot.”

He would drop everything and fly home just to wipe away your tears.

“I miss you so goddamn much, baby,” His hand rubs over his weary eyes, trying to focus on you instead of the nauseated need to sleep. “Wish I could hold you.”

“Wish I could touch you,” Breathing unevenly, you bite your lip to contain the crying inside of you.

“Just a little longer, darling,” He sighs as a large yawn arises in his throat.

“You’re so tired, baby. You need to rest,” You almost break at his fatigued and fragile state, body demanding sleep. It was almost eight o’clock in New York, meaning it was almost one A.M. in London. He most likely wrapped up in the evening, so he must have stayed up until you were off of work to talk. Tom’s done that every night since he’s left, and your heart aches even more.

“Not yet. Just a little longer, love,” He repeats similarly, another yawn summoning from him as his head nudges deeper into his pillow like a sleepy child. He imagined the pillow to be your lap or your chest, so his body would give in to the rejected feeling of the fabric.

Although you were miles away, the silence was comfortable enough because he knew you were there, just not completely.

“Goodnight, Tom,” You whispered into the microphone, wishing you could caress the soft, damp curls on his forehead until he drifted peacefully to dreamland. But watching him fall into a much needed sleep over FaceTime was the best you could get right now. “I love you. So much.”

“Goodnight, m’angel,” Tom mumbles groggily and quietly. “I love you too.”

Soft snores wheezed from his thin lips, making your lips curl up the slightest as you admire him. Your heart was pained to see him so exhausted. It saddened you so much that a tear finally slipped from your eye and onto your pillowcase, leaving a familiar stain in the fabric. With one last look at him through your now glossy eyes, you sniffle quietly and end the call.

A few more silent tears fall from your cheeks as you turn off your bedside lamp. You replay his words in your head like your favorite song to help you slowly coast to an empty sleep.

Your heart chases the hundreds of miles separating you, yearning for your boyfriend to come back and be here.

—

TWO WEEKS LATER, NEW YORK

Your head nearly falls on your laptop from exhaustion. Your eyes would start to roll to the back of your head if you didn’t shake your body awake. You rub your eyes as you glance at the time. According to Tom, his flight should have landed by now and he should be on his way home. Finally.

However, this was the worst day for him to come back because you had to stay late at work preparing last-minute charts and emails. Usually, all of that could wait for the following day because working on an empty tank never did you any good. But since the promotion announcement would be soon, you had to be two steps ahead of your competitors. Plus, you had tomorrow off, so you had to get double the work done today.

Once you finish your current assignment, you delicately close the laptop and shut off your monitor. Flicking off the lights in your office, you drop your phone in your bag without glancing at it.

Weariness blurred your vision, and it felt unsafe to drive in such a tired state. The only thing keeping you awake was that Tom would be there not long after you, and you would finally get to sleep in his arms. If you weren’t so tired, maybe you would leap into his arms like the movies, but Lord knows you could barely walk.

You unlock the front door to a dull house; quiet, cold, and dark. You slip off your shoes and trudge up the small set of stairs into your bedroom. You repeat the same routine as you would if you were alone, but this time you knew he would be coming home.

When you’re comfortable in your pajamas, you poorly make the bed, so it looks more appealing than the hot-mess you’ve been laying in for the past month. Once you’re settled, you peer at the clock on your bedside table, wondering why he hasn’t made it home yet.

Grabbing your phone for the first time since this morning, you turn it on and crinkle your eyebrows at Tom’s newest messages.

T: Lovie my flight got delayed.

T: Hey baby. Can’t wait to see you. Getting on now.

T: Halfway home baby. Text me when you’re home x

You frown at the words, sighing heavily when looking at the time stamps. His last text was from the early evening. You huff, upset at yourself for being too hypnotized in your work to pay attention to your boyfriend coming home. Based on his texts, he should be home in an hour at best. You place your phone to your chest and close your eyes as you slide down your headboard until your head lays flat on the pillow. You fight the urge for as long as you can, but sleep holds you captive until you're consumed in it.

—

NEW YORK

Tom pushes through the door rolling his two suitcases and carrying his backpack on his shoulders. His limbs ache as he tramps up the stairs, the weight of his exhaustion yanking him toward the floor. Your car was in the driveway, so he’s sure that you were home even if the house is quiet. The bedroom door is cracked, so he trudged inside and plopped his baggage on the floor. He finally glances at your figure, motionless and allayed as your quiet breathing fills the emptiness.

He stalks over to your side, gazing at the sleeping beauty with a sigh. Tom’s rough hands delicately whisk your hair from your face before he places a tender kiss to your forehead. Your breathing falters and your eyelashes flutter, but you stay sound asleep. Tom gets ready for bed before slipping in right beside you.

Tom wraps a secure arm around your waist and subtly tugs you closer, bodies already warmer from the proximity. An inch of a smile manages to crawl up his lips even as tired as he is. His weight sinks further into the mattress as fatigue overtakes him.

A few hours later, you awake in the middle of the night with a muscular arm snug around your waist. Your heart jumps in excitement and you attempt to turn around, but realize that he’s probably asleep for the first time in a while. It’s hard to relax, while you try to rest knowing that Tom is finally home again.

You were in his arms and that’s all that mattered.

—

HOME

The sun shines brightly behind the curtains, but more graceful than it had been the past month. The sound of birds joyfully chirping and a small breeze alarm you peacefully to awaken. Your brain and body are quick to notice the heavy arm encompassing you, feeling its weight with every breath you take. You smile, but hold it back, saving all of your exuberance for Tom. You shift around anxiously excited, gazing lovingly at his adorable face; mouth slightly opened, crinkled eyes, and his cute nose. He was here, he was really here.

Without resisting, you kiss his cheek. And then his jaw. And then his neck. And then his bare shoulder as you remove his arm from you. And then his naked chest, sending little shockwaves of electricity through his body. You wanted to love him all over because of how estatic you were, and how much you missed him.

Tom inhales sharply, sensing your actions and wakes up blissfully. Eyes fluttering, he peers down at the top of your head kissing and caressing down his torso.

“Love,” He croaks groggily, voice crackly and warm like a burning fireplace. His hand pets your hair, smoothing it gently as you look up toward him. You don’t say a word, only a huge grin before you plant your lips onto his.

Both of your hearts overflow with much needed attention and love as your lips move in flawless sync. Slowly and passionately, your mouths mold together like missing pieces of a puzzle finally connecting. Your body collapses on his as your hands intertwine with his brown curls, elbows on either side of his head. His strong hands remain locked on your jaw, thumbs massaging the apple of your cheeks. For a breath, you painfully pull yourself back as you both gasp for air. Forehead to forehead, you listen to the panting and hearts beating.

“You’re back,” You smile shyly, happiness sparkling in your irises like a cartoon.

“I am, darling. Did you miss me?” He jokes, knowing you missed each other so crazily you couldn’t act normal. You two were so connected, being apart meant missing the other half of you. You huff a laugh and roll your eyes before kissing him greedily again.

“So much. I missed you so much,” You lead the kiss down to his jaw, sucking softly as he smiles. “Let me show you how much.”

His smile curls higher as you crawl down his body. Your sweet kisses leave invisible tattoos on his skin, making him sigh from how much he missed this. From how much he missed you. You twiddle with the waistband of his boxers until he persists you continue, so you do.

Now completely naked, his morning glory stands hard with an ounce of pre-cum at the tip. You rub the juices around his tip, causing him to hiss. Saliva runs down the length of his cock as your hand wraps around him. You stroke up and down deliberately, Tom’s breathing heaving as you gradually pick up your pace.

Your mouth hovers over the head before you lower yourself on to it. He moans hoarsely, throat raspy with lust. Your tongue glides along his prominent veins, exploring every inch that could fit in your mouth until his slit tickled the back of your throat. Your hand strokes consistently as your head continues to bob for his pleasure. Your panties dampen at his guttural noises, a rough hand delicately lacing in your hair. He resists the urge to push you lower as he holds onto you.

“Fuck, Y/N. Missed that mouth. Missed—fuck— you,” He grunts when you gag subtly, his abs tensing. Your nails scratch his muscular thighs, making his legs contract as his high approaches him. Although he’s so close, he halts your movements, so he doesn’t explode in your mouth. “Don’t want to come yet.” He grumbles weakly.

Your mouth pops off of him as drool dribbles down your chin. Your hand continues to lightly stroke him as he wipes it away. He crashes his lips to yours before flipping you over, never breaking the kiss.

“Now, can I show you how much I missed my girl? My sweet girl,” He trails down your neck, sucking love bites under your ear. You whimper in response to his words, hands creeping up his bare back for grip.

Once your shirt and panties are discarded, Tom’s fingers dance around your hips playfully as you widen your legs welcomingly. Arousal glistens in the sunlight like magic, lust consuming his eyes at the sight of your soaking slit. Knuckles brushing your clit, he rubs gently, eliciting a needy moan from you. Knowing how much time you two have been apart, he doesn’t waste time slipping a finger easily into you. You gasp, clenching around him instantly.

“So wet for me. Guess you really did miss me,” He grins, adding another finger into your tight cunt as your eyes squeeze shut. One hand rests on your knee as he pecks your stomach, thrusting and curling his thick fingers in you. His thumb circulates your aching clit, relieving some of the consistent throbbing with the rough texture. “Love your cunt. Always so tight for me.”

“God, Tom,” You wheeze at his vulgar words with such a loving tone, clit pulsating despite his constant pressure on it. His voice with his choice of words always got you off because he always knew what to say.

“Love your legs. Love your breasts,” His free hand makes its way up your body until his fingers are twisting the hard bud. You inhale sharply at the sensation, back beginning to arch. He leaves your breasts neglected and caresses your lust-filled face. “Love your lips,” He pecks them softly. “Love your eyes. Let me see them.”

You open your eyes as his fingers plunge deeper into you causing a trembling moan to fall out. His chestnut eyes admire your expression as you wither gracefully away from his longed touch. Clenching desperately around him, your core contracts and you bite your lip as the sensation grows on you.

“I-I don’t want to come yet, either,” You whine, strangled by overwhelming pleasure. Tom obeys and slowly removes his fingers from you. You feel empty, but you know you won’t for long once his cock is deep inside of you.

Tom pumps himself a few times, tip rosy and neglected, before teasingly spreading your shiny arousal around your folds. Your hands intertwine around his neck as he slides his length inside.

Shuddering moans and stillness are found in you both, too overwhelmed by the moment. Tom forces himself to move as your pussy contracts around his member dangerously tight. His thrusts are steady and deep, so deep, there wasn’t a part inside he wasn’t hitting. Every inch of you felt full after being so empty for so long.

A sweet, little cry releases from you as his pace picks up, his cock becoming consumed by your velvety walls.

“You’re so tight, lovie,” He achingly groans. With your constant mewls in the air and cunt squeezing him heavenly, he steadies at a pace that is perfect for you both.

Your thumb caresses his face lovingly as your legs wrap around him to push him deeper. Your eyes connect as passion, lust, and love flow inbetween you. In this moment, you feel your souls let go of any past pain or suffering and allow themselves to give in to each other. At this moment, you feel more entwined with Tom than ever before. For a moment, you forget about everything else in the whole world besides the two halves of the same soul fusing together again.

You pull your eyes away subconsciously as your stomach contracts and cunt flutters around his cock. Back arching and nails digging into his shoulders, you pant and whine at his depth while he whispers sweet nothings in your ear.

“You’re so deep,” You moan as your body becomes tense and your orgasm builds quickly. Tom wants this to last. He never wants to have to leave you ever again.

“I know. Taking me so well, pretty girl,” Raspy and gravelly, his voice sends you over the edge. You silently scream, your stomach arching to his chest as you soar up high, just to crash hard. His lips trail along your neck as you wind down, body trembling in unbelievable pleasure.

Tom hasn’t come yet and you secretly love riding him, and you know that’s one of his favorites. You bite your lip at the thought.

“Can I ride you?” You whisper, fingers dancing in his curly locks. He groans at your sweet, dirty words before flipping you over again with ease. His body lays flat on the bed while you rock slowly on his cock. Tom’s abs visibly contract from the intensity and satisfaction of this position. You feel slick around his cock at his chiseled figure, so you run a curious hand over his torso. “Your muscles are so… I love them.”

“I love that you love them, baby,” A strained whine releases from his throat as the tip of his cock twitches inside of you. “What else do you love?” His fingers fondle with the supple skin on your hips.

Tom joked a lot about his body, but in reality, he loved it when you’d praised his muscles, hands, legs, face— it made him feral to see you fawn over him.

“I-I love your arms. So strong, always protecting me,” You pant heavily, thighs burning deliciously at the tedious action of swaying back and forth. You roll your hips, eliciting a sharp noise from Tom as his grip on you tightens. “Love your hands. So big and rough.”

You continue a list of your favorite physical parts about him as he groans and moans from your compliments. His grasp on you is dangerous, his length ticking as he tries to hold off.

“D’want me to come in you? So you can be full of me?”

“Yes, yes. Want to be full of you forever,” You mewl, clenching around him as another mind-blowing orgasm hits you. At your request, Tom chokes a moan before his cum spurts into you furiously, muscles spasming and aching. Euphoric stars haze over your visions, blissed-out for your minds.

You collapse gently onto his body as you rest your head in the cradle of his neck. Unsteady breaths and racing hearts echo throughout the morning aroma of sex. The explosive beats of his heart fill your ears as your fingers trace feather-like on his pale skin. His hand smooths fondly over your frizzy hair and along your back over and over until you feel sleepy again.

“I missed you, Tom,” You whisper in the delicate, comfortable silence.

“I missed you, angel,” Tom hums as your body moves to the rise and fall of his breathing. Your eyes flutter majestically closed, sleepy like the beauty you are. “I couldn’t sleep without you.”

Reopening your eyes, you plant an arm on his chest and lay your chin on your hand. Pity floats in your eyes, remembering how tired he was on each phone call. He stares down at you through your lashes as the back of his head rests on his own hand.

“I couldn’t sleep either. It was torture,” You half joke, but were also serious because it definitely felt like some type of torture. “I know you just got back, but I’m kind of sleepy now.”

“Then let’s sleep. For the first real time in a month,” Tom brushes some stray hairs away from your eyes, so he could see the remarkable canvas of your orbs. You smile softly in affirmation, lifting yourself up to kiss his lips. It’s not long, but it’s tender and says I love you in a million different ways.

You slide off of his body and bask in his warmth as his arms wrap snugly around you. Back to his chest, you feel protected, safe, and comfortable for the first time in a month. Your hearts find the perfect beat for you both until they’re in beautiful sync.

As the sun rises higher into the late morning, Tom and you fall deeply asleep within the comfort of each other. He was finally home again, which means so were you.

—

i feel like i’m actually not bad at writing angst? the key is to make it very dramatic… i think.

[overlordofthelollipopguild]

Taking That Second Chance -- Chapter 5

Summary: After the end of 4a (pre 4b), Killian dies in a random accident and Emma thinks about all of the time she wasted with him and how she regrets they didn't have more. The next thing Emma knows, Mary Margaret is waking her up in the EF. Emma realizes that she's travelled back in time, so she has a choice to make: follow the same path, or change it so she and Killian have more time.

Start here on FF.net and here on A03.

Chapter 5 is here and here.

And below:

Also, I'm saying off the top: yes, Belle is going to come off as incredibly naive in this chapter. It's a part of her character arc. Bear with me please.

Chapter 5

I find the best way to love someone is not to change them, but instead, help them reveal the greatest version of themselves. — Steve Maraboli

They shouldn’t have kissed. She shouldn’t have kissed him. Or did he kiss her? It didn’t matter; it shouldn’t have happened. Guilt festered in her heart as Emma refused to look at Hook as Anton climbed down the beanstalk, both of them holding onto Anton. It was much faster than their climb the first time around. 

Emma needed to figure out how to shrink Anton. 

Hook’s eyes burned into her. He wanted to talk about it.

She couldn’t let him. It wasn’t fair to him that she kissed him. Emma had months of a friendship and romance and memories of private talks and secrets revealed all twirling around in her head. Her love for him was already there, but Hook didn’t have any of that. 

He just had his revenge, his past, and his pain. For him, she was a stranger that came into his life and completely upended it. 

Starting something with him now, when she had so much of an advantage over their relationship, was wrong. It felt like manipulating him. She couldn’t do that to him. No, if they were going to be allies and maybe friends, Emma needed to put distance between them. 

Once they rejoined the others, Emma would focus on getting home and figuring out where to go from there. She still wasn’t sure about the consequences of her time traveling and probably needed to look into that when they got back. Of course, she still wasn’t sure if she could even tell anyone the truth about time traveling. If she told anyone, they’d think she was crazy. No, it was better to keep it to herself. 

“So, when we get down there, how are you going to explain me?” Anton asked after a prolonged silence. He knew there was something going on between Emma and Hook, the tension too palpable, but wisely chose not to comment.

“We’ll tell them that you’re on our side.” Emma said. “As for your size, I’m still trying to figure that out.”

“How long have you had magic?” Anton asked. 

“I think I was born with it.” Emma lied, pretending to theorize because Rumple wasn’t around to confirm it for her. So, she was rolling with manipulating the narrative as realistically as she could. “My parents are True Love, and I’ve been told that that’s the most powerful magic of all, so I guess that’s why I have magic. I just kind of discovered it though, and completely on accident.”

“Who are your parents?” Anton asked. 

“Prince Charming and Snow White.” Emma said. “My mom’s actually here.” Which reminded her that she still had to apologize to Snow for her harsh words the other day. It wasn’t fair to Snow how Emma reacted; her reaction coming more from being overprotective of Killian as well as hurt that her mother had so little faith in her. Was trust too much to ask? Was faith in her abilities too much to ask? Probably not, but Snow was trying to mother to an adult, who never had a mother before, and Emma knew that the situation wasn’t easy for her. 

“Never heard of them.” Anton admitted. “After my family was killed, I never came down here.”

“Well, they’re heroes.” Emma said. “They fought a war against King George and the Evil Queen and they won. Until the Evil Queen cursed everyone.”

Anton had so many questions. Spending years in isolation had that effect. As he asked everything, Emma filled him in on the stories, explaining how she learned all of this from her son’s magical storybook and explaining her role in breaking the curse. 

Hook remained silent the entire trip. 

When they finally got to the bottom, Anton helped them down as Mulan, Snow, Marian, and Aurora looked warily and somewhat fearfully at Anton. 

“So, this is Anton.” Emma introduced. “He’s actually a good guy and helped us out. He’ll be coming with us to Storybrooke.”

Anton smiled politely, waving a bit shyly. 

The other women gave polite smiles as well, and Mulan helped Anton find a place nearby to settle for the night. It was too late to travel.

As Marian, Hook, and Aurora settled around the fire Snow pulled Emma away from the others to talk. 

“Emma, where’s a giant going to live in Storybrooke?” Snow asked. 

“I’m working on it.” Emma shrugged.

Snow could only nod, but she still wasn’t sure. Emma had been so closed off in Storybrooke, but now, not only had she given the infamous Captain Hook a chance, a giant was getting a second chance too? What was going on with her? “Emma, is there anything that you want to tell me?”

Emma knew that Snow was trying to figure out why she appeared as a completely different person, but Emma wasn’t going to tell her about time traveling, not until she found out more about how she ended up back here. Emma wanted to say something though. “Actually, yeah. I wanted to apologize for what I said. About not needing you.” Emma looked away, trying to find the right words. “I know that this isn’t easy for you, me being an adult. You were barely a mother before everything was taken away from you.” Braving it, Emma glanced at her mother. 

Snow’s expression was one of pained sadness. 

“I never had a mother.” Emma said. “Well, that’s not completely true. I was adopted. The Swans adopted me when I was a baby because they thought they couldn’t have their own kids. When I was three, they had their own baby girl and put me back in the system. After that, well, it would be a kindness to call any of my foster parents actual parents.” Her voice shook as old memories long buried surfaced. “So, when I say I’ve done fine without you, what I mean is that I survived without you.” Tears burned her eyes. This was the most open she’d ever been with her mother. Even in her other life, she feared opening up this much to Snow, not wanting the other woman to feel guilty. This time around, Emma wanted to deal with her past. Maybe losing Killian had her realizing other things, like how much she still kept most people at arm’s length. “I don’t know how to be the daughter you want. I am who I am, and it’ll be hard to be for me to accept parents, but I can try.”

Snow was openly, silently crying as Emma spoke, torn as she was glad that Emma opened up to her, but heartbroken at hearing that her daughter’s past wasn’t sunshine and rainbows. Giving up Emma was supposed to ensure that she grew up to break the curse, but Snow always hoped that Emma ended up somewhere where she’d be loved. When the curse first broke, she was so happy to be reunited with Emma and Charming, that she didn’t let herself think too much about it, wanting to be a family again. It was clear Emma had walls that were hard to climb and she wasn’t one to be openly vulnerable with people. Now, Emma was trying, clearly emotionally exposed. Snow cleared her throat, reaching out, taking Emma’s hand. “I’m sorry. I know that’s not enough, and it never will be enough, but I’m so, so sorry.”

“I know, Mom.” Emma said. “But it’s not your fault. Or Dad’s. Yes, you chose to send me away, but I’ve been thinking about it.” Truthfully she had been thinking about it for months, but never voiced it to her Snow or her David in the future. “When I said which curse would be worse, us together under the curse or us missing out on what could’ve been, I realized that you and Dad really didn’t have a choice. The curse didn’t give any of us a choice.” 

“I’m still sorry.” Snow hugged Emma to her. “I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. That’s a promise.” 

Emma hugged her mother back tightly, feeling as raw and exposed as she had been talking with Hook on the beanstalk. Maybe this was a part of why she time travelled? Maybe she didn’t just need to make up for lost time with Hook, but with everyone else too. Her relationship with her parents had gotten better after she and Henry returned to Storybrooke after Zelena’s curse, but Emma knew that it wasn’t anywhere close to the relationship she or her parents wanted. 

Maybe she was meant to fix all of that. After all, she was the Savior. Surely she could make things better with her parents this time around. 

As Snow let go of her and they walked back towards the fire, Emma vowed to try harder in mending her relationship with her parents. They all deserved it after everything they’d been through. 

Hook’s eyes found hers and Emma looked away. She knew she’d have to deal with him eventually, but still exposed from her talk with her mother, Emma stayed as far as she could from Hook, eating dinner quickly, before claiming exhaustion as an excuse to be left alone for the rest of the night. 

The Savior could only do so much in one night.

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

The flames licked at her skin, causing Aurora to jump back. When were these nightmares going to end? It was too vivid, too hot, too real. Tears started in her eyes as frustration mounted. How could she get rid of these nightmares? 

“Help me, please.” She whimpered to no one as she backed away from the flames. There shouldn’t be a reason to be scared. This wasn’t the real world; it couldn’t hurt her, but it felt real. The flames were hot as though she was really here and not in a dream world. 

Her eyes caught a shadow. She wasn’t alone. “Who’s there?”

The shadowy figure moved a little closer. 

Even so, there wasn’t much she could really see. The figure was still too far away. “Who are you?” She called out. 

A voice came across the flames but still it was a muted mumble. 

They wouldn’t be able to hear each other over the flames. 

Aurora warily watched the flames dance. Could she cross them without getting burned? If this was a dream, were the flames real? Gingerly, she reached out her hand to touch only to retreat when the heat got to be too much. 

Her eyes found the figure again. “Can you cross?” 

The muffled voice still wasn’t clear over the flames, but the figure stepped a little closer. It was still in shadow, but Aurora could tell that the figure was shorter than her with a small frame. 

Was that a child? How was a child in such a horrible place as this? 

While Aurora wanted nothing more than to wake up, she couldn’t leave a child in this place. But how was she going to cross? 

Looking around her, she saw how everything, even the curtains, was engulfed by flames. There wasn’t anything she could use to protect herself from the fire. 

The only way through was to brave it and go through somehow. Aurora walked alongside the flames, trying to find an opening. If she could find any low enough, she could jump. Not that this dress was conducive to any kind of jumping. Eyeing the flames for a long while, Aurora noticed a pattern where some spots would flicker lower then shoot up before lowering again. As she watched, she counted how many breaths it took for the fire to change height. 

She counted about a dozen times to see if it was consistent. Once she figured it was, Aurora walked away from the flames as far as she could. Here in this dream realm, nightmare realm, wherever this was, Phillip’s dagger was still in the folds of her dress. Taking it in her hand, she knelt down and cut through her skirts until her dress was just above the knee. Once that was done, Aurora discarded the ragged scraps of fabric and stood. 

Her gaze found the flames with her opening. It was high again, but she didn’t know how long it had been that way. When they finally lowered after a few still seconds, Aurora broke into a run. Jumping over the flames just in time, Aurora landed on her feet, quickly stumbling into the ground. Groaning, she pushed herself up only to come face to face with a boy, who looked about nine or ten years old. 

His bright green eyes looked at her with concern. “Are you okay?” He asked, helping her up. 

“I’m fine.” Aurora said as she looked down at herself. Luckily there were no signs of burns. Her poor dress was completely ruined. Her gaze returned to the boy. “I’m Aurora.”

“I’m Henry.” The boy said. “Were you under a sleeping curse too?” 

“I was.” Aurora answered, surprised that someone cursed a little boy. Then she registered his name. Henry. Wasn’t Emma’s son named Henry? To be certain, she asked another question. “How did you become cursed?”

Henry grimaced. It wasn’t something he wanted to talk about. How do you explain to a stranger that one of your moms was trying to kill the other one and that he was the one that prevented it.? “I ate a poisoned apple turnover.”

Her brow arched at that, but stranger things were known to happen. “Would this have been in Storybrooke?”

His eyes widened. “How do you know about Storybrooke?”

“I’m traveling with two women from there.” Aurora said. “Emma Swan and Snow White.”

“My mom’s with you?” Henry leaned forward, eyes glittering excitedly. “Are they okay?” His mom and his grandma were still alive! This was great news. He’d have to tell grandpa as soon as he was awake.

“They’re fine.” Aurora said. “We’re trying to help them get back to Storybrooke.”

“Where are you?” Henry asked, trying to get as much information as possible. 

“We’re in the Enchanted Forest.” Aurora said. “We might have a portal back to your Storybrooke. Well, as long as Cora doesn’t get in our way.”

“You have a portal?” Henry was relieved to hear that. “Wait, who’s Cora?” He vaguely remembered that name. It had to be someone from…wait. He did know that name. She was mentioned in his book as…Regina’s mother. “Not…are you…do you mean the Evil Queen’s mother?”

Aurora nodded. “She’s here in this land and she’s got magic. She wants a portal as well.”

“Why?” Henry remembered the book said something about a pirate being sent to kill Cora before the curse. 

“She wants to reunite with the Evil Queen.” Aurora told him. “Likely to start a new reign of terror in your realm.” 

Henry swallowed. While his mom might not be terrorizing people now, there was no guarantee that Regina was changing her ways. “Okay, I’ll warn people over here.”

That was a good idea. “Do you want me to give your mom and grandmother a message?” 

Henry thought about it for a moment. “Just that I’m safe with grandpa and that we both miss them and we love them.” Henry figured that was good enough for now. “And, we can’t wait for them to come home.” He smiled at the real possibility that his mom and grandma would be home any day now. 

“I’ll be sure to tell them.” Aurora returned the smile just as she felt herself being tugged awake. “I think I’m waking up. Be careful, Henry.”

With that, the fiery room faded away. 

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

Belle woke up clenching her sheets, gasping harshly as the images of Rumple killing the dwarves stuck in her mind as she came into the waking world. Her nightmare was so vivid; it felt so real, almost as it were a premonition itself. 

No, no, that’s not going to happen. She told herself. Rumple promised you that he would stop using magic. He’s a changed man now. He changed for her, because he loved her. A smile crept on her face, banishing away the last, horrifying vestiges of her nightmares. 

Looking around her, she found herself alone in the darkened bedroom. Hadn’t Rumple stayed with her as she fell asleep? Where did he go? She hoped he didn’t think he’d be intruding, staying with her all night. That’s exactly what she wanted; him near, his presence a comfort. 

Feeling a desperate need to go find him and seek out his comfort once again, Belle stood from the bed. Her hands reached for her robe, throwing it around her shoulders for warmth as her room was rather chilled. Though it was late winter, which certainly wasn’t kind to older houses such as this one. The old wood floors were cold as well, so she secured her slippers to her feet. Once that was done, she slowly opened the bedroom door, leaving the room. 

Her feet carried her to Rumple’s bedroom, only for her to find the door ajar. Opening it further, she saw it was empty and the bed was made. As the Dark One, Rumple didn’t sleep like she did. 

She shivered again, and not from the cold. Had he not brought magic to Storybrooke, would he be sleeping? Would he be a normal man? Or with the curse broken, would he be the Dark One again whether magic was here or not? 

Belle hadn’t dared ask him any of these questions. While she loved him, she was more than aware of how volatile he could be, especially when pushed. It scared her, as did his magic. He  promised her that he wouldn’t use it anymore, but she knew that was easier said than done. 

Perhaps, one day, she could try True Love’s Kiss again. It almost worked back in the Enchanted Forest; it could work this time as well. Rumple was trying to be a better man. Surely, he wouldn’t push her away this time. 

As her search continued through the rather large manor, which she was still very much unfamiliar with, there was no sign of Rumple. Just where was he? How big was this house? It was almost like a castle with the many winding and connecting hallways. While there was plenty of windows, there were also heavy curtains, which brought darkness with them, causing her search to be much slower as she felt around her surroundings. 

Finally, she turned a corner, intent on at least finding the kitchen for some water, when a glimpse of light caught her eye. 

A yellow tinted sliver of light came from behind a slightly open door.

Where did that door lead to? Was Rumple there, or had he simply left a light on? 

Curiosity outweighed any hesitance on her part. After all, Rumple told her that his home was her home now, and she was welcome anywhere. Still, she kept her footsteps light and slow. Creeping ever so silently towards the door, Belle’s breathing slowed and softened so that she wouldn’t be heard. 

She reached the door. 

Now, she hesitated. What was she going to find behind this door? She closed her eyes, mentally preparing herself. Belle blinked her eyes open. Wait, why did she need to prepare? Rumple wasn’t going to keep secrets from her. Not anymore. Right? 

If you trusted him, you wouldn’t have gotten out of bed. A voice in her head reasoned. You know what he’s up to. 

She had a feeling, of course. 

Slowly, she crouched down and peered through the crack. Down in what appeared to be a basement, Rumple sat at a table, books of magic, magical items, a cauldron, and scraps of paper with notes littered the table and space around him. Not too far was his spinning wheel surrounded by gold straw. 

He was mixing together a potion. 

He was breaking his promise to her. 

She backed away and eased along the hallway, just as silent as before to not draw his attention. Her eyes watered thickly and her throat tightened. 

Had her wishes truly not meant anything to him? Had he really thought so little of her that he’d blatantly use magic in his home, knowing she wasn’t all that far away? And really, sneaking around at night? Had he thought that she wouldn’t catch him? Did he think himself to be clever?

She entered her bedroom in a daze, tears slowly sliding down her cheeks. Shutting her door with a soft click, Belle pressed her back against it, descending to the floor. Her knees met her chest as she held herself. She bit her lip to keep her cries quiet. 

She trusted him to do as she asked. She trusted him to put his faith in them. Yet, he couldn’t give up magic. Not even for her. 

He never would. 

Heaving a breath, trying to pull herself together, Belle was hit with clarity. 

If he wouldn’t give up magic for her, then she had to give him up for herself. 

She couldn’t be in a relationship with a man she couldn’t trust to not lie to her. If he couldn’t be open with her, or lean on her, and his preference was sneaking around at night to practice magic, then she needed to walk away.

Letting him go would be hard, but Belle believed that perhaps, if Rumple truly believed that their love was worth fighting for, then he’d chose to be a better man. 

Her decision made, Belle stood with determination.

This was going to end, no matter how much it hurt them. 

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

What was she doing here?

It was the ass crack of dawn, black night turning into a grey, dull winter’s morning. She should be in bed, sleeping in the comfort of her blankets, warmed by central heating. 

Instead, Henry’s words were getting to her, having kept her awake most of the night. 

I think you could be good if you really wanted to be. 

Could she be good? Did she even have the capacity for it? Regina had no idea. For so long, she’d been filled with hatred and anger. There was a void where her heart was, and even Henry never quite filled it. All she wanted for so long was for everyone else to suffer. 

Victory had been hers for a time, but now…

Now she was all alone and the most hated woman in Storybrooke. Even her own son didn’t want to be around her, preferring to trick her so that he could find a way to bring his other mother back to their realm. 

Just thinking of Emma Swan filled Regina with such a blinding rage that her knuckles turned white as they gripped her steering wheel. Everything would’ve been just fine if that woman never came to town. Her curse would still be intact and Henry…well, she would’ve figured out sooner or later how to deal with him. 

Gritting her teeth, Regina almost started her car to return home. 

She caught sight of red hair. 

Archie was walking up to the building where his practice was, with Pongo trailing along next to him on his leash. 

I think you could be good if you really wanted to be.

That’s why she was here. Her anger still simmered, but at least it wasn’t an all consuming rage. Henry believed she could change if she tried. If he believed in her, could she believe in herself? Ha, likely not.

But…but this would at least be a step in the right direction. 

Though she didn’t exactly have faith in the abilities of a former cricket. How effective could his form of therapy even be? 

She scoffed, once again debating about turning the ignition on and leaving. She couldn’t be good. Her blood was full of dark magic, just like her mother’s. The apple certainly didn’t fall far from that tree, did it? 

Her stomach sank at the thought. 

Was she like her mother? Memories of using magic on Henry time and time again throughout his life assailed her. Everything she did, she learned from her mother. It was no wonder that Henry hated her. 

I don’t hate you. He’d said that of course, but had he just been saying that because he needed her out of her office? Or had he truly meant that? Did he really believe in her? 

Henry had such a good heart. He was nothing like her. So much of him came from his grandparents and even Miss Swan. There was nothing of her in him despite raising him for ten years. 

Though, with how she turned out, that was probably for the best. Even if it meant Henry didn’t want to be around her. 

But Regina wanted to be around Henry; she wanted to be in his life. 

As long as she was the Evil Queen, as long as people viewed her as such, then she’d never be able to be in his life. She’d be ostracized at best and likely arrested or killed out of revenge at worst. Sure, her magic was back, but it was spotty. There was no guarantee she could defend herself when the time for it came. 

She stared at Archie’s building, not knowing how long it had been since he’d gone in, but the sun was higher in the sky now. Grey was tinted with bright blue at the horizon. 

Regina swallowed. 

There was a choice to be made, and she had to make it now. 

If she went through with this, if she tried to change, could she achieve her happy ending? Or was it better to stay as she was and be the villain everyone saw when they looked at her? 

Closing her eyes, Regina warred with herself. To get therapy or not to get therapy. There wasn’t a guarantee that it would work. Perhaps she had nothing but a dark and wretched heart. So many choices led her down her path to darkness. It hadn’t bothered her until Henry.

What if he meant it? What if he truly did believe that she could change?

“There’s one way to find out.” Regina whispered to herself. She took the keys out of the ignition and grabbed her purse. Locking her car, her heels clicked on the pavement, the only noise echoing on the silent street. 

She paused before the door. 

You can do this. She told herself as she took a long, deep breath. For Henry. You can do this for Henry. 

Opening the door, Regina took the first step forward to changing her life. 

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

Waking with a start, Aurora sat up quickly, looking around camp, finding everyone already awake and the sun rising over the horizon. 

“Are you all right?” Mulan asked, kneeling next to her with concern. “Did you have another nightmare?”

Nightmare. Aurora whipped her head around, spotting Emma sitting with her mother as they divided up berry portions for breakfast. “Emma!” Aurora scrambled to her feet, rushing over to the startled blonde. “I saw Henry.” She said as she dropped in front of her.

The others were just as startled, sharing confused looks as to what Aurora meant. 

“Henry?” Emma blinked. “How did you…?” She trailed off as the realization hit her. So much had been going on that Emma forgot Aurora and Henry had both been under the sleeping curse. Their nightmares were some kind of dream realm.

Luckily, Aurora quickly filled in the silence, unknowingly covering Emma’s remembering. “We were both put under the sleeping curse. So, whatever realm I’m in in my dreams, Henry’s there too. We can communicate.”

Hook scrutinized Emma’s expression. When she had begun to ask Aurora about how she saw Henry, Hook could’ve sworn realization crossed Emma’s face, as though she knew the answer before Aurora revealed it. How could that be?

“You talked to him?” Emma leaned forward. “Is he okay? What did he say?” She knew that he was with her dad by now, and she could find a way to thank David for getting Henry out of Regina’s custody for the moment when they returned to Storybrooke. Still, Emma wanted more than anything for Henry to be all right and knowing if he was would ease her mind at least.

Aurora smiled. “He said that he’s safe with your father. They both miss you and Snow and they want you home.”

“We’re getting there.” Snow said, excited and determined. “Did you tell him we were on our way?”

“I did.” Aurora’s face fell. “I also warned him about Cora.”

“That’s wise.” Hook spoke. “Emma said the Dark One brought magic to Storybrooke. Which means if Cora gets there, she’ll have magic as well.”

“And if she gets Regina on her side,” Snow started. “Storybrooke might be in for a war.” She hated to think about going through another war against Regina. They barely survived the last one, and if Cora was around this time, they could all very well be destroyed. And that wasn’t even accounting for Rumplestiltskin joining them or not. 

“We won’t let that happen.” Emma said, determination filling her. She stood then. “We’re going to use the portal before she can get the chance.”

“If she’s as powerful and clever as you all seem to fear,” Anton began, looking down at all of them from his great height, even as he was seated. “Then how are you going to stop her?”

No one was sure how to answer that. This was Cora after all.

“We’ll figure it out.” Emma said.

“We need to figure out how to get the ashes to work.” Snow said. “The sooner we do, the sooner we can get home and leave Cora here.” How to get the ashes to work though? Was Emma’s theory even correct? Could they still have magic even though the wardrobe burned?

Emma gritted her teeth. There was no way she could mention Lake Nostos without drawing suspicion. She wasn’t from here and she wasn’t suppose to have knowledge of Lake Nostos or the magical properties of the lake. There had to be some way to bring it up, but how? 

“Maybe we should return to the Safe Haven.” Marian suggested, an idea coming to her. “If Cora was posing as Lancelot, it’s possible she might continue to do so. If she is, then maybe we can trap her somehow. With her knowledge of magic, surely she knows how the ashes work?”

If Emma could cheer without looking insane, she would. How had she not thought of that? Cora might not return to Safe Haven, but if there was a chance she would, then they could stop her. Without Hook to cover for, Cora wouldn’t need to kill anyone, so they could get others on their side to help trap Cora. Then Emma could figure out how to get Cora to reveal the truth of Lake Nostos.

Hook wondered just why Emma looked relieved about that. There was nothing to be relieved of where Cora was concerned. While Emma had his trust, his instincts were telling him that there was more going on than any of them knew. Emma knew something and he’d figure out how to get her to talk. Though they still needed to discuss their kiss, and he hadn’t had much luck with that. It wouldn’t hurt to try again. 

“Do you really think she would return?” Aurora asked. 

“If she needs allies or some sort of cover, it’s a possibility.” Hook said, adding to the conversation.

Mulan glared at him with suspicion, which was nothing new. 

“Okay, we return to Safe Haven.” Snow agreed. “We trap Cora and we get the information we need.”

“Then we go home.” Emma added with a smile. They’d be back in Storybrooke in no time now. 

“Let’s get going then.” Mulan said, curtly. “We shouldn’t waste anymore daylight.”

As they broke down camp, Cora watched from the trees, her presence rendered invisible by her magic. It was almost cute that they thought it was possible to trap her. Well, she wouldn’t allow that of course. Safe Haven proved to be a problem as their returning there meant they'd gather allies. 

Cora’s lips curled into a cruel smile. If she did away with the people, then she’d prove to them just how much of a threat she was, especially when she revealed to them her hostage. They’d comply with her once they knew she’d do anything to get to Storybrooke. 

Transporting herself back to the Safe Haven, Cora began her work to defeat the heroes. 

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

Henry hurried down the stairs as soon as he was awake. 

Liam, being an early riser, was already sitting at the counter as David cooked bacon and eggs.

“Grandpa!” Henry practically crashed into David as he came to a stop. “Mom and Grandma are coming back!” 

“Whoa, wait, what?” David blinked, surprised by Henry’s statement and caught off guard by so much energy this early in the morning. He then registered exactly what Henry said. “Henry, what do you mean they’re coming back? How do you know that?”

“They’re with Sleeping Beauty.” Henry said. “Princess Aurora. She was under the Sleeping Curse too.” He spoke quickly, full of excitement at his discovery. “The room where the fire is has to be a realm when we’re asleep.”

“Okay, so you saw this woman in your dream?” David asked slowly, trying to remember if he knew of a Princess Aurora. The name sounded familiar. He took the cooked food off the stove to focus on Henry. 

“Yeah.” Henry said. “She’s traveling with Mom and Grandma. They’re getting a portal home.”

Relief was the ultimate understatement for what David felt in that moment. His emotions overwhelmed him as a weight lifted off of his shoulders. Emma and Snow were coming home. They would be reunited and be a whole family once again. 

Liam wanted to be happy for his friend. He knew how upset Henry was that his mom and grandma were gone, but he couldn’t stop the jealousy settling in his bones. Henry would have his whole family again, and Liam would be alone. His papa was still gone and then when Emma and Snow came home, there wouldn’t be room for him to stay here. He’d be kicked out and on his own again. Was it his fate to always be alone?

“Did she say when they’d be home?” David asked. 

“She said they were woking on it.” Henry said. Then his smile faded and he grew serious. 

“What’s wrong?” Liam asked. 

“They said a woman named Cora was trying to come too.” Henry said.

“Cora?” David’s look of horror chilled both boys. If David was scared of her, then she was seriously bad news. “Cora is alive?”

Henry nodded. “She wants to come here for Regina. Aurora said that if that happens, then they’ll terrorize everyone.”

David turned grim. “They will.” Seeing the scared expressions on both boys’ faces, David added. “But we’ll fight them. We won’t let them win, all right?”

The boys nodded, but they weren’t all that reassured. 

“Hey, I promise.” David started. “If Cora comes here, then we’ll stop her and Regina from hurting people.” Glancing at the clock on the kitchen wall, David sighed. “I know neither of you want to go to school right now, but it’s safer there. I have to warn others about Cora and we’ll need to prepare.”

“We can help.” Liam protested. Storybrooke was their home too; they could help defend it. 

“No, boys.” David was stern. “You have to go to school. I know you want to help and I know you’re scared, but this is most definitely a job for adults. If it comes to fighting Regina and Cora, you both are at risk of getting hurt.” David grasped Henry’s shoulder in one hand, and reached out a reassuring hand to Liam’s forearm. “It’s good to want to help, but you both have to promise me that you’ll listen to us and stay out of this fight. We can’t beat Regina and Cora if we’re worried about you two, okay?”

Reluctantly, both boys agreed. 

“Okay, let’s eat up and get dressed.” David said, plating up their bacon and eggs. As the boys ate, David walked away into his and Snow’s bedroom area and dialed Ruby’s number. 

“Hey, David.” Ruby answered after only a couple of rings.

“Hey.” David kept his voice low so the boys wouldn’t hear, and thankfully with Ruby’s wolf hearing he could whisper and she’d understand him clearly. “I need you to gather our allies. Henry made contact with someone in the Enchanted Forest. Snow and Emma are okay and they’re coming home, but Cora’s alive and trying to get here too.”

“Wait, what?” Ruby practically screeched. “The Enchanted Forest still exists? How did Henry make contact? And what the hell do you mean Cora’s alive?”

“I’ll explain later.” David said. “Have everyone come to Granny’s. We’ll meet in the sitting room.” He glanced back at the boys. “I have to get the boys to school, then I’ll be there.”

“Okay.” Ruby said. “See you soon.”

When she hung up, David looked in the mirror above the dresser. No wonder the boys weren’t all that reassured. He looked like a ghost, grim and dour. Cora was bad news and without the fairies having their magic, how the hell were they going to fight her?

There’s always the Dark One. David grimaced at the thought. Going to Rumplestiltskin for anything made his stomach knot. But, as the Dark One, he was more powerful than Cora, possibly more powerful than Cora and Regina combined. They would need him on their side. 

He didn’t like it and he really, really didn’t want to do it, but he was going to have to talk to Rumplestiltskin.

After he took the boys to school, he’d stop by the pawnshop on the way to Granny’s, just to see exactly what the dealmaker would say.

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

Belle left the house early that morning without seeing Rumple, not quite ready to face him. Most of the early morning hours were spent with her walking practically all over Storybrooke to prepare herself to confront him. It was magic or her, and if it was magic, then she’d walk away. 

She just wasn’t ready for Rumple’s reaction. He wouldn’t be pleased about her wanting him to choose. In fact, he was likely to be cold and furious all at once. Belle swallowed; she shouldn’t fear him so much. Dark One he might be, but he’d never hurt her. He loved her. Their love was True Love; it had to be and she was going to do what was best for both of them.

If she left him, he’d change for her. She knew in her heart that he would become a better man. She just needed to give him the right incentive. Winning her back would do just that. 

Her destination was now in sight. Just down the block and across the street, the pawnshop looked somewhat harmless in picturesque Main Street. Steeling herself with a deep breath, Belle walked forward with a confidence she wasn’t quite sure she felt. 

The closer she came to the door, the less certain she was of her decision. 

No, you can’t doubt yourself. Belle chided as she crossed the street. This is what’s best for both of you. 

When she reached the door, she saw Rumple through the glass. With another deep breath, Belle opened the door, meeting Rumple’s eyes.

Rumple smiled. “Belle, you were gone this morning.” He worried about where she’d gone off to, because she wasn’t that familiar with Storybrooke yet. After checking all of the shops on Main Street, he came to the pawnshop and used magic to locate her. His map of Storybrooke showed a dot representing Belle walking all over Storybrooke. He didn’t know why exactly, perhaps she was trying to familiarize herself with the town, but he felt that wasn’t the case. As she neared his shop a few minutes ago, he turned off the locator spell and waited for her at the front counter. “You should’ve said you were off. Storybrooke is still a strange place for you. I was worried.”

Guilt ate away at her. How could she not tell him? Sure, she was hurt and angry that he broke his promise, but he shouldn’t have had to worry about her. “I’m sorry.” Her feet stopped before the front counter. “I didn’t sleep well last night and I thought a walk would clear my head.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Had she woken up in the night and seen him? He hoped not. It was like Belle to be curious, but for her sake, and his, he hoped she stayed in her room. While he welcomed her into his home, Rumple knew he should’ve set some ground rules. He missed her so much for so long, so he wanted her to feel like his home was hers. However, if he was ever going to cross the town line to find Bae, he needed magic. What he didn’t need was Belle snooping around. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“I did.” Belle braced herself. “You used magic and killed people.”

Of course, it always came back to him abusing his magic. Though it’s not like using his magic to kill people was anything new. He’d been doing that for centuries. “Belle, it was just a bad dream. I promised you that I would try and not use magic.” Rumple kept his tone reassuring, not wanting her to suspect what he’d actually been up to. “I haven’t used it, because of you. You need to believe that you can trust me.” 

His lies stung and it took a lot more strength than she felt for Belle to keep her emotions at bay. “You haven’t?”

“I promised you, didn’t I?” Rumple said. “Surely you know how important you are to me. I wouldn’t break my promise to you.” His reassurance was strong so that she’d believe him and stay out of his way. Nothing was going to stop him from finding his son. If he could keep Belle in the dark and get Bae, then he would have her and Bae and his life would be complete. 

Her tears came on their own, stinging at her eyes. “I saw you in the basement last night. You were using magic then.”

Rumple tensed at her accurate accusation. “I wasn’t.” He lied. “I was researching something. Research doesn’t mean I was using magic.” He couldn’t let her know he broke his promise. He needed her. 

“Stop lying to me.” Belle pleaded. How could he lie to her face like this? She knew he loved her, but his lies were coming between them. His secrets were poisoning them. “You were making a potion. That’s magic.”

“Barely.” Rumple’s tone darkened. “Belle, please, what I was doing doesn’t amount to anything.”

Belle shook her head. “It still counts and you know it.” She placed her palms on the glass, looking earnestly into his eyes. “Rumple, please. You know magic is a crutch that only hurts us. You have to stop.”

Anger blinded him for the briefest of seconds. Who did she think she was to speak to the Dark One that way? Breathing through his nose, Rumple forced down the voices of the previous Dark Ones, who called for Belle’s blood. “It only comes between us because you let it.” Rumple stepped back from her proximity to calm himself. “Magic is a part of me and you need to accept that.”

“It’s a curse, Rumple.” Belle argued. “And curses can be broken.” 

He saw the hope in her eyes and it made him sick. He couldn’t try True Love’s Kiss; it would rid him of his magic. He needed his magic. “It’s who I am. You need to accept that.”

Her chin lifted defiantly. “It isn’t you. You’re a good man. I know you are. The darkness in you is just a poison that’s festered for too long.” Belle moved, coming around the counter. 

Get her away. Older Dark Ones hissed. 

“Rumple, you can choose not to use your magic.” Belle continued. “I know that you can. You’re stronger than this curse.”

“You’re naive to think that.” Rumple snapped, turning his back to her. “I became the Dark One by choice and I remain so by choice.”

Hearing those words shattered Belle. It was the curse talking; the curse was what made him evil. Now was the time to make the choice for both of them. He would change for her if only to win her back. “Then we can’t be together.” 

This again. Rumple shook his head. “Of course we can.”

“No.” Belle said. “It’s me or magic, Rumple. If you choose your magic and being the Dark One, then I’m walking away.”

A heavy, stifling silence descended upon them as they stared off. 

Rumple calculated his next move. He couldn’t have her leave him, but he also couldn’t promise to not use magic. Clearly, it hadn’t worked the first time, using magic behind her back, and she’d be more alert to his machinations a second time around. 

The silence broke thanks to the bell jingling above the door. 

Annoyance coursed through Rumple’s veins as Prince Charming walked in. 

David stopped short when he realized something was happening between Rumplestiltskin and his…friend. “Sorry, I’m interrupting, but I have news.”

“Please, do share.” Rumple snarled. “It’s not as if we weren’t done with our conversation.” 

David glared at the Dark One’s snideness, but this was more important than Rumplestiltskin’s relationship problems. “Henry’s been having nightmares since the Sleeping Curse. He seems to be in another realm and he’s made contact with a Princess Aurora.”

“I’ve heard of her.” Rumple said. “She’s one of Maleficent’s unfortunate victims.” 

“Right.” David said. “Aurora is with Snow and Emma and they plan to get a portal home. The problem is that Cora, Regina’s mother, is alive and after the same portal.” 

Rumple stiffened. “Cora is alive?” Truly, he shouldn’t be too surprised. Cora was the wiliest student he’d ever had, if not one of the wiliest magic users he’d ever met. Himself included. “Well, she always was clever. Let me guess, she wants to come here for Regina?”

“It seems so.” David confirmed. “Look, I don’t know what Regina will do if Cora shows up here, but I do know that we’ll need someone with magic to help us fight them.” David stepped forward, his jaw set. “Even if Regina doesn’t aid her mother, it’s not likely that she’ll stop her. You have the power to do that.” Preparing himself for a deal, David hoped that he wouldn’t have to give up too much. And whatever he did give, he hoped his family would forgive him. “We’ll need your help if Cora comes to Storybrooke. Will you help us?”

While Belle didn’t know who Cora was and she didn’t like the idea of Rumple using magic, it was clear that the acting Sheriff was afraid. Even Rumple seemed uncomfortable at the idea of this Cora person coming here. Was she truly so terrible? If so, then, Rumple needed to help them. The fact that it involved magic made Belle’s stomach twist, but perhaps it would show Rumple that he could be good. If he worked with heroes, then he could very well have a chance at becoming one. Please, Rumple. You can be good. I know you can. Help them. 

Rumple stared David down. Anyone who stood against Cora was a fool; he wouldn’t help her if she came to him, but he wasn’t going to get in her way either. “No.” Rumple stated with finality. “Cora’s trouble, and I’m not going to stick my neck out for you heroes. If she comes here, I won’t aid her or you. Whatever happens is your problem.”

Clenching his fist, anger filled David, though since it was the Dark One he was dealing with, he should’ve expected such an answer. “We need someone with magic on our side. The fairies don’t have dust and I doubt Regina’s going to warm up to us. You’re the only other person who can help.”

“No, I’m not.” Rumple said. “Miss Swan has magic.”

“What?” David’s brows furrowed. “Since when?” Emma had magic, really? But how? She’d never shown signs of it, and he and Snow didn’t have it to pass on.

“She was born with it.” Rumple stated as though it was obvious. David’s ignorance irritated him. “True Love is the most powerful magic of all. A child born from True Love is a representation of that. Her magic is powerful, likely more powerful than Cora and Regina combined. Though, she doesn’t have the training, so there’s no guarantee she’ll be effective.”

David supposed that made sense. Perhaps that’s why Rumple fated Emma to be the Savior. “Then you could teach Emma, couldn’t you?”

“Get your pests, the fairies, to do it.” Rumple said. “I’d rather not waste my time. Now, if you’ll be so kind, get out.”

So much for that. David glared at Rumple a final time before storming out of the shop.

Rumple turned to Belle with the intention of finishing their conversation, stopping short of speaking when he saw the disappointment in her eyes. “Belle, I…”

“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.” Belle said. “Don’t expect me to come home. Don’t expect anything of me.” Be strong, Belle. You have to do this. “We’re done.” She turned on her heels, stalking off, practically running out the door as she did so. 

Rumple gripped the edge of the counter tightly. Belle couldn’t break it off; he couldn’t let her. No, no, he’d get her back. She’d cool off and realize her mistake and everything would be perfect once he got back into her good graces. 

He just needed to be patient. 

As for Cora, well, he was serious. He wouldn’t interfere as long as she left him alone. The Savior would do well to stop Cora from coming though. Cora being here was a complication no one needed. 

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

Jefferson groaned into his hands as the headache that plagued him since he woke up at The Rabbit Hole persistently stuck with him despite the ungodly amount of Tylenol he consumed. His second cup of coffee was no help either.

Hopefully the bacon, sausages, and eggs he ordered would be greasy enough to help and not cause his stomach to empty itself out into the nearest toilet. 

“Here you go.” Ruby placed the plate in front of him, devoid of her usually upbeat charm. 

Jefferson looked up at her. “What’s got you in a mood?” He grumbled reaching for a fork. 

“Nothing.” Ruby growled, though she kept looking nervously at the door, like she was expecting the world to fall apart. 

“Fine, jeez, don’t bite my head off.” Jefferson stabbed at his fried eggs. He was never drinking that much again. That was a guarantee. 

Ruby glared at the former portal jumper. “When I bite your head off, you’ll know it.” She whirled around, walking away to attend to other customers.

“It’s not like I haven’t lost my head before.” Jefferson mumbled. As he aggressively cut his eggs with his fork, his thoughts turned over to exactly why he was hungover. 

Grace. He still hadn’t gathered the courage to see her. Or, well, meet her. He watched her from afar sometimes, but it was too painful knowing that she remembered him now. He was too afraid to see a look of hatred on her face. Abandonment changes a person and he definitely abandoned Grace, though it wasn’t intentional. 

No, it was fucking Regina’s fault.

Then again, Jefferson was the one who agreed to work for her again. The guilt was never going to leave him; he shouldn’t have left her. Grace was better off without him, in a home with two parents, who would never leave her. She was happier without him; it was for the best. 

Poking at his food, Jefferson forced a sausage link down his tight throat and into his queasy stomach. Though he knew that Grace was better off, it didn’t stop the pain of losing her. After Priscilla died, Grace became his whole world and he vowed to always protect her and never leave. Yet, he broke his vows and failed so completely as her father. 

His wallowing kept him from noticing the stool next to him being occupied at first. 

“Portal jumper.” Dr. Victor Whale greeted curtly. 

Jefferson turned to face Whale, glaring at the man. “Mad scientist. What the hell do you want?” He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with old colleagues. Or, well, scheme buddies? He wasn’t sure what to call Whale. They only worked that one job together for Rumplestiltskin, which only made Regina a monster. He winced; he didn’t like remembering his hand in helping create the Evil Queen. His already ill stomach twisted even more. 

“Your hat, if you still have it.” Dr. Whale said. “I want to return to my realm.” While he believed that his realm was destroyed during the curse, he’d overheard a couple of dwarves at the pharmacy talking about Emma Swan and Snow White being alive and in the Enchanted Forest. If the Enchanted Forest still existed, then his realm likely did too. He needed to get back and check on his brother. Who knows what happened to Gerhardt in the years since Whale was stuck in this accursed place. 

“I don’t have it.” Jefferson said evenly before taking a sip of coffee. He wasn’t going to tell him that David had it, even knowing that the hat wouldn’t work without magic anyway. 

“Where is it?” Whale asked. 

“I don’t know.” Jefferson lied. He picked up a slice of bacon, chewing it carefully as he stared Whale down. “Why do you want to know?” What was Whale up to? Jefferson only met him the one time, but from what he gleaned from the man, his experiments were important to him. He wondered what exactly Whale did with that enchanted heart. 

“That’s none of your business.” Whale glowered. He looked away from Jefferson, thinking about what to do next. There was magic in this realm now, so that meant the Dark One and Regina had magic. He didn’t want to make any deals with Rumplestiltskin and he doubted he had any bargaining chip that demon wanted anyway. That left Regina and after leading an angry mob to kill her, he doubted that she’d be receptive of him.

No, he needed something to use against Regina. Hadn’t he heard a rumor that she brought magical items over to this realm? Turning back to Jefferson, he asked. “Did Regina bring magical items here?”

Jefferson paused in forcing down his breakfast. For a few seconds, he considered telling Whale to fuck off, but then he remembered Regina was the one to leave him in Wonderland, permanently separating him from Grace, only to bring him over with her curse solely to torment him for twenty-eight years by trapping him in a huge house within viewing distance of Grace. “Yeah, she did.” So he was spiteful and maybe a tad vengeful. “She has a vault under her father’s grave in the Mills Mausoleum. That’s where she keeps everything.”

Whale nodded and scurried off.

Honestly, Jefferson didn’t care what Whale was up to as the guy wanted to get home and whatever he did would probably ruin Regina’s day, and that thought gave Jefferson some amount of satisfaction. 

Ruby reappeared sometime later to take his empty plate, but she disappeared as soon as David walked through the door. 

Jefferson briefly wondered what that was about before returning to his coffee, wallowing once more. 

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

The trek through the forest was awkward to be sure. There was still suspicion and mistrust amongst a few of them as well as the odd tension between him and Emma and Emma and her mother. Snow seemed to glance at Emma with worry and guilt every few minutes, Mulan led them occasionally glaring at him or up at poor Anton every now and then, and Anton, being a giant, made way too much noise. Truly, it was a miracle ogres hadn’t come upon them yet. 

Emma had fallen behind some time ago, likely to avoid her mother’s glances and definitely in an attempt to avoid him. 

Hook wanted to talk to her about the kiss, of course, and about how she knew how Aurora made contact with Henry. There was something she wasn’t saying every time they had a conversation. He could see it in her eyes that she was hiding something, holding back information. Come to think of it, despite claiming to not know of her magic, she used it with more ease than any other amateur he’d seen. 

Glancing back, he realized she was further behind the group than was safe. A pang of fear shot through him at the thought of losing track of her or her being vulnerable to ogres should they come upon them. He slowed, slipping back, stopping to wait for Emma to catch up. 

Her eyes were fixed on the ground, lost in thought, so she hadn’t noticed he stopped until she was almost upon him. Her steps faltered, hesitation clear in her expression. “Hook.” Emma’s voice was soft, yet there was a stern undercurrent, almost a warning. She started walking again, with Hook stepping in time with her. Please don’t mention the kiss. She silently begged. Not now. Everything’s too confusing. 

He didn’t speak at first. Hell, he wasn’t sure how to start without saying something that would cause her to immediately shut him out. Perhaps…if he caught her off guard. She would expect him to try to bring up the kiss, but not his other suspicions. His gaze flickered to her form as they walked, though it was clear that Emma wasn’t speeding up to catch up to the others, meaning that she either gave up on avoiding him or she didn’t want to risk him following her to confront her and having the others overhear their conversation. Here goes nothing. “You knew about the dream realm before Aurora told you, didn’t you?”

Shock jolted her so badly, her feet stumbled, causing Hook to reach out to catch her. As his hands rested on her hips to steady her, Emma shot up to look at him, her eyes wide. How the fuck did he know that? “What?” 

Hook drew closer, keeping his voice low. “You knew what Aurora was going to say. Then when it was suggested Cora might return to the Safe Haven, you were relieved. Why?”

Shit, shit, shit, shit. Emma swallowed as Hook’s intense scrutiny pinned her in place. She could deny it, but her reaction to his accusations wouldn’t help her denials. In fact, it would’ve only cemented the truth to him. Pulling away from him, Emma started walking again, a little bit more speed in her step as her stumble had put them further behind the group than was safe. 

Hook hurried alongside her. “Swan, wait.” Her panicked look was one that told him that he was on the precipice of discovering what she was hiding. “Look, I meant what I said. I trust you, but if there’s something else going on, shouldn’t you tell the rest of us?” He looked ahead, hoping that no one would overhear so that Emma might be receptive to speaking with him. They didn’t need any interruptions. Not if he could get answers. 

Emma didn’t know how to respond to that. This wasn’t the time or place to go into the whole story of time travel. She wasn’t even sure if she should tell anyone, if it was even safe to tell anyone, about her inadvertent time traveling. “I…Hook, I can’t…” Emma started, but she couldn’t figure out what needed to be said. She stopped again to fully face him. 

He didn’t step closer this time, giving her some space to sort through her words. 

Emma’s mind raced as she tried to come up with excuses, denials, confirmations. She was completely torn as to what to do. The entire story was so bizarre that she would’ve thought she was crazy if she wasn’t living it right now. And she didn’t want to keep lying to him. Lies didn’t make for a friendship let alone a relationship. But things were too complicated. They needed to get Cora, open the portal, and get to Storybrooke. Then when everything settled down, she could figure out what to do. But how could she alleviate his suspicions for the moment?  

She looked away from him for a second to clear her head, only to realize the group was well ahead of them. She didn’t need the others wondering why she and Hook were hanging so far back. “Look, I can’t explain right now.” She might as well be honest for now. It would at least give her time to figure out what to do next. “This isn’t the time or place, okay? Let’s focus on getting back to Safe Haven and getting to Storybrooke.”

While he wasn’t keen on her not really answering his questions, she at least confirmed that something was going on. “All right, Swan.” Hook agreed. 

“Let’s catch up.” Emma said, hurrying along. “And one more thing, don’t tell the others, please? I’d rather keep this between us.”

He wasn’t sure what it was she was hiding, but if she didn’t think she could tell the others, and if he wanted to earn her trust, then he wouldn’t say anything. “Your secrets are safe with me.”

A small, slight smile from her soothed him just a bit. “I know.”

It wasn’t long before they caught up to the others without attracting attention.

Emma really hoped no one noticed just how far back she and Hook had been, especially her mother. Despite their talk, Emma knew her mother didn’t trust Hook and she’d be even more concerned over Emma after the whole revelation of her past and complete lack of parental figures in her life. 

After a time, Mulan finally stopped them. “We can’t go on like this.” She stalked over to Emma. “He’s too loud.” Her arm motioned up at Anton. “He’s going to attract too much attention.”

“We can’t leave him behind.” Aurora protested. 

“Taking him with us is only going to get us killed.” Mulan argued. 

“Well, he is bigger than the ogres.” Marian said. “He could just stomp on them.” 

“I’d rather not.” Anton winced. He wasn’t much for taking life, even if ogres were mindless killers. “I’d walk quieter if I could, but my size isn’t exactly helpful.”

Marian looked up at him. “That’s it, it’s your size that’s the problem.” She turned towards Emma. “Your magic, could it shrink him?” There was a lot that magic could do after all, certainly it could be used to help Anton.

The suggestion surprised Emma. Cora shrunk Anton somehow before bringing him to Storybrooke the first time around, but Emma had no idea how she did it. “I don’t know…I just learned about my magic.” 

“You can do it.” Marian encouraged. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Snow cut in, her brows tight. “Magic always comes with a price. It’s too risky.” Truthfully, Emma having magic worried Snow. She saw how magic corrupted others. Her daughter couldn’t fall down that path too. 

“But Emma did well at the castle.” Aurora reminded. “And there haven’t been consequences yet.” 

Her success at the castle was because she basically was pulling a few tricks Regina already taught her. Though from Regina’s own research, she hadn’t found the magic of True Love to follow the same rules as regular or dark magic. “Yeah, barely.” Emma shook her head. “I have no idea how to shrink him.”

“It won’t hurt to try.” Mulan grumbled, crossing her arms. “Better than being ogre food.”

How the hell could she shrink him? She didn’t know the right spell, or even if it was a spell. For all she knew, Cora might have given Anton a potion to shrunk him. In fact, she hoped that when they trapped Cora at Safe Haven, they could convince her to shrink Anton. That way he could live a normal life among humans whether here or in Storybrooke. 

She glanced at her mother, who still looked leery of the idea. Snow never was receptive of Emma’s magic and with everything that happened with Elsa, Emma saw just how much her mother was uncomfortable around it. Likely due to everything with Regina, but they never talked about it.  

His presence appeared behind her. “You can do it, love.” His voice was low, his tone supportive. 

Emma looked over her shoulder at him. 

Hook’s eyes were filled with faith in her. He gave a slight nod of encouragement. 

Emma sighed and turned towards Anton. “Okay, I’ll try, but I have no idea what I’m doing.” 

“That’s okay.” Anton shrugged. “What’s the worst that could happen?” Still, if he was honest, he was terrified. He knew Emma wouldn’t intentionally hurt him, but she admitted to her lack of knowledge and skills in magic. As Emma lifted her hands and closed her eyes, Anton shut his own eyes, not wanting to watch in case something went wrong. 

Emma tensed up, uncertain about her success rate. What if she failed? What if she hurt Anton? What if she hurt the others? Leaning on her love for her family, Emma called forth her powers. She felt magic thrum in her veins, but it hesitated to unleash itself. 

His quiet, reassuring rumble reached her ears alone. “I believe in you, Emma.” 

That did it. She could, no, would, do this. Her body relaxed, her breathing became even. Emma could see Anton in her mind’s eye and willed her magic to do her bidding. Make him smaller. Make him human sized. She repeated over and over again in her head. Her magic responded and Emma released it.

Anton suddenly felt enveloped in warmth and then a sensation of falling, seeing bright light from behind his eyelids. When the light dissipated, he slowly opened his eyes, finding his previously tiny companions staring up at him. While he still towered over Princess Aurora, the shortest of the group, he was just over half a foot taller than the other women, and barely had an inch on Hook. 

With the exception of Hook and Emma, who still had her eyes closed, they were looking at him in wonder. 

“You did it, Emma!” Marian exclaimed, causing Emma to open her eyes.

Emma’s jaw dropped when she saw that Anton wasn’t all that much taller now. Instead of a towering giant, now he towered at a human-sized height. All of his limbs looked intact and there didn’t even seem to be a tear in his clothing or a hair out of place. “I did it.” She breathed out in utter disbelief. 

While Mulan looked relieved that he wouldn’t be making anymore noise, Aurora and Marian walked closer to Anton, prodding at him with compliments on how good a human he’d make. 

Emma glanced at her mother and her heart sunk. Snow didn’t look proud or awed. Instead, her brow furrowed and her face was tight, more than likely worried about what Emma’s use of magic would mean. 

Hook noticed Emma’s shoulders fell when she realized Snow White didn’t hold the pride that a mother should whenever her child accomplished something. That didn’t settle well with him, but he didn’t feel like analyzing why at the moment. Without thinking, he came to her side, hand drawing up to the back of Emma’s neck, a gesture meant to soothe. 

Her bright green eyes latched onto him.

“See, Swan,” He smirked. “You can’t fail. You’ll give Cora a run for her money if you keep this up.”

The blinding smile that appeared on her face sent his heart stuttering. “You think so?”

“I know so.” He grinned more genuinely than he had in a long, long time. “You’re amazing, Swan.” For a heartbeat, he knew they were going to kiss if he didn’t step back. He saw a longing fire in her eyes, which he felt matched his own desire. But this wasn’t the time or place, and she’d told him before, their kiss was a one-time thing. He wouldn’t allow her to do something she’d regret. Reluctantly, his hand dropped from her and he took a step back, noting the disappointment in her eyes. “Well done.”

Though she was disappointed, and relieved, that he hadn’t kiss her, Emma couldn’t stop smiling at his words. “Thanks, Killian.” 

Her soft proclamation of his name surprised him to his core. She hadn’t used his name all that much, preferring the Hook moniker as the others did. Only thrice before had he heard it from her lips, all on that blasted beanstalk, and each time, he felt his walls crumbling. It was then, as he watched her slowly turn away, giving him a lingering look of want, that he realized something. She didn’t use Hook because of him or the others; she was using it to keep a barrier between them. Hook was safer than Killian. Hook was who she needed him to be; Killian was who neither of them could handle at the moment. Shaking himself, his attention returned to the now human sized giant, shoving away his revelation. 

“All right, we need to keep moving.” Mulan declared. “We’re losing sunlight, and I’d like to make it back to Safe Haven before dark.”

As they began their trek, Snow fell into step with Emma. Quietly, she asked, “Emma, what did Hook say to you?” 

The question surprised her. “What do you mean?” 

“Before you shrunk Anton, when you were concentrating,” Snow began. “It looked like your magic wasn’t going to work, then he stepped closer to you and whispered something.” Snow’s expression was serious and concerned and oh so very motherly. “What did he say?”

I believe in you, Emma. 

“Nothing important.” Emma lied, avoiding her mother’s eyes. 

Instead, she looked ahead of them, where her pirate walked alongside Anton. 

She had to tell him the truth. As soon as they were alone and they had time, Emma would tell Killian everything. Her heart needed him to know, even if he came to hate her for it. 

[ashenmind]

Under the Third Eye

A while back, I wondered "What would have happened if Koishi had won in SA's extra stage and brought back a pet, like she threatened? How would anyone deal with that?"

Well, here is my answer, in all it's 4681 words of glory. This will be on AO3 once I have an account (T-12 days), but I'm not waiting that long.

Future note: This is now on AO3! Go read it there, the formatting is better.

Authors note

This is my first fanfic, but I have done a reasonable amount of original writing. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it. As silly as the premise is, I tried to approach it fairly genuinely, and it ended up being more emotional than I expected going into it. I tried to be fairly faithful to the characters, though some of them haven't been developed much in canon, so I did what I could.

The work is PG-13 overall. In terms of content warnings, the premise is based kidnapping. The only other thing that comes to mind is a brief allusion to self harm, which could be upsetting to some readers.

The formatting is a bit off (non-standard indents mainly) because tumblr, but not too bad as far as I can tell. (the "<>"s are intentional).

Satori stared at the paper in front of her, or rather, she stared through the paper. Do I really have to decide this today? The answer was yes, as it had been 15 minutes ago. That was the trouble with conflict; someone always had to pick up the pieces afterwards. In this case, the trouble was staffing. With so many of her pets having been injured, ensuring Former Hell was properly managed after the incident was quite the balancing act. Things would get easier over the next few days, but that did little to help now.

The door to her study, which was never fully closed, opened wider to allow a two-tailed cat with black-and-red fur to enter. Casually, she made her way to Satori, leaping into her lap and curling up snugly. Satori reached down and stroked the cat absently. She considered asking Orin about her current dilemma. While the cat had a quick wit, especially compared to many of Satori's other pets, she wasn't good at seeing the big picture. Alas, this burden was Satori's alone. 

<Koishi's back. She seems to be in a very good mood> Orin thought.

"Oh, did something interesting happen?" Satori asked. Satori's ability to read minds was greatly appreciated by her pets, whatever anyone else thought.

<She didn’t give me much of an answer, but it sounds like she got herself a new pet, from up on the surface.>

Satori continued stroking the cat for a moment, before pausing. Wait, from the surface? She generally liked that her sister took the initiative to acquire new pets from around the underground. After all, everyone needs company, and she often got too caught up in her work to spend time with Koishi. Satori also didn't mind her taking trips to the surface. Her sister was capable of taking care of herself, as much as she worried otherwise, but taking pets from the surface was something she'd had to put a stop to. Too many of them weren't well suited to the subterranean palace and its surroundings, while others would be too sorely missed above, which drew unwanted attention. Koishi had generally heeded this request, so why the sudden change? What exactly had she brought back?

Deciding this was more pressing, and likely more interesting, Satori carefully removed the cat from her lap and headed towards her sister's room. Rin followed close behind.

The pair arrived at Koishi's room, and Satori knocked.

"Come~ in!" Koishi called out in a sing-song voice, a habit that Satori could only assume came from observing people on the surface.

Like most in the palace, Koishi’s room was quite large. It was lit by blue crystals that hung from the ceiling, as well as by a set of windows that let in light from the courtyard beyond. As usual, the room was cluttered. Though some of her pets were tasked with keeping the place tidy, Koishi had a habit of just setting things down on the nearest flat surface when she was done with them. This had more than once led to a rather bemused Orin being placed on a shelf. 

Satori was not focusing on the decor however, instead she stopped in the doorway as soon as she saw her sister's newest pet. Rin, seeing an opportunity, ran through the door to Koishi, who immediately broke into a wide grin.

“Orinrin!” she cried, squishing the cat's face in her hands. The cat seemed to enjoy this at least as much as Satori’s more gentle approach. 

A few moments later, Satori finally managed to speak, “Koishi, what… how? What did you do?” The cause of her surprise was a girl with dark hair and a large red bow, who was currently asleep in the bed, covered by the duvet. A gohei, a long piece of wood from which hang two zig-zagging paper streamers, was leaning up against the wall nearby. Satori recognized the girl immediately, as she had met, and subsequently fought her earlier that very day.

“Oh, this is Reimu. You know her right?”

Satori nodded weakly as she entered the room. She turned, and carefully closed the door behind her. She took advantage of facing the other way to close her eyes and think. My little sister, whom I love and support, has brought home that damn shrine maiden… as a pet... and I'm the only one with enough sense around here to understand why that's bad… What did I do to deserve this? Resigning herself, she turned back to the rest of the room. 

“I ran into her on top of the mountain,”  Koishi continued, beaming.

 I could use a little more than that, if I’m being honest. Also, what is that look for? Satori mirrored the smile. It wasn't very convincing, but Koishi was easy to convince. What exactly am I supposed to do about this? I'd considered what to do if it was a human, but not this human. She took a deep breath. Right, process of elimination. Killing her would raise all kinds of hell nowadays. Should I dump her on the surface and hope that’s the end of it? Maybe, though she'd be pissed. Apologize and let her go? Same problem, and she's not exactly the type to wait for explanation anyways. 

She had been staring at Koishi this whole time, though the girl was entirely unperturbed. Why does she have that look? Is that... pride? Then, her own words from earlier in the day came back to her: "That girl's power would certainly be useful around here." Damn, is this my fault? Of course Koishi would take that literally; she's Koishi. She thinks this is what I wanted, which would explain the smug look… But wait, she found and defeated Reimu and brought her all the way back here just based on that? That's... a lot for someone who can’t really plan things. What’s gotten into her?

Koishi had turned her attention back to the shrine maiden, who she was staring at with rapt attention.

 But... that was the point of the pets, right? To get her to care about others, to get her to take an interest, so that she would...?  Satori realized that she was still holding the fake smile and let it drop. She turned to look at Reimu herself.

Was it just what I’d said earlier, or does Koishi have her own reasons for doing all this? Is there something special about this shrine maiden? Damn, I’d need her awake to figure any of this out. Perhaps dumping her on the surface isn’t so great an idea, as much as it would simplify things. That just leaves talking and... Koishi's plan... if you can call it that. Lovely.

"Koishi, would you mind heading down to the kitchen and helping them get dinner ready?" Satori asked, trying not to sound like how she felt.

"But... I want to stay here... with her!" Koishi said, pointing, as if Satori wasn’t sure who she was talking about.. 

Satori sighed. "She needs her rest. Besides, I bet she'll be hungry when she wakes up. You remember what I said about feeding your pets, right?" She didn't like being dishonest with her sister, but it was convenient. Koishi paused, then smiled, and nodded. She left the room in a rush. Rin narrowly avoided getting her tail stepped on, then looked to Satori. 

<You’ve got a plan?>

“Always,” Satori lied, "now go find where Okuu is napping. I want her in the palace, just in case." In case of what, I don't know, but like it or not, she probably has the best chance against Reimu if things go bad. Well, Koishi actually won, but she’s not exactly reliable. That human may have been the one pushing for non-lethality, but she’s still a human.

With the room now to herself, aside from the slumbering Reimu, Satori sat in the chair and thought. You could have at least waited a day, Koishi.

 At last, she reached a decision. The best one, I hope. She focused her third eye on the sleeping figure, peering at her mind. Ah, so Koishi put her under hypnosis. I thought she might still be able to do that, closed eye or no. No matter, it would be easy to undo, at least from the outside. 

Not long after, Reimu stirred. <Bwuh..? Where... am I?> she wondered. Reimu sat up slowly, blinking the sleep from her eyes.

"The Palace of the Earth Spirits. Welcome back." Satori replied. Reimu turned and stared, all traces of drowsiness evaporating. She leapt from the bed, reached into her sleeve and pulled out several paper talismans. With her other hand, she grabbed Satori by the collar and lifted her into the air.

"Your sister kidnapped me!" Reimu shouted, "Don't give me a 'welcome back'! Where is the brat!?" 

Satori dangled limply in Reimu's grip. "Seems you lost fair and square, shrine maiden. Don’t be a sore loser.” She paused as it looked like Reimu might throw her. “As Master of this palace, I wouldn't mind a rematch though. I'd even let you go free, if you won."

Reimu’s brow furrowed. "And what’s your stake?" <Wait, she's challenging me? She didn't put up too much fight last time, but my body hurts like hell, and she seems more confident than ever.>

"Expecting to lose?" Satori asked, smirking slightly. "I’d just want you to do me a favor for me. I’m not sure your human body would withstand it, but there’s no reward without some risk."

<What’s this girl’s problem?> "Fine, I'll fight you again," Reimu said, releasing the girl, who fell backwards, taking the chair with her. <I thought she'd at least catch herself. Oh well, she deserves it.>

Satori got back on her feet. If she was upset at Reimu's roughness, she didn't let it show. "Let's go out to the courtyard. The flames from below will serve as an excellent backdrop."

The Palace of Earth Spirit’s central courtyard was quite magnificent. Windows looked down on it from all sides, many of them stained glass, depicting scenes of both the underworld and the world above. There was a garden lining the outer edge of the courtyard. It contained plants rarely seen on the surface, as well as a number of fruit trees. The source of their energy seems to be the large vent which dominated the space. It led down into the underworld’s flaming depths. Great mechanical shutters allowed the upward flow of heat to be regulated. At present, the shutters were three-quarters closed. Even this small opening allowed enough light from below to fill the courtyard and a pillar of hot air, traced with wispy flames, to ascend towards the surface. 

The two combatants took their places to one side of this vent. They stood forty feet from each other, Reimu armed with the tools of her trade and Satori with nothing but her mind.

"Ready?" asked Reimu. She had her usual look of determination, now tempered by anger.

"Ready," replied Satori, calm as ever. The two rose a few feet into the air, then Reimu launched forwards, wasting little time.

"I forfeit," called out Satori, dropping back to the warm stone of the courtyard.

<I've got her- > "WHAT?" Reimu staggered midair, trying to slow her momentum. She came to a skidding stop directly in front of her opponent. "What do you mean you forfeit? We hadn't even started. You can't do that!"

Satori stared at her coldly. "It means you’ve won. That's what you wanted, so why are you complaining?"

"I want to fight you! You think you're so high-and-mighty, and now you've got and forfeited!?"

"I said it before, but I'm not fond of violence."

"You're just a coward! Too scared to face me again."

"I have more important things to worry about than your ego. If you want to sait your oni-like thirst for violence, I'm sure Okuu over there would be happy to oblige." Indeed, the hell raven was sitting on the inner edge of the vent, oblivious of the heat. She was gazing into the depths below and swinging her feet through the fiery air. The right one, weighed down by its rocky exterior, swung out of time with the left.

Reimu’s tirade derails slightly. <I beat her earlier, but it was kinda close. Somehow I doubt she's as tired and worn as I am. Damn.> "You’re the one who said we should fight in the first place. What was about that favor? Giving up on that so easily?"

"Were it just me here, perhaps I would fight for it. But I don't need any more damage to my palace or my pets right now," Satori replied. "If you must know, I was going to ask to have you for dinner-"

"YOU WERE GOING TO EAT ME?!" Reimu shouted, anger reigniting. Satori stared, eyes-wide for a moment, then began to laugh. It started out as a chuckle, but rapidly became uncontrollable. The girl bent double, holding her knees. Although laughter is rarely considered a skill, Satori was bad at it. The sounds coming from her were fitting for Former Hell. Even Okuu looked over at the commotion.

<What on earth... what's funny about this?> Reimu thought. There was another thought, too quiet for either of them to fully notice: <she look so different when she laughs.> 

"As a guest, Reimu," Satori managed to get out at last, "not an entrée. Oh my word." She pulled herself upright and wiped a mirthful tear from her eye. "My sister and I aren't much for eating people."

<...and your pets?> "Ah, I… I see. I guess that's a relief,” Reimu said, uncertainty entering her voice for the first time since woken up.<Where the hell do I go from here?> “But uh, you said the favor would 'push my body to its limit', so I got the wrong idea, I guess. What exactly did you mean by that?"

"Well... we have some sake that we sto- acquired from the oni and it's been kinda in the way lately. If you wouldn't mind drinking some of..."

"You stole sake from the oni? You?" <They'd rip you to shreds.>

"Well, Koishi did. I ask her not to steal, but I figure the oni are fair game," Satori explained, ignoring Reimu's afterthought. “We’re not heavy drinkers, so I figured you might be able to stomach some of it?”

Reimu took a moment and pretended to consider the offer. <Is this girl OK? Her loss I guess.> She stood a bit taller as she spoke, "As a show of uh, goodwill, I would be willing to relieve you of your sake. After all, if the oni found out you had it, I'm sure they'd cause you no end of trouble. Best I drink it instead, to be safe." 

"Ah, what a good idea. How very… selfless of you." This girl's mind is like a lock; you find the right key and the whole thing flops open. Not sure why she's talking like that though… Is it some lingering effect of Koishi’s hypnosis or the fumes? Oh well.

For dinner, they were joined by Koishi, who was overjoyed to see Reimu again, as well as Okuu and Orin. The two sisters sat on one side of the table, while the three pets sat on the other. Okuu and Orin started devouring some eggs and pieces of raw meat, which Reimu tried not to look at too closely. The other’s had more ordinary fare.

<Maybe this was a bad idea… At least the two idiots aren’t staring at me.> 

"Koishi, do you have something to say to Miss Hakurei?"

The younger sister hesitated a moment before speaking, “I’m sorry for attacking and kidnapping you.” She put on an almost theatrical expression of remorse.

<She says it so bluntly> “I… appreciate the apology. I didn’t mind fighting you, just… don’t knock me out afterwards, alright? It’s kind of a d- not nice thing to do. It also causes trouble for your sister.” Koishi nodded at this, looking serious, then went back to her food, smiling to herself. Trouble indeed, mused Satori, though you're not one to talk, Reimu.

“Say Koishi, do you spend a lot of time on the surface?” Reimu asked, “I’m surprised you were able to find your way to the Moriya Shrine all by yourself.”

“Oh, I do! I like to see what people are up to and hear what they are talking about. I travel all over the place.”

<You’re ok with this?>  Reimu thought. 

Satori shrugged. “I couldn’t stop her if I wanted to, so she’s generally free to explore. Besides,” Satori said, smiling slightly, “she can hold her own.”

<You’re pretty smug for someone who lost. Twice>

“You should come down here again sometime so we can fight again! It was really fun!”

<Yeah, but this place kinda sucks.>

“I’m sure Reimu is plenty busy with her shrine,” Satori explained, aiming a dirty look at Reimu.

“Shrine?”

“Of course. It’s easy to forget, but Reimu is a shrine maiden. She looks after the Hakurei Shrine, near the human village.”

“Oh, that place!”

“Have you… been there?” Reimu asked, returning the look.

Koishi nodded. “I followed some kids up from the village. There were a lot of people and stalls. I got this!” she said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small charm, on which was written “bullet evasion” in familiar handwriting.

<Ah... Wait, she goes to the village too?>

“And by ‘got’, do you mean ‘stole’? I’ve told you about taking things without permission. People might not notice you, but they notice when things go missing.”

Koishi nodded, though she didn’t look very apologetic.

“Next time you’re in the area, you can visit the shrine and pay me back. I can even give you a tour.”

Koishi’s eyes lit up. “Really? I’ll come by tomorrow!”

<Great, I was hoping to take the day off, maybe try out the new hot springs…>

“I’m sure Reimu will be very busy dealing with the aftermath of the incident. Best let her work on that first.”

<That mind reading is not so bad when she’s trying to help you. Still creepy.> 

The conversation quieted down from here, with everyone focusing on the food.

<When’s the right time to ask about the sake? Getting kinda thirsty here…> Satori reached under her chair and pulled out a large jug, placing it on the table. 

I meant to get it out at the start, whoops.

As dinner started to slow, Koishi spoke up, “Can you tell me more about your fights earlier? Satori kinda made them sound boring, but I want to hear from you.”

“I’m sure she did. Alright, it started with me heading into a cave…” Reimu then recounted her earlier adventures. Satori interrupted occasionally, cutting through some of Reimu’s boldest exaggerations, though Koishi didn’t seem to care much whether a given detail was true or not.

At last, once they had finished, Koishi gave a round of applause. “Wow, that’s quite the story. It’s way cooler than my sister's version,” Koishi said, beaming at Reimu. “But how did this all this start? Seems you just kinda wandered into things. Like me!”

All eyes turned to Okuu, who continued eating eggs, before noticing the sudden attention.

“Huh? Uh dor rea oh,” she tried, before swallowing, “I don’t really know. There was some woman who wanted the strongest bird, then I felt real weird, then I had all this power. I’m not really complaining, to be honest.”

“We think the Moriya Shrine is involved, but I wasn’t able to ask because you attacked me,” Reimu explained, looking pointedly at Koishi.  

“Ehehe…whoops. I said I was sorry...”

“Alright, I think that’s enough for dinner. If Okuu eats any more eggs she’s going to be sick. Besides, you should get to bed Koishi.” Then, as Koishi moved to protest, “You can see Reimu off in the morning.”

<Morning?>

“What, were you planning on going through Oni territory and half of Gensokyo in your state? In the dark, no less?”

“How ca-”

“We have clocks, you know.”

<Ah.>

Koishi left, but not before giving Reimu a hug. After she was gone, Satori walked to the other side of the table. Okuu and Orin stood, and their master addressed them in turn.

“Okuu… it’s good to have you back. I know things are a bit… complicated, but I’m sure we’ll manage.” She reached out and patted the girl’s head. 

“Orin, you did well today. Thank you,” she said, kissing the Kasha on the forehead. “You pets don’t have to tackle things by yourselves, you know. I won’t be mad if you need help.”

With the cat and raven gone, Satori returned to her seat. 

<You really care for them.>

“Of course. Aside from my sister, my pets are all I have.”

<I mean, the palace…>

“Few places are as lonely as an empty palace, Reimu.” There was a pained note in her voice that Reimu hadn’t heard before. There was a heavy silence for a moment, then Satori grabbed a cup and poured herself some of the sake. When she continued, her voice had returned to its usual tones.

“I’m not typically one for strong alcohol, but I should probably taste some before you finish it off.”

“Wait, you made it sound like you had a whole bunch.”

“I lied, of course. It’s almost as useful as mind reading.” Reimu considered this for a moment and Satori elected to let her finish this time. 

“What is this all about?” Reimu asked, gesturing broadly.

“‘This’?”

“You know what I mean. First I think you’re trying to keep me here as a pet, then you’re asking me to leave, then you're getting me drunk and telling me to stay the night. Why can’t you just say what you actually want?”

Satori sipped her sake a moment before speaking. “‘Just tell me the truth’ is something often said by people who are bad at accepting it, but very well. The truth is that I don’t really like you Reimu.” She held up a finger, forestalling Reimu’s interruption “I don’t mean that as a personal slight. I can see why people put up with you.”

<Gee, thanks.>

 “That being said, mind reading isn’t like reading a book; it’s more like listening. Some thoughts are easy to ignore, while others… aren’t. Emotional thoughts are by far the loudest and you…” Satori continued, “...are a person driven by emotion. Again, that’s not an insult; I think it’s probably what makes you so good at what you do, but it does make being near you… challenging.”

“So then why get me to stick around?”

Satori sighed, looking into her cup. “Koishi, really. She’s a bit obsessed with you. I gave my sister pets in the hopes they would help her like they helped me. I needed quiet, simple companionship, but my sister and I aren’t very alike. Or at least, not anymore…” Satori seemed to lose herself in thought for a moment, before continuing. “But she seems fascinated by you, more so than by any pet I’ve given her. Perhaps your thoughts are loud enough to reach even her, or perhaps she just finds you worth listening to.”

Two sat in silence, the words hanging in the air “Are you… trying to get her to open her third eye?”

“Yes.”

“Why? She seems happy as she is.”

“How would we even know? She closed it because she felt that the world, or rather, other people had little to offer her. When your ears only hear hatred, your eyes only see fear, it can be tempting to get rid of them.  I want her to hear and see beautiful things, to find value in others.”

<Have you considered doing this? Oh, I didn’t mean...>

“Of course I have. Things were... bad, but I remembered when we were young. Satori are social creatures; being able to communicate so directly is an incredible thing. I’m not sure a human could really get it, but I want that back…” Silence fell over the table, again.

“Why not explain all this from the start?”

“You wouldn’t have listened, that’s not who you are. So I tricked you. Figured you wouldn’t turn down a challenge. Worst case you at least got out of my hair.. Don’t look so upset, you got Oni sake out of it, after all.”

<Don’t treat me like one of your pets.>

Reimu yawned. “Well, I’m not sure how much I can help, but I suppose if she wants to come visit, I don’t mind. Not that I could stop her anyways…” <I don’t really want another mind readers about, but…man>

“I appreciate that,” Satori said, getting to her feet, a little unsteady. “Best we both get off to bed before this stuff hits us too hard.” She waved the now empty jug.

“I suppose so. Oh, and thanks for stopping Koishi from making me her pet”

“I’m sorry?” Both girls stared at each other, blankly.

“You… you told Koishi she can’t have me as a pet, right? Like, she understands that, right?”

“I just told her that it’s not really a pet if they run and don’t come back. That seemed to satisfy her.”

<ah.>

The next morning, the two sisters saw Reimu off. Koishi was a little upset, but it didn’t last once the prospect of a shrine tour was brought up again. The great doors of the Palace of the Earth Spirits closed with a thud. The two sisters stood in the lingering silence.

<I can’t wait!>  The voice was quiet, but Satori loved it all the same.

Epilogue

In the end, Reimu’s visit actually ended up helping Satori with her decision. She elected to grant her pets a holiday, as reward for their hard work. It would create problems later, but such was life. It also gave her a chance to take care of another matter.

Aya Shameimaru worked away at her typewriter. This edition had gotten quite large, what with all the events of the last day. Even this morning there had been critical updates that just couldn’t be left out. This was looking to be one of the best editions of  Bunbunmaru Newspaper in years!

She heard the door to the office open and called out, “Yeah, just leave it on the table. I’ll get to it in a minute.”

“I’m… not here with your lunch,” said a voice. It wasn’t a tengu’s. Aya turned to see Satori, standing right next to her.

“Ay!” she cried, nearly falling out of her chair, “I ah, I don’t s-suppose you’re here for an-an interview?” she said, a look of almost manic hope on her face. <Ayayaya…>

“Not quite. I was curious what you had written in your paper there.”

<Well all kinds of things, about the incident, the palace and it’s master, about her mysterious sister and how she kidnapped Reimu and how Reimu just walked away the next morning all embarrassed and oh how do I stop thinking!>

“Alright! That’s enough,” Satori interrupted, closing her eyes. Damn tengu. “I don’t mind you writing about the incident, but leave my sister out of this.”

“But…” Aya stalled a moment, then recovered her usual tenacity, “your sister poses a real threat to Gensokyo. It’s my duty as a reporter to infor…”

“You want to talk threats?” Satori asked.

<aayyaa.> ”Y-you can’t threaten me! We’re surrounded by tengu! You’d b-be in real trouble!”

“Yes, but that doesn’t help you much, does it? But I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not fond of violence. Instead, my threat is this: If you write about Reimu losing to my sister, or her disappearance, I will end your newspaper. Not by force, but by making my own paper. Do you think you can compete with a mind reader? One who can pull out even your secrets?”

<N-no.>

“Then we don’t have a problem. Pleasure doing business with you.” Whoever decided to make tengu smarter than birds should try talking to one for 5 minutes. 

[tossertozier]

ao3 literally didn’t let me put my thoughts into my end notes at the end of my new chapter of rewriting it. i’ve been CENSORED i’ve been SILENCED i will SHARE WHAT I HAVE TO SAY!!! (it was just too long.)

i hate the sequences that occur after the restaurant in the movie. i’m not even going to get into why it’s stupid. the introduction of the artefact thing is when i went from “this isn’t going to be a very faithful characterization adaptation of a character gold-mine book” to “this is going to be a bad movie.” what in the goosebumps was that. do we also need to find the map to treasure island. i don’t feel like explaining why i feel like if you get it you get it.

i am stoned as hell there is so much i wanted to tackle in this it is insane. how to hold a mirror to the first chapter, as the book does, without directly or senselessly repeating it. i find the sequel bizarre in its choices. i really do. why do we spend SO long retconning the clubhouse. what the fuck are we doing. why are we doing this. the kids are adorable, and i understand the desire to shove em back in there. but i genuinely think it lacks confidence in the adult cast. a film that doesn’t trust its ability to win the audience over with just the story they have to tell is a narrative that hasn’t been well thought through. because genuinely. the entire sequence added absolutely nothing of narrative value. also. it’s a retcon. just didn’t happen, and i guess they regretted it?

also i love my sweet little guy ben but how the FUCK did he build that.

he didn’t, he just didn’t. even “reinforcing the walls” those walls are at least 6 ft tall. there’s… there’s just no fucking way… by himself?? if we were gonna do this why not be like… plausible about it and be like “oh yeah this is what we did Together after the events for the sake of ~healing~ energy and we still had plenty of people in town that don’t like us” that would have been fine? i guess bc bill moves away at the end of the movie. maybe they did it in like the three days they had till bill moved? i don’t know. it was dumb. all around.

also.i feel characterizations are off in this entire sequence. stan and the kids with the bonnets felt like an unnecessary attempt at being wholesome. forced? maybe? i really want to stress i think the kids acting abilities shined with the material given.

the inclusion of eddie breaking the toy? weird. out of character. wonder why it was included. wonder if they were looking to recreate that improv magic that made that first movie so special.

i, obviously was absolutely taken with the storytelling of chapter 1, and i wanted to know everything. i did as much research back in the day as i could on the topic. i was fascinated by that these sent those kids to camp. i hadn’t heard of something similar in a project in a while, and i thought it was genius. (obvious nod to child actor ethics, hope they were being observed, etc etc etc) but i went to camp as a kid. camp is fucking magical for friendships. i’ve tried and failed many many times to write camp based fics because like the friendships and the feelings and experiences you have when suddenly untethered from your home base is crazyyyy. i had some of my deepest feelings of trust during my friendships at camp… like to this day. genuinely

the young cast chemistry in the first film is insane and it is what makes that movie and it is heartbreaking to accept that it was… literally never coming back. even if you mimiced the process however long later. a lot had to have happened to, around, between those kids in that time elapsed. that’s going to change whatever dynamic they had before. that’s perfectly fine, but when you literally coattailed that script on JDG and FW’s backs (i still laugh at “suck the wound!! get in there!!” in my head sometimes) and let dialogue come naturally as a result of the experience and the environment… you should accept you cannot script its continuation. love love love the kids. still think giving them the scene like that was a mistake. it was time that should have been utilized to fall in love with the adult losers before we start scaring the shit out of them.

gonna say it… not a huge fan of the scripting of richie. we’ll get into it later. the book makes it a point to say that richie as an adult is not a cruel man. the apology moment is IN the book over a joke that surprises him. being in derry brings him back to a part of himself he’s deeply uncomfortable with. having his dialogue have a bit of a mean streak with zero exploration of it bums me out.

now to the second part of this: shitting on the book, which of course i do reference several times in this now literal fucking essay as of course… ultimately it’s the holy book. it is canon, to me. IT is the book. these movies are adaptations. i’m going to be real here: i respect stephen king as an author. though my jokes may suggest otherwise. etc. it is his story and that has to be commended. these are his characters and plot and original ideas and that’s a fact.

the second act of the book is a mess. in order to kill an entity, you have to explain what it is. that’s… that’s just da rulez. you cannot end existence without at least ?? rationalizing it ?? i suppose ?? to your audience.

i think that’s why king won’t touch this book with a ten foot pole. i’ve seen him show a lot more interest in projects around some of his other books. his general regard seems to be like “go nuts don’t ask me to write a script” because he knows. i don’t want to bring drugs and shame into all of this but like let’s be real… the book doesn’t really make sense when it comes to what pennywise actually is, and it doesn’t even really seem like he tries that .. hard to make sense. yes yes shapeshifter… get it. but he also makes balloons and shit appear from thin air. fact of the matter is he bends not only his own form but the reality around it.

and yes : i get it. i understand that if you’re a fan of stephen king, and you understand his universe, it all becomes less convoluted. i genuinely understand that.

but the task at hand is to write a horror movie for mass-appeal. i’m gonna take a crack at explaining what it is, why it’s so fucking powerful, and how it can be killed.

(honestly the ending of the movie, i know i know we’ll get there, but i was literally holding a hand to my mouth trying not to laugh. remember kids, if you’re ever being bullied, get more people than your bully and bully them.) we also didn’t do any of the metaphysical stuff in the first movie… so… sending bev to the deadlights instead of bill was interesting… obviously i think the interpretation of what she saw was weak as hell idk just see where i’m going with this. i’m trying to do a lot all at one time for no reason!

but really king created a BEAR of a villain to try and make sensible in two hours. i’ m gonna try

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

When I was a student, a classmate of mine often spoke fondly of "E. T. Jaynes," since Jaynes was not only famous but a personal hero of his.

And I never questioned this because I was too intimidated. I didn't want to think that I was just a Jaynes imitator, copying some old dead guy on faith and not even understanding the basics of probability theory. It was enough of a mystery how anyone could think Jaynes's work was worthwhile.

In retrospect, I am very happy to say that I don't have that problem today. What I do have is the opposite problem, of thinking Bayesianism is so obviously correct that it isn't worth worrying about "what Jaynes actually said." I sometimes have this in the opposite direction too: I start out thinking of Jaynes as if he's "talking out of his ass."

I don't even remember who said it first, but I have heard that Jaynes was once asked about the likelihood of something "one million times a day" and so on and Jaynes "looked straight" at the questioner as if he'd said something so stupid that it would be almost comical if it weren't so embarrassing. This is funny for some reason, and I guess it's funny because Jaynes was the sort of person who would think something like this, but would also be so very wrong -- and if he were right, why would he be so stupid?

And I guess what I'm saying is that now that I think about it, Jaynes really does have some weird takes. He's full of stuff where the only way to make sense of it at all is that Jaynes's "axioms of thought" are actually all wrong and inconsistent and you just can't say any of it because it makes no sense.

(I think some people really do think this about some aspects of logic -- but then, that's what I say about most aspects of logic -- it just makes no sense to me as someone without formal logic. Why am I even wasting my time talking to other people about "propositional statements" when I could just spend a week reading Peano's Arithmetic)

When I say this I tend to go on like, "if you read Jaynes and didn't think his axioms were crazy, then you didn't understand Jaynes well enough," but if I think about it, it sounds to me more like Jaynes did not fully understand the probability theory he was "talking out of his ass about" when he was writing his book. Like, he had to know about something but his "axioms of probability theory" are the sort of thing that are so obviously wrong that you can't write a big book about them and expect people to have any idea what you're talking about. And the fact that people do means he probably didn't know.

Maybe it's just that some of Jaynes's axioms strike me as really "counterintuitive," although I'm not sure that is actually a meaningful distinction, so I may just be missing something about Jaynes's own thinking.

There is also the fact that Jaynes clearly had some ideas that did not survive his death. I mean, it's just a fact that when you die you forget about stuff that happened during your life, and it makes perfect sense that Jaynes forgot about some of his old ideas that didn't quite "work out."

For one thing, Jaynes had ideas about how the mind works that were not exactly mainstream: he thought that "probabilities" were not supposed to be assigned to propositions themselves, but instead were supposed to "refer to" certain propositions about the mind (you could have many such referents, one for each different mental thing you can think about, etc. etc.) And that, somehow, this fact explains how probability theory could account for our ability to do Bayesian inference, even though it doesn't seem to relate directly to the contents of our heads at all.

For instance, in Jaynes's old paper "Probability Theory: The Logic of Science" you read:

Although we are tempted to believe that some things are certain and that everything else is uncertain, this is a false belief. The true belief is that everything is uncertain, not that some things are certain. A false belief in the nature of our world may cause us much more trouble than a false belief in the nature of mathematics.

The question that I want to ask today, then, is whether any logical or mathematical structure can be proved "tautologically" certain, without appeal to any particular "principled basis for probability" or to "axiomatic or intuitive certainty" or to any other such basis.

This sounds a bit strange when you read it today, and yet I think the idea is really an important one and it was an insight Jaynes had, but it doesn't seem to be as widely acknowledged as it should be. In the "Probability Theory" paper Jaynes seems to be trying to draw the same type of connection between the "mathematics" of probability and the "logics" of logic that Wittgenstein (and other great logicians like Frege) were drawing in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. And the kind of work that these "logicians" were doing was all about trying to "explain" the concepts of logic using the tools of mathematics (in the same way that Jaynes's own "probability theory explains" Bayesian inference using probability theory) -- in other words, by showing that logic is part of a certain mathematical system. Jaynes's "probability theory as logic" is just one example of this kind of project, which is why he was very proud of the fact that he had found a place for it in probability theory.

The problem is that this kind of "explanation" involves making a claim about logic, not about the "explanandum," which is a different thing that we want to explain. So in a certain sense it is all wrong -- the whole project isn't really one of "understanding logic" or "understanding probability" but rather of understanding the relation between logic and probability. And of course, in Jaynes's case he can only "prove" that such a relation exists, not that it has any concrete "truth conditions." He's really "just" saying something like: "probabilities are a mathematical thing, and the stuff you say is true or false just like the stuff I say, which is itself a mathematical thing." Which is exactly what he says in the opening paragraph of the book, but I think this is a misleading view of how the book's entire body of work "justifies" it. In fact there is no justification, so much as he "justified" himself, with all his talk of "axioms."

Maybe there's a more subtle form of this distinction to draw. So there's the problem with Jaynes's book that he "justifies" it on the basis of "axioms of probability," but it doesn't seem like that justified him. Jaynes's book was well received and praised as a major contribution to philosophy and mathematics, yet it was widely criticized in both these areas. And the question that seems relevant is: can Jay

[oceanic27]

It’s amazing the person I am now.

I get up at 5 am to workout.

A hard fuckin workout.

I go to work and actually enjoy it.

I split time doing my work and running my business.

Yeah I started a business.

I started a business with the same man you asked if he thought he was more mature than me.

I said no, we’re visiting him on vacation while his life is still going on. We’re in different modes.

You didn’t believe me.

Well he came to me with an idea and wanted me specifically to join him on this venture.

He respects my humility. My ability to listen. My want to build something with authenticity.

All of these things you once saw in me, but lost faith in.

Or maybe never really saw at all.

I work hard most of my days.

Come home to my apartment, cook, work on more business stuff and make music at some point.

I read throughout the day.

Maybe spend 30 min watching something to wind down.

I’ve even started to volunteer

I eat healthy now.

Well most of the time.

I still love my snacks.

But not really during the week because from 9-12, I’m asleep.

Not up late,

Hating my life.

You were right about sleeping early

I always knew u were.

I just still wanted to enjoy my youth.

And build memories of late nights with friends.

(ports games ending at 11:30 don’t help either.)

But nonetheless I was reckless and restless. Literally

I also was avoiding the work

The work on myself

The work on a side gig

The work on my direction.

I was scared.

But it wasn’t the normal kind of scared.

It was the fear of unused potential.

The fear of what I could be.

The edges my mind can reach.

A beautiful fear

And I’m still scared.

But that’s why I’m so fuckin happy.

Because I’m scared.

So many new things happening in my life.

It’s scary.

But at the brink of break is where I find bliss.

I find confidence, courage, bravery

Meaning.

I find that person I’ve been wanting to be

That man I always knew was inside of me

I sometimes wonder if I could’ve found that man while I was with you.

If I had just locked in earlier and had the confidence to think of myself that way.

I would’ve given you the life you wanted. A house near your family, two kids, some nice cars and the opportunity to go on vacation 3 times a year.

Hell I think i would’ve given you even more.

But the thing is, I would’ve never been what I am now if I was still with you.

I would’ve never rewired my brain.

Recalibrated my soul

Realigned my journey

And as much as it was dependent on who I am

It was also dependent on who you are.

The single most important choice you make in this life is who your partner is.

The person you go through hell with, the person you celebrate in the heavens with

The person who is there day to day to support you.

I needed someone better to be that person for me.

Someone unselfish, someone supportive, someone with faith

Someone who understands that what she says and does impacts me everyday.

Someone who sees my wounds and shows me I can be treated better.

Someone who doesn’t hate herself so much that she wants you to feel it too.

I felt it, and it didn’t feel good.

You felt it, and you didn’t feel good.

I love myself so much more now.

And I have found people who love themselves too.

People who see the greatness inside of me

As I do them.

My friends treats me better

My family treats me with more respect

The people at my job see my value

And everybody else; I don’t care about anyone else. I don’t care about much anymore.

Just the important things.

It’s really amazing how much things change.

How much I’ve changed

And how all it took was a shift in my mindset to believe in myself.

To forgive and let go of blame.

To love.

[mindswehave]

The Eating-Too-Much-of-an-Edible-to-Seem-Cool-in-Front-of-your-New-Boyfriend to Having-Otherworldly-Visualizations-that-Lead-you-to-Believe-you-Knew-him-in-a-Past-Life pipeline

Heather Sillins. January 22, 2024

(Photo via Vice)

I first met my now-boyfriend when I was coming out of a toxic relationship. I was really in no place to be starting over with someone new, but the pull I felt towards him was undeniable, so in true 21-year-old fashion, I said fuck it and took a leap of faith. We had been dating only a month or so when he invited me to spend the night and take some edibles. I ate more than I should have with great confidence – as if it would make me seem like it wasn’t one of the first times I had done edibles (once again, in true 21-year-old fashion). Well, about an hour in I started to completely trip out. I was laying in his arms, in his bed, when I began thinking about how new the whole thing was. I spent the year prior feeling like my legs were buried two feet underground in a sandstorm due to my last relationship turning in a direction I had never expected. Perpetually flirting with leaving my ex but incapable of committing for far too long. On a random Friday night I was able to make the dash and ran directly into someone else’s space. I was happy about it, but somewhat alarmed by how quickly I was moving on. Now I was in a new man’s bed with my head on his chest, out of my mind off half an edible, trying to act like everything was how it should be. I felt weird. I felt like I knew him so well without really knowing him at all. I felt shocked by my ability to leave my ex-boyfriend of 3 years in the dust one random Friday night. I felt so at home and so confused by the comfort this new person brought me. I told him I needed to close my eyes and turned away from him so he wouldn’t see the thoughts written on my face. My eyes were closed, my mind was racing. Suddenly, in my mind's eye, I was looking into a slightly shifting milky glaze – comparable to looking at a glass slide through the lens of a microscope. After a few seconds the space was stained with purple and blue dye. The dye swirled around before falling into its form – the side profiles of two skulls – one larger – blue, and one smaller – purple. In an intuitive wave, and with no cognitive reasoning, I somehow knew it was us. It felt like an image of our souls resting together in a past life. I imagined a different version of us buried next to each other in a cemetery plot somewhere in the world. I internalized it as a sign that I was where I was supposed to be. That this person I had only known for a few months was going to end up being someone very important to me. Someone that changed my life. Someone that showed me what the word love really meant. I felt overwhelmed... and a bit out of my mind. Here I was with a brand new person, panicking in his bed, on an internal spiritual journey uncovering our past and future, and I couldn’t even tell him because I had only just met him. But I felt it without a hint of doubt. All my fear of starting over with someone new melted away that night. It was the only time I felt connected to a life that I, consciously as my now-self, had never lived. A few months later he told me I was the color purple. He wasn’t sure why, he just saw purple and thought of me. Again, a wave of peace came over me. Still, I didn’t tell him what that meant. A year or two later, I told him what I felt that night. He laughed at the thought of a younger version of me panicking over a sense of destiny while he was oblivious next to me – totally enamored by Regular Show or Shark Tank or whatever mindless show we had on. It’s been nearly four years since that moment and it still leaves me with a sense of clarity that I can’t quite explain.

[everygame]

Dead Space (Xbox 360)

Developed/Published by: EA Redwood Shores / EA Released: 13/10/2008 Completed: 27/10/2023 Completion: Beat it. Trophies / Achievements: 600/1000

I wanted to keep spooky season going, so I reached into an old, dusty cupboard, pulled out an antique tea chest covered in cobwebs, unlocked the chains that bound it and pulled out… a 2008 third-person shooter! Ooohhhhh, scaryyyyy! I didn’t even play the remake! Oooohhhhh!

Damn, this is 2008 as hell. Usually I’m thinking to myself, like “how much have graphics really changed since the Xbox 360 generation?” and then I play this and I’m like “Oh.”

(Which I actually think is mostly down to art direction, but that’s probably another conversation.)

I guess it’s just funny to go back to a major triple-A release of the era and see it’s, like, not open-world (it’s actually sectioned into levels!) and the different sort of derivative it manages to be. Set on a space station that’s been over-run with disturbing monsters made from the warped bodies of the dead, it’s *cough* quite clearly inspired by Event Horizon and Bioshock, with a central mind-bending twist that you’ll spend three-quarters of the game waiting to pay off because it’s so bloody obvious.

There’s some good to Dead Space. I think the combat system, which asks you to shoot the limbs off enemies to disable and kill them, using weapons with really nice, clear sights so you can aim successfully, is inspired. It’s a sensible length, too, clocking in at under 10 hours.

The problem with Dead Space is that there’s really only one kind of scare: the jump scare. Pretty much every encounter is either walking into a room and having an enemy jump out, or it’s doing something in the room and having… and enemy jump out. Or several enemies. Every enemy, also, pretty much just runs directly at you screaming, and with plentiful “stasis” (an ability that allows you to slow down enemies, making it easier to chop ‘em up) every battle I had basically devolved into me making my way into a corner and waiting for enemies to run towards me so I could dismember them.

So unfortunately Dead Space becomes really quite boring long before you’re done with it, so thank god it’s as short as it is. It’s possible you might invest in the story more than I did, but I found it a pretty ratty bag of cliché at least in 2023, and the game’s nod to puzzle solving is generally just dragging things around using your “kinesis” ability, which leads to what I consider the nadir of the game, the final level where you very… slowly… drag a huge monument around on conveyor belts. In fact the entire ending is a bit of a damp squib as you shoot weak points on a big boss that I wasn’t sure why I was fighting???

Pretty disappointing!

Will I ever play it again? I won’t play the remake, which sounds surprisingly faithful, and I think I might have a copy of the sequel or the third one lying around somewhere but I’m not enthusiastic about the idea.

Final Thought: Playing this got me thinking about Event Horizon, and here’s a couple of fun facts: one, apparently the film was inspired by Warhammer 40,000, with Wikipedia claiming "Fans consider Event Horizon to be an unofficial prequel to Warhammer 40,000, when humankind discovers the Warp and learns of its dangers the hard way." They do???

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[faithfromanewperspective]

I visited my old church over the weekend, and it must be something about coming back with fresh eyes that made me realise—my current church is absolutely lovely and definitely not perfect but it’s certainly alive, and I can see now how this group of burnt out people (who are each lovely in their own part, most of them, just together they seem so desperate and hungry for connection and love and seem so unable to give it) feel a lot like Charn (I read the magician’s nephew recently and now it’s the only thing I use for metaphors). Like I remember how everything I had to give fit like a puzzle piece if it was an ecosystem and I remember the wide-eyed optimism for what we could create and I remember ignoring my unmet needs for years on end for the sake of the vision, a vision that’s only expanded since then: a vision of people fully experiencing liberation and connection because to me that’s what the religion we have in common is about at its core.

I remember being disappointed by the people around me who went from the friend group of my late teens and young adult years to colleagues I tried to be understanding of the limitations of, I remember trying to be there as the people I love fell apart trying to be there covering all the need we saw in people around us, trying to live that life we’re supposedly called to where we care. Never questioning why there was so much need—who does in their altruistic optimism? Who wants to end up like the people who don’t care? We can do better we think. We’re dumb and passionate, me more than most when I’m so time and energy blind I forget how to predict when I have the spoons and I rely on the sense of community and purpose I get there to power my entire life. But with so much need how the hell on God’s green earth was I meant to tell them how to care for me? I remember spending services crying in the bathroom between somehow keeping the place going, I remember every time someone came and felt like they belonged for the first time ever, the secondary joy could distract me and make me forget I didn’t really want to be alive. I also remember every single person who left, hurt by something I didn’t know and would wonder about ever since. Needs of people around me stuffing my brain so full so that I couldn’t vocalise what I needed because I just didn’t know. I now know I get sensory overload from other people’s unmet needs, and I can see everything they hide. But why are there so many?

it makes perfect sense now actually, when you think about the church as a whole and all the fear and shame so many of those people grew up with and the tribal insecurity that somehow missed me because I always thought we had a faith of liberation and connection (why did we not live like that?) which meant I was never scared of people and if they insulted me I wouldn’t even notice unless it was funny, so curious to take in everyone else’s perspectives and feel whatever they were feeling that if it elicited an emotion in me it’d get lost in the fray. We used to insult American Christians for being weird about politics and lgbtqia+ people, when did we become like that too? But it makes perfect sense, for fear of different feeds on fear and shame and insecurity. We say we’re a safe space for everyone, but it ends up being somewhere people who don’t feel safe themselves make others feel unsafe and I didn’t even realise they were doing that to me. Maybe I can fix it, because I know what’s underneath. Maybe I can prioritise better and do better than I did. Most dangerous idea I ever had.

I know my limits now, all the things I can’t do, and I pray for these people. Pray for the day where maybe I can make a difference without destroying myself because I finally have the ability to see that that’s not now and there’s no ‘easy’ way to do a little, not for me at least. The tidal wave of ideas takes over. I only know how to go too far and think I can work and study and volunteer all at once. No one could do what I was trying and if they could, why should I have to? I don’t have to. That’s the point of my religion. And you can see why it gets confusing. Why it seems impossible and sometimes I just have to wait and hope that somehow people will come together in ways that can make it better. More accessible.

[karahalloway]

Ask Drake Walker what his perfect day looked like, and he’d tell you that any day that included Riley was it. But if he were being completely honest, his favorite moments with her were the ones they got to spend alone.

He loved Liam and though he’d never admit it, over the years, he’d come to feel the same way about Max.

We all knew you secretly liked him all along, Walker...!

And they had all come such a long way since their respective relationships had been forged in fire and marinated in toxic waste.

Bahahahahaha! This description! 🤣🤣🤣🤣 The tag line to Bad Romance!

“Daddy says he has faith in me!” Xander told her as he traded places with her.

“Daddy says that to all of us,” Eleanor replied with a shake of her curls.

“Isn’t that right, buddy?”

Jax fixed him with a deathly glare as he responded, “My name’s not buddy!”

Dead! Just dead...! 🤣🤣🤣🤣

“The stubborn streak? Really? Mr. it’s not time for a pee break?”

Drake sighed, “This again? I swear one of you brings this up every three months! When are you guys going to let it go? I said I was sorry a million times!”

“I’m just saying…Max asked you to pull over. I asked you to pull over. Liam asked you to pull over, but you were insistent that it wasn’t time for a pit stop. As if Max could control when he had to pee.”

I literally snorted out loud!! 💀I honestly thought it was gonna be one of the kids who had an accident, but no... ROLF! 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Max started peeing in the bottle but the sweet relief was short-lived as the twenty ounces of ice-cold liquid he had consumed in under twenty seconds reversed directions. He released the bottle as he tried to get the window down, but it was too late. Bright orange Gatorade vomit spewed all over the backseat of the car as the bottle of pee hit the floorboard, the contents gurgling out.

OMG! This is even worse than I thought originally!! Drake must've been livid that his (what I imagine is an always pristine) car got all this unplanned-for bodily fluid dumped on it!

“You could have just pulled over.”

“Okay, Mrs. I’m not in labor!” He scoffed.

“To be fair-“

“To be fair you gave birth, very publicly, at Disneyland because you refused to admit you were in labor! I believe you bit my head off for suggesting you sit down and rest!”

Omg you need to find a way to watch Letterkenny bc it's just chock full of amazing one-liners!!

“What are you trying to say, Walker?”

“All I’m saying is that all these kids are stubborn. Whose DNA do they all have in common? You can’t blame us!”

“Yes, well, I can’t be all bad, I put up with all of you, don’t I?”

Drake Walker had never thought he would be, nor had he wanted to be, a father. He had been convinced he would be horrible at it. Right up until that fuzzy pink blanket wrapped miracle had been placed in his arms. As he stared down into her face, his entire world had shifted on its axis, and he had known that his life had irrevocably changed.

Her DNA didn’t matter, she was as much his daughter as she was Liam’s. She was the perfect mixture of the two people he loved most in the world. He had shocked himself at the ease with which he took to diapering, late-night feedings, and lullabies. Celebrating first words and first steps became more thrilling than any contest he’d ever won, even the shooting competitions that showcased his marksman’s abilities. He had never gotten over the wonder of seeing the world through her eyes as she experienced everything for the first time. Something that had been repeated with each child in turn.

I HC the same!!!

He marveled at their differences as he loaded them into the custom-made nondescript armor-plated minivan they used when they traveled as a family

LOL! I don't know why (I mean, this is the definition of practical convenience), but this cracks me up in part bc for some reason I can't get the unprovoked image of Drake drifting this thing around some crazy hairpin bends while the gang are in the back getting shot at by assassins 🤣🤣🤣

Jax looked so much like Drake himself that he was shocked no one had ever leveled an accusation of illegitimacy at the queen.

I have the same HC for Harper and Drake's (eventual) son 🥰 Carbon copy of Drake, with the exception of Harper's smile!

“Hey, Jax, you want to go see the lake?”

The boy stopped struggling as he regarded his father’s face, “Lake?”

“Yes, remember the cabin?”

Jax nodded enthusiastically, “Want lake!”

🥰

“Sorry about that bud-Jax.” Drake tousled his hair then turned to Riley with a triumphant grin, “Look at that!”

“I told him those exact same things and he didn’t listen to me!” Riley complained.

“It’s the special tata touch!” He told her.

Yes, agreed... sometimes Dad is the special one, sometimes Mom is 😇 And god forbid you try and mix the circumstances up and one other tries to stuff that the other does! 🤣

“Yes,” Drake answered then he motioned to the guards that would be following them in an SUV, “Let’s roll out!” before hoisting himself into the passenger seat where he could survey the road, see all the kids in the back and keep an eye on the vehicle following them as well as the one escorting them.

There was never any reason to skimp on security.

Agreed - Drake is always working! 🤣

“Hey,” Drake stood up as Xander rushed back to his siblings. Drawing Riley into his arms, he told her, “Thank you.”

“For what? I haven’t done anything!”

“No, I mean, yes, you have, actually. I know I don’t say it often but thank you, Riley, for everything. That’s what you’ve given me, literally everything! Your love, these kids, our family. I never thought I’d have a place where I belonged. A family I belonged to.”

“Ah, squishy,” her hand caressed his face, “I’m the lucky one, and the fact that you don’t see that proves it! You’re amazing and you don’t have to say what you feel. You show it, a million times a day in a million little ways.”

He had no idea how to verbally express what she meant to him, so he poured it all into a long, slow, lingering kiss instead.

Things really were great.

AHHHHhhhhhHHHH! I love that this was included! 🥰

Drake's Perfect Day: A Bad Romance One-Shot

Series: Bad Romance Continues

Original Series: Bad Romance

Fandom: The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir

Pairings for series: Riley x Liam x Max, Riley x Drake, Riley x Rashad

Pairing for this chapter: Riley x Drake

Rating: Teen

Warnings for this chapter: None, this is all fluff

Word Count: 2,331

A/N: New content created specifically for Drake Walker Appreciation Week 2023 Day 6: Drake as a husband and father. @drake-walker-appreciation

A/N2: This takes place immediately after Drake's Amazon Cart. As in he walks from his office at the end of that one and into the royal suite at the beginning of this one.

A/N3: Tata means daddy. Liam is daddy, Drake is tata and Max is papa.

My other stuff: Master List.

Ask Drake Walker what his perfect day looked like, and he’d tell you that any day that included Riley was it. But if he were being completely honest, his favorite moments with her were the ones they got to spend alone.

He loved Liam and though he’d never admit it, over the years, he’d come to feel the same way about Max. Liam got him in a way most people couldn’t, and Max went out of his way to show affection in little things, like making his BLT exactly the way he liked it. He looked forward to seeing both of them at the end of the day, catching up with Liam over drinks, planning outings for the kids with Max, and tag-teaming bedtime with all of them. He loved the family they had built together. He was proud of it, even.

They functioned well as a unit and his initial reservations about the nature of his relationship with Riley were long gone. He loved her. He was secure in her love for him, but that didn’t mean he never got jealous. That didn’t mean he never felt possessive. As Riley liked to remind him, there was no magical poly dust that made people in these types of relationships immune to normal human emotions. It was how you worked through them that mattered. And they had all come such a long way since their respective relationships had been forged in fire and marinated in toxic waste. It was a testament to the strength of their love as far as he was concerned. All of them.

But, while he loved Liam and Max, the moments he got to spend with Riley without them were special to him. Unlike the other three members of their quad, Drake wasn’t in love with anyone else, there was only Riley for him. Because she understood that Riley always made sure to carve out one on one time with him no matter what else was going on in their lives. Her responsiveness to his emotional needs, often expressed imperfectly, made him love her all the more.

This weekend they were taking the kids to the cabin, just the two of them and he was over the moon excited to do all his favorite things with them. He had the entire weekend planned.

“I’m going to catch a bigger fish than Ellie!” Xander greeted him at the door of the royal suite as he entered.

“Is that so?” Drake laughed as he knelt down to get on eye level with the exuberant six-year-old and opened his arms for a hug.

“Tata!” Three-year-old Jax was a blur as he barreled into Drake, heedless of Xander being in the way.

Drake quickly shifted so that he was hugging Xander on his right side while catching Jax on his left, “Hey there buddy! Slow down!”

“Xander is not going to catch the biggest fish! I am!” Nine-year-old crown princess Eleanor stated as she waited patiently for the boys to move so she could get her hug.

“Daddy says he has faith in me!” Xander told her as he traded places with her.

“Daddy says that to all of us,” Eleanor replied with a shake of her curls.

“Daddy says that all of you because he has faith in all of you! And so do I! Don’t worry, there’s plenty of fish for everyone!” Drake told them as he stood up, taking Jax with him, “Isn’t that right, buddy?”

Jax fixed him with a deathly glare as he responded, “My name’s not buddy!”

Drake was still roaring with laughter when Riley walked in the room, nine-month-old Jace on her hip, “What’s so funny?”

Jace saw Drake and started struggling to get to him.

“Your son!” Drake answered as he placed Jax on the floor and took Jace from his mother.

“You’ll have to be more specific,” she smirked at him.

“Jax just informed me that his name isn’t buddy!”

“Ah, yes!” Riley tittered, “Earlier today I called him son and he refused to answer me. Apparently, he only responds to his literal name now.”

“He gets that from you,” Drake told her as he moved Jace to the side so he could lean over and place a kiss on her lips.

“The stubborn streak? Really? Mr. it’s not time for a pee break?”

Drake sighed, “This again? I swear one of you brings this up every three months! When are you guys going to let it go? I said I was sorry a million times!”

“I’m just saying…Max asked you to pull over. I asked you to pull over. Liam asked you to pull over, but you were insistent that it wasn’t time for a pit stop. As if Max could control when he had to pee.”

“We were on a schedule!”

“We were late anyway, weren’t we?”

“It’s not my fault he chugged the entire bottle of Gatorade!”

“You told him to pee in a bottle!”

“I meant an empty bottle! I didn’t tell him he had to drink the entire contents in one go! He could have dumped it out the window!”

Max started peeing in the bottle but the sweet relief was short-lived as the twenty ounces of ice-cold liquid he had consumed in under twenty seconds reversed directions. He released the bottle as he tried to get the window down, but it was too late. Bright orange Gatorade vomit spewed all over the backseat of the car as the bottle of pee hit the floorboard, the contents gurgling out.

“You could have just pulled over.”

“Okay, Mrs. I’m not in labor!” He scoffed.

“To be fair-“

“To be fair you gave birth, very publicly, at Disneyland because you refused to admit you were in labor! I believe you bit my head off for suggesting you sit down and rest!”

“What are you trying to say, Walker?”

“All I’m saying is that all these kids are stubborn. Whose DNA do they all have in common? You can’t blame us!”

“Yes, well, I can’t be all bad, I put up with all of you, don’t I?”

“That you do, baby, that you do,” he leaned in and kissed her again as he transferred Jace who had decided he was done with tata and wanted mama back.

Glancing around at the piles of suitcases, he asked, “What’s with all the luggage? I thought you kept clothes for everybody at the cabin.”

“I do, but the kids have outgrown everything since the last time we were there!”

“Already?” Drake whistled, “damn, they grow fast!”

“This is news to you?” She rolled her eyes, but she laughed.

“No, it’s not news, but it still always amazes me!” Even though their eldest child was nine years old, the wonder of it had not worn off.

Drake Walker had never thought he would be, nor had he wanted to be, a father. He had been convinced he would be horrible at it. Right up until that fuzzy pink blanket wrapped miracle had been placed in his arms. As he stared down into her face, his entire world had shifted on its axis, and he had known that his life had irrevocably changed.

Her DNA didn’t matter, she was as much his daughter as she was Liam’s. She was the perfect mixture of the two people he loved most in the world. He had shocked himself at the ease with which he took to diapering, late-night feedings, and lullabies. Celebrating first words and first steps became more thrilling than any contest he’d ever won, even the shooting competitions that showcased his marksman’s abilities. He had never gotten over the wonder of seeing the world through her eyes as she experienced everything for the first time. Something that had been repeated with each child in turn.

He marveled at their differences as he loaded them into the custom-made nondescript armor-plated minivan they used when they traveled as a family. While the tiny princess was a perfect mixture of both Riley and Liam, Xander was the spitting image of his father, a carbon copy of the king. Jax looked so much like Drake himself that he was shocked no one had ever leveled an accusation of illegitimacy at the queen. Jace looked enough like Riley to forestall such allegations, the curly russet brown hair could have come from her, but the cobalt blue eyes screamed that he was a Beaumont to anyone paying close enough attention.

He ushered Ellie and Xander into the third row then fastened Jace into his car seat as Riley fought to get Jax into his. “Here you go, buddy!” He handed Jace a teether and then made his way around the vehicle to take over for Riley.

“Here, babe, I’ve got it,” he chuckled as Riley threw her hands up in the air, “Thank God! I told you….stubborn!”

“Hey, Jax, you want to go see the lake?”

The boy stopped struggling as he regarded his father’s face, “Lake?”

“Yes, remember the cabin?”

Jax nodded enthusiastically, “Want lake!”

“Okay, buddy!” Drake laughed, “We’ll go to the cabin and see the lake, but you have to let me buckle you in first!”

“My name’s not buddy!” Jax declared, but he allowed himself to be strapped in.

“Sorry about that bud-Jax.” Drake tousled his hair then turned to Riley with a triumphant grin, “Look at that!”

“I told him those exact same things and he didn’t listen to me!” Riley complained.

“It’s the special tata touch!” He told her.

“Oh, whatever,” she scoffed.

“Can’t argue with the results, can you?” He gave her that charming, boyish grin that belied how devilish he could be.

“I guess I can’t,” she conceded as she looped her arms around his neck and tipped her head back to smile up at him.

His arms encircled her as he pulled her closer, “You better stop all of that or we’re going to have to go back upstairs!”

“Stop what? I was just giving you a hug!” She pushed away from him.

“Uh-huh,” he swatted her on the backside as she climbed into the second row with the little ones.

“Ready to go, sir?” The driver asked.

“Yes,” Drake answered then he motioned to the guards that would be following them in an SUV, “Let’s roll out!” before hoisting himself into the passenger seat where he could survey the road, see all the kids in the back and keep an eye on the vehicle following them as well as the one escorting them.

There was never any reason to skimp on security.

An hour later they rolled through the gate at the top of the property. Since Riley had become queen, security had been updated at Drake’s lakeside cabin. Not many people knew it even existed, but again, there was never any reason to skimp on security. Not when the stakes were so high, he ruminated as he turned in his seat and took in the precious cargo in the back of the van.

The van came to a stop and kids poured out of both doors, laughing and squealing with delight as they raced up and down the porch steps, darted along the lake’s edge, and climbed over the picnic tables.

“Tata, look!” Xander proudly held up a frog for inspection.

Drake squatted down to get a closer look, “Wow, that’s really cool, Xan! Don’t squeeze him too tight and let him go when you’re done saying hi, okay?”

“Okay!” He agreed before thrusting the frog up at his mother, “See my frog?”

“Very cool,” Riley agreed, “Don’t forget to wash your hands when you’re done.”

“Hey,” Drake stood up as Xander rushed back to his siblings. Drawing Riley into his arms, he told her, “Thank you.”

“For what? I haven’t done anything!”

“No, I mean, yes, you have, actually. I know I don’t say it often but thank you, Riley, for everything. That’s what you’ve given me, literally everything! Your love, these kids, our family. I never thought I’d have a place where I belonged. A family I belonged to.”

“Ah, squishy,” her hand caressed his face, “I’m the lucky one, and the fact that you don’t see that proves it! You’re amazing and you don’t have to say what you feel. You show it, a million times a day in a million little ways.”

He had no idea how to verbally express what she meant to him, so he poured it all into a long, slow, lingering kiss instead.

Riley recognized that she had put him through a lot, that Max annoyed him on a daily basis and that he poured every ounce of love he had into their children equally, including those that weren’t biologically his. She knew that out of all of them, he had struggled the most to build the relationship, the family, and the life they now had. Since the moment he’d come back from Texas and declared his intention to make things work, he had never once wavered, never backed down, and never expressed an iota of regret. He had stood steadfastly by her side through everything life had thrown at them.

When they finally came up for air, she sighed with happiness as she spun in his arms, leaning back against his chest to watch their children play, “I’m glad we came. I know you’re excited about all your plans for tomorrow. I hope it’s perfect. You deserve it.”

His arms tightened around her as he buried his nose in her hair, “Everything’s already perfect.”

Life couldn’t possibly be any better than it was in that moment. It was everything he had never known he needed, everything he had been afraid to want. He was standing on the land his father left him, watching his children play, holding the woman he loved in his arms. He had peace in his soul and a quietness at his center that he’d never known before she’d come along and put it there.

Things really were great.

All Things TRR:

@nestledonthaveone  @karahalloway  @tessa-liam  @belencha77 @lovingchoices14

@21-wishes @secretaryunpaid @lunaseasblog  @princessleac1 @bebepac

@emersyn-in-cordonia @walkerdrakewalker @73geenalove  @sillydg @twinkle-320

@queen-arabella-of-cordonia @tinkie1973 @differenttyphoonwerewolf @jared2612 @mainstreetreader

@amandablink @harleybeaumont  @xpandass420x @ladyangel70 @twinkleallnight

@dcbbw  @indiacater @queenmiarys @phoenixrising0308 @gabesmommie1130

@kingliam2019 @3pawandme @bascmve01 @hollygirl1269  @ohmyeightpastlives @choicesficwriterscreations

[venus-haze]

My Fading Voice Sings of Love (Vampire!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: You’re catapulted to stardom when the release of your debut album becomes an overnight hit. With so much attention on your still blossoming career, a residency at the International Hotel seems like a good way to start putting on your own shows. It’s not just the world’s eyes that are on you, though, as a hauntingly familiar and unsettlingly strange man decides to take you under his wing and guide you during your successful residency at the International. Until, inevitably, like all good things, it comes to an end.

Note: Read the warnings for this fic before interacting! This is based on a request by @brotherhood-of-feels and Jeff Buckley’s song Grace, which is where the title of this fic comes from (please for the love of god listen to the song). Reader is a woman and definitely naive, but no other descriptors are used. This takes place in the 90s because the existence of smartphones would complicate things. As for the Phantom of the Opera AU aspect, I figured instead of doing the mask thing, it’d be more fun to have him hide in plain sight as one of the dozens of Elvis impersonators in Vegas. Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: Dark themes such as emotional blackmail, death, blood, and obsessive and manipulative behavior, which some people may find disturbing or triggering. Brief mention of suicidal ideation. Explicit sexual content that involves coercion. Some corruption kink. I’m going to give a warning for bloodplay, but it’s oral sex while the reader is on her period so it’s not too intense(?) Do not interact if you are under 18.

You tried not to shake too much as Aileen, your makeup artist, applied glittery eyeshadow to your eyelids. It was only a rehearsal, you had to remind yourself as much, but you felt like you didn’t deserve it. The astronomic rise in fame and popularity you experienced in the blink of an eye seemed too good to be true, especially when within a few days of your debut album releasing, your manager, Chiara, informed you that the International Hotel in Las Vegas had reached out, interested in booking you for a residency there. The two of you looked over the contract with the lawyer from your label, and after some back and forth with the hotel, you’d accepted the offer of a three month residency playing two shows a day, four nights a week.

Chiara used to manage some up-and-coming Disney starlet, but dropped her as soon as she heard your demo. Her faith in your ability as a singer kept you motivated, even when you felt hopelessly overwhelmed by the music industry. It was all unfamiliarly cut-throat, and you had known your chances of being successful were slim. Between Chiara’s connections and your natural talent and work ethic, you’d generated enough interest in your first album through singles and interviews with every radio station and TV channel that offered. When it was finally released, your album was one of the most successful debuts in history. Chiara said it was all you, but you thought it was just a fluke.

Much to Chiara’s excitement, the first two weeks of shows had completely sold out. Though you forced a smile for her sake, you couldn’t help but feel the pressure overwhelm you. In your opinion, you still had so much to prove and lose. You didn’t deserve to take such a coveted spot from a more established artist.

You figured at least you’d get to spend a few months in a hotel room that was nicer than any apartment you’d ever rented. The penthouse suite was inaccessible due to renovations, at least that was the excuse on paper. You’d heard from one of the stagehands, however, that the penthouse had been pretty much unoccupied for years, and the old wiring meant the lights would turn on and off and the automatic curtains would sometimes open and close on their own. It didn’t help either that the elevator closest to the showroom was broken, the International Hotel’s management unable to give you a timeline as to when it would be fixed.

When Aileen let you know she was finished, you thanked her, letting out a shaky breath as you took in your appearance. The sparkling outfit complimented your body type and skin tone perfectly, with tastefully placed cut-outs that you had to talk Aileen out of applying body glitter to. Your hair was styled perfectly to suit the outfit and your face. In all honesty, you’d never felt so beautiful. Still, it wasn’t enough to calm your nerves as you made your way on stage. 

The only people sitting in the showroom were Chiara and Aileen, which should have made you feel better. On your signal, the backing band began to play your opening song. When it was time for you to actually sing it, you only managed to open your mouth for a moment before clamming up. Shaking your head, you waved at the band to stop playing.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I just—you know I’ve never done anything like this before, putting on my own show.”

“Well get used to it, because this is gonna be the rest of your career,” Chiara said.

“What if they’re all disappointed? I mean, I’ve only ever opened for other musicians. Now all of these people are going to be here just to see me.”

“Don’t even think about that. It’s just us, Y/N,” Aileen assured you. “There’s no one else here.”

Being the most recognizable man in the world meant Elvis Presley didn’t have the same freedom that the dozens of other vampires in the world had, able to roam as they pleased as soon as night fell. In truly the most twisted irony, the only place he could do as he pleased was Las Vegas, a city so full of people pretending to be him that he was practically invisible. The crowds of tourists that flooded the city each night hardly looked his way, except to request the occasional photo and comment on how good of an impersonator he was, to his amusement. He supposed it worked out, though he hated Vegas and being tethered to the International Hotel, there were plenty of unsuspecting victims out and about, an endless buffet if he so pleased. He didn’t feed often enough to impact the city’s unsolved murder statistics that much, anyway.

Sometimes he’d wander the streets of Las Vegas until the sun teased its beautiful amber rays on the horizon. It was the closest he could get to seeing it again, as he discovered exposure to sunlight even through windows or tinted glass would result in painful burns on his skin that would take days to heal. Another unfortunate plus side to being a vampire in Vegas, it was a city full of windowless rooms where he didn’t have to worry about sunlight exposure. He missed the sun’s warmth and beauty, though, and in his second decade of loneliness, he increasingly considered staying outside as the sun rose, letting the fire consume him. 

He could never work up the nerve to do so, and would slink back to the International Hotel before dawn. His enhanced abilities as a vampire were useful in threatening Kohn into allowing him to reside in his penthouse suite indefinitely, but he found little use for them besides that. Few, if any, of the hotel’s staff knew the truth about the penthouse’s mysterious resident, and he preferred to keep it that way. 

Other artists held residencies at the International through the years, but they hardly interested him. Even if their music was to his taste, he could hardly stand to bring himself to the showroom where he had so many terrible memories. He missed performing, though, and playing piano or guitar alone in his suite didn’t give him the same thrill as putting on a show for a crowd of adoring and energetic fans.

In all of the years he’d been at the hotel, though, he never saw as much chaos leading up to any residency besides his own until you came along. He found himself staring at the crisp, colorful poster that announced your shows to support your debut album. He’d never heard of you before, but he figured Y/N Y/L/N had to have been something else to snag a residency with only one album out.

He stood in the shadows during your rehearsal, catching the subtle tics that betrayed your nerves after you fumbled your first attempt at opening the show. Despite that, you were breathtaking, and as you gained confidence, your vocals blew him away. You sang passionately and earnestly, and he could have sworn you looked right at him with an adoration that made him feel alive for the first time in nearly twenty years. You finished your performance with an exaggerated bow and a giggle that was just as musical to him. As soon as the two women sitting near the stage began clapping, he retreated back to his suite, his mind overwhelmed by thoughts of you. 

Chiara and Aileen stood up to applaud you and your backing band, with Aileen jokingly shouting for an encore. You had another week to rehearse, and even then, Chiara had assured you that the good thing about your Vegas residency was that you could see what worked and what didn’t for the audience and adjust accordingly. You only hoped that the rehearsals would be enough to quell your anxieties about performing. 

The following day, you arrived at the showroom three hours before the scheduled rehearsal time, hoping to practice a bit more on your own and not embarrass yourself as you did the day prior. Even though everyone had told you that you’d done a great job, you could hardly sleep as your mind replayed every time you fumbled over your own lyrics or missed a cue. The residency was so much bigger than just yourself, so many people were relying on you to do well and sell out the rest of the shows. People’s livelihoods were on the line, and for the first time, you found yourself half-regretting pursuing music as a career.

As you dropped off your things in your dressing room, you could hear the faint sound of a piano accompanied by singing. Furrowing your eyebrows, you wracked your brain for who else could be in the showroom too. When you walked onto the stage, you were taken aback to see an Elvis impersonator sitting behind the keyboard, playing Unchained Melody as he sang along. He sounded beautiful and sang with a confidence you were envious of. Even more strange, he looked almost exactly like him if you didn’t know any better. In fact, you found yourself staring at his face, studying his features until his downturned eyes looked up at you through thick lashes, catching you in his gaze as a smile spread across his lips.

When he finished singing, you were in awe, unable to articulate anything coherent. “You were incredible–I mean, hi, I’m Y/N, and–”

His voice was velvety as he acknowledged you. “I know who you are, mama.”

“That’s great,” you said, rocking on your heels during the awkward silence that followed. “I’m sorry–are you supposed to be here?”

He nodded, getting up from behind the keyboard and walking over to you. “I’m gonna help you with your show. Nerves used to get to me too.”

“Chiara didn’t tell me she was bringing in a musical director.”

“Yeah, real last minute thing,” he said.

“Do you always dress like that?” you asked.

He raised an amused eyebrow. “My clothes?”

“Yeah, the whole Elvis impersonator thing,” you said. “I mean, you do a great job of it. You look just like him, really. Sound like him too.”

His answer was a noncommittal shrug. You felt kind of ridiculous accepting his help, like you were in the plot to some corny made-for-TV movie where an aspiring starlet is mentored by an Elvis impersonator, only for it to actually be him as an angel or ghost or something, disappearing by the end of the movie after she’s learned whatever generic lesson about friendship or being humble. When you asked what his name was, he even told you to just call him Elvis. You hoped Chiara knew what she was doing by hiring him, but she hadn’t led you astray yet.

To your surprise, he was a good mentor, giving you pointers on your performance and advice in engaging with the audience during the show. You found it odd when he asked you not to tell anyone else that he was helping you with your performance, assuring you that he was updating Chiara on everything himself. Even when you brought up that his advice would be useful to the backing band or stagehands, he insisted he was supposed to be mentoring you only.

You felt out of your element when he suggested you keep things light-hearted by joking around with them every few songs. You could certainly see his point. It’d endear them to you, make you that much more relatable if your nerves meant your singing had some hiccups here and there. The jokes and quips you’d written down were mediocre at best, with songwriting undoubtedly being your strong suit. 

“I wrote some, I don’t know, jokes for the audience. I don’t think I’m much of a comedian, what do you think?” you asked.

He took the paper from you, and you cursed under your breath as the paper cut the delicate skin on your hand.

“Y/N,” Elvis whispered upon seeing the blood bead up and then drip down the side of your hand. He stared wide-eyed at the wound as if afraid of it.

“Hey, it was an accident. Don’t worry about it,” you said.

Just as you were about to pull your hand away, he grabbed it so quickly that if you had blinked, you would’ve missed it.

“Does it hurt?” he asked softly.

“I mean it stings a little,” you said.

He nodded, and in a move that made you feel like you were losing your mind, brought your hand to his mouth and licked the blood away, moaning as he did so. You’d never had an experience like that in your life, and you hated how the sound and sensation went straight to your pussy. Out of all the warning signals blaring in your mind at just about every interaction you had with Elvis in the few days he had been mentoring you, that was the blood red flag that stood out the most.

Looking up at you with hooded eyes, he kept his hold on your hand. “How about now?”

Unable to speak, you shook your head, disappointed when he released you at your confirmation of your well-being. You could hardly focus the rest of the evening, and when you returned to your suite later that night, you replayed the incident over and over in your head as you played with your clit, unaware of the voyuer who could hear you moaning his name as you brought yourself to orgasm at the thought of him and your own blood.

He didn’t bring up the incident the next time you saw him, which you took as your cue to not mention it either. As the next few days led up to opening night, you spent more time on stage with your backing band than with him. Though Chiara and Aileen assured you that you were ready, showing so much improvement from your first rehearsal the week before, you only truly felt ready when Elvis told you he knew you’d do perfectly–as long as you did what he told you.

“You’ll be there tonight, right?” you asked.

“You might not see me, but I’ll be there,” he promised.

You let out a sigh of relief. “Good, I think I’d cry if you said no.”

“Go on and give ‘em one hell of a show, baby,” he said, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

While you still felt nervous on stage, you didn’t let it get to your head as Elvis’ words the previous night echoed in your mind. They wanna see you do good, baby. That’s what they’re there for. Your backing band went right into your opening song, and to your relief, you started off strong, that confidence staying with you through the rest of your performance. It was fun to watch audience members react to your music, especially the ones who stood up from their tables and started dancing along.

The jokes you and Elvis had come up with were corny, sure, but they got a good reaction from the audience, and even the few you made on the spot landed well. Throughout your performance, you scanned the crowd for Elvis, but he was nowhere to be found. You were disappointed, but didn’t let it show as you introduced your last song of the evening. 

You ended the show to a standing ovation, crying as Chiara handed you a bouquet of flowers from her seat in front of the stage. It went better than you could have imagined, and as the curtain dropped, you hugged every member of your backing band, thanking them for sticking by you despite the rocky start. Backstage was flooded with people fighting for your attention, but Chiara pushed her way through to give you a hug.

“You were amazing! Holy shit, I can’t believe you ever doubted yourself.”

“I couldn’t have done it without Elvis,” you said.

Chiara looked a bit confused, but nodded with a smile anyway as she continued congratulating you. As much as you appreciated everyone’s congratulations and well wishes, there was one person in particular whose opinion you desperately needed. Barely able to slip away from the pandemonium, you found him near the broken elevator. He gave you a dazzling smile when he saw you, making his way over to you.

Elvis pressed a kiss to your forehead before engulfing you in a hug. “You were perfect, baby. I’m so proud of you.”

You beamed at his words, squeezing him tighter against you. “Thank you. You’re coming to the afterparty, right?”

He released you from the hug, giving you an apologetic glance. “I can’t tonight, mama. You have fun. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

When he turned around to leave, a smirk spread across his face at the dejected look you gave him when he told you he wouldn’t be at the party. With every day that passed he became more convinced that you were the companion he needed to keep the loneliness of being one of the undead at bay. He couldn’t rush it, though. The incident with your hand was a risk he had taken far too soon, and he considered himself lucky that you actually enjoyed it instead of being scared away.

The next few months were consumed by you. He spent as much time as possible with you, or would lurk from the shadows to observe jealousy as you socialized with everyone who wasn’t him. You didn’t seem to notice that just about every man who made a pass on you at the hotel’s bar or casino disappeared not long after without a trace. Sooner or later, the message would get across that you were off-limits, and he was perfectly fine feeding on whatever bastard tried to get in his way of being with you.

Your residency was going fantastically, and you even had to work on an encore set because audiences started demanding it. Every time Elvis praised you or told you he was proud of you, it felt like getting struck by a bolt of lightning. Usually you and Elvis would work together before your nightly performances, as you found being around him gave you the confidence and motivation you needed to perform well. 

For one reason or another, the two of you decided to work on one of your days off from performing, but as soon as you got to your dressing room, you regretted it. Knowing whether or not you’d get bad period cramps was a crapshoot, and unfortunately, they were especially bad that day. As much as you tried to mask it from Elvis, he could see right through you.

“You alright, mama?” he asked.

“My cramps are killing me today,” you said, wrapping your arms around your torso. “I took aspirin earlier, but I don’t think it’s helping.”

He responded with a silent, intense stare, and you interpreted his reaction as disgust.

“Don’t be immature. It’s natural.”

“I don’t disagree with you at all,” he said. “You know, opera singers don’t perform when they’re on their periods. Somethin’ about it messin’ with their vocal range.”

“I didn’t know that,” you said, wincing as you sat down to yet another cramp. 

He licked his lips, inhaling through his nose as he added, “You know what really helps with all ‘a that?”

Yes, you knew exactly what he was referring to, and one more than one occasion had masturbated to relieve especially painful period cramps. In fact, you had considered doing so earlier, but you weren’t sure you’d have the time before meeting him. 

His voice was so dark and deep you wanted to drown in its depths when he offered his assistance in alleviating your discomfort. It almost embarrassed you how quickly you agreed and ended up naked on your bed, his head buried between your legs as he lapped at your pussy. You gasped as you felt teeth graze your folds, but nothing more. His moans put the one you’d gotten off to before to shame, you wished you could record it–put it as the backing track for a salacious song like some of the metal bands you indulged in did.

He rubbed your clit with his thumb as he ate you out, his pace relentless as you could feel yourself reaching orgasm. Still, it wasn’t enough; you needed more. Sometimes you liked to drag things out, edge a bit to amplify the pleasure when you finally did come. In this instance, however, you allowed your greediness and desperation to guide you.

“Elvis,” you whined. “Elvis—fuck, faster.” 

Elvis. You wished you knew his real name, feeling like an idiot helplessly moaning the name of a dead rockstar while getting eaten out by a man almost twice your age who dressed like him for a living. Regardless, you carded your fingers through his greased up black hair, pressing his face closer against your cunt. Just weeks ago you would have considered the thought of this disgusting, but now, seeing your blood on his face only turned you on, and you were too determined to find release to even begin thinking about what that said about you. 

An all-consuming ecstasy sent white-hot waves of pleasure through your body that verged on being painful. More intense than anything you’d ever felt before, the moan you let out was guttural, coming from a place of depravity inside you that you weren’t aware existed. You couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, only feel as you orgasmed and then promptly passed out on the bed.

Still in your state of unconsciousness, Elvis continued eating you out like a man possessed. Truly, he may as well have been, because every time he tried to pull away, the taste of your blood on his tongue went right through him, until finally, he had to force himself to stop. His eyes gazed over the blood that was smeared on your body, and he swore he’d never seen anyone so beautiful in his life. Cursing himself for not having a camera to capture the state of obscenity he’d left you in, he made a mental note to keep one for next time. 

Feeding had become sexual, the release he craved in lieu of actually being able to fuck, one of the things he missed most about being human. Taking blood, taking life sent orgasm-esque waves of pleasure through his undead body that he long since stopped feeling guilty for. If tearing someone’s throat out was sex, going down on a woman when she was on her period was foreplay, the least he could do before the inevitable. 

As you lay unconscious beneath him, he reached out, gently caressing your warm cheek. He didn’t want to kill you, it’d be such a waste. Between your beauty and talent, he finally felt close to the sun as he could in his endless night. There was no way of knowing if anyone like you would cross paths with him again, and so, resisting the instinct he’d developed, he pressed a bloody kiss to your cheek before leaving to find a way to satiate his bloodlust before sunrise. Just his luck, she looked almost like you. 

The late morning sun peaked through your curtains, waking you up to your bed looking like you’d been murdered in it. You felt nauseous with embarrassment at the thought of housekeeping seeing, let alone cleaning, your sheets. Elvis was nowhere to be found, and while you figured as much, you still found yourself disappointed by his absence. Knowing the ‘do not disturb’ sign was still on the door handle outside your room, you hoped a quick shower would help you brainstorm what to do with your damn sheets. 

Your legs wobbled beneath you as you tried to stand up, stumbling like a fawn into your bathroom. As soon as you flipped on the lights, your eyes widened at the state of the lower half of your body. Dried blood smeared across your thighs and legs, and as you turned to inspect the damage, you could see where Elvis had held your hips from the bloody fingerprints that painted your skin. 

Using the wall for support, you closed your eyes as you let the shower run until the water was warm to the touch. The blood didn’t immediately wash off your body as you’d hoped. Instead, you had to scrub to get it off, watching the rust-colored water pool at the drain. Even expending this bit of energy exhausted you even more than you already were. Throwing your washcloth aside, you sat down on the shower floor, resting your head on your knees until the water turned cold. 

You got out of the shower, drying yourself off with a towel before putting on your bathrobe. Standing in front of your bed with your hands on your sore hips, you still had no idea what you were going to do with your sheets. In a fit of nervous adrenaline, you grabbed them and ran out of your room to the nearest laundry chute, sending them down in hopes the sight of them wouldn’t trigger a homicide investigation.

When you met Elvis at your usual time, in your usual spot, later that night, he greeted you warmly with a kiss to your forehead, pleased to hear you were feeling better. You had so many questions, especially about the previous night, but unsure of how to articulate them, went about business as usual as he continued to mentor you through your residency. 

The intimacy that you had developed with Elvis confused you. He wasn’t your boyfriend, yet he’d become frighteningly irate and disagreeable when you’d mention interest in other men, even in passing. Calling him your lover felt odd, as the only time the two of you did anything remotely sexual was when you’d be on your period, and he’d ravage you like it was his last meal and then act like nothing happened. The two of you were far too close for you to brush the relationship off as casual—casual had long since up and gone in the context of you and Elvis. 

No one knew about him, though. He had asked you not to tell anyone about him, and whenever it seemed like someone would find the two of you out in some way, they either diverted course or he successfully disappeared into the shadows. Despite all of the time you spent with him, you hardly knew anything about him, long since giving up asking him any personal questions since he’d answer as if he were Elvis himself. 

You could admit to yourself that the situation was fucked up. There was nothing normal about it, and you almost wondered how you ended up in that spot in the first place. Still, you weren’t sure if your residency would be as successful without him. Whenever you incorporated one of his suggestions into the show or followed the direction he gave, Chiara would tell you that critics were raving about the changes, and audiences couldn’t get enough—that much was true, as you found yourself having to work out elaborate encores. No one wanted you to leave. At the same time, the rest of the world was growing restless at your residency being confined to Las Vegas.

Chiara had excitedly approached you one evening before your first show of the night with a small stack of papers. As you flipped through them, she explained that your label had put together a report of cities with the most interest in you bringing your show to them as well as offers from international venues that wanted you to perform. Finally, she added that the label had pre-approved your next three albums—so long as you accompanied each one with a show similar to your Vegas one. 

It was almost too much to take in at once. The money would be unbelievable, though, especially the international venues which were offering amounts that made your eyes nearly pop out of your head. The next decade of your career was practically set, and you gladly joined Chiara when she brought you to the hotel bar, ordering a bottle of champagne for the two of you to split in celebration.

You wouldn’t have to worry about a thing again, and you knew a large part of that had to do with Elvis. Breaking the news to him wouldn’t be easy, as Chiara had made no mention of him in the plans she had thrown out about your tours, and you wanted to keep true to your word that you wouldn’t bring him up. You supposed it meant he was only helping you during the residency and nothing more.

He was taken aback when you sheepishly told him the following night about the label’s offer and the plans to tour.

“I wanted to thank you for everything,” you said. “Chiara said the label wants me to take the show on tour–”

“You’re leaving?”

“I still have two weeks left of shows, but I couldn’t have done it without you. I mean, I’m pretty much set for life.”

He scoffed. “I’m sure you are. Let me tell you somethin’ mama. There are people out there who ain’t as nice as I am, ain’t lookin’ out for you the way I do.”

“Do you want me to just stay here forever?”

He shook his head, storming out of your dressing room. You didn’t see him again for several days following that altercation. Ever since you gave him the news about ending your residency, his direction was hostile and he withheld the usual praises he poured on you. During your last few nights of shows, he disappeared again, to your frustration.

You couldn’t bring him with you, no rational way to explain the odd relationship you had with Elvis. Chiara had hired him to mentor you, not be your overbearing–fuckbuddy? lover? bootycall? Not to mention, if he was this volatile, you weren’t sure the rest of your team would appreciate having him around. Still, the thought of leaving him made your chest ache. You’d miss him terribly, as much as it pained you to admit it. 

You sat in your dressing room after the second to last night of shows during your residency. When you heard the door open and then close behind you, you could tell by the sound of the footfall that it was him. You almost wanted to chew him out for ignoring you the past few days, but when you turned around, he beat you to the punch.

“Y/N, I’ve been thinkin’ about it, your tour and everything,” he said. “Well, you’re not goin’ on it.”

You scoffed, after how he’d been treating you, now he suddenly cares again? “I don’t think that’s for you to decide.”

He smiled, in on a secret you were about to find out. “See, that’s the thing, it is.”

“And what sway would an Elvis impersonator have over my career?”

“I’m no impersonator, mama. I’m the real deal.”

Before you could respond, he bared his teeth, revealing unnaturally sharp canines. Your heart leapt to your throat, which you covered with a hand. Like stars that had aligned, everything made sense to you—his odd behavior, all of the anomalies in his stories and excuses, and most of all, his sexual inclinations. Just as quickly, those stars exploded into an uncontrollable supernova that overtook your mind as the reality of the situation caught up to you. Whether he killed you or turned you, you were going to die.

Your lip trembled as he approached you, hunger in his eyes and the slightest hint of a smile on his face. Using his finger to lift your head, he leaned down and kissed you slowly, sensually. Though the sensation made you feel dizzy, you couldn’t help but keen into his touch, opening your mouth the slightest bit to allow him access, to take what he wanted. If this was the face of death, you welcomed him with open arms.

“You wanna stay with me, don’t you, baby?” he whispered. “Want me to keep you all to myself?”

“Yes,” you breathed, gasping as his sharp fangs poked at your bottom lip. “Elvis, please.”

He grinned, pressing a kiss to your lips. “How can I say no when you ask so nicely?”

He pulled away from you, wrapping an arm around your waist, and without protest you allowed him to guide you to the broken elevator. He pulled a key out of his pocket, turning the access lock next to the elevator doors, which suddenly came to life as they opened before you. The button to the penthouse lit up when he pressed it, and you let out a weak laugh at the revelation that the off-limits suite was his.

Taglist: @eliseinmemphis @crash-and-cure @kittenlittle24​ @im-lame-irl @loudwombatmugkid @rxsesss @roseymary04 @queendelrey @jovialladyaurora @positivitylane112 @moonknightswif3 @holy-minseok @datsavageavenger @21bruhs @luckyevansstan @djsjs13949 @butlerslut @ash-omalley @powerofelvis @sad-bisexual-bitch @peachy-deaths @kibumslatina @adoreyouusugar @raefoxiegirl @donnamarie23 @ilovehobi101 @memphis-menace @animeketsu-yander @phhistheloml @dkayfixates

[psalm22-6]

The set up of this article is so funny, just imagine walking randomly at night and running into characters from les mis. And why do they say that Grantaire is known for having a cold? Did they just combined him with Joly? 

[Source: Image Magazine, 1933]

Let’s start this article with a sampled note, in a noble style: “It was during the horror of a dark night…” No stars, but every five or ten seconds, strange brushes of light flashed across the sky. In the distance, I am compelled to note that the air, like the earth, was impregnated with water, the frogs called back to the toads. An owl’s cry alternated with the trills of the nightingales. Nice setting for a scheme, hmm? 

That’s just what I was thinking when, turning around a ruin, I perceived a camp. Yes, a camp: five, ten men, posing without mistrust who, in open country, were warming themselves around a wood fire. 

How suspect! I did what you would have done: I advanced like a wolf, I was practically crawling, and I hid myself just in time behind a tree, so that there would not be two shadows…the shadows were speaking. Let us listen.

“Enjolras…” 

(Remark that that name, really, is truly difficult to pronounce) 

“Enjolras, yes, that’s really him: a wild Antonius, serious, full of faith, with tumultuous hair. As for Marius, we needed a handsome young man. Finally we have him, with his haughty face, pensive and innocent, his sincere and calm air. And Grantaire, is that him with his perpetual good humor and including his head cold…Not to mention Gavroche: It’s was truly for him that the word whirling was written, an almost irritating ability to be in two places at once that fills the air… And on to father Mabeuf, the specter of 1793, in person…” 

Behind my tree, I didn’t understand much: this conversation, at this hour, at such a location--these enigmatic words and their bizarre assignation, from the shadow’s voice I could hear that he was underlining certain special words…but the voice became hushed, two shadows moved away…I listened to the men from the camp. 

Even more strange: their outfits dated to the previous century. Tall curved hats, fitted coats of rust or green cloth, casaquins, plaid waistcoats…the favorites of the carbonari. Where the devil did I get lost to! 

“Say then Enjolras, when will you recite verse?” 

“After father Mabeuf!” 

“No no, Marius, he’s been dead since yesterday.” 

“Grantaire, I don’t recite any more: I’ve been dead since yesterday…But it’s not over for me. I still have more to film.” 

“And waiting doesn’t tire you too much? I ask because you don’t look very rested.”

I pinch my arm: however, the dead are speaking, this isn’t a nightmare! The “father Mabeuf” begins speaking again: 

“All the same my friends, 1830, it was a famous era, with magnificent boys…I would have liked to have lived then...we had more heart then, before the war. We loved beautiful things, poetry…

“Do you believe that Cailloux?”

I’m understanding less and less: father Mabeuf is also called Cailloux, for he responds

“Well, in the times of the Black Cat, we also loved poetry. Ah! Delmet…Marcel Legay…So, one day…”

The words float over to me: “30 years of theater, almost always with Gémier, 10 years at the Odéon…They joked that I had a ‘dog’s life’....Why! I really loved the Pekinese. And you, Vidalin, how much time did you spend at the Odéon?”

“Five years at the Odéon…”

The one who responds is the wild Antonius, with the tumultuous hair---it’s Enjolras, whose hand plays carelessly with a saddle pistol. 

Oh well. I’m risking it all. Have courage, for heaven’s sake! Image magazine demands it…I advance towards the camp, and I can make out, from the glow of the hearth, from the dancing flames, the people’s characteristics. One by one, they appear as they had been described earlier by the fleeting shadow. Resounding exactitude. It’s them. Mabeuf, Enjolras, Grantaire, Marius, Gavroche.

But also, it’s Cailloux, Vidalin, Azaïs, J. Servais, le petit Genevoix...there is no scheme, no nightmare. It’s just five actors from Les Misérables taking a break to warm themselves. What a bargain! I take out my notebook. I latch onto Jean Servais, who is the same age as Victor Hugo’s Marius and has the same air of a serious daydreamer however Jean Servais has not stepped out of a book. He stepped out of the Conservatoire of Brussels and he was seized by the cinema as soon as he came to Paris, performing in production of the famous Mal de la Jeunesse, at the Œuvre theater (he played Criminel: Marius will be his second role.)

“Tell me about Les Misérables!” 

“I read it when I was 13 years old, in a giant edition, big like a dictionary…So at that age, I must admit that it tired my arms more than my brains. Happily for me I have re-read it since then. But ask more of Azaïs.” 

Paul Azaïs, in the role of Grantaire, is the terrible skeptic, a funny guy. But in his real and permanent role, he takes advantage of the fact that nature gave him the face of a “bad boy,” he is not an easy person. His anguished expressions have often permitted him to play with rare intensity Apachean characters, such as in the films Faubourg Montmartre and Paris la Suit, and on stage in les Messieurs-Dames. But behind that expression, he carefully hides the soul of a Parisian urchin--He was born on the rue Chàteau-Landon, where tenderness and fervor readily outweigh cheekiness. 

“Oh! For me, it’s not a joke,” he says, “I cry while reading it…As for my role, I am so much my character that, for moments, I am not playing the role, I am living it…look, proof!”

And Paul Azaïs who, decidedly, does not want to soften, laughs, showing his nose and his left hand. On one is a gash, on the other are five grazes that bleed “for real.” The gash he received from a saber’s blow during the filming of the scenes depicting the riots in the days of June 1832. As for the grazes…Azaïs tells us of their origins: 

“This…(let’s say this animal, a bit-player), he had to attack me, in the scene on the barricade, with a blow of a bayonet; I cried to him ‘Look out! Aim well, don’t hurt me’ ‘Don’t be afraid, I’m aiming, I even have landmarks.’ In the first take, a jab. I say nothing. In the second take, a second jab…I repeat ‘aim well’ and he responds for his part, with a magnificent accent from Toulon, ‘Don’t be afraid, I’m taking precautions!’ The third take, the third scrape…Luckily we stopped at five. If not, with all his precautions, he would have killed me!”

“You would have been believable in les Croix de Bois!” (Azaïs actually was one of the principal actors in that film from Raymond Bernard and based on the unforgettable book by Roland Dorgelès)

“And that will teach you, for having wanted to be an actor! For that, I don’t see what or who could have stopped me. When I remind myself that I abandoned the noble sale of umbrellas to work at the Châtelet as an extra…If I hadn’t advanced since them, what a hailstorm that would be!...”

“As for me, I certainly adore the theater;  but I must admit that the cinema has a hold on me.” 

The one who pronounces these words, in a warm voice, is Vidalin. He would have been wrong, clearly, to complain about the theater: so young, after having been a student of Silvain and of Duflos, he marked his place at the Porte-Saint-Martin where he played a unbelievably fiery Buridan in la Tour de Nesle at the Odéon Theater, where God and the rehearsal registers alone could say all the roles that he played, then at the Comédie-Française where he was one of the most brilliant members of the company.

“Is this your first role in cinema?” 

“In a way of speaking yes, but I was the Camille Desmoulins in Abel Gance’s Napoleon…but I am ‘taken.’ The cinema asks for so much natural movement…What a school for actors! It is concerned with more than just the scene: It puts us into the skin of the character. And it is so favorable to friendship, to good comradery; more so than theater, because here we don’t play before the public. Oh! The cinema: let’s remember Antoine’s cry of alarm upon the constant decadence of the theater in the face of the continuous rise of the cinema: ‘Now that the cinema has words, soon it will leap!’”      

“But you actors of the Comédie-Française, that doesn’t make you sorry? And you admit that even the screen is asked to restore the great, classic works?” 

“Why not? If it’s well done?...Refusing to adapt classics to the screen would be the equivalent of refusing to play Moliere with electric lighting! And yet, I put Racine above all else!” 

“Bravo, Vidalin!” 

That’s M. Cailloux who, to show his approval, has ceased recounting his memories of being a manager and actor to Jean Servais. 

“Bravo, Vidalin!” 

Ah! But! Am I hallucinating? That voice there, that’s the voice of Michel Simon! I turn around: No Michel Simon. But Azaïs looks at me out of the corner of his eye…I remember how he imitated the astounding clo-clo in a piece of boulevard theater….

A torrent of whistles soar through the air, while ten projectors inundate with their purple-white light the camping filed and reveal, just nearby, the old Paris, brought back here by M. Renier, the decorator. The break is over. From all over, the extras come out, while the whistler grows impatient. But a voice appeases him: 

“Don’t worry yourself, Jim! We’re coming!...My word! You’d think he ate a train, that man!”