#I remember when there was a whole argument over Miranda’s hair

[littledeathdove]

I remember when I first realized that Miranda has short hair I was so shocked since I always thought she had long hair the whole time. Honestly that black thing that she wears on her head doesn’t help either since it gives the allusion that the rest of her hair is in there.

But even if she does have actual long hair she still serves since we seen her with long hair when she was a mortal or at least when Eva was a baby.

I still do prefer to think of her with long hair — think of the female targaryens to get a visual of it — or at least hair that is a bit longer than her canonical length (like shoulder/ear length).

[wintersandthebeast]

44. Almost Dinner

RE8 | Wintersberg | Romance, Slow Burn | Action, Sci-Fi

Link to Master List

The group responding to Ethan’s strange, sudden blackout now sat around the sun-bleached floor of the large old room.  They naturally made a circle, worried glances exchanging as Ethan sat up on his own, assuring Karl with several vicarious head nods that he was, in fact, fine.  

Zoe manifested a crystal this time, seeming to do so effortlessly.  Ethan continued to catch his breath.  Now Eva joined the group, but she took the crystal and held it, pacing outside of the circle.  

“I’m soaked,” Ethan said, half in shock and half in confusion.  “What the actual hell happened?”

“You just…passed out,” Heisenberg said in an uncharacteristically quiet, even tone.  “Fell forward.  Caught you.”

“He yelled so loud ever’body heard him,” Joe corrected with no trace of sarcasm.  “Figured if it was mold business, it’d best be me an’ Zoe.”  

Ethan’s eyes trailed over the group.  He liked the way Joe said Zoe-- Zoehh .  He realized it reminded him of Heisenberg’s Ee thun .  The blond sighed, plucking the damp shirt away from his body, and he scooted toward the large spot of sunlight in the room, his fingers combing through wet hair.  

“Sounded like you was chokin’,” Zoe continued, “An’ then we got you down an’ saw that your body was black.” 

“Has that ever happened to you?” Ethan asked pointedly, remembering what happened when he absorbed the other crystals.  

She canted her head.  “Only once, when Chris gave me some kinda’ medicine.  Supposed to help the symptoms of the mold…you know…the whole…powder in your hands sometimes, the bad dreams, even…makin’ crystals.  They didn’t like that I could do that.” 

“You never had problems with…the liminal space…spaces?”

“I don’t think so, I think the mold has to be around you for that, and I can’t create it how Eveline did.” 

Ethan groaned, feeling as if he needed to go house shopping.  Didn’t Karl say the mold mycelial network end was on this property?  He could buy a tent.  Or just a sleeping bag.  No, that wasn’t far enough, he was going house shopping in Paris.  

Now he rubbed his forehead.  

“But I stopped the medicine, and it went away,” she finished.  

Karl had an almost-glare when he asked in the same dangerously even tone, “The BSAA was tryin’ compounds on you that would inhibit the mold?”

“Not after that,” Joe said in disgust.  “I told ‘em to shove their medicines up their hairy white--”

“Anyway, yours happened so fast, an’ then you did start chokin’! An’ Ethan, you just started drippin’ water.  It was so strange.  What did you see?”

Ethan looked toward Eva.  She paused, rolling the crystal between her palms.  “One of Miranda’s…places.  I’m not sure why you appeared there, underwater, but it’s lucky that you did.  She was trying to find you.  I believe, trying to make you appear in front of her.”

“Why now?  Why me?”

“I believe she has made a connection to you from the other night, when you were on the field.  Your fight with the creatures…that would have all been imprinted.  Once that’s done, she could sense you more.  Especially if you have heightened emotions.  Were you feeling anything like that today?”

Ethan thought back to his near-argument with Heisenberg.  Then previously, to the conversation with Maricara when he almost panicked.  Then he thought about how his heart threatened to burst when he’d seen Heisenberg playing the organ.  Finally, he remembered the moments before the party officially began, when Heisenberg had entered his room and …AHEMMMMMM….

Now his gaze darted toward Karl, who was looking at him with a knowing expression.  They were practically telepathic when thinking of… that . Ethan’s response was spoken through a near wheeze.  

“You could say that.” 

“And the moment that it happened.  When you entered the water.  What do you remember?  Something must have caused her to be able to pull you from your body, so quickly.”

He ran a hand through damp hair.  “Uhhh…I was talking to Karl…he was closing his workbench drawers.” 

“With his hands? Or did he use……?”

“Ah, fuck,” Karl responded, and Eva pointed a finger at him triumphantly.  He shook his head as if he felt stupid.  “I wasn’t even…it wasn’t even…”

“So you’re telling me,” Ethan said, staring between them, “That with just THAT much of an added electrical current, literally enough to magnetize a metal drawer for seconds , she was able to…what, use it?  Find me?  Or move me?”

“The mold is just as a human brain,” Eva said defensively.  “Neurons and hyphae, tubular cells that rely on electrical impulses to send information.  And while basic electricity may run some small amount of interference…” she gestured to Heisenberg.  “I would say Miranda knows your signal by now.  It is unique.  She felt it, moved toward it, and likely used it to move Ethan.  He is mold, after all…that would have been far easier than attempting to do anything with a…sorry Ethan, a human.”

Heisenberg made a noise of disgust.  

Eva’s next sentence was resolute.  “You should call off this ceremony.  If you do anything as complex as creating an entity, creating crystallization, especially if Heisenberg uses his magnetic fields as before…it will draw her toward you.  She may be able to move one of you,” she gestured at Ethan and Zoe, “again.” 

“Fuck that,” Karl said, before anyone else could answer.  “Fuck her.”

“If I wasn’t so caught off-guard, I probably could have pulled myself back on my own.  I’ve had enough practice by now.  And we still have Eveline’s power in her crystal.  We’re not afraid of her,” Ethan said with conviction, but then he glanced over at Zoe, realizing he might have spoken the last part too soon.  “Zoe, if you don’t want--”

“I’m in all the way.  I’m here, ain’t I?” Zoe said with a scoff.  

“I may not have powers,” Joe supplied with a nod, and held up a rather large, battered fist.  Ethan smirked.  “But I’d be happy to bash some skulls.” 

Eva stared, a bit incredulous, at the group.  Finally she smiled, and Ethan saw the glint of a tear on her cheek.  

“Dinner in ten! An’ the Duke is finally here!”  

Zoe rushed past Ethan’s bedroom without entering.  The blond had changed clothes after being given a fresh white linen shirt.  Heisenberg 

entered the room only moments before Zoe, and now he raised an eyebrow as the other zoomed away, not wanting to interrupt. 

His wavy-curled head turned back to Ethan, who was shrugging into the shirt.  

“Boy, this looks familiar,” Karl said with a wolfish smile.  Ethan scoffed.  

“Don’t.  I can’t have any intense emotion, remember.”  Now he sat on the edge of the bed, kicking a pair of clean shoes toward himself.  

“Bullshit,” Karl said with a growl, leaning in and placing his forehead against Ethan’s, his arms nearly pinning the other.  His beard traced down the pale neck and he licked a spot where Ethan’s artery beat close to the surface of the skin.  Another lick, and then a gentle nip, and Heisenberg pulled back slightly.  He was smirking.  

“You’re mad.”  

“I’m not,” Ethan countered with a sigh.  “I’m…I don’t know what I am.”

Karl gave a sigh of his own and plopped down beside Ethan, slouching as the other’s posture stayed upright.  Now Ethan moved to put on his shoes.  

“Scared?” Heisenberg ventured, almost sarcastically.

“Not about Miranda,” the blond admitted, and now he turned to face the relaxed brunette.  “Scared about you.” 

Heisenberg’s eyebrow arched again, but his smirk never left.  Ethan rolled his eyes and went back to the shoelaces.  

“I have so many things I want to talk to you about.  Ask you about.  You know Miranda probably better than anyone except Eva.  I know you don’t like talking about her.  But there are things we need to know.  If we’re going to….” 

And now he trailed off and shook his head.  He was a fucking idiot. 

“I don’t just want to know about Miranda.”  One shoe down.  Other shoe to go.  Good thing he had somewhere else to look, because even saying this aloud was terrifying and he hated it.  Ethan’s eyes were wide as he felt Karl’s gaze on him.  He fumbled with his fingers, taking his time.  

“I want to know about you.  I want you to talk to me about things the way you do other people.  It feels like everybody knows you better than me.  Maricara’s got what, almost a hundred years of stories? The Duke has traded with you for decades.  I’ve heard Eva call you brother.  Joe turns up and you have never been more social.”  

Well, he couldn’t use the shoes as an excuse anymore.  Ethan planted both feet on the ground and stared at literally anything.  His hands.  The dust on the floor.  “Even when we were together before.  In the mold… all you did was listen to me talk about my life.  You stayed mysterious about yours.  When we met, you couldn't STOP talking about how you hated her.  But now, I don't even think you say that most days.” 

Karl stroked his beard and moved his golden eyes from Ethan and toward the window, where the view of the village awaited them.    

“If I hadn’t been pulled into whatever sick reality that Miranda lives in, where would we be?  You would have ran away again.”

“No,” Karl said simply, and Ethan looked up, confusion laced into his frown.  

“I was about to tell you why I don’t talk to you about some things.  Then you…” He gestured with a hand.  “Scared the shit outta me.” 

Ethan’s lip twisted into a semblance of a smile.  

“So.”  Heisenberg sat up, though the gesture felt reluctant.  “First thing is, the key has nothin’ to do with my factory.  It was a key before that factory was even built.” 

This stunned Ethan, but he found himself hanging on every word the engineer said.  “As to what…the reason I didn’t tell you THAT, Ethan, is because…” he squinted.  “I told you I don’t dream about her.  Which is true.  But, she used to…turn herself into people.  She got good at bein’ anybody she wanted to be.  It’s not that she…does it out of necessity.  Not to get information, like a spy.  She enjoyed it.  She liked the…power of it.”

Despite the warm day, and his own inductive heat, Heisenberg seemed to shiver, and Ethan now turned toward him, putting his pale hand over the darkened, calloused one.  Heisenberg almost grasped it too hard and suddenly.  

His next words carried an undertone of desperation, anxiety.  So unlike Heisenberg.  “If I slip up…just one time.  All it takes is one time, to tell her anything , any single thing that I’ve been planning for years.  Any cards I’ve got on her… well…that’s…all that, gone.”

“Didn’t the metal army of corpses qualify?”

Karl chuckled and then shook his head.  “I miss that big bastard.”  Ethan knew he was referring to Sturm.  Heisenberg ignored Ethan’s death glare.   “But no…that wasn’t the only plan.  It was a part of it.” 

His eyes slid toward Ethan, and he lifted his other hand to trace around the blond’s jaw.  “I found Eva, or she found me, years ago.  Been workin’ with her on….other things.  I didn’t even want you to know she was around,” Karl said in a rather saddened tone.  “I didn’t think…..”

“Didn’t think I could keep secrets from Miranda, thought she’d get it out of me?” Ethan guessed, and the other sighed.  

“I guess I’m stronger than you think,” the blond said, with a hint of defensiveness.  Ethan was very loyal.  He could endure torture and still not tell what he knew.  He was so stubborn that he could even block off his thoughts of Eva, if that’s what it would take.  Karl shook his head at this, however.  

“Strong has nothin’ to do with it.  Never thought you weren’t strong.  I didn’t think…..”

He hesitated on this last part for so long that someone else yelled in their direction to get to the dining room.  Ethan blinked rapidly, wondering what caused the man to stumble after speaking for so long. 

“...Didn’t think you’d wanna help,” Heisenberg finished, flaring his nostrils.  “Nobody else did.  All turned their backs on me."  He scoffed, his next words laced with venom.  "Siblings.  Villagers.  Anybody.”  

A quiet pause.  

“Been on my own for a long time, Winters.”

“Not by choice?”

“No,” Karl said honestly and simply.  “Just had to do that to make sure she wasn’t gonna hurt anybody.  Because if you had ‘em, she would.” 

Ethan thought to the other Lords; Alcina and her daughters.  Donna and whatever the fuck Angie was.  Moreau, with no one.  Heisenberg with no one.  Either the family bonds were dependent, isolated…twisted…or they did not exist.  He exhaled, feeling something akin to pity.  And disgust.  

“Sometimes I look at you, an’ I think you're her.  Same with Rose.  Have to tell myself every moment that it’s not true.   Not hide.”  Karl’s eyebrows rose slowly.  “Thought I was doin’ a decent job.”

“You are,” Ethan said quickly, and he waved a hand at Heisenberg’s very skeptical expression.  “I…didn’t think about that.  I can’t imagine what it was like to be…to feel, like every person you’re close to is Miranda in disguise.  I’ve felt hints of that and it’s disgusting.”

An actual dinner bell rang, and Ethan paused.  “We have a dinner bell?”

“Duke does,” Heisenberg said with a hint of humor in his tone, and he stood, holding out a hand for Ethan.  

When the taller man took Heisenberg’s hand, the brunette pulled him up into a kiss that then turned into a dip.  The blond wrapped one leg around the other, melting into the kiss.  Heisenberg straightened them both and Ethan giggled, pressing his forehead against the engineer’s.   

“You called her your mother-in-law,” Heisenberg said, smirking.  

Ethan didn’t break eye contact for once.  “So I did, I guess.”

“I told you, Winters…I haven’t said yes yet.” 

[sylverstorms]

Mother Miranda x Lawyer!Oc ----Tilted Scales

Hello guys :) This is another commission I wrote for the amazing, wonderful @saltwatereulogies

Your support has been insane, I can't thank you enough. Hope you enjoy the story ❣

Three days.

That is how long you've been in the village, after years of studying abroad, before everything turns to shit.

As you slowly blink focus back into your eyes, you try to clear the haze from your mind. It feels as though you've collided with a truck. Your body hurts, your wrists protest in their iron cuffs, stuck to the wall as they are, having supported your weight while you were unconscious.

Desperately, you try to recollect the events that led you here...

A grey sky. A bleak day. One moment you were making coffee for your mother, excited to be able to sit down with her in the mornings again... and the next you heard the echo of screams.

Overcome by adrenaline, you bolted out of your house, only to witness a scene straight from a nightmare; humanoid monsters ripping villagers apart, cries and blood and animalistic growls all blending together into one mad mix.

And before you could even warn your mother...

Damn it all, what the fuck happened!

You suddenly struggle against your bonds, hard enough to rattle your whole frame. Your wrists burn from the grind against metal, but you don't care–

“Stop that. It is pointless and you will only injure yourself.” A cold voice, strangely familiar, says from far to your right.

You peer deep into the shadows, searching for the only other person in the empty room... until you see her. A mask advances on you, gold and shaped like a crow's visage, then wings folded into a cloak come into view.

You would be a fool to not recognize her. The local saint. The village's prophet. The very 'saint' your mother prayed to, for your safe return, all these years. Mother Miranda.

The sound of her heels bounces off the walls until she comes to stand directly in front of you. Looking past the openings of her mask now, you realize....

This isn't possible.

She hasn't aged a day. Not a single day, since you left the village. The years should show around her deadly blue eyes, somewhere, and yet they don't.

“I see you remember me...” she says, while you're still trying to find your voice. “Miss Warren.”

“What is going on? Mother Miranda, what happened to the village?!” you demand.

Her expression shows nothing. “The village is in need of... renovation.” she speaks, even, regal. “Repopulation, even.”

You stare at her with wide eyes.

“Now, don't give me that look. You would not be here if you weren't of the ones I chose to keep.” she continues. “You see, from now on, every single person in my domain will make themselves useful in some way, or they will be replaced. And you... you have been abroad studying law for a while now, yes?”

“I... yes.” you reply, still not fully having wrapped your mind around your situation.

“Excellent. What I need from you is simple. You will make the village independent from the state’s taxes as a religious organization... and you will keep foreign investors out from that point onward.”

What... what part of that is simple?!

“Do that for me and in return I guarantee your mother and you will go back to your house safe and sound. You will have no shortage of Lei for as long as you live, Miss Warren.” Miranda promises.

But it is not the sweet part of the deal your mind stays glued to. “And if...” you gulp. “If I can't work around the law to do that...?”

Miranda blinks slowly at you, like you shouldn't even ask such a basic question. Like the answer is obvious.

“Well. Then I have no further use for either of you.”

It is in this moment that it dawns on you.

This woman is no angel and no saint.

She is a devil.

-

-

You spend countless sleepless nights pouring over every single paragraph, every little opening or ambiguity in the law you can use to free the village of taxes.

To keep your mother in the dark about this, you work in the office Mother Miranda has provided for you, in her very stronghold.

Although technically it's her home, you don't see her nearly as much as you initially thought. She is gone throughout the day and returns late at night, not even sparing you a glance before heading for her chambers, at the upper sections of the building.

The days she does come into your office to inquire on your progress are few and far-between, your conversations always short and cold.

This evening is different.

“How is your work coming along, Miss Warren?” the prophetess asks with her aggravatingly nice accent, seating herself like a queen on the chair in front of your desk.

Your eyes are tired, but you force them on hers, through the mask obscuring her face. “I think I've got it. I'll be sending the necessary papers tomorrow and the answer shouldn't take longer than a month.”

“Very good.” she nods, a miniscule curve to her lips.

Icy eyes then drop to the wine in the whiskey glass at the corner of the desk. You think she will make a comment about drinking at work, but instead she says;

“Pour me a glass, will you?”

You will your hands steady as you comply, then carefully slide her drink over.

Miranda takes her mask with claw-shrouded fingers... and soundnessly sets it on the wooden surface. Then she pushes the veil at her hair back, shaking long, platinum locks free.

You do a double take you hope she doesn't notice. Because what the actual fuck.

You didn't think her hair was that long, or that straight, or that it would fall over her shoulders like she's staring in a shampoo ad. You didn't think her lips were shaped like a cupid's bow or that her skin was this flawless and radiant.

The helplessly lesbian part of you could begrudgingly admit she was beautiful before... but now you arrive to the painful realization she's drop-dead gorgeous.

“So. I've heard you won cases others would describe as impossible.” she begins.

“Nothing's impossible. You just need to know where to look.” you reply. Law is your comfort zone and she is not that far above you here. “But how do you know that?”

“I have my sources.”

"Nobody truly leaves this village, huh.”

“Not without my consent, no. But I knew you'd come back.” At your slight frown, she elaborates, “You would never leave your mother behind.”

She's right. There was a whole world of opportunities waiting for you out there and yet... here you are.

“Good work, so far. You can take the next two days off. Your eyes could use the rest, Miss Warren.” Miranda speaks, finishing her wine.

“Sarah.” you say. 'Miss Warren' is for clients and she is your boss.

Miranda's lips give a slight quirk that may or may not be a trick of the light.

“I know.” she replies and exits the room, long hair billowing behind her back.

-

-

The taxes were only the first challenge. Now that the village is free of them, investors are flying in circles around it like vultures over meat.

In the meantime, Miranda comes to talk to you more frequently.

Lately, it seems she has more free time. You wish that was a good thing, but...

“So... are you like... going to stay here?” You ask after reading the same sentence five times to make sense of it, because her gaze on you is distracting as fuck.

“I'm not getting in the way of your work.” she says. You want to argue she is, but can't quite do that in a way that won't get you killed.

“I'm simply not used to working with company. Isn't this boring for you?”

“No, actually. I find it interesting, even though science is my field of expertise.” she answers. “And the way you take notes is… amusing.”

You try not to blush as you look down at your notebook, filled with different colored markers and post-it squares with tiny stick figures pointing to the more important paragraphs. You have been doing this for so long to sort out information you didn't even realize you were keeping it up in her presence.

“What is this supposed to be?” she asks with a small smile, the first of its kind you've seen.

To your horror, her clawed pointer aims at a particularly silly doodle, barely the size of a pencil's eraser.

“A... bird.” you grimace like you've been stabbed.

“Ah, of course.” Miranda holds back a chuckle but you can tell she's dying to make a comment.

Studying becomes hell for the rest of the time she's there with you, those sharp eyes picking apart every little move you make. At the same time, though, the hours you spend with her make you realize...

She's not a saint, though she may look like one. She's not completely a devil, either, even if she may act as one, at times.

She's human.

-

-

Miranda shares nothing about herself when you chat, but she seems to like it when you speak about your time abroad and all the things that left an impression on you there.

Your conversation over wine is cut short, however, when you receive a call from a number you learned means nothing but trouble, lately.

“Sorry, I have to take this.” you tell her.

The one calling you is none other than this month's rival lawyer, trying to dispute your claim over the land for his own boss. He's lost to you before, so it's also personal, but you are confident you have cornered them good with the latest papers you sent them...

And you are proven correct, when, a few seconds later, he is all faux polite on the other line, resorting to offering you money for you to withdraw your arguments.

Miranda comes to stand next to you, listening in to what he's saying.

The problem with that is, the second her arm brushes yours and you catch a whiff of her perfume –which always lingers in your office long after she's left— youare the one who stops listening to him.

Your attention flies to other things, like the inches she has on you, the exact color of her pale blonde hair, the little glint of victory in her stunning eyes.

Oh, no. God, no...

You know what this is, the feeling in the pit of your stomach. Alarm bells go off in the back of your head, as though your own mind is telling your body how foolish it's being.

There isn't a worse thing you can do to yourself than be attracted to Miranda.

-

-

Over time, familiarity with the prophetess brings higher levels of difficulty into your 'try to ignore your crush on her' game.

Miranda joins your side and leans over your shoulder, sometimes, to peer down at what you're doing. You don't move and don't breathe until she's within a safe distance again.

Then there are the wayward 'reward' touches, when you turn another investor away from the village. She may pat your back or leave her hand on your shoulder, or even scratch your nape with her claws as a job well done.

You hope your poker face hides the fact you feel her touch on you for far longer than you should, after she's gone.

Tonight, the situation is the toughest it's ever been for you.

There is a rainstorm going on outside; the waterdrops are tapping against the windows of your office as though they're trying to break it. Miranda has pulled her chair next to you so you can talk easier, without having to shout over the cacophony.

“And basically the judge's decision was that—”

You are interrupted by a blinding flash of lighting, during which your mind lets you know the stronghold is easily the tallest structure in it's vicinity—

When thunder cracks down the sky and strikes the building, you nearly scream. Your body tenses and you jump; but Miranda's hands come to your biceps and hold you steady, against herself and your desk.

Another flash comes before you really have time to think about your proximity. She covers your ears with her palms before the thunderclap can send you into overdrive again.

“You are with me and you're scared of a little thunder?” she teases when things quiet down and your heartbeat eases.

It's true; Miranda is the more terrifying force of nature. At the same time, however...

You feel oddly safe to be this close to her.

“Well... I'm not scared right now...” you quietly admit.

Her pointer comes underneath your chin and lifts it so you are looking straight into her hypnotic blue eyes. How is this color even real...

“And why is that?” Miranda asks, her wings coming around you both. They're curtains of black, cutting out some of the storm's sounds.

You want nothing more in this moment than to run your fingers through each individual feather.

You lick your lips. That's...not a question you can answer if you want the balance in your arrangement with her to remain.

Perhaps, though, the scales have tilted for you long ago. You just haven't been brave enough to admit it.

You have the courage to face it now when she leans down and covers your lips with hers, warm in a manner you never imagined she could be.

Her wings pull tighter around you and your mouths slide more firmly together. Lipbalm and creamy lipstick mix, tongues brush, tasting of wine. You are shaking so bad on the inside from how much you want this, more of this, the rumbling of the thunder be damned.

Miranda's palm cups your flaming cheek when she pulls back, perfectly composed and staring at you with a little smirk in place.

You dare to turn a little, lay a tiny kiss on the inside of her wrist, beyond her rings and accessories.

You aren't very fond of storms, but...

You willingly walk right into the eye of this one.

[moshymosh]

Double Identity

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Enhanced!Reader

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, mutual pining.

Songs used in this fic (Credits go to Lin-Manuel Miranda): Alexander Hamilton- Listen to this here, Burn- Listen to this here, Who lives, who dies, who tells your story- Listen to it here

A/N: I love the play, Hamilton, though I've never seen it in person, I've watched an animated version and I honestly cried like a baby, this is the animated version I love to watch check it out! Listening to some of the songs on the soundtrack it gave me some inspiration so I cranked out a fic for you guys, enjoy. I might turn this into a series or a mini one if everyone seems to like it and would like the idea of the series Feedback is appreciated and encouraged, send me some request too (Song lyrics are in Bold, Thoughts in Italics) None of the gifs are mine credits go to the owners. First part of Drunken shenanigans will be coming up tomorrow, ill try to write it out, when I have a break from the holidays. Also Happy holidays.

Summary: What would you do if your secret double life is about to come to light? Y/N is an avenger by day and a Broadway star by night. When the Captian decides that the team needs a break, why not go to a Broadway show. Most importantly why not go to the one she’s been secretly starring in?

Steve calls the team to the common room, telling them that he has a surprise for them. Once everyone was in the room, he grins, holding up tickets to see the Broadway show "Hamilton."

"I've decided we're all in need of a little R&R." Steve smirked at the awestruck team.

"Yo, Cap? You feeling ok?" Y/N said, holding her hand up to his forehead in a joking manner. She couldn't stop the thumping heartbeat in her chest at the feeling of her hand, touching his smooth skin.

Steve batted her hand away, laughing all the same at her teasing, despite that his heart was going crazy for the girl. The girl he has been head over heels for since she joined the team. He fell for the sound of her laugh, the sound of her voice when she sang, even if he wasn't her intended target.

See, Y/N was a human siren, much like the mythical creature, minus the fins and only being in the sea part. Y/N learned to hone in her powers, controlling it to affect only who she wanted. Even without being under her spell, she had a beautiful voice; it sounds like freshly falling snow or the peaceful quiet morning after a night of storms.

"I got the best seats in the house." Steve said, waving the tickets in his hand, grinning like an idiot. Y/N's heart stuttered at the sight of his child-like excitement.

"What's the play called?" Natasha asked, looking at Y/N beside her, knowing about Y/N's massive crush on the Captian.

"It's a play called "Hamilton". I've heard good reviews." Steve said, looking at Natasha, not noticing Y/N's face paling at the sound of the play's name. Y/N coughs to cover her nervousness, causing everyone to look at her.

"I think I'm going to stay here. I don't feel so good." She says before turning around and heading to her room, leaving no room for arguments. What the team doesn't know is that she is in that play. She is one of the main characters, Eliza, who is Hamilton's wife.

After sometime hiding in her room, she made sure the team had left. They planned to go for an early dinner. Y/N snuck off to the theater after setting F.R.I.D.A.Y. to tell the team that she was resting if they would call to check up on her.

When Y/N arrived, she was quickly ushered to the dressing rooms to get ready. After she was in costume, she peeked out from behind the red velvet curtains. She spotted her teammates in the fifth row in the center seats. Getting nervous, she closed the curtains and went to her place on the stage.

The opening song began to play as the curtains opened, and a hush fell over the crowd. Y/N fell into her element. She never used her powers on anyone who didn't deserve it, like the crowd in front of her they didn’t need her influence to fall in love with her voice.

When it was her part to sing, she stepped forward to her second mark. Her voice rang clear.

"When he was ten, his father split, full of it, debt-ridden. Two years later, see Alex and his mother bedridden, half dead. Sittin' in their own sick, the scent thick."

The cast members that were singing the opening song with her began to sing as she stepped back in line with them

"Alex got better, but his mother went quick."

A sense of recognition fell over her teammates, but they all shook it off, remembering that Y/N was at home. The play continued on, but Steve couldn't shake the small feeling that he knew the woman who was playing Eliza. His thoughts drifted to Y/N vowing to bring her to see them play, thinking she would like it.

When the first intermission started, Steve stepped out into the lobby with the team. Some of them went to use the bathroom, others to get some refreshments. Everyone who saw them decided to not interrupt their night with pictures and autographs. Steve stepped to a quiet spot and called F.R.I.D.A.Y. to check on Y/N. F.R.I.D.A.Y. said her programed response. Steve sighed, wishing she was here and hung up.

Steve headed back to his seat despite another twenty minutes remaining on the intermission. Behind the stage, Y/N chatted with her castmates, while checking her phone, seeing that F.R.I.D.A.Y. messaged her about Steve calling to check up on her. She sent a message back telling F.R.I.D.A.Y. that if Steve calls back to tell him that she is asleep. Receiving a conformation, the call for places rang out backstage. After a costume change, and putting her phone away, the play was reaching the point for her solo song.

Reaching her place and began to sing while acting out what she was supposed to.

"I saved every letter you wrote me, from the moment I read them. I knew you were mine, you said you were mine, I thought you were mine." 

Steve almost choked on his own tongue. 'That can't be her; she's sick at home.' He thought he glanced over at his team, who all looked like they thought the same thing. Shaking it off as it's someone who has a similar voice, he settled back into his seat.

Y/N reached the end of the song, singing out the final line of the song, with the emotion her character required.

" I'm watching it burn. The world has no right to my heart. The world has no place in our bed. They don't get to know what I said. I'm burning the memories, burning the letters that might have redeemed you. You forfeit the place in my heart. You forfeit the place in our bed. You'll sleep in your office, instead, with all of the memories of when you were mine. I hope that you... burn."

Steve's suspicions were slowly being confirmed. He was in awe that if this was Y/N, she fooled all of her teammates. Steve was falling even more for her if that was the case. He felt a sense of pride that his girl was on Broadway, singing for the whole world. Steve shook off his thoughts as the end of the play approached. Y/N took to the stage again as the final song started.

Y/N felt the spotlight on her again and began to act and sing her part.

"I put myself back in the narrative. I stop wasting time on tears; I live another fifty years. It's not enough. I interview every soldier who fought by your side. I try to make sense of your thousands of pages of writings; you really do write like you're running out of time."

At this point, she's facing the crowd, arms outstretched holding papers in her hands. That's when it hits the team that it is, in fact, Y/N. Standing on a stage, singing her heart out and not at home in bed. Steve begins to grin like a fool, heart beating wildly at the sight. Steve was hanging onto the edge of his seat. He vows to confess his feelings after the play is over.

"Oh, can I show you what I'm proudest of?" 

Y/N's voice drops, so she sings softly.

"I established the first private orphanage in New York City. I helped raise hundreds of children."

Her voice raises to project more emotion into the song, giving everyone in the crowd chills.

"I get to see them growing up! In their eyes, I see you Alexander! I see you every time! And when my time is up, have I done enough?"

Her castmates join in with her singing.

"Will they tell your story?"

The song dies down to a softer pitch, and Y/N wraps her arms around herself as instructed to do, as she sings her final line. Tears are running down her face, putting emotion into her character.

"Oh I can't wait to see you again, It's only a matter of time."

The play comes to an end, and the crowd gives a standing ovation. The cast bows and gives their thanks to the crowd who came out to see them perform. The cast left and went their separate ways after the crowd had left. Y/N stepped outside, exiting through the back, in hopes of sneaking back to the tower before everyone got back. Her duffle bag was slung over her shoulder, carrying her change of clothes. Closing the door behind her, trying to make as little sound as possible. When she turned, she saw Steve, leaning up against the building.

Y/N stopped short with a gasp. "Steve!" Putting a hand over her heart, to try to slow its rapid beating. "Wha-... Uh... How did you find out?"

"That doesn't matter now. There's something I need to-" Steve was cut off by Bucky, rounding the corner of the building.

"Hey, Steve! You find Y/N?" Bucky said but stopped walking towards him at the sight of Y/N.

"Dude! Trying to confess my feelings! Get out of here, jerk." Steve said, making a shooing gesture that caused Y/N to giggle. Y/N stepped forward, placing a hand on Steve's shoulder, causing him to turn around.

Y/N crashed her lips to Steve's, throwing her arms around his neck. She ran her fingers in his hair, which had grown slightly longer over the past months. Steve's eyes widen in shock but quickly closed them, pulling her closer as he melted into the kiss. 

Y/N pulled back, gasping out an "I feel the same way." Before Steve crashed his lips back to hers.

"Good, cause I don't think I'm going to let you go again." Steve mumbled against her lips.

"Good." Y/N whispered as they pulled apart, resting their foreheads against each other. 

"Good." Was Steve's reply.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"Do not pity the dead. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love." - Albus Dumbledore

[forlornmelody]

Traitor, Martyr, Spy Chapter 7: Home Sweet Home

Rating: Explicit (some chapters have smut)

Ship: Miranda Lawson x Femshep

AO3 Link: Here

Summary: The horror of Sanctuary behind them, Miranda’s ready to enjoy some peace and quiet with Artemis Shepard on her shore leave. But nothing is so simple, is it? 

-*-

“You alright?” Miranda knows the answer before Artemis opens her mouth, but she needs to hear her talk about it. 

Artemis herself paces back and forth out of the field of view. The dark, nondescript background doesn’t say much about where she’s at, but the spaciousness of it suggests her spectre office. Ah. That’s it. “Hackett grounded me.”

Miranda raises an eyebrow. “Are you in trouble?”

“No,” Artemis spits. “But they ordered the Normandy into dry dock, and Joker won’t fly his baby out until she gets serviced.”

“You want to go after Kai Leng.”

Screeching to a halt, Artemis gapes at her. “Of course, I do. You know what he’s capable of. And we finally have his location.” She pulls at her hair. “And I can’t do anything about it.”

How badly Miranda emphasizes with her. She wouldn’t have waited to go after her sister. Miranda didn’t wait to go after her sister. “You have the location of Cerberus Headquarters.” But that’s not what Shepard needs to hear. “The Illusive Man isn’t like the Shadowbroker. He doesn’t move around.”

Artemis’s lips curl ever so slightly, but she says nothing. Instead she sighs heavily. “All that to say. If you have time,” she scratches the back of her head, glancing away from the camera. “I got some too.”

Miranda leans forward, smirking. “Are you asking me out?”

Her lover furrows her brow. “Have we ever gone on an actual date?

Shit. She’s right. 

-----

“Fix me something while you’re back there, would you?”

“Drinking in is not the same as going out, Miri.” Artemis ducks behind the bar anyway, rummaging around.

“Forgive me for wanting a moment with you. Alone.” Maybe she said that last part too strongly, for Shepard’s head pops around the bar, staring at her.

Their eyes meet, and Artemis scoots back into hiding. “I missed you too, Miri. Cocktails coming right up.”

“You don’t drink.”

“One mocktail and one cocktail coming right up.”

Miranda laughs out loud. “It sounds so filthy when you say it like that.”

“Thought you liked to get dirty.” She pops up, with two tumblers in hand. 

“Only when you’re involved.”

Popping some bottles and cans on the counter, Artemis snickers. “Aww, I’m touched.” She stands up, mixing the drinks with surprising finesse. How many cocktails did she make and drink before she went sober? “So, what brings you over?”

“You invited me.”

“Oh! Right. You’re the one who called.”

Miranda clears her throat. “I heard some strange things in the news. And then you weren’t responding to coms for nearly a day. Something about a clone?”

Part of Artemis’s drink spills on the counter as she jolts. “That was on the news?”

“They had a field day. You alright?”

“Did you know about it?”

“I didn’t know what to make of the reports. You sounded like you had lost your mind.”

Miranda barely hears Artemis when she answers. “I mean about the clone.” Her eyes watch her closely as she continues. “She was a Cerberus project, wasn’t she?”

“It--she was a backup plan. In case I failed to bring you back.” Miranda rolls her eyes. “Which I knew wasn’t going to happen.”

Artemis stares at her glass. “But she was a whole person. And Cerberus just made her out of thin air.”

“We made her from your tissue. We’re not gods. Despite what the Illusive Man thinks.”

“Mm.” Artemis takes her drink with her, leaning against the floor to ceiling windows.

Miranda follows, sipping her own Old Fashioned. And then she sees the view. “Aww. They shut down my favorite sushi place.” They talk about Brooks, the exploding fish tank--sipping their drinks as the traffic flies by. 

“How do I know you’re not a clone?”

Artemis smirks slowly, pulling her into a kiss full of heated promises. Who knows when they’ll see each other again? This whole night feels like a fever dream. Any moment they could wake up alone. Miranda means to make the most of it.

“A compelling argument.” Miranda matches her expression, eyeing her up and down. “But I’m not completely convinced.”

“Are we…?” Artemis sputters, but her eyes darken with want. 

“Are we what, Artemis?”

She swallows and starts to look away as Miranda draws her attention back with her finger. “Is this...a scene?” A gulp. “A roleplaying scene?”

“Do you want a roleplaying scene?”

“Heh.” Artemis’s gaze falls on her lips, and then rises to her eyes. “Sounds fun. Are you gonna…?” She makes a face. “Gonna dominate me? Again?” 

Miranda cups her cheek. “Do you want me to dominate you?”

Artemis’s cheeks color ever so slightly, and she nods. “Yes,” she says thickly. 

“Dim the lights.” Miranda releases Artemis, trailing a hand down her chest. “In fact. Turn them off.”

“You catch that, Glyph?”

A floating ball of light floats toward them. “Right away, Commander.”

Miranda makes a face. “How long has it been watching us?”

Glyph turns its ocular lens toward her. “Not long, Operative Lawson. The Commander activated privacy mode before you walked in.”

“So, you’ll erase any information recorded for the duration of this visit?”

“Yes, Miss Lawson.”

“Good. Go back to sleep.” The VI dissipates in pixels of energy. In the now dimmed light, Miranda can only see her lover through the pink haze of the Silversun Strip. And not a soul can see them. Miranda leans her back against the glass, turning her gaze towards Artemis. “Now why don’t you continue with your reasoning.”

“Always the skeptic.” Artemis’s olive skin flares like hot coals in the filtered light. She starts at Miranda’s mouth, taking her time tasting her, before trailing her lips down her chin to where it meets her neck. Mm--she remembers that spot. Oh--and that other one where her neck met her shoulder. Why had Miranda avoided relationships for so long? 

Miranda’s hand winds into her hair, pulling pin after pin out as Artemis makes her way down to her chest. Her hair finally comes free as her lips close around Miranda’s nipple. “Mm. Artemis.” Two eyes spark with mirth as she glances back up at her. Artemis lingers there, freeing her other breast so she can cup it with her hand. Neither satisfies her lover for long, and Miranda licks her lips as she watches her trail her kisses down to her belly button. She tries to stay in character, but Artemis doesn’t make it easy, her silver tongue outlining her argument across the carved lines of her abdomen, touching her nose just above where Miranda yearns for her to touch. 

“Mm.” Miranda then swears under her breath, and Artemis grins against her, licking her lips before giving one wet kiss against her thigh. 

“Still skeptical, love?” Artemis’s eyes glow with mirth. 

“Mmhm.” She knows words. Lots of words. However, the only one coming to mind in this moment is fuck. But Miranda wants to draw this out. Tease Artemis while she teases her. But she’s making it so bloody difficult. 

Artemis makes a point of sighing dramatically, letting her warm breath ghost between her thighs. “Fine, fine.” And she kisses her pussy again. 

Bugger it all--why don’t these windows have grills? Or anything Miranda could hold onto? Her legs shake, and Miranda’s half-convinced they’ll pool into a puddle on the floor if Artemis isn’t more careful. “Oh god.”

“Shh. I got you.” Miranda swears to any deity who might possibly exist, Artemis bloody well holds her up with one arm, flexed and pressed against her stomach. If Miranda Lawson wasn’t a sodden mess before, she certainly is now. Bloody show off. Artemis uses her free hand to slip a finger or two inside her, and Miranda practically screams. Hopefully this apartment is more soundproof than the SR2’s cabin. 

Artemis finally allows her to sink to the floor, and they cuddle together against the glass. “Convinced now?” She laughs, brushing the sweaty strands from Miranda’s face. 

“Never doubted you.” Miranda takes her chin with one finger, pulling her into a breathless kiss. She can still taste herself on Artemis’s lips, and it stirs her loins anew. “Mm.”

“Even when we were enemies?” Artemis asks when she pulls back for air. 

“Especially not then. I only doubted you’d keep from turning us in.”

“I would have if I could have, but I’m glad I didn’t.” Artemis pulls her into another kiss, and Miranda can taste her hunger. She’s hungry too, but she’s not going to take her on the living room floor--not in this lavish apartment. 

But Artemis is ravenous, with the pull of Jupiter in her touch. “Mm,” Miranda manages as her lover nibbles on her ear. “Artemis….”

“Yeah?” Artemis brushes her fingers against the inside of Miranda’s thigh, and they both shiver. 

Another moan slips out of Miranda’s mouth as she manages to tear her hands away. “Not here,” she says with her voice full of gravel.

Artemis pouts. “Fine, fine.” She rises from the floor as slow as a mountain, but she brings Miranda with her. “Where?”

“Have you even used any of your beds here?”

“They’re not my beds.” Artemis sobers, staring off into the kitchen. “They’re Anderson’s.” Perhaps sex against the living room windows wasn’t entirely Miranda’s idea after all. 

He’s not coming back, Artemis, Miranda wants to say. She’s seen the reports of Earth. Concentration camps, indoctrinated governments, wholesale destruction of age-old cities--no one fighting back will live long, especially not long enough to return to a Citadel apartment. “They’re beautiful beds. He wouldn’t want them gathering dust.” 

“A cleaning drone comes in once a week, but I get what you mean.” Artemis sighs, trailing her fingers along the piano keys, playing a scale without rhythm or direction. 

Miranda joins her, wearing nothing but her bra, and she decides to put it to use--letting the lace brush up against her lover’s back. Her nose grazes the ridge of one of her ears. “Guest bed?” Baby steps. 

Artemis closes her eyes, taking one breath and letting it out as she nods. “Alright.”

Taking her hand, Miranda leads her to the bed next to the shower.

-------

“How do you feel about bondage?” Miranda leans over Artemis, clasping each of her hands in her own. She straddles her, too, but only enough to let their bodies heat the air between them. 

Artemis grimaces. “I’m not really a fan.”

Miranda suspects Artemis’s feelings go deeper than distaste, but she doesn’t press the issue. She’d much rather press other buttons. “Sensory deprivation?” Her breath ghosts over Artemis’s mouth, and her lover’s lips part in anticipation. 

“Like a blindfold?” Artemis gazes up at her so softly and openly--not a view most people see. Perhaps it’s something she only shares with Miranda. Her heart aches at the thought--along with her loins.

“That’s one form, yes.” She turns her head, whispering into Artemis’s ear. “Would you like to try a blindfold?”

“Yeah.” Artemis swallows, but she doesn’t tense, not even when Miranda leaves the bed to procure a silk scarf. She saw some very nice silk ties but decided against it. Her lover would not appreciate seeing any of Anderson’s belongings in bed. 

“Close your eyes.” Miranda straddles her, tying the scarf around her head, but not too tightly. “How’s that feel?” she whispers into her ears. 

Artemis shifts beneath Miranda, her head turning each way as Miranda moves her hands up and down the sheets on either side. “Weird. But good. I think.” Goosebumps crest across her skin, and Miranda draws her biotics across them, from Artemis’s collarbone down to her hips, never quite reaching between her legs. “Mm,” her lover says, squirming a little. “Tickles.”

“In a good way?” Miranda whispers into her ear, letting her breath ghost across her skin. 

“Y-yeah.” Artemis parts her legs, but Miranda doesn’t take the bait, not yet. She does travel down her body, breathing in the scent of her arousal.

“So wet already, and I haven’t even touched you.” 

“Cheater,” Artemis mumbles. 

Miranda sits up, and Artemis reaches for her. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

“Then hold still.” Miranda soothes her hands, drawing them above her head, licking her lips at the way it stretches her abdomen. Unable to help herself, she traces her tongue across those muscles, reveling in the way Artemis twitches and moans. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispers, letting her fingers and wisps of her biotics travel down her thighs. 

“Miri.” Artemis gasps, her hips lifting Miranda with her. 

“So strong. And stubborn.” Miri pushes her back down, pushing her thighs farther apart. Mm. This angle won’t do for how long she’s going to be down here, so she shoves a pillow beneath Artemis’s firm ass, squeezing it for good measure before she lets her settle down. Blowing a puff of air against her inner thigh, Miranda pulls back. 

Artemis groans, but she holds still, mostly. 

“Patience,” Miranda murmurs, kissing the inside of her ankle, then her calf. Artemis’s pulse quickens as her mouth nears her core, and the heat between them rises. She pauses at her lover’s knee, sending biotic vibrations up her skin ahead of her mouth. By the time her lips meet the spot between her legs, Artemis’s breath has gone ragged, and her underwear is soaked. Pulling it out of the way, Miranda kisses her again, harder deeper, tracing her entrance with blue sparked fingers. 

“Oh, fuck, Miri,” Artemis whimpers and begs. “I can’t.” One of her hands twists inside Miranda’s hair, and she looks up to see the other gripping the headboard for dear life. 

“Yes, you can,” Miranda murmurs against her clit, kissing and sucking as her lover writhes beneath her. “Are you close, Ari?” She can already tell by the words slipping out of her mouth, but Miranda wants to hear her say it.

“Miri,” Ari’s fingers dig into her scalp, “yes,” she manages as her hips thrust into her touch. “So close.”

Miri lies beside her so she can watch her face, and she whispers against her ear. “Then come for me, Ari.” She twists her fingers, pulling on Ari’s clit with her biotics, and her lover’s whole-body arches toward the ceiling. When the orgasm fades, Miri dims the lights, and undoes the blindfold softy, bringing her back slowly. 

“Damn,” she gasps softly, staring across the room as her breathing slows. 

“That good, was it?”

Artemis swallows several times, looking over at her finally, her skin flushed. “I had no idea.” Her fingers touch Miranda’s face, before drawing her into a kiss, grinning as she tastes herself on her lips. “What you were capable of.”

“Few do.”

-------

Artemis stares at the displays of cabinetry, saying nothing. It’s not until Miranda taps her shoulder that she realizes her girlfriend is glaring at the varnish. 

“Ari?” Miranda lays a hand on her shoulder. 

Shaking her off, Artemis pulls back. “I can’t do this.” She heads toward the kitchen.

“Artemis, wait.” 

“Miranda. This isn’t negotiable. Just leave it alone.” Artemis plops down on the kitchen island, holding a glass full of sparkling water. Her eyes distantly watch the bubbles pop.

Sighing, Miranda stops in her tracks, eyeing the stack of datapads next to the Normandy display. So much for making the apartment their own. It shouldn’t bother her so much. She’s never been much for interior decorating. But now Miranda has someone to decorate with, and it makes all the difference. Can’t Artemis see that? If Miranda helped jumpstart the process, maybe she would? Leaning over the table, Miranda reaches for an empty box, and the nearby rustle makes her heart sink.

The pile of datapads scatter off the desk, and Admiral David Anderson’s voice echoes throughout the apartment at full volume. 

“.... Few people know what Shepard's been through.” 

Artemis freezes, her eyes wide.  

“I'd like to think I come pretty close. And I worry sometimes she forgets there's a whole bunch of people who lose sleep over her getting back home. Maybe it doesn't need to be said. Maybe--”

“Turn it off.” 

“It fell on the floor.” Miranda says lamely.

Artemis slams her glass down, swerving off the counter and out of the kitchen. She kneels on the floor as all the datapads start playing Anderson’s voice all at once. Her arms shake as she tries to silence them one by one, but the stack keeps sliding out of her hands. Throwing one across the room, Artemis covers her ears, and her breath shakes. “Please turn it off.”

“Later.” Miranda touches her gently. “Let’s get you upstairs, away from the noise.”

Artemis jumps slightly, but she doesn’t pull away. “But--”

“Shh.” Miranda wraps an arm around her shoulders, guiding her to the room they slept in earlier--away from the master bedroom. She helps Artemis out of her clothes, and under the covers, jacking up the climate control so they can lie under all the blankets. “They’ll still be there in an hour.”

Her lover says nothing, only resting her head against Miranda’s chest. Tears drop one by one on her skin, but Miranda doesn’t say a word, just runs her fingers through Artemis’s hair until her breathing slows and her body stills. She’s almost asleep when Artemis finally breaks her silence.

“He was the one that found me after the Raids.”

Miranda frowns. “On Mindoir.”

“Yeah.” She burrows her head against Miranda’s collarbone. “He’s not coming back, is he.”

“There’s always a chance.”

“He’s on Earth, Miri. In the thick of it.” A sob escapes her mouth and her body shakes with the impact. “There’s no chance.”

Squeezing her tight, Miranda answers. “We never hand a chance, but we’re still here, aren’t we?”

Ari breathes in and out, mulling it over, or maybe remembering how she did everything short of mutiny on the SR2 when they first met. “Y-yeah,” she says thickly.

Miri takes a breath and lets it out in a sigh. “And you know what? If Anderson hates the new cabinet color, we can always change it back.”

Artemis snorts. “Fine.” Not that Miranda disagrees about Anderson. But if Commander Artemis Shepard loses faith, so does everyone fighting behind her, and Miranda’s fought so hard to get where she is now. She can deal with the bloody consequences of her lie later. 

----

“You sure you want to go out?” Artemis lingers by the counter, leaning over it and bracing herself on her elbows. 

“Ari. I did not buy this dress just to stay home.” They had finally finished refurnishing the place and making it their own, and it was nice, but good God, Miranda needed to see something besides that backsplash behind the waterfall before she changed her mind about the color again.  

“To be fair--the last time I went out all fancy I destroyed your favorite sushi place, and someone died.”

“Wasn’t Elijah Kahn dirty?” Miranda also braces her elbows on the counter, her face inches away from Artemis’s.

Artemis doesn’t even bother to hide looking down at the windows in the front of her dress. Her next words come out warm and husky. “He’s still dead.”

Miranda runs her fingers down her lover’s forearm. “Like the dress? If you want to keep seeing me in it, you better take me out somewhere nice.”

Grinning roguishly, Artemis whispers. “Not like you’re going to be in that dress for long.”

“I didn’t even bring anything else to wear!” Miranda groans as Artemis starts pulling frying pans out of the cupboards. An apron goes flying towards her face. 

“Wear that.”

Miranda holds out the apron in front of her like it’s been soaked in varren pee. “I don’t cook.”

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun!” Artemis decides to help her with it, sliding it over her neck and tying it behind her back. She steps back, admiring her handiwork. “Damn. You look good in that.”

“Do you even know how to cook?”

“I know a few things.” Artemis turns away, pulling out pans and butter and various ingredients Miranda did not even realize Anderson had stocked in this kitchen. No. It’s been too long. Miranda’s girlfriend must have done it herself. When did she have time for grocery shopping? She tosses a dash of salt into the water to make it boil faster and gets to work opening a box of dry pasta. 

“Could we at least go out for drinks after?”

Artemis stares at her, hearing the sharpness in her tone. “Miri?”

Miranda rubs her face, leaning heavily against the counter. “Sue me if I want to go out on a normal date with my girlfriend.” She’s probably making too big a deal of this, and Ari’s sure to notice. Why did she have to make such a scene?

Her lover says nothing, turning off the stove and settling next to her, squeezing her hand. “Did you have a place in mind?” She’s biting her lip, studying Miranda closely, her voice soft and quiet. Miranda almost has to lean closer to hear it. 

“I hear the bar at the Silversun Casino has excellent drinks.”

“Do they have soda?” Ari traces the seams of Miranda’s dress with her finger.

“If they don’t I’m burning the place down.”

Artemis has to muffle her laughter into Miranda’s shoulder after that.

-------

Long after James Vega has made eggs, and Kaidan Alenko has made coffee, and Artemis and Wrex have fished Grunt out of the shower, and everyone has filed out of the apartment to pack their bags, Miranda lingers. She borrows the downstairs shower (it’s seemingly seen the least amount of action during that raging party), cleaning up with what she hopes is Ari’s shampoo. Miranda wouldn’t feel quite right using Kahlee Sanders’s stuff with everything going on. 

With a pang, Miranda realizes she forgot to check on Ari after the party got going. She seemed...alright? Was she just faking it for her guests? Miranda hurries, probably missing some of the conditioner at the end, but it can’t be helped. Some things are more important than having perfect hair. 

Wrapping a towel around her, Miranda finds Ari sitting by the window, a stack of datapads next to her, turned off. 

“Want to talk about it?” Miranda sits next to her, handing her the mug of coffee that she had originally prepared for herself. 

Artemis says it so quietly Miranda almost doesn’t hear her. “I listened to them. All of them.”

“Oh,” Miranda says softly. “Are you alright?”

Her lover’s face brightens like the sun. “Better.” She reaches over, hand still warm from holding the mug. “Whatever happens. I’m ready.”

“Me too.” Miranda kisses her, ignoring the nagging feeling. Surely this shore leave is just the dream. Only a matter of time before the nightmare follows. 

[harley4l]

Chapter 12: The sister named Kara

“Lie until even you believe it — that's the real secret of lying” ― Holly Black, White Cat

Beginning / Previous / Next

It had been on the news for weeks. Eleanor DeSantis, Brindleton Bay’s prettiest and most popular girl had been killed on her sweet seventeenth birthday party in cold blood. People wanted to talk about nothing else, everyone wondered who in the world would do such a horrible, evil thing. 

Reporters had followed her around in massive crowds, everyone shouting and pleading for an interview with her. Kara, do you have a minute? Kara, who do you think killed your sister? Kara, do you have time for a short statement? She’d kept on walking, smiling at every camera that zoomed into her face. My sister and I, we had a special connection, she told the S.I.M.S. broadcast reporter who’d intercepted her after the funeral. Nelly was like ... another part of me. I miss her every minute. Lightning flashed around her and she beamed at the cameras, throwing her hair back elegantly. Her parents had scolded her for her demeanor towards the paparazzi more than once, ordering her to put on solemn face. What will the people think? She didn’t mind a few headshakes and irritated looks though. Bad press didn’t exist. 

In a way, she was more popular than ever. Her face was plastered everywhere, her name known all across the country. That’s what Kara had wanted, hadn’t she? To be noticed. Her life had been so boring in that boarding schools for troubled teens, ahem, kids with artistic talent, her parents sent her off to. And even before that, she’d been inferior to her twin. Less confident, less popular. Always second best. Always trying to get a hold of Nelly‘s perfect life. 

The only thing Nelly regretted was not killing that bitch sooner. It still made her furious, remembering how Kara had come home for a visit, only to sneak off to Daniel Prescott’s party and impersonate her. Nelly should have smelled the coup when Spencer‘s promise ring went missing that evening before after she’d taken a shower. She‘d searched the entire house for it to no avail—clearly her twin had stolen it to pull off her insane plan. After her argument with Daniel at the party, Nelly had trudged home drunk and slightly pissed-off, just wanting to fall into bed and contemplate her next steps. She could barely even process it when their parents followed her upstairs to her room and demanded to know where she’d went. Well, to Daniel’s party of course, she’d snarled. I told you. But her parents regarded her with distant, strange faces. Kara, her mother asked. Have you been drinking? Nelly had blinked hard, shaking her head. Of course not. And I’m Eleanor! She’d turned to close the door on them, but her father stepped into the door frame. He’d taken her arm, a stern look on his face. We have explicitly told you to stay at home while you’re at here, Kara! Nelly couldn’t believe her own ears. She tried to rip her arm away. I am not Kara! You guys can’t even tell?

At the sight of their irritated faces, it was clear they couldn’t. Pathetic, but after everything what had happened between her and Kara, perhaps it was to be expected? Her parents had driven her back to her sister’s boarding school early in the morning, without as much as a goodbye. She hadn’t seen her twin sister at all that night. 

And just like that, Kara had single-handedly snatched away her rightful place and started to make a mess of it. From now on she’d worn a heart-shaped golden locket on every weekend when Nelly was allowed home for a visit. Nelly had privately been wondering what had happened to Spencer’s promise ring — she hadn’t seen it since the night it went missing —, but her twin had deliberately ignored all questions regarding her Spencer. When Nelly pointed at the locket and asked her sister why she clung to that ancient, ugly thing, Kara‘s mouth twisted into a smug little smile. So that they know it’s me, Kara, she’d purred. 

It was still baffling to Nelly, how easily everyone—even their parents and Miranda—had fallen for this pathetic Nelly-Act. Over the course of seven months, Kara had broken up with her boyfriend, trashed her reputation to befriend a bunch of losers and had trampled her sparkling, sacrosanct reputation into the ground. And for what? To date some brainless jock? To boost the popularity of five uncool dorks, who didn’t give a damn about her? They’d wanted her dead. Nelly had overheard them whisper about all the ways it could be done during their birthday party. Choking on her cake, haha. It was the final proof that Kara had been nothing more than a bad imitation, and yet no one had noticed that her parents had sent the wrong twin away.

They had caused this. They drove Nelly to this point where she knew nothing else to do than to wrap her hands around her sister‘s neck and squeeze the life out of her. Your crazy parade has gone on long enough, she‘d hissed at Kara that faithful night on their porch. And now it reached its end. Switch back with me, last chance. For a moment, Kara stared at her with tense shoulders, her breath leaving faint white clouds in the freezing cold air. Nelly held her intense gaze like she used to since they were children — a silent battle of wills which she had always, always won. 

No, Kara had answered. She‘d smiled, not knowing that she was dead. 

And yet, somehow Kara had won. She had proclaimed the name „Eleanor“ for herself irrevocably and Nelly’s accomplishments and fame had died with her. Nelly could have accomplished so much more... Before this whole disaster, she‘d only been one step away from publically exposing her father’s mistress as the dirty cheater that she was and unmasking her insufferable half-brother. Spencer should have been his parents’ favorite son, he was the rightful heir to the Prescott fortune. She had done all this for him, but Spencer hadn’t even realized that she, the real her, had been gone. 

She thought about the brief, satisfying flash of fear in Daniel’s eyes that day she had whispered the truth into his ear. Yet he didn’t believe she’d actually go ahead and tell everyone. You wouldn’t throw your own dad under the bus, he’d insisted. However if given the chance, Nelly would have. Her family had underestimated her for far too long, Kara and Daniel both did, but Kara had learned her lesson the hard way and Daniel would as well, once he sat in jail for Kara’s murder. It would be easy to pin it on him too, after all he did go after Kara before her death. Nelly watched it all from a distance, quietly snapping pictures with her phone. Not even his fake-daddy’s huge bank account would now save him from justice that was long overdue. If Daniel hadn’t banned her from his party that night, could Kara have ever switched in the first place...?

She just needed to be patient. Soon enough, she would get her revenge. And not just at those who had wronged her, no, at everyone in this rotten town. Once the people of Brindleton Bay felt safe and content again — and once her sister was nothing more than a bad memory in the back of their minds — , she would tear the sky down on them and make them regret that they had simply stood by and watched her tragedy happen. They had ruined her. They were the ones who were evil. 

And if those idiots thought Kara to be a deceptive girl, they haven’t properly met Nelly yet.

Epilogue Chapter: The sister named Nelly

(Aka we’re turning back the hands of time for just a bit and take a look into a dead girl’s thoughts...)

[kirbopher]

I went to see the "Mewtwo Strikes Back: Evolution" premiere at Anime-Expo!

Hey, everyone! I just returned from Anime-Expo where I was lucky enough to've seen the world premiere of the 22nd Pokemon film, Mewtwo Strikes Back: Evolution. Wanted to share some of my experiences on it!

I'll start with some information about the event, before going into details on the movie itself. First of all, this was (as far as I understand) the very first time any Japanese-language with English-subtitled Pokemon animation has been officially (and legally) released in North America (and possibly outside of Japan in general?) so I wanted to make sure I attended this pretty momentous occasion. The event itself was handled very well by the staff and there was a great bilingual host who oversaw the whole thing and really hyped up the audience. After the film screening was finished, the three related guests of honor, Kunihiko Yuyama (co-animation director), Motonori Sakakibara, (co-animation director) and Rica Matsumoto (Japanese voice actress of Satoshi/Ash) were brought to the stage to answer a few prepared questions and audience questions. Afterward, Rica Matsumoto performed "Mezase Pokemon Master" live for the audience, which was an absolute treat. Finally, after the reveal of Armored Mewtwo's upcoming appearance in Pokemon Go, we took a "family photo" with a mascot Pikachu making an appearance! The whole thing was a total blast.

Some key points involving the Q&A session:

Rica Matsumoto was in particular very excited to visit LA, especially because she had worked on the Japanese dub for Beverly Hills 90210 and got to visit the real location after wanting to for so long! In addition, she was so taken aback by the audience's enthusiasm for "Satoshi", knowing how they were far more familiar with "Ash", but felt a strong connection to them through the character and Pokemon in general. The two animation co-directors Mr. Sakakibara and Mr. Yuyama shared similar comments, being blown away by the audience's emotional reaction. The screening also gave them major nostalgic flashbacks to first working on the original over 20 years ago. They were also so grateful.

I was fortunate enough to be chosen to ask the first of the three audience questions. First, I thanked them for giving us the opportunity to see this film in its original language with subtitles, as this was a tremendous honor to begin with. After mentioning that the American fandom was very appreciative for the English dubbed version of the TV series and movies, I asked if they would be able to give us any other future opportunities to see ANY other Japanese-language Pokemon animation down the line. Mr. Yuyama said they have plans, with Rica Matsumoto following with "Count on it!!" Nothing further than that, but definitely a good sign!

The next question from the audience asked about a trailer featuring footage involving what appeared to be an older version of Misty, why it was cut and what its involvement was to the movie's early stages of development. Mr. Yuyama simply responded with (paraphrasing, here) "While that was meant to show the image of an adult, the character in question was not actually an older version of Misty. The haircut is very similar though, I can see why you would make that mistake!". Rica Matsumoto adds (again, paraphrasing) "It just goes show that there's so many pretty girls in Pokemon, it's easy to mistake them for each other sometimes!" (Personal note: obviously this is sort of 'dodging the actual question', but it's likely they either weren't allowed to go into detail as to what that early trailer was all about, or possibly forgot about the details since it had been so long ago.)

The final audience question asked about what led to the decision to re-do the original film with CG animation. Mr. Sakakibara mentioned that they had wanted to do a CG Animated Pokemon film for a long time, but thanks to the collaboration with the 3D animation studio they worked with (I've forgotten the studio's name unfortunately, sorry!) they were able to finally make it happen. They chose Mewtwo Strikes Back as the experiment piece in order to try pushing the original character animation even further with the expressiveness and emotion.

I'm sure fans of her know this already, but Rica Matsumoto is an absolute ROCK STAR on stage. She loved teasing the audience and getting them amped up, commanding us to get louder and louder! "When I say 'Pokemon', you say 'Getto da ze!'" was a real highlight. To her, "Mezase Pokemon Master" is THE defining Pokemon song.

Next, I'll talk about the film itself. To those of you who don't want to be potentially spoiled on some of the differences between this and the original movie, skip this part!

The subtitle track for the film used all of the official English names of all characters, including the humans, Pokemon creatures, attack names, locations and even the nicknames of the guest characters' starters ("Bruteroot" and "Shellshocker"). For the most part, the translation was very close to the original Japanese dialogue, but there were definitely a few liberties taken at times. Team Rocket's motto was changed to reflect the English adaptation ("Prepare for trouble and make it double" etc.) along with referring to Ash/Satoshi as "Twerp" (instead of "JARI-BOY!"). There was also a very obvious 'joke' on the translator's part involving a new scene where Brock/Takeshi hits on Neesha/Sweet, proclaiming something about his "jelly donuts" (ending in the ol' Misty-dragging-him-away-by-the-ear gag). As this scene had completely new dialogue, I wouldn't be able to cross-check whatever the 100% accurate translation would be off-hand. A couple other liberties taken (in a way), were that certain lines throughout the movie were word-for-word 'translated' as lines from the original English dub of Pokemon: The First Movie. Thankfully these were rare, but one that definitely sticks out was the "I see now that the circumstances of one's birth are irrelevant. It is what you DO with the gift of life, that determines who you are." at the film's climax. Lastly, Mewtwo's words asking "Was I created by God?" and the scientists' response, were adapted in the subtitles as "Was I created by nature?". (Personal note: Likely this was to avoid flat-out religious references.)

The film begins with Dr. Fuji and his crew retrieving the Mew fossil from the ancient ruins. The "Birth of Mewtwo" sequence involving Amber/Ai is NOT included in this version of the story; the following scene leads directly into Mewtwo's awakening in the tube, to which the movie plays out as you remember it.

Dr. Fuji's laboratory is tremendously redesigned, but the same events transpire.

Mewtwo's armor is, as you've noticed, also fully re-designed. We see many re-directed (in terms of cinematography) scenes from the sequence of his servitude to Giovanni/Sakaki, including Gary/Shigeru's from-behind cameo. The main element of difference in the armor's usage is, just before blowing up the Team Rocket base upon defying Giovanni, it transforms into a binding 'prison' sort of state, to keep Mewtwo confined if he ever fought back...of course, he breaks it easily and flies off, just as before.

The first sequence where we see Ash, Misty/Kasumi and Brock starts a little earlier than in the original, showing Ash more excited and offering to help set up the table for lunch. It then cuts to slightly later where he's tired and slumped over the table. The Pirate Trainer "Raymond" appears again (still with all his glorious Engrish), now with a slight redesign involving bigger hair and the theme song battle sequence plays out. Worth noting, during the 3-on-1 against Pikachu, his Golem is replaced with a Drowzee. (Personal note: Likely to circumvent the "Thunderbolt should be ineffective against a Ground-type" argument.) We also see glimpses of Mewtwo and the mind-controlled Nurse Joy viewing the battle. Just before Dragonite shows up to deliver the invitation, we also see a bit of the gang's other Pokemon used in the movie: Vulpix, Psyduck, Squirtle, Bulbasaur and Charizard, eating Pokemon food.

LOTS more trainers in the dock scene. The pier master Miranda/Voyager actually speaks of Wingulls showing signs of how bad the storm is, warning everyone again. We see a few more trainers attempt to travel to New Island, including one who tries Surfing on their Kingler and another who is carried by their Scyther...neither of them make it, along with whoever tried flying with their Fearow like in the original. RIP.

The Vikings-the-mostly-live-in-Minnesota are replaced with an equally-funny costume theme of the Team Rocket trio as some tourist-trap sailors utilizing a Lapras-shaped ferry service. Brock comments on how conveniently they showed up and they all get on. We then get a very Disneyland 3D Attraction-style sequence of the two trios riding through the storm before it crashes and Misty sends out Staryu to try and save the day. Another extended sequence of Ash, Misty and Brock clinging for dear life to Staryu plays out, including a really gorgeous orchestral arrangement of...the Sun & Moon Wild Pokemon Battle theme, of all things!

Ash and the others meet the other guest trainers. This is where the short added scene of Brock hitting on Neesha is added.

In general, while the grand majority of the things that happen in each scene are the same as they are in the original, a lot of the animation is expanded upon and really pushed in terms of expressiveness. Often this makes them longer than how they were before, but it's definitely paced out properly to fit with the adjustments they made.

The battle arena sequence plays out and all 3 of the battles between Venusaur, Blastoise and Charizard Vs. their super-clones are extended with new fight choreography and additional attack exchanges, including with later-added techniques like Energy Ball and Leaf Storm. This scene also features a completely new background music track from the one used in the original film (later used quite a bit in the anime).

The sequence of Mewtwo capturing all of the humans' Pokemon plays out, also with new background music as opposed to the original. A few new shots of the trainers trying to guard their Pokemon from being captured are added.

After the super-clones emerge, Mew appears to save Ash from being splattered against a wall, the Pokemon and their clones brutally beat each other, now with new sweeping camera angles and new music instead of the original.

When Ash rejoins Misty and Brock after climbing down from the castle, a few bits of dialogue are slightly played around with, but leads to the same untimely demise. Some new DBZ-esque glow effects are applied to when Ash is struck by the two psychic blasts and his turned-to-stone state is a bit more like crystal. Pikachu trying to Thundershock Ash back to life lingers a bit more, to show the desperation in Pikachu's attempt. When the other Pokemon begin shedding their tears, their actual sounds aren't heard and the scene is silent minus the background music.

The memory erasure happens yet again, sending everyone back to the docks. From just after Ash sees Mew flying in the sky, commenting on it, up through Team Rocket's sign-off on the now-abandoned New Island, the orchestral arrangement of the Pokemon Red & Blue Credits theme plays. For the movie credits, we're treated to a new remix of "Kaze to Isshi Ni" (featuring Shokotan) along with some 2D paintings of Ash, Misty and Brock traveling. One shows a flock of Wingull near the dock area! At the end, we see Mewtwo and the clones flying off to what appears to be Mount Quena from the "Mewtwo Returns" TV special.

Finally, as is always the case, a very short teaser of the "Pokemon 2020" film, showing a 2D-animated Pikachu in the style of the Sun & Moon series.

There might have been some things I missed, but that's everything I could recount! If you have any other questions, I'll try and answer them as best as I can. To anyone else who was there for the screening, feel free to add anything else you like! Overall, highly recommend folks who enjoyed the original Mewtwo Strikes Back movie to go see this when the English version comes out!

[beanarie]

past & pending 3, chapter 2

Welcome to the McGraw-Hamilton Bed and Breakfast, where no one ever calls ahead for reservations. the rest of the series (post-finale, everyone’s in love) is here, the previous chapter, where--spoiler alert!--thomas and flint just learned that madi has a girlfriend, is here

~

“We thought her distress was over you,” Thomas confides.

Silver’s smile is bitter and, frankly, more than slightly annoying. “Oh, it’s never about me.”

Thomas frowns at the trees. He loses all patience in the face of self pity. Despite not being well acquainted with Madi, he knows James is of the belief that she loves Silver, or, rather, that she did at one time. The rest, as they have well established, was his own fault.

“Allow me an uncomfortable question?”

A heavy silence follows. “Go on,” Silver says.

“Is there anything tying you to her, save penance, and, of course, the dogged hope of eventual absolution and a return to how things were?” Silver’s wide eyes are a response. They are not, however, an answer. “I ask in all sincerity. Confirmation that you are not consumed with flagellating yourself every time you leave here would be appreciated, especially given the ready alternative.”

Someone should lance this boil, incontrovertibly disabuse Silver of the notion that existing as someone’s sun, moon, and stars is the only way to be happy. The awareness of his own position prevents Thomas from making the attempt. He would offer the corpses James created in his name if he could. Being an ignoble villain himself, Silver would appreciate them more.

The house now in sight, Seydou takes off at a run, little Felix at his heels. Thomas runs a thumb across  the patchy stubble on Silver’s jaw. “I miss the beard,” he says longingly, trying to impart the fondness that threatens to overtake him with tone and context rather than explicit words. “Refrain from shaving for the rest of your stay, hm? Consider it payment for the room and board.”

Thomas takes a step forward, but Silver’s fingers wrap around his upper arm, keeping him from taking another. He noses the back of Thomas’s neck and breathes in deeply. Well. Fuck subtle. Before Silver can disengage, Thomas spins on his heel. Silver’s mouth lets out a quiet huff of surprise before Thomas claims it for his own.

“The boys?” Thomas whispers urgently.

Silver’s wild eyes stray from his for mere seconds. “Inside.”

"Understand,” Thomas says, pressing a kiss to Silver’s throat. Yes, unsurprisingly, the man could do with a wash. That’s fine. “It is not that I lack the ability to control myself. I merely see no point in doing so."

The eyes he raises his head to see ask a very clear question. Why? “You know, I used to hear stories on the plantation. We weren’t permitted news of the outside world but I-“

“You had your ways”

“I did.” He tugs the hem of Silver’s shirt free of his trousers. Silver does the same to his. “I knew of Captain Flint, scourge of the new world, years before I knew it was my James they spoke of.”

“It wasn’t wholly outside the realm of plausibility. James, James can be terrifying. Did you know he took me to a hanging on our first outing together?”

“But what of Long John Silver, the only man he was said to fear?” “Many an hour I whiled away forming an image of you in my mind.”

Despite how far they’ve gone already, Silver’s expression is shuttered, like he doesn’t dare to accept what is on offer. “You talk too much.”

“And most days you spend too much time in the brambles of this mind to provide any semblance of worthwhile conversation. Will that be changing? We are all reasonably certain at this point James will not draw and quarter you for your transgressions.”

“That... was never a concern.”

He pulls a few of the hairs in the path from Silver’s stomach to his groin, causing a yelp Thomas will remember for quite a few nights to come. “Do not lie to me, John Silver. I’ve a keen mind and I have suffered. I could plot retribution the likes of which you could never conceive.”

He uses his thumb to breach the waistband of Silver’s trousers and press into the muscle underneath the sharp jut of hipbone. The body under his hands shivers. "Were it not for the myriad complications present at the moment, I would have you, right here, just like this. What say you to that?"

A slight laugh, a thin sliver of a cheeky grin.  "What complications?"

“Villain.” Thomas smiles against Silver’s lips and swallows whatever response he would have gotten. This, at least, they can do without consulting a committee.

~

The bedroom door swings open at the same time as Thomas pokes his head in to say, "Oh, excellent. You're here. Come, villain. We have our quorum. We'll get our resolution and everyone will be much happier for it."

James nearly drops the shirt he's holding at the sound of that word coming out of Thomas's mouth, but then Silver hobbles in close behind, grumbling good-naturedly. "Is that to be my name now?"

Unruffled, Thomas smiles like he owns a secret. "Tell me it bothers you and I'll stop forever."

A very pointed silence reigns for a long moment. James ignores them until the spare clothes to donate to their guests are in a neatly folded stack. "You had some sort of agenda," he prompts.

"Surely you can guess," Thomas says.

James turns to address them. "Of course I could. But Silver is changing color and I'd to see how much closer to red he can get."

Thomas laughs and sits on the bed, jostling the stack of clothing but not tipping it over. Silver screws up his face in a futile effort to change his current complexion. "Fuck you both."

"There it is." Thomas winds an arm around James's waist. "Would you prefer a statement with fewer words?"

Allowing Thomas to get closer does not mean James agrees. "You've both had too much time in the sun and not enough water. His wife is a guest in our home."

"Not my wife." Silver looks down at his foot. "That- that was only ever an idea. A hope. And now we are... friends. Maybe, if I'm being generous. Anyway, she gave me her explicit blessing."

James looks at Thomas, who looks back at him, equally silently.

Silver sighs, drumming his fingers on his crutch. "You may have noticed she has taken up with a woman."

"So taking this step." James gestures to take in the three of them. "Now, under these conditions, would be your retribution?"

"What? No. We spoke candidly on what occurred during my months-long absence from her."

"You confessed everything?" James asks. So far Thomas has kept his opinions to himself. It will be interesting to see how long he is content to observe before deciding James and Silver cannot work this out between the two of them.

"She wanted to know what purpose I served here for so long," Silver says, meaning no, he did not inform her about his illness. "How you were able to allow me to linger after all that I had done, to you both. And I..." He lifts his chin, resolute. "I told her I love you."

Abandoning Thomas and the stack of clothes on the bed, James approaches a noticeably unmoving Silver. He leans in, gaze fixed on Silver's mouth. "Is that what you told her?" he says. He lays a hand on Silver's neck, his thumb sweeping over the point of his pulse.

Silver hums, flush still high on his cheeks. "It's the truth." He slumps forward slightly into James's touch. This happens every time. Touch Silver with even a hint of affection and he goes pliant and greedy like one of his barn cats.

James grins as he traces the underside of Silver's bottom lip. "That explains why you wanted to stay, not why we let you."

"Feel free to elaborate," Silver says. "I've already gotten Thomas's side of things."

From the other side of the room, Thomas laughs in a way that people who aren't James don't get to hear.

Good thing the chores are done for the morning and no one inside this room is responsible for preparing the next meal. All they have to do for the next few hours is work up an appetite.

~

The entertainment at midday consists of the younger boys bragging about their contributions to the repast.

"I'm just proud you didn't push each other into the water," Obi says. "I fully expected at least one of you to return soaking wet."

Madi, seated as far from Esther as their circumstances allow, lets her gaze flick toward each of the white men in a knowing matter. Being who she is, she's quite subtle, but James sees. She says, however, nothing, apparently content to help Khanyi pick out the stray bones left in her fish.

Possibly he is being paranoid.

~ Old remembered terrors force Flint out of a sound sleep, heart hammering, thundering, and eyes completely incapable of recognizing his surroundings. It’s too dark, it’s too dark. There are enemies about and he can’t remember who was assigned lookout.

“James,” says a voice that doesn't belong.

“Love."

"It’s all right."

"You're home safe."

"Everything is fine.”

A melody sinks into the bits of silence. Humming. Flint latches on, his breath coming easier, and he lays his head back down.

His traitorous mind refuses to rest, linking the tune to something he used to hear on piano. He thinks of Miranda, walking off to leave him in bed struggling with his ghosts, until the strains of her playing from another room remind him where he is. He thinks of her dry fingertips against his cheek as he would finally drift off to proper sleep. That tiny pull of a smile on one side of her face that signaled the end of an argument. The quizzical rosebud of her mouth when she read something she found deeply fascinating.

No one is touching him, but James can feel body heat creeping in on all sides and he can’t handle it. Reality is both too much and not enough. “Shut up,” he says, rubbing at his eyes, willing his mind to stop reeling. “Both of you.”

Silver rolls onto his side as though he's been out this whole time. James runs a hand lightly down Silver's back, and rises from the bed.

So many people between these walls. She should be here, too. She deserves to be here.

He can feel at least one pair of eyes following his progress, so he says, "We need firewood. And well water."

"Let him go be productive," Thomas orders Silver, just loud enough for his voice to carry. "I fucking abhor chopping firewood."

[firelxdykatara]

This is dedicated to @itspileofgoodthings - it’s an expansion on an idea I had that I wrote a bit of immediately after the season 6 finale, and while I lost the original post completely in the nuke (thanks tumblr) this has been kicking around my head recently, largely thanks to all Maria’s awesome meta. Also consider this an internet hug cause I know you’ve been having a rough time of it lately. <333

Anyway, this is basically how I envisioned Elena waking up from the coma, all those years ago when I was still angry and raw over tvd’s treatment of my girl but just wanted her to be happy in any way I could manage it.

This isn’t edited or anything so just. Bear that in mind. It’s four am so the quality probably suffered greatly as a result. >.> Anyway, enjoy.

---

It could have been minutes, or years—time had very little meaning, in this place. She supposed, on some level—and when she could suppose things at all—it made sense. A magical coma didn’t have a whole lot of precedent to follow, but when one was cursed to sleep for what could easily be decades, the ability to mark the passage of time was kind of immaterial.

Actually, it would probably have served as an even more brutal form of torture. Elena wondered why Kai hadn’t thought of that.

Then again, she’d never really had a whole lot of experience with the business end of magic. That had always been Bonnie’s department, and now, thanks to Kai, she would never be able to see her best friend alive again. The moments of clarity were thrown into sharper relief against the backdrop of the formless cloud of an existence she drifted through, her body and mind perfectly preserved by the curse—kept in a limbo of semi-reality. Perhaps that was the point, if anything Kai did ever really had one. (He was a psychopath with no real plan except power and how to gain more of it. It wasn’t all that surprising, in hindsight.)

Those moments when things did solidify, Elena never could quite tell what caused them. Sometimes, she almost thought she could hear Damon’s voice, whispering her name—a prayer, almost, or an oath. A promise. There was a giggle she thought could be Caroline, or her brother’s crooked smile, flashing like lightning across her mind’s eye.

Sometimes she saw Aunt Jenna, and her parents.

“It’s not time yet, sweetheart,” Miranda Gilbert said once, smiling sadly from the other end of Wickery Bridge, the petals of calla lilies cascading around her like rain.

Elena wanted to protest. To run across the bridge and hug her mother—but she stood rooted to the spot, and the scene shifted and vanished, and she was alone again.

When the loneliness became too much, the realization that she was completely alone in this place that tasted bitter on her tongue and cut like a knife, sometimes a memory would surface. Her first date with Matt, long before her parents died and Elena began her journey that started with the gloomy graveyard girl and ended in a coffin for who knew how long—and, really, how was that for irony?—or the first night she stayed up with Damon, curled up together and just… talking until the sun came up and Elena had the first real taste of forever.

A stray thought might make her wonder if she was reliving firsts because she was worried about all the lasts she was missing. But she tried not to think about that, and it was easy—thoughts ran like water, and slipped through her fingers just as quickly.

So, she had no idea how much time had passed, when something happened that hadn’t since right after she’d gone to sleep.

Someone else was here with her.

Her surroundings took form—familiar, achingly beautiful in its simplicity, and far more real than anything her own mind had been able to conjure up. And when she saw her visitor, she knew just what it meant.

“Oh, Bonnie. No.”

Tears welled up, part sadness, part sharp relief at suddenly being, part agony over that relief—because it could only mean one thing.

Bonnie Bennet looked as if she hadn’t aged a day, but when she was spoke it was with the voice of age and wisdom. “Elena.” It almost sounded as if she could hardly believe it, herself. “I’ve missed you.”

The tears fell as Elena ran forward, enveloping her friend in a hug. “Please tell me this isn’t happening,” she whispered, her voice thick as she pushed it out past the lump in her throat. “You found some other way. Right?”

Bonnie pulled back, saying nothing, but tracing Elena’s face with her eyes. She reached out with one hand, brushing the tears from her friend’s cheeks, shaking her head slowly. “It’s my time, Elena. It was going to happen some day—you know that. I just wanted to see you one last time before I died.”

“But you’re not… I mean, you’re still so-”

“Young?” Bonnie interrupted with a laugh. “This is a dream, Elena. I can look however I want.” Slowly, though, her appearance changed—wrinkles appeared, laugh lines and crow’s feet and hair shot through with grey and white. “Though I do look damn good for a hundred and twenty,” she added, and the look on her face was so unmistakably Bonnie that Elena couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

“You’re ok with this?” Elena asked, her eyes earnestly searching Bonnie’s face. “Was your life everything you wanted?”

A smile spread across Bonnie’s wizened face, and the years melted away again. “You look out for my grandkids, and they can tell you all about my life.”

“Grandkids?!”

Bonnie’s eyes sparkled when she laughed. “I fell in love. I lived my life, and raised a family, and got to see the world. I was happy. I promise,” she added, pulling Elena back into a hug.

It felt more like a goodbye.

“Now it’s your turn, Elena Gilbert,” she whispered, and then everything went dark.

  For the first time in a century, Elena’s eyes opened.

She gasped at the sudden onslaught of sensation—there was sunlight streaming between the blinds, and everything felt fresh.

There had been a certain stale stillness to everything in the dream world after a while, but this, she knew with sudden and painful clarity, was real.

And the pain was because she hadn’t moved in a hundred years.

It felt as if a million hot little knives were poking at her feet and her hands and sending fire through her veins as every major muscle group screamed in protest. One hand was gripped in Bonnie’s—it was then Elena noticed her friend’s body, the aged version she’d seen briefly in her dream, lying next to her on the bed. She could so easily have been sleeping, and tears stung at the corners of Elena’s eyes. She pressed a gentle kiss to her friend’s cooling cheek, and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

She only stumbled a step, a pained whimper escaping from her throat, before the door to the room burst open and in a rush of displaced air, he was at her side, catching her before she fell.

Damon. Damon Salvatore. And the sun seemed that much brighter.

“Damon?” she whispered, voice rough with disuse, as she looked up into his eyes—those startlingly green eyes that made her toes curl.

“You’re awake,” was all he said, sounding for all the world like a drowning man who’d finally remembered how to breathe.

Or, perhaps, remembered why he wanted to.

It all fell into place, after that. Stefan and Caroline were in the living room waiting, and one of Bonnie’s granddaughters, all of whom filled her in on the passage of time, everything that had happened while she was asleep.

The first thing she did was visit the family plot. “I’m sorry, Jer,” she whispered, kneeling in the grass in front of his tombstone. “I missed everything, didn’t I? My niece’s grandson is older than me!” She laughed, while tears rolled down her cheeks. “But you missed some things too.” She brushed the tears from her face. “Damon’s human, now. He took the cure from me after I woke up. I guess he spent the past century making sure the whole world thought the cure was destroyed—last thing we need are vampires coming around when we can’t defend ourselves, right? And Bonnie’s gone, but I hope you guys have plenty of company on the other side, now. Or whatever it is that happens after we die. It’s kind of nice not to know, actually. Feels weird, not having some immortal out for my blood anymore, knock on wood. But I wish I could’ve gotten to see you grow up. Better be saving a spot at the table for me, you hear?” She shook her head, running her fingers across the etchings in the stone that marked her brother’s name. “Wish you were still here, Jer. But I’ll be ok. I promise.”

  Later, Caroline was only too happy to help Elena settle into a new identity and get her back into medical school. This time, she managed to actually attend most of her classes. Damon had that bar he’d gotten for himself while still a vampire, and, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think Damon is actually happy as a human,” Caroline said, months later.

Elena gasped in mock outrage, and her friend raised her hands placatingly. “I’m not saying it’s a surprise he’s happy with you—just, I always thought he’d feel some… regret, for giving it all up.”

“Damon’s forever was always Elena,” Stefan spoke up as he entered the kitchen.

“You know, it’s super not fair that you both still have superhuman eaves-dropping skills,” Elena remarked, then laughed, throwing a few more things into the chilli. “But… you’re not wrong. I was surprised, too. But I’m glad he is. I never wanted him to have to sit by and watch me wither away.”

“Now you can wither together,” Stefan quipped. Elena threw a celery stalk at him.

It was… perfect. An almost idyllic life. Of course, there were issues. There always would be—that was life, and perfect as it may have seemed, it was still real. But Elena and Damon had always been that. Real. Messy and imperfect, and they had their arguments, but somehow, a normal human life was so much more survivable without immortals trying to kill them.

Really, it wasn’t the end of their story—just the beginning. The beginning of another story, too, as Elena discovered not long after.

“What is it, baby?” Damon asked, in that way of his, the slight hitch in his voice when he thought Elena was in trouble or hurt and needed to be able to fix it. The way his eyes focused on hers, as compelling as ever, even human as he was. “What’s wrong?”

Nothing. Oh, god, for once, nothing at all, she wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come. Tears were filling her eyes, but they weren’t from sadness, nor anger. And, finally, she found her voice.

“I’m pregnant.” And the only word for the light in her eyes was joy.

[callboxkat]

Quiet (part 16)

Author’s note: Sorry this one took so long! College is also a thing outside this AU.

Warnings: arguments, misunderstandings, college

Word count: 1574

Masterpost!

Virgil’s break was over, and he was back at work. Currently, he was sorting through recently arrived records and placing them on their corresponding shelves in the shop. His hands were shaking slightly as he did so. A part of him couldn’t believe that he’d actually opened up to Patton, as little as it may have been. Patton hadn’t seemed judgmental, but what if he told Logan about it? Or worse, Roman? Virgil wasn’t guaranteed a positive reaction from either of them. Maybe it would have been better to say nothing at all.

Virgil paused a moment, ran a hand through his hair, and then continued sorting the records.

To be fair, he had to admit, he hadn’t actually told Patton anything new. He knew that Patton had already figured out that his lack of speech wasn’t always by choice, so all he had really done was confirm it.

It’ll be fine, Virgil tried to tell himself as he worked. It’ll be fine.

But he couldn’t help but be nervous.

…

Patton stayed seated where he was for some time after V’s departure. He reread the short note his friend had left for him several times, although he had long since memorized it.

V had confirmed Patton’s beliefs, that he was indeed trying to talk to them, but that “it’s just hard sometimes”. Patton wasn’t sure what exactly V meant by that, but he knew that he believed the freshman’s words. It could be shyness, or some sort of speech impediment, or some other issue, but Patton was more sure than ever that Roman was wrong. V wasn’t not talking because of some superiority complex, or aloofness. He just couldn’t.

Patton and Roman were going to have to have a talk.

…

According to the book Logan had checked out, the steps to proper conflict resolution were as follows:

1.       Identify the root problem

2.       Come up with potential solutions

3.       Evaluate solutions critically

4.       Choose the “best” or most fair solution to all parties

5.       Implement changes

6.       Set a future date to evaluate the results

It sounded easy enough when the book put it like that. Each section had a lengthy description and example scenarios, but Logan felt that these six simple steps should be a straightforward guide.

The only issue was how to get Roman and V together to actually resolve their conflict. Logan took out his phone and texted the person he felt most capable of helping him with this.

…

Patton and Logan met up on that same half-wall where Patton and V had been talking, since it was a short trip for Logan and Patton could simply wait for him there.

“V was just here,” Patton informed his friend as the latter settled himself onto the wall beside him. “We had a talk.”

“About what?”

Patton messed with a loose thread on his khakis. “Well, I don’t think I should say specifically, but he seems like he also wants to solve this problem.”

Logan nodded. “Good.”

With a little help from Logan’s steps for conflict resolution, the two sophomores came up with the beginnings of a plan. And while a part of Logan felt that Patton was just humoring him by referencing the library book, he appreciated the effort.

Because neither of them felt that Roman and V would be willing to talk to each other just yet, they decided that Patton would talk to one of them, and Logan to the other. That way, they could get a better idea of what exactly the underlying issue to the conflict was, and from where each side of the argument was coming.

“If we were to speak to both of them at the same time,” Logan reasoned, “they would likely be too busy arguing or otherwise distracted by their emotions on the matter for us to have a productive discussion.”

Patton and Logan planned to compare notes at this point, then speak to each friend again about what they had heard from the other side.

“And then they can come up with a solution together!” Patton said, swinging his legs so that his heels tapped gently against the concrete.

“Precisely,” agreed Logan, pleased. “After that, all that remains is implementing said solution and monitoring the outcome.”

Patton turned to look up at him, pale green eyes glinting in the evening light. Logan looked away slightly, never a huge fan of eye contact himself, but Patton only asked, “So, who should talk to who?”

“Who should talk to whom,” Logan corrected automatically, then winced slightly at himself.

“Maybe you could talk to Roman and I could talk to the kiddo?”

Logan thought a second. “Actually,” he said, “I was thinking that it might be better if you speak to Roman. His perspective on this matter seems more innately related to his emotions than V’s; and as you know, emotions and I…” Logan grimaced, and he heard Patton giggle beside him.

“They’re the bane of your existence?” Patton suggested, referencing something that Logan had said not long after they’d first met.

Logan allowed his grimace to melt into a smile. “Exactly.”

“Okay. I can talk to Roman, then, and you can talk to V. Be nice to him, though, okay?”

Logan was a little hurt by the implication that that wasn’t a given, but thankfully, Patton didn’t seem to pick up on it. “Of course.”

…

On Wednesday, after their classes had ended for the day, Patton and Logan put their plan to action.

“You don’t need me to come with to talk to V, right? I could always talk to Roman later,” Patton checked.

“I’ll be fine. Go find Princey,” Logan said, taking out his phone to send a text to V. Patton nodded, then turned to look for their other friend. V had already agreed to talk to Logan, Patton knew, even if he had seemed rather reluctant about it. Patton hoped Roman would also be willing.

The young man in question seemed a little confused when Patton walked up to him. It was possible that “marched determinedly towards him and stopped less than a foot away” would also be an accurate description for his approach, but who could say?

“Patton?”

“We need to talk.”

Roman sighed, clearly knowing what this was about. “Look, I don’t—.”

“Please?” Patton put on his best puppy dog eyes, and of course, Roman was not immune.

“Fine.”

The two of them walked to an empty part of campus, sitting under a large tree behind one of the academic buildings. Patton had suggested that they go to one of their homes to talk, but Roman claimed that this was faster.

“My brother likes to eavesdrop, anyway,” Roman added.

…

“So,” Patton began carefully once they were both settled comfortably, “I would like to talk to you about this whole thing with V.”

“I know,” Roman sighed.

“Can you tell me your side of things?”

“Okay, fine. How about this? You show up with a guy we don’t know who dresses like he only shops at Emos R Us, never deigns to talk to us, and refuses to pay for his food; and you tell us to be friends? A guy who dumped a glass of tea on me and walked out when I tried to get him to pitch in? Are you going to tell me I should thank him for that?”

“I’m just here to hear your side of things,” Patton said. “Why do you think V didn’t want to help pay?”

“I don’t know,” Roman said. “Maybe he feels entitled to free stuff just because he graces us with his presence. Maybe he’s just been having fun messing with us. I don’t know! He could have tricked you into thinking he had a panic attack at the ceremony back in August, and remember that first movie night when he kept refusing all the movies? And do you think it’s a coincidence he dumped black tea on my white prince costume?” Roman growled in his throat. “And then he has the nerve to throw that money in my face like he’s mocking me!”

Patton was silent when Roman finished, a frown on his face. After a few moments, in which Roman quietly seethed and slowly tore up several innocent leaves, Patton spoke in a quiet voice.

“He didn’t fake the panic attack. I was there, and I’m sure of it.” He looked up towards Roman’s face. “Also, about the tea… it looked more to me like he dropped it on you, not like he was throwing it at you on purpose. I think it might have been an accident.”

“I thought you were just here to hear my side?”

“I am,” Patton confirmed, “but Logan’s talking to V right now, and once we have his side, we can figure out how to—,” he broke off, looking down as his phone started to ring.

“Sorry,” Patton said with an apologetic look. He went to turn off the phone, but he stopped in confusion when he saw the contact name. Why was Logan calling? Patton held up one finger towards Roman, then picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Oh, Patton, good,” the voice on the other end said, sounding relieved. “I believe I may require your assistance after all.”

“Logan, I’m still talking to—.”

“As soon as possible, please,” Logan interrupted, his tone slightly strained.

Patton’s concerned gaze met Roman’s questioning one. He smiled apologetically.

“Okay, I’m coming. Where are you?”

Tag list: @patton-loves-coloring @starryfirefliesbloggo @purplesoul-at-hogwarts  @lotusthatexists @lizaelsparrow @awesomelissawho @amuthefunperson @bunny222 @syndianites @astraastro @momolinia @hamilin-manuel-miranda @goldenkiddos @afilhadehades-blog @virgeofselfdestruction @theresneverenoughfandoms @iris-sanders-athena @super-magical-wizard @jesjessode @rainbow-sides @thefallendog @fanficptsd @zodiac-awesome @lookitsthatquietgirl @soft-boy-patton

[lordnochybaty]

FLINTHAMILTON STEREK ZIVA/DINOZZO :3

Hi! Thanks so much for the ask :D I’m gonna answer in three different posts because what can I say, I enjoy long answers for this meme and I’m not about to stop. ;) Part 1/3: FLINTHAMILTON (though it involves mentions of Miranda/James/Thomas, because I am who I am.) (you’re all still welcome to send me more ships if you wanna :))

who’s the werewolf and who’s the hunter

Flint is a werewolf, Hamiltons are a family of hunters. Of course, when Alfred Hamilton believes in killing all useless wolves, Thomas believes they should all live in peace, based on a common understanding and respect. He loves James and makes James realize he shouldn’t be ashamed of his own nature.

+ Thomas makes all possible comments about James being a beast in bed.

who’s the mermaid and who’s the fisherman

James is the fisherman, Thomas is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He’s also a little shit who keeps distracting Flint from his work an scaring his fish.

(”Perhaps those ideas might seem radical in human politics, but why would you think them not worth pursuing?”

“Well, for one, I’m discussing them with a fish.”

James smirks like the little shit he is and Thomas splashes his face with cold seawater, draining his hair and shirt with one snap move of his shiny tail. Thomas adores James for the easy way they talk, even if the man is stubborn and snarky. Or maybe that’s part of what Thomas’ likes as well. No one talks to him like that at home. He wonders how to casually drop in the conversation that actually, technically, in the underwater world, he is, for lack of better terms, a prince. It’s been six weeks and it seems awkward to bring it up now, especially as James takes his shirt off to let it dry in the sun. It’s really not the right moment.)

who’s the witch and who’s the familiar

Miranda is a witch. James is her familiar. Thomas is Miranda’s husband. Thomas and Miranda always loved each other but the magic running in her blood was foreign to him and they could never connect on this level, never gain a full understanding of one another in this. When James appears Miranda knows what he is to her, even though she is surprised at the form her familiar took. She thinks it’s another tiny way for magic to pull her away from her husband. She quickly realizes it’s actually what ties them all even closer.

who’s the barista and who’s the coffee addict

Thomas is the barista. It’s the punishment his father thought up after another rant of how ungrateful Thomas was for all that was given to him, and how he should try working a menial job to learn how horrible it would be to not live off his father’s money. It seems to backfire in a spectacular fashion. Thomas might miss being rich and able to use it, but he is willing to admit his father actually did present him with an extremely educational opportunity. So far he befriended two married women (one of which discusses world politics with him in French so he can practice, the other promised to teach him how to fight with a knife), a man who can pick any side of an argument and almost win it with his fake devotion to his stand (they’re not allowed to talk on the clock anymore) and one man with whom he started a book club. It sounds tame and slightly boring but the first meeting brought three arguments and one actual fistfight, so it’s a thrill. The second meeting brought the grumpy, caffeine-addicted redheaded client that Thomas has been crushing on for the whole five weeks of his career. ( “His name is James and you owe me big time,” Jack whispers and Thomas is almost willing to forgive him his ridiculous opinions on Dostoyevsky.)

who’s the professor and who’s the TA

Thomas is the professor, James is a TA. Both of them think their infatuation is subtle and discreet. They’re both wrong. Everyone is placing bets when will they hook up (most money is on ‘before the end of term, please, the tension is too thick to breathe’), who will make the first move (there have been several long discussions about the possibilities, the students are divided into two camps which only keep growing more and more hostile. the third option is still ‘someone else will need to literally push them together because they’re absolute, blind idiots’ but it’s not very popular for its lack of dramatism) and even how long will this relationship last (’when they die their graves will connect through the flowery vines to prove their eternal love for the next generations’ is actually still a top bet which proves Lit Majors have too much money for gambling.)

It happens during a family dinner on Christmas (which makes Miranda and few others richer). Thomas is the one to give in first and kisses James after James’ heartfelt speech to Thomas’ father. (The winning camp throws a party with their good fortune.) And the last one is too hard to prove for anyone to care about the bet, but most popular option got pretty damn close.

who’s the knight and who’s the prince(ss)

Thomas is, of course, the prince and James is his guard. James is really, really trying to be professional about this. He’s a good soldier. He respects his duties and his charge. He knows how angry and disappointed with him would be the king if he fell into the temptation of sleeping with the prince.

The last argument could maybe even stop him when Thomas kissed him lovingly, looking not much like a prince, with his hair messed up and only his sleeping garments covering him - But actually, James knew several stable boys he had more respect for than King Alfred and when he felt Thomas’ lips on his own, he barely remembered who the hell King Alfred even was.

who’s the teacher and who’s the single parent

Well, the tricky part really is that no one is the single parent. Thomas has a wife, and they do have a good, smart kid together. Except the kid doesn’t follow the rules blindly and often gets into serious debates with teachers about the point of doing something or not doing something, and really, it’s very tiresome but Thomas knows he can’t complain because everyone is just waiting to point out the obvious source of such tendencies.

“I see where Marcus gets it from,” Mister McGraw, Marcus’ new and favorite teacher says within thirty minutes of knowing Thomas and that’s really not fair.

Almost as not fair as is Mister McGraw’s small, teasing smile and his ridiculously attractive posture. Oh boy, thinks Thomas quietly, this is really a horrible, horrible idea.

And then, a tiny voice in his head that he knows his son got as well, the voice that questions everything and refuses to behave when there’s no good point for it, it whispers: Why horrible? He’s perfect!

Thomas lived for long enough with that voice to know that he already lost.

who’s the writer and who’s the editor

Thomas is the writer, James is the editor. The publisher makes them work together and it works better (and worse) than anyone expected.

It takes Thomas ages to actually finish his next novel and be happy with the final product, but he does finish it and likes the editing, so really, it all worked out, right?

Hennessy considers killing them both over a dozen of times before they even miss the first deadline.

[mypantsarenotyourpants-blog]

My First Love,

February 22nd, 2014. I was a sophomore and you were a junior. You had me wrapped around your finger since the day we met. I remember meeting your mom for the first time and shaking so badly that I had to sit down. That was back when I thought you were the one. Your mom and I had a remarkable relationship, it’s almost like I talked to her more than I talked to you, and you and I were constantly in touch. My family loved you, your family loved me. What could go wrong at this point? Shortly after we began dating, you showed signs that you didn’t trust me as much as you did in the beginning, which made absolutely no sense. So, I listened to you when you said to stop talking to my guy friends. It didn’t seem to fix your attitude towards the whole situation though. I ignored it because i knew i had done nothing wrong. You began to pick fights with me over the most idiotic things. I didn’t realize it at the time but this is when you also began to be more controlling. You didn’t like my best friend, so I said, “okay, we don’t have to hang out with her together. I’ll go when you’re not with me”. You started quite an altercation over that because you didn’t like how I had a life outside of my relationship with you. I let it slide. Fast forward a few weeks when I came to your house to hang out. You started calling me ‘stupid’ like it was my name. You completely laid into me about how I had guy friends on social media. I said I wasn’t deleting them because I hadn’t done anything wrong and you ignored me for awhile. I hung out with your mom while you were throwing your tantrum. You suddenly decided to come talk to me again. When you did, it was like nothing happened. I was pleased. Of course, that was before I saw that you had changed my wallpaper and passcode on my phone to the same as yours. I thought it was weird but I didn’t say anything. Later that night, I went into my messenger to talk to one of my best friends, he was a boy. I found that he was deleted. After some searching, I realized you had deleted almost every male I had on my facebook and snapchat. Let me remind you, I had done nothing wrong. I was still head over heels for you. I added them back and changed my passcode. You threw a fit when I wouldn’t tell you what it was. Not to mention threatening to leave me if I didn’t put up a “man crush monday” of you every single monday on every social media site we had. When I expressed how excited I was that my sister was pregnant, you rolled your eyes and brushed off the whole thing. Later that night, you messaged me with an attitude about that. All I could think was here we go. After the fight, I asked you what exactly your issue was with that. You simply replied, “I know when that baby is born, all you’re going to do is be around it and ignore me”. I let it slide. My birthday rolled around and my mom had gotten me tickets to see Miranda Lambert. I went with her and my very pregnant sister. You didn’t like the fact that I was going, even though I was just with my family. I spent the entire time fighting with you because I wasn’t with you instead of the concert. Before we knew it, it was starting to get chilly again. We made plans to spend time together and I came to your work so you could just take me home with you, I didn’t drive yet. Before I came and visited you, I dyed my hair from coffee-brown to light auburn. I looked great! I put on a sweater dress and a pair of leggings that you hadn’t seen before and trotted out the door, excited to see your reaction. When I walked into your work (where you had worked with both of your parents), your mom exclaimed that I looked great. I thanked and hugged her as I always did, then I walked up to you. You ignored the fact that I had even walked in. You took me by the hand and led me into the other part of the store where I could clearly see your anger. “ARE YOU PREGNANT?” you asked. I said, “uh. No. Why would you ask that?” You pointed to my stomach and simply responded with, “you just look bigger than normal.” Tears welled up in my eyes but I turned so you couldn’t see. Obviously disappointed, I asked you for a hoodie when we got back to your house, I never wore that dress again after that. A couple weeks go by and my sister gets induced! I’m elated. I’m sitting in the waiting room and suddenly my phone buzzes, hoping that it’s updates with how my niece is doing, I see that it’s you. We had been fighting all morning because I told you she was getting induced and I was ecstatic about it. You apparently didn’t like that I was so excited. You had the nerve to say, “I don’t know why you’re so excited. She’s your half niece not your full niece.” (Now, my sister and I have different dads but we were raised like full sisters, I’ve never in my life referred to her as my half sister). Needless to say, I was livid. Shaking and everything. I blocked your number that day and continued waiting for news from the delivery room. Beautiful baby Dallas was born on 9/11/14. The greatest day of my whole life. We pushed the last issue aside and were fine a couple weeks later. I found that you had been talking to your ex-girlfriend all I had said was “well, what do you guys talk about?” you responded with, “just work”. I didn’t do anything about it, I trusted you. I don’t know why, but I did. You had been wanting to wrestle me for some reason, even though I was tiny and you played football. I agreed because you wouldn’t shut up about it. So, you tackled me onto your living room floor and pinned me down almost instantly. You pretended to hit my face. I said, “okay for real, don’t do that”. You continued and actually ended up hitting my face so hard that I had to explain to my mom what had happened. I didn’t want to make you seem like the bad guy, so every argument that we previously had, I kept to myself. I didn’t tell anyone but my best friend. Which still kills me to this day, because my mom and I were so close. You and I fought until the next day. While eating lunch at school, you messaged me. The text consisted of you calling me several names and saying there’s something wrong with me. Not too long after this, I tried to break it off. You convinced me to stay every time. Somehow. Until one day you said something that made me go ballistic. (I’m not going to write it here because it was disgusting and all out rude.) I took my phone and slammed it on the tile floor in the KV lunchroom. It didn’t work after that. I borrowed a friend’s phone and I messaged my mom, asked her for your number, and told you that I didn’t want anything to do with you anymore. It’s been 3 years and I’m still healing from everything you said and did to me. I’m still trying to get my self esteem and mental health up to where it was before we met. I still need to say thank you for pretty much destroying who I used to be and making me who I am today. I've got an enormous heart and a great personality that nobody- not even you can take away from me.

[somethingmemeworthy]

Things I love about you:

The way you’re always there for me

How when you find something funny and relatable and your eyes get kinda big and you get this big goofy smile on your face and your voice gets a little deeper and you say “me” let me tell you that makes me so fucking happy

The way you compliment me randomly 

The way talking to you makes my whole world brighter

When you tell me you're proud of me

The way you put up with all of my bullshit all of the time

The way you constantly insist I’m not bugging you

Those nights when we stay up talking until two am

When you read and you get really into whats written and you start to rock back and forth like a mental patient

When you sing to me

Those nights we stay up just text and its not about anything in particular but its amazing 

That we’ve been friends for the past two and a half years and you’re still able to tolerate me

Your low key racism

When you call me babes or love or anything else

When you call me mom

The way you make me feel so loved

When I get really sad about the future and my life and you’re there to calm me down and talk me through it

The way your head pops up and you start singing when I put on la vie Boheme 

When you read to me

When you get super mad when I’m on my phone and you’re trying to show me something

How you’re the best older brother in the world

How hopeful you are (sometimes)

That I can actually be myself around you

How happy you get over the little things

The eyeroll and subsequent hang up when I make a pun

How you actually make me cry so easily because of how much I love you

That you would actually like to plan to meet me despite everything being in the way

When I get a text from you while I’m asleep and I wake up the next morning to see it and you’re the first thing I wake up to

How kind you are

How smart you are

All the times I have almost gone off the deep end that you’ve helped me back from

When I get sad and you’re always the first person I can talk to

how much you love Sophie

When you sing and it gets too high and you just like say “fuck” and stop trying 

When you don’t respond for hours because you were with your puppy and she’s the most important person in your life (which is good)

That you call Kyle your best friend

That you tease me

When you move your hair the wrong way and it looks really stupid and you don’t notice because you’re in the wrong tab

That you call people on their bullshit

That you don’t have a lot of friends because I’m so much friend it’d be bad if you were super popular

When you get really passionate about something (which you do every few months its really cute)

That you’re really good at making cards

Your bracelets (especially the one I gave you)

When I genuinely get to make you laugh and you look really happy at least for a second

Your super dramatic reenactment of rent (“what are you staring at?” Are still the favorite words you’ve ever said to me)

Your jokes

When you laugh over really stupid shit and I’m pretty sure you’re actually mental or some shit 

Just because

How proud you are of your leg hair

This may be kinda sad but that one night we were face timing and we were talking about ******* and you said that you thought you were in love and in retrospect it was really wrong and sad and shit but in that moment you looked so happy and your voice was faded just like it does and you looked really nice and it was just a really nice moment the way I remember it 

Im gonna get arguments on this one but how attractive you are

How you always say you’re going on a diet and then. Week later never do

When you let me know when you’ll be busy because you don’t want me to freak out

When you let me buy you things and spoil you because I genuinely do love you and want you to have things and be happy

That despite feeling like this you’re trying to hang on and you’re planning a future and you’re honestly trying as hard as you can

When I try to text ****** again and you get mad at me and tell me how bad she is for me and I know I protest but It makes me know you really want whats best for me

That day you refused to talk to me till I had eaten because you knew I needed to same reason as above

The asian jokes we make about you

I almost forgot how proud of me you are when I do something like when I graduated or when I got accepted and you were so proud 

That you’re honest with me about when something is wrong rather than hiding it to spare my feelings

How into video games you are

Your persistence (when you want something to get done, you’ll do it)

The dorky little peace signs you do in selfies

All the confidence you have that I don’t (this is not physical but like online and cussing and shit which I don’t really do)

Every “when we meet” scenario

Your underwear collection

When you say you love me

When we’re talking and you just go silent and I’m like talking and I realize you’re replying to someone and I just trail off and say random things to keep the mood until you pay attention again

; )

That you know me so well to call my grandparents Mahmah and papa 

How you get pissed when I tell you I had gluten or some shit

You’re basically the light of my life and I never expected it 

Even when Im terribly depressed, talking with you cheers me up enough to the point of basic human functioning

Your truly fucked sleep schedule that makes it hard for me to gauge when you’lll be up in the morning

How easy you are to read

That you let me talk shit about everyone to you

Your bracelets and how they’re os significant to you

When you’re feeling down and we go into deep philosophical talks bout life and the universe

Just being with you on the phone- neither of us have to be talking, its just nice.

Your love of miranda Cosgrove

That you know more about me than any of my friends/ siblings/parents

That you would be the one person I might ever let touch my phone

Sharing secrets

You always try to HELP me whenever possible. When I failed a test, instead of saying “oh that sucks” you ask what I can do differently next time

Throughout the past 2.5 years you’ve been my strongest advocate

I really see you as the most prominent male figure in my life

Your handwriting is shit but in a cool way

I would pick you over a dog any day

How you’ve influenced my life (in particular my political and social views- definitely for the better)

Having someone to come to about the maddy situation

Being able to say definitively I have a best friend

You make jokes at the most innapropriate times

However many days you have left on earth, knowing you’ll be able to spend them with me is enough

How pretty your eyes are when you get excited about something and they sparkle and scrunch up

How much you love New York and how fondly you speak of it (it really warms my heart)

Being able to cope with my self hatred and my own problems while also managing yours fairly well

Basically stepping in as my dad while also letting me be there for you in a parent way

Dreaming big

when you call me babes or love

Complimenting my art when we both know its shit

When you randomly text me throughout the day which you don’t normally do

Your love of haddock

The spur of the moment facetimes when one of us is feeling sad 

You’re the least judgmental person I’ve ever met (of me at least) and one of the kindest 

the pictures of us I have on my laptop

You’re one of the most self sacrificing people I’ve ever met

The little things that you remember about me that you bring up that make me realize how much you really listen

How funny you are

When we talk and we go off on those little tangents and start calling each other sweetie and it basically one of those skits

“stoop”

That night I was in the hotel and I snuck out of the room so I could talk to you and boy oh boy was that a nice night bc we planned a trip, talked all night, and even though there were plenty of tears on my end, it's still one of my fondest memories of you

Same night, when the mean receptionist lady yelled at me and you had left and I was panicked crying in the room and upset and you called back and you were just so gentle and caring and talking to you automatically cheers me up

Low-key trying to set our siblings up

When you're singing to me and you literally pause to burp

That one time you joked that we should get married and I said “will you marry me?” and you got super freaked out and were trying to let me down easy that was really funny but also just really a nice moment because you're so sweet

this is some super straight shit and probs no one is gonna read it but bottom line is people see you from a completely different perspective. When you see yourself what you may see is all negative, but someone else sees you in a completely different light. All those weird quirks you don't notice or don't think anything of make someone else’s day brighter. You are all loved by someone. 

[idk-yet-when-i-feel-like-it]

Unexpected, to say the least. Chapter 2

Warnings: shitty writing, swearing, idk 

Italics are your thoughts

School Uniform:

Pants: Solid colored pants, no sweats, no leggings, no jeans, no holes.

Shirts: Crew neck shirts or higher. Flannels, button ups, sweatshirts, sweaters are allowed but no logo, writing, or brand can be bigger than a post-it note

Other: No hats, can’t wear hoods up, no sunglasses.

December 11, 2018

You woke up to the sound of your alarm going off and the groans of the two boys you slept between. 

“Shit, when did we fall asleep?” you asked groggily.

“You and E passed out at like 1, I finished the movie.” Grayson responded.

You looked over at Ethan and wondered how the fuck he fell back asleep so quickly. You sat up with Ethan still leaning on you and Grayson got up and went to the bathroom. Your sleepiness wore off as you remember what happened after school yesterday. Shit, what the fuck. School’s gonna be hell, at least they won’t be ther-. FUCK, he’s shadowing me. Hopefully, he sleeps through my getting ready.

You shove, the still sleeping, Ethan off of you and go up to your room to get ready. You grab an outfit that followed your school’s dress code which includes your favorite green jeggings and a cute black sweatshirt. Technically, these pants aren’t allowed at school but I love them too much to care. 

You took a quick shower and had plenty of time left but rushed to leave before Ethan woke up. Fuck it, I’ll just throw my wet hair in a bun. After putting on your make-up you stepped out of the bathroom and ran right into Ethan. 

“Shit, sorry.” You said. Fuck, he’s awake. And ready? How the he-

“Are you ready to go?” Ethan asked cutting off your thoughts.

“You still wanna do this?”

“Hell yeah, I want to meet all your friends and ma-”

“Make my life hell” You finished for him.

“Exactly,”  he laughed.

“You can’t wear that though” you say looking him up and down. He looks really good, too bad my school has a dress code.

“Why? Does it look bad?” He asked. Ethan was wearing grey joggers and a semi-tight black v-neck.

“No, we have a dress code. And you know full well grey sweats equals dick print. I don’t need you bringing anymore attention than you already have. You know you’re gonna have to explain why the fuck you did that yesterday, right?”

“What did he do?” Grayson asked coming up the stairs.

“It’s nothing bro, I’m shadowing her today.” Ethan responded quickly.

You looked at him confused, you guys never kept secrets before.

“E, we were supposed to film today!” Grayson exclaimed clearly annoyed.

“Gray, I can just film my day with y/n/n. And then we can do some more filming here or in town after. Anddd then we can save that video idea for the next one.” Ethan reasoned.

“Ok, as fun as this argument is, we’re gonna be late if we don’t leave now.” You lied, walking downstairs. You weren’t late but you really wanted to get coffee.

“Bye, Gray, everything is all good. Y/n/n, wait up I gotta grab the camera and change” Ethan said as he ran downstairs

“What do I wear?” He asked.

You walked up to his suitcase and picked up a olive hoodie and black pants.

“We can be opposites,” you laughed.

“Bet. I’m wearing it.” He replied.

“I feel like I just played myself,” you responded shaking your head.

“You did.”

You and Ethan stopped at a local coffee shop. Ethan had pulled out the camera and got some shots of the drive as well as the coffee shop. 

Pointing the camera at you Ethan said, “Hey guys, I know we haven’t seen her in a few years but this is y/n. She grew up with Gray and I and I’m gonna shadow her at her school today.”

“Eth, I’m trying to order.” You turn to the barista and order “I’ll have a medium Kenya, please.”

“Awh, guys y/n is so polite. Also what is a ‘Kenya’?” He asked.

“It’s like wear the coffee bean came from, basically a black coffee.” You answered.

“You drink straight black coffee?” He said surprised

“Yea,” you laugh. “I like my coffee like I like my men, a little bitter.”

He kept that footage in the video. As well as, the rest of the drive. He’s probably filming to avoid talking about yesterday. That headass.

Getting to school was insane. All those girls were looking for you, not even expecting Ethan or Grayson to be there. When they found out Ethan was there, all hell broke loose. The principle had to make an announcement saying that if anyone bothered him or made a big scene they would be suspended and their permanent record would be stained. After that, everything calmed down.

“Okay, Eth, I’ve got four classes today. We do a block schedule so each class is an hour and a half.”

“Damn, those are so long. I do not miss going to school.”

“Yea, well shadowing is for perspective students so don’t say that in front of the wrong people.” You say hushing him.

Your first class of the day was World Religions. Since you went to a private school this class was allowed. Mr. Blink was the teacher. His first name was Sean and everyone called him sweaty Sean behind his back. The man sweat more than anyone you’ve ever met. Mr. Blink kept the students desks in a semi circle with two rows and the desks were never evenly spread out.

“Miss y/l/n, care to introduce your friend here?” Mr Blink asked.

“Uh, yea, this is Ethan. He’s kind of slow so b- ow!” You laughed as you were interrupted by Ethan hitting your leg.

“I am that not slow.” He said laughing with you and your classmates.

“Okay, that’s enough everyone” Sweaty Sean announced and started teaching.

“Y/n/n, I’m gonna get you back for that.” He whispered into you ear and sending shivers down your spine. You noticed how close his desk was to yours and your arms barely touched as he leaned to one side of the desk. You did not pay attention for the rest of class. This was half because of how boring to class was but also because Ethan kept poking you and annoying you.

The finally rang.

“Where to now, Miss y/l/n?” Ethan asked mimicking Mr. Blink’s voice.

“We have a 20 minute break, dickhead.” You answered laughing.

“Come on, I guess you can meet my friends.”

You brought Ethan up to four of you friends, Mason, Nick, Ben, and Emily.

“Hey guys, this is Ethan.”

“Yo, I’m Mason”

“I’m Ben”

“Hi, I’m Emily.” She turned to you and said “I thought you were bluffing when you said you knew the Dolan Twins.”

Ethan laughed.

“And, Eth, this is Nick.” You tell him.

They nod at one another and Ethan starts talking with Emily, Mason, and Ben. You walk over to Nick.

“Hey, y/n/n.” You can see Ethan tense at your nickname behind Nick.

“Hey, did you do the English homework for next block?”

“Shit, no. What’d we have to do?”

“Nickkkk,” you laughed, “We had to read Act III Scene i of the Tempest.”

You noticed Ethan paying attention to your coversation again. Is he jealous? No way, he just met your friends he’s probably uncomfortable. Yea, that’s it. If you’re honest though, you definitely had a crush on Nick.

The warning bell rings, seven minutes until class starts.

“Y/n/n,” Ethan tenses again at Nick using that name “wanna give me a quick summary while we walk?”

“Yea, of course.” You answer. “Eth, we gotta go to class.”

“Coming babes,” he winks at you.

What the fuck? This shit again. He’s trying to fuck up my shot with Nick. Dickhead.

“Ok,” you say walking closer to Nick than you are to Ethan, “basically the act is Ferdinand professing his love to Miranda even though they just met.”

“Shit, that’s insane.” Nick comments.

“I believe it is all just your willing suspension of disbelief since the play only occurs in one day. Anyway, then Miranda is like I love you too. Even if you cheated on my I’d still love you and all this crazy shit. And then Prospero is like creeping on them and watching this happen. He’s happy though because it’s part of his plan but also he has to disprove of it to Miranda so that she wants to do it more...” you explain to whole scene and finish as the three of you walk into Ms. VanHout’s class.

“Thanks y/n/n,” Ethan tenses up again. “You’re the best.” Nick finishes as he hugs you.

“Anytime.” And then you wink at Ethan.

Ms. VanHout is a forty something divorcee and she is pretty chill. Her classroom is set up in rows. You sit in the middle row three desks from the front. Ethan sits behind you since the kid who usually sits there is sick and Nick sits next to you. The whole class you sit facing Nick, in order to talk to both him and Ethan.

“Y/n, wanna tell the class your friends name?” Ms. VanHout asked.

“Sur-“ you were interrupted by Ethan saying

“I can introduce myself. Last block didn’t go so well.” A few kids that were in your second block chuckled and Ethan continued

“I’m Ethan and I’m from LA. I am a YouTuber and i have a channel with my twin brother. Ms. VanHout, would you mind if I filmed some of your class?”

“Oh, wow. Sure Ethan. Today we are going to have people act out the scene we read for homework.” Ms. VanHout answered excitedly.

“Y/n would you mind being Miranda?” Ms. VanHout always called on you. This probably had to do with the fact that even though you had so much anxiety you could never say no. To anything. The amount of times that you fell into a relationship with someone you weren’t even into was wayyy too high.

“Sure.” You responded.

“Ms. VanHout, would you mind if I played Ferdinand? I read the material late last night with y/n/n.” Ethan volunteers, winking at you.

That fucker is literally gonna get me killed. All these girls are still obsessed with him. All he does is focus on me. I have a chance with Nick not with him can’t he just let me shoot my shot.

“That’s wonderful, of course Ethan.” Ms. VanHout says.

The other parts are given away to people you don’t talk to and Ethan sets up the camera to film you the scene and everyone goes to the front.

“...And now farewell Till half hour hence” you recite

“A thousand thousand” Ethan replies leaning in and putting his hand under your jaw. “Ready for another dose of hell” he whispers as he kisses you and then turns to exeunt.

“Ethan, was it? That was not a part of the scene and frankly not very appropriate.” Ms. VanHout states.

“Oh, oh it’s totally okay Ms. VanHout. I’ve known Ethan forever and frankly he is a mediocre kisser.” You reply in an attempt to get under Ethan’s skin.

The bell rings just before Ethan has a chance to retort.

“Come on Eth, it’s time for lunch.” You smirk saying “Nick, Ethan and I were going to go out to get lunch, care to join?”

“Oh, I totally want to, y/n/n, but I don’t have an off block so I don’t have time.” Nick replies and again you notice Ethan is no longer amused in the slightest.

“Okay, see you later”

Ethan doesn’t say a word on the way to the car or on the way to the downtown restaurant you both were meeting Grayson at. It was almost scary.

When you arrived, you and Ethan got out of the car and were walking through an alley to get to the restaurant. You got a text from Grayson saying he’d be ten minutes late and finally breaking the silence you started telling Ethan “Hey, Gray is going to be late, he just tex-“ you were cut off as Ethan pushed your back against the wall and placed one hand on the wall beside your head and the other on your hipbone. “Ethan, are you good?” You barely whisper.

“I just wish you wouldn’t have talked to Nick so much and the way he called you y/n/n pissed me off. All this time I was so excited to come to your school and tease you and hang out with you but he was all over you. It just made me so angry and I didn’t know could be this angry about a -“

It was your turn to cut him off you leaned in and cut him off with a deep kiss. His hand moved to you jaw and the other gripped harder on your hip. Your kiss lasted at least three minutes only to end with:

“Y/n! Ethan!”

You both turn to see Grayson standing at the alley’s entrance, mouth wide open.

[sonofhistory]

Fandom: Hamilton - Miranda

Relationship: Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson

Series: Part 5 of the Young and Beautiful. series

Word Count: 5,565

Hot summer days, rock 'n' roll

The way you play for me at your show

And all the ways I got to know

Your pretty face and electric soul

        There was something magical about holding somebody's life in the brush of your fingertips. Like pressure points, Alexander Hamilton’s touch padded its way across the skin of Thomas Jefferson’s chest. It all led up to his heartbeat; a minuet in which all strides danced across the marble dancefloor to his heart. Electric impulses following their way up to his own being, pulsating in rhythm and in muse with the man before his gaze. The sound of his heartbeat lying just below the layers of skin and into the fragmented piecings of his whole- record the time, listen to the beat, remember the life and make a song from the pulse in his chest that you and your lover will both duet to.

        The hand on his waist burnt a pattern into the rip of his hips and like a flame, it spread indolently charring the place where Thomas’s extremity culminated their emotion. The heat surrounding the two in a Renaissance bed would illuminate the cigarette that Alexander would light using the tear stains on Thomas’s cheeks. Ash, soot and a bitter taste of charred paper resting on his tongue was all worth it to take away a sole piece of the Virginian’s pain. That much anguish would fill the lungs of every breather on the planet, suffocating in remnants of disdain.

        In the center of an office corridor, witnessed to not one but themselves- a new promise was roughly impressed onto the skin of his teeth; ingrained like a tattoo on the bite of his jaw. One taste that he swiftly melted into in a quick surprise- and he realized he had been starving his entire life. The thirst for that man’s tongue against his bottom lip and the tough padding of fingers on his pelvis. Where Thomas left those earlier marks that night he’d leaned down between the immigrant’s thighs and left soft impulses of kisses across the scatter of his skin. The hunger forever implanted itself in his bosom and he always craved more. He pressed another butterfly into the man with so much misery, placing feather light presses to taste a bit of the salt on his skin. He was cut from fire and ice and at the same time his lips became charred as wash of ice melted from a storm. All that day Thomas searched through the shores on his skin, for strips of the past, and of the rocks they collected the last time the sea painted them in salt.

          Ever so often, Thomas would lift his head in the arch where his neck cascaded like a wave into his ribs, growing roots around his ribcage and sprouted flowers just below his collarbone; reading out his name. Alexander plucked those vines, tugging at the petals as a daisy and always truth rang out in a silver bell; he loves you . The sun set on another day and Alexander sung as best he could in reeds, “my beloved, even the sun is not afraid to leave the mountains and find himself a new home in your eyebrows.” Thomas’s eyes did not meet at the center, but blinked, finding value; the whole world wished to remark on the color varnished inside his eyelids, the muddy sunset that faded every time he slept and an amber rise every time he woke.

          Thomas shifted his hand, tracing his caress even higher from his lateral and dragging an elegant line in the sand of his skin to his shoulders. There his hand rested gently tracing pictures on the curves of his skin and folding consistent melodies and harmonies. There were scars on both their souls, scars etched into their sheath, some were outside and some were beneath, all had a story of why they exist, but some were unwritten, too scared to admit, some Alexander saw but most were kept hidden. With cashmere and satin ribbons he’d unwrap Thomas like a beautiful bow so he could imbibe all of his secrets, fall deeper in love with his mind and cut his cheeks on the horrors he’d seen.

         The light that faded in through the balcony window where they just once stood, their footprints were etched into the marble and stone of the apartment. His somber skin, clean like porcelain, the words touched his cheeks flushing them to rouge. Alexander would make a pallet of paint from the various colors of both of their souls. Dye the sky rose in the gentle feel in spirit, draw a streak on the city lights with charcoal to silence the mood. Shine from a finishing day splashed like waves on their skins, fingertips hovered above Thomas’s heart were streaked apricot from the soul of the sky.

          Last night Alexander dreamed he built a castle in the sky, he got Thomas to live in it too; from the tallest tower they could see the whole world and from there Thomas grew wings and flew far away- the castle crumbled to dust and sand in an hourglass that slipped away to time. Thomas came back, and the castle was rebuilt. Thomas hummed to himself, Alexander remarked how his hair looked like clouds- and the color that dashed upon his cheekbones was added to his collection. But watching the man flap his wings- a suddenly recognition of why some birds don’t fly. Alexander did not have wings, and he could not fly. But all that he needed was the castle in the sky and that tower where he could see the entire world breath, close his eyes and dream.

         Where Thomas was sweet, Alexander developed a new tooth for him. When the sunset shone across the tips of hair they shined across the contrasting paste of the pillow and melted to gold. Nature’s first green was gold, it is the hardest hue to hold, dawn goes down every day; the gold can never stay. Alexander smoothed the edges of his fingertips across the fringed tips of the secretary of state’s hair and became rich upon rare beauty.

         “You’re staring at my hair, Alexander.”

         The non-stop man simply purred in response. Alexander wished to save the world from all its wars, but he knew first he must save himself from all the wars he put himself through. Stupid arguments in a cabinet meeting that was never forgotten. The truth may sting for a time, salt on old wounds licking themselves descent, and that is why he constantly spoke. The things that finally break you in the end are the words that are trapped in your throat, crammed in the pockets of Thomas’s coat are paragraphs Alexander knew he should of said. While they gathered in his throat, finding common placing in his lungs- he was drowning in the phrases and sentences he did not speak. In a crowded room Alexander could now see, Thomas was that only one without room left to breath as he perished beneath the waves- the only one of many who did not try to swim.

         A sigh admitted from Alexander’s lips and cast shadows in the air, he lifted a nail and traced a streak in the center of Thomas’s lips, searching for the expressions that were hidden all this time. “How about you show me your words?”, it slid past his argot and aught was sweeter he seemed to find then his name in Thomas’s language and colliding onto his collar in feral waves. He saw poems flash before his eyes when Thomas slithered between his thighs. But right now there was no sexual components about the mood, lust of course imbedded into the air but love isn’t just gestures or letters to be said, it is not just touch or sensations to be bred- love was looking into Thomas’s semblance and simply being able to the dissect the stories of his past as if he’d read it all his life.

           The tips of the man he once held in distaste curled up into the slight smirk, sitting up in the bed and Alexander laid his head on his chest. He heard the vibrations of that Virginian’s heart- fearful that it only beated for him. It was tune of pleasure that soothed his soul. Let’s take what we can carry and leave behind the rest. Full lips spread like lights across Thomas’s visage as his stubble scratched the dents in Alexander’s chin with a kiss to his forehead erasing his misery and speaking with actions that his mind was beautiful. “How about a bath instead?”, Thomas suggested, his gaze from above scrutinizing the scene.

          A moan escaped in pleasure and Thomas lifted his hand off of Alexander’s shoulder, he fell back against the bed and buried himself in a pillow and groaned. The taller’s side of the bed dipped around the corner before becoming flat again. The mist of his hair over his sight allowed secrecy as his peered at Thomas’s naked silhouette, his swaying as he exited the bedroom; the Caribbean was mesmerized, watching his perfection glow in the dark. As he noticed the glow fade down the hall, Alexander remembered in the ivory pages of his books that when flies fall in love their entire brain is rewired to only know loving each other; when one of them dies, their memory becomes blank. With that fact of memory glistening in his head, he wondered what it would be like; if like Thomas- instead of a brain with clever dialect he had a heart with mouth. What would he say then? He speculated why his books hadn’t told him that boys with eyes of stardust, who taste like rain, who talk like silver are the reason behind so many unfinished lives and too many sad dreams.

        A rush of water down the hall made his heart bounce and he raised his head to the accent. He didn’t bother covering himself up as he skated off the bed and padded down the hall, following his blind three second view with another man’s shifty fingers loosening his tie. He rested his hand against the frame of the door and tuned his ears for the sound of music notes hanging in the air as Thomas hummed to himself silently; leaning over the tub and running his hands underneath the water. It did not take much hesitation for Alexander to join him, the heat of the bathroom clung to Thomas’s behind and rubbed off on his own as he wrapped his arms around his stomach as he leaned over. The tight hug where he put some strength into it, using both arms not just one with the scent of coconut and lavender entering his lungs in wafts of rich steam.

         He buried his face in the arch of Thomas’s back, feeling him pause when he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to let go. He did of course, several minutes later when the tub was full and the red lashes across Thomas’s skin were lyrics singing that he would never let go. He could feel the aura of change that washed over the both of them. Alexander was man of his words, no love in his actions. The Virginian would usually place an index teasingly in the center of his lips; he didn’t need someone to tell him that he loved him; he needed somebody to show him.

          In the center of his bathroom, Alexander showed him as best he could. Most people search their whole lives in divine for something that they have already found. In a way it was a thanks, and a trust. The heart Thomas established in his clutch, he was gracious for that promise he would get the opportunity to keep. For too long Thomas turned away and ironed his emotion, the past had taught him not to get caught in something not worth pursuing; to never do the things he’d done that once led his undoing. Thomas glided into the tub first and dipped back his head in the ecstasy and Alexander did not hesitate to follow into his arms. He was seated behind him, slowly reaching his arms around his waist, a protective message. Crawling his trembling skin into his arms and feeling his fears leave him like sleep.

         The water was hot against his senses, with Thomas’s legs sheltering him from the sides, his back leaning against the gentle chest. There was silence. Men sometimes enjoy solitude, and can be robbed of their speech; the deepest feeling always shows itself in silence- not in silence, but in restraint.  Sitting in that bathtub with his lover’s fingers scratching their way through his scalp, threading the hair and leaning back his head- Alexander caught the pattern of Thomas’s quietude, he did not even expatiate but he knew what he was thinking, every single reflection. As if the fingers that were scraping their way through his scalp to his pleasure were transferring all his emotions, remembered a tremble in his bones, when he ached inside. Everything he held so sacred, to all the world he hid.

        There was a poker face Thomas held but there was always a flash in his optics, a solemn glint of sapphires and then descending into crimson. The point of a poker face was to dilute others by keeping stories trapped in your eyes and a tongue behind steel bars. A bruise is tender, but it doesn’t always last- returning to the way you used to be. But Thomas- Thomas was a scar. A scar can be stitched in an attempt to repair but they will always be there. On the surface of your exterior when you gaze into glass or etched into your heart- so nobody knows your pain. The invisible scars of tear drops falling off his nose.

        Alexander became overwhelmed with the coconut scent in his hair. He sunk lower into the tub, and Thomas became to hum again- if Alexander chose a song to be the last thing he heard before he shut away- he’d listen to it on reprise until his untimely demise. One glance at him and moonlight lit up the corners of his lips, and the fringed edges of his hair in blaze like the sun- all the stars revolve around him. Alexander would try to sing along but he didn’t interrupt and it wasn’t long after he’d washed the soap from his stomach and drained the tub- leaving trails of water on the floor that Thomas was too tired to clean up. He pulled a towel off of the back of the door, tugging it around his shoulders, it wasn’t just the lovely scent of coconut and lavender. It was that man’s scent on himself and the towel wrapping him in smelled of him. Taking on the scent of rain, blend of fresh air and smoke.

         Thomas reached over one hand, the other holding up the towel around his own waist and and stroked his hips; the tips of his fingers felt like sandpaper scratching at his skin. A mark of love like a burning kiss. Alexander Hamilton would've at no time imagined several months ago that Thomas Jefferson would be touching him with every brush of his palm so full of attention, every flick of his wrist was as if he was writing a novel of his skin. Thomas had given him the pieces of his character no one else had seen- snipped to paper snowflakes and wrapped in velvet ribbons. Alexander in return, shoved him a slice of his soul, jaggedly cut from a place no one had ever reached- he swaddled it up in newspaper knowing his words were his best thing.

        An irony of life, is that our greatest fear is to forget, but yet it is certain fate, that anyone who we have ever met, we know one day will find itself victim to time, that nothing will be left, to tell his story or his, and still through life we all rush, scrabbling for something to remember, perish at the thought that one day everything we have build will turn to ash- not a single memory of the ember.

        Alexander didn’t want to obliterate Thomas, Thomas was fire but he did not burn, because he knows all too well, how to live with the ashes. Alexander remembered every love story he had ever seen- scoffing at the TV and nobody noticed the silent pain that flashed across his eyes or the invisible noose that wrapped around his neck. He tried to write a love story once, but all that came were blank pages- not having a love as strong as this, but now he had a story, one he could recite. They did not bother dressing but reticently glided into bed- they didn’t need sentences, they made up for it in glances. The sun was vacant from the night sky now. But because of the city lights there were no stars- maybe, if he erased the sky he could view the stars, but there are no stars without the sky and no night without the sun. It was funny how the city created so many lights to imitate the stars when all they needed was to shut them off and look up. The freckles flaking across Thomas’s shoulders formed an entire galaxy that he traced collecting constellations in.

        “Am I allowed to be scared?”.

        Alexander’s brows shot to the center of his forehead and he tipped his chin to meet Thomas’s survey, the cinnamon that shone down looked like the earth- reminding him of all the reasons that he was still here. His hand found it’s way to the side of his neck, “and what exactly are you afraid of?”, although he already knew. Thomas bit his lip, nibble on the flesh and falling quiet again as the tips of his ears turned red. He was willing to admit it; Alexander’s lover was willing to admit that he was scared just of love, hope was sweeter than despair and that there was no rose without its thorn and no pleasure without its alloy. It wasn’t just the love that frightened him the most- it was to love him . To have a person you conceive breath fluttering in their chest as they fall asleep; the last thing to see before being submerged in Cimmerian shade; yet the first you wake to is their eyelashes fluttering open to the radiance.

         The teeth ceased nibbling and his grip tightened, “Maybe I’m just afraid I am going to wake up, and you’ll just be some seven syllable name on the door of an office.” his breath tumbled in uneven patterns out of his bouche. “The hardest part about waking up is remembering what I was trying to forget the night before.”, a chuckle passed and he blinked slowly, “and then sometimes I’ll somehow end up at the beach and write your name in the sand- thinking of how the earth feels in my hands because you slipped through my fingers.”, Thomas closed his eyes and swallowed the sob that was culminating in the hind of his throat. “The waves will always come crashing in, your name will be gone, but on the sandy coves of my head you’ll always be written between the lines- as much as I attempt to forget you, you’ll always be there, I might chose to laugh at this night we’ve spent together. I’ll of course pretend not to think of you at all. But you’ll always be there.” There was a pause. “You’ll somehow always be there”.

        Alexander’s heart seemed to halt beat for just a magnitude and waited, and words limping idol on his tongue, copper in his breath- a penny for your thoughts. There were touches everywhere, they were nails across his hips, kisses on his lips, they were in his hair- there was an itch but he didn’t shake them out. The immigrant tried to commemorate when they both began delivering in poetry, or when he packed into the back of his brain how many eyelashes there were fluttering across his cheeks. He mediated when Thomas didn’t just lay his embrace across Alexander’s coating; now in crossing tones he articulated with his heart, and stroked Alexander in coves of his imagination he did not even know existed.

         He took advantage of the pause, “My sand may be made of skin, which means I am a beach. I felt your footprints on my surface, you left something of yourself on me. But I am a beach, meaning I cannot leave, I cannot move. But you Thomas-”, Alexander inched his head up and Thomas hesitated just for a few till he met his scanning prevail and Alexander counted eight hickeys in purple bruisings up the border of his jowl. “-You can build a house. If you do I will not be lonely.” Thomas patented his entrance to conspire but fastened it and remained hushed. “I’ll see the brown of your eyes in my fourth cup of coffee, or your hair when the clouds draw silver linings across the sky.” His palm found their way to Thomas’s chest and he stretched his fingers, attempting to feel every shoal. A dull beat throbbing underneath the ribs and the empty cavity, recalling he once did not believe this man had a heart; now he knew that he had too much of one.

         The downfall of having a good heart is that you are constantly looking for angels in demons. And you wonder why god knows so much pain.

         Alexander relaxed his head back on Thomas’s shoulder, “You see angels in demons; underneath my halo there are red horns. I am made of thorns.”

        To Alexander Hamilton, Thomas Jefferson was a metaphor. One you’d find neatly printed into the pages of a faded book with a fabric cover. In that book there was a story of some sort of love, the Virginian was very type of love. Sour as the air in the room, salty like the beads running down their cheeks, and sweet as cherries and marigold flowers. Alexander is a warrior lover with wild eyes, strong hands and a piece of Thomas’s poet heart. The absent minded finger drawn across his carapace was parchment, and even as the ink did not sink in he could read them. The sheets ruffled around their feet. Another interludent posterity deposited itself in place; healthy, kind and everything exceptional and comfortable. It was not a void that needed to be filled or an desolate space. The paint swirled itself in the corners of the ceiling and the sun drew a final breath before dipping behind the skyline and sinking below the harbor.

         The callouses that were ripped across the pads of Thomas fingers tapped and Alexander struck inspiration, “Is it true that you play violin?”.

        Because Alexander’s head was reversed away, focused at following the architecture above, he did not notice the glint of glee that flitted across the taller gentleman’s visage. Without a word, Thomas again stepped from the bed and the “average sized male” fell, plunging into the sheets and widened his muse. His lover’s sweaty feet padded against the floor to the hall until Alexander couldn’t hear the rhythmic beat anymore his shoulders decended. They soon returned and he peeked through the half lidded gaze he’d grown into, the bed sank down at the corner and brows rose almost as if they were going to shoot off his forehead. There was a familiar man of 6’2.5 seated at the end of the bed, naked of course, his feet were crossed underneath him. But, the black case that flickered open, Alexander did not notice and he sat up.

       Thomas’s nifty fingers flicked the case open and an aroma of polished wood hit his nose. Working from the emerald leather, he placed the bow between two fingers and gently as if it were a delicate bird on the perch of his left shoulder. Like the patterns in the corner of the ceiling the mahogany wood swirled at the end and looked too small within his grasp. He gulped away a laugh that bubbled in his throat and fell back against the pillow, kicking out his feet. “Thomas, my dear, are you going to play for me?”, a hint of amusement plastered into his vocals.

        “Alexander, my dear, if every single song I played for you would take your breath away- I’d play them all.”, the edges of his mouth turned up and the Treasury Secretary rolled his optics in remark. Alexander underestimated what he was about to hear, it was changing. Life changing moments do you always appear as catastrophic earthquakes; little things that happen shape who you are. That’s what he was- shaped.

         From the moment Thomas shut his eyes like that page in that book that makes you dream. His arms raised, from the night sky rising in the earth his bicep cast a shadow across the floor and he pressed the bow to the strings of the violin. Alexander never had the time for music, never found it to enjoyable. That was until Thomas’s fingers pressed the white string of the bow against the violin. Only after a few notes he felt his stomach lurch and like a impact from a punch to the gut he crumpled like paper. He could not find where Thomas’s arm ended and the violin began. Thomas is this violin, breathing music to a patient moon. He invented long ago songs into modern air, he was the song, the strings, and the bow.

          Alexander felt as if he was lifted, the only thing he could hear was that violin. The soul of the music did not fade or rust, one day that violin will cease to play, but the music that played through it lives on, in the souls of those who heard it, and in the souls of those who were inspired to play too. It was almost like Thomas was a masterpiece that was mute, Alexander just needed to teach him how to speak. For so long Thomas was the music and Alexander had turned his ears off. It was the beat of that fucking violin, he felt like he had been found, feeling drugged up and usually there are that one lyrics of a song he felt himself humming or that explained his life to a tune. There were no lyrics, there were no words and yet the vocals filled his soul, challenged his heart.

        My god, because sitting on that bed with that man and his shut eyes, the simple angelic placing of every feature of his face, and the mesmerizing wave of music that hit him in pace; Alexander realized he had fallen in love with a music box, Thomas was that music box, his lid was slammed so very tight, just waiting to see who was lovely enough to want to hear something so beautiful or take the time to crack the lid, just waiting to see who cared enough to open him up. Thomas was the type of man who never put his music on shuffle, he always has to know what the weather will be like two days in advance because he is scarred by the unpredictability of his thoughts.

        Alexander met Thomas and it was as if he heard music for the first time and he already knew his favorite song. He would play his favorite songs over and over again in an attempt to find who he was, if he left, Alexander would forget the words. He did not even know his hands were shaking or the tips of his ears were fuming, Thomas wrote poems so beautifully and though there were no lyrics he could hear all those stories and they were kept in the front of his mind; his thoughts must of been a terrible place. The syllables were Thomas’s laughter, he counted every last one and Alexander waited for the line to break in between breaths, he spilled out like ink onto the pages of their days.

          He thought of every stupid love song he heard on the radio, every lyric that bit him in nasty ways, he also realized why he didn’t listen to music.

         Alexander locked his eyes and didn’t the feel that tears that lapped against his cheeks now, the salty kiss of emotion traced across his skin. He felt everything at that moment. The dark lips of his eyes turned into a sunset, his mother’s bare footed dance across the sandy shores of the beach and the lovely and mesmerizing flow of her hair against the wind and he loved looking up the sky and seeing where he was. He could feel John’s hot breath on his ear in the cabin of their soldiers den, their names were both etched the book of sorrow, violence most man’s memory as they sleep a deadly peace.

         Thomas was every song and Alexander knew if he left he wouldn’t just be a name in long forgotten memories or a flip through his phone book. It wouldn’t just be his eyes in his coffee in the insomniac mornings. It would be every letter and ever metaphor spoke, every notes of music that he heard, every heaventhat he woke up to and every leather-back book on his shelf, every rows of white daisies in the cracks of the sidewalk, every breath of wind across his cheeks and the tears that he shed bore resemblance to his name. Thomas loved everything the world had forgotten, he loved snails, grains of sand and wilting flowers, when his stomach heaved into a nasty sob, he knew that’s why Thomas loved him, the most beautiful things in the world are the things that are the most broken, but they couldn’t be fixed not with all the glue or plaster in the world. He would try to fill these empty cracks with every piece of himself.

         Alexander’s eyes remained closed even as the the music gradually culminated to a stop and tears that cascaded down his cheeks like waterfalls still came crashing down etching silhouettes.

         “Alexander?”, a timid bite of concern lashed across his back.

          Alexander leaped across the bed, falling into Thomas’s arms. Again he remembered his books, the human heart beats 4,000 times per hour. Every beat was for him, and they created the most beautiful song. In a crowded room with alcohol on his tongue he knew no matter what he’d always fall in Thomas’s arms and that he would always catch him. If you feel you are falling apart, fall into his arms. I promise he will catch every little piece of you and I promise he will always love your brokenness.  A sob ripped through his throat and his arms tightened around Thomas’s bare skin, he reconciled every little thing he’d lost and everything he had gained. He willed to run away together, away from city light, where no one knows their name yet, and they can see the stars at night, watching sunrises color the sky, learn what they were really there for, he knew it would be alright, as long as his lover held his hand.

          It didn’t matter that he could barely speak because he was sobbing so hard or that he was absent of breath and cloaked Thomas’s skin in the wash of his salt.

          “I love you, Thomas.”, his fingers quivered, “you are the sky, and the moon and every single one of the stars. You are everything and you everything and you are always, your in coffee and the sky, in words and in songs.” the Virginian seemed to give meaning to those three words. "You're everywhere and everything- when did you become my all? When did you transform into every piece of my heart?".

         His eyes wretched with tears and his stomach heaved, because he could still conclude when the sunset danced on his mother’s skin and even as he tried to forget, he saw the square shape of his brother’s jaw and the tan caress of his skin. He remembered every returned letter he’d ever written to his father and every inhale of cracking paint on the ceiling of his stone home on the island. Hair was the tropical breeze and his mouth the ocean. He cried for everything he thought he’d forgotten, and everything he knew he had. He had nothing, and everything all at the same time. How is it possible to have both?

        The feeling jar where he kept his feelings, smashed, Thomas didn’t need those three words back, Alexander already knew. He stretched his fingers back over Thomas’s heart and listened to every impulse, what would happen when this life stopped? The sun was gone and even if they wouldn’t disappear and start a new life, he was okay with arms around his back and thick hickeys on his neck. The cotton fluff of his hair, he fell. Thomas grew inside him, his roots in his bones, and flowers on his skin. He felt thoughts flutter from Thomas’s mind as they trickle down inside himself planting words like gardens.

         Alexander’s existence is only to love him, for Thomas was the heartbeat to his heart.

        The world could wait, he was feeling his favorite song.

[glass-ladybug]

this is fan this spark into a flame, but im going on this acc so it doesnt show up on my main

Mae stepped out onto the creaky porch, throwing her arms into the air. "Well, that was fun!" Bea, crouched on the step, ever-present cigarette hanging from her mouth, gave a non-committal hum. They'd just made a daring escape from the basement of an odd old woman, aided by Bea's expertise in fixing machines, and Mae's experience in smashing the crap out of them. Even though Bea had apparently had to re-fix the furnace before they left, it was still Mae's powers of destruction that saved the day, /thank you very much/! Geez, and Bea said she was along for the ride. Mae half-tripped down the steps to plop beside Bea. "She gave us lemonade!" She beamed, raising a near empty plastic cup of over-sugary lemonade. Not that Mae cared, lemonade was lemonade. Unless it was that sugar-substitute stuff. /That/ was unacceptable. "Yeah." "You.... Not like lemonade?" Mae needled. Bea snorted, brushing a frizzy strand of hair behind her ear. "It's faaaaantastic." She drawled. Mae shot her a concerned look. Bea should be happy! They fixed a furnace, broke a furnace, then fixed it again! And now they had /lemonade/! "So what's up?" Bea turned away, angling her face to the moon. "Nothing. Just... Tired." She sighed, "Worked all day." "Hey!" Mae exclaimed indignantly. "I worked too!" "You tied a gnome to a plastic fan and spun it around. I don't typically consider that /work/." "Ex-cuuuse me, it was an elegant long-term solution and it would've worked!" Mae laughed, watching Bea's expression for any reaction. Bea's mouth turned up at the corner, a half-smile settling on her face. "Whatever you need to tell yourself at night." Mae scooted into a more comfortable position, setting down her now empty glass, and hugging her knees to her chest. From this point of view, everything seemed ethereal. She and Bea sat in silence on Mrs. Miranda's front porch, the moon illuminating her front yard, the only sound a few crickets chirping in the tall grass. She was almost afraid to talk, worried that it might break the peaceful spell hovering over them. Mae found herself studying Bea. Her dark skin, sharp eyeliner, and frizzy curls hastily pulled back into three knobs. The lilt of her mouth when she was happy, her piercing brown eyes, black lipstick, perfectly shaped eyebrows, and her now oil stained and calloused hands. /Oh my God./ Mae thought. Out of all her friends, Bea was the most mysterious. After seventh or eight grade- Mae couldn't really remember which anymore- they'd stopped hanging out anymore. It was gradual. No fight, nor argument. Every day, she just saw Bea less and less, until they were more like strangers than best friends. They stopped talking altogether when Bea's mom died. But now, Mae was back! And she finally had the chance to make things better. Maybe it'd be okay, coming home so suddenly like this, because they were here together. If they were stuck in Possum Springs, they were stuck with each other. And now, one of those perfect eyebrows was arched questioningly, and Mae could only think of how glad she was to be spending tonight smashing up old furnaces with this girl, and- "Do I have something on my face?" Bea monotoned, abruptly snatching Mae out of her daydreaming. "Huh? I-uh, uhhhh, wha?" Mae stammered. "My face. You were staring, so I could only assume you'd finally lost it, or something dripped on me. I guess it was the former." Mae's skin tingled with embarrassment, her veins still coursing with adrenaline and excitement from the furnace escapade. She stood up abruptly, the porch step creaking under her sudden shift. "I'm all hyper." She said, tapping her fingers erratically on her arm. "Good for you." Mae huffed, throwing her head back. "Ugh, you are /zero/ fun." Bea nodded certainly. "Yup." Mae waved her hands in front of her excitedly, "You need some, some magical shit, to like give you a new perspective." "Ah. Let me know when that happens. Wouldn't want to miss it." Bea took another puff of her cigarette, staring off at something in the distance. Mae looked at her. How could someone sit still and just /think/ for that long? Not Mae. She couldn't remain in the same place for more than 5 minutes at a time. Unless it was thinking about Bea. Mae thought she could probably stretch that out for a while longer. Mrs. Miranda really was weird. It didn't look like she ever cut the grass, and her lawn was covered in all sorts of weird shit, from garden gnomes to the giant-ass windmill near the driveway. Whatever- it was still a pretty cool house anyway. The whole yard was tinged with blue, and the cold moonlight made everything look silvery, like something from a dream. Mae decided she liked it. Mae stepped off the porch. "I'll be back in a minute, I'm gonna go climb the windmill!" Bea sighed. "Please try not to break that too." "No promises," Mae grinned, and then trotted down the yard. The long, dry grass brushed up against her jeans, and found its way to her ankles, tickling her. It was kinda uncomfortable, but she bet it looked awesome. The lone hero, standing majestically in her faded orange t-shirt and waving grass, facing the beast that was a great iron windmill that looked rusted to to one position. Out of the corner of her eye, Mae saw a teensy lightening bug glow softly, then flit to her shoulder. "Ohhhh, hey little guy! You coming with me? Yeah, don't worry, I'll take good care of you." When a second flocked to her she felt special. When a third landed on her forehead, she felt as if her heart was about to explode into tiny shiny pieces. With a solid jump, she landed on the first blade of the windmill, feeling accomplished when it did nothing more than emit a rusty groan beneath her. She hopped from one to another, then to the upper most blade, not noticing that a small gathering of fireflies were now trailing behind her until they all lit up. "Wow..." Mae breathed, surveying the street from her vantage point, watching as a few lone cars lit up the street as they drove on to more busier sections of town. She reluctantly hopped down, metal creaking beneath her as more and more fireflies began to join her crusade. She walked steadily through the gently blowing grass and navigating the various lawn ornaments, re-arrived at the porch steps with a throng of fireflies. Mae couldn't help but grin, putting on her best, "this was perfectly intentional" face. Bea's jaw dropped, her cigarette nearly dropping from her mouth. "Wow." And then, to Mae's delight, she began laughing. Bea shook her head a few times in disbelief, before dissolving into chuckles. It was beautiful. Her eyes lit up brighter than her entire firefly mob, and she just looked so /happy/ that it made Mae happy too. Bea lifted her head again, looking at Mae. "Haha.. Hah. Are you some kind of firefly whisperer or something?" Mae shrugged. "They just like me, I guess." Bea looked at her with something akin to wonder. "That's..." She shook her head. "You're an interesting person, Mae Borowski." Mae nodded sagely, a few fireflies drifted towards the porch light. "Granddad said being interesting is all you can ever hope to be." Mystified, Bea hummed in agreement. "Well, mission accomplished." "Woohoo!" Bea's mouth seemed to be upturned in a permanent smile now, and Mae's heart was speeding into overdrive. Bea smirked. "Y'know. I have to say, this would've been a much less exciting evening if you weren't along for the ride." "See?" Mae offered helpfully. "I'm good to have around." "I mean, you can certainly beat the shit out of a furnace." "I can beat the shit out of /anything/." Now, it was Bea's turn to study her. She took a long drag of her dying cigarette, and murmured, "You should, like, channel that aggression you always have into something useful." Mae shrugged again, but this time her shoulders felt like someone had dropped a rather large weight on them. "Eh, Dr. Hank said way back I needed to repress it." Bea's smile quickly vanished. "'Repress'? Not, like, 'learn to deal with it'?" "Nope. He specifically said, 'repress'." "Uh, okay. Hm." Bea seemed troubled by this, and sensing a shift in tone, Mae sped onto another topic. "My firefly powers aren't for me only, y'know." Bea raised an eyebrow, and the ghost of a smile reappeared on her face. "Oh?" More emboldened now, Mae kept talking. "Yeah, they can be, y'know, transferred." "Is that so?" Bea snorted. "I'm telling the truth! Close your eyes." "That sentence makes me far more inclined to get up and run now." Mae shook her head emphatically. "No, no! Close 'em." Bea huffed, but obediently closed her eyes. "And no peeking!" "Uh-huh. Got it." And with that, Mae leaned forward and planted a kiss directly on Bea's mouth. She pulled back quickly, and rubbed the charcoal colored lipstick off with the back of her hand, her heart beating frantically, and her nerves coursing with excitement. Bea stared at her with wide eyes, a silhouette in the porch light. "See? Now you have them too. We can be masters of the fireflies together." Finding her voice again, Bea shakily muttered, "You are really something else, Mae." Mae clapped her hands loudly. "So, do you think Mrs. Miranda, like, pulled her husbands guts out? Isn't that what you do with mummies?" "I dunno, Mae." Fueled by elation, Mae pushed forward. "Do you think you'd have the stomach for it?" Bea snorted. "Nope." "It probably took a lot of heart." She was laughing quietly. "Yup." "I wish she would /ex-pleen/ it to us." Mae giggled. "I get it, Mae." Every word was punctuated by giggles now. "She really /rectum/." Bea burst into a fit of laughter. "Okay, now that probably stayed in place." "Yeah," Mae agreed, "that should stay where it be-lungs." Bea stood up, and began walking into the calm blue night. "I'm leaving." "Hey!" Mae crowed out, smile stretched wide, "You gotta liver your life!" "Bye." Bea yelled back, words interrupted by involuntary spouts of laughter, "This is me, gone." "Hey, wait up!" Mae sprinted behind her. "You're walking back to town." "You've got a lot of... haha... Gall to say that!" Bea looked back, and Mae almost stopped dead at how beautiful she was. Her eyes crinkled up at the corners, her hair was wild and rumpled, her dark skin almost glowed silver. She laughed, wiping the corner of her eye. "I'm gonna call the cops." And as Mae sped after her, a lone firefly trailing behind, she thought about how for the first time since she left for college, she was happy where she was. And maybe- just maybe- this was where she belonged.