#I really like sally with partially blond hair

[perytonfae]

I turned them into warrior cats for fully self-indulgent reasons

[straightouttheslendermansionn]

𝙱𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝙲𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚢𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚊 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝙿𝚃. 2

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓(s): BEN_Drowned, Sally Maryam-Dawn, Eyeless Jack, Laughing Jack, Ticci Toby

(I know Toby is no longer in the fandom but allow me to give my own interpretation of him :>)

𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈: Honestly the only noteworthy thing will be mentions of cult activity (EJ) and CSA (Sally). Not exactly Dead Dove material but they are mentions.

These are all HEADCANON and I do not intend for any of these interpretations to be entirely canon. These are how I see the characters and some rules of the world.

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚜

Aging in my Creepypasta universe works like this– unless you don’t completely have a physical form and died early, your body can only age until 25 years old. This is in place to make sure that the body is useful enough but also so that it’s easier for the pastas to get around. For those over this age, they stay at the age they currently are.

The mysterious haunted woods and the Slendermansion therein exist, but not many actually reside there permanently. If the pasta needs technology, is a proxy of Slender, or is willing to meet the requirements to stay, mainly being serving Slender, then they reside there. Other pastas visit but they either live in their own settlements in the woods, or they look and behave in a certain way that allows them to live among society.

Anybody listed as “Nonconforming Humanoid Entity” in regards to species just means that either they are/were human and  we don’t know what they are or that they were never human and… we still don’t know what they are.

Slender isn’t fatherly to anyone that he doesn’t need to be and is not afraid to take away privileges he has given the people who live under him. He is manipulative and crueler than hell itself. 

Creepypasta fans do exist in this universe. They can see you. :)

(I decided I'm adding these rules to every post)

𝙱𝙴𝙽_𝙳𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚎𝚍

Name: Benjamin Lee Ryder (Yes, I adopted the PuppetStrings headcanon) Age: Died at 12, but now he's 16-17 Species: Materialized Spirit Sex/Gender: Cis Male Sexuality: Bicurious/Questioning Race/Ethnicity: Irish-American Nationality: American, from somewhere on the Florida panhandle Religious Alignment: Agnostic Body Build: A little bit of an older Link looking build Features: Bleach blond hair (reminiscent of Link's in style), red eyes with black sclera, constant bloody tears run down his cheeks uncontrollably, pale almost blue looking skin, pointed elf ears. Aesthetic: Gamer nerd mixed with skater vibes here tbh

𝚂𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚊𝚖-𝙳𝚊𝚠𝚗

Name: Sally Maryam-Dawn Age: Age was frozen at 9, but she's at least 30-something in mind. Species: Partially Material Spirit Sex/Gender: Cis Female Sexuality: Aro-Ace or N/A (I think this because not only is she in the body of a child, but also she's a CSA victim, it's literally how she died. Even if she is an adult trapped in a kid's body, I feel this would apply whether she was an adult or not.) Race/Ethnicity: European-American Nationality: American, from somewhere on the Florida panhandle (Florida be wildin')(Also the BEN and Sally being related idea is not what I'm going for, they just both give the same vibe) Religious Alignment: Atheist Body Build: Just a well fed healthy little one :D Features: Long curly brown hair, pale skin, bright green eyes, blood eternally streaming down her forehead. Aesthetic: Really likes frilly feminine looking clothes

𝙴𝚢𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚔

Name: Jackson Tyler Hemerson Age: 20 Species: Possessed Human (Possessed by Chernabog after the sacrifice) Sex/Gender: Cis Male Sexuality: Bi, male lean Race/Ethnicity: African-American Nationality: American, from a small town in Masschussets Religious Alignment: Agnostic (Bro knows that demons exist, that's for damn sure lmfao) Body Build: Not jacked but not even lanky looking. The nice middle ground :D Features: Mid-length dark brown dreads, eye sockets filled up with black tar and constantly dripping, grey-tinted dark skin, pointed ears, three different tongues and notably sharper teeth. Aesthetic: Lazy when it comes to clothes tbh. Not trashy, but his style is very simple.

𝙻𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚔

Name: Jack (pretty much just jack lol) Age: Sources suggest that he's ageless, so I'll be keeping that. Species: Nonconforming Demonic Entity Sex/Gender: Agender Sexuality: Panromantic Asexual Race/Ethnicity: N/A, is not of human origin Nationality: European, but no exact origin point can be found. Religious Alignment: Atheist Body Build: Towering with lanky, long limbs and an overall skinny body. (not Slenderman towering, but you get the idea) Features: Shoulder length vantablack hair, pale white skin, greyish blue eyes, cone nose with black and white striped,black claws. Aesthetic: If clowncore is a thing then yes that's exactly what he is.

𝚃𝚒𝚌𝚌𝚒 𝚃𝚘𝚋𝚢

Name: Toby Erin Rodgers Age: 25 Species: Superhuman Sex/Gender: Cis Male Sexuality: Heterosexual Race/Ethnicity: European-American Nationality: American, from a small town in Colorado Religious Alignment: Atheist Body Build: A little bit built and has a healthy looking body type, save for all of the scars. Features: Dark brown hair, scars all over the body, cheek gash on his left cheek, pale skin, dark circles under eyes, hazel eyes. Aesthetic: Simple style, honestly whatever he can get his hands on will suffice.

[thesightstoshowyou]

NSFW ALPHABET

🕜 Lochlan “Lok” Smith (OC)

Character bio here

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

You will get no aftercare from Lok. That would require he care about another person, of which he is incapable. Besides, if he’s fucking you, you’re most likely about to die 😬

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Lok is quite full of himself so it’s hard for him to choose just one thing, but he especially loves his eyes and his hands. They’re the tools of his trade, after all.

It’s not necessarily a body part he enjoys in a victi—I mean “partner.” It’s more of a vibe: Small (in stature or presence), timid, and impressionable

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Lok will cum in the place that is most degrading/distressing to you. You beg him not to cum inside? That’s exactly what he’s going to do. You find facials disgusting? Get on your knees, he’s gonna paint your face.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He suffers from ED. It takes a very specific set of circumstances for him to get it up and keep it up. He *must* be causing pain and inciting terror to cum. The louder you scream, the better. Also, it must be organic. You cant be screaming because he persuaded you to do so.

You can imagine this issue was quite agonizing to teenage Lok. That is, until he watched The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and popped a boner every time Sally would scream.

Don’t you dare mention it either. There isn’t a sorer subject for Lok. If he loses an erection with a victim, it’s immediate game over for them. No one must know.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Quite experienced. He’s done most everything. Disregard the fact most of his experience has been with victims. Lok doesn’t do casual hookups.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He’s not too picky, but he’s slightly partial to doggy. He can grind your face into the floor the best from this position.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Not at all goofy. He’ll make mean “jokes” at your expense though.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Lok has curly, strawberry blonde pubic hair and a little happy trail. He’ll trim it occasionally, but he’s not particular about how it looks. He doesn’t care what you think, either.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

lol. He doesn’t know the meaning of “romance.” He can pretend, go through the motions with gentle caresses and soft kisses and praise, but in the end he’ll turn nasty and make you cry. He likes a good mind fuck.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Not often! If he wants to cum, he’ll use a victim.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

~ Trigger warning ~

Sadism, obviously. Hurting you makes his toes curl.

Gore. He’s a wound-fucking fiend. The look and feel of blood smeared all over his cock drives him crazy.

Watersports. There’s little that is more degrading than getting pissed on/in.

Blood play & knife play are kind of a given based on all of the above.

Bondage. He wants you to feel helpless. You’re at his mercy and you should be afraid.

Degradation and humiliation, of course.

(A/N: I didn’t put hypnosis on here because it’s not really a kink for Lok. It’s more of a personal obsession. The power imbalance hypnosis creates turns him on, but not the hypnosis itself).

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Screaming, crying, and begging are surefire ways to get him worked up.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Slow, romantic, vanilla sex. He’ll lose his hard on in .2 seconds at the mere mention of candlelight and rose petals.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Receiving. The only way he’ll give is if he knows it will bother you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Fast and rough 99.9% of the time

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are preferable. It’s more likely he will cum with a quickie. The longer he goes, the more risk there is for the dreaded ED to rear its ugly head.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Ohhh yes. Lok loves to experiment, but only if he stays in control. He won’t be allowing you to try anything with him. And risk taking is an every day occurrence with his “hobby.”

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

His stamina isn’t great. ED and all that. If he’s really into it—if a victim is reacting exactly how he wants—he can probably go for a good half hour, but more often than not he’s cumming in under ten minutes.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Is a hacksaw considered a toy?

He has several ring gags and spider gags he puts to good use.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

The meanest. Cruel insults are his go-to and each one will cut deep.

As far as, say, orgasm denial goes, he isn’t in it for your pleasure. He won’t be teasing you in that sense.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Mid range volume. Lok likes muttering insults in your ear and he’ll moan and grunt loud enough for you to hear over your screaming.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Call him “Master.” He’ll be pleasantly surprised. It’ll feed his god complex and maybe he’ll keep you alive a bit longer just to hear it again.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

7 inches, medium thickness. The head of his cock is darker than the base.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Not high, not low. It takes such a specific set of circumstances for Lok to get off, and he doesn’t want to be disappointed if he can’t get there. He won’t seek out sex for fun but he’ll follow the mood if it arises.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Not quickly. Lok has trouble sleeping overall, but a good orgasm might help him rest deeper once he does finally go to bed.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

anyway I need to go to bed but I have too much energy so I am channeling it into headcanons. here u go species headcanons for Everyone on the Dream smp with explanations because I’ve put a TON of thought into this. They’re probably like half contradicted by canon but fuck it My City Now.

Dream- A (juvenile) stage of being a god. He, DreamXD, and Drista have become known as “dreamons” but that’s technically a separate species, all spawned from them. He's not really focused on being worshipped in his own right, preferring power in the mortal realm, though he’s not averse to pretending to be his brother (the god worshipped by Church Prime) or his sister (a minor goddess of death worshipped by many hidden cults) if it can help him get power. He’s got pure white skin everywhere except his face (which is pale but human-like), black blood, entirely green eyes, pointed ears, fangs, claws, and digitigrade legs ending in hoof-like claws.

George- A human, the only human on the whole server. Humans are pretty rare, vastly outnumbered by hybrids but outnumbering any other species, and “pure” humans (what we'd consider to be a completely normal appearing human) are all but nonexistent. For example, George has eyes with dark sclera and white irises.

Sapnap- A blaze hybrid. He’s got a few rods surrounding him and his eyes blaze with fire. It’s usually just warm but not hot enough to hurt but if he's agitated or upset it can easily burn hot enough to set things ablaze.

Callahan- A reindeer hybrid. He’s got antlers, reindeer ears, fur around his arms, and hooves.

Awesamdude- A creeper hybrid. He's tauric, with four insect like legs. His skin and is green and mottled and has a texture similar to leaves. His eyes are pitch black. He has a tendency to make hissing sounds when stressed, though he can’t explode like a full blooded creeper.

Alyssa- A mouse hybrid, with large mouse ears and a long tail. This definitely isn’t an in joke for the thousands of hours I spent browsing TVTropes as a child and the “what happened to the mouse” tROPE SHUT UP.

Ponk- A demon hybrid, with pointed ears, slit pupils, a small spaded tail, and small horns.

BadBoyHalo- A full blooded demon, with pointed ears, a tall stature, pitch black skin and hair, fangs, claws, hooves, a long spaded tail, long horns, and small bat like wings. He’s rather self conscious about how intimidating he looks. He's also a lich (with Skeppy as his phylactery) which is why he has pure white eyes (a trait the undead share).

TommyInnit- An absolute mess, genetic wise, since I’m taking Tommy's joke about being born in a lab and running with it. He's mostly angel, and was basically cloned from Phil's DNA (from a feather that fell off his wings that somehow someone got a hold of) but had a bunch of other hybrid and human DNA mixed in to make him somewhat stable enough to actually survive gestation. He has very small, dark wings that are useful for balance and little else, fangs, claws, and pointed ears. His bones are very light, making him fragile but a lot more dexterous. His blood is slightly off a human's, being slightly pinkish. His freckles, wings, blood, and eyes glow slightly and are patterned like the night sky. Technically undead as of his resurrection, and maintains the many injuries of his death permanently (bruises stay and don’t heal but don’t worsen, broken limbs can be moved at unnatural angles, ect.), pale, corpse like skin, and one of his eyes turned pure white.

Tubbo- A ram hybrid, with small curved ram horns, horizontal pupils, ram ears, a tail, and hooves. Nice and simple after the absolute mess that was Tommy.

Fundy- A limited shapeshifter, able to change his species, though he prefers to be in a fox-like form. He inherited this from Sally, who had similar abilities, though with more strength. He's always got certain features he inherited from each parent that he can’t change though- wings, pale skin, and ice-like freckles from Wilbur, and salmon scales coating his wings and cheeks, and ginger-and-white hair from Sally.

Punz- A dragon hybrid, with dark horns, dark sclera and slit pupils, wings just large enough for limited flight, a strong tail, fangs, claws, and blue scales coating his cheeks, wings, tail, arms, and legs. Has a natural inclination to sleep in a pile of his wealth he only holds off on when he feels it’s at risk of being stolen (which, since this is the Dream SMP, is almost constantly).

Purpled- An enderman hybrid, with small horns, pointed ears, purple blood, and ender particles surrounding him. Parts of his arms and legs are covered in leathery, pure black skin.

Wilbur- Half angel, half fucking refrigerator because cc!Wilbur hates us (affectionate). His skin is unnaturally, icy pale, and his blood is an icy blue. His freckles are the colour of ice reflecting. He's got wings from his father, large enough to glide, but they’re pale coloured and slightly transparent. He has fangs claws, and pointy ears. His blood, wings, and eyes glow slightly and are patterned like the night sky. As Ghostbur, he’s got the injuries of his death apparent at all times, though they don’t hinder him or cause him pain, corpse like skin, pure white eyes, and is permanently transparent.

JSchlatt- A ram hybrid. He’s got large ram horns, dark sclera and horizontal pupils, a ram tail, fur around his arms, and hooves.

Skeppy- A construct made to be Bad's phylactery. He's fully made of diamond, and appears as a moving human statue (though entirely made out of diamond), though he has limited shape shifting ability to change his “hair” and “clothes”, though he has to remain the same mass. He has some small red detailing on him out of redstone (which was used partially in his contruction). The egg flipped the red and teal in his colour scheme. Also he's smalllllllllllll.

Eret- Part ghost, due to being descended from Herobrine. She has pure white eyes, pointy ears, and under stress he becomes partially transparent. They tend to hide their nonhuman features (ears under hair or hats and eyes under sunglassses) and are often mistaken for human.

Jack Manifold- Started as a wolf hybrid, with large wolf ears and a tail. After dying, he came back from hell as a hellhound with red and blue “flames” coming from his eyes, ears, and replacing his missing tail he lost in one of his deaths with two made of this fire. The fire is chillingly cold to the touch, and not warm. His eyes are also monocolour, though in heterochromatic red and blue instead of the usual pure white found in undead.

Niki- A moth hybrid, with antennae, monocolour amber eyes, fluffy wings, and more fluff around her neck, wrists, and torso. These and her hair are patterned gold and black, though as of now she’s dyed them all pink. Idk I just feel like moths fit her for some reason.

Quackity- A duck hybrid, with golden wings and webbed hands and feet. He’s also a shapeshifter of sorts, however instead of shifting into different forms he shifts into different beings, from alternate realities that never came to be. These can be used to shift into near identical copies of those around him, to impersonate them, or to shift into alternate versions of people (like Mexican Dream to Dream). These aren’t Quackity, though, and as such they have their own pool of canon lives, and while he has lots of influence over them they can still act autonomously.

Karl Jacobs- An inter dimensional being made of time itself. While his current form is mostly human, he has technicolour rainbow blood, freckles, and patches on his skin, along with clock-shaped pupils that change with the time. His “natural” form is a vaguely humanoid mess of ever shifting colour.

HBomb- I didn’t know what to do with him at first- he was a cow hybrid in my pfp set- but I just think the idea of him being a chill cat hybrid who turns full nyaa whenever he’s in a maid dress to be funny so he’s a cat hybrid now. With dyed-white cat ears and a dyed-white cat tail.

Technoblade- A piglin hybrid primarily, but he’s definitely got some weird traces of other species. He’s got tusks, pink hair, pink pig ears, a pig tail, and hooves, but he’s also got paws from some other animal hybridisation in his blood, and has a tallness that suggests demon blood somewhere down the line. His red eyes aren’t natural, and only occurred after he was sacrificed to be the vessel of the Blood God.

Antfrost- A cat hybrid, with blond and brown fur, a cat tail, paws both on his hands and feet, and cat ears. He’s also got split pupils and blue sclerae (though a different shade to his irises).

Philza- An angel- the creation of a god or goddess to help serve them (Dreamon's would be an example of the angels the Dream's can create, though they’re primarily running wild nowadays.) The creation and servant of one of the gods of death, Kristen, to serve her in the mortal realm. He’s got very large feathered dark wings, pupilless unnaturally bright eyes, pointy ears, fangs, claws, and dark blood the colour of the night sky. His wings, eyes, freckles and blood glow brightly and are patterned like the night sky. Injuries reveal that he's fully inhuman under his skin, appearing to be a void of colour that also glows and is patterned like the night sky. His crows, who are messengers from the afterlife, have this same pattern on their feathers.

Conner- I don’t know much about him tbh but. He’s just a hedgehog hybrid. I mean he’s joked enough about canonically being the kid of Sonic and Elise. He’s got blue hedgehog ears and a tail, and blue spines mixed in with his dark hair.

Captain Puffy- A sheep hybrid, with small curled sheep horns, sheep ears, a fluffy sheep tail, hooves, and hair curly and soft like wool. The split in her hair between brown and white is natural, though she keeps a small section dyed rainbow.

Vikkstar- Another angel, though of a god long gone. His entire body, even his “clothes” (which are made of flesh) glow intensely bright and have the pattern of the night sky.

LazarBeam- A gingerbread hybrid, which I’d say is dumb but we’ve already had a refrigerator hybrid so. I don’t know what else to say here.

Ranboo- Half enderman, half god of some sort. Has small horns, pointy ears, an inhumanly wide mouth with fangs, claws, digitigrade feet ending in hoof-like claws, pure black and white skin, pure black and white hair and freckles on the opposite side of the skin, red and green heterochromatic eyes barely distinguishable from their sclera, and red and green blood. Hmm, I wonder what other character shares similar descriptions... :)

FoolishG- A more matured god than Dream. Appears to be made entirely out of gold, with his hair and freckles appearing like copper. His pure green eyes have a similar texture to emeralds. Also he’s like. Massive. He’s like eleven Skeppy's.

Hannah- A nymph of the forests. Has prehensile vines and flowers flowing in her hair all the way to the ground, and half of her face and one of her arms are entirely made of these prehensile vines and flowers. Makes flowers grow in her step, after being corrupted by the egg they wither around her instead.

Charlie- Slime hybrid. Honestly just kind of got the most impractical parts of being a hybrid, having random sections of skin changed into green slime which drips everywhere and kind of gets in the way. It doesn’t seem to bother him though.

[baodurs]

i filled out this super cool button character profile by @extraordinarymage for sabrina! thank you for making this, it was a lot of fun to fill out <3 the bulk of it is under a cut and oh boy is it long !!!

Short, Quick Reference

Name: Sabrina Wiseman

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Love Interest: Kent

Main personality trait: Confidence

Secondary personality trait: Morbidity

Relationship with Nick: Full of love, haunted by unaddressed guilt and frustration. But mostly full of love.

Nickname for Nick: Saint Nick (used sparingly)

Resentful or accepting?: Slightly resentful

Main strategy (interpersonal, insightful, innovative?): Insightful

Ethical or expedient?: Expedient

GENERAL

Name: Sabrina Larkspur Wiseman

Nickname(s): Sab, used by anyone; Sabby, only Nick and Sally; and, of course, Button for Nick.

Birthday: I think I made her an October Libra for the purpose of a template I did months ago, but I’m not sure! No concrete birthday yet, I’m always very slow to nail down details like this.

Age: 20

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Hair color + style: Blonde. A little past shoulder length, sometimes wavy. Usually a middle part. For Aeon, tied back in a bun.

Eye color: Blue, entirely because of the section of Frank O’Hara’s “Meditations in an Emergency” that goes, “My eyes are vague blue, like the sky...”

Height: 5′5

Piercings: Multiple in each ear, but a couple have started to close.

Tattoos: None yet! Sab likes the idea of a tattoo but is worried about finding the perfect design, whether she’d end up hating it, that the pain might be greater than she expects and she’ll look like a baby in front of her tattoo artist. I’d like to think she eventually consults Sally and/or Glitch to come up with an idea that she falls in love with, but I haven’t come up with what that would be!

Clothing style: Mostly solid colors, not a lot of patterns. Nothing super bright, but a fairly varied mix of pastels, neutrals, dark colors, black. Partial to denim skirts and sweater tops. Ankle boots. Likes a good turtleneck. She’s bolder when it comes to formal wear, and especially loves suits. Big fan of silk and satin.

Since she has a pretty accurate face claim, I’ll link some gifsets I’ve rb’d for appearance ref if you are so inclined.

STATS

I’m always adjusting minor things and swapping scenes around, but these are from my most recent Sab run! Most scores hover somewhere around these values.

Personality:

Confidence: 53%

Humor: 5%

Morbidity: 22%

Resentful: 57% | Accepting: 43%

Strategy:

Interpersonal: 12%

Insightful: 50%

Innovative: 10%

Ethical: 43% | Expedient: 57%

KEY DECISIONS:

What is Nick’s nickname and why?: Saint Nick, used very rarely. It’s a joking reference to the time she thought Santa was an evil Ment out to ruin Christmas, and a point about Nick overdoing it with the cheer. “Saint Nick” is usually code for “I know you mean well, but please mind your own business.” Otherwise, she just calls him Nick.

What is their favorite type of cookie (and its name and why?): Salted caramel chocolate chip! No special name.

What was their initial reaction to Sally hugging them, as kids?: She just froze. That could just be me projecting adult Sabrina onto her childhood self; I don’t imagine that she was as uncomfortable around strangers or quite as cautious back then. But that’s what I’ll stick with.

How did they ace the ASE test?: The in-game option she takes is “My entire life has revolved around strategic avoidance,” but the one about being just plain smart also sounds like her. If Sab has the chance to thoroughly (over)prepare for something, she will do it. Her mind blindness also has her constantly (over)analyzing situations. So, hard work and relentless anxiety!

Did they manage to win their first assignment? How?: Yes, by having Sally block the door. I’ve headcanoned some slight differences in how it plays out, which I wrote about in-depth here. To summarize, Sab thinks of blocking the door as a desperate last resort, not a clever loophole, and she pushes back against Rosy’s praise because she wishes she could have done it the “real” way. Rosy goes from being impressed to being annoyed that she’s willfully missing the point.

What was the primary emotion Button felt during the Aeon bombing (love, gratitude, etc?): Guilt. She feels very guilty about how much Nick has given up for her in general, but I think that in the moment, it’s on a smaller scale. The fact that Nick was on the phone with her when it happened, coming to her rescue like always, becomes emblematic of their whole relationship for her, and she really fixates on that.

Who drove them home from the hospital from and why?: Glitch. Sab responds to her initial text with “Are you sure?”, and is relieved when Glitch takes that as “Yes, please.” She doesn’t relish the idea of being around someone more connected to her family or Nick at that point.

How do they feel about Nick riding around in their mind?: Worried, at first. Just because it’s so unknown and absolutely insane. After seeing Doctor Amari, she’s excited! Sab is thrilled to be a Pollard Five and intends to take full advantage of it. I am not looking forward to seeing how she reacts when that’s taken away from her.

Why did Button agree to do the undercover mission?: To prove she still deserves to be an MIV. Sabrina feels stupid and reckless for putting herself, Nick, and Aeon in this position, but she knows she’s smart, and she hasn’t worked this hard for nothing. She wants to prove what she could do with a normal Pollard Score and make herself too valuable to give up even when she’s back to Zero.

Told Glitch about your mind blindness?: Depends on the playthrough. I’m constantly going back and forth on whether Sab meets Glitch for coffee or wanders the city with Nick in her second chapter 5 slot (after trying to track down Kent). If she does meet Glitch, though, she absolutely tells her; with how touchy Sab is about privacy, she couldn’t stomach not warning Glitch that Nick could hear everything they said.

Figured out K’s secret?: Nope. She finds enough of the clues to be given the “I knew it!” option in-game, but she didn’t actually put it together. Sab is too angry and embarrassed by learning that Kent is an AMO to find any reason to interrogate it. “The random guy I met before school just happens to be a jerk” is a perfectly sound explanation to her.

Found Noh’s clues?: Not at the metro station. Sometimes she sees the Vengeance brooms in chapter 5 (again, depending on the playthrough), but that’s it.

ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP:

Love Interest: Kent

Why them?: Sab feels an immediate kinship with Kent after learning about the NPO program. It’s kind of funny how quickly he moves from the least sympathetic position in her eyes (Ment who got past me and read my mind without my knowledge) to the most sympathetic (non-powered child of a prominent family aiming a league above where he “belongs��). A lot of new respect for his competence. Her fate is sealed when she realizes that his kindness at the hospital wasn’t him trying to make up for some wrongdoing, but just him being very sweet. (She had scoffed over “You needed help.” But now she’s like, “Oh. He meant that?! Fuck.”)

As they spend more time together, Sab realizes how weirdly similar they are in other ways, too. And she starts to feel safe/secure around him in a way that she’s extremely not used to. Growing up surrounded by Ments, Sab has a lot of issues about being too much, too difficult, needing to “be worthy” of love. So someone like Kent who is not a Ment, who has no “obligation” to care about her, and whose judgement she trusts implicitly? Being around him and being loved by him mean a lot, and I think will go a long way towards helping her reflect on her other relationships!

What are their first impressions of each other?: Okay, there are like 3 first impressions with Kent. First: he’s tall and handsome and secretly adorable, and they have similar career goals, so she’s drafting a five-month plan to woo him and get his number. Second: he’s a lying, self-obsessed loser who owes her many explanations. Third: oh no, the first impression was true! And he’s been continually, selflessly kind to her in spite of her overt hostility. Scratch the five-month plan, because the crush was only fun when it was entirely superficial; now she really, really likes him and that just sucks.

We know that Button makes a good impression on K by stopping for their dogs, but apart from that... I mean, the “we confused each other” from chapter 7 is very apt. Sab has lots of shifting personas, and Kent sees pretty much every one within 24 hours. The prevailing impression before everything gets cleared up is probably just that she cares a lot? About everything? Her stopping for the dogs, how seriously she takes the first assignment, the way she seems so deeply affected by something he said or did that morning. It’s a rare side of her to meet first because she usually pretends to be above everything.

What feature does your Button find most attractive in their RO (ex. appearance, personality, etc.)?: Probably his composure. And his... steadfastness? The way he seems unruffled by anything, his soothing presence. She really admires that about him and finds the calm contagious.

What do they do to spend time together?: Going on drives together! Kent driving while Sab plays songs she thinks he’ll like, talking or not talking. Cuddling on the couch while reading their own separate books. Museum dates. Walking the dogs together.

Do they argue? How do they handle arguments and disagreements? How do they make up?: I imagine that the first month or so of their relationship would be difficult, just because they’re both bad at expressing themselves and not used to relying on other people. Kent kind of negates a lot of Sab’s impulses to get defensive or hostile, so instead of arguments, I think there are more likely to be awkward periods where she’s just stewing in something without addressing it. Most of their fights would be, like, one of them becoming really distant for a concerning number of days until the other tries to awkwardly check in on them.

What does their future look like?: Uhh some random lore: I think eventually they do get married, despite neither of them caring that much about it. Sabrina would be excited to have something to plan, and she knows it would make the people around her happy. They have a long engagement; there’s never really an “official” proposal, just an acknowledgement that yeah, they’ll get married one day, and then eventually they get rings. The engagement is almost Sab’s favorite part, honestly. She likes planning and showing off her ring and calling Kent her fiancé, a lot of fanfare on her part for a wedding that ends up being very modest and chill.

OTHER RELATIONSHIPS (Feel free to go in depth!)

Relationship with Nick: When I first started developing Sab, I thought that with as difficult/prickly as she can be, her relationship with Nick would be worse than it is. Never bad, but certainly strained, with more jealousy/resentment on her side. However, she rejected this. She is resentful, but never towards Nick—she internalizes the negative parts of their relationship so they manifest as guilt instead. And that’s the problem, not resentment. Sab thinks he’s overprotective, but that doesn’t make her angry; it just makes her sad. She wishes things were different and he didn’t feel so responsible for her, but she also doesn’t know how she could manage without him taking on so many of her burdens. So, guilt! So much love, but always looming guilt.

Having Nick in her head has helped. It’s added a new kind of guilt (“I’m a horrible person for being so giddy that people can’t hear my thoughts even though that requires my brother to be in a coma”), but getting inside Nick’s head for once and really feeling his love for her changes things. Makes her feel way more secure, I guess? It’s easier to see her brother as human person, a friend who loves her, rather than a perfect selfless paragon who sacrificed everything to raise her, which is an important shift.

There are also Things happening with self-presentation in the fact that they’re both models, and flirts, and pretend to be shallow. And the ways that they’ve responded to vastly different expectations. And selflessness versus selfishness. But I have no idea how to talk about that yet.

Relationship with Father: Strained and distant. Sabrina doesn’t necessarily blame him for leaving, but she hates how he’s handled it. She’s incredibly frustrated that John insists on keeping them in this miserable limbo of uncomfortable visits, even though moving away was (to her) a tacit acknowledgement that she and her parents are better off without each other. He’s trying to force a relationship that Sab thinks is ultimately harmful for everyone involved. For Nick’s sake, she’s willing to grin and bear the visits, but it never works because John can obviously tell it’s an act. He pushes her, she gets defensive, and so on to infinity.

Relationship with Mother: Like with John, Sab doesn’t resent Hope for the incident itself, or for leaving afterward. It was terrifying, and the idea of being around Hope makes her panic—but she thinks of that as just another irrational anxiety symptom, and she’s trying to work through it. What she does resent Hope for is letting it get to that point at all. Sab is incredibly bitter that Hope will suffer silently to the point of almost killing her (during the incident) and potentially herself (with the BRS), while Sab has no choice but to be completely open. Especially because they’re so similar in that way—she’s almost jealous. “Oh, so your silence is allowed to almost kill me and it’s ‘nobody’s fault’ but I can’t pretend to enjoy a single lunch with Dad without him calling me out for lying?”

And even though she doesn’t hold the incident itself against her, Sab is very hung up on “Why are you never quiet? Why are you always there?” She knows, on some level, that this was not a Personal Judgement against her. But because Hope keeps so much quiet, this is the only honest expression of her mother’s feelings that she can remember! It would take a lot for Sab to believe that Hope was really, genuinely interested in reconnecting with her, rather than just pretending to love her "enough” this time because to do otherwise would reflect poorly on Hope as a mother.

Relationship with Sally: Besties <3 Sally is the only member of the Wiseman inner circle that Sab doesn’t have complicated feelings about. They both have hidden morbid streaks that they bring out in each other, and can laugh about. They both have competitive streaks that work well together because they’re always on the same team. And their wants/needs from the relationship complement each other well, I think. Sally has always felt valued because she’s useful and not because she’s loved, while Sab has always felt smothered by love/care without feeling like she genuinely adds value to other people’s lives. So it means a lot to both of them that they’re able to help each other practically, while also genuinely loving and supporting each other outside of that.

Relationship with Gray: Full of trust and genuine care, but predicated on distance. Sab loves him a lot for being so careful not to cross any boundaries, physical or emotional, with her. She’s grateful that he’s there for Nick in a way that she doesn’t feel she can be. But "I like Gray because he doesn’t push me and is good to Nick” means that any hand he extend makes her defensive, because she’ll either view him as an emissary of Nick or start to panic because their normal routine is being disrupted (she doesn’t tell him about Hope in ch 3, for example).

They get along very well in a friend-of-a-friend sort of way, and bond over being cautious counterparts to Nick. Also, Sab never had a crush on Gray, but she is not immune to tall superhero and thinks it’s fun to fake flirt with him. (You know Isabela’s “You have pretty eyes” routine from DA2? Sab does that to Gray when conversations steer towards things she’d rather not talk about.)

Relationship with Glitch: I’m really excited about these two! They click from the start, and Sabrina feels immediately comfortable around Glitch, which makes her feel distinctly uncomfortable whenever she catches herself. Externally, they have pretty different personalities, but they’re both perceptive and... socially manipulative? aware of their self-presentation?... in ways that they both pick up on right away. So it’s a lot of conversational maneuvering and trying to figure out what the other’s game is, while also genuinely enjoying each other’s company.

Relationship with Kent/Kenna: I could go truly insane here. See the romance section above instead.

Relationship with Kim: Sab wants him to like her sooooo bad. He’s one of the only people to ever really get through to her, re: my headcanon conversation after the first assignment. Authority figures tend to treat her as special, whether that’s negatively because of her mind blindness or positively because she’s such an overachiever. She had no idea how to respond to that not being the case (and didn’t handle it well at first), but chapter 6 solidifies her respect for him.

It also turns Rosy’s opinion of Sab around; he was impressed by her in class but left his office thinking she was self-absorbed and naive. But the bombing is a reality check, and her response is very measured and practical in a way that surprises him.

Relationship with Lev: She doesn’t mind the comparisons to Nick or the “maybe one day they’ll fix you” comments as much as you might think. They aren’t her favorite, but she prefers that sort of thing to the inspirational platitudes belied by coddling that she got from her family growing up. Sab has fond memories of Lev and is grateful that he’s always been kind to her, but doesn’t have any particular feelings apart from that.

Relationship with Clarence: Holds a grudge against him for causing a scene, making her late, and generally being a jerk. But she can’t fault him for being right, after what happened! Mostly she just wants to avoid him, but she’ll be thrilled to lord her success over him if/when she proves herself.

Relationship with Dean Branham: Like Rosy, another authority figure that Sab desperately wants to impress. But without the personal investment she has in Rosy’s validation, more “Oh, this person is in charge, so I should make her like me!” Despite Nick’s and Rosy’s reservations, Sabrina doesn’t really have a problem with being “strongarmed” or manipulated into cooperating; for now, she figures Branham was just doing her job and respects her tactics.

Relationship/attitude towards Ments in general: Mostly just uncomfortable and wary around them. Sab doesn’t want her mind read, and she figures that no Ment wants to be forced to read it either. So she has a pretty strict “no Ments” rule for close personal relationships (excluding Nick, Sally, and Gray, of course. But only Nick really counts because he’s the only one who can hear her thoughts whenever she’s nearby). Not out of hatred or resentment, just because she knows it will be easier for everyone in the long run.

Do they have any other important relationships, past or present? (Relatives, friends, etc.?): Not many, but yes! Sab dated around a lot in the 2 years before Aeon (more like year and a half, because she completely shut it down once she was more focused on preparing for the MIV program), but there are 2 relationships that were formative/important for her. A high school sweetheart, and someone Sab met through modeling. She doesn’t keep up with her high school ex, but the model is her best friend outside of Sally and Nick, and they still keep in touch! I’m still developing them/the relationships, and I’ll probably post more about them someday. They’re fun!

PERSONAL BIO

Describe their personality: Confusing and contradictory. She has two main modes that confuse people who meet both (e.g., Kent). She’s either cold, stuck-up, and sometimes hostile, OR she’s charming, frivolous, and sometimes flirty. Mode 1 is tense but stoic and inexpressive; mode 2 is seemingly relaxed but very posed and insincere. Mode 1 is for when she feels uncertain or has no agenda apart from “get to point B”; mode 2 is for when she’s more comfortable or trying to manipulate someone. Her actual personality is a bit closer to the second, but she doesn’t pretend not take things seriously or hide when she’s annoyed.

Strengths: Analytical, methodical, detail-oriented. Very driven and hardworking. May not always act like it, but does have social skills/charisma; a great liar, if you can’t read her mind. Unfailingly loyal and loving to her favorite people, so so so warm and affectionate and supportive if she really loves you. Very perceptive.

Weaknesses: Way too proud. Can be petty and vindictive. Self-absorbed (she doesn’t mean anything by it, but it’s hard for her to see past herself sometimes). Stubborn, hates being wrong. And... emotional isn’t the word, but strong negative emotions can really cloud her judgement. It ties into her being proud, petty, and stubborn; if she’s really upset about something, she can cling to that emotion instead of re-evaluating it or moving forward.

Phobias: From this ask about the phobias that are planned to show up in-game, there are a few that I could see fitting Sab, but I want to wait to see how they’re implemented before I fully commit. Which is very metagame-y, I know (and I am very metagame-y about IF), but “fear of X” is so broad that it really does depend on when/how it manifests in the text.

That being said, agoraphobia is almost a lock; crowds do make Sab very anxious if she can’t keep track of everyone within a certain distance, and if she can’t leave when she starts feeling antsy. Claustrophobia is a maybe. The choice that triggers it (in chapter 4, about hating MRI machines) suits Sab, but I’m not sure if she hates MRI machines because she hates tight spaces, or if it’s more related to her general anxiety about hospitals, medical tests, etc. Which she definitely has!

What activities/club did they do in school?: She avoided anything group-oriented as far as possible. She took piano (maybe violin?) lessons and did recitals, but wasn’t in orchestra. The one exception was maybe National Honor Society or some equivalent, which she would have joined for her resume’s sake. And I think she would have tutored!

Where do they escape to when they need space?: A little used library corner, where she can people watch without being seen/heard.

How do they feel about/cope with their mind blindness?: Sab hates it but tries not to dwell on it. She knows that it’s no one’s fault, and she mainly just tries to... minimize it? Drown out her thoughts, limit her contact with Ments. And, least healthily, very rigidly managing herself. Because there’s so much of her that exists outside of herself, without her control, she tries to either filter or completely suppress everything else. Part of why she got into modeling, she can perform and be perfect and have total control over the final product of her body in the photographs for whatever campaign. Some Day This Will Be Better. But definitely not where she is in current canon.

How has your Button changed since the Incident with Hope?: Developed many new anxieties and disorders and syndromes :) She also became way more self-conscious, as in literally conscious of and way more tightly monitoring herself, what she’s thinking, what she’s expressing, how she’s sitting, etc. Less emotive face, more rigid posture.

If they weren’t an Aeon student, what would they be doing?: Sab would have beaten herself up forever if she “proved everyone right” by avoiding Unity/Ments entirely, so she’d want to stay in the family business somehow. She probably would have ended up doing scientific research on mental agility. Maybe even working for Mirrortech or some other biotech company, which I imagine would have been an interesting conversation to have with the family.

RANDOM FACTS:

Zodiac sign: Like I said, I assigned her Libra months ago for the sake of a template. But I don’t know enough about astrology to commit. Libra or Leo, probably.

Hobbies: Music, reading poetry, “cooking” (i.e., sitting on the counter and not helping while Nick makes dinner)

Likes: Watching other people (Nick) play video games, dressing up, taking long showers/baths, dark chocolate with caramel, back hugs

Dislikes: Being patronized, hot weather, going to the doctor, driving, doing anything she is not good at

Type of bedsheets: Bamboo.

Drink of choice: Cucumber mint lemonade! For hot drinks, some kind of caramel coffee. For alcohol, she refuses to get drunk because she’s terrified of having even less control of her mental broadcast, but at home/around people she trusts she’ll have a glass or two of wine. Doesn’t know enough to be picky, but doesn’t like it too sweet.

Favorite food: Probably some pasta dish Nick makes with asparagus and tomatoes and a lot of garlic.

Favorite color: Like a light turquoise!

Favorite music: Music to her was another mind-shielding tactic before anything else, so she tends to like upbeat-ish electronic/pop stuff. Catchy and repetitive, and/or with lots of personality to drown out her own thoughts. On the other end of the spectrum, she does have a soft spot for crackly, lo-fi, old or old-sounding slow songs—something about fuzzy recordings simulating a weak telepathic signal.

Favorite season: Hmm, spring and autumn are both good. She likes either side of winter.

Anything else you’d like to share: My heart and a long, fulfilling marriage, with anyone who reads all this 💍

[creepy-spooghetti]

A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Chapter 11 - Anonymous

_____

Jack opens the door, stepping aside to allow a pale girl with medium-length blonde hair into the small house. She's clad in slightly ripped jeans, a pair of sneakers, a maroon tank top, and a black jacket. In her hand is a plastic bag that looks to have been taken from some kind of store, and what resides inside isn't completely clear, although judging by the shape of the objects Y\n assumes it to be shoes. Her violet-grey eyes land on Jack, then shift over to Y\n, who remains leaning against the wall and watching the scene warily in front of her. 

She nods in silent greeting before walking through the door frame and into the living room, being followed by yet another girl, this one much younger and, instead of gripping a bag, a brown, old-looking teddy bear is tightly clutched within her arms. Her eyes are a bright, piercing shade of green, her chocolate-brown hair cascades over her shoulders and down her back. She wears a multi-colored hoodie splashed with shades of pink, lemony yellow, blue, and purple, and the hood itself has cotton cat ears attached to the hem. She has on a pair of black leggings, a pink mini-skirt, and rose-colored tennis shoes.

Faint freckles are scattered along her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose, and her gaze travels from the floor and up to Y\n as she tilts her head shyly. There's a kid here, too? Y\n furrows her eyebrows and glances between the three people now standing ahead of her, two of which she's never seen before in her life. She assumes the teen to be who Jack called 'Wisteria', but who the younger one is she hasn't a clue. She never heard a kid being mentioned, so the news is a bit surprising to her. 

That's when she takes notice of the blood slowly trickling down the side of her head, hidden previously by her long locks of hair, and dripping down onto her hoodie, forever staining the brightly-shaded piece of clothing with quite a large blotch of crimson. The child doesn't appear to be in any pain, but how would that be? If she had just been bashed in the head by some blunt object, how would she be able to ignore it? Come to think of it, how would she even be standing right now? Shouldn't she be knocked cold? 

Y\n's heart rate increases from concern, and she's tempted to comment on it or even lunge forward, pull the girl toward her and get her away from the two teens standing in front of the doorway. They don't seem even remotely worried about it, either because they're the ones that gave her the damage, or they just haven't taken notice of it yet. "What is Sally doing here?" Jack questions, shoving his hands into the pocket of his black hoodie and taking up a casual-looking posture. He doesn't sound mad, just curious, and perhaps a little surprised. 

Wisteria shrugs, wrapping a hand around her hair and slinging it across one of her shoulders. "Because she wanted to come."

"You couldn't have just left her with Ben or somethin'?" She shoots him a mildly annoyed expression. 

"Are you stupid? That'd be a terrible idea." 

"You've done it before."

"And that's a mistake I will never make, again." After a moment, Jack murmurs a half-hearted "okay, fine" in agreement before shutting the door and propping his back against its solid wooden surface. Wisteria briefly motions toward Y\n with a raised eyebrow. "This the girl?"

"I have a name," Y\n says, narrowing her eyes at the blonde and unable to stop glimpsing down at who she presumes is 'Sally', stomach churning with unanswered questions. She gets an impatient glance in return.

"I don't care," she responds, crossing her arms. Sensing a brewing disagreement, Jack interjects before it can go any farther. 

"Yes, this is Y\n. And Y\n, this is Wisteria and Sally." The young brunette takes a small step forward, bringing her hand up and giving Y\n a timid wave as she clings tighter onto her stuffed animal. 

"Hi..." Her voice is soft, so soft in fact that Y\n has to strain her ears just to hear and understand the words that leave her mouth. She offers the ghost of a smile in response, mostly one of concern for Sally's well-being. Who did that to her? Surely she didn't hit herself straight in the head, and even if she had, then she couldn't have made that big of an injury. She's just a kid, after all, no older than eight or nine, there's no way she could manage that kind of strength. Then again, there do seem to be some pretty...unusual people here. Is she one of them?

Wisteria stares her down as if studying her appearance, waiting for her to do something, silently judging her. Wisteria seems to be the only normal-looking person that Y\n has come across so far, save for the odd color of her eyes, though that can easily be overlooked. She'll still use it against her if she has to, though. 

Y\n shuffles on her feet uncomfortably, meeting the slightly taller girl's gaze and refusing to break contact for fear of looking weak. She is not weak, and she doesn't want anyone to think that she is. Jack runs his fingers through his hair, standing to his full height once more, and steps toward Wisteria. "So, you brought the stuff?"

Without looking away from Y\n, she nods. "Yeah, I did." A barely-noticeable, sly smirk etches itself across her face as she uncrosses her arms. "Here. Catch." Before Y\n can even blink, the bag of shoes is being launched at her head, and she only just catches it before it can hit her in the eye and temporarily blind her. Huffing indignantly, she holds the plastic bag by its handle and places a hand on her hip, glaring at Wisteria and earning a haughty grin in return. 

"Thanks." Her voice comes out in a sarcastic drawl, contemplating on throwing the bag back at her and giving her a taste of her own medicine. Instead, she focuses her attention on the child standing right beside Wisteria, then down to the large gash on her temple, unable to quell the curiosity about the unexplained wound and the worry for her safety. "What happened to your head, Sally?" She tries to keep her tone mild as she bends down a bit so she'll be closer to her height, as to not further intimidate her. Sally looks down nervously, stepping to the side until she's hidden partially by the taller girl's legs and the lower part of her torso. 

"I...It's, uh..."

"None of your business," Wisteria snaps, suddenly becoming defensive and putting an arm in front of Sally protectively. Y\n takes a stride forward, boldness swarming inside of her chest. 

"I'm not gonna stand aside and let some kid bleed to death while you're not doing anything about it."

"Alright, alright." Jack puts his arms out in front of him and steps between the two girls, facing Y\n with a peaceful tone to his voice. "Y\n, Sally isn't in danger."

Her eyes widen and she points at the green-eyed child mostly obscured by the larger frames of both Jack and Wisteria in exasperation. "Do you not see her head? Somebody clearly split it wide open!"

"Yes. Yes, they did." She presses her lips together and scowls at Jack, not understanding why he's acting so mellow about an eight-year-old kid being injured. "But that was a long time ago."

"So then why is it still bleeding?"

"Because it doesn't stop. It can't." Raising a skeptical and, distinctly confused eyebrow, she stares at him, waiting for him to continue the rest of his explanation. "Look... she isn't normal, not by a long shot. Not anymore."

"She doesn't need to know all of this, Jack," the blonde spits from behind him, though he only turns his head back to face her for a moment to say his reply. 

"If she's going to be staying here, yes, she does." He shifts his attention back onto Y\n, ignoring the scoff of protest that erupts from behind him. "And what I mean by that, is... she's not human anymore. She's a ghost."

A ghost? He's talking about ghosts, of all things now? How crazy is everyone? She's never been a strong believer in ghosts or hauntings or anything like that but considering everything that's been happening to her as of late, it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to start believing that things like ghosts do exist. But to be a ghost...you'd have to die. Does this mean that Sally died? Come to think of it, that wound does look pretty fatal... 

"But ghosts aren't real," she says quietly, mainly to reassure herself that things like what he says are only in movies, and books, and TV shows. But are they, really? There has to be some reason that Sally isn't hurt by that exceedingly large gash in her head. Could that be why? Because she's already dead?

"They are, Y\n. That's why she isn't in pain." He points down toward Sally. "Because she's not alive, anymore." Y\n stares at Jack incredulously, then over to Sally, trying to process the information in her head. A dead person walking around? Like a zombie? Except, one major difference between Sally and a zombie is that Sally isn't currently trying to eat her alive. At least she's a friendly ghost, right? 

She blinks, finding herself not completely in-touch with her surroundings. Next Jack will be telling her that there are aliens from another world about to invade Earth and that they need some time-traveling machine to stop them. It wouldn't be a big surprise, at least not at this point. Okay, so ghosts are apparently real. Yeah, that makes sense.

Though she really can't understand how such an idea works, she figures that dwelling on the matter won't do her any good. Just go with it, right? It'll make it easier on herself if she doesn't think about how bizarre this whole situation is. She just has to keep her mind on more plausible explanations, but like what? She hasn't any other theories for everything that's been taking place lately, what more does she have to go off of? The best idea she has is that this is all one massive hallucination, but even that's a far stretch of her imagination at this point. It all feels too real to be imagined. 

Wisteria scoffs, rolling her vivid periwinkle eyes and drawing Y\n out of her hysteria of scrambled thoughts. "See? She can't even handle the simple truth." She furrows her eyebrows at the shorter girl still standing on the other side of Jack. "I still think we just shoulda killed her—"

"Wisteria." Jack cuts her off, voice austere as he shifts around to better face her. "That wouldn't have been a smart move."

"And why not?" She places a hand on her hip audaciously. "She wouldn't be our problem." He sighs in reply, shaking his head in disagreement. 

"You know why she's here. It's better for all of us this way." Y\n stares at the two with a look of mild disbelief—like, hello? They do know that she's still right here in front of them, yeah? She can tell that Jack is trying to at least be subtle, but Wisteria on the other hand just acts like she doesn't care at all. Which is likely the case. "Y\n," He looks back at her, "are you ready to go?"

"I don't want to go." She eyes Wisteria, backing up farther into the wall behind her. "I'm not living in some stranger's house." At least she's been acquainted with Jack prior to all of this, and she's been talking with him for the past little while so she feels the most comfortable with him. What if this 'Brian' person is as obnoxious and appalling as Jeff? Or even more so? She really doesn't want to deal with someone like that, much less stay with them. 

"Brian isn't going to hurt you, he's one of the most mature people here." Jack tries to sound reassuring for the most part, though it hardly works. "And Wisteria won't do anything either, she's just taking you to him." Y\n crosses her arms in protest, choosing not to verbally respond and instead send a stink eye his way. 

"Don't be afraid..." A soft voice erupts from below her, and she glances down to meet the green eyes of Sally, who had somehow walked closer to her without Y\n even realizing it. Her facial expression melts into one of compassion as she once again looks at the open gash still bleeding on her head. If the little girl trusts them, shouldn't she? 

Absolutely not. To be fair though, if Sally really is a ghost then they couldn't hurt her, anyway, so she wouldn't have a reason to fear them. Can she really trust her when she says not to be afraid? She could be in on it all, for crying out loud. Although, maybe she should be a bit more compliant just to see what happens. Other than kidnapping her among some other, more mild things, they haven't hurt her. Jack is the only one that's really even communicated with her, and as much as she hates to admit it, he's been nothing but patient with her since she woke up here. He didn't even seem to hold anything against her at the fact that she kneed him in a place no boy wants to be hit.

Plus, he provided her with an explanation for everything that's been happening. No one else had done that. She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and releases an inaudible sigh from in-between her lips before turning and strolling down the hallway, stopping once she gets into the room she originally woke up inside. The broken glass that had been previously in front of the doorway seems to have been cleaned up, and she's more than grateful. It would suck stepping on shattered glass, it's a wonder she was able to avoid it to start with. Sitting on the bed, she takes the pair of shoes and a couple of old-looking socks out of the plastic store-made bag before beginning to slide them over her feet. 

She tries not to bump her ankle, though her attempts prove futile when the top of the sock constricts around it, making a bolt of pain shoot up her leg. "I hate that stupid dog..." she mutters, remembering the very recent sensation of a canine's teeth clamping down on her ankle and refusing to let go until his owner told him to. She rubs at the bandages, trying to give the inflicted area some kind of relief before pulling the shoes up and slipping them, too, on her feet. She ties the laces, inwardly rejoicing at the fact that the shoes aren't high-tops, otherwise, it would bring her even more pain. 

From the living room, Y\n can hear faint talking from who she assumes to be Jack and Wisteria, one of the voices slightly hostile and the other calm and collected. Well, what now? Go with Wisteria, she guesses, although she really doesn't have another choice. It isn't like she can run away in the state that her foot is in—she would surely be caught before she made it ten feet if even that. Jack said that Brian, whoever that is, won't harm her. Is he telling the truth? Who even knows. He's lied before, how can she be so sure that he isn't doing it again?

She shifts her gaze up from her shoes to the brunette girl standing in the doorway, looking a little timid though offering an affable smile nonetheless. She bounces on her heels, teddy clutched to her chest, and speaks. "Hi..."

Y\n tilts her head curiously, sitting properly once again and staring at the young girl. "Hi..." Sally slowly makes her way inside the room, face displaying innocence and a friendly desire. 

"There aren't many girls here," she says, eyes averting down to the floor shyly. "You'll be the fourth, if you stay..." 

"Fourth, huh?" She folds her hands into her lap tentatively. "Who's the third?"

"That's Zero...but she isn't here right now. So it's just me, and Sissy...and you." That comment makes her eyebrows furrow in mild puzzlement.

"Wait, Wisteria's your...your sister?" Y\n can't see any resemblance between the two, not even their eyes are the same color. And their personalities definitely seem different, with one being brash and the other being quiet and timid. Then again, having just met them she can't be too harsh of a judge but first impressions are everything. Sally parts her lips a moment as if she's about to say something only to cut herself off. She twirls a strand of long, brown hair around her finger as she collects her thoughts while Y\n waits patiently. 

"Well...no. Not really, but...she treats me like her little sister."

Makes sense, she thinks, She did seem pretty protective of her. 

"You're staying, right?" She steps a little closer, biting her lip hopefully. "Bad people are after you. They're after all of us. This is the only place we're safe."

"Sally...I have a family to get back to. They need me. I...I don't think I can stay here, not—not for long, anyway." Her facial expression falls, and she dips her head forward in what Y\n recognizes as discouragement. 

"Oh..."

"You can...come with me, if you want?" She can tell that Sally seems perfectly happy here, but it doesn't quite sit well with her that she's still in a place with multiple people that could have, and likely did, do very bad and illegal things before. "My grandparents would be happy to give you a place to stay."

Sally flashes her a look of mild disbelief, green eyes widening slightly before she shakes her head. "I'm not leaving. This is my home."

"Are you sure?" She nods in response. 

"And...and I don't think you should leave, either. I think you'd like it here if you gave it a chance."

"Sally...I don't belong here." Her voice lowers as she speaks, looking down and into the young girl's wide eyes. "I have a family back home, important people that I need to go back to."

"We all had a family at some point." She lowers her gaze to the floor, her tone becoming sheepish. "But...that was a long time ago." Y\n tilts her head. She knew that the people living here had to have some kind of backstories, though she never gave it much thought. Just how tragic is everyone that lives here? What happened to them to turn them into these...sadistic-looking things that likely have a natural lust for blood? "And now all we have is each other. We're our own family."

Not sure what to say, Y\n shifts a little on the edge of the bed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and biting the inside of her cheek. 

"The monster wants something from all of us. It wants you, too." She nibbles at her bottom lip. "If you stayed with us, you'd be safe. It can't get you here." Taking a small step forward, she avoids eye-contact shyly and squeezes the stuffed bear tighter to her chest. "And you could be part of our family."

Y\n parts her lips to respond, though before she gets a chance, Wisteria peeks her head through the door, eyes landing on Sally then over to the girl still sat on the bed currently conversing with her. She meets her mild glare, expression hardening at the intense look being thrown her way. "Sally, c'mon. We're leaving." 

She glances behind toward the blonde standing in the doorframe, then back at Y\n, her face lighting up slightly as a friendly smile spreads across her cheeks. "Yeah! You're gonna meet Brian. Don't worry—he isn't so crabby once you get to know him."

"Yes, he is," Wisteria says, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. Sally shakes her head, taking Y\n's hand somewhat hesitantly and beginning to drag her toward the door. Y\n complies reluctantly, walking slowly behind the small-framed brunette. 

"Not to me! He's only like that to you cause you're annoying." She scoffs and turns, disappearing from sight and heading outside. Sally glimpses up at Y\n as they begin to stride down the hallway. "He's nice, don't worry. He's just wary around new people."

Sounds like this 'Brian' dude isn't going to be too easy to get along with. Not that she's intending to try and 'get along' with anyone here, though it would be in her best interest to not make the people residing in this area hate her. As far as she's heard, they're not aiming to cause her any harm, but better safe than sorry, right? The last thing she'd want is to make one of them mad, especially the one with a smile carved in his face and an intimidating knife in the pocket of his hoodie. 

They soon step into the living room, Sally momentarily releasing her hold on Y\n's hand as she swiftly catches up with Wisteria, who is walking off the porch and glancing around, as if checking the surroundings for possible dangers. Y\n slows her pace when she gets in front of Jack, meeting his oozing, soulless pits attentively. "There are no more dogs, right?"

He curtly shakes his head. "Brian isn't big on dogs. Smile's the only one here." He shoves his hands into his pockets, noticing the look of disdain on her features and attempting to bring her a sense of reassurance. "I'll be over in a couple of days to check on your bite. Until then, medicate and dress it each night before you go to bed. He should have plenty of resources to work with."

"That's comforting," she mutters, briefly averting her eyes down to her bandaged ankle, partly hidden by her shoes but still in clear sight if one were to look closely enough. 

"I know you don't want to be here. I get it. But if you want your grandparents to be safe, you'll have to stay put, or get out and get them killed and possibly yourself, too." His voice has a solemn sound to it, his deep tone contributing to the daunting factor.

"Y\n, come one!" Sally calls from outside, drawing Y\n's attention and making her release a defeated huff. 

"I'll see you, I guess," she says quietly, gaze falling to the ground before following the two girls, Sally taking hold of her hand once again when she steps onto the ground. The very same ground that she had run across just an hour prior in a rushed attempt to escape, and could have succeeded had it not been for Jeff and his stupid dog. Merely thinking about the series of unfortunate events, she's unable to stop from glancing down at the bandaged area in which Smile chomped down upon in order to catch and bring her back here, where exactly 'here' is, she still hasn't figured out. In the middle of a forest, obviously, but in the middle of what forest? Where is she at? What state, what area is she in?

Wisteria takes a sharp turn left, beginning to stroll in-between the tall trees, some skinny and some quite large, and Sally follows suit, dragging behind a nervous and mildly resistant Y\n by her hand. After a moment, she hears a soft click from the house, signifying that Jack closed the door and is likely in the process of forgetting about her and her miserable situation. 

Figures. "So...do you not like dogs?" The question takes Y\n a little off-guard, and she meets the curious eyes of the curly-haired girl walking in front of her, still clinging to her hand gently.

"Um...well, I never really minded them, but...that was before one of them John Cena'd me earlier so now, I'm not so sure." She shrugs, and Sally grows a knowing look on her face. 

"Are you talking about Smile?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm talking about Smile." She inwardly winces as her left foot lands inside of a shallow hole, stumbling slightly and having to take a moment to gather her bearings. She hopes that they don't have to walk too much farther before they come upon Brian's house, not that she's looking forward to meeting another freak, but because if she has to stand on her leg all day then it's going to be throbbing very badly. 

"Smile's usually a really sweet dog. He may just not like you."

"Yeah, cause his owner is a huge jerk."

"You mean Jeff? Yeah, he's kinda mean." 

What a shocker. 

"A couple days ago he replaced the sugar with salt and it tasted terrible on my Rice Krispies." She makes a moderately disgusted face, scrunching up her nose and reliving the memory. Y\n furrows her eyebrows.

"Did he?"

"Yeah. Wisteria made him leave and threw my Barbie doll at his head..." The image of Jeff having some kid's Barbie being yeeted at his face and hitting him in the eye or some other important area almost has her smiling bitterly, eyes shifting down to her ankle once more and reminding her how much pain he just recently caused her, unnecessarily. 

"What was...Jeff, doing at your house?" 

"He was over to return something that he borrowed before," Wisteria suddenly speaks from ahead of them, not looking back and continuing to walk through the expansion of woods. "There's no way I'd allow him to come otherwise. And for the record, that Barbie doll was a piece of trash anyway. I was just putting it in the garbage where it belonged."

Y\n snorts quietly at that comment, not expecting the sudden insult toward someone who isn't even currently present though definitely not disagreeing. Through her brief encounter with the blue-eyed male, he did not seem like a favorable person by any standards, and as much as she'd hate to admit it, he is frightening and she wouldn't want to cross him. He's a big dude and there's no way she'd stand a chance against him, especially not with her leg the way it is.

"Well...we're here." Y\n looks up and sees yet another house, this one also shrouded with plants and vines likely to obscure its appearance from anyone who may stumble across it, assuming they actually didn't get caught by the psychopaths that live here and made it out alive, oblivious to their existence. It isn't very big, the paint is chipped and faded, and there's a barbed-wire fence surrounding the outside of it. 

Sally grins up at Y\n excitedly. "Welcome to Brian's house!"

[mwolf0epsilon]

Story about something crashing on little Sammy parents farm. Maybe the government comes and forces them out for a while to collect it?👽

Warning for disturbing imagery and dead animals!

Summary: Joey Drew Studio is snowed in, so while everyone tries to keep warm for the night they end up reminiscing about the oddest things they had ever experienced. Sammy ends up recalling a rather bizarre event from his childhood.

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[[MORE]]

"I'm sorry to impose so much Mrs. Harrison. I trust Abigail will behave, she's a little angel I assure you." Sammy fidgeted with the phone chord nervously as he listened to his elderly neighbor. "Yes, yes thank you... Oh certainly! Let her on so I can wish her a good night..."

Susie watched as the tired look on the music director's face melted away to welcome a gentler smile. She could sort of hear a child's voice on the line (his little sister that he'd mentioned a few times). It was quite endearing to see Sammy with such a calm and content expression instead of the usual grumpy scrawl that scared half the band into submission.

"Good night Abby, be good to Mrs. Harrison." The call was coming to a close. "I love you too."

Susie smiled at him and nodded, taking her turn to call home now that he was finished.

"Wally is heating up soup in the break room. The stove's thankfully working." She called after him as she dialed the number.

"Everyone camping out there?" He asked as he looked back at the voice actress.

"Everyone but Joey, that devil of a man actually has an insulated office... The rest of us are sleeping by the stove." She sighed "Thankfully Norman and Grant thought ahead and brought a few blankets to stay warm."

Clever thinking and also a necessity, as Grant's office was very drafty, and Norman's booth got cold from the pipework frosting over a bit (since the music department had been a repurposed bathroom) in cold weather. Mr. Cohen also knew the likelyhood of Joey having paid the heating bill. Slim to none.

"Great... Just what I wanted, to sleep in a stuffy room full of people and the smell of that rancid soup..." A soup he'd enjoyed at first (due to it reminding him of his father's cauliflower soup which had little bits of bacon in it), but which had lost its luster on the third week of being asked to take a few cans home. Abby hated the stuff so he'd had to eat it himself. "Don't you just love getting snowed in?"

"Only when I was a child. The snow usually meant no classes." Susie finished dialing and waited for her mother to answer.

He left her alone to go back into the break room where Wally and Norman were passing around bowls of soup. Grant greeted him with a blanket, which he graciously took. The damn studio was absolutely freezing in November. The freak snowstorm hadn't helped.

Honestly he'd loved the look of a snowy New York when he'd first moved here with his father. It had looked beautiful and new, almost magical, unlike the ranch he'd grown up in until he was 11. Looking back now, he missed the expanse of snowy fields instead of the cold streets. He also missed watching a few of the animals play in the snow.

Getting stuck in the studio made him a little nostalgic.

"Here ya go Sammy!" Wally passed him a bowl of soup, which he nearly dropped in surprise, and grinned "It ain't my ma's beef stew and it definitely lacks a spoon since we don't got that many of those to begin with, but at least it'll keep you warm from the inside!"

"I, yes at least that." He sniffed it and grimaced. Pork grease and chunky bits that definitely were less bacon and more cartilage. "You ever wonder how they made this slop?"

"I'd rather not think about it. It's like hot dogs ya know... The less you know about it, the better they are!" The janitor shrugged and went to sit on one of the chairs closer to the stove. Everyone was very much huddled close by, swaddled in shared blankets, rubbing their hands together to keep them warm, or drinking soup.

Norman nodded at the music director once he sat down to join the group. Not too long after Susie was sitting beside him, and he offered to share his blanket with her.

"So, what do we do now?" Wally asked as he looked around. The issue would be sorted in the morning but it was still only a quarter to eleven and no one was particularly keen on sleeping just yet.

"I'll tell ya what we could do!" Shawn called out from his spot, voice slightly muffled by his big red scarf. "I say we pass t'time by indulging in the ye old grand art that is story tellin'!"

"Story telling? What, like a sleepover?" Jack questioned. Sammy found it amusing that he'd swaddled himself in his blanket in a way that pressed his hair tight against his skull, to the point where it looked like a makeshift scarf and ear mitts. "Like when we were little kids?"

"Well we're all sleepin' here t'night aren't we? And ya don't need t'be wee little ankle biters t'go tellin' stories." Shawn huffed "Besides, what better way t'know yer co-workers than share some harrowin' tales? I sure got a few that'll intrigue you folks I'm sure."

"Is it about potatoes?" One of the art department workers asked, only to get a slap on the back of the head and an elbow to the ribs.

"Very funny, that muppet over there's a real comedian coddin like that..." The Irishman rolled his eyes. "Right, you folk ever hear 'bout the legend o'the banshee?"

Everyone gave him a peculiar look, which Shawn took as permission to carry on.

"The tale varies some dependin' on t'person who tells ya. But the way me ma told it to me was somethin' like this: The banshee is a sweet singin' virgin, pretty as a button, a real feek." He tapped his chin thoughtfully as he recalled his mother's words. "Sometimes she has long black hair, other times it's a bright red like fire. Always pale... But don't be thinkin' she's just some little lady, oh no. The banshee is a spirit, one that heralds death in the family. Her ghastly cries precede the death o'loved ones and fill ya with a mighty chill o'dread... And I saw one when I was just a wee lad."

"Ya saw... A ghost?" Lacie wrinkled her nose. "And ya sure it wasn't some regular girl you just saw?"

"Couldn't o'been. She was right outside the window Lacie. And me room was on the second floor..." Shawn shook his head "And I knew it had to o'been a banshee. She looked just like me cousin, who died o'the shakes a few months prior. My pa always did say she might come back as the household haunt, she wasn't ready t'leave just yet."

"So, that's it? You saw some apparitions at your window and think it was some folklore horror?" Sammy rolled his eyes.

"Yep. An' then in the morning me grandpa was dead. Dreadful song she went and had t'sing. I was just 5 too! T'damn beour coulda gone bother me brother instead... He was t'one that used to scare us wee lads with these tales o'ghosts n' ghoulies..."

Well, that wasn't a very nice story. And it likely had a reasonable explanation behind it too. Just a small child frightened by tales and likely still coming to terms with losing a cousin.

"Oh, that's nothin'!" Wally grinned. "Ghost stories aren't anythin' compared to what I found in a ditch when I was 8!"

"Oh yeah? Then enlighten us, oh scare Meister!" Shawn barked back, glaring slightly. "What coulda been worse than a banshee?"

"How about a maneater?" The janitor offered.

Shawn fell quiet and others began to whisper among each other at the claim, before Norman began to hush everyone.

"Go on then... Yous can't just say that an' not tell us."

"Oh man, it was the dang scariest thing I'd seen as a kid!" Wally grinned. "Us tykes from Brooklyn? We didn't grow up with monster stories and such. Our mas and pas told us about kidnappers and murderers instead, cuzz those are like, real dangers you know?"

He took a sip from his cooling bowl of soup, before clearing his throat.

"But you know what kids are like. They like adventure and don't really listen too much cuzz, you only believe it when you see it!" He carried on. "Me? I was with a couple a pals exploring this old ditch that had some neat stuff people used to throw in there. Busted watches, trinkets, sometimes a lost wallet with a little bit of cash in it...Well that day there wasn't just goodies."

Sammy sipped his own soup and felt Susie's arm brush up against his as she got on the edge of her seat. She was excited to hear wherever Wally's story was going.

"Local news had like, been going on about this one loon that had run off from the big house or somethin'. Some big mug who was a pervert or whatever. Adult stuff we kids didn't care for." Wally looked around as he spoke. "Only he wasn't no pervert, just really messed in the head. A cannibal. A cannibal that liked eating little tots. You know, stories like Little Johnny went pokin' around where he shouldn't and now there was no Little Johnny no more? Yeah that nearly was us."

"You found the guy in the ditch?" Sammy guessed.

"Nope! Found my neighbor, Sally, partially eaten and all kinds o' messed up." Wally replied "I figured we were in trouble so we ran like our butts were on fire and screamed the whole way back. Coppers caught the fucker and his picture on the paper still gives me nightmares. If we'd found him instead, we woulda ended up like Sally!"

Everyone looked extremely disturbed at the thought of a couple of 8 year olds finding another child's partially eaten corpse.

"Shite... No wonder yer such a mog. Brooklyn's fucked up!" Shawn winced.

"Hey!" Wally pouted.

"Also your story was misleading. You didn't actually encounter the "maneater"." Sammy pointed out. "That's not how you should advertise a tale you twit."

"Would ya rather I have found the creep that did it?"

"No, next time just don't make it sound like an actual encounter when it's an anecdote about another outcome entirely."

"Don't go bein' an ass Lawrence." Norman called out. "I thought the story was good. Messed up, but good... Granted it don't top what I experienced when I was still in the cradle."

"Oh, this ought to be good." The blond smirked. "Word of mouth?"

"My Nanna never told no lie. Yous won't find a more honest lady." Norman smirked back.

At this point everyone had finished their soup and was practically laying or leaning against one another for warmth. It helped that the story telling atmosphere had all but made everyone forget about the cold.

Norman being so tall and obscuring the stove ever so slightly, cast strange shadows on the wall.

"Now, this happened a few months after I was born. My Nanna was lookin' after me while my mama and memaw was helpin' my pops and pepaw out in the cotton fields. My brother and sister wasn't that much older either, not yet ready to go pickin', so they was in their room playin' together." He leaned back in his chair, a content smile on his face "Nanna was just preparin' lunch while I was layin' in this big ol' basket full o' pillows and blankets, just sleepin' away like babies do. She turned 'round to chop up some carrots when she had this weird feelin' all of a sudden."

Sammy put an arm around Susie as he listened. Norman was a pretty good story teller. Had this voice that just pulled you in. He could almost imagine a little chubby baby in a basket while an old lady prepared food in the kitchen.

"Nanna Polk always had a feel for when things were no good all of a sudden. She'd known when Poppop weren't doing well in the head, and she knew how to pop a shot into a big gator when it got too close to the house. She wasn't afraid o'nothin'." Norman carried on. "But she was afraid. She was afraid when the blade o'her knife caught the reflection o'this big brute pullin' my basket out the window."

Sammy winces and Susie tightened her grip on his arm. The others were quite aghast as well, at the thought of an innocent little babe getting snatched away by some stranger.

"Nanna didn't scream. She didn't wanna scare my siblings you see... Instead she tiptoed towards the backdoor, knife in hand, and kept outta sight o'the man that was tryin' to take me away." Norman hummed as he thought back on what Nanna had told him. "You know, they often tell ya 'bout southern hospitality. If yous is friendly and respectful, yous always got a friend. They don't tell yous about Louisiana ladies like my sweet Nanna tho... They is forged of iron and grief. Strong and protective o'their youngins... She knew what that man wanted from me, an' she wasn't bout to let it happen."

"What did she do?" Wally asked, bitting his knuckles as he put his legs up to his chest.

"Put the knife through his back. She pushed him so he wouldn't go an' fall on me, oh 'course, and that basket well about saved my life cuzz it was damn well padded and didn't so much as wake me when it hit the ground."

"Holy shit..."

"Now, that might sound a little extreme to yous, but I trust Nanna's judgement." Norman began once he noticed the horrified looks on his coworker's faces. "That man woulda taken me somewhere no one could'a gotten me from, an' she wasn't 'bout to lose anyone else to them creeps. Nanna was smart, and Nanna was hard workin'. She buried the bastard where he fell, an' planted a tree t'remember it too. I got to put a swing on it when it grew big enough to support the weight."

"Where were they going to take you?" Sammy finally asked, once he realized no one would do so. "The man?"

"Hm, well I don't know exactly. But she did say it was where my Poppop grew up, so I know it wasn't a good place." Norman frowned. "They did bad things to him, made him messed up in the head an' dangerous. Nanna saved me from endin' up the same way... Don't care if it wasn't the right way t'do it, them folks don't deserve no pity if they go stealin' babies from their cribs t'do god only knows what."

"Well... For what is worth, we're glad your nanna saved you Norman. You're a gem." Susie smiled which got the much larger man to chuckle.

"How's that for a story then? Anyone steppin' up to top it off?"

No one seemed to have anything that quite matched the energy of this... What should he call it? Cultist kidnapping story? It certainly sounded that the man was some underground cultist if he was taking babies to indoctrinate, or whatever...

The blond watched, saw no one step up to the challenge, and then remembered.

"Well, it may not be as bad as getting snatched away. But I do recall a rather peculiar set of events from before I moved to New York with my father." He began, the band members snorting and whispering among themselves that it was probably something stupid. He glared their way before looking at Norman who gestured for him to go on.

"Floor's all yours Sammy."

"Right." He thought back, way back when he was 10. Just a year prior to his mother's death. It was all a little foggy but the more he concentrated on what his father had told him about that night, the less his explanation made sense once correlated with his own memories. "I didn't exactly grow up in the city. Not until I was 11 that is... I actually lived in a cattle ranch for a while."

"That explains why you call us sheep." Johnny laughed.

"No, I call you sheep because your job is to follow me, you damn goat." Sammy snarled back at the interrupting organist.

"Ouch." Jack winced.

"Either way, as a child living with a father who raised cattle for a living, one can expect that I was often tasked to help with a few of the animals. Mainly cleaning the pens and, if I was particularly lucky, shearing the sheep." The sheep, he confesses, had been his favourite. They were dumb and cute. "My father usually dealt with the larger animals. When this event occured, he'd just bought a big healthy heifer. His ornery old bull had covered our best breeding cow but she'd not been having calves."

"Was she called Bessie?" Wally grinned.

"The name of the cow isn't of importance!" Sammy rolled his eyes. "It was Felicity by the way."

"My mistake."

"Either way, my father was a breeder, so his breeding female not producing offsprings was a big deal. I was a kid so I wasn't particularly interested if Felicity had issues, I just liked watching her when she had little calves. They were the cutest thing right after the baby lambs." Sammy carried on "The new heifer, Clarabelle, arrived that day and immediately the bull was put to working. My father thought That'd be the end of his problems... An easy fix. Except it wasn't..."

"She sterile?" Norman asked.

"Oh I wish that had been it. I was 10, had seen animals in plenty of states from sickness or wild animal attacks. But never had I seen a cow turned inside out, other than in a damn butcher's..." Sammy shuddered. He could still remember it... Going outside to get the eggs like his father had asked, and just finding this massive dead heifer with no skin on her body. His mother had said he'd screamed like the devil himself had been before him.

"Oh god..." Susie gagged slightly. "That couldn't have been nice..."

"It wasn't. I was freaked out and my father was furious. Clarabelle had been an expensive purchase. And she wasn't the only casualty." Sammy shook his head. "The pen was wrecked, the bull was in better state but no less dead, and poor Felicity must have run into whatever butchered them both because she had a massive wound on her hind. Every animal was spooked out of their minds and even our sheepdog wouldn't come out of the house. Peed himself when we tried coaxing him."

"Did ya find what did it?" Shawn asked.

"No, we couldn't find anything that explained it." Sammy carried on. "No tracks, no trails of blood, nothing. The pen was just ruined, like it had been splintered apart, and Clarabelle looked to have just... I don't know how to explain it. Pop? Like a balloon?"

"I figure your father wasn't too keen on going' about business after that?"

"He wanted compensation, but you can't exactly put the blame on anything if you can't even find a cause." The music director sighed "We eventually just decided to call it quits on figuring out what the hell happened and went on with our lives. But then things just got... Weird."

Strange lights at night, bizarre noises, and horrific night terrors. Sammy's father had lost his patience when he'd found their dog's remains and called the authorities.

"We were all on edge, unsure what was going on at the ranch, and losing animals every night. My father called the cops, saying someone must be playing some seriously messed up joke to terrorize us. He'd made a lot of enemies with his attitude over the years, so I wouldn't have been surprised..." He trailed of, beginning to feel goosebumps as he recalled the final night of these strange occurances. "And then one night I saw something strange out of my window. Stranger than anything else."

Everyone was eager for the conclusion, he could tell. Taking a deep breath, he recounted what he'd been a witness to.

"I wasn't sleeping well, no one was, but I just couldn't settle in bed that night. It felt too warm in my room so I got up to open a window." His 10 year old self had always struggled with the latch on his window, but not that night. That night it opened without a fuss. "I saw... A figure. Out in the fields. Cast in weird green light that I couldn't put a source to. They were tall, and I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, but I assumed man because there wasn't a hair on its head... I just stared, and it looked to be staring back. Next thing I know, I'm outside in my pajamas, staring up at this pitch black figure... Taller, imposing, faceless. No eyes, no nose, no mouth... And yet it felt like it was glaring hatefully at me. Frustrated, angry... It pointed at the woods and I don't... I don't know what it wanted and I was just a scared kid."

He gulped heavily as he recalled how oppressive everything had felt.

"Again I blacked out, but this time awoke inside to my mother fanning me. My dad was yelling at the cops and it was morning." Sammy frowns "Yelling at them to get that damn thing off his property, and to fuck right off since they were so useless at their damn job."

A soft amen from a member of the writer's department. Followed by a chuckle from another one.

"My throat was raw, and when I tried to ask what happened, my mom told me they'd found me outside at the edge of the woods, screaming until my voice went. Screaming about wanting out of the woods. Screaming about wanting to go home... Screaming that nothing here was good to eat and that I was going to die... I don't recall doing it, and my father said I'd probably had a nightmare of some kind. A fever dream even, since mom had been trying to cool me down for a good reason." He bit his lip "It's odd, I'd just fallen ill overnight and everything was fuzzy... I asked why the cops were here, and my father said when he'd gone to get me he'd spotted a weather balloon of some kind in the woods. The cops were there to take it away."

Everyone stared, confused and trying to figure out how these events connected. He gave them a shrug.

"I have no idea what was going on, so don't ask. I was 10, animals were dying weirdly, and I got so sick all of a sudden that I started sleep walking and hallucinating demonic figures. No one ever said anything about the weather balloon in the local paper either, so I don't even know what to think of that." He leaned against Susie "It was weird, but it stopped. Still that thing kept appearing in my nightmares for a while... It faded with time but it bothered me while it was still fresh in my mind."

"Sounds like aliens." Wally pips up.

"No such thing." Bertrum laughed at the suggestion. "Just a bunch of vandalism, fallen governament property, animal attacks, and a child's overactive imagination."

"No, I'm serious! Stuff like that happens in farms all the time! Stuff no one can explain..."

"Wally, there's tons o' things none can explain in this world already." Norman pointed out. "I'm not sure what sorta thing Sammy might o' stumbled upon as a kid... But little green men don't sound plausible."

"Oh come on, ain't it obvious? Cows gettin' killed, the strange damages? The fallen thing in the woods? The spooky figure? The one person who no one would believe being chosen to see the alien? Then the cops just swoopin' in and covering it up? Happened just the same to my uncle Paul!"

"What I saw wasn't little or green. Don't make it another one of your outlandish tall tales." Sammy grinned, enjoying how much Wally was puffing up.

"Bite your tongue! It ain't a tall tale!"

"Sure it's not."

"Boys don't fight... Because I've got one heck of a story that'll make Norman's and Sammy's feel like child's play!" Susie cut in, with a devilish grin of her own.

And so the night carried on, with more stories to be shared. All the while Sammy laughed and listened, content with the situation.

Although... He did still wonder what he'd seen out in the field. Surely it couldn't have been extraterrestrial.

Hm... Yes, surely not. Just a bad dream and some sick prank. Had to have been.

[thejudgingtrash]

How Could You (PJO Fanfic)

Summary: Annabeth thought she had torn up every picture of him, that she had hidden every evidential piece of their relationship. Not only did it hurt losing your one true love. Knowing that they are successful, thriving and happily in love with another person made it even worse. Knowing you could have been that woman in your ex’s life. In Percy’s life. Rated T/M for adult themes.

H O W    C O U L D    Y O U    1/3

Annabeth Chase was walking to her workplace in Lower Manhattan. She clutched her coffee in one hand while the other pressed her designer bag towards her body – it's New York after all and you never know. Her blonde curls were hiding in a tight bun which made her look like any other snob on the small island.

The woman was in her early thirties and her career as an architect was finally taking off. Her boss let her hire her own secretary and gave her a thumbs-up for her own projects. She even had her own polished office while many of her peers were marching towards their forties and still stuck in cubicles. Her boss hinted offering her a senior partnership.

Annabeth ignored the catcalling and the loud car honking. Good morning to you too, NYC.

She was in luck, no pesky monsters in sight. Annabeth's trace got weaker with every newly completed birthday. Sure, she had to kill a monster here and there and even helped out new demigods, but it had been weeks of peace and quietness by now. Her heels led her to an impressing skyscraper. Mitch, the doorman, nodded and pressed the right button to the 34th floor. Annabeth took the last sip of her coffee right before her 10-hour shift. No one was waiting for her at home, she didn't have animals, plants or a man to take care of.

She had been single for the past few years, yes, but that didn’t mean she was living the celibate life of a nun. She had two or three relationships which never lasted longer than half a year, a couple of drunken flings and even a work affair which resulted in her colleague getting relocated to the office in San Diego. Gossip spread fast but also died out pretty quickly. But whenever she thought about a romantic relationship, or sex or even a simple friendship with another man, someone else haunted her thoughts immediately. Percy.

Annabeth chucked the crumpled paper cup into the trash bin and fired up her computer. She refused to think about her loner life, she refused to think about him. Eight hours and a one-hour lunch break later, her piercing gray eyes started to analyze her environment.

“I should redecorate,” she thought loudly. Her workspace had looked the same for the past two years. E-mails were checked, work was low, and no one would barge into her office. Her boss was already gone. She went through her desk, stacked papers, discarded notes and threw irrelevant stuff out. A picture slid out of a folder. Annabeth picked it up. It was a selfie of her and Percy; they were sipping cocktails, smiling into the camera, while the wind was playing with their hair.

Suddenly Annabeth grew a lump in her throat. They had a last happy small vacation in Montauk six years ago. A year later and everything was over. Percy looked good. Happy. He was way too handsome for his own good. His jet-black hair was long and unkept, his beard hugged his face perfectly and luckily through a well-chosen angle Annabeth had the opportunity of ogling his body one last time before shoving that damned picture into her bag. Her college friends used to ask whether Percy was a Greek model or actor or something like that. “He is basically a Greek God,” she always replied jokingly. But he gave that up. For me.

Her eyes started to burn; she suppressed a sob. No, not here, she told herself. Not in the office. Annabeth refused to cry. She threw herself into work for one last hour, revising designs for a new library in Queens before calling herself an Uber. Once she got into her new way too expensive West Village apartment and closed the door, the blonde began sliding down to the floor in the darkness. And there she wept for solid fifteen minutes.

“Fuck,” she cried. The daughter of Athena thought she had torn up every picture of him, that she had hidden every evidential piece of their relationship. Not only did it hurt losing your one true love. Knowing that they are successful, thriving and happily in love with another person made it even worse. Knowing you could have been that woman in your ex’s life.

Annabeth got up and walked through her messy apartment. She needed alcohol. Badly. Two glasses of red wine didn’t stop the tears from coming, however. No, they only made the suppressed memories come back even harder.

*****

Their relationship was a whirlwind. No doubt in that. And with the wind came cracks that slowly tore through the foundation. Sure, three big prophecies did bind them together. They went from kids to teenagers to adults, from acquaintances to friends to lovers. Their troubles and fun adventures, their bickering, Percy going missing and deep traumas from Tartarus kept them together. When their separation made its waves years later, they never would’ve thought they had ordinary adulthood partially to blame.

The fine cracks started to form when they turned 18. Looking back now, Annabeth knew someone was intervening from behind the scenes. Denying her own faults was something Annabeth couldn’t do. The choices Percy and she had made were followed by consequences.

The demigoddess desperately tried to convince Percy to go to New Rome with her. To live a happy normal life, to have a semi-normal college experience. A life without being chased by monsters, a life among their peers and new friends from the Roman side of the family tree.

But Percy refused. New York City was his home. His mother and his newborn sister lived there; he couldn’t just abandon them. It didn’t matter how welcoming the Roman side was – he was Greek through and through and he reminded her that the rest of the seven were merely acquaintances tossed together by a sick prophecy and not lifelong best friends. Camp Half-Blood would be his priority. Not Camp Jupiter.

So, they argued and decided. Annabeth grudgingly went to NYU and got her degree in Urban Design and Architectural Studies while Percy did his double degree in Pastry and Baking Arts and Culinary Management at the Institute of Culinary Education. It came out as a surprise to many other demigods that the son of Poseidon had enough of water. The Stoll Brothers were betting on either him getting a Marine Biology degree or becoming a high school coach. The duo lost a good chunk of money. But Percy wanted to help out his mother in her bakery and truly enjoyed her passion.

The couple moved together into their shitty tiny apartment as 20-year old’s. Their landlord conveniently forgot to inform them about a roach infestation and overcharged their rent each month. Annabeth woke up almost every morning to Percy hysterically laughing and picking up dead insects out of her messy curls.

Debt, school, more credit card debt, monsters, more college classes, demanding internships, roaches and annoying commands from the Gods of Mount Olympus dominated their lives. Frederick Chase and Sally Jackson tried to convince both of them to move into something better, they wanted to give them more money for something more comfortable. The couple remained stubborn and refused their money. Their romance and sex life were on an all-time low.

Is this really the life I want? Annabeth asked herself as she was watching Netflix with Percy. He fell asleep and started to drool a little bit. No, a voice in her head said. But she wasn’t sure whether it was her voice or someone else’s. You deserve better. Days passed and more and more doubt spread through Annabeth’s mind. Yes, I do deserve better.

Regrets about not leaving to New Rome popped up. Regrets about getting that specific apartment. Regrets about her recent thoughts. Regrets about questioning Percy. Regrets about not questioning Percy’s decisions enough. Tension spread and they began to fight. They fought about money, they fought about their future. They fought about California and New York. They fought about their career choices. They made up quickly and blamed it on exams and tests, but the negative sentiment remained for weeks. It wasn’t for another year when the demigod couple had a massive fall out.

Continue to read on Archive of our Own or FanFiction.net :)

[faveficarchive]

The Secret Histories: Part 2

An Archaeologist, High and Low

By Vivian Darkbloom

Pairing: Mel/Janice

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: Set soon after All the Colors of the World, an old flame wanders back into Mel’s life, and threatens a relationship already wrought with unspoken problems. Janice is sent off to Bavaria to work with the Monuments Men, and Mel isn’t far behind. Will their shaky relationship withstand the test of distance, violence, and ancient obsession?

September 1945

Sergeant Sally Phillips stared anxiously at the pair of khaki legs that emanated from under the car she usually drove. Grunting sounds came from the partially hidden body. "Janice, can you fix it?" she said.

"I don't know yet, Sal. Cars other than Fords...I don't know much about," Janice replied from under the vehicle. They were in a driveway outside the U.S. Embassy; Sally, with whom she became friends during basic training at Fort Oglethorpe, was a driver for the U.S. Ambassador's Office. She had called Janice in a panic, remembering that her friend knew something about cars...and she, hardly Rosie the Riveter, knew nothing about them, except how to drive one.

Sally despaired. "I know. But I can't take it back to the garage. They'll kick my ass. This is about the third time this thing has died on me, and Murtlock'll kill me..."

"It's not your fault. They should know that," Janice said, her voice muffled.

"You know how that bastard is. If anything goes wrong, he blames one of us."

Janice chuckled. "Yeah, you're right. Murtlock is a real prick."

Unfortunately, Sally felt his presence before she could warn Janice. She snapped to attention. Major Murtlock, their commanding officer, was standing right behind her. There was no telling how much of the conversation he heard, but the last statement alone was more than enough to...she sighed inwardly. She knew that Janice would get the worst of whatever shit Murtlock would ladle out; her friend was too outspoken and too indiscreet about her affair with the beautiful black-haired woman that Sally had met only once...whatever her name was...she was a looker, though, almost enough to make me switch teams...

"Stupid foreign cars...ACKPHLT!" Suddenly Janice slid from under the car, covered in oil. "God, I think I swallowed some..." Janice tried to wipe the oil off her face with an equally black hand, which made it worse.

Then she noticed Murtlock.

From her position on the ground he looked even bigger than usual. And he was a big man, probably six and half feet in his stocking feet. This was one of those moments when she envied Mel her height; if she were as tall as her beloved companion, she might feel a little less intimidated, even sitting down. The Major scowled at her, his heavy black brows crashing in consternation. "Don't get up, Covington," he rumbled. "I have something for you." He pulled a packet of papers out of his jacket, and tossed them down to her. They landed in her lap. "I'm very pleased to say you have new orders. You're shipping out in two days. The information"—he nodded at the papers—"is all there. I hope you have a pleasant trip," he grunted sarcastically.

"Yes, sir," Janice replied perfunctorily. Her lips shifted nervously in a frantic attempt to dissuade a smart-ass smirk off her face.

"Oh, and by the way, you've been promoted. To Lieutenant." He glared at her in disgust while she raised both eyebrows in surprise; the idea that such a woman could be an officer was simply too much for him to bear. "Congratulations, you little dyke."

He turned on his heel and left.

Sally exhaled with relief. "He sure knows how to sweet-talk a girl," she cracked, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket. She handed it to Janice, who took it gratefully and proceeded to wipe oil off her face. Sally peered at the papers in her friend's lap. "Hey, where do you think you're going?"

Janice handed them to her gingerly, clasping them between greasy thumb and forefinger. "You tell me," she replied. "I'm too sullied to touch them. At least Murtlock thinks so."

She was also too nervous to read them, and didn't give a rat's ass about Army protocol—at this point in my so-called military career, I'd announce my orders with a bullhorn to anyone who would listen, she thought.

Sally unfolded the papers and scanned them quickly. "You're going to...Bavaria? Some place called New—what—stein? Fucking Krauts and their mile-long names."

Sally watched as Janice scratched her cheek thoughtfully; her friend did not seem too surprised at the news—in fact, her green eyes narrowed knowingly. "Huh, I'll be damned." So I'm the bait. Good. At least I'll be there to keep an eye on that blonde bitch.

"Why?"

"Long story. Wanna get some lunch?"

"Sure, Lieutenant Covington."

"Now that was a surprise." Janice hoisted herself up from the ground.

"Yeah." Sally grinned, and poked her friend in the ribs. "Congratulations, you little dyke."

***

June, 1937

"You're amazing," Catherine said. She laid on the floor of her room, gazing up at Mel, sprawled in her divan. The Southerner's feet dangled pleasantly over the edge and she hummed "Oh Susannah" in her rich, pleasant voice. Her dark hair cascaded over one arm. She was quite drunk, having consumed five gin and tonics. Catherine had thought it would only take two; but she is a big girl...a very big, beautiful girl. "I can't believe you've never been drunk before."

"No...once I got just a little tipsy on some sherry, at a Daughters of the American Revolution benefit..." Mel suddenly found the ceiling very fascinating, as her head lolled back of its own accord.

"What the bloody hell is that?"

Mel burst into laughter. "I don't want to tell you...it's so stupid."

"Then don't." Catherine wiggled the empty bottle. "Wish we had more."

"Me too."

"I bet we could get some from Daphne."

"Oh dear. Daphne doesn't like me. You better ask her yourself."

"She's merely jealous of you, my darling." Catherine stood up. "Come on, let's go."

"Jealous?"

"Of course. Don't play Miss Modesty with me, Melinda. You're both incredibly beautiful and smart."

Mel giggled. "Oh, thank God someone said it. I really wanted a compliment."

"Really? I couldn't tell at all." The blonde held out a hand to Mel, who hadn't moved from the couch. "Come along."

"Must I?"

Catherine smirked sadistically. "You must."

Reluctantly Mel took the proffered hand and hauled herself up. Trailing behind Catherine, she was amazed at her own ability to walk in such a state, and quietly marveled at herself as they navigated the stairs to a lower floor, where Daphne's room was located.

They were giggling quite loudly when they crashed against Daphne's door simultaneously. Catherine pounded upon it. "Come on, Daph, open it," she roared.

Another minute of pounding, plus the threat that Mel would sing "Swanee River," finally persuaded the reluctant Daphne open the door. Like in a Keystone cops film, the two lovers spilled through the doorway. Catherine was on the floor, with Mel atop her, laughing like children.

"Oh, for Christ's sake," said a voice above them. Daphne, of course.

"Hallo, darling," Catherine trilled. "Melinda and I seem to be having a crisis."

"Yes, you're both in my room, uninvited."

"What, I thought we had an invitation!" Mel burbled. She and Catherine began a new round of giggling as they stood up.

"Don't be a bad hostess, Daph. There's a quite simple way to get rid of us."

"I know. All I have to do is let you continue to make a ruckus here, and they'll expel you."

"No, dammit. I want a bottle. Of scotch."

"Or gin. That's my favorite," Mel interjected.

"I don't have any fucking alcohol, Cat. It's all gone." Daphne drummed her fingers on her desk.

A dead giveaway, Catherine thought, watching the spidery fingers drum their distress signal. She always does that when she's nervous...or lying. "You don't expect me to believe that, do you?"

"I had guests over yesterday. We drank everything here."

Catherine's dark eyes narrowed, and the mood of the room seemed to alter with it; it was one of those sudden shifts that occur deep in the night, and/or deep into drunkenness. "You bloody little mooch. All the time I've paid for your drinks, bought you things...you won't even give me a damn bottle of booze?"

Daphne returned the angry glare, a fire blazing across her cheeks. But she said nothing.

Mel rolled her eyes. She didn't know why Catherine had insisted on coming down here in the first place. "Let's forget it, Catherine," she said. "I'm tired anyway. Let's just go back upstairs and go to bed."

Daphne's cold eyes did not leave Catherine's. "Go on, then. Listen to your little tart. Get out."

Mel wanted to laugh out loud. She had never been called a tart before, or anything even close to hinting at sexual promiscuity. Usually she was called "cold," "aloof," "frigid" (by a Freudian acolyte at Vanderbilt who had stuck his hand up her skirt within 20 minutes of their first date), or a "tease." It was an amusing change of pace.

"You should mind your manners, darling," Catherine threatened in a low voice.

"Or what?"

Mel gripped Catherine's arm. "Leave it," she said quietly. "Let's go."

"Look, you cow, will you just shut up?" Daphne spat at Mel. "Everything was fine until you came along, you miserable twat. Do you think she really loves you?"

"Shut up," Catherine growled between gritted teeth.

Daphne was on a roll. She inserted herself between Catherine and Mel. She was not as tall as either one of them, but stood her ground menacingly, her angry, contorted face near the Southerner's, the curls of her marcelled hair shaking and threatening to unfurl into Medusan tresses...or so it appeared to Mel's gin-addled mind. "Come on. You don't really think Catherine feels anything for you, do you, you little fool? She only wanted to bed you because you're supposedly so damned beautiful." She paused, grinning triumphantly, before delivering the coup de grace. "And because she wanted to deflower you."

Catherine opened her mouth to file the obligatory protest (true enough, but...), but she saw something that intrigued her. It was like a translucent film were covering Mel's face, darkening her features and her cerulean blue eyes. It was an anger that transformed her entire being. She had never seen her lover so angry. And it excited her. She watched, fascinated.

Daphne had noticed the transformation too, but bravery—or, more accurately, stupidity—caused her to fling one final insult in Mel's face. "You're just another notch on her belt," she drawled.

When Mel swung her arm, it was in a wide, lazy arc, as if hitting Daphne were barely worth expending energy. But this belied the force of the backhanded blow which sent the woman hurling through the air, across the room.

Mel blinked. Jesus Christ, did I just do that? She looked down at her hand, which trembled. It had been like a splash, a blot of black ink, that had spread within her, into a terrible rage. She clenched the shaking hand.

The few seconds that they stood there seemed like hours. Catherine’s look was one of amused amazement as she turned her eyes from the body slumped in the corner to Mel’s confused face. Then she slowly made her way over to the body. She felt around for broken bones, checked Daphne's breathing and pulse, and returned to Mel. "I think she'll be fine," she remarked airily. "Let's go."

Mel blinked. "What? We can't leave her here. We should take her to the infirmary. We need to tell someone...the dean..."

The blonde laughed. "Don't be ridiculous. We'll both be sent down if that happens. And she's fine, trust me. She's a stupid girl with a thick skull. She'll live. And she'll know better next time." She placed her hands on Mel's warm cheeks and kissed her soundly. "You're magnificent. I love your strength. Your power. You think you don't have it, but you do. You really do."

Blue eyes narrowed at her in disbelief. "You're crazy," Mel retorted bluntly. Or maybe I am the one who’s crazy. What did I just do? What's wrong with me?

Catherine's lips twitched a little, biting back a dozen different retorts. "I'm crazy, but I'm all yours." And you don't know how true that is, my dear Melinda.

She was on a black horse, chasing a group of men who ran away from her on foot. There was a dull pain traveling through her legs, which were twisted and crippled; when she looked at them, she wanted to scream. A rage in her was so thick and bitter she could bite into it. With each stroke of the sword it seethed, then cooled, until the need struck again: the black urge to lash out, to kill, to obliterate. Man after man fell under her. The last one begged for his life, and then a man on horseback, his dark hair pulled into a ponytail, shouted at her not to kill the last one. But she did it anyway. It felt...so good. Better than anything in her miserable life up to that point. Better than the money. Better than the fucking. Better than the power.

It felt so good. It feels so good. Doesn’t it?

The question burned in her mind as she woke up. And she woke Catherine as her body jerked forward, out of the blonde's loose yet possessive grasp.

"What is this?" Catherine murmured a sleepy protest.

"Nothing," Mel replied perfunctorily, Southern manners always at the ready. I could be bleeding, I could be dying...yet I'd still say "Oh please, don't mind me, I'm fine." Her voice felt so hoarse that she hardly recognized it.

"Bad dream?" The tone was casual.

"Yes." She sat up, on the edge of the bed, and groped for the glass of water that she knew would be on the night stand.

"Tell me." An edgy hint of command in the voice.

"I don't want to."

"Come on," Catherine cooed gently. She let her fingers trail along Mel's bare back. A shudder—desire, disgust, perhaps both—shimmied along her skin.

The tepid water felt good as it soothed her ragged throat. "All right," she murmured. Cautiously she settled back on the bed, as if sleep itself would reach up and claim her again, and the nightmare replay itself. But it didn’t. And so she told Catherine about the dream.

The blonde's legs had wrapped around Mel's as she told the dream, and contracted, almost painfully, then relaxed. "Very interesting," Catherine commented. "Why do you think you're having these dreams?" Well, at least those sessions with Freud were somewhat helpful—I get to steal his inane questions.

"I'm not sure...when I was little my Daddy always told me these stories, about some ancient warrior woman—we're supposed to be her descendants somehow. They were scary sometimes, but she—my ancestor—always wore the white hat. But in this dream, it's like I am her, but she is...not a good person."

"Hmmm. Funny how things get twisted around like that." This time Catherine sounded amused. She let her fingers run along Mel's smooth shoulders.

"I think...I'm just feeling bad about what happened the other day." Mel alluded to the Daphne Incident, which had occurred a scant three days prior. But this morning, in the courtyard, she had encountered Daphne as she and Catherine left the quad. Instead of entering the building, as she obviously intended to do, the girl bolted like a prized race horse, in the other direction. Mel had never seen anyone look at her with such abject fear.

And Catherine had laughed. This time, her laughter seemed brutal as it echoed through the air. And so familiar.

"Oh darling, just let it go." The fingers skittered along her skin.

There was something about the way Catherine touched her...it was stimulating, yet there always a threat — implicit in the curl of her hands, in the way she held back, in the way she pulled back when her touches grew too wild or passionate — of anger, as if that tactile contact would erupt into violence...if they were not careful.

And the funny thing is...I sometimes think I feel it too. Am I just projecting it onto her? Mel slid her arm out of Catherine's grasp easily. She stood up and threw on a deep blue robe. "I think...I'll read for a while."

Catherine laughed derisively. "Do you still remember how? I don't think you've picked up a book in at least a month."

Mel rubbed her aching head. She did not know how she could possibly read with such throbbing in her skull—another hangover contributed to her dissonant state of mind, already troubled by the dream—but she wanted to try. "I know," she replied grimly, and left the bedroom.

***

1945

"Guess what."

"What?"

"I'm a lieutenant."

"Have they gone mad?"

"I think so. But guess what else."

"What?"

"I have orders to go to Bavaria."

Mel stared at Janice in shock. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" she demanded.

"Sorry, sweetheart, your needs seemed more...pressing." Janice had been sprawled out in the wing chair—her favorite seat—in Mel's hotel room, her legs flung comfortably over an arm of the chair, when Mel arrived. Before she had a chance to say anything, she felt Mel's mouth on her own, and the delicious combination of kisses and caresses made her forget about the promotion, about Germany, about everything.

"Damn it all," Mel muttered. She stood up from her kneeling position in front of the chair, impatiently shoving locks of her loosened black hair behind her ears and straightening her skirt.

"Hmmm, Miss Pappas is swearing. Never a good sign," Janice teased gently. She sat up in the chair and buttoned her shirt, which had become undone in their proceedings.

"If Catherine had anything to do with this, I'll..." Weeks ago, she had officially turned down the offer. She had thought the matter closed. And every day, she hoped for Janice to be discharged, so they could get on with their lives. It all seems like some sinister plot. And if Catherine is involved, it probably is.

"Of course she had something to do with it," Janice retorted gently. "You were the one who said point-blank that you wouldn't go without me. She obviously wants you to be there, Mel. So she ships me there, you follow. I should be grateful I'm not being sent somewhere else."

"I don't trust her."

"Neither do I. But I can't refuse orders." As much as I’d like to.

"This is ridiculous! They should be discharging you. We should be going home." The tall Southerner paced a little, hands riding on her hips. It was rare that Janice saw her so agitated.

Janice smiled. "You look like you’re gonna bust me out of the Army, like Jimmy Cagney busting out of jail."

Mel scowled and hung on stubbornly to her bad mood.

"Mel, we will go home soon. I promise you," Janice replied soothingly. Wherever that was, she thought sarcastically. But I do know...my home is wherever you are, baby. She watched as Mel scanned the room disconcertingly, as if searching for something. She chuckled a little, then withdrew the scholar's glasses from her breast-pocket and held them out to her. "Here."

How did she...? Mel smiled. "Thanks."

"You know," Janice began quietly, "it's not as if we haven't done dangerous things before." She watched as Mel slipped on the glasses. Much as Xena was transformed by the sword in her grasp, the armor on her body, the chakram at her side, so Mel was transformed with glasses. They were a shield, and a weapon: her well-honed intelligence glinted in her magnificent blue eyes, refracted by the glasses. Her scholarly demeanor, self-effacing at times yet always rigorous and keen, was firmly in place. "Battling Ares was a pretty impressive stunt," the archaeologist added.

"That was Xena, not me."

"Well, it was you and not Xena who went to Macedonia in the first place. Pretty risky for a Southern belle in high heels."

Mel conceded this with a hum. She rubbed her neck. "I just...want some time with you. We nearly lost each other, do you know that? You've spent over a year getting in and out of dangerous situations. You got shot. Your friend died. You...almost died." Her voice wavered. "It's all too soon to risk losing you again."

"My life has been pretty dangerous in general," Janice smiled bitterly. "That's probably not going to change...much." Will it change? Also, did she want it to change? She loved the danger of what she did, thought little of risking her own life, but now...looking at Mel, she found a very good reason to keep herself in one piece. A very good reason for telling the Army to go to hell. Which I'd very much like to do at this point, she thought.

Mel sighed in exasperation. "Don't patronize me, Janice Covington. I'm not totally naive. I know what you do is sometimes risky. And I know it's worth it, for the scrolls. That is a risk I'm happy to take. But this was a war. In a way...it's not really over yet. And that is a totally different ballgame, as you would put it." She looked at Janice, who had raised an amused eyebrow. "I did use that word correctly, didn't I?"

***

September, 1938

When she was a child the sight of Manhattan from the sky was exciting. She could forget her fear of flying as they sailed over the toy city. It felt as if she could reach out and touch the tip of the Empire State Building—if only because she wanted to.

Now, as the plane descended toward Idlewild, she did not look out the window at the glorious city. Indeed, she had not looked out the window in hours. She had fallen into a light sleep; a stupor, almost, where she kept the conscious world at bay. The plane was not crowded, fortunately, and she sat alone.

She opened her eyes at the stewardess's touch upon her sleeve. "Miss, we're landing in five minutes...please fasten your — oh, I see it is fastened! Good girl!" She smiled at Mel (a blonde, a damned blonde just like Catherine, thought the irritated Mel) and moved on to another passenger.

Good girl.

She turned her brooding gaze to the window. Her father was supposed to meet her at the airport; they had a suite at the Plaza. He thought that staying in New York for a few days might cheer her up before they headed home. He informed her that he had bought a new house, in North Carolina, where they would live. But...why? she had wailed on the phone, immediately thinking of their home in South Carolina, where she grew up, where she could still look at a chair, or a curtain, and still recall her mother being there, inhabiting that particular physical space.

She could practically hear his shrug over the transatlantic connection. I think we both need something new in our lives, don't you?

She had not told him what happened, why she suddenly decided to leave Cambridge. She used the increasing conflict between the English and the Germans as an excuse, but she knew he wasn't entirely fooled by that. What could she possibly say, how could she possibly phrase it? (Even though he knew her nature...) Sorry Daddy, I fell terribly in love with this debauched girl who dumped me after six months...who made my body come alive, who did things to me I couldn't even imagine, yet who made me see the darkness in myself...I never hated myself so much as when I loved her.

If this is what love is about, I'll have no more of it. This is what happened when I stopped being a "good girl." No more love. No more desire.

She glared at the stewardess.

No more blondes.

Her father had a taxi waiting at the airport. She had to admit that it felt good to be really taken care of again; he had hugged her fiercely when she came through the terminal, after her passport and luggage had been checked.

The minute they entered the cab her head fell back against the seat, as if a lead weight had burrowed itself in the bun of her hair. She closed her eyes.

He squeezed her arm affectionately. "You haven't been sleeping." His tone challenged her to contradict the obvious.

"Not...very well." She scrunched her eyes as if in pain, then opened them with an effort. "Daddy, I've been having dreams...they're very odd."

"About Xena," he said flatly.

She seemed surprised. "Yes. You've had them?"

He nodded. "I used to have dreams about her...oh, all the time it seems, when I was young. Rather horrible at times. Violent. She wasn't always a great heroine, you know."

Mel frowned. Yes, he had always said that—that Xena had been "bad" but then she turned "good." But Mel had pictured Xena, her wicked past, and her ultimate redemption in terms of, say, Bette Davis in Jezebel. Not hacking people into bloody little bits. "But you don't anymore?"

He smiled wistfully, and rubbed his chin with his thumb in a thoughtful manner. "No, I don't. It's strange...I stopped having the bad ones, not long after I met your mother."

The following day at the office, Mel informed Frobisher of her decision.

He did not seem surprised. "So you're going?"

She nodded.

"I assume Janice is being transferred there."

She nodded again.

"That's the only reason why you're going, isn't it?"

She paused, looking guilty. A slight smile creased her face. And she nodded again.

He returned the smile wearily. Again, she felt bad; his office was busier than ever, and she hated leaving him in the lurch like this. But as busy as he was, he gave her top priority. "Then let's get cracking on the paperwork, shall we?"

The day seemed to pass quickly, once she made the decision, as if a burden had been lifted. When she arrived back at the room she found Janice already there, sitting comfortably in her favorite chair, a few envelopes scattered on her lap.

"The Army has finally seen fit to deliver my mail," she growled. "All of these are about six months old."

"What did you get?"

"A letter from Dan's mom...which was nice," she added cautiously. She had written to Blaylock's mother after his death, and now she had received a kind letter in return. I thank you for all that you did, his mother had written. But I didn’t do a goddamn thing, she thought. And it called forth that feeling again, the empty burning sensation...of failure. It was easier to get it under control now, but there was no doubt it still existed within her. She continued. "And, um, something from Harvard—they want me to teach a class in the fall. I think they figure that since they can't get any alumni donations out of me, they might as well put me to work. And this." Amused, she held up a pink envelope.

"Janice, darling, I think you better inform your army of ex-girlfriends that you are quite unavailable now."

"Look at the return address."

Mel peered at the upper left corner of the envelope. "Jack Kleinman?"

"I always wondered if he was a nancy boy," Janice said idly, as she tore open the letter.

Mel smirked, recalling Jack's puppy-like attentions to Janice. "I don't think so."

"Let's see what he says here....He apologizes for the stationery, says it belongs to his sister...says our cousins are fine..."

"Cousins?" Mel blurted in alarm. Good God, she can't be related to Jack.

"He means the scrolls. That's his 'code' for it."

"Oh." Mel was impressed. "I didn't know you two had worked out a 'code.' "

"Actually, we haven't...it just says right here in the letter, in parentheses, 'you know I mean the scrolls when I say cousins, right?' "

Mel laughed as Janice continued to scan the letter. A strange look came over the archaeologist's face. "What is it?"

"He asks...about you, how you're feeling...if you've fully recovered from your..." The deep green eyes turned up from the letter and stared at her. "...influenza."

It hung in the air between them. Oh...damn, Mel thought, surrendering to an obscenity. She couldn't think of what to say.

"He...misspelled it, of course." Janice tapped the paper with a finger. "I know Jack exaggerates things sometimes, but..." Her hard, inquisitive eyes caught her lover's guilty look. "He's not making this up, is he?" she demanded quietly.

Mel closed her eyes for a moment to regain herself. "I...no, Janice. He's not. I was...very ill."

The lithe young woman stood up so quickly that it startled Mel. She paced, something she loved to do when angry or frustrated. "Why didn't you tell me?" Janice spat out. "You...you could've died." Now you know how I felt, Mel thought. "Why did you keep that from me?"

"It wasn't important at the time." Mel was surprised at her calmness. "Finding you was."

Janice continued to fume. "Goddammit! Well, you found me, and you still didn't tell me!" she shouted.

"I'm telling you now." It had been a long time, it seemed, since she had encountered Janice's temper. Probably not since they first met in Macedonia. It threw her a bit, but she hoped that by remaining calm, she could get her companion's blood pressure to decrease.

"Only because you had to. You got caught." Is that a sneer on her face?

"I...I didn't think it was important," Mel responded helplessly. The Southerner felt as if she were in emotional quicksand.

"Bullshit! It's more than important. You withheld the truth from me."

Whatever thread of patience Mel possessed snapped. So she wants to be honest here, eh? She couldn't fight the dark impulse to lash out. Hello, darkness...hello, Xena. "Since we're discussing the truth here, Janice, there is something I must ask you." The tone was low, the accent almost gone under the burden of the deepening voice. The eyes were icy. "Would you care to tell me if you've made an acquaintance with an Englishwoman named Meg? During the war?"

The look of shock on Janice's face was simultaneously satisfying and sickening to Mel. So it's true. Janice's jaw shifted. "How did you know...about that?"

"I was mistaken for her in a pub. The gentleman who did the mistaking told me a little tale he heard, about Meg's amorous encounter on a ship with, I believe he said, 'A little American WAC.'" She let her eyes run over Janice's figure in a mocking appraisal. Even in her anger and pain she felt a flicker of desire. And love. "I believe you fit the bill."

"Christ," Janice swore softly. "How did—"

"Everyone on the ship knew. You're fooling yourself if you thought otherwise."

And I thought I had been so...discreet. Everyone hid it well, I must say. No one acted different, no one said a damn thing. But they sure as hell didn't keep it to themselves. Janice rubbed her temple. "You? You were in a pub?" she asked distractedly. The dizzying revelation of events left her disoriented. And picturing Mel in a smelly pub seemed the height of this surrealism. Yet it seems anything—everything—is possible these days. The whole fucking world has been possessed by madness, why not us as well?

Mel shook her head in disbelief; she did not know if she would laugh or cry. "I was looking for you," she retorted angrily.

A silence stretched out for a few seconds, as they took it all in. "I never thought I'd see you again," Janice whispered.

The tall Southerner slammed her hands down on the table that separated them, and left them there, spread out before her. "Did you think I'd let you go so easily?" Mel growled fiercely. "Couldn't you tell how much I loved you?"

Frankly, no, Janice thought. "I didn't know...I thought...I meant very little to you." She saw the pained look on Mel's face. And instantly felt sorry. "Why? You know why, Mel. You did since the day we met. Since the day we recognized who we truly are. You were the noble heroine and I was your sidekick, never measuring up to you. I know now...that's not the way it was for them. But I didn't know—I still don't—if that's the way it would be for us."

Mel walked away and sat down for a moment. She felt...very tired, and her voice was edged with resignation. "I suppose...I had no claim on you at the time." Tell me otherwise, Janice. Please.

Janice leaned uneasily against the table, unable to say the words that sprang instantly to her mind. Actually you did. You already had my heart. I just didn't know it, really. Before she could get past the shame, the anger, the hurt, and say the words, she heard the door slam.

***

Mel entered Hyde Park. The sky was already darkening and a fine rainy mist descended from the sky and drizzled her hair and face. Good....she thought. That means I can cry and no one will notice. The rain came down harder, and it felt good, even strangely comforting. She sought shelter under a large tree for a few minutes, then realized that wandering around in the rain was doing little good, for the same thoughts circled around in her mind. Confounding woman! She cursed the skies. Why do I love her? It's probably some sort of karmic debt. She walked back to the hotel, her coat wet, heavy, like armor. Probably not as heavy as armor, but if Xena had to wander around the hot sticky ancient world saddled with such weight, then my respect for her has risen even higher.

As she entered the lobby she encountered a strange sight: Sergeant McKay was standing awkwardly in the lobby, nervously twisting his cap. The big ruddy Irishman looked rather incongruous within the ostentatious elegance of the hotel. His stricken look told her all she needed to know.

McKay did not hate Janice, but he did possess an irrational fear of the beautiful young woman. No doubt it stemmed from his belief that she was somewhat unnatural: the attire (even off duty, she never changed out of khakis), the smoking, the swearing...she was, he thought, everything a woman shouldn't be. Melinda, on the other hand, met with his approval. He suspected the nature of their relationship, and didn't really want to know any more but, he thought, a woman should act like a woman, and not—he concluded, watching Janice pace the hospital corridor like an expectant father, cursing under her breath—like that.

He was the first to see Mel emerge from the room down the hall. When he jumped up from his seat Janice glared at him in alarm, then stopped as she saw Mel's approach. Still damp from the rain, she pushed rain-curled hair out of her face with an absent-minded air.

They looked at her expectantly.

"He's had a stroke," she said, as calmly as she could.

Approximately two hours ago McKay had entered his superior's office, to see if the old man needed anything before he left for the day, and he found Frobisher slumped over the desk, unconscious.

"Will he...?" whispered Janice.

"They don't know. It's rather touch and go right now." Wearily she sat down.

"Bloody hell," murmured the Sergeant. "I've got to get back to HQ, then. Have to let everyone know..." he sighed. He already felt exhausted. Mel touched his sleeve gently; despite his gruffness, she knew McKay was quite devoted to and fond of his commanding officer. "If you need anything, Sergeant, let me know. I'll probably be here most of the night."

"Miss, you should go home," McKay insisted. "You're all wet—your coat, your hair...don't want you to get the flu, you know."

At the word flu she felt Janice's hard gaze on her again. And she returned the glare. "I'll be fine, Sergeant." McKay nodded, yet squirmed as he sensed the discord between the two women. I don't want to know, he thought.

Her eyelids fluttered, and the blue eyes emerged like butterflies from a chrysalis. The clock at the end of the corridor read 6:35. Morning, she realized, and stretched her long, aching limbs. The doctor would be around soon, she remembered, and would update her on Anton's condition.

Her sleepy eyes blinked in disbelief

Janice was curled up fetally in a chair across from her, sleeping. She clutched her cap as if it were a teddy bear. She stayed here with me. Last night, Janice had left with McKay, and returned a half-hour later with clothes for Mel. Wordlessly she had placed them beside Mel and walked away, down the corridor, without a word. Mel never knew that she had returned; when she drifted off to sleep around 2 (or was it 3?) she was alone.

She felt relief. When she watched Janice walk away from her last night, she wondered when she might see her lover next. Will she run off and join the Foreign Legion this time? Disappear on a dig? Go on a bender? She sat and studied the sleeping woman, as she had done on many an occasion: the brows, darker than the red-gold hair (which was pulled back in a pony tail), were pressed together, as if the archaeologist were deep in thought, even unconsciously; the cheeks were slightly flushed, the full lips parted sensually, the breathing deep and regular. I think you tamed her, Anton had said to her about Janice a few weeks ago. Was this proof of that, the fact that this woman was back at her side? I like her a little wild, Mel conceded, but I'm also glad she's here.

She was so engrossed in her study of Janice that she did not notice the nurse who had crept up to her on little cat feet and gently touched her shoulder. "The doctor's here," she told Mel.

The doctor, waiting for her at the end of the corridor, was young. Yet like so many young men of his generation, he carried around a sense of permanent fatigue, as if the rest of his life would not be long enough to recover from the war. And it probably wouldn't. "You're Colonel Frobisher's...wife?" he asked, with uncertainty.

She almost laughed. "No, just...his family."

He looked confused for a moment, then continued. "I see. He's had a rather nasty stroke, as you've been told. His chances for survival are good, since he made it through the night. As for a full recovery, I can't say. Only time will tell. I'd like to keep an eye on him for a few days, then we'll send him home. He's a bit groggy, but you can see him in a few minutes."

"Thank you," she replied quietly.

Later she entered his room. He looked smaller, paler, fragile. As did her father, when he was dying. It was more dramatic with Daddy, she thought, since her father had been a big, strapping man. It had been agony to see him waste away. And it was almost as horrible to see this. Not again, she vowed. I don't want to go through this again.

Janice could smell coffee. Coffee...I need to get Mel some coffee, her foggy brain registered the imperative. Her body jerked awake. The first thing she saw was a cup of coffee in front of her face, held by a familiar, beautiful hand.

"Good morning," Mel said softly.

"Oh Mel," groaned the archaeologist, as she stretched out the kinks in her back and legs.

"Hmmm?"

"Goddammit, I was going to wake up before you and get you some...coffee" She took the proffered cup. "I fucked up again."

"You didn't." She said it gently. But she knew it would not convince Janice—or even herself, she was ashamed to admit—of that fact.

"Thanks." Janice stared into the black liquid, as if she had never seen coffee before. "How is he?"

"He's...better. They think he'll pull through. How much damage has been inflicted to his body, and to his mind...well, they just don’t know yet. We have to wait and see."

An uneasy silence passed between them.

I should apologize, Janice thought. I should tell her I didn't mean to hurt her, I didn't mean for it to happen...it meant nothing, I love her, I really do.

I should apologize, Mel thought. I did lie to her. And I really don't care about what happened. She could sleep with everyone in England right now, and I wouldn't care...would I? Okay, maybe everyone is pushing it...but it doesn’t matter as long as she loves me. Right?

But what Mel thought—and what she said—were quite different. A deeply imbedded impulse to hurt, something she scarcely acknowledged, something she was afraid of, reared its head and bared its ugly truth.

"I can't go with you," Mel blurted. I'm such an idiot, Mel sighed. I could have said it...in a better way. "You know that."

The words were like a hammer. "Uh...yeah," Janice acknowledged in a husky voice, while blinking like a punch-drunk boxer. "I know that. You should be here. For him."

"Janice, I'm sorry."

The newly promoted lieutenant stood up and stretched quickly. "You know something? I've got to go. I need to be briefed before I leave tomorrow."

Mel felt helpless. "I...will I...?" God, you can't leave like this. She reached out to touch Janice's arm, but she skittered easily out of Mel's grasp.

"I'll...see you later. Okay?" Janice managed to force the words out. Before Mel could respond, she was gone, striding quickly down the bleak corridor.

She had reached her threshold of exhaustion. She finally left the hospital in the afternoon, returned to the hotel, and collapsed. When she awoke several hours later, she was contorted on the bed, in her slip, and the wild colors of the sunset were flooding the room. She chastised herself for not closing the curtains earlier, and was debating getting dressed merely to go over and close them, or to dash over, scantily clad, and risk having someone see her. Propriety strikes again, she thought heavily.

Then she heard the key in the door.

The door swung open, and Janice swayed in. Drunk. Her rolling gait managed to carry her over to the bed, where she plopped down on the edge. Mel slid over to where she sat, and gasped. Blood dribbled from the archaeologist's nose, and had coated her lips. "Oh, God," whispered Mel.

"Fight," Janice supplied.

I thought so, otherwise that was one very rough debriefing you got, Mel thought. She stood up with the intention of going to the bathroom and procuring a washcloth to clean off the blood. Janice grasped her arm. "No," she moaned the protest. "Stay here for a minute."

Mel sat down on the bed and touched the bloodied lips with her fingers, wiping away some of the blood. "What?" she whispered urgently.

"Kiss me."

She did not. Instead, she pressed a cool hand to Janice's warm forehead. "Why, why do you always insist on hurting yourself?"

"Do you think I punched myself in the face?" Janice was angry, but did not pull away.

"No, that's not what I meant." But I can probably guess what happened to you, darling. You went into a pub, and you picked a fight with the biggest, nastiest piece of work you could find. If beating yourself up isn't sufficient enough, you find someone else to do it for you.

"Don't say anything else. Please."

"But—"

"I need you." Janice's lips, saturated red, claimed Mel's. The bitter, coppery tang of blood seeped into the scholar's mouth. It did not bother her. I know you so well, your blood has mingled with mine since our beginning. How many times has your touch burned through me and quenched itself within my blood, my heart? Could anything you give to me, could anything you do, be so horrible? Nothing, except leaving me. She felt Janice's hands tangle carelessly within her hair, and she slid a hand inside a khaki shirt, her touch gliding over the smooth neck and rippling shoulders. She felt guilty, thinking that perhaps they should be talking about everything that happened. But the desire was a way of coping with the imminent loss, the easiest way of doing so. It was a way of saying goodbye. As she stripped away the clothes, so she hoped someday she would be able to strip away all the layers of defenses, the bravado, the insecurities of this...complicated woman.

And I’m not complicated? she asked herself.

She gently pulled Janice back on the bed, and covered her with her own long body. Then her mind stilled and she listened as their bodies spoke to one another.

Later in the night Janice had awakened. Another nightmare. Mel held her as her breathing slowed, and until the sweat on her brow cooled. Janice never really talked in detail about the dreams, or what happened in them...all she knew was that they were somehow connected to what happened in France, to her friend's death—Janice somehow felt guilty about it. She gently traced the small scars on Janice's strong thigh, where she had been shot. She felt a muscle twitch under her fingertips. As the scars intersected each other, like pieces of a puzzle fitting together, so did something formulate in her mind.

"You've never killed anyone before, have you?" Mel probed gently.

Janice's head, buried in her chest, shook from side to side. No.

The gun she always carried, the Smith & Wesson...she knew that Harry had given it to Janice, and, from seeing her in action with a gatling gun, she knew the woman could shoot. But she hadn't really thought it through—in a way, didn't want to know—if Janice had ever really shot anyone. Or killed anyone. She didn't want to know if the rumors about "Mad Dog" Covington were true, didn't want to know if Xena's bloody legacy tainted them both. But one afternoon in Macedonia—after Ares, just before they returned to the States—she recalled the Smith and Wesson flashing in the sun as Janice twirled it around, like Jesse James. It was a romantic image. And she had felt the first glimmer of desire for Janice at that moment: her quick hands, her wide grin, her tanned, lithe body, the golden hair that rivaled the sun in its luster....Janice had caught her fearful yet fascinated look at the gun, and laughed. Usually I just wave it around, fire off a few shots maybe, and people leave me alone, the archaeologist had assured her.

***

Alexandria, 1933

A wooden ramp lead down into the excavation pit. The crew of a dozen young men watched as a bloodied, unconscious body rolled unceremoniously down the ramp, staining the pale wood on its journey. Dust swirled around the body, as it thudded to a halt in the dirt.

Fayed, the foreman of the group, looked at the body unsympathetically. He clucked and pushed back a lock of his unruly black hair. He had known that the man who lay at his feet would not last long here: He had seen the way Cherif had eyed Harry Covington's daughter. And since Cherif was his wife's cousin, he felt an obligation to warn him that it wasn't worth it—that Covington would beat him within an inch of his life if he tried to seduce her, and would definitely kill him if he succeeded in bedding the girl. And he had been right.

He turned his attention to Covington, who loomed above them at the edge of the pit. He was short yet powerfully muscular, built like a wrestler. Shouting in Arabic, hands on hips, he informed them all that the next man who laid a hand on his daughter would die. Then he ordered them back to work.

Reluctantly, the group of men walked away from the body. Except Fayed, who awaited Harry's instructions.

"Fayed..." Harry began wearily.

"Yes, Harry?" Fayed was the only one in the crew who was bold enough to call the archaeologist by his first name.

"Get that bastard out of here. Drive him home. Get someone to help you if you need to."

Fayed nodded.

"And Fayed?"

"Yes?"

"Tell your wife I'm sorry."

The Arab nodded again, a smile tugging at his lips. He couldn't wait to tell his wife I told you so.

Harry walked back to his tent. He hesitated in front of the flap, and took a deep breath. He pushed back the flap and entered.

Janice was curled on the cot, her legs tucked up against her chest, and her arms wrapped around them. Her head was pressed against her knees. She did not look at him as he came over to her. He sat down carefully on the edge of the bed. "Janie?" he whispered.

Almost a minute passed. then finally she raised her head. Her lip was bleeding and, he noticed for the first time, there were violent bruises around her neck. His anger flared anew, and he recalled the scene he had found just a half-hour ago, when he came back from the marketplace ahead of schedule: Cherif in the tent, one hand pinning Janice down by the throat, she half-naked and squirming under him, his other hand fumbling with the buttons on his trousers.

The guilt hit him. Dammit, I shouldn't have left her here. In fact, she shouldn't even be here at all. This is no place for a girl. But where would she go—willingly, for that matter? She'd follow me here every time. I know her. Gingerly he reached out and touched her hair. she did not pull away, but he felt the shudder travel down her body. "I'm sorry, Dad," she said hoarsely.

"It's not your fault," he said emphatically. "If that man knew the proper way to behave, it wouldn't have happened." He sighed. "Honey, let me take care of that lip for you. Then I'm gonna show you how to take care of yourself. It's been a long time coming."

Intrigued, the girl looked at him quizzically.

He stood up and walked over to the other cot in the tent. He threw off the thin blanket and reached under the pillow. Grinning, he pulled out a Smith & Wesson revolver. "I'm gonna show you how to use this. Between that and some boxing lessons, kid..." his smile faded, and he concluded darkly, "...no one's ever gonna hurt you again."

***

A jeep sailed across the runway. Catherine, watching from the hangar, half-expected the thing to rise off the ground, as if it were a plane too. As the vehicle drew nearer she recognized the red-gold hair flying in the air, the eyes hidden by sunglasses. The jeep stopped at the other end of the hangar. Covington climbed out of the vehicle, exchanging a few words and a quick hug with the driver, another WAC. Interesting. Is the little bitch capable of cheating on her lover? I couldn't be so lucky. It would make things too easy.

With her rucksack slung over a shoulder, Covington swaggered over to her. She wasn't in full uniform, Catherine noted with disapproval. A leather jacket covered the white t-shirt she wore, which showed off her taut physique quite nicely—and Catherine did approve of the flat stomach and the full, rounded breasts that were available for her viewing pleasure. They probably fucked like rabbits last night. In fact, I hope they did. For it will be the last time, I swear.

"Lieutenant," she drawled in greeting. "Glad you could make it." Upon a closer view, she saw that Covington’s nose looked a little red, a little bruised. Oh dear...did she make Melinda lose her temper? It takes a lot...but it is possible, and this one is just as annoying as Daphne ever was.

"Sorry about the delay. I woke up late."

"Of course," replied the OSS operative archly. "I won't ask what detained you. That wouldn't be terribly lady-like, would it? Not that either of us are ladies." She let a grin curl her face. Let the torture begin.

To Covington's credit, the young lieutenant did not rise to the bait. She smirked in return. "I agree, neither one of us are ladies. But that shouldn't keep us from our mission, should it? Are we ready to go?"

Catherine nodded toward the bomber that sat on the runway. "Yes. Over there. Shall we?" together they walked toward the plane. Catherine pulled a silver cigarette case out of a pocket and opened it with one smooth gesture. "Cigarette, Lieutenant?"

Janice hesitated for a nanosecond, then accepted. No point in antagonizing the woman. Sometimes a cigarette is just a cigarette, no? And besides, I could use it. When she left in the morning Mel had still been asleep. She had not the heart to wake the slumbering scholar, nor had the time to leave a note. She only hoped that Mel understood somehow. But I ditched her again. Maybe now she'll ditch me...for good. I guess I deserve it.

"Thanks," she said to Catherine, as the blonde agent lit her cigarette.

"Who knows, Lieutenant...this may be the beginning of a beau-ti-ful friendship," the OSS agent declared in a sing-song voice.

Janice let the angrily spewed smoke speak for itself.

***

October, 1945

"Thank bloody Christ," Sergeant McKay said, as he opened the door of Frobisher's home, and saw Mel standing on the doorstep.

"Hello to you too, Sergeant." She strode into the townhouse, bringing with her a gust of crisp autumn air. Once again he felt like a troll next to her, and cleared his throat anxiously.

"Er, sorry, Miss Pappas. But the Colonel's been acting funny today...and I'm just glad you're here."

"What's happening?" Mel asked, as they mounted the stairs to Frobisher's bedroom.

"He won't stay in bed, and he's been wandering around everywhere. It's like he's lookin' for something, but he won't tell me what."

He probably can't, thought Mel. Since his release from the hospital almost three weeks ago, the Colonel had been unable to speak, and barely able to move. Usually when he did speak, it was nonsense, although the notes he handed to Mel yesterday made more sense than usual. Every day since he left the hospital she would come by and spend the better part of the day with him and the nurse. Usually she read to him. Her unconscious selection of reading material — Trollope's Can You Forgive Her? — irked her, the title wailing its insistent question, immediately bringing to mind her errant lover.

Yesterday, however, he had seized the notepad she had bought for him, and a pen, and rather laboriously scrawled out the following message:

I hate Trollope, it said.

She nodded sympathetically. "How about Austen?"

He made a face.

"Balzac?" I'll go through the alphabet if I have to, she thought.

He shrugged. Then nodded. Then, as if he suddenly remembered something, started to write on the pad again. After a few minutes of watching him grimace and scowl with the effort, the pad was thrust at her.

Go to Germany.

"I can't...not now," she replied firmly, mentally begging him to change the subject.

He shook his head vigorously, like a wet dog trying to get dry. "Oh!" he cried softly, in frustration, which startled her. Again he set to work on the pad. Beads of perspiration popped against his forehead.

"Take it easy," she cautioned him gently, laying a hand on his arm, which trembled under her touch. He handed another message to her:

You don't understand. It's danger.

It hit a nerve. She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. "I know it's dangerous. I know. But she's a grown woman. She can take care of herself." And she better...because when I get my hands on her, I'm going to kill her, Mel had thought angrily. And while that had been the day prior, her anger still lingered, of course. She leaves without so much as a word, not even a "goodbye"...what am I supposed to think? It's my own fault too, I should've said something, I should've said so much...she is driving me insane...this whole situation is driving me insane. Mel was agonizing over this in her mind for what seemed like the millionth time when she and McKay entered the Colonel's bedroom.

The old man stood in the center of the room. His bathrobe hung limply around his thinning frame, as did his fleur-de-lis pajamas. His gray hair, uncombed, stood out in wild tufts here and there. He looked utterly confused.

"Uncle Anton, I never thought I'd ever be saying this to you, but...get into bed right now!" Mel chastised.

"Nonsense," the old man muttered. "I need..." he trailed off with a sigh.

McKay looked at her, concerned. She tapped her shoulder bag, hoping to distract him. "I did bring some Balzac," she said. It was an old leather-bound volume that she bought at a bookseller's on Portobello Road earlier in the day: A Harlot High and Low. Another title that prompted her mind to wallow in all sorts of scathing commentary concerning Janice Covington. None of which she said, of course.

He sighed and looked around the room.

"Are you looking for something?" she asked.

"Love in all the wrong places," he replied.

McKay rolled his eyes. "If you could tell me what you're looking for, I can help you," she offered. "Maybe if you try to write it down."

He shook his head. "My...bag," he said emphatically. "Leather!" he cried.

"Your briefcase!" she clarified.

He nodded vigorously.

"What d'ya need that for?" McKay asked impatiently.

Frobisher growled.

"Just...look for it, Sergeant. Please?" Mel asked.

It took him half an hour, but finally McKay found the old leather briefcase. It was in a broom closet downstairs, where McKay had shoved it weeks ago after bringing home the Colonel's clothes from the hospital. The Sergeant had apparently mistaken it for a real clothes closet.

He brought it up to Frobisher, who snatched it from him and proceeded to rummage through it with great speed. He sat on the edge of his bed, Mel beside him. Papers fell at his feet as he dug through the briefcase. Finally he was staring at a black leather binder. He thrust it at Mel.

She took it and opened it. The first word she saw, screaming out to her in blood-red letters, was CLASSIFIED.

"Anton," she protested, "I can't read this!" She shoved it at him.

He shoved it back.

She exchanged a look with McKay, who appeared just as confused—and nervous—as she.

Anton's eyes were pleading as he held out the binder to her. Reluctantly, she turned her head to the document, and started reading in her usual brisk manner. But as she progressed her mouth dropped open in quiet shock. "Oh...God," she whispered.

The classified report—it was not directed to Anton but the London head of OSS, and she had no idea how he had got a hold of it—detailed Catherine Stoller's activities in Berlin during the war. She and a fellow agent had been posing as an SS official and his wife: Hans and Lotte Steiner. Three months before the end of the war, her fellow operative was dead, an apparent suicide — an encoded radio message sent by Catherine indicated that their mission had been found out. She had escaped capture, but he did not; rather than risk revealing anything to the enemy, he took his own life. Catherine had then disappeared until resurfacing in London just after Germany's surrender.

An additional document, attached to the report, was a deposition from an SS soldier, a prisoner of war. This man claimed that, indeed, the Germans had discovered — indeed, had known for quite some time — that the officer known as Hans Steiner was a British agent. They monitored his movements for some time before arresting him. After a unsuccessful attempt at extracting information from him, he had been executed by one of their agents. A double agent. Catherine Stoller.

She let the sheaf of papers fall to floor. History repeats itself. Even the history you do not know, even the history you are not aware of.

Anton's hand sought hers, and squeezed it with more strength than she imagined he had. "Go," he said simply, his voice ravaged.

She nodded mutely. Didn’t I say I had a bad feeling about this?

[efortmanteau]

TMA Headcanons

I sort of spoiled myself in terms of headcanons for The Adventure Zone, so now I try to finish/get caught up on podcasts and form impressions entirely in my head before introducing visual ideas via fanart. And lately I've been focusing on The Magnus Archives SOOOO here we go:

My headcanons for The Magnus Archives. A few were originally written after listening through s2. I've added my s3 thoughts below characters or in a new section. I'm only 3 episodes in to s4 so no spoilers after the end of s3.

Jon (I only recently discovered that there's no H in his spelling, whoops) aka The Archivist - Obviously Jon doesn't really have fun ever, so the main word I think of is 'austere.' He's a pale white guy with dark hair and greyish or brownish eyes who basically always dresses formally--collared shirts, slacks, maybe even vests, usually neutral colors. He's thin, but not fit--just the type of guy who doesn't put on weight since he doesn't focus much on food. Rectangular face, maybe has facial hair… I haven't decided, but if he does, it's like a goatee/mustache scenario that's always well trimmed. In my mind, he's young to mid 30s, but could look older. When he's scared or disshevelled though, he looks a lot younger. I think he's also kind of short, maybe 5'8", so he keeps really good posture to make up for it. Ben Whishaw is almost right, but he'd have to be homelier. S3 updates: Not really any? Although apparently it's Jon without an H. I've confirmed that he looks older than he is since the spider picturebook episode (which I would love Don Hertzfeld to animate, perhaps with assistance from Jules Feiffer who is 90 gd years old… that episode is so vivid in my head). Also I forgot Jon has worm… scars? Pock-marks? Not sure how that works, but you probably don't see them much, given I can't imagine him in short sleeves or shorts, although maybe he has a few on his neck visible pretty frequently, above collars. I'm was pleased to learn he is canonically asexual, but not all that surprised. Something about the way he interacted with Georgie in her apartment had me wondering… maybe it reminds me of me and my ex (I'm the asexual one, my ex isn't, but we still get along).

Martin - I immediately imagined Marty (Terry Gross Waters-Waters SAT tutor in Gayle) when I learned more about soft, sweet lad Martin, so Matty Cardarople has always kind of been in my head. That is probably just a similar name situation, but it's kind of perfect. Since Martin said he wasn't the smallest of guys but still made it into a basement window, I imagine he's kind of tall and chubby, but doesn't seem tall, slouchy, not the most confident person. Sort of a Neville Longbottom situation (before the glow-up). I think somewhere between Matty and Nick Robinson is around the correct appearance: a little more clean shaven and formally dressed than Matty often is with shorter hair (but still flippy), but softer than Nick is. This guy wears sweaters a lot. I guess he's canonically 29 at the end of s1--I had imagined him in his mid 20s somewhere, but I guess he was pretending to be older since he claimed he had a master's degree. S3 updates: Martin is probably the one who was most easy for me to imagine. I never really thought of his fixation on Jon to be a crush, which I'm really intrigued by in terms of character development. I was parsing it more of Martin being a bit of a subservient character, that he was like that to everyone in the office, but we only saw it from Jon's POV as the primary narrator. If I do a re-listen, I'll be very interested to pick out some Martin/Jon moments now that I have a different context.

Sasha (or maybe Sascha) - I sort of had Sally Donovan from BBC's Sherlock in mind initially. I tried to stray away from that and looked up "half black actress." I picked out Zawe Ashton without even realizing that she had in fact played Sally (in one episode, so not her main actress) because of her hair and skin and the fact that her face is pleasant, but not the typical hyper-button baby doll face that some actresses have. Sasha has natural hair with light curls (sometimes straightened). I originally pictured a small afro, but I think in s2, they refer to her as having long hair, so I guess not? I'm also not clear if that was Not-Sasha imitating her, or just straight up not looking like real-Sasha at all. She's slim, pretty posh/minimalist in style--grey herringbone peacoat, umbrella, boots. I imagine she's half Russian heritage-wise, since is a common Russian diminutive for Aleksandra. I would put her in the 25-27 age range. S3 updates: I caught on to Not-Sasha (partially because I saw the name in the voice actor credits, whoops), but I think I also caught something in Lottie's flat affect that clued me in. I thought that the imposter was just good at disguise, not that people had been cursed to forget what real Sasha looked like, so Melanie's introduction and take on Sasha/Not-Sasha threw me off a bit. I don't remember if the "long hair" comment was for real- or Not-Sasha. But I don't have any headcanons about Not-Sasha… just that she looks nothing like the original.

Tim - In my head Tim is the tallest main character, maybe 6'2", and pretty fit. He's imposing at first glance, but since he's so congenial and laid back (at least in s1 before Jon totally pisses him off) everyone who knows him knows he's a nice, fun guy. He's black, with fairly dark complexion, short hair, clean shaven. He probably wears sweaters too, but like… the thinner kind. None of this bulky knit from grandma that Martin rocks. I first think of Alan from Russian Doll (Charlie Barnett), but darker, just black instead of more mixed. I'd say he's around Jon's age. S3 updates: RIP in pepperinos. I guess him being fit is not unreasonable since he is… canonically? (does Alex and Jonny joking about it make it canonical) an outdoorsy adventurer. I certainly missed his friendly nature, but my headcanons didn't really change. He just looked a lot more tired up until the end of s3.

Elias - He is older than the rest of them, I would guess in his 40s or 50s, but given that it's canon that he rose in the ranks kind of quickly, maybe he's not that old after all. I don't really have a good mental picture of him, maybe because I can't differentiate his voice from John's a lot of the time until I piece the context together. In my mind he has a beard and mustache though, kind of full, and maybe dirty blonde hair that's greying a bit. S3 updates: I wouldn't be surprised if he carried a cane that was actually a sword or a gun (I'm American, so having a gun seems very easy to me, so I'm not sure if that would be rare in England). Also, did I hear something about having a grey bun? Maybe I'm completely confusing it with something else, but I'm chuckling about man bun Elias.

Michael - Well, he isn't human… but he looks kind of like a really pale guy who is mishapen and thus wearing a lot of clothing at first glance? He probably wears a lot of clothes so you can't really make him out under the trench coat, scarf, hat, etc. (I might be confusing him with someone else). I think it's canon that his hands are large and maybe have too many bones. For some reason, Michael reminds me of tourmalinated quartz--black and white for the most part, striations cutting through the clearer crystal--sort of like a metaphor for how he kind of… dimension hops? Ends up where he isn't supposed to? I imagine striations of his appearance sort of blip in and out when you look at him based on the static he causes on recordings. S3 updates: I now know that he was an assistant to Gertrude. I guess my idea of his human form is basically the same color and demeanor, just not other-worldly in proportions and bone count. Probably the tall gangly type of white guy. ALSO I guess he's kind of Helen now…? I'll do a separate one for Helen.

---BREAK to add characters I didn't write about until the end of s3---

Basira - I assume she is a Muslim woman, based on her name. I imagine she wears a hijab. I picture her as Middle-Eastern, perhaps Iranian, but she could also be black (there are a fair amount of black Muslims in America, not sure if it's common in England). Other than the hijab, she's not very feminine in her styling. Being on the force probably means you want pretty functional, utilitarian garments. I don't remember if she talked in great detail about how she joined the police, whether it was straight from school, but in my mind she's late 30s.

Daisy - I think I recall she has a back tattoo? She's a murderer so she has a tough air about her, but she's also a subtle murderer, so nothing about her screams that she's dangerous… you just get that feeling, you know? I imagine a white lady, short blonde hair, blue eyes. Kind of like Brienne of Tarth, but more plain than ugly. She's maybe early to mid 40s. I'm not sure if her relationship with Basira is supposed to be romantic or not. I kind of prefer this weird closeness that doesn't always equate to trust given their specific experiences. Regardless, I imagine they are around the same age.

Melanie - Melanie is probably the youngest, early to mid 20s. Typical build and height, maybe a little chubby, but not unable to climb fences or anything (gotta hunt them ghosts). She has a short, asymmetrical bob, dark hair, but part is dyed a bright color of pink, purple, maybe green. I imagine she has a go-to windbreaker that has some neon colors.

Helen - I'm so sad that we had to lose Michael to gain Helen. I really love the Spiral and the characters we've met who are involved with them. Helen in my mind was a badass realtor, ready to close a deal, very driven… and that carried over into becoming SpiralHelen. She sort of outsmarted it with the locked door, didn't she? I can't imagine that's very common for humans/avatars to get the better of their entities. She seems really strong willed, so I'm excited to see where she goes as a human who is becoming an avatar. I think her personality translates into her being 40-something but like lowkey hot? She probably rocks a suit with a skirt in bold colors that men's wear usually doesn't offer (all over red suit, tailored to her, pumps, straight brown hair, nice makeup). I'm not sure how the Spiral would affect her… maybe her angles just get a little more pronounced? She's probably not yet to the point of disfiguration that Michael was anyway.

Georgie - She is like a terrier who will bark at a big dog because they don't know to be afraid of it (or… how to be afraid of it, in her case). She is short, 5'2" or less (I just remembered that a lot of the listeners probably use metric measurements, so sorry for that, but I'm not going to bother converting). I imagine she is cute--she dresses up for her dates to Hungarian restaurants (my favorite detail omg girl get it) and wants to look hot, but really she can't get away from cute. Brown curly hair, big brown eyes, button nose. But resting bitch face… gotta ward off those catcalls and get taken seriously somehow.

Jergen? I can’t spell, it’s Jurgen - Jowly white guy. Wispy caramelly colored hair that's going white. Probably pretty tall, which I'm sure what an annoyance in those tunnels.

Gertrude - At first glance, just some old white lady. But after you get to know her, you realize she can probably murder you and is nowhere near as frail as you think. Curly, wiry grey hair.

[shatteredlovers]

BABE ANSWER ALL OF THE QUESTIONSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

I’m gonna fight u

1. Who was the last person you held hands with? u2. Are you outgoing or shy? shy3. Who are you looking forward to seeing? u... and my nj peeps at the end of the semester4. Are you easy to get along with? ye i think so5. If you were drunk would the person you like take care of you? u do lol6. What kind of people are you attracted to? u 7. Do you think you’ll be in a relationship two months from now? yes (:8. Who from the opposite gender is on your mind? i’m wondering how my little brothers are making out in college!!9. Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable? no10. Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with? wendy, lexie, or dom I’m not sure11. What does the most recent text that you sent say? “she’s just bein safe!!”12. What are your 5 favorite songs right now? “Rivers and Roads” by The Head and the Heart, “Feels like Summer” by Childish Gambino, “Fallingwater” by Maggie Rogers, “Peach Scone” by Hobo Johnson, and I can’t think of another rn but I’m listening to “17″ by Youth Lagoon.13. Do you like it when people play with your hair? YES14. Do you believe in luck and miracles? yeah15. What good thing happened this summer? I got to spend it with u making memories16. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again? hell yeah (;17. Do you think there is life on other planets? yes18. Do you still talk to your first crush? no19. Do you like bubble baths? yes!!20. Do you like your neighbors? i don’t know them /:21. What are you bad habits? i’m messy tbh22. Where would you like to travel? oh god everywhere, but i’d really like to meet my cousins in Scotland23. Do you have trust issues? I did but I feel good now24. Favorite part of your daily routine? putting my feet up at the end of the day to eat and watch New Girl or Big Mouth25. What part of your body are you most uncomfortable with? maybe my teddies mostly bc they hurt my back lol26. What do you do when you wake up? i hit snooze about 6 times27. Do you wish your skin was lighter or darker? nah i’m chill28. Who are you most comfortable around? wendy29. Have any of your ex’s told you they regret breaking up? all but one30. Do you ever want to get married? yes i do31. If your hair long enough for a pony tail? yes!32. Which celebrities would you have a threesome with? rihanna and harry styles are prob my top33. Spell your name with your chin. sd jk,hg34. Do you play sports? What sports? i don’t anymore lol35. Would you rather live without TV or music? tv36. Have you ever liked someone and never told them? that was my entire childhood-adolescence 37. What do you say during awkward silences? nothing, they don't bother me rly38. Describe your dream girl/guy? u wendy!!!!39. What are your favorite stores to shop in? i like thrift stores, h&m, target, honestly wherever40. What do you want to do after high school? I’m gonna be a music therapist41. Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance? no42. If your being extremely quiet what does it mean? I’m probably either observing, spaced out, sleepy, or fuming.43. Do you smile at strangers? yeah44. Trip to outer space or bottom of the ocean? ocean45. What makes you get out of bed in the morning? there’s stuff i gotta do46. What are you paranoid about? figuring out internship stuff coming in the next year47. Have you ever been high? once48. Have you ever been drunk? plenty49. Have you done anything recently that you hope nobody finds out about? no50. What was the colour of the last hoodie you wore? gray51. Ever wished you were someone else? when i was like 12/13 i did a lot52. One thing you wish you could change about yourself? i wish i was a little more organized53. Favourite makeup brand? thATS HARD54. Favourite store? barnes and noble55. Favourite blog? urs56. Favourite color? dark green57. Favourite food? eggplant parmesan 58. Last thing you ate? a lifesaver gummy that my client’s sister gave me!59. First thing you ate this morning? baby carrots60. Ever won a competition? For what? idk honestly lol i’ve won singing things61. Been suspended/expelled? For what? no62. Been arrested? For what? no63. Ever been in love? i’m falling right now.64. Tell us the story of your first kiss? i was taken advantage of so it kind of blew65. Are you hungry right now? very66. Do you like your tumblr friends more than your real friends? i like you all equally!!!!67. Facebook or Twitter? neither68. Twitter or Tumblr? tumblr69. Are you watching tv right now? no70. Names of your bestfriends? i have quite a few71. Craving something? What? u wendy i want to snug72. What colour are your towels? turquoise72. How many pillows do you sleep with? 173. Do you sleep with stuffed animals? sometimes but i usually hug wendy or my pillow74. How many stuffed animals do you think you have? 1, I got rid of everything but a sloth that my friend got me when i got into my car accident75. Favourite animal? dogs and owls76. What colour is your underwear? i’m not wearing any lol77. Chocolate or Vanilla? chocolate all the way78. Favourite ice cream flavor? chocolate fudge brownie ben and jerrys

79. What colour shirt are you wearing? gray-blue

80. What colour pants? gray81. Favourite tv show? i love the office, criminal minds, and new girl82. Favourite movie? When Harry Met Sally or Dead Poets Society83. Mean Girls or Mean Girls 2? original84. Mean Girls or 21 Jump Street? idk they’re different types of funny lol85. Favourite character from Mean Girls? idk86. Favourite character from Finding Nemo? squirt87. First person you talked to today? lexie88. Last person you talked to today? my supervisor89. Name a person you hate? i don’t really hate anyone, i just distance myself from people that are toxic to my wellbeing.90. Name a person you love? I love you, Wendy.91. Is there anyone you want to punch in the face right now? nope!92. In a fight with someone? nope!93. How many sweatpants do you have? 3 pairs maybe94. How many sweaters/hoodies do you have? too many (i.e. not enough)95. Last movie you watched? Scarface96. Favourite actress? eh97. Favourite actor? eh98. Do you tan a lot? no99. Have any pets? I HAVE A BUNNY HERE IN AZ AND IN JERSEY I HAVE TWO DOGS AND A FISH AT MY PARENTS100. How are you feeling? p good 101. Do you type fast?decently fast if i don't think about it lol102. Do you regret anything from your past? not really103. Can you spell well? yes my grandpa made me spell all the time as a kid104. Do you miss anyone from your past? no105. Ever been to a bonfire party? yes they're my fave106. Ever broken someone’s heart? yeah107. Have you ever been on a horse? no108. What should you be doing? my session summaries and activity write-up for tomorrow109. Is something irritating you right now? i slammed my foot getting out of the car and idk if i super fucked something up bc its hurts rly bad110. Have you ever liked someone so much it hurt? yeah111. Do you have trust issues? i did but i’m ok now112. Who was the last person you cried in front of? probably wendy113. What was your childhood nickname? M&M114. Have you ever been out of your province/state? yeah115. Do you play the Wii? i have before lol116. Are you listening to music right now? yes “let’s talk about feelings” by joywave117. Do you like chicken noodle soup? yes118. Do you like Chinese food? YES119. Favourite book? idk i rly like classics120. Are you afraid of the dark? partially121. Are you mean? i can be122. Is cheating ever okay? N O 123. Can you keep white shoes clean? no i suck124. Do you believe in love at first sight? no but you can click w someone125. Do you believe in true love? sure126. Are you currently bored? no127. What makes you happy? you, my friends, my family, animals, music128. Would you change your name? thought about changing it to my middle name129. What your zodiac sign? libra130. Do you like subway? eh jersey mikes is better131. Your bestfriend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? say thanks but i love wendy132. Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? i think i already answered this133. Favourite lyrics right now? idk134. Can you count to one million? no i lose focus easily135. Dumbest lie you ever told? idk lol136. Do you sleep with your doors open or closed? closed and often locked137. How tall are you? 5′2138. Curly or Straight hair? i have straight hair but i love curly hair139. Brunette or Blonde? i love brunette hair140. Summer or Winter? summer in jersey, winter in AZ141. Night or Day? night142. Favourite month? October143. Are you a vegetarian? not a chance144. Dark, milk or white chocolate? DARK CHOCOLATE145. Tea or Coffee? i like both146. Was today a good day? yeah it was my session went rly well w my client147. Mars or Snickers? snickers all the way148. What’s your favourite quote? “If flowers can grow through blankets of melting snow there is hope for me” - @tylerknott149. Do you believe in ghosts? yes150. Get the closest book next to you, open it to page 42, what’s the first line on that page? i don’t have a book anywhere near me unfortunately lol

[dyde21]

PERCABETH taking care of Estelle

Thank you for the prompt! I’m surprised I haven’t been following you before now. If I was asked to sit down and list 5 PJO blogs, you’re one of the ones that I’d say. Pretty sure it’s cause of @anxiouspineapples . Anyway, I hope you enjoy! I’m not exactly familiar with dealing with babies so I did my best. =P

XxXxXxXxX

Collapsing with a huff on the couch, Percy crawled over the pillows and rested his head in Annabeth’s lap. His arm snaked around her waist as he buried his face into her stomach, inhaling her scent as he let a sigh escape him. He was just so tired. Tonight was supposed to be a a cute date, and a relaxing evening for the two of them. After they had their chance to get lunch and see a movie, they had promised Sally they would watch Percy’s little sister while she finally got an evening off to go see a movie and get dinner with Paul. Now normally, Estelle was a bit of an angel. As far as babies went, she was usually well behaved. Slept without much trouble, simple feeding and changing would pacify her. Both Annabeth and Percy didn’t mind watching her. Plus she was utterly adorable. That was most nights though. Tonight seemed to be an exception. Sally had looked exhausted by the time they returned from their movie, and for once seemed all too eager to leave the house. This had given Annabeth pause, but as time passed her suspicions were confirmed. Estelle was having a rough day. Waking up with cries multiple times an hour, general restlessness, and a seemingly amped up level of screaming. Her vocal chords seemed to be getting stronger, unfortunately. Frowning down at her boyfriend, Annabeth gently ran her hand through his hair. She hated seeing him like this. She knew that their final year of high school was difficult on him, he had quite a bit of work on his plate. Plus trying to keep up with the swim team. Plus dealing with their relationship, the ups and downs, and the aftermath of Tartarus. That’s why she had suggested they go out for their date today, she knew he deserved a break from everything. 

Honestly, her plan had worked for most of the day. She hadn’t seen him laugh like he had for a while. His smile was back, and he honestly seemed to be enjoying himself. That’s why she had been looking forward to a nice relaxing night with her boyfriend, maybe cuddling up and watching some movies while they babysat Estelle. Instead, their night had devolved into dealing with this. She had tried to help out with caring for the child, but Percy had insisted that she was his sister, and he would take care of her. Annabeth had tried to argue, but Percy was stubborn. So for now, she just tried to help ease his mind as he cuddled into her. Pretty soon she was going to have to put her foot down to ensure that he got the sleep he needed. It hadn’t taken long for Percy to be asleep on her lap, drooling slightly on her pajamas. She’d let it slide this once, she didn’t have the heart to move him. Almost as if on queue though, Estelle started crying. Before she could figure out a way to move Percy without waking him to address the child, his eyes slowly blinked open and he dragged himself to his feet. “I got it.” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he walked over to the child. Annabeth just watched him, chewing her lip. He needed sleep. But it wasn’t like she could tell Estelle to behave. She was a child who didn’t know better. One diaper change later, and Percy had started wandering back. He only made it half way before he just sunk to his knees and laid down on the floor. “I’m too tired.” He mumbled out. “Couch is too far.” Standing up, Annabeth prepared herself to have to drag her tired, and heavy, boyfriend to his room to sleep when the door mercifully opened. Sally entered their apartment, smiling and laughing with Paul. Pausing as she turned the corner, she saw Percy laying on the ground, looking up at her with a tired expression. “Welcome home.” He mumbled out, causing Annabeth to laugh as Sally just offered an amused sigh. “Get some sleep honey. You too Annabeth, we’ll take it from here.”Percy moved his arms as if to push himself off the ground, but a moment of half-hearted effort later and he remained where he was. “But you’re tired. We can finish the night.” He said, still staring at their shoes. Laughing again, Sally put their jackets away and moved to check on Estelle. “Honey, I’ve had years of more experience than you with this. Just get some sleep. You need it more than I do.” She turned to Annabeth. “Can you get Percy to his bed? If he doesn’t get enough sleep he’s going to be grumpy all of tomorrow.” Sighing, Annabeth moved over and helped Percy to his feet. “Come on seaweed brain. We both need sleep.” She offered. She called out a goodnight to Paul and Sally as she disappeared with Percy into his room. Getting him on the bed, she was about to leave when his arm shot out and snaked around her waist, pulling her onto the bed as he wrapped his arms around her tightly. “Don’t go anywhere.” He muttered with a yawn. Annabeth protested weakly. “Seaweed brain, I should sleep in my own bed.” She really didn’t want to, but they still had separate rooms they used, partially so Sally wouldn’t jump to conclusions about them. “But the nightmares.” He muttered softly. Freezing in place, Annabeth gently reached down and unlaced his hands. Rolling over in the bed, she was face to face with him. “Are you okay?”His eyes drooped as he stared at her. “Yeah. I’m just tired, and I get less nightmares with you around.” He confessed. A moment later he moved his hands back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. Get some sleep.”Annabeth regarded him carefully for a moment, before she stood up. She saw his shoulders slump slightly as she saw him try to mask a disappointed look. Rolling her eyes slightly, she just flicked off the light in his room before she climbed back into bed. “I was just turning off the light seaweed brain. You don’t need to pull out the puppy eyes so quickly.” She muttered before kissing his forehead. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m never leaving you again, so get some sleep.” She said, wrapping her arms around him and cradling his head into her chest. They were quiet for a few moments, and Annabeth was sure he had fallen asleep by then. His voice sudden made her jump a bit. “Hey Annabeth?”“Hmm?” Was her brilliant tired reply. “Thanks for helping me take care of Estelle.”“Anytime seaweed brain.” There was another pause where she thought he had fallen asleep. “Maybe not on days like this, but I think I want a kid of my own.”Annabeth just smiled, hugging him a little closer. “You’ll be a wonderful dad someday.”“I hope our kids are a little easier to deal with though.” He muttered.Annabeth’s chest tightened when he had said “our kids”. He was already planning kids in the future with her? Somehow, Annabeth found the thought appealing for once. Little raven haired-gray eyed kids running around. Or maybe blond haired sea-eyeed tots. A warmth spread through her chest as she kissed his forehead. “Knowing us, they won’t be. But that’s not our problem for a while. Now get some sleep.” She muttered with a yawn. A smile crept on Percy’s face. She wanted kids with him too.“I love you.” He muttered. “I love you too.” Annabeth replied gently, and soon they were both asleep in each others arms. Blissfully, the nightmares didn’t bother them that night and the cries of Estelle were expertly handled by Sally. Annabeth realized that in Percy’s arms, she felt home. And she knew one day, they would make their family a little bigger.

XxXxXxXxX

Thank you again for reading! I hope you enjoyed this, I actually had a lot of fun writing it. We all can use Percabeth fluff. Please, if anyone has any Percabeth prompts please feel free to send them my way! I’ll definitely consider them and write up a short little something!

[in-defense-of-the-horror]

American Horror Story Hotel: A Rant Continued

Yesterday I posted my thoughts on AHS: Roanoke, because it was terrible and all my anger was eating me up inside.  I thought that would be the end of it, but I was wrong.

@colonelcaribou was curious as to my thoughts on Hotel, and so I’m here to present you with more ranting about American Horror Story (something that I’m always more than happy to do, by the way.)

SPOILER WARNING: Like my last AHS rant, this is intended for people who have already seen the season in question, this time Hotel.

Let’s just go ahead and start this off with one of my favorite things; unpopular opinions. Hotel is actually my personal favorite season of American Horror Story. While I don’t think it’s as good as Murder House from a critical standpoint, the strengths from the season all play to my preferences whereas the weaknesses are issues that I seem to have with every season of the show - making it the most enjoyable for me to watch. That being said, it’s the only season (excluding Roanoke) that I’ve only seen one time, and I’m probably the least familiar with it.

While it is my favorite season - it’s far from perfect. Since this is a rant, I’m going to start by talking about the things that drove me crazy.

I think one of the aspects that bothered me most throughout the season was Chloë Sevigny’s portrayal of the grieving mother Alex Lowe. I can see where she was going with the role, the under-played emotions were meant to illustrate the detachment and depression that her character is experiencing (at least, that’s what I got out of it.) However, it led to me feeling like many parts of the story regarding her character were bland at best. The fact that the only real emotion I remember her distinctly expressing was anger (which was often misguided, misplaced, or exaggerated) tipped the scales toward me actively disliking her character. This was a big issue that I had with what was an otherwise great subplot.

Before I move away from the Lowe family too much, it’s also worth nothing that I took issue with some character design choices for the small son, Holden Lowe. This sounds like nitpicking, and maybe it is, but could they have made the kid any creepier? It would be one thing if that was part of the story all the way through - or if they had made him look more like a normal kid in the flashbacks at least, but I actually found it really distracting. With the long, wispy, white blond hair, the pale skin, and his mother’s vacant expression - this kid was legitimately the most terrifying part of the season in my opinion, and it kind of sucks that I don’t think it was intentional.

Now let’s talk about James Patrick March.

Don’t get me wrong, I thought he was an interesting character. His design was great, Evan Peters did a fantastic job playing him, but his name bothered me. It’s not the first time that American Horror Story has changed the name of a character or even a historical figure being portrayed on the show - and I can see why they wouldn’t want to flat out say that this character was H. H. Holmes. After all, the Hotel Cortez was an amalgamation of many different locations, and it wasn’t even located in the same state as the infamous “Murder Mansion” that Holmes built in Chicago. Using the name of the actual killer would have been spreading a wild amount of misinformation, and considering the amount of liberties they had to take with the character’s history, could have been seen as pretty insensitive. 

It makes sense that they would choose a new name for him and just use Holmes as inspiration (like they did with the Briarcliff Institute in Asylum) but there was one episode where it started bother me; Devil’s Night.  In a room with the spirits of the most notorious serial killers, the fact that H. H. Holmes had been replaced with James Patrick March meant that he obviously couldn’t be at the soiree, since he was, in a way, hosting it. It’s a small enough detail, but it’s one that got on my nerves while I was watching, and as I’m typing this out I realize it really stuck with me.

That small issue is also a great transition into Devil’s Night, which was my least favorite episode and, as far as I saw it, the worst part of the season.

Let’s say for a moment that I buy into the premise of serial killer ghosts having dinner together annually on the one night of the year where they have physical form on this plane (which for the record, I don’t.) Let’s also say that the ghost of not H. H. Holmes was somehow a mentor to all these serial killers from all over the country, and that somehow makes sense. The execution was still very flawed. The whole scene was over the top, the dialogue felt very forced, and what the fuck was going on with the Zodiac killer?

Like, okay, I get that we don’t have enough information to do an accurate depiction of the Zodiac killer, but I feel like there were a lot of better alternatives than to making him look like the world’s worst Monty Python and the Holy Grail cosplayer (did anyone else get that impression from his outfit, or was it just me?) Much like my issue with Roanoke where they failed to give me an answer to an actual, historical mystery that they decided to bring to screen, I feel like there were a lot of ways to go.

Zodiac could have been just a regular guy whose name wasn’t mentioned. Could have been a regular woman whose name wasn’t mentioned. They could have created a name (like they did with James Patrick March.) He could have been Ted Cruz - which would have been the best use of a meme on television. He could have, and this is crazy, not been there at all. I think that would have been my top choice, actually, because from what we do know of the Zodiac killer, what are the chances he would attend an event like that anyway? I feel like the most elegant solution to the dilemma would have been to have a place-setting at the table for him (with the symbol on it of course) and then to have slipped a line in there about how he never shows. 

There were some other issues throughout the season, but these are the ones that really stuck with me, and that I’m still thinking about a year after watching it. So, with all these complaints, you’re probably wondering why this is my favorite season. Unlike Roanoke, Hotel had a lot of redeemable moments and now I’m going to transition into some more positive ranting.

For one, the ambiance was great. The set was stunning, the cinematography was gorgeous, and hands down this was the season with the best sound track. (They got my favorite She Wants Revenge song AND my favorite Eagles song in the pilot, how awesome is that?)

There was an excellent use of body horror throughout the season, from the grisly killings committed to represent the ten commandments to the flashback where Sally sews herself to her friends. I think more than any other season the visuals really stuck with me.

While I have already brought up some problems I had with certain casting decisions - there were a lot of fantastic choices also made in that regard. I was surprised by just how talented Lady Gaga was in her role as The Countess, Kathy Bates continued to impressed, I think Sally was one of Sarah Paulson’s most intriguing and well-played characters. Let’s  also not forget about the amazing supporting cast in this season. While there were countless characters in the Hotel Cortez that were wonderful, I don’t think any of them stand out as much as Liz Taylor.

In addition to being beautifully designed, perfectly portrayed and having a fascinating backstory that contrasts with  the darker themes in the rest of the season, Liz Taylor was possibly the best instance of representation in the season - perhaps in the entire show. While the Countess also offers some LGBTQ representation, I was deeply moved by the mature way they dealt with having a transgender character recur throughout the season. 

They addressed Iris not being comfortable with Liz due to her own ignorance, and she was upfront about how she didn’t know how to ask. Liz, a strong woman confident in her identity is happy to set the record straight, even though it means sharing about a time in her life before she had that confidence. 

That flashback scene also shows The Countess in a softer light as she helps Liz embrace who she was meant to be and acknowledging her as a woman before the rest of the world did. She pushes Liz to come out as a woman, and when she sees that she’s pushing too hard, tones it down and suggests a smaller, more manageable step. Maybe she didn’t handle being an ally the best, but the fact that she realized she was trying to force someone to do too much too fast and backed down showed a side of her character that was unexpected, especially considering her unflinchingly dominant personality.

Where I thought Liz really shined though, was after that when she’s in bed with Tristan. Tristan is surprised that he’s fallen for Liz because “he’s not gay.” Liz is quick to assert her gender and set him straight. “You’re not gay for being with me. I’m a girl. I’m a hetero girl.”

There’s one last big thing that made me really appreciate this season, and that was the mythology. Those of you who have been following me awhile know that I am tougher on vampire stories than I am on just about anything else. It’s partially because I got burnt out on it, but I also feel like a lot of vampire mythology is poorly executed and overly romanticized. If I had known there would be vampires in the season, I might not have even wanted to watch it - but I’m so glad I did.

There are a lot of vampire romances in Hotel, but at the same time I feel like they weren’t glorified. At no point did I feel like the show was trying to sell me on the concept of eternal love through a vampyric virus. On the contrary I think it illustrates how the undead are in many ways lonelier than they ever were as humans. The relationships aren’t born out of romance, they’re born out of the lust that comes with the vitality of everlasting youth, and that’s how it was depicted. 

All in all I felt like this was a much more realistic take on vampires. They’re less idealistic and in a way the idea of vampires being more human is a lot scarier than the alternative. They’re not dangerous because they’re monsters, but rather because they have the same wants and needs that we all have, but amplified. Not only does it make the prospect of them existing more plausible, it makes the idea of becoming one much less appealing - which is exactly how it should be. 

The undead (the ghosts and vampires both) were glamorous, but that beauty was always matched with such clear suffering.

I have a lot more that I could probably say about the show, and about this season in particular, but this hits most of my big points about it. While it’s not perfect, there were a lot of things that made me enjoy the story. 

In fact, writing this up, I think I’ve talked myself into re-watching the season to see if it holds up.

[mdwatchestv]

Game of Thrones 7x04: Fewer

At the risk of sounding like a youth imposter, this Sunday was lit af. Last week I was feeling uncertain about the hurtling pace of the show, usually Game of Thrones is a lot of positioning and plotting culminating in a major battle set piece (Hardhome, Battle of the Bastards), and the beginning of this season saw many decisive skirmishes gone through relatively quickly. After this episode my concerns have been mostly assuaged. Westeros is now a world truly at war and the structure of the episodes have shifted to reflect that. And this Sunday when the time for the REALLY meaningful battle arrived it delivered with bells and dragons on. So with those fears safely burnt to a crisp, let's get into what was a pretty kickass episode.

Besides getting to see the dragons in action there is another event that fans have been long awaiting, and that is Stark Reunion. For so long my fondest wish was for any Stark to be with any other Stark. Arya's continued near misses of her family members concluding in her hysterical laughter outside the gates of The Eyrie was the audible personification of the desperation of this wish. A wish that was finally partially filled by Sansa and Jon's reunion at the end of last season, and then soured by the return of Bran the Three-Eyed Asshole. But low, this episode finally saw Arya returning to Winterfell, a home she has not seen since sallying forth with her father all the way back in season one. Arya's homecoming is one of mixed emotions, she is a stranger to the current occupants of the keep, and although much of her home has stayed the same, Arya herself is deeply changed. In fact I was terrified she would rabbit before being able to see her sister again, but thankfully girlfriend stuck around. Until this point I believed it was a real possibility Arya would never see another Stark again, and if she did it would more than likely have been Jon on the battlefield and not her long estranged sister. So what a happy surprise to see these two young women reunited in their family home, still sad though that no one will give Sansa a proper hug (I will hug you Sansa my ginger angel).  As girls Sansa and Arya didn't see eye to eye, Arya was interested in fighting while Sansa aspired to be a Lady (and possibly Queen). Now as women they have both achieved these goals, although their paths to those identities was not what they would ever have imagined.. They have both been forced to grow up, faced hard truths, made horrific choices, and in this they are able to find common ground. Or to put it more simply: game recognize game. And while they still may not be able to agree on everything, they can both agree that Bran is a fucking cock stick who deserves to be wheelbarrowed out of town and dumped in a haystack.

Unfortunately Bran had to execute some plot stuff this episode so we have to talk about him. First  he cruelly gives Meera Reed, the girl who literally dragged his Raven ass all the way to The Wall, the boot. She is less than pleased. Honestly why do we need the Three Eyed Raven anyway? What is his function truly? He doesn't seem to be doing very much beyond withholding the valuable information that I'm pretty sure Meera's dad also knows (he's still alive right?) Anyway the Previously On reminded us of the attempt on Bran's life in season one, and the bizarrely unique dagger used in it. If only the assailant had been successful all those years ago. If you recall the dagger belonged to Littlefinger who said he lost it to Tyrion, leading Cat to imprison Tyrion at The Eyrie, and essentially setting off the events of the series. It's a dagger so loaded down with plot and meaning it's a wonder anyone can pick it up. Littlefinger gives the dagger back to Bran perhaps in an attempt to ingratiate himself? Motives unclear. Bran fires back by quoting Littlefinger "Chaos is a ladder." Littlefinger doesn't know what to do with that, but pretty sure Bran is on to him. If you need a refresher on Littlefinger's awesome "Chaos is a ladder" speech from season 3, you can hear it in my favorite GOT promo here (the shots of which are eerily reminiscent of the scene itself). What I want to know is if Bran is all knowing now, how come he doesn't know who tried to kill him? Not so smart now are we?

Bran doesn't care about worldly things anymore like daggers, friends, or common human decency, so he goes ahead and gives the dagger to Arya. Which is fine, because as previously established, Arya deserves gifts and treats. But this is a potentially important plot moment because the dagger in question is made of Valyrian steel aka the rarest and most bestest steel. It is most notably important in the series because, as Jon discovered, Valyrian steel can take down a White Walker. So specifically arming Arya with White Walker kryptonite is an extremely exciting development and hints she may have a pivotal role in the war to come. In case you were wondering who else is wandering around with Valyrian swords, and I know you were, here is a list of who is packing the special steel: Jaime Lannister (we just saw he has Joffrey's sword 'Widow's Wail' one of two swords melted down from Ned Stark's great sword), Brienne (she has 'Oathkeeper' given to her by Jaime also made from the Ned sword), Jon Snow (who took 'Longclaw' from the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch [who was also Ser Jorah's dad]) and finally Samwell Tarley of all people (who stole his dad's sword 'Heartsbane' on his way outta town). After typing all that I'm now filled with despair over how much I know about this show. Some people are doctors, some people are scientists, I am a professional television watcher.

Things are cooking up pretty nicely in Winterfell, which makes me horribly suspicious that something terrible is going to shortly befall my little Starks. But for now we are also getting the Brienne/Arya mentorship/spar that we have been waiting for all of our lives. Sansa also rolls by and sees her kid sister has transformed into a well-honed killing machine. Even though the Starks are finally back in Winterfell, even they can never really go home again.

Over at Dragonstone Jon has discovered some cave carvings and drawings of White Walkers that he DEFINITELY didn't scribble in to convince Dany to help him. Dany says she will aid the North if only Jon will bend the knee, but he is just not gonna. I mean it wouldn't be the first time he got on his knees for a lady in a cave ayyyyyyyyy (but seriously guys, she is his aunt and inbreeding amongst Targaryens is what landed us in this mess). Upon exiting the cave Dany is greeted with the knowledge that Tyrion's plans have once again failed. Frustrated and eager to join the fight Dany appeals to Jon (of all people) for advice. He actually gives a pretty articulate speech warning Dany not to be the new boss just like the old boss. She listens to him, considers, and then jumps on Drogon and goes to blast the shit out of some Lannisters.

WHICH BRINGS US TO THE Loot.. Train.. Battle. Are we really married to that name? Whatever, let's just call it Dragon Destructo-Fest 2k17. Woooo! Jaime and Bronn are rolling their gold into King's Landing after the successful raid of Hightower. The Lannisters always pay their debts, what could possibly go wrong? When suddenly a mighty rumble is heard! And what could it be??? It's the Dothraki Hoard and they are here to fuck you up, standing up on their horses (!!!) and preparing to rain down crazy death on the Lannister army. As Jaime is changing into his red shirt and brown pants, a shadow falls across the land. The time has finally come, for dragon combat. And it is glorious. We have watched little Drogon grow from a wee hatchling, to a teenaged goat burner, and finally now to a force of ultimate destruction. Seeing that column of fire blast from the heavens set our own hearts ablaze with red hot pride.

Not only was it thrilling to see the dragon finally utilized in combat, but having his adversaries also be beloved characters upped the stakes. Bronn's consistent charisma makes him one of the only characters I would support landing a strike against one of Dany's Trio of Terror, and being faced with his potential demise was extremely distressing. And I'm sure some of you are tired of Jaime, but I have always found him a compelling character. In the fantasy world of Game of Thrones he is the archetypal white knight, and even though he has lots of sex with his twin sister, and kicked Bran out the window (pretty defensible at this point), he still largely adheres to knightly principles. In any other story square-jawed, blonde-haired, endlessly brave Jaime would be the hero. But here on Game of Thrones Jaime is jerked around, chopped up, and often rendered powerless. It's an interesting dichotomy, one strikingly rendered by Jaime's suicidal charge at Dany. Tyrion silently pleads with Jaime to be a coward for once, to turn and flee, knowing that he never would.

Thankfully Bronn is true-blue and knocked Jaime out of the dragon fire and into the drowning water. But despite the ominous fade to black and silent credits (feel like GOT is over-deploying the silent credits), I strongly doubt this is the end of Jaime Lannister. Jaime needs to live long enough to fully play out his tragic hero story, he needs to either kill Cersei or die by her hand. But what WILL be interesting to see is if he now becomes the prisoner of the Dragon Queen and company. This would be an interesting development as it would reunite the two brothers as well as Bronn with his original master. Whether Jaime could be turned against Cersei (doubtful) remains to be seen, but this would at least hold the promise of some intense scene work. 

Overall this episode was Game of Thrones at its very best. It had incredible payoffs in the form of both long awaited reunions and total dragon destruction. It reminded us not to take any characters, no matter how long we have spent by their sides, for granted and that any one of them is one “dracarys” away from immolation. This episode made me feel real and deep panic over the knowledge that this show is rapidly approaching its end, and that the unfolding events are in service of a final, inevitable conclusion. For now though let us savor every moment of Stark joy, every ember gushing forth from Drogon’s mouth, every brilliant supporting character whose lives hang in the balance. For one day this luminous sprawling show will end, leaving a hole in my brain space and in my Sunday nights. Valar Morghulis. 

Things I didn't get to:

Missandei hangs around Dragonstone like a NPC

Alfie Allen is acting it up 

MANY Things

Dickon lol 

MVP: Drogon 

DRACARYS MD

PS Bonus Acting Gif:

[minsugasnerd]

Am I Dreaming?

Since I had a pretty sleepless night, I decided to work on a story I wrote a while ago. Enjoy this Namjoon one shot. 

As always, thank you for reading! -T

Warning: Mentions of anxiety

Genre: ? IDK :P

I can't help but to stare at this beautiful man. Noticing his height that has to be near six feet, it makes me so short in comparison. Hair that had been dyed to reach its blonde state was barely long enough to run my fingers through it. But I still wondered how it would feel if I were to run my fingers through his blonde locks. 

'Keep your eyes and saliva to yourself y/n!' I try to pry my eyes away but I can't. He caught me looking and smirks, showing off the most beautiful dimples I’ve ever seen. ‘Oh no! Shit! He's noticed and he's walking towards me!’ His posture as he walks seems effortless and just a bit intimidating. 'Don't forget how to talk!' 

He stops right in front of me and slicks his hair back, which only falls back into place, partially obstructing his beautiful forehead. He holds out his hand for me to shake, "Hello. I wanted to introduce myself, I'm..." Dammit! My alarm always wakes me up before he tells me his name in that gorgeous voice of his. A voice that sent shivers down my spine.

I lay in bed for a minute, my eyes focusing on the poster I hung up on my ceiling.

"It is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles. Then the victory is yours. It cannot be taken from you, not by angels or by demons, heaven or hell," Buddha. 

Every day is a battle for me, I can't think too far ahead of what's in front of me. If I do my breathing quickens, my chest tightens, sometimes my vision blurs, and my head swims. On occasion I pass out, but that hasn't happened since I started my medication. Pushing the comforting covers off of me, I get up and start my day. I'm always so shocked at how cold the bathroom tiles are against my feet. I turned on the tap to fill my cup with water to take my pill. It’s kind of ironic how something, no bigger than the size of my pinkie fingernail can fix my biggest problem. A sigh of relief comes after, knowing that my worries will stay at bay at least for a little while. 

After I'm dressed, I head out to catch the 8:45 bus that gets me to my job on time. Although I don't think I can call it a job, working at a bookstore is my own little slice of heaven. Being surrounded by books old and new, big and little, fiction and non-fiction, I love it. It also doesn't hurt that the owner is like family to me. The day I met him is the day I'll never forget. My mom sat down at one of the tables, feverishly looking for a job and a place for us to stay. 

I tugged on her sleeve, "Mommy! I found this book I really, really want. Please mommy can I get it?" 

She looked sally between me and the book, "honey, one day mommy will get you everything your heart desires. But I can't afford to spend anything right now." Her eyes started to well up with tears. She had been crying a lot since daddy left us with nowhere to go. Next to nothing really.

"Okay mom, I didn't mean to make you cry!" She wiped her tears away, “I love you." She smiled down at me. I turned away and went to put the book back on the shelf. That's when I bumped into Milo Cartwright, the man who saved us.

"Why the sad face? A beautiful young lady such as your self should be smiling," his voice sounded silly. He seemed like a nice man, but my mom taught me never to talk to strangers. "It's okay you don't have to say anything. My name is Milo, I own this store. Do you like books?" he asks. I nod. "That's good! Reading is very good, especially at such a young age." 

He turns to the shelf and starts to take down a book when I hear my mom start walking towards us. "Y/n, what did I say about strangers?" I move to hide behind her.

"Oh no worries ma'am. She didn't bother me, not a peep came from her mouth. Like a little lamb she is," he looks at me and winks. He looks at my mom and bends down to my level. "y/n? Why don't you take this book to one of the comfy chairs over there so I can have a chat with your mum. Okay?" I timidly take the book he previously looked for and went to go sit in the chair. After a few minutes, I looked up from this book about a fantasy island to see my mom crying again. He handed her a piece of cloth that he pulled from his pocket and she wiped her tears away. In that moment, I hadn't seen a smile that big on her face in a long time. He saved us, gave my mom a job and helped us find a place to call home.

The familiar chime of the bronze colored bell sounds as I enter Page by Page. Milo looks up from his spot behind the counter "Good morning my little flower!" offering me his cheek to kiss.

"Morning Papa Milo," I love this man dearly. I wipe my rose tinted lip print from his face and ask how it’s going this morning. "It's going slow," he sighs. "But! It's not even ten o'clock yet, things are bound to pick up." I love his optimism. "Plus I have woken to see another beautiful morning. What can be better than that?”

I nod in agreement as I hang my jacket up, "Is there anything I can get you papa?" 

He sits down behind the register, I already know what he's going to say, “The usual is just fine." 

I pull our favorite mugs from the shelf. Pouring a cup of decaf for him and adding an Egyptian Licorice teabag to my hot water. While his blueberry muffin is heating up in the toaster oven, I head outside to retrieve the newspaper from the vendor on the corner. I go back to the shop and bring papa his breakfast. "You're too good to me," he says as he pats my hand.

The day stayed slow. I had finished the to-do list that was set out for me in no time at all. There were only a few customers. A man in his late fifties with a kind smile picked up a crossword puzzle book for himself and some romance novel for his wife. A mom with an adorable toddler purchased a book about potty training. Milo slipped a sweet in the bag for the kid. A man, couldn't be much older than me, covered in a lot of colorful tattoos grabbed a book from the self-help section. He sheepishly smiled at me and I smiled back, because who am I to judge? Since it was dead in here and I already finished tidying up the shop, I grabbed a book and sat in the window seat by the door. It's been my favorite spot since I was a kid. I hadn't been reading for long before I looked up and out the window.

The usual pedestrian traffic filled the sidewalks and crosswalks. The colors of their clothing blend as they all rush to wherever it is they're going. I'm thankful to be inside instead of out. Being around too many people, too many strangers, and multiple scenarios is what triggers my anxiety. I start feeling those dreadful and all too familiar feelings and I can't stop it. I never know how bad it'll be, each time unpredictable. My mom always told me to just keep breathing and everything will get better. And eventually it did.

Breaking the gazing spell, papa calls for me. "What are you in the mood for?" Every night we have dinner before heading to our separate homes.

"What about kalguksu and dumplings tonight? If that's okay with you." Mommy’s Dumpling House is a place not more than twenty minutes from here that delivers. It was the best Korean restaurant I’ve ever eaten at, hell the best restaurant I’ve eaten at period.

"That sounds excellent my dear," he grabs the cordless phone and sits once again behind the register and starts placing our orders. My stomach grumbles in anticipation. While we waited I set out bowls and cups on the table closest to the door. 

Growing up without a lot of money taught me to eat what my mom got for me. Some nights were better than others, for instance I hated when it was fish and chips night, because I wasn’t a big fan of fish until much later in life. I knew it was a good night if I smelled garlic wafting up from downstairs. That meant Italian. Or the nights where my stomach heated up on the first bite of the lamb with curry sauce. I cherished those nights, all of them. I'd give anything to have just one of them with my mom again.

A few sharp knocks against the door brought me back to the present, our dinner. I go to open the door without looking up and rifle through my wallet to pay for dinner. "Hello, I’m Namjoon. I've got a delivery from Mommy’s Dumpling House," my hands fumble and I drop my wallet. My legs transform to jelly. That voice sent instant shivers throughout my body. I look up to see the man from my dreams and nearly collapse.

If you came this far: I know I need to work on my writing, but seriously, thank you for taking your time to read this! <3 T

[news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog]

'Dungeons & Dragons' isn't just for the 'Stranger Things' kids — it's for you, too

This is a story about a dwarf barbarian with a beard to die for. Literally, he’s killed people over it. His name is Thorbjork and he is my Dungeons and Dragons character who almost never existed.

For those of you unfamiliar with the game Dungeons and Dragons, (D&D for short) allow me to elucidate. It is what is called a tabletop role-playing game. Basically you and your friends sit around telling a story where you each play as a character, except for the almighty Dungeon Master, who acts as the narrator of the story, describing the people you meet and the places you go. You tell the  Dungeon Master (DM) what you want to do, and then use dice throws to determine whether those actions are successful.

If you think this sounds a bit intense, don't worry — so did I. I'd been curious about playing for ages, but it wasn't until last year that I plucked up the nerve to actually do it. So what changed? How did I penetrate this upper echelon of geekdom?

Well, I did, I survived, and I'm here to tell you that you should try it too. Because once you've gotten past the stereotyped image D&D has garnered, there's a whole world of fun to be had.

The D&Dnaissance

Dungeons and Dragons was long resigned to the attic (or more likely the cellar) of too-nerdy-even-for-most-nerds. At worst D&D has been considered actual witchcraft (people really believed it may turn kids into satanists) and at best it has evoked images of players like the Comic Book Shop Guy — a snobby unapproachable nerd.

But Dungeons and Dragons is on the rise once again thanks to pop culture.

Shows like Stranger Things re-introduced the mainstream to Dungeons and Dragons in the form of adorkable children who apply their D&D knowledge to take down inter-dimensional horrors.

But for me, Stranger Things wasn't my portal into the D&D world. That honour goes to Dan Harmon.

Born of my love for Rick and Morty (of which Harmon is co-creator) I started watching Harmonquest. In it Harmon and his celebrity improv buddies are taken on a partially animated (and often deeply troubling) comedy adventure by game master Spencer Crittenden. 

For those of you who are yet to experience the glory that is Harmonquest, I strongly recommend you go watch it immediately if not sooner.

Getting over my 'D&D' hang-ups

A few things had held me back from trying D&D in the past. First, when I was 16 I discovered from my then-boyfriend that he and a few of our friends were playing D&D and I was keen to join in. Unfortunately we broke up before I got a chance to join their game.

More generally though I was nervous about my mental maths. I knew that some rudimentary adding and multiplying would be involved, and I was very self-conscious about my mathematical abilities, especially with people there to witness me struggling to do simple sums in my head. Conscious of the perceived flightiness of the "gamer girl" — an image of a girl who pretends to be into gaming just to get the attention of guys, and which I now realise is sexist nonsense —  I was anxious about getting in over my head and disappointing any fellow D&Ders.

These fears seem so silly now, but at the time they loomed large enough for me to write off D&D as simply too much for me. Watching Harmonquest remedied that fear — I thought look at these people, they're having so much fun, why shouldn't I?

HarmonQuest Tip: Never start a bit with Dwarf Ghosts. https://t.co/9HpWkT93Yy pic.twitter.com/XrwhuSdHWA

— HarmonQuest (@HarmonQuest) May 19, 2017

About a year ago I returned to university for my final year following a year abroad. It was a tricky transition, but luckily I still had a solid base of friends to help me through it. Then a few of them mentioned that they'd been playing D&D the previous year. Opportunity knocked.

Two of my more experienced mates set up a game for myself and two other novices who had been invited into the fold. 

But before we could start, we had to make our characters. 

Character creation

Under the guidance of my friends I started to craft the character I would inhabit within the game world. Slowly, like a lump of clay being moulded into a passable ash-tray, Thorbjork emerged.

Thorbjork is a dwarf barbarian. Standing proud at four feet tall, he wields a mighty battleaxe and is immensely strong for his size, especially when flies into a barbarian rage. Sadly he is rather lacking in social skills, as he is chronically uncharismatic. His crowning glory however is his beard —  a flowing waterfall of silky blonde hair that is the envy of all who gaze upon it.

BEHOLD!

Image: Vicky Leta/mashable

I Facebooked my brother later that night to tell him about my creation. "You should get a beard," he said. Haha, what a funny notion! An actual beard, fancy that. And look, it's only £10 on Amazon, how funny would it be if I bought it, just for a joke. Oh man what a funny and ridiculous notion...

The beard arrived the next day, and by some fluke it matched my hair colour perfectly. I slipped the strap over my head and looked in the mirror. "Good lord," I thought to myself "I look awesome."

This is the selfie I sent out the night I first donned the beard.

Image: isobel hamilton/mashable

Time for gameplay

Now it was time for Thorbjork to sally forth along with two other D&D virgins. Our more experienced friends had to give us some coaching, and it took us a little while to get the hang of the rules, but soon we were slaying orcs and giant spiders like nobody's business. And of course, we always made sure to bring plenty of snacks for the journey.

Thorbjork turned out not to be your typical fantasy hero; he had a tendency for violent outbursts, an obsession with collecting axes, and his go-to defence mechanism whenever he felt socially awkward was to do lunges.

If this all sounds dumb, it's because it is. The point of our D&D sessions wasn't to slay monsters or be heroes, it was to have a good time. I am supremely happy that I got over my hang-ups and just threw myself into the game. Apart from it just being fun, D&D afforded me a useful valve for my frustration and worries at a particularly stressful time. I could put reality on hold for a few hours and just have fun with my friends (not to mention Thorbjork the Uncharismatic).

Thorbjork contemplating his next move.

Image: beth jones

The beauty of the game is that it revolves around something we humans seem to naturally love doing — storytelling. Stories give us a playground, a laboratory in which to play with life and narrative. 

Now you try it

I would encourage anyone even remotely curious about D&D to go out and give it a go. Don't be daunted by the rules, or the dice, or the fear of some faceless nerd laughing cruelly at your ignorance. Everything you need to get started is here, and there's no end to online communities and boards that can help advise you in your questing. If there's a bunch of you even better, you can muddle your way through it until you become true D&D masters. Don't worry about getting it wrong, there aren't any D&D police that'll come and bust down your door. Not yet anyway.

If elves and goblins aren't your kind of thing then never fear, there are also similar games like Savage Worlds that give you different settings, like the Wild West or Pirates. Here's a fun webcomic that explains how one group created their own story. 

The moral of the story is, don't let self-doubt get in the way of what could be a really fun experience. Also my beard is the best, all hail the beard in its voluminous glory.

Thorbjork forever.

Image: Seana Moon-white

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