#YEAH I KNOW THE WHOLE THING I WROTE ABOVE FOR HIM SOUNDS LIKE NONSENSE BUT I GIVE ZERO FUCKS AT THIS POINT!

[fgfirenation]

THE NARCISSISTIC ASSHOLE IS READY!

I tried a ( sort of ) semi realism for this and my knees are weak-

THIS IS MY DESIGN FOR HIM!

I USED TOO MUCH OF MY SANITY FOR THIS! LIKE SRSLY, YUI'S DESIGN WASN'T AS HARD AS HIS- ( JK, Yui's design will always give me a mental breakdown. My OC is a shitshow- )

OK. Firstly, some things about Helen from my universe :

Helen Otis was born on the 1st of October, 1980, in Wisconsin in a small town.

His parents were rich and popular around the area, but manipulative and narcissistic fucks ( mostly... kind of, you'll see ), who decided to treat him like a girl until the age of 7.

The mom and dad were gaslight, gatekeep, but no girlboss.

Helen had a huge identity crisis in his younger years ( and later- ), because of this. And everything else.

The reason why his parents didn't choose to adopt or have another child is, because his mother's health took a sharp decline right after birthing him.

His parents really wanted a biological daughter, but due to the situation and even after visiting dozens of doctors, Ms Otis wasn't able to have anymore children.

Either this or die.

So they decided to raise his son as a girl and named him Helen.

As I said, until the age of 7, because his neighbours were growing suspicious of the situation by a thousand.

After that they tried to change their lifestyle and treat him like a boy, but Helen already was showing signs of lacking some emotions and morals.

Helen had ( and still has ) zero shit how to express his emotions properly.

But he's much better now than when he was a kid.

During his years in junior school he managed to make one friend named Phil, who was killed later by his alcoholic mother by being thrown over the bridge near their town.

Phil's mother went to jail as there was a witness btw-

Hel continued to stay aside from other kids, because of them making fun of his name and his feminine traits.

Unfortunately, his mother passed away a few months after Phil's death, because of a heart attack.

Yeah, Helen had it rough, but surprisingly his father was a decent parent. ( If we don't count the damn ' pretending his son was a girl ' stage- )

But shit hit the fan, when Ban was transfered to Helen's school and the physical bullying started.

Technically Ban was older than Hel and wasn't really in his class, but he loved to terrorise the lonely kids.

Helen would come back home with bruises and one time with a broken nose.

Mr Otis did try to report this straight to the police, but unfortunately for them... Ban's stepparents had the whole police department in their pocket.

Soooo yeah, even tho Helen and his father were from a rich family, it didn't matter. It was a dead end.

Corrupted system and everything-

But Hel wasn't going to be alone forever.

In 1992, a year later after Ban's arrival, four other people were transfered to his school ( one of them in his class ) all the way from Japan.

Helen learned, that they are Ban's siblings, and his blood ran cold.

He thought, that they were gonna be as bad as their brother.

Oh boy, how wrong he was.

These four were the TOTAL OPPOSITE of Ban.

And after he was saved by them from another one of Ban's bullyings... well...

You know the meme of the extrovert yoinking the introvert in a bear hug and saying : " You're my friend now! " ?

Yup, that's exactly what happened.

One in particular was attached to him like a koala, whenever they were together.

The names of the four idiots were Keiko (18 years old, the oldest sibling), Michael (16 years old), Victor (11-12 years old) and Yui (10 years old).

The Hasegawa siblings never judged him.

That one in particular, that I was talking about, was Yui.

Yui defended Helen from Ban and even ended once with a broken hand, which caused Hel to faint from worrying so much.

Basically these two were around each other 24/7 like they were glued together.

You could never see one without the other.

The friend group eventually grew bigger.

New people joined in like Judy, Tom, Susan, Jimmy, May, Sonnie, Jonathan, Emra, Riv and one interesting non-human individual (Hobo Heart-).

( If you want to know more about these idiots and how tf they became part of the group, just tell me. Also yes, Judy has more lore in my universe. )

So long story short : Helen at that time had a huge friend circle and even his father liked the group. (Despite half of them being the embodiment of a living tornado.)

That was all until an incident with a huge forest fire, which happened in April of 1994.

The Hasegawa siblings vanished without a trace in it, including Sonnie and Riv.

Having his best friend being ripped from him and other of his friends disappearing broke Helen mentally a lot.

His father tried to comfort his kid, but Helen's brain was blank and not responding, even when his remaining friends tried to speak to him.

The snowball slowly turned into an avalanche, when Tom framed him for stealing Judy's watch.

Judy, the lesbian queen (Yes, Judy here is a lesbian.), was skeptical about the whole situation with the watch (because she's smarter here-) , but unfortunately Ban's bullying upped to a 1000 and the avalanche turned into a huge armagedon. Maggie joined Ban in this too.

And after Tom's accidental death, when he confessed on the rooftops of the school, that he was the one behind the watch thingy.... Helen snapped completely.

And you know what that means.

The massacre on 31st of October, 1994, when Helen killed 13 people and injured 5 others at one party held by one of his classmates.

How did he hurt so many people? His family had a few guns, so he took one of them, reloaded it and took a baseball bat with nails in it to bash some heads.

Susan, Jimmy, Jonathan, Riv, Emra and May weren't at the party, because they moved away in different states 4 months after the huge forest fire incident. Hobo vanished too not long after the fire incident too.

Judy was critically injured in the massacre, along with Ban and Maggie.

Helen was put in a mental hospital after the court trial.

He stayed there for 4 years and was released, because of signs, that he was getting better.

But we all know he wasn't the same after all of this shitshow.

He continued to live with his father until 2000, when he moved away from his hometown to Milwaukee.

You know? In this story his father is very tolerant of his son's behavior. (Man, you're not always supposed to be on his side-)

Helen found out, that he was agender and he didn't care about the gender, when dating somebody... Motherfucker still hadn't dated anybody...yet.

In 2002 and 2003 Helen committed a few murders, the grotesque corpses of the victims portraited in poses like Michelangelo statues, flowers and organs put around them, in the hands or mouths.

The only victim, that didn't have their guts ripped away and only had knife carvings onto the skin like flower markings on a painting, was...

You guessed it. Judy.

Helen couldn't do the same thing to her, because she actually defended him against Ban.

So he killed her as quickly as possible and carved the patterns onto her skin, leaving her in the woods.

(Jud comes back later as a demon, but that's a story for another time-)

Unfortunately for Hel, the police caught a track of him rather quickly and he was forced to flee deep into the woods.

Since then the police hasn't been able to catch him, although there were a few sightings of him here and there around Wisconsin and rumors about somebody helping him to blend again with society.

[yee-fxcking-haw]

•Pretty When You Cry•

A/N: My wife proposed the idea of calling a man Daddy while you peg him and it made me feral because of the power trip so here it is with Pro Hero Kirishima.

(I'm finishing up the Kiri virginity loss fic too- I am forever working on too many things at once pls don't yell.)

Pairing: Kirishima x Reader (both 18+)

Warnings: Pegging, Dom Reader, Sub Kiri, Anal (male receiving), Oral (male receiving), Overstimulation (male receiving), Cum Swallowing, Daddy Kiri (with a twist)

Summary: I'm a slut for big sub baby Red Riot so I wrote about him getting railed pls enjoy!

Word Count: 949

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Kiri's broad wrists tug at the pretty red binds hiding his hands above his head, the delicate skin turning pink from all the rubbing.

"Please- move- please baby girl- it h-hurts." Kiri sobs under you.

My God the sight of him. All tensed up, sparkling with sweat, pupils blown and heart racing. It's absolutely addicting. Having all seven feet of big strong Red Riot trembling beneath you. The power trip is cathartic.

You slowly inch your hips forward, sending your thick strap only slightly further into his tight hole. A pathetic little whimper leaves his puffy lips, and the smallest dribble of drool falls to his chin.

You run your nails down his chest, making sure to catch his nipples so you can feel him jump. Leaning forward, you kiss up his strained neck. You can feel his heart racing through his broad ribcage when you pull your hips back to where they started.

"You can take the teasing sugar, I know you can." You whisper.

Kiri just shutters and babbles pleas beneath you.

You eye the drool on his chin before darting your tongue out to gather it.

"Please- I can't- please f- fuck me. Princess, Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me." His voice is so high and whiney, so broken and desperate. How could you resist?

Without any warning or further sweet talk, you send your hips flying into him. He throws that handsome head back and moans like a whore when you fill him up.

"Fuck! Yeah baby fuck me, I'm your bitch, treat me like it- fucking hell right there, right there."

The way he crumbles for you, twitching and compliant. He deserves all the praise in the world. You settle back on your knees and grab his thick hips so you can angle yourself up slightly. You keep one hand braced on his hip while the other snakes around his damp body to lazily stroke his massive cock. Poor thing, his head is all swollen and red, he's so desperate for any release you're willing to give. Maybe you will.

You snap your hips against his over and over, listening to his moans like they're your favorite song. He twitches beneath you and sobs out thank you's when you stroke him just right. He's so worked up he's dripping precum all over your hand. All of those beautiful sounds fill the air, skin hitting skin, your hand working against his slick length, heavy breathing and broken voices. He's so fucking incredible, such a good little fuck toy.

"You're bein' so good for me, bein' such a sweet boy." You coo as you tighten your grip around his aching length, and the whole of him twitches in your hand.

"Thank you- holy fuck, thank you, thank you, thank you." He always repeats himself when he's close, it's so fucking cute.

Then you see it, those beautiful little tears pouring out of his bright, scarlet eyes. Your beautiful boy, big, brave, manly Red Riot. On his back like a slut for you, crying and shaking while you fuck his brains out. The sight makes you throb, your slick dripping down your thighs as you drink in the masterpiece beneath you.

"Oh Big Daddy, you look so pretty when you cry." You praise him with his favorite name, and that fucking does it for him. His strong back arches and he starts to gasp and blubber about how good your cock feels.

You deal the death blow by moving your hand to focus on his engorged head, squeezing just a little bit more. He shouts and fights the rope on his wrists, his ripped thighs tremble around your hips as he kicks his feet out while his body spasms around you. His cock pulses in your hand, thick ropes of cum spilling out onto his carved abdomen.

"Shit! Baby- oh my God- fuck- please don't stop- please, please, please." He begs while he thrashes, and it's mesmerizing, all you want is more.

You roll your hips up, hitting the spot that makes him see stars, whispering praises the whole time.

You're not even close to finished with him, and he's already a disaster covered in drool and cum. Pretty thing too, seeing him all wiped out because of you fucking his tight ass.

You pull out of him quickly, causing him to yelp, swiftly, you dart down and take his still hard cock into your mouth to suck him in the sloppiest way. You open up wide and relax your throat so you can take him all the way back. And my God how he shatters for you. He's just a shipwreck of overstimulation and high pitched cries that are bound to shred his vocal cords.

He kicks against the bed and cries out above you, spitting out nonsense praises as you swallow and moan around him. You bob your head and glance up at him, batting your lashes and gagging a little. All of it has your cunt clenching around nothing, you'll get there eventually though. Kiri always fucks you so well when you use him like this first.

Then he just sobs, he sobs and bucks up into you as he cums again. His entire body flails and shivers as you dig your hands into the meat of his thighs, trying to subdue his wild body so you can help him ride out his second orgasm. He won't hold still, and he's squirting So. Much. Cum. Down your throat, but you swallow all of it thankfully. You're always so greedy for his seed, savoring the spunky taste as he overfills your mouth.

It all bubbles out around your lips to slide down his overworked cock, joining the mess he created just moments ago. Kiri lays beneath you, useless and sputtering as you sit up and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand while you swallow the rest of his release.

You lean up and reach for the ropes on his wrists, undoing your work quickly. You gently kiss the reddened skin and thank him for being so well behaved. He just nods dumbly and stares up at you helplessly, desperate for direction.

Taking his face in your hands, you kiss his pouty lips with everything you have. Wiping tears with your thumbs while you do.

"Hands and knees, Daddy. I'm not done with you."

[animefreak1145]

For Whom the Bell Tolls(Adler x Bell!Reader)

Previous Next

Chapter 3| How Little We Know of What There is To Know

Chapter Summary:

Pretending and being numb is the key.

Yet Adler always manages to bring some emotion out of you.

Cold War Reset AU| Undertale Reset AU

Warnings: Torture, Brainwashing, Manipulation, Possible Non-Con/Dub-Con, Trauma

A/N: Where pineapple is the nectar of the gods and scars are lightning.

“Bell”

Second Life

23:09 | February 25, 1981

CIA SAFEHOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN”

You rubbed your dry eyes as you stared at your notes all over the desk you’ve chosen as your little corner, the large bulky computer taking up space but you’ve made do by moving the brick that is the keyboard as much as you could off to the side. Your papers held inks of different colors—although they were only red, blue, and black and yellow highlights—and you had a stack of folders behind the computer that were from the CIA and MI6 archives. You had Kraus’ ledger off to your side, headphones on top of it for you to hear the audio of U.S. cities and numbers. Your fourth mug of coffee of the day was already gone and you would grab another just to enjoy the warm liquid to go down your throat instead of the caffeine itself, you were always one of late night’s either way.

The safehouse was quiet outside the hum of the generator and the lights above. Most of the crew gone. Outside of your absent tapping of a pen against your messy notes and the white of a nearby fan for extra circulation, the main open area of the safehouse was a desert.

If you focused deeply, you can hear mumbles and murmurs that you can’t make out coming from the office. Adler has been in there for awhile talking over the phone. To who, you don’t know but you have your suspicions. You just hope the subject is not about you being suspicious—the talk on the roof was a slight on your part earlier.

You truly don’t know what came over you. But you need to watch your mouth and expressions. Adler is perceptive, deadly and ever watchful of a person’s micro expressions and body language.

You can’t mess up.

A shot rings. And a heart splinters.

“It was never personal.”

You really can’t.

Which is why, you have been focused solely on decoding the entire day. Your eyes scanning and assessing the acquired Intel from the Volkov mission for Operation Chaos and Operation Red Circus. You have the knowledge on how to solve them but you are lacking needed Intel to help finish Operation Red Circus.

Operation Chaos was tricky. With two pieces of evidence outside of the newspaper, it being the audio log and the paper that had the coded message. Earlier in the morning, you wrote down all the possible numbers the missing parts of the code be—trying to find the pattern in the set of red and blue numbers. You were writing down the possibilities, your paper looking chaotic with arrows and numbers and cities that could coincide with said numbers.

After the quick checkup of your head with Adler, all firm and gentle touches with you keeping your eyes to the side or down as he fulfilled why he got the alias Doc—treatments of gun wounds and cuts to bayonets, complete trust he’ll take care of you as he would lecture or tighten a bandage a tad too tight in reprimand due to a reckless action—and kept quiet as he did so outside of a soft yes or no when he asked  about the pain, you moved to go to work. Ignoring the feel of his gaze on you as you did so. Park coming to your desk after you moved your stuff from the center table to your chosen corner to begin, papers already everywhere and scattered as you tried to organize it in a manner you could only understand, a mug close to her mouth and a cocked brow at the mess.

“There’s a way to keep it a bit more clean and less like a junk pile,” the British woman said, amused as you made a distracted sound, squinting at the coded language in your hand as papers rustled. “And when I gave you my advice, I didn’t think you would take it so seriously. There’s a better desk you could’ve chosen as your own, Bell.”

You blinked, giving Park a confused look.

“Advice?”

Park making an obvious glance to the center table in front of the evidence board, you automatically following it. Only to turn back to your paper once you noticed Adler’s form by the table, cigarette in his hand as he stared down at his own files.

"From one woman to another, give him a wide berth."

“. . . I just needed some space to focus. I’m sure Adler wouldn’t like all my papers everywhere around him either way.” You could still feel the ghost of his touch on your head and your hand. You wanted to erase it. “But I don’t mind staying close just in case. Easier to hand things to you or him whenever I’m done.”

“Someone sounds confident,” Park commented with a sip of her coffee, making your own lips twitch for a moment as you replied that you are the best as you moved some papers around. Than, in a quiet murmur with a quick dart back to Adler’s direction, “Distractions are best to be avoided. . .”

“What was that?” You asked, placing everything in a pile as well trying to keep some of them up by leaning the papers on the computer screen and failing as they slid down. You heard Park release an exasperated humored huff through her nose just as you heard her step away only for you to have a black leather gloved hand in your face with sticky notes. “What is. . .”

“Oh come now. I am sure it’d be easier if you used these. Make sense of this chaos. I guess there is some fact of what people say about geniuses and their rooms,” she motioned the sticky note pad again as you stared at it. The papers were yellow but new. Unused, outside of a crinkle at an edge.

“Where am I?”

“Who am I?”

“What is happening?”

“Why can’t you remember?”

“D o  y o u  h e a r  i t ? ”

“Who is Perseus?”

“Tell me who I am!”

Blood forms the words, as if with a finger.

“They want to kill you.”

“Make it stop.”

“MK”

Words pressed on the page, over and over and over with harsh penmanship and you don’t understand what’s happening. What is this room? And that man. . .  Why does it hurt? Is this helping Russell?

Pain

           Pain          Pain              боль

                    боль

   Pain                                         Pain

              боль

Pain        Pain                   Pain

          Pain         Pain    Pain                

боль                                                              боль

It hurts.

GlockeGlockeGlockeG̷̟̩͙̏͌ḽ̸̊̿o̵̦̓͝c̵̭̯̊́ḱ̷̛̼͌͊e—

You turned away back to your papers, jaw tight.

“I’m good. Sticky notes can be a pain. Thank you, Park.” Park lowered her hand, giving you a questioning stare in the back of your head. You sighed, turning your head over your lowered shoulders. “I’m going to try to finish this today but I think I’m missing a few pieces of Intel. You can give me other things to decode for MI6 in the meanwhile.”

Park frowned delicately, lowering her mug.

“That sounds like a hefty workload. And I believe it would be best if we put all our focus into Perseus for now.”

No. You have to be useful.

“It’ll be fine,” you say, searching for a paper and giving it to her while Park grabbed it. “I solved that part of the code already. The other intel we got from Kraus, I’m going to need more information in order to figure out who exactly can be Strong Man, Bearded Lady, and the Juggler. I can’t go forward with that so might as well help with other codes you guys may have trouble with. What did you imply?” You ask with faux curiosity, your lips twitching up before falling as you wrote something down. “That I’m a genius?”

“Smartarse.” Park retorted, although she seemed to still hesitate but eventually she gave you three files where they seemed to be having trouble. You getting to work immediately to help as Park walked away and you hearing later on Park and Adler head to the office.

You did your best to not think too much of it. You have to keep at your work and make sure you’re capable and on task. You rather not get jabbed.

“We got a job to do.”

And although it might be inevitable, you would rather not have those words said to you as well. Even if it didn’t seem to have the same affect as before, the feeling and how your thoughts seemed to blur came back. Being aware you moved like a puppet and were one all along is not what you would like to focus on.

After you finished two of MI6’s files—had to do with KGB and how interesting they would use some quotes of Oscar Wilde’s 1984 hidden in the code as if the man was in support of communism with the work—with a hum mixed with impressed and curiosity from Park as she looked at the solved papers, your nose twitched at the scent of smoke and leather as you worked on the last MI6 folder.

“Stealing away my protege, Park?” Your hand around the pen paused before continuing, a plume of grey gathering above you. “And here I thought we have an equal partnership when it comes to this whole Perseus business. At least tell me you’re not wasting her time?”

“I wouldn’t call it stealing if she’s willing,” Park easily replied before handing him the two files to look over that you did, Adler scanning through it as she continued. “And it still has to do with our red friends. You sure are quick with the ball, Bell.”

“It’s nothing,” you say quietly, “Can’t exactly go forward so might as well help you with other codes that others can’t solve. Just send anymore my way. You too, sir.”

Adler made a distant hum, closing the files and handing it back to Park. You felt his stare at the back of your neck as you stared at the paper in front of you that might as well be nonsense since you sensed him.

Look at him, pup.

“If you wanted a more exciting challenge Bell, you could’ve asked. Always the type to leave no stone unturned and show off.”

“‘More exciting challenge’?” Park repeated, “Think MI6 codes are all flowers and rainbows compared to those in the CIA, Adler? I believe I recall that it was only Bell that could be able to solve the dossier instead of anyone else within your organization.”

Yeah, cause you brainwashed me, you thought bitterly but the two kept going as you could only sit in between. Nice to have to be a witness between these two again.

“Bell is the best CIA decoder we have,” you tightened your jaw in surprise instead of to tense when his hand landed on your shoulder, a gentle squeeze—in comfort, in belief, in trust, in camaraderie, in everything but what you wanted and what you needed, in order to control— as you lowered the paper in your hand. “As well as having a wide range of other skills. You think I would just call in any brain dead desk sitter for this operation?”

You could see in your mind’s eye how dizzy you would get before due to all this praise. Now, you just do your best to press your lips as your chest tightened.

You felt Park shift behind you, her looking at you in appraisal.

“You are one of a kind, Bell. Shame you were born in the wrong country. Having to have Adler here as your superior.”

You huffed through your nose in dry amusement at that. Irony not lost on you.

What a curse indeed.

You turned in your chair finally, lips quirked that didn’t quite meet your eyes as you pointed your thumb towards Adler.

“You should’ve seen him in ‘Nam if you think he’s bad now. Always with the lectures.”

You felt Adler release you, watching as he took an inhale as he did a small shrug in disinterest.

“You can be stubborn, Bell. If I couldn’t beat it out of you, I’ll talk it out of you.” You looked up and you could sense his eyes looking down at you behind those shades. “Although I feel like sometimes I’m wasting my breath. Your recklessness borders on insanity.”

“I think I can see why they put the both of you together than,” Park said, brow arched towards Adler and a certain look in her eyes towards him you couldn’t quite read. It looked like a warning. But what could that look be for? “Insanity breeds insanity as they say.”

They left you after that, you waving off Adler asking if you need a break. He took that as the okay to bring you CIA files for you to decode. Seems he has no trouble using you dry if you’re going to insist on it. Despite that, you took them and you were able to solve three.

Park came back towards your desk and saying you could have a break, again, you waved her off. As well as her concern you wouldn’t want to read into—is it real for you and your body, or is some sort of guilt that perhaps they gave you a strong dose for the memory exercise and you’re running on steam, is it fake or real, don’t break the puppet- so you didn’t. You telling Lazar the food you wish and him dropping it by your desk with his own comment that your brain might fall out and you saying you’ll be fine, even threw in a small joke that with his food your brain will be well nourished. Outside of your favorite brand of pumpkin seeds of course. Sims only made a stray comment about the stacks on your desk, getting tall as the day went on and turned to night. You don’t recall if you said something back. You probably did, Sims was always distant—you have trauma that’s not even real and have the gall to have some nightmares about it when he actually went through that horrible war and sees a therapist for it, you don’t know the war—so you would take what you would get.

Everyone eventually shuffled out, Park—her brows looking creased and a purse to her lips—back to the side of your desk before she left and saying you should rest and leave the rest tomorrow.

“I’ll finish the rest today,” you replied, resolute and determined as you wrote the next possible code from this possible radio station an ally of Perseus may be using. “No rest for the wicked. As they say,” you threw out additionally, an echo of her words earlier which made Park raise her brows. “It’s fine. Once I start something, I have to see it through. It helps I can be patient when it counts—at least with this.”

“You seem to take it literally. You’ve been at it since early this morning. You only moved I believe when Lazar brought your food and to use the washroom.” Once you shrugged and said that seems normal to do and you’re fine with that, you heard Park’s tone grow stronger in reprimand. “Yes, you’re fine. Tell me, is Adler stopping you from taking breaks?”

You stopped, looking at Park and her irritated expression.

“No. . . No, it’s just me.” So none of you stick me with that dreadful drug and dig around my brain. So I can show all of you I don’t need it—that you don’t need to do that. That I’m useful and more than an asset. Unneeded assets get thrown away. “I just—just don’t want to disappoint.”

"Disappoint? You've exceeded expectations at every turn, Bell. Disappoint who?"

You didn’t answer, only turned back around and continued with your pen. You heard Park mutter a curse before walking out, giving you a pat to your back and tell you you’re driving back with Adler than since he’s determined to work as well before leaving. Your eyes round down to your desk.

You’ll be alone together with him again.

You took a shaky breath, focusing on the paper in front of you.

You’ll be fine. Just keep what you’ve been doing. Pretend everything is okay.

Pretend his concern—the touch on your shoulders burned as he shook you, as if to erase your dark thoughts out of you, lifting you up with his hand easily with words of a concerned reliable friend commanding officer—is real. And his kindness—why did they save you, you’re useless, what use is an untrained dog—is real too.

Just don’t question it. You’ll go mad.

Mind your tongue as well—control yourself. You used to tease before with faux confidence when the both of you bantered, but you have to watch your spiteful and petty comments. You really don’t want him to give you a dose.

But if you feel like the path is leading you there, you have a way to get at least a semblance of control back.

Puppets don’t control the puppeteer.

“Bell.” You turned in attention, Adler by the center table as he motioned his head towards the garage door, cigarette in hand. “Time to go.”

You nodded once, getting up after fixing up your desk a bit. Grabbing your beanie turned ski mask and placing it back on your head instead of your face and walked over obediently as the both of you walked out through the side door.

Good dogs come when they listen.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯  ◁ ◁ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

“Come on, you know I hate fruit cake! Just give me your pears, Singer!”

“Sorry, Bell,” Singer grinned, taking a big purposeful spoonful of pears from the can, teeth flashing. “Guess you have to deal with all of that yourself. Too bad you don’t have a connection to those who pass the MCI’s, huh?”

You quietly glared at him with no heat, the act almost making Singer choke on his precious pears that he could’ve given you. The choking action making him spit out some and towards you, you making a noise of disgust as you punched the laughing man harshly to his shoulder as vengeance. It made him wince as the others around the campsite laughed at the two of you—the sun still above and the Vietnam jungle loud with birds and the trees moving against the wind. Although not really a campsite you would say since there no fire. Can’t have any eyes on them to go towards smoke.

‘They know these jungles better than us’ as Adler says.

Speaking of Adler, you turned towards him where he leaned against a thick great Banyan tree local to this country—the trunk thick just like the branches that spiral even to the floor. They were all actually hidden in the alcove of this tree, the space enough for them until they kept going to their destination. A beautiful yet haunting tree with its dark and smooth bark all around. You overheard once by Lee and other South Vietnam soldiers in base that these trees can have spirits inside. Dangerous they said for some of them. You don’t think these ‘spirits’ ever met Adler.

You could see Adler’s lips were up in amusement due to your predicament despite his war paint, raising his brow over his black shades when he noticed your gaze.

Before you even fully lifted your hand with the can of horrendous fruit cake, he shook his head at you, lips going even more into a smile.

“Don’t even try, kid. I fucking hate fruit cake myself,” he adjusted himself against the tree and the gun in his lap. The food of his MCI basically gone outside the crackers and canned pineapple. “Disgusting things. I don’t know who’s bright idea was it to have hard pieces of fruit and dry raisins in cake.”

That’s what you’re saying!

“Please, Adler. I gave you my cigs already, at least give me some of your pineapple?”

Sims laughed beside you, nudging your shoulder with his and shaking his head in disbelief.

“You think Doc is gonna give you some of his golden nectar away? Might as well have asked him to give his cigs along with his lighter.”

“Not happening, Bell.” Adler answered casually, finishing up his crackers and swiping his hands against his pants before moving to the can. “Besides, not like you smoke anyways. The cigs would just sit there pretty in the box if you don’t hand it to me. Unless you want to try to smoke again. It went well last time.”

“Didn’t she choke?” Singer teased around a mocking grin. It made his youthful face boyish and eyes bright. “Almost hacked out a lung didn’t you?”

Larson, who was quiet between Singer and Adler, spoke up. Already finished with his food since he’s been mostly keeping to himself. This is the first official mission he’s had since he got the news. Poor guy.

“I remember that,” Larson said softly, looking towards you and you just took all their teases. You blame Adler. “It was after the drinking game between Butcher and Hamilton. You wanted to see the big deal about why everyone liked the nicotine.”

“Only for Doc to come to the rescue after Bell took one of his cigs,” Sims ended with a shit eating grin. You’ll kill him. “Surprised you’re still here and alive. Not from just avoiding choking on nothing either, but that you took a cig from him.”

“You guys bet that I couldn’t. . .” You muttered with narrowed eyes towards Sims who shushed you.

“What was that?” Adler asked, cocking his head only for Sims and Singer to shake their heads animatedly. Adler hummed doubtfully but dropped it.

“Never mind that! Just—“ You groaned, putting your head on your hands as you still held the can of fruit cake. “You think I can eat this shitty cake? The ‘raisins’,” you said the word doubtfully, “could be actual pieces of shit for all I know. It could explain the taste. And how hard it can be.”

Singer and Sims snorted next to you, on both sides while Larson actually cracked a grin as you raised your head and told them strongly to think about it! Adler shook his head, watching the jungle periodically in the open spaces of the alcove which all of you did to be cautious but the fruit cake debacle must be solved.

You turned your eyes towards Sims, spotting his fruit cocktail. Only for his hand to block it.

“Nope.”

“Come on!” Sims shook his head, opening the can and eating the fruit cocktail and you scowled. “All of you are shitheads. Now I’m gonna have to eat this.”

“Damn straight you do,” Adler reaffirmed, stern yet you could spot he found your curse to all of them, him included, funny based on his arched brows. “No wasting MCI’s. You know the drill, Bell.”

You grunted unhappily at Adler, but you knew he was right. Which is why you wanted to trade in the first place. Food shouldn’t be wasted, no matter how heinous.

You took a spoonful after managing to cut into the hard cake, Sims laughing in your face and you could spot Larson keeping his smile at your disgruntled expression only for it to deepen when you took a bite.

You tried to distract yourself through bites by asking Adler how far away they were from their destination. Adler answering after they reach the next nearest foxhole which is two hours away, it will be another six till they reach where they need to be.

“Hue is a mess right now. With us additional reinforcements, we’re going to aim for stealth and go around and take out as much as we can.” Adler explained as they all attentively listened. They can’t mess up. “We’ve been able to give them a lot of damage last I heard, with one final push of us taking out some of them when they’re scrambling—we’ll consider the Battle of Hue a win. Of course, if there’s more than we can handle, we’ll stick to recon and head back around to tell command at the Hue MACV compound we have there.”

“And the civvies?” Larson asked.

“Don’t shoot ‘em.” Was all Adler said before they all moved to clean up and move on after you and Sims finished up.

You having to force to swallow and chew the cake and packing up the trash. They can’t leave anything else it can be used to track or find them.

Larson, Sims, and Singer were outside the alcove—waiting for you to finish as you smacked your lips as if that could take away the taste in your mouth as you grumbled. You moved to go out where Adler was as he stood by the opening to head out. You spotted something on the ground where he previously sat.

“You left something, sir,” you say, growing near to pick up the can. Huh, it’s not empty.

Adler turned his head over his shoulder, expression questioning.

“Whatcha mean, kid? That’s yours isn’t it?” You frowned, looking down at the can only for your eyes to widen. There was some pieces of pineapple left, a little less than half of the can gone but it’s something. He turned his head back as he muttered. “Don’t expect this to happen again. Not here to spoil you, Bell.”

“Don’t expect you to, sir.”

“Just pick up the trash and move it, kid.”

You grinned, knocking back the can and easily and quickly eating it. The juices spilling down your chin and neck but you didn’t care as you licked your lips. The taste of disgusting shit cake gone.

You packed the can quickly, swiping your chin with the back of your hand as the both of you walked to where the others were.

“Thanks,” you said to him softly.

“For telling you to pick up your trash?” Adler answered easily and you smiled knowingly but let it go.

Such a hard ass.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

The car ride was silent, passing street lights and empty cafe’s whizzing by and enlightening the car for a mere moment before it would be enveloped in darkness once more until the next light comes. You were staring out the window as they passed the streets of Berlin, the sounds of the wiper periodically occurring due to the light rain occurring. Not many people out at this time of night, nearing midnight unless you were a working girl or at the local bar. Some wisps of smoke remained in the car despite Adler on his side having his window slightly open. Your eyes watching as it moved lazily and glancing towards the quiet, relaxed man next to you before you would turn to look back out. Curious to see more of the city besides in the backstreets and being stealthy.

You didn’t see much last night after Volkov, you falling asleep in the car as Park drove you. You were too out of it when they arrived at the hotel, just absentmindedly listening and nodding along to Park’s directions and promptly knocking out once you reached your room on the bed. Only to awake once more at the alarm you or someone else must’ve set early in the morning.

You were focusing on that instead of the last time you were in the car with Adler.

“You’ll like where we’re going. Trust me.”

You took a sneaky glance towards the man once more, just as the man exhaled out a cloud of smoke that you watched. Enraptured in how it moved to and fro lithely, easily as your nose took in the smell before you glanced back at Adler, the side facing you being his ‘good’ side.

You wonder once more of his scar that accentuated this man’s beauty—all harsh lines that created a map that even now you wish to trace. For someone like this to earn the title America’s Monster, all styled wheat hair, suede shades, and an easy, wry tone—it should at least match the title.

Than again, you thought with faltering wax wings and of another—the fall of a devil with none. It was never about his looks was it?

“It’s a small price to pay.”

What does that make you?

“Alright, kid,” he says, taking out of your stupor as you stared fully at the man now. Smoke releasing out his mouth as he spoke, making you lower your gaze to it. “I’ll bite. What do you want to ask me? Must be a juicy question since you keep burning holes to the side of my face.”

Embarrassment colored your face, caught, as you quickly adjusted your gaze to straight ahead and instead watching raindrops going down the windshield.

“It’s nothing.”

“Mmm. For some reason, I can’t believe that. What did I say before?”

You said a lot of things before, you thought with a sad frown. But you knew what he was referring to. Always wants to be the one you tell all your worries and concerns to. Before, you thought it was genuine. Now, you just see it as how it was—a cloak to observe and make sure if your true real memories came or if they needed to give you a dose.

“Your scar,” you began as he tilted his head towards you, hair moving as he did so as he kept his one hand casually to the wheel while the other was leaning against his door. You didn’t get distracted by it. “How’d you get it? There’s a story there.”

“Scar?” He asked in false confusion, still stoic outside of a cocked brow and making your lips twitch up despite yourself. Before motioning with his cigarette hand towards his face. “You mean this? Is it noticeable?” At your unamused huff though your nose, he continued. “Back in ‘73, I was nearly killed by a tiger while on a mission in Malaysia. But human ingenuity still runs the animal kingdom.” He turned his head towards you when they reached a light, his brows rising above his glasses. “You ever been attacked by a tiger, Bell?”

You stared at him in disbelief before releasing a surprised snort. The nerve of this man.

“You’re lying. That’s not from a tiger, it would be worse than that. You and your need to tell stories. . .” You mumbled the last part, you don’t think he heard that.

“Didn’t know you were an expert on tigers, Bell. Got a degree in zoology under your belt that I don’t know about? What makes you think I’m lying?”

“Because—“ That’s not what you said last time. You stopped, a realization going through you. Because of course he’ll lie to you about this too. Worse kind of crowd, your ass. “If you got that from a tiger than I must be a distant cousin of Joseph Stalin.”

“That unbelievable, huh?” He said more than asked, amused at your sarcasm as you looked at him with crossed arms as the car moved once more. “Fine. I’ll give. I jumped on a roof in Calcutta back in ‘75 while chasing a Soviet agent. The jump was successful . . . the landing not so much. Advice: always know where the utility poles are.” At your deadpanned look when he glanced at you, his lips quirked into a humored smirk. “That one didn’t hit the mark for you either? Was it the jump?”

You shook your head, a small groan leaving your lips as you leaned your head against the dashboard.

“Anybody who’s anybody can jump from roof to roof,” you replied, staring at your leather boots—forehead pressed against the dashboard and maintains it there even as they turned or there was a bump. “You know that. Just like you know a utility pole would’ve either choked you or electrocuted you. At least with electrocution it’d be more scars throughout instead of that part of your face.”

“Watch the cockiness, kid.” He reprimanded but than, “You’re right though. Roof jumps the standard when it comes to our work. But you’re really confident that I don’t have any other scars throughout the rest of me. Know something I don’t?” Your eyes darted towards him, wide and as they passed a street light, you noticed he was peering down at you in turn. Your skin burned as you looked away and mumbled no while staring at your very interesting shoes. The man hummed. “How about this. You know what they say about kids falling in with a bad crowd? Let’s just say I fell in with the worst part of a bad crowd. The girl wasn’t worth it, believe me.”

At your silence, he glanced at you.

“What? That’s the one you believe?” You gave a small shrug. When he first told you that, you didn’t ask any more questions. It sounded personal the way he said it. Truthful. Adler always lies. “What makes this one believable? The lack of a specific date or are you a sucker for romance, Bell?”

You threw him a meaningful look up at him. Not feeling the need to say anything. At his arched brow though, you opened your mouth.

“Your ex-wife.”  His brow flattened at that. Something shifting in the air. “Was she worth it?”

A beat. A passing of street lights. The pitter patter of rain against the car.

“A romantic than. . .Never saw you as the type.” At your probing stare and his silence, you turned away. Seeing he won’t answer—too private. You’re a fool to even think he will say the truth at all. “Once.” You blinked, turning your eyes back up and lifting your head in attention as America’s Monster—a secret, a peek through the shades, a hint of something real besides the cold, black abyss, what are you Russell Adler—spoke ever so softly. A sardonic turn of chapped lips. “You can say we had a difference of opinion. Not much to it.”

There was more but you will take what you can get.

You thought of the memories you had, of friends you once believed were your own. Of little moments in beaches and camps and villages when all was calm and not chaotic with smell of burnt bodies or blood or how it feels to stab a bayonet through someone’s chest in defense. You could see them as clearly as any other memory you had. And feel it.

You thought of the poor soldier leaving a war only to get into another one in his home country.

“Larson. . .” you murmured, Adler hearing as he released a dry chuckle.

“Sort of like Larson. The poor bastard.” You watched him take a deep inhale, the cigarette almost a near stub. And you realize when that happens, he’s stressed. As stressed as a man like him could be. You’ve seen him in many moments in Vietnam. Not always the best. You wonder if that was another reason for your death. Adler exhaled a puff before having to throw the cigarette out the window with a flick, putting the window all the way up. “I don’t see why you’re so interested either way. Scars aren’t that impressive. Unless you always had a habit about asking for one’s ugly mug.”

You darted up at his eyes, shaded as they were, trying to sense if he was being serious.

Because he couldn’t be.

Not this man, with strikes of lightning upon his face as if Zeus did it himself. All power. Grace. Strength. Different from your barely functioning wax wings as you struggle to fly. Only able to watch and hope a falling demon crashes to its death—all harsh and slow.

What are you, Russell Adler?

Perhaps he is Zeus himself.

Perhaps how Adler got his scar was harsh retribution to control lightning, his scars even mimic those powerful strikes across his face. All strength. And all beauty. Those who survived struck by lightning always have the most beautiful marks upon their skin indicating their survival—you are selfishly bias though. Even now, you admit with self-loathing. The rougher marks on his face is all grace and you could wonder how he truly got it instead of fantasizing him as a God Of Lightning who mistook his own power upon his face.

It would only make sense. Both beautiful men, although you’ve never met the Greek God.

They both also have a habit of hurting women.

He’s all of that, while you could only hope with your squeaky levers and ropes and feathered wax can go up to said Mount Olympus where he was. A naïveté where you think you’re close with tired and sore arms only to be burnt away. A free fall down to the abyss.

Good pups stay in their place.

“You’re joking.” You accuse seriously as you stared up at him, your head against the dashboard but tilted slightly in his direction.

Adler tilted his head down slightly to stare down at you, a brow arched at your look.

“About?”

You didn’t say anything.

Just meaningfully looked up at him through your lashes, staring at his jaw that was strong as if Michaelengelo carefully carved it himself with minute details with his trusted mallet and chisel until dawn with a candle on his head due to determined ingenuity. Observing how the collar of his shirt did not do a good job in hiding his neck, his favorite jacket failing in that too so you could take it in. Not one strand was mussed or out of place on his head, all volume and thickness as your gloved hand twitched by your knee.

You than met the shades, in turn meeting his eyes as your heart seemed to pound as he stared down at you back. A look passing through his eyes too quick for you to catch, besides what you saw in your peripherals. The hand on the wheel tightening an iota as the air shifted to something heavier, blood pumping as your mind thought of reasons as to why which you pushed away. Impossible.

You licked your dry lips nervously, Adler’s expression seeming to tense when his eyes followed the action. You turned away, looking back down except to play with the ends of your gloves, neck hot and spreading.

You still felt his stare before he focused back onto the road.

They didn’t speak the rest of the ride.

Foolish dog should mind their eyes.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You couldn’t sleep much when you reached your room, another floor to Adler’s and near Park’s, and not just due to how you were more one with the night.

You opened Pandora’s Box—something forbidden coming out into the world as you thought back to the meaningful stare between you and Adler in the car. That even the thought makes your heart pound once more. Your brain further muddling and melting away the more you spend time alone with that man. Whether in being caught in his pace or just the mere thought of what he’s done.

Although, you suppose you already opened a Pandora’s Box. Possibly even darker than the one you discovered.

If the monster in man’s skin was Zeus—he created the box in the first place. Except he wished to hide it from you and keep you willfully ignorant instead of tease you to release envy and greed and disease out in the world. You managed to open it—and it was none of those things, it was cruel and inhumane to you all the same.

Take this needle and follow the story, do the trick.

If only that box stayed close.

Zeus always did like to confuse.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ◁ ◁ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You let out a heavy sigh, hand mussing your hair harshly as you chewed your lips, staring at the paper on the center table of the safehouse.

“Having trouble?”

You slightly jumped as Adler, who was quiet in the seat across and to the side of you, spoke. Looking mildly curious at all the papers on your side of the table before taking a small puff. You sighed, looking back down at the paper in slight frustration.

“Just a little. Whoever made this code created a difficult to encrypt language. I have some of the numbers though already, it’s just the rest. I’ve never seen such an elaborate one before. . .” You said in thought as you tapped your pen against the paper. “I have to say, it’s impressive.”

Adler hummed idly, taking note of your words.

“Perhaps you need a sort of incentive.”

You moved your eyes up in confusion, wondering what that could mean. Only to stop once you noticed what was in his opposite hand not holding his precious cigarette.

It was a picture—a polaroid specifically. But not just any one. You stared at your oldest friend in the picture, taken on the rooftops in East Berlin, his face tilted down and a level of focus and calm as he stared down below in his crouched position. The lights behind him giving him an ethereal glow, a mix of white, red, and blue as those shades on his face gave a little glint due to it.

You reached a hand to see it better only for Adler to click his tongue, taking the picture back closer to him with a shake of his head.

“Sorry, kid. Can’t exactly be incentive if I gave it to you easily like that. You seem eager though.” Adler arched a brow at you. “Any reason as to why?”

Your cheeks prickle as you cursed in your mind. Why didn’t you get the film from the red room or Park yourself? You thought of a T.V. turning on it’s own, flashbacks to what happened in Vietnam on the screen, the memory sobering you up. You still. . .haven’t told Adler about that. He’ll call you soft and put you solely in the safehouse with no more field missions. You hate his disappointment. Still though, you recall you were determined to get it. A quick in and out but than. . . something? Something. . . happened?

At your brows furrowing deeply, Adler’s own brows furrowed and you answered his silent question as you touched your head.

“Sorry. . . That coma I woke up from still has done a number on me.”

“You did get shot twice, Bell. You have issues with always trying to push me out the way, even back in ‘Nam.” You smiled at his tease. You did have a protective streak. But only for certain people—even if you knew Adler could handle himself, you would do what you must for him if he told you an order. Or even go against it if it involved him doing something stupid like a sacrificial mission. You’d follow him anywhere. “Don’t think too much on it. I’m sure the rest of your memories will come back soon enough.  Just remember in the end that mission was a success.”

“Whatever it takes, sir.” You said, a phrase that he spoke often back in the war. Which you would repeat. You would always do what you must.

Adler’s expression shadowed as he nodded once.

“Whatever it takes,” he glanced at the polaroid in his hand, it facing him as he seemed to stare in thought before turning his gaze towards you. Your expression curious as you wondered what he was thinking before he turned the picture back towards you, brow up inquisitively. “Well, Bell? Don’t think you’re going to dodge the question as to why you want this? I went through a bit of trouble to let Park let me have it. She’s stubborn when she wants to be.”

You slightly scowled at him, feeling the blush once more.

You hated when he did that blasted rhyme!

You also had a sense there was more to him asking Park but you were too busy trying to defend yourself. Not think about their daily quiet pissing match.

“I like taking pictures. It’s an art form. Every artist would like to have their own paintings,” you said, tone even and you wanted to pat yourself in the back for that.

Adler rose both his brows now.

“Really?” The way he said it made it seem he doubted you. “Not a photographer. Was never really interested in art either so maybe that’s why I can’t relate. Still. It’s a good picture, my good side and all. Can see why you would want it.”

You restrained yourself from saying what you wanted like last time. That basically you would want that picture even if it was on his scarred side.

“It had good lighting.” You added as Adler stared at his picture, cigarette being held in his lips. He turned back towards you, glasses slightly falling from his nose and you could see a hint of his eyes. A tease. You stared. His lips curved around the cigarrette, amused and indulging. You panicked. “I-It does!”

“I didn’t say anything. But say, the sooner you finish that code, the sooner you can have this—“ he paused, waving the hand with the polaroid”—piece of art of yours. Never thought I would say that but I guess there’s a first for everything.” He pocketed the picture back in his jacket, blowing his smoke away from you before he stood up and headed towards Sims only to add over his shoulder, “I’ll leave you to it. I know you got this.”

You stared as he walked over, the belief he had in you with those words moving around in your brain. You moved back to work, pointedly ignoring Lazar’s whistle—him able to hear some of what occurred no doubt. You threw him an impolite gesture that only made the man laugh as you focused on the code. It took you three tiring and near sleepless nights, but you finished. Adler handing you the photo in between his fingers as you took it gently, trying not to crinkle the photo further as Adler watched you behind his shades as you held the photo, taking a thoughtful inhale of his cigarette before looking away. Looking around their surroundings outside the safehouse. Their break time spot.

“You sure got talent, kid.”

“You should know by now to not doubt me, Russ,” you replied, your eyes still on the photo between your gloved hands. “Only the best of the best with you. Just took me longer than I thought.”

“Watch that confidence doesn’t blind you one day, Bell.”

“You first.”

He chuckled at that, breathless and surprised making you stare up with wide eyes. The sound rare. Adler tapped the end of his cigarette, ash going on the ground as he stared towards the doors of the safehouse, an echo of a smile on his face. Barely there. Others wouldn’t see it, but you’ve known Adler for years.

“You got guts. And spunk. Met my match with you it seems, kid. You know me too well. . .” Adler took a puff, deep as he trailed off, shades dark.

“That’s not a bad thing,” you say, lowering the photo in your hand. “Sims does too. Can’t exactly get rid of us that easy.”

“Sims has been through many missions with me, but not as much as you.” Adler explained calmly. “Some of those, I’m taking to my grave. If I breathe a word about it, I’ll have a bunch of people up my ass.”

You sense as if this was like a conversation from years ago, on a beach. Quiet and away from everyone in the camp, just the two of you talking about realities and soldiers. You think about that memory a lot.

You recall some of the memories he’s referring to.

You half shrugged, pocketing the photo in your bomber jacket as you leaned against the wall of the safehouse.

“What can you do? It was necessary. Besides, I can’t exactly tell anyone else either, Adler. Brutality is sometimes necessary. That’s all I know.” You paused, tilting your head and throwing a teasing smirk his way to get him out this weird mood. “Don’t tell me America’s Monster actually cares what other people say?”

Adler deeply exhaled in exasperation, smoke coming out his nose.

“Don’t tease me, Bell. You know I can’t give a shit.”

“Than what’s the problem? You do what needs to be done. Make the tough calls. You know. . . you know I understand right?” You asked carefully. “I’m with you when it comes to doing what we must. To protect what we need to.”

Adler was silent. He never answered.

You didn’t push him. Didn’t feel the need.

You understood him the best.

Only monsters can see one another, after all.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▌▌✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

Monsters, you’ve come to know, are also a certain kind of creature that takes what they need.

To want. Selfish and uncaring and you should be concerned at how easily you take in those traits.

Too busy to worry about regular people—the mundane. There are bigger things to be focused on than other’s opinions on what actions are necessary.

You and Adler can give not one fuck about others. They know what they are and will accept the titles from others with a nod.

What you’re coming to find however, that even with monsters, there’s different breeds.

You basically reiterated to him that what he did with you was necessary. Needed. Sound brutality at its finest. You feel like you can’t even argue.

What is better—loyalty to a country or to people?

You’re trapped.

.

.

.

I have a problem. This story is going to be long when it was supposed to be short. Oh well. 

Also, hot take maybe, I love both Soft!Adler and Dark!Adler so let’s just have both sides of him shall we? Wait…is Adler truly soft here? Who knows.

DM me if you wish to be tagged please. ^////^

Tags:

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[kuinliekkienroihu]

I (crysuzumushi, haha) am working on answering your ask game prompts, you picked two of my very favorites, thank you! I'm gonna ask you to do Kaname too! And Byakuya.

Okay, thanks for the ask!! Sorry it took so long to answer, i wrote a novel. Also sorry for all the spelling and grammar mistakes, English isn’t my first language

Kaname:

1. Favorite thing about them

How he always seeks to act according to his sense of justice. Also he's one of the best written characters in the entire series. He's very complex, which makes him feel kinda like an actual person with understandable actions caused by his past. There are a lot more things, but i'm not good at putting things to words so yeah.

2. Least favorite thing about them

How underutilized he was as a character. I'm really glad there's more of him in cfyow, even though i've only read the first part

3. Favorite line

" I follow the path least soaked in blood. The path I walk is justice."

4. BrOTP

I have many, mostly Shuhei, Aizen, Gin and Sajin

5. OTP

-

6. NOTP

hmm, i don't like him and Aizen romantically at all, same goes for Sajin

7. Random headcanon

He has a plant garden in Las Noches in which he grows, among many other things, the ingredients for Aizen's tea, which is Kaname's secret special mix of herbs. Aizen really misses the tea Kaname made for him.

8. Unpopular opinion

He did nothing wrong, or rather, all he did was (more or less) justified

9. Song i associate with them

-

10. Favorite picture of them

This is my favorite too

Byakuya:

1. Favorite thing about them

Yes. I love every single thing about him. Even the things others would consider as flaws are perfect. I really like how calm and collected he is regardless of the situation, he's intelligent and calculating.

A very well written character with, in my opinion, the best character development. Especially his relationship with Rukia from ignoring her out of pain (since she looks almost identical to Hisana), protecting her to keep a promise, letting her be executed to keep another promise to genuinely caring about her and saving her life in many occasions, clearly regretting what he did to her and trying to compensate for his actions.

Kubo wrote his development extremely well, in the end of the series he's objectively a better person than in the beginning, but his personality didn't change much. He's still the same overly serious, stuck up asshole we know and I love him for it.

Another thing I love the most about him is the fact that he's another walking contradiction. But somehow, these contradictions make a paradox or a perfect harmony without cancelling each other. Kubo did an amazing job making him have many layers in his character. There's this line from a book (had to look it up, the book is called "the chrysanthemum and the sword") that the author used to describe Japanese people, I think I read that in someone's ig story and it got stuck in my head since it reminded me of Byakuya so much, and in my honest opinion, describes him rather thoroughly, especially second, third and fourth ones. His zanpakuto, which is one of the infinite reasons I love him, being fully portrayed by the second one "both militaristic and aesthetic" being combined into the beautiful but deadly weapon Senbonzakura is.

"both aggressive and unaggressive, both militaristic and aesthetic, both insolent and polite, rigid and adaptable, submissive and resentful of being pushed around, loyal and treacherous, brave and timid, conservative and hospitable to new ways"

When you think about it, he has the most fitting zanpakuto for his personality compared to the other shinigami and the way he uses it is one of the tiny details which make him, him.

His spot as a captain and the head of the Kuchiki clan is in my opinion fully earned (rest of the nobles (except Yoruichi) can go fuck themselves) (sorry Tara, ignore this please lol). He is hardworking and precise, almost workaholic, has trained hard from a very young age and puts duty above everything. But he still has a hidden "work mode: off" -side which we see occasionally as cracking a dry joke or the wakame taishi fuckery in general. Latter being, in my honest thoughts, hilarious and adorable.

There is a lot more but i literally can't list everything. This is already a hell of an essay.

2. Least favorite thing about them.

My answer is probably as you can expect: none.

There is one thing i don't really like, but it's about the writing.

!!TYBW SPOILERS!!

In the beginning of the arc i think that immediately releasing bankai, especially when he knew it was gonna be sealed, was out of character and i would have been very upset if he stayed dead, since the action which resulted in that was not something he would do.

3. Favorite line

“If it’s for the sake of my pride there’s nothing I won’t destroy.”

I know it’s from a filler but this line just sums his whole character, personality and motivations up so well.

4. BrOTP

I have so many, i want him to have friends lol. But to point out the most significant ones i'd say Rukia, Renji, Kenpachi, Toshiro and Ichigo

5. OTP

The only one i really ship him with is Nanao. Hisana is kind of “it’s canon and i’m fine with it.” I haven’t seen enough of her to form an opinion about the ship, but it’s obvious how much Bya loved her and it’s so sweet.

6. NOTP

Okay, i have never mentioned this before since i know many of my followers/mutuals ship them. Renji. The only ship I. Can't. Stand.

Like, platonically? Yes, they're bros. But romantically or especially sexually? No. Fuck no.

I don't care if you ship them, good for you, but please tag the stuff so it gets filtered.

7. Random headcanon

He sleeptalks a lot. And it's not mumbling, he talks the same way as when he's awake but it's absolute nonsense.

Byakuya, asleep: Do not eat the drawer.

Hisana, awake: *watches him in utter confusion*

Byakuya, still asleep: Give him a pink tricycle.

Hisana: To whom?

Byakuya: Head captain Yamamoto

Hisana: *trying not to laugh*

Another hc that i have is that he is a closet metalhead and likes especially power- and symphonic metal (this might sound very weird if you know nothing about this kind of music lol)

8. Unpopular opinion

His actions in the soul society arc were understandable. He was put between the bark and the tree (i hope you get what i mean) and had to choose from just letting things happen and going against central 46 and all of soul society (or at least that’s what he thought). Also the line he said to Ukitake, which is still easily in top5 most asshole things he has said/done, in my opinion shows what he thought of Rukia’s execution and why he didn’t do anything to prevent it. “Once you’ve let one of your people die.. ...two or three more make no difference.” Both of his parents are dead, Hisana is dead, Ginrei is most likely dead and he thought for 100 years that Yoruichi was dead too. I think Byakuya thought losing one more person he cares about couldn’t hurt more than it already has and therefore didn’t think it was worth breaking the promise he made in his parents’ grave and trying to save her. And that fucking breaks my heart.

9. Song I associate with them

I have a 6h long playlist which I’m not gonna post. Can’t choose just one lol.

10. Favorite picture of them

*digs through nearly infinite pinterest board, tumblr and phone’s gallery*

This is (one of) my favorite manga panel(s) of him. I love how calm but powerful he looks. The lines representing the heavy spiritual pressure. Like an inescapable doom approaching (which indeed was the case). And for some reason i love it. 

My favorite fanart, which i obviously can’t post since you can’t post others art so here’s the link: https://www.deviantart.com/keelerleah/art/Bleach-Byakuya-Looking-Back-127254804

and then one which I think is official art or at least an edit of it, if I’m wrong please lmk

[madara-fate]

(This is long and I’m not a native speaker so wanted to warn beforehand)

I don’t agree with most of what they wrote about the shipppuden part where they claimed madara, obito and nagato was right (although I don’t really agree with their motives I believe thay had %100 rights about being angry at the village and the system) But You cannot honestly deny that most of the part I in naruto and the flashbacks it’s always naruto that starts to lash out violently at sasuke (when he doesn’t get to show off or couldn’t manage to throw shurikens as good as sasuke does) and sasuke just doesn’t cara he doesn’t even fight back he just dodges and naruto feels even more humiliated because of sasuke, it’s not sasuke’s fault that he feels inferior also sasuke could’ve bolted from orochimaru in the forest of death it was clear that even if he fought he couldn’t have beaten him and backup was coming if they would have tried to run maybe sasuke wouldn’t have get bitten (I’m not sayin it could have worked but it was a more reasonable solution than let’s fight the creppy snake dude who wants sasuke’s magic sharingan eyes and his pretty body) but you see naruto thought his pride and the exam was more important than his comrades he gave some encouragement and then passed out leaving sasuke to fight such dangerous person and sakura called him a coward that naruto at least does something and she didn’teven do anything whatsoever just watched while the love of his life nearly got killed??? ( don’t get me wrong i like sakura and she did placed herself against gaara and sasuke was prepared to die for him and she got plenty better afterwards and I would never deny her growth that’s why she is my second favorite character but at the forest of death she did nothing and accuse someone who always does the most work of doing nothing) back to the point is i don’t understand why naruto feels it’s sasuke’s fault when he clearly is the one who starts the fights oh and don’t give me that ‘but naruto was 6 hes a child of course he gonna get jealous’ card kakashi was chunnin at that age which brings to another set of problems being that how can they send children to a war and such when they are so young and inexperienced

Look at it from that perceptive your father commits suicide because he saves his comrades instead of doing the mission wich if he was able to save his comrades that must mean they can’t have been that much of a large number (why send so little people to such a dangerous mission in the firs place even if it was a stealth mission and there was war going on why can’t you prioritize your ninjas lives over mission why can’t you have teams that can back them up now I understand sacrifice for the better good but to a village that always brags about teamwork and comrades it sounds too hypocritical to me) Sakumo feels shame not because he saved his comrades but because his status falled ridiculously so much and he was mocked despised for his decision (that was the reason he died because of people he couldn’t take it that was the said reason in cannon) but for some reason kakashi instead of feeling resentment to the village that took his family becomes their most loyal trusted asset I understand why people feel disappointed at his character that doesn’t mean he can’t be loyal to something but he never once doesn’t seem to question why the purpose to all of this loss (please don’t talk about children they send them to wars when it’s convenient to maintain the status quo cuz they have to show their power it wouldn’t stop once there’s peace if there’s any war they still would send them.The strongest village, I remember someone said about Konoha that it’s the biggest ninja village and have the most ninja population so there can’t be that much civilians and kids that aren’t ninja Konoha makes the most money from missions it’s a ninja village not an civilized village)

Now I myself like naruto and kakashi I just don’t like what they represent that you must be ready to sacrifice everything for the village and if someone you care about dies along the way you have no right to be angry at the village because ya know that’s treason I think that anon wasn’t especially angry at naruto himself more than his fans. His fans that doesn’t see a broken child born out of neglect that’s ready to do everything for acknowledgement,bonds,family and friends that he’s blind to what lays underneath but thay see this perfect being that could do no wrong who had it worse than everyone but now he is just an perfect hero no longer that lonely child

Our problem with naruto isn’t naruto himself but people who refuse to see his arrogance (that even itachi pointed out in the war) that they are too far gone they undermine all others pain and suffering to uplift naruto (their precious self-insert)

That’s what i think anyway i’m not trying to impose my opinion on anyone but I just wanted to hear your opinion on those matters but feel free to ignore it if you don’t have anything to say on those matters I understand that not everyone would want to delve that deep into fiction it’s for our enjoyment at the end of the day and everyone could interpret fiction in their own way some might not want to deal with them by saying it in a fictional world it doesn’t work like ours so children going to war is okay there because the narrative doesn’t make a big deal out of it but I don’t believe that I think every fiction mirrors our own world and problems somehow but I get that it’s an escapism and you want to keep that away from that fictional world that has no flaws,it’s different for everyone and i don’t mind honestly

So you created an account just to say this? *Sigh*, okay then.

I'll begin by saying how I have a lot less to say about your ask in comparison to the original Anon, because the original's was just filled to the brim with utter nonsense, while yours isn't. However there are still several things wrong here.

You cannot honestly deny that most of the part I in naruto and the flashbacks it’s always naruto that starts to lash out violently at sasuke (when he doesn’t get to show off or couldn’t manage to throw shurikens as good as sasuke does) and sasuke just doesn’t cara he doesn’t even fight back he just dodges and naruto feels even more humiliated because of sasuke, it’s not sasuke’s fault that he feels inferior

Yeah that's true, but do you think that makes Naruto a terrible person or something? Or a "detestable child" as the other Anon so eloquently put it? No one with a good head on their shoulders thinks that Naruto was a saint as a child. He was a troublemaker with a bad attitude who got up to no good, people know and acknowledge that. However, we also acknowledge the reasons he became that way, and don't form conclusions regarding his worth as a person based on his juvenile antics as a child who was starving for any form of attention.

but you see naruto thought his pride and the exam was more important than his comrades he gave some encouragement and then passed out leaving sasuke to fight such dangerous person

Explain to me how on earth you reached the conclusion that Naruto apparently thought that his pride and the exams were more important than his comrades from this? Please explain that to me. How does Naruto fighting back against Orochimaru, giving Sasuke a pep talk, and then passing out, somehow equate to him prioritising his pride and the exams above the lives of his comrades? That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Quite frankly, that is a preposterous conclusion to reach from that scenario. Opting to fight rather than flee does not automatically equate to caring more about your pride than the lives of your friends. I also love how you word it as Naruto "leaving" Sasuke to fight such a dangerous person, as if that was his intention - To get Orochimaru riled up, and then just leave Sasuke to deal with the consequences because he's just such a prick. Yeah that's not what happened.

and sakura called him a coward that naruto at least does something and she didn’t even do anything whatsoever just watched while the love of his life nearly got killed??? ( don’t get me wrong i like sakura and she did placed herself against gaara and sasuke was prepared to die for him and she got plenty better afterwards and I would never deny her growth that’s why she is my second favorite character but at the forest of death she did nothing and accuse someone who always does the most work of doing nothing)

This I agree with and I've made this point before - about how wrong it was for Sakura to have called Sasuke a coward in that situation, despite the fact that he was the one fighting while she was doing nothing. However, I've still always remained firm that Naruto had the right to label Sasuke as a coward in that situation (just as Sasuke had the right to label Naruto as a coward previously during the Land of waves). Naruto was right to do so, Sakura wasn't.

back to the point is i don’t understand why naruto feels it’s sasuke’s fault when he clearly is the one who starts the fights oh and don’t give me that ‘but naruto was 6 hes a child of course he gonna get jealous’ card kakashi was chunnin at that age which brings to another set of problems being that how can they send children to a war and such when they are so young and inexperienced

You don't understand why Naruto feels that what is Sasuke's fault? Naruto never once expressed the idea that Sasuke was at fault for any of their confrontations at the Academy. Furthermore, I can very much give you the "Naruto was just a child" card. You think using Kakashi's maturity at the same age justifies your assertion that people can't use that excuse? As if everyone was just like Kakashi when they were 6 years old? No it doesn't work that way. Naruto was behaving how you'd expect a 6 year old child with no parents to behave. Kakashi was the anomaly here, not the rule of behaviour.

I'm also not gonna get into the whole "child soldiers" debate because that's a whole other discussion and was never part of the original topic. The point of this was to address the original Anon's absurd claims regarding Naruto, and that's where we'll stay. So everything you said about the child soldiers was interesting, but is for another day. What I'll say regarding Kakashi and Sakumo though, is that Sakumo's treatment at the hands of the village following his mission's failure was never portrayed positively. You asked...

but for some reason kakashi instead of feeling resentment to the village that took his family becomes their most loyal trusted asset

Well I'll tell you why - It's for exactly the same reason why Sasuke eventually became one of Konoha's top protectors despite the ordeal with the Uchiha massacre. It's because the people who are currently residing in the village, are not the same people who wronged Kakashi's father. The current village has nothing to do with Sakumo's suicide, just like how the village itself was not responsible for the Uchiha massacre. The current village no longer abides by those outdated beliefs that the mission must be prioritised above all else. So why would Kakashi feel resentment towards those who had absolutely nothing to do with his father's suicide? There's something you can ask yourself. The village as it is now, is not the same village it was back then; people come and go, as do ideals.

Now I myself like naruto and kakashi I just don’t like what they represent that you must be ready to sacrifice everything for the village and if someone you care about dies along the way you have no right to be angry at the village because ya know that’s treason

That is not a view that has ever been highlighted in the series, so I really don't know where you got that one from. No one ever stated or indicated that you can't be angry or frustrated with the village hierarchy when a comrade dies during a mission because that would apparently be seen as treacherous. It's actually very ironic that you would say this in an ask criticising Naruto, because Naruto is actually the one who disproves your assertion in this case. If you recall, when Naruto was informed of Jiraiya's passing, he went on a tirade against Tsunade, saying that it was her fault he died, berating her for sending him to such a dangerous place alone etc.

Now during this entire ordeal, was Naruto ever depicted as the one in the wrong? No, he was portrayed as the sympathetic figure who was deeply grieving the loss of his beloved master. Everyone who saw Naruto as he was mourning, acknowledged that he had every right to feel that way, so of course no one was going to reprimand him for lashing out at Tsunade in the manner that he did.

I think that anon wasn’t especially angry at naruto himself more than his fans. His fans that doesn’t see a broken child born out of neglect that’s ready to do everything for acknowledgement, bonds, family and friends that he’s blind to what lays underneath but thay see this perfect being that could do no wrong who had it worse than everyone but now he is just an perfect hero no longer that lonely child

Our problem with naruto isn’t naruto himself but people who refuse to see his arrogance (that even itachi pointed out in the war) that they are too far gone they undermine all others pain and suffering to uplift naruto (their precious self-insert)

Well as I said before, those with a good head on their shoulders know that Naruto is far from a perfect being, but also know that everything the previous Anon was saying about him was bullshit, simple as that. That being said, I'd rather you didn't speak for that other Anon, because according to everything they said, they most definitely did have a major problem with Naruto himself.

That’s what i think anyway i’m not trying to impose my opinion on anyone but I just wanted to hear your opinion on those matters but feel free to ignore it if you don’t have anything to say on those matters I understand that not everyone would want to delve that deep into fiction it’s for our enjoyment at the end of the day and everyone could interpret fiction in their own way some might not want to deal with them by saying it in a fictional world it doesn’t work like ours so children going to war is okay there because the narrative doesn’t make a big deal out of it but I don’t believe that I think every fiction mirrors our own world and problems somehow but I get that it’s an escapism and you want to keep that away from that fictional world that has no flaws, it’s different for everyone and i don’t mind honestly.

I won't ignore what you said. I asked for someone to respond with their account and you did, so the least I can do is give credit where credit is due, and fulfil my end of the agreement. I had some things to say on the matter as well, but I'll reiterate that the child soldier stuff is far too big a topic to delve into here, and it would be going on a tangent that I'd like to avoid. All I wanted to do here was to see someone actually try to explain and justify the ridiculous accusations the initial Anon was throwing in Naruto's direction, but you didn't actually do that, you took a more understandable approach which I can appreciate, despite still finding issues with a lot of what you said.

[etheralisi]

ᴛᴇ ɪɴᴠᴏᴄᴏ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪʀᴛ ɪs ɢᴏɴᴇ

Perhaps she has hit the unlucky jackpot with getting Tamara as her roommate. What kind of reality did she wake up in to have to come home to a summoning circle?

Ao3

--------

 They were low on flour. 

 And it’s not as if they necessarily need it, per se. Not really, because hey, there’s a few snacks laying around, and their neighbor Marla’s built up a reputation from giving stuff out from bottomless pockets of sweets and chocolates that fits the picture book description of every five year old’s dreamscape to a t. 

 But Anthea’s hands are itching to do something, anything that isn’t homework, and as always, she’s drawn back into memories of large and steady palms pressing hers into dough, and the scent rising yeast in the oven — the furnace she’ll endearingly label as home. Even now, away on her studies, away from that little country kitchen, it’s that little piece of her past that’s trailing after her through the shopping aisle, Anthea mulling over the brands they have available.

 “You’re going shopping?” Her roommate had shouted from the couch when Anthea’s foot was half out of the door, holding it in place as she turned exasperatedly towards the other girl. “ Can you get me anything? Like, I dunno, gummy worms or something. Maybe some crisps. Oh, oh! See if they have any of those-” She snapped her fingers, a disappointed pout forming as she made a vagueish gesture. “Ah, you know. Those things.”

 “Sure, sure. Very helpful,” Anthea had said in drawl, fairly sure there are at least five possible contenders for what ‘those things’ may be from her past purchasing habits and, chances are, she’ll end up purchasing the wrong thing. So. You know. Helpful. “I’ll see what I can find, Tam. Pay me back later.”

 She’s gotten Tamara a good few bargains, and if she were any less of a person, Anthea would charge her full price for them and pocket a little extra cash. Like a certain someone — not naming names, but Tamara — had done a few months back in her ploy to ‘get rich quick’ after taking inspiration from a few life hack videos guaranteeing her ways to save money, though not as borderline fraudulent as she put into practice.

 So. Yes. What a wonderful roommate Anthea’s been blessed with. Truly an inspiration.

 (And to think that once upon so long ago, Anthea had been a sidestep and a jump from a breakdown, worrying if she’d be considered the weird roommate. The one people grumble about to friends over the phone.)

 After staring at the prices the flour is selling at — long enough she swears barcodes and prices are burned into her retinas, thin black lines and all — Anthea pulls out her phone, just long enough to send a text or two to Tamara. Just checking in, is all. Reminding Tamara of her half of the chores, and praying to every entity out there that she's not going to have to come back to their shared living space surrounded by firefighters because of a science project gone wrong. 

 (“Hey, I was just pulling apart my Magiorb to see how it ticked! I couldn’t have foreseen the fire. Or how couches aren’t fireproof. Uhh, what’s the cheapest fireproof furniture selling right now?”)

 Needless to say, there’s a very low bar in the terms of her expectations for her return. Very low bar. ��World’s best limbo dancer can’t even hope to cross’ kind.

 Still. Somehow Tamara manages to bring a spade and tunnel right under this metaphorical bar until she reaches hell’s gates, because, well, Anthea’s pretty sure that everything you can find in a ‘ cultists starter kit to summoning demonic entities’ has been strewn across the room to the point that rather than baking, her hands are screaming for her to grab a fire extinguisher before house fire electric boogaloo can make a comeback. 

 Candles. So. Many. Candles. Over that little couch, over her bed. Why are they over her bed?

 Multiple pressing questions bulldoze their way down the fast-pass lane to the forefront of her mind, so pressing they may as well be full on slaps to the face like this whole nonsensical scene displayed out in front of her. Anthea hardly registers dropping the shopping bag, slipping from numb fingers now completely useless for pinching her awake from this living nightmare. 

  ‘Life hacks,' okay. Guess this extends to hacking away at their own lifespans too. It’s flashing before her eyes, disco party style, as they speak.

 “Why did you draw a pentagram on the floor?” Anthea says with this tired sort of calm calm. Like the anger and frustration and fear are too big for her body and physically unable to manifest themselves into her tone. It’s just. Too much.

 “Your text told me to satanize the kitchen before you returned, and the other rooms if I could. Don’t worry, I did the kitchen too,” Tamara says like it’s a perfectly normal request and every bit entirely in character of Anthea to say, and not in the least worrisome to the point that Anthea doesn’t so much as want to think about the state of the kitchen. She knows the text. She knows what she sent. And yeah, pulling out her phone, Anthea’s now doubly sure that her request wasn’t nearly as demonic as Tamara has taken it.

 “I wrote sanitise, Tamara,” She corrects with not nearly enough stress on the name as she is feeling right now. Not even close. “Sanitise . And here you are with… with this pentagram…”

 “Summoning circle.” 

 “Oh, I’m sorry.” Anthea wants to laugh, really laugh, but she’s afraid she won’t be able to stomach something so bitter. “And how is that any better?”

 “I mean, it’s not the Satan on the line. I couldn’t get a hold of him.” And is it her, or does the slight pout of Tamara’s bottom lip make her look — dare she say it — disappointed. Demonic flames are no way to sanitise a home. Insta-cook it? Yes. But she just wants to bake. Not recreate hell’s kitchen.

 Anthea pinches or nose and lets loose a long, drawn out sigh as she tries to recall what optimism sounds like again when her half full glass has been shattered against a wall repetitively. 

 “Well that’s clear. If you had, I’d be coming back to nothing but the circle. Thank the stars you didn’t manage to summon him.”

 And by him, she means whatever alternative demon Tamara had turned to after her temporary setback. Anthea never really studied demons above the mandatory lessons where the overall takeaway was ‘ stay the heck away from demons unless you have a death wish for both you and your entire neighbourhood .’ And good old Mr Rivera had a knack for making even the most entertaining of things about as interesting as witnessing fifty coats of paint dry, the sound of his voice alone giving insomniacs the well needed rest they deserve, his droning on a magical cure-all. But she swears that the patterns ring some incredibly distant alarm bells amongst the fog of memories.

 “Ehhh…” Tamara hand wanders to the back of her neck, sheepish. “I mean...”

 Her stomach drops. Ten, twenty floors of an office building and into the plummeting void of ever present worry and why ever did she think leaving to buy flour would be a safe activity?

 “What,” Anthea says, fire encased in a cage of ice for a tone, “Did you do?”

 As if on queue — and perhaps so, because stage queues and flair have been attributed to their species for years — the answer makes itself known as the Dreambender himself, materialising into existence with a faint pop and waft of pine needles to mask the smoke.

 What.

  What the-

 “Oh, y̤͈̣̭̝͎̹o͖̝̻̲̤̪͇u͖͉̥͙’̥͖̟̗͍̮͡r̼̩̣̻e̞͔̝̜̹ ͔̺̘͈̰͎b̞̦͍͔͡a͖͜c͇̘k̛̮̙?̹̼͓̖͖̳̝ ” He grins, too many teeth. Far too many teeth. “And you’ve brought my gummy worms! Thanks!”

[regrettablewritings]

Podcasts, Youtubes, and TV Shows to Distract Yourself With Because Why Not, and Also Because I Wanna Blab About Some of These

Since I can’t go to work and horrify my coworkers/make them realize I’m a mess and/or nerd by telling them about the type of media I’m into, I’m foisting my recommendations on all of y’all who choose to read this. I frankly do not care how many people have actually heard of these things because I’m also sure there’s plenty of people who, like me, are very slow and oblivious to entertainment, or who have heard of the property but were never that convinced.

Kipo and the Age of the Wonderbeasts

Type: TV series

200 years after a mysterious yet earth-shattering event, much of humanity has taken to living beneath the surface in communities called burrows, wherein life goes on, if effected somewhat by the bizarre fauna that exists above them (referred to as “mutes”, short for “mutant”). One burrow girl, Kipo, founds her world turned almost literally inside-out when she finds herself not only separated from her father and the only world she’s ever known, but on the surface, no less. What ensues is her trying to find her way back home with the help of a stony-faced little girl with a massive chip on her shoulder; a music enthusiast and his literal gadfly friend; and some . . . unusual allies that only an oblivious optimist like Kipo could make. All to a kickass soundtrack, a beautiful backdrop of art, and a world where animals have basically evolved into gangs under a looming threat known as Scarlemagne. If you can’t already tell, I love this series to bits and now is the perfect time for people to get into it and encourage another season of it. Just . . . don’t think too hard that whatever happened to cause the Event in the show happened in October 2020 . . .

Available on: Netflix

My Dad Wrote a Porno

Type: Podcast

This should go without saying, but this podcast is definitely meant for more mature audiences. Or somebody with a strong stomach. Not that it’ll always be easy to tell with the type of content this series gives. When Jamie Morton’s father handed him his manuscripts for his self-published books, he had no idea he was being given a pinnacle of a polished turd: It was erotica. Really, really, really bad erotica. But the ear’s trash is the heart’s pleasure with this bad girl, as Jamie enlists the company of friends Alice and James to provide commentary on “Rocky Flintstone”’s series Belinda Blinked, a drama chronicling the sexcapades of Belinda Blumenthal as she climbs the ladders (and men and women) both in and out of the cut-throat world of pots and pans sales. What follows is a goldmine of awkward metaphors, strange bedmates, and just an overall stampede of whiplashing events that somehow exceed expectations. Listen in if you dare . . . And make sure you’re in good company for it. Fun Fact, though: Daisy Ridley, Ben Barnes, Lin-Manuel Miranda, Michael Sheen, Mara Wilson, Elijah Wood are but a few well-known fans of this series! Nobody is safe . . .

Available on: Wherever podcasts can be found

Lore

Type: Podcast

Sometimes, truth is stranger than fiction. And what better way to be reminded of that, then to have the dulcet tones of Aaron Mahnke tell you about the lighthouse incident that the 2016 movie The Lighthouse was loosely inspired by? Suffice to say, this podcast could also be interpreted with some advised discretion, but definitely in a way that’s different from My Dad Wrote a Porno. In the centuries humankind has existed, we’ve managed to create a menagerie of beasts, both fictional and in ourselves. Lore explores all the many different kinds of events and persons and creatures we have to offer. In any given episode, we could be talking about anything from the bizarre story of a lady who convinced 18th century physicians that she was giving birth to rabbits, to something more disturbing like the life of H.H. Holmes. Or something as relatively innocuous as the relationship between gremlins and flight. Regardless of the subject, however, you’ll definitely walk away knowing something new, if bizarre. And perhaps slightly terrifying.

Available on: Wherever podcasts can be found

The Amelia Project

Type: Podcast

Congratulations: You have been made aware of The Amelia Project. If you’re not interested in this, exit the page. Now. If you continue, there’s no unhearing it. Good choice! A new interest awaits. If you don’t enjoy it, please consider the whole thing a hoax. Okay but in all seriousness, there’s no way to do The Amelia Project justice in just a simple description. The plot sounds quite simple, really: People want to disappear and start a new life, The Amelia Project is there to help – with a price. And that’s if you can actually get a hold of them! What really makes the show, however, are the people and the writing, and I’m not just talking about the almost childlike Interviewer with an obsession for hot cocoa. I’m talking about the clientele: I’m talking about the macabre-obsessed theme park owner who’s out for revenge; the cult leader who’s in way over his head; a Santa impersonator stuck in a miserable marriage with his own manager; an actual podcast character trying to outrun his creators. And obviously this would all be nowhere without the spectacular writing! I really can explain this series without blabbing on and potentially spoiling things; The Amelia Project is an experience!

Available on: Wherever podcasts can be found

LegalEagle

Type: Youtube channel

To be frank, I just like learning for the sake of learning, even if I may not always necessarily understand the topic or have any plans to use it in the foreseeable future. The big difference here being that at least this channel makes learning about the law fun and breaks it down. Headed by a certified lawyer (because what an age we live in, where professionals actually take time out of their lives to teach us common folk), there’s a multitude of series D.J. Stone uses to help break down the complex world of law, from reviewing the realism of procedural favorites (Law & Order, The Good Wife, HTGAWM, etc), to analyzing real-life situations, to even watching childhood media that has nothing to do with the law and determining how much money, say, Willy Wonka would owe in a lawsuit. In short, it is one of my worst subjects done in one of my favorite ways to learn! Plus, Stone hates business students and is perfectly willing to poke fun at law students so it’s all fun, frankly.

Available on: Youtube

Nando v Movies

Type: Youtube channel

Sometimes, movies are bad. Sometimes, they’re good. And sometimes, they could use a few adjustments in hindsight. Especially the nerdier movies where the directors may or may not have tried way too hard or way too little. And that’s where Nando comes in: Whether it’s explaining why a different villain might have worked better for a hero’s origin story movie, or analyzing how one seemingly small adjustment could’ve potentially made more sense in explaining characterization, this channel is always providing a new perspective on a movie or show you’ve probably seen and maybe weren’t necessarily too pleased with. (Or maybe you were – I enjoyed Justice League okay but I love the version he rewrote more.) Oh, yeah: Sometimes he does rewrites of movies or even series. So if you’re anything like me and you’re way into that, this is a channel you don’t want to miss out on.

Available on: Youtube

DEATH BATTLE!

Type: Youtube channel

Does anyone remember Deadliest Warrior? No? . . . How about that one time during lunch where you and your friend got into it over who would win in a death match between Superman and Goku? Good news: A buncha geeks did the math for you and have come out with the results! Specifically, hosts Wiz and Boomstick have analyzed the weapons, armor, and skills of each combatant in every episode, resulting in an ongoing series of absolute nonsense and satiation of bloodshed. The description is admittedly nothing crazy, but the amount of detail applied is honestly where it’s at: From calculating how loud Black Canary’s screams are to approximating Scrooge McDuck’s speed (I’m not kidding you), there’s actual thought put into the characters being assembled and how they might fair with their respective combatant. And it all comes together for an actual fight, often animated but always amazing. So if you’ve ever wondered if Thor could beat Wonder Woman, or if McGruff the Crime Dog stands a chance against Smokey the Bear (I’m…I’m being honest), then this is the show for you!

Available on: Youtube

Sideways

Type: Youtube channel

If there is music in that movie or show, it will be analyzed to a degree that, unless you’ve been trained in music, you would’ve probably never thought about. There isn’t necessarily much rhyme or reason to Sideways’ videos in terms of themes beyond music, but really, must they? Is it not enough that this man is screaming to the internet these wack and awesome trends he’s noticed in certain pieces associated with movies and musicals and the genius behind them? Could life not just be him explaining the symbolism of the instruments associated with the Crystal Gems of Steven Universe, or breaking down the cultures explored by way of the Black Panther soundtrack? Also, here’s a fun drinking game: Take a shot every time he mentions leitmotifs or the Dies Irae.

Available on: Youtube

Craig of the Creek

Type: TV show

In the woods of suburban Maryland, there exists a kid’s utopia: A place where horse girls are free to roam the fields, where a boy can be a king of garbage, and where children travel the sewers completely unsupervised. That is, until the dinner horn rings; then they have to go home until the next time they can return to The Creek. The show focuses on one specific trio (Craig, JP, and Kelsey) as every day, The Creek (and their own childish naivete) brings them new hijinks to experience. There’s a blissful lightheartedness to the show, in addition to a lot of creativity that feels like it was ripped straight out of your own imagination as a child (robots made from cardboard boxes, building portals using lights, etc). But beneath it all, there’s something just plain wild brewing. I don’t want to spoil anything, but CotC has some G-rated GOT shit going on the further along the series goes and I can’t wait to see how it all unfolds!

Available on: CN app, wcostream.com

And that’s probably enough for now, I think. Lemme know if you want any other suggestions, or how you’re findin’ ‘em if you take any of them up! Stay safe, stay healthy my dudes!

[today-only-happens-once]

Acoustic

Title: Acoustic

Word count: 2129

Summary: Pop star sensation Roman Prince drops by a familiar coffee shop on amateur night, doing his best to avoid being recognized. He certainly didn’t expect the stranger in a hoodie with an acoustic guitar to capture his attention. Musician and Coffeeshop AU rolled into one. Romantic Prinxiety.

Warnings: cursing, singing, duets, crowds. Mostly its just kinda sweet/fluffy. 

A/N:  If you saw my post earlier today about writing a lot of words about a nonsense idea out of nowhere when sometimes I struggle to write 100 words of carefully planned, in-progress chapters, well. This is that nonsense idea. I wrote this in one sitting. Just kind of a fun idea that popped in my head. Hope you enjoy this quick little diddy! ^u^ 

Tags: @creativenostalgiastuff​, @helloisthisusernametaken​, @ren-allen​, @quoth-the-sparrow​, @princelogical​, @random-pianist​, @ravenclawicecream​, @erlenmeyertrash​, @milomeepit​, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes​, @rileyfirstname​, @pinkeasteregg​, @sassy-in-glasses​, @vigilantvirgil​, @generalfandomfabulousness​, @lacrimosathedark​, @thepoolofthedead​, @monikastec​, @heir-of-the-founders​, @yourworstnightmare999​, @artistictaurean​, @kanejandkruge​, @cdragontogacotar​, @candiukas, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl​, @angst-patton, @savingshae​, @noneed4thistbh, @awesomelissawho, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @swlotakulady34

…

Roman Prince tucks his nose into his thick scarf as he ducks into the coffee shop, the small bell above the door signaling the pop star’s appearance. His white beanie is pulled low over his messy flop of brown hair, and he keeps half of his face tucked into the scarf in an attempt to avoid being recognized. In many ways, he feels like Thomas’s Coffeeshop is the last safe haven he really has in this city. He’d been coming here for years, and though he knew his manager Remy would probably ream him out for sneaking out so much… Roman wouldn’t give it up for anything. He felt like a normal person here.

The far corner of the shop already has speakers set up. Thursday nights were Roman’s favorite, because it was amateur night. People of all ages would sign up during the week to come in and perform for around 15 minutes, just to get exposure and practice. When he was in high school—before he caught his big break thanks largely to a viral video—he used to come and play once in a while.

At the moment, a guy looking around Roman’s age is sitting on a stool in front of the speakers and the piano in the corner. He’s working on tuning an acoustic guitar. The guy’s purple-plaid-patched hoodie fits with his sweep of fading purple bangs. Roman eyes him as he steps up to the counter, tugging the scarf down from his mouth.

“Hey, welcome to Thomas’s! What can I get for ya?” says a warm, familiar voice that makes Roman smile. Patton Foster looks up at him, a spark of recognition in his eyes. Patton is about a year older than Roman, and had started working at the coffeeshop as a teenager around the time Roman started performing here. Patton knows better than to say anything, but the sincerity of his grin reminds Roman why this shop always felt a little bit like coming home.

“Large mocha with an extra pump of chocolate,” Roman replies with a smile of his own as he digs his wallet out. “The usual.”

Patton shakes his head slightly. “I don’t know why I still ask,” he says, still smiling. “Logan’ll get that for ya in a minute.”

Roman pays and steps out of the way for the person behind him, sliding onto a stool by the counter. He checks his phone for the time, hearing the stranger on the stool strum a few chords before adjusting the strings again. It’s almost ten o’clock.

Roman looks at the stranger about to perform. He’s got dark eyeshadow smudged under eyes and there’s something unexpected at seeing him holding an acoustic guitar when it seems like everything about his whole aesthetic would hint at hard rock or punk music. The light brown wooden instrument softens the look slightly. Logan calls out his order and hands it to him over the glass barrier and Roman takes a sip of it. He sighs softly, relaxing a bit at the familiar taste.

“He’s good,” Patton says, startling him. The barista is wiping the counter down, and he nods in the direction of the stranger who was now adjusting the mike.

Roman hums. “Yeah?”

Patton tosses the towel onto his shoulder. “Yeah. But don’t take my word for it,” he says before the stranger speaks into the mike.

“Hey, guys,” he says. His voice is low with a little bit of gravel to it. “I’m, uh, Virgil Shea. I thought I’d do a cover or two before trying out a new song I finished Tuesday. Sound good?”

Patton cheers from behind the counter along with a few patrons. Virgil glances at Patton, the corner of his mouth quirking slightly before he ducks his head. He starts strumming, and Roman swivels around on the stool to face him, tugging the scarf back up over his nose as he watches. Virgil seems to take a deep breath as he plays the intro. It’s not until he starts to sing, his eyes drifting closed for a moment, that Roman recognizes the song.

“Some days, things just take way too much of my energy. I look up and the whole room’s spinning…”

As he sings and plays, Roman can’t help but feel entranced by him. Virgil doesn’t have a large stage presence—he stays on the stool the entire time—but his melodic voice floats through the coffeeshop and he fills the space around him anyway. Roman watches, impressed and a little moved by the way he seems to put all of himself into the song without making a show of it. There’s a vulnerability to Virgil in this moment, and Roman can’t look away.

And his riffs. Damn, Roman thinks as he listens to Virgil sing. Virgil’s gaze drifts around the room, but Roman swears it settles squarely on him as he riffs on the last note. A beautiful, crystal clear high note.

Holy shit, I think I’m in love a little bit.

The song ends and Virgil’s mouth curls up into a small smile as the coffeeshop erupts into applause and a couple of cheers. It’s a small room, but it’s certainly packed. Virgil nods his head in thanks, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

“Thank you,” he says into the mic as he adjusts the guitar strap around his shoulders. “Next, I… well, are there any requests?”

There’s a brief moment before someone towards the back calls out, “Falling Slowly!” Roman raises his eyebrows at the suggestion, even as it’s followed with a few other people repeating it in enthusiasm.

Virgil laughs slightly and rubs the back of his neck. “You mean from Once? Isn’t that a duet? And it kind of needs piano, right?” He glances at the piano behind him, then looks back out at the crowded room. “Any of you want to join in?”

“He does,” says a familiar voice and Roman feels a hand close over his wrist and pull his hand into the air. Roman whirls with wide eyes to see Patton looking back at him. His eyes are wide with an innocence that Roman doesn’t buy for one second.

What are you doing? Roman mouths. Patton gives him an encouraging nudge and small grin. Roman looks back at Virgil, his eyes still wide. This was not what he had intended to happen.

“It’s up to you, dude,” Virgil tells him, and Roman breathes a faint breath of relief that nobody seems to have recognized him yet. Roman did tend to wear a lot of stage make-up and costumes when he performed, which made it easier to blend in when he was out and about in the general public.

And singing a duet with a voice like that…

Roman sighs a little and shrugs. “I can’t resist a good showtune,” he answers finally. A few people cheer enthusiastically. He slides off the stool and sets his mocha down on the counter behind him. He looks back at Virgil. “You sure you don’t mind?”

Virgil shrugs a shoulder and jerks his head towards the piano. “It’s chill, man.”

Roman doesn’t know for sure why he feels suddenly nervous. He’s performed in front of stadiums full of people before. He’s even sung duets before. But something about this small, enclosed space… something about Virgil… sets Roman’s heart racing like it did the first night he performed on this very make-shift stage.

Roman tries not to flush slightly as brushes past Virgil who gives him a small, encouraging smile. He takes a seat on the piano bench brushes his fingers over the keys, adjusts the mic slightly, and then looks at Virgil. For the briefest moment, when they lock eyes, Roman thinks that the entire coffeeshop melts away.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Virgil tells him, pulling his mic stand back towards the piano and slightly to the side so that they can look at one another. He adjusts the strap of his guitar.

Roman takes a breath, places his fingers on the keys, and begins to play. The careful arpeggiated chords drift softly through the coffee shop, and the few patrons who’d been chatting quietly to one another fall silent.

Virgil leans into the mic a bit. “I don’t know you, but I want you all the more for that.”

Roman finds himself smiling softly at he continues to play and joins in with the harmony. “Words fall through me and always fool me and I can’t react.”  

Roman swears he sees Virgil smile a little as he comes in with the guitar. “And games that never amount to more than they’re meant will play themselves out.”

He can feel butterflies in his stomach and he can’t help the way his lips curl up in a smile as he lets the piano swell with the guitar a bit as they both enter the chorus. “Take this sinking boat and point it home. We’ve still got time. Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice. You’ve made it now.”

As the song progresses, Roman realizes that he’s only ever looking at either his hands on the piano or at Virgil. He’s almost forgotten that they have an audience, the faces blending into the background in favor of the person with the guitar standing a few feet in front of him. His messy hair falls into his dark eyes, but every time he looks back at Roman as they sing the pop star swears there’s a spark of something in them. A curiosity, but also something else. He just can’t be sure of what.

Roman hopes Virgil doesn’t mind too much when he steals Virgil’s part and sing, “You have suffered enough and warred with yourself. It’s time that you won.” From the look in his eyes and the faint smile he offers, Roman’s pretty sure he didn’t mind.

“Falling slowly, sing your melody,” they both sing as they lock eyes and Roman swears his heart does a little flip. “I’ll sing it now.”

They layer over one another with soft melodic riffs. Roman lets his eyes drift closed for a moment as they play and improv off one another a little bit. He feels his lips tug into a smile as the song starts to slow.

Virgil counts the beats quietly into the mic as they both hold a chord. They circle back to the ways the song had begun, with the gentle arpeggiated chords. Roman holds the other musicians gaze as it slows before they hold the final chord.

Roman gives him a soft smile. Thank you, he mouths. Virgil still has that look in his eyes that is both soft and curious. The coffeehouse erupts into applause again, several cheers and a few whistles.

And then everything comes to a screeching halt as someone shouts over the cheers, “Wait, are you Roman Prince?!” Before Roman can even try to play it off, someone else chimes in, “I knew that voice sounded familiar!”

As questions and shouting rise up, Roman fishes a business card out of his pocket, grabs a pencil sitting on the piano, and scribbles down his phone number. He can hear Patton trying to shout over the crowd but he doesn’t try to follow the conversation. He needs to get out of here ASAP. He can already see people pulling up their phones. Flashes of light indicate pictures getting taken. Remy’s gonna kill him…

Roman is mentally cursing himself. Virgil probably hates him now. He hadn’t wanted to upstage him, steal his spotlight… Roman is afraid of what the expression Virgil’s face might be. In his peripheral, he can see Patton pushing out from behind the counter and making his way towards the stage, probably to use a mic.

Roman stands up and crosses over towards Virgil. His eyes are wide, but Roman can’t quite read the expression in them with all the flashing lights, movement of people pressing closer towards them, his racing heart clouding his thoughts. Roman presses the card with his cellphone number on it into Virgil’s hands.

“I’m so sorry,” Roman is telling him quickly, straining to be heard over the sudden pandemonium of people asking for selfies, autographs, taking videos… “But that—”

“Roman,” comes Logan’s urgent voice right beside him. “You gotta go.”

“I know, I know,” Roman tells him, then looks back at Virgil earnestly. “Look, Virgil, you’re—”

“Now,” Logan insists, grabbing his arm and pulling him through the crowd. The last thing Roman sees before he ducks out the door and into the cold night air is Virgil standing on the stage, glancing down at the card in his hand and meeting Roman’s eyes one last time before the door swings shut and Roman makes a run for his car.

…

[superfreakerz]

TDDUP 24

"Til Death Do Us Part"

Rated M for smut and heavy themes.

Summary: There are immortals and there are those who reincarnate, but it's best to keep these things hidden. Lucy is attending college and meets Natsu, a boy with pink hair, a devilish smile, and a body that never ages.

Read earlier chapters on FF.net

Chapter 24

Jellal's Birthday

"You should've seen her. She literally woke up, puked her guts out, and started crying," Natsu said, staring up at his ceiling.

Gray let out a low whistle. "Must've been a pretty scary dream."

He sat up, turning towards his roommate. A frown rested on his face as he said, "That's the thing. I'm beginning to wonder if that's all it was."

"What do you mean?"

"When I told her none of it was real, she said that it really was. I didn't really think much about it then, but I'm starting to wonder if she had a nightmare about something real."

"Why don't you just ask?"

"You don't think I've tried? Every time I try to bring it up, she just keeps changing the subject. It's obvious she doesn't wanna talk about it."

"Then just leave it alone,"

Natsu furrowed his brows. "Leave it alone? How can I just leave it alone? She was crying."

"Not everything has to be talked about," Gray said with a shrug. "Look, her mom's anniversary is coming up, right? It was probably just a dream about her mom. I've had plenty of those about my family, and I'm sure you've had them too."

Natsu couldn't argue with that logic. "Well why wouldn't she wanna talk to me about that? We talk to each other all the time about that kinda stuff."

"Maybe she's not ready. Either way, I say you just drop it. It's better than to keep reminding her."

"Fine," Natsu said, laying back down on his bed. It'd been four days since that night, and he couldn't get it out of his head. He'd never seen Lucy so shaken up before, it made a shiver run down his own spine.

Gray raised his arms above his head in a stretch before getting out of bed. "C'mon. We gotta go help with the party or else Erza will literally kill us."

Natsu groaned. "She gets even more violent on Jellal's birthday."

"That's because she always tries to make things perfect and fails every time."

"She really does suck at surprises."

As the two headed towards the lounge in the basement, Natsu noticed everyone running around with sweat dotting their faces as they hung decorations on the wall. Erza must've gotten to them. It was no secret among Fairy Tail that if someone messed up Jellal's birthday or even hung a decoration up crookedly, there would be hell to pay with the demonic redhead. Speak of the devil…

"Natsu, Gray. It is good that you two are finally joining us," Erza said, approaching the two. She shoved streamers into their hands. "You idiots can't possibly mess this up. Hang these from the ceilings. Find me when you are done so I can give you your next task."

Natsu knew better than to talk back on Jellal's birthday.

"Aye, sir!" the two exclaimed, saluting the girl. She gave a satisfied nod before moving on to check on everyone else.

Only after the basement was covered in colorful decorations, a beautiful cake sat on the counter courtesy of Mira, and everyone was gathered in the lounge did Erza officially commence the party. Everyone cheered their congratulations for Jellal.

Birthdays were cause for a huge celebration in Fairy Tail, big enough that they shut down the whole place. Many immortals, like Cana, had forgotten their actual birthdays over the vast years and chose not to celebrate. But after joining Fairy Tail, they were able to pick a new birthday for themselves and celebrate it with a group of people who cared and understood.

In Jellal's case, December 1st was not his real birthday. He had long since forgotten, partly due to his longevity and also due to what happened at the research facility. He and Erza were only fresh immortals back then, only recently discovering their secret. Before they could really understand what was happening, they were dragged to a facility against their will and experimented on for decades by mortals trying to find the secret to immortality. After repeated experiments, they lost track of the years and their brains had suffered damage.

They weren't the only immortals to go through something like that. Many of them had been through their own hardships caused by mortals, particularly Mira. Her story always made Natsu sick to his stomach just listening to it.

Only bad things came from mortals finding out about their secret, which was why they held a prejudice against Lucy at first. She was the first mortal who didn't know of immortality to prove to them that there were good ones out there.

Natsu kept a grin glued to his face, but he couldn't help but miss Lucy. After her nightmare, conversation between the two of them had been a bit tense. He wished she was there celebrating with all of them.

"It is time for gifts!" Erza announced while everyone was eating their cake.

"You guys didn't have to get me anything," Jellal said with a smile. He said that every year, knowing that they were going to go out of their way and get him something anyways.

"Nonsense! Here, open mine first!"

Jellal thanked his wife, accepting the gift. A chuckle slipped past his lips as he noticed the sloppy wrapping of the present. While some would suspect that the redhead would be neat and tidy when wrapping gifts, she was actually quite bad at it. And he loved that small fact about her.

Tearing the paper off, he opened the box underneath to find a worn-out journal. Its corners were folded over and its edges were torn, but it still managed to bring a huge grin to the otherwise stoic boy's face.

"Erza! How did you find this?" he asked, flipping open the book and running his fingers over the brittle pages.

"It was actually a lot of work to get," she answered with a small smile. "For one, they kept it in a museum. I've been planning a way to get it out of there for a year now. Then, I had to do it without being caught. Luckily, I did."

"Wait, you broke into a museum?" Cana asked, blanching at the redhead.

She shrugged. "Yeah. All it took was months of observing, a friend on the inside, tiny movements of their cameras every day so that they wouldn't notice, and then breaking in through a back window and taking it during the night."

"Erza, I don't think you know how truly scary you are sometimes."

Erza gave a smug grin. "Oh, I know."

"What is that thing anyways?" Gajeel asked, moving closer to Jellal to see what it was. "And how could you of all people break into a museum to get it? You're always sittin' on that high horse of yours, talkin' about morals and shit. Now look at ya."

"It's not really robbing if it was yours to begin with."

"This journal was mine," Jellal explained. "It was back in our hometown. I was studying and I wrote down some experiments I did in this journal. This was right before we were taken."

Everyone stared at the ground as Erza balled her hands into tight fists. It wasn't a secret that the facility still haunted her to this day.

"Anyways," Jellal said, trying to move quickly from that topic. "After that, I didn't go back to my old home for years, but apparently someone had raided it and took my journal. Apparently, it was interesting that someone from those days had formulated advanced equations, so they kept it preserved in a museum. I was very shocked to find it one day."

"This is the only thing we could find from the old days," Erza added. "Nostalgic, isn't it?"

"It is. I still cannot believe you got it back for me."

"That was pretty risky of you, Erza," Mira said with a chuckle. "But you'd do anything for Jellal! It's so cute!"

The girl's cheeks burned to match her hair. "A-Anyways, next present!"

The group went around, giving Jellal their presents until there weren't any more. After that, they drank and played games, so caught up in the moment that they didn't feel like outsiders stuck in hiding. In that moment, they were just a group of friends- a family- all of them celebrating a birthday like any normal person would.

"Don't drink too much," Levy said, watching as Gajeel downed an entire mug of booze. "Don't forget we're going to celebrate again later with Lu-chan. She can't know that we were already celebrating without her."

Don't worry, Shrimp. I ain't no lightweight."

"Levy does have a point," Gray said. "Maybe we shouldn't have gotten full off of the cake already. Knowing Lucy, she's probably baking one right now for us."

"She sounds so nice!" Mira gushed. "I wish I could meet her! Why do I have to be in a different cycle from you guys?"

"Yeah, yeah," Cana said, slinging an arm around the other girl's shoulders. "You've got me, Laxus, and his squad in your cycle. Can't beat that setup! After all, I take you to the cool parties that people throw!"

"Yes, and you shrug off your studies," Erza scolded.

"Psh. Oh well."

Natsu crossed his arms with a sour look. "Why can't I 'shrug off my studies' if Cana can?"

"Because you're in her cycle," Gray said with a smirk. "She can't have you making her look bad. Though, you bein' an immortal already makes the rest of us look bad."

Before the two could begin to brawl, Makarove climbed up onto one of the tables to give himself some more height. Even then, he still wasn't tall enough to peer down at everyone, but his air of authority made up for his lack of height.

"My children," he started, gazing at each and every one of them. "I am happy to be able to celebrate another one of your birthdays will all of you. Jellal, happy birthday. I wish you nothing but happiness. I know many of you have forgotten your original birthdays, but it is with Fairy Tail that you are given another! It is with Fairy Tail that you are able to celebrate with your peers! It is with Fairy Tail that you can begin anew! So cheers!"

Everyone lifted their glasses high in the air, the building rumbling as everyone cheered.

Lucy sighed as she threw the cake in the oven, dusting her hands off on her apron. She wasn't much of a baker, but as long as she followed the recipe, she was sure it would turn out decent enough.

The girl glanced around her apartment, making sure everything was ready for the party later. Streamers hung from the ceiling, banners were pinned to the wall, and games were set up on the dining table- games that she bought specifically for the occasion. All that was left was the cake, which would need to bake for roughly twenty minutes, cooled, then frosted. That left her nearly an hour to relax.

Making her way over to her desk, Lucy plopped onto the chair with a sigh. Rubbing her eyes, she stifled a groan. She could feel the heavy bags underneath her eyelids.

Ever since her nightmare, the girl had been having trouble sleeping. Even with Natsu there to hold her, she refused to doze off into sleep, terrified that her dreams would be plagued by her inner demons once again.

"Hopefully some concealer will do the trick."

Hoping to distract herself, Lucy worked on her story until the oven began its incessant beeping, informing her that the cake was finished. Taking it out of the oven, she eyed the clock. The others were supposed to arrive in half an hour.

"I probably don't have time to let the cake cool all the way and frost it before they get here."

Or so she thought.

Lucy slumped on the couch with a huff. It was nearing seven, and they were supposed to arrive at six.

"What's taking them so long?"

Finally, she could hear a key being pushed into the lock of her front door before it swung open to reveal Natsu and the others. It wasn't a surprise that they all showed up together since they all lived in the same place.

Lucy eyed them in annoyance. All of them wore wide grins on their faces as they bustled inside. Were they not aware that they were an hour late?

"Hey, Lucy," Gray greeted.

She ignored him. Eyes landing on Jellal, she forced a grin to her face as she said, "Happy birthday, Jellal."

The boy smiled back at her. "Thank you, Lucy. And thank you for letting us come here to celebrate."

"Don't mention it. I'm surprised that Fairy Tail was closed today. It's not a holiday today, is it?"

Erza cleared her throat. "Perhaps they are taking a training day."

"I guess that makes sense," Lucy replied with a shrug. Searching for Natsu, she found him sitting alone on the couch. She moved to sit by him. "Hey, Natsu. Why are you guys so late?"

Natsu smiled apologetically. "Sorry about that. Erza thought you said to come over at seven."

She arched a brow. "Erza said that? She's not the type to make a mistake like that."

"Well, I guess she did."

Natsu sighed in relief as Lucy shrugged her shoulders in acceptance. In truth, everyone was so caught up in the moment at Fairy Tail, they lost track of time. But he couldn't tell Lucy that. Not only was she not supposed to know about the others, but it would also probably hurt her feelings if she found out they had a party without her.

Lucy stood up from the couch. "Do you guys want any cake? I made some." Her gaze landed on Erza, finding that the redhead was already devouring a piece.

"Ehh, I'm good," Gray said, crossing his arms behind his head. He and everyone else had already filled up back at Fairy Tail. Any more would just make him sick.

Lucy bit back a frown. Nobody was going to have the cake? Well, besides Erza, of course. But what about everyone else? Did they think she was that incapable of baking? Mumbling to herself, she hastily cut herself a slice and sat at the dining table while everyone else chatted around her. First they were late, then they didn't even take a bite of the cake that she slaved to make for them.

Natsu cocked his head to the side, watching as Lucy shoved cake into her mouth. Her brows were slanted, and she wasn't paying attention to anyone. Figuring that she was still upset about her dream, he chose not to comment on it. Taking Gray's advice, he was going to let her handle it on her own.

Lucy heaved a sigh before taking the last bite of her cake. She shouldn't have been so bitter. The day wasn't about her, it was about celebrating Jellal's birthday. Who knows, maybe they just weren't cake people.

Lucy's eyes lit up as she turned to face her friends.

"Should we open presents now?" she asked, clasping her hands together in excitement.

Everyone shared an uneasy glance. They already opened presents back at Fairy Tail.

"Oh, uhh, we don't get each other presents!" Levy lied. She'd always been quick on her feet in times like these. Only this time, it wasn't working.

Lucy narrowed her eyes skeptically. "You guys don't get each other birthday gifts?"

"Nope! Too much of a hassle with such a big group!"

Lucy turned to Erza. "Even you didn't get your husband a gift?"

The other girl shook her head, following along with Levy's lie. "No. Jellal and I don't believe in gift giving."

Lucy's hands went limp at her sides. What did they take her for, some kind of idiot? "Okay. Does anyone want to play some games?"

That was how the rest of the evening transpired. Everyone played games and cheered while Lucy kept a feigned grin plastered to her face.

Once the party ended, the group helped Lucy clean up before saying their goodbyes and heading out the door. Natsu stayed behind as always.

He watched as Lucy marched over to the couch and plopped onto it with a huff. Taking slow, hesitant steps towards her like she was some sort of ticking time bomb, he lowered himself next to her.

"That was fun, right?" he asked, turning to give her a grin.

Lucy glared at him, turning on the TV without saying a word.

And just like that, Natsu knew her sour mood wasn't just because of her dream. She was mad at him.

Grabbing the remote from her hand, he turned it off before giving her a serious look.

"What's wrong, Lucy? Why're you so upset?" he asked.

The girl crossed her arms and replied in a flat tone of voice, "What do you mean? I'm not upset."

"You obviously are, so just tell me already."

"I'm fine."

"If you were fine, you wouldn't be acting like this. Can we just talk about it?"

Lucy whirled an angry gaze onto him. "You guys celebrated without me, didn't you?"

Natsu swallowed thickly. He should've known that she was going to catch onto them. "Lucy, I can explain."

"I knew it! That's why nobody ate the cake or gave presents! Not to mention you guys reeked with booze!"

"Lucy-!"

"No, no! Don't Lucy me! I know exactly what this is about!" Lucy stood up from the couch and planted her hands on her hips, tears pricking her eyes as she continued, "I'm never going to be good enough for your friends, am I? You all share secrets that I'm not good enough to know, you all lie to my face, and now I know you all celebrate without me! Just admit it, Natsu! I'm not good enough for you guys!"

Natsu shot up, his brows furrowed. "That's not it, Lucy! 'Course you're good enough for us!"

"Then why the hell did you guys celebrate without me? Why couldn't you invite me?"

"I-It was with other people!" Natsu answered with a gulp. The truth was at the tip of his tongue. He longed to tell her the truth for so long, now more than ever. But he just couldn't do that to his friends. "You don't know them, so we figured that you wouldn't wanna be there!"

Lucy rolled her eyes with a scoff. "Yeah, right. It's nice to see that you're breaking our no-lying agreement. You think I don't know when you're lying by now?"

"I'm sorry, Lucy, but-!"

"Save it."

"But Lucy-!"

"I don't want to hear it."

Natsu's brows furrowed in annoyance, watching as Lucy turned her back towards him.

"You're kinda a hypocrite, you know that?" he said, the words fumbling out of his mouth before he could even think them over.

Lucy whirled around, giving him an incredulous look. "Excuse me?"

He shrugged. "You're a hypocrite."

"How the hell am I a hypocrite?"

"You aren't the only one who can tell when the other's lying. Do you really believe that you haven't told a single lie since that night?"

"I have not!"

"There it is again!"

Lucy's mouth gaped open like a fish out of water. Okay, so she had lied a few times to keep her reincarnation a secret. But those were necessary lies! And it wasn't like she expected him to know she was lying.

"See? You can't even argue because I'm right," Natsu said, shoving his hands into his pockets. His voice was cold as he continued, "You're being a hypocrite. We both lie for whatever reason; the only difference is I don't get on your back for doing it."

Lucy's fists trembled at his cold disposition. "Well then maybe that's a sign."

"A sign of what?"

"That we shouldn't be together," she answered. Her heart dropped to the floor as Natsu gave a pained expression, his eyes wide and his mouth parted. Her throat felt tight as she fought back tears. "You said it yourself. For some reason, we both keep lying to each other. Maybe that means-"

"Yeah, I got it," Natsu said, cutting her off. "If that's what you want, then fine."

"Natsu-"

"Nah. You're good, Lucy. You don't hafta explain yourself." Removing the necklace from his neck, he grabbed Lucy's hand and placed the spare key into her palm. Without saying another word, he marched towards the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Lucy stood still, tears clouding her vision as she stared at the door. Her mind was a blank slate, unable to process what just happened. But when she did, it was like a switch went off in her mind.

Once the first sob wrangled its way out of her, she was no longer able to contain herself. Her hand tightened around the key he left behind, the cold, ragged edges engraving into her skin.

This time, she couldn't even blame reincarnation for what was happening. She could only blame herself.

Natsu slammed the door to his bedroom before marching over to his bed. He plopped onto it, staring up at the ceiling and ignoring Gray's questioning glances.

"Uhh, everything okay?" his roommate asked.

"Shut up," Natsu replied, his voice hoarse. There was no way in hell he was going to talk about what happened with Gray. He had just managed to stop crying on the way home, and if he talked about it, the dam was sure to break again.

Gray wasn't deterred by his remark. "Did something happen with you and Lucy?" Natsu ignored him, giving him the answer he needed. "What happened?"

"None of your business. Now shut up, Gray. I'm serious."

"No, I won't just shut up. What the hell happened between you and Lucy? We were just having a good time."

"Maybe you did, but she didn't."

"Lucy didn't have fun at the party?"

"Nope. Because she knew that we celebrated without her." Natsu sat up, giving the other boy a blank stare. "Know what that means? It means she was asking me why we celebrated without her. And I couldn't even tell her because of this damn secret we have."

Gray frowned, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. He wasn't sure what to say. Hell, there probably wasn't anything he could say that would cheer him up. That was one of the many unavoidable problems of dating a mortal, and even though he loved Lucy like a sister, there was no changing the rules that were there to keep them safe. What Natsu did was the right thing, even if it didn't feel like it.

"I'm sorry, man," Gray said, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. "But I'm sure Lucy will get over it."

"Nah, she won't. She broke up with me."

"Wait, she what!?"

Natsu shrugged.

Gray heaved a sigh. He hated seeing Natsu like this, and he was sure Lucy was hurting just as much.

"You know, Juvia broke up with me once," Gray said, laying back and staring at the ceiling as well.

Natsu's brows rose as he turned to face his roommate. He hadn't heard that story before, which was strange considering all of them lived together. "She did?"

"Yep. Back when we first got together. I was an idiot back then, and I pushed her away too much. Everyone has their breaking point, and I pushed her to that point. She dumped me."

"How did you guys get back together?"

"As I was sitting here, staring up at the ceiling like this, I realized that I didn't want to lose her. I went back to her and apologized. Luckily, she forgave me and since then, I've been doin' my best to make her happy because I don't wanna see the sad look she gave me that night."

Natsu scoffed. "That's different. That was your fault. This wasn't even my fault this time!"

"I'm not saying it is." He faced the other boy. "Look, your relationship with Lucy isn't easy. She's a mortal and you're an immortal, there's bound to be some fights that happen because of it. But in all the time I've known you- and really think about how long that is- I have never seen you as happy as when you're with Lucy. Even if it wasn't your fault, are you really willing to lose her now?"

Natsu's gaze dropped to the floor. "Well why do I hafta be the one to apologize?"

"Well, it's not like she can just come here and do it. Besides, maybe it's not her fault either."

"What do you mean? If it's not my fault, then-"

"Maybe it's neither of your faults," Gray interrupted with a shrug. "It's not like she ever asked to date an immortal with a shit ton of secrets and baggage. And she doesn't even know about it. Without her knowledge, she's dating someone who makes things harder for her without a choice."

"Just tell me what I should do already!"

"Do you wanna be with Lucy?"

Natsu's hands balled into tight fists, his eyes lighting with resolve. "Yeah, I do."

"Then go be with her, idiot."

Without another word, Natsu dashed out the door.

Lucy's eyes fluttered open as a cold gust of wind washed over her. With a groan, she forced herself into a sitting position. Her head pounded after all of her crying, and the bags under her eyes had only gotten worse. Going to get some medicine, she turned, only to find a dark figure standing at her bedside.

A bloodcurdling scream slipped past her lips before a warm hand slapped over her mouth. With wide eyes, she watched as the hooded figure removed their hood to find pink tufts of hair.

"Shh!" Natsu said. He really hoped her neighbors wouldn't call the cops after that. But then again, if they didn't, maybe her apartment wasn't that safe to live in after all.

Lucy pried his hand off her face, panting. He must not have realized that his hand was large enough to cover her nose as well.

"Natsu!" she shouted, turning on the lights. "What are you doing here? I thought you were a murderer!"

"I want my key back," Natsu replied. His eyes bore into hers, his gaze serious.

Warmth crept up to the girl's cheeks. "W-What?"

"My key. I want it back."

"What do you mean?"

"I know I used to climb through the window all the time, but using the door's a lot easier. So, I want my key back." He held his hand out, shaking it with impatience.

Lucy arched a brow. "But you- we- I mean-"

"Lucy. I want my key back."

The edge of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. She took in his features. His eyes were a bit puffy and pink, his hair a disheveled mess.

"I don't understand," Lucy said, her voice just a whisper.

Natsu sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Jeez, Luce. Do I really hafta spell it out for ya?" Taking a step closer, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. His hands slid into hers, giving them a gentle squeeze. "I don't wanna break up."

Lucy's breath hitched in her throat. "R-Really?"

"'Course, weirdo. And I hope you don't wanna break up either."

"I don't!" Lucy exclaimed. "I overreacted earlier. And you're right, I was being a hypocrite. Telling each other the truth might not always be possible like I thought it was. Maybe… Maybe it's okay if we lie to each other sometimes… Right?"

"I don't mind if you don't," Natsu replied, his lips twitching upwards into a small smile.

"Well, as long as we don't lie about important stuff."

"Duh."

Natsu propped his finger underneath Lucy's chin, lifting her head so that he could press his lips against hers in a gentle kiss. Electricity shot through his body at the light touch, her soft lips moving against his. His arms snaked around Lucy's waist, pulling her flushed against him. His hands tangled in her shirt, clutching onto her as if he would lose her again if he let go.

Breaking apart for air, the two stared into each other's hazy eyes.

"Is it weird that we're doing this?" Lucy asked.

Natsu arched a brow. "Weird that we're kissing?"

"No, I mean being together and agreeing that it's okay to lie. Is it really? Don't get me wrong, I don't want to break up, but isn't that what normal people would do?"

Natsu shrugged. "Well you aren't normal. You're a weirdo. So it makes sense."

"I'm serious, Natsu."

"I don't know, okay? I don't know what other people would do in this situation. All I know is that I wanna be with you for the rest of my life, and I don't care what it takes."

A smile etched itself over Lucy's face. "Yeah, you're right. I don't care either. I just want to be with you."

Natsu grinned. "So? My key?"

"Oh, right!" Lucy grabbed the key from the nightstand, handing it back to him. "I believe this is yours."

"Thanks," Natsu replied, putting the necklace on, back in its rightful place. "Your eyes are super puffy, by the way. I can barely even see your eyes."

"Yours are puffy too, jerk!"

"Not as puffy as yours!" He reached out and poked the swollen skin. "I'm really sorry for makin' you cry, Luce. That's not what I wanna do."

Lucy grabbed his hand and gave him a smile. "Don't worry about it. Let's just call it even and forget about this, okay?"

"Sounds good to me!"

Taking her hand, he led her back to the bed. They cozied up under the covers, tangling their limbs into a ball of comfort. Natsu breathed in Lucy's scent while she traced her finger over his chest. With everything resolved between them, they let their eyes droop closed for some much-needed rest. Their secrets were safe, along with their relationship.

If only they knew that secrets always had a way of getting out.

[romanticsuspense]

Is Outlander Claire’s Story or Jamie’s?

The first time I came across this question was just a couple of week ago, when I read @gotham-ruaidh‘s answer to that very question.  To be honest, I was a little miffed by the supposition that Outlander was Jamie’s story more than Claire’s.  Didn’t Diana set out to write a story about a marriage?  How could Outlander be more Jamie’s story than Claire’s?  Aren’t their stories intertwined in such a way as to be almost inseparable?  

Well, today, while perusing the Outlander tag, I found this post by @lburks226.  Liesel’s perception of the books align closely to mine—It’s Jamie and Claire’s story.  But, I wondered what Diana had said on Twitter to cause such a brouhaha...  

So, I went to Diana’s twitter and it seems that this uproar started when Diana made a comment about inserting Claire into the Outlander story to add “sexual tension.”  I read some of the fan’s replies, and it seems that some fans interpreted this to mean that Diana viewed Claire as a sexual object and nothing more, only there to titillate the male characters. (One fan used the phrase “sexual pawn.”)  Which, if you ask me, is twisting Diana’s words.

As I read through her tweets, a lot of them sounded very familiar, and then I remembered that Diana has answered this same question before on TheLitForum.com.  In her very detailed explanation, she essentially says the same things she was trying to convey on Twitter, but she gets her point across much more effectively (not having to deal with a 280 character limit).  So, under the cut, I’ve quoted Diana’s post about this in it’s entirety, as well as a few screencaps of her tweets on March 19th.  I hope it gives some fans who may be irritated by Diana’s comments a bit more context and clarity.  The statement “It’s Jamie’s story as told by Claire” makes a lot more sense to me now, after reading Diana’s explanation.

My two (or five) cents:

1. Twitter is not the best place to have a productive discussion about Outlander.  There’s just not enough space for it.  And it’s difficult to read a person’s tone on Twitter.  

2. From a structural standpoint, the Outlander series is Jamie’s story (in the sense that it’s Jamie’s time and place), as told from Claire’s first person point of view.

3. Outlander is primarily about Jamie and Claire and their marriage...But, it’s about a lot of other things and characters, too.

4. The idea of Outlander started with “a man in a kilt.”  An Englishwoman was added into the story for sexual tension, conflict (being an Englishwoman among Scots), and to be the reader’s eyes into a strange world.

5. But, that doesn’t mean Claire isn’t an important character.  She has just as much agency and complexity as Jamie does.  I particularly love Diana’s final paragraph, so I’m quoting it here above the cut:

So. You introduce Claire into Jamie's time (and his life) and she immediately enters the much more adventurous, vivid context. A lot of what happens to her in OUTLANDER (and later books) has to do with who Jamie is and what he chooses or is forced to do. This doesn't mean she's a bystander, onlooker, or in any way a nonparticipant; the fact that she's _there_ is vitally important, both to Jamie and the story overall, and she makes personal choices that shape her own life, as well as dealing with circumstances forced upon her. But it's Jamie's context in which both of them live their lives together. She's telling it, because she's the outlander, the fish out of water, the stranger--we identify with her, because that's what our role would be in similar circumstances, and it's a much easier way to tell a historical story, if you can use modern idiom and perception.That doesn't mean it's principally her story, or that her part in it is either more or less than Jamie's--as previously noted, the story itself doesn't exist without both of them, and both of them _together_.

So, what do y’all think?  Does it matter to you if it’s more Jamie’s story or Claire’s?  If it does matter to you, why?  Does Diana’s explanation of how the Outlander story came to be and how Jamie and Claire fit into it make sense to you?  How do you interpret the statement “It’s Jamie’s story as told by Claire?”

“You know, it's possible that many writers go about their work with a lot more pre-thinking than I do. <g> All I had, when I made up my mind to write a novel for practice (no one was EVER going to see it, so I could have perfect freedom to do anything I felt like, try anything I wanted to experiment with (in order to increase my skill), etc.)--was a man in a kilt. Period. That's it. Man in a kilt.

So if one is going to say that OUTLANDER is "about" any one character (and it's not, but put that aside...), it would be The Man in the Kilt. However, about the third day of writing--and I didn't think about what I was _going_ to write, I just wrote about whatever vague thing drifted into my mind, just to put fictional words down on paper (ergo, those first two days were entirely focused on the Man in the Kilt (nameless, then)....

Well, I'd gone to the university library (I was an assistant professor, which gave me really good access and borrowing privileges) immediately, when I decided to set my practice novel in 18th century Scotland, and as of the third day, I knew a few things <g>--mainly, that the Big Conflict in Scotland in the 18th century was the Jacobite Rising of the '45. Which--on a very superficial level (superficial is all you _can_ be, with two days' research)--seemed to be a war between England and Scotland. (It was, of course, much more complex than that, but then, all wars are a lot more complex than they seem on the surface.)

So--in possession of that fact <g>--I thought, well, obviously, I need a lot of Scotsmen here, because of the kilt factor, and if it's a war, we'll have them--but maybe it would be a good idea to have a female to play against them; then we'd have sexual tension--that's conflict, that's good...and if I make her an Englishwoman, then we'll have _lots_ of conflict. So...

I introduced An Englishwoman. No idea who she was, what she was going to do, etc.--she was just An Englishwoman, whose only purpose was to interact on some unspecified level with The Man in the Kilt, in order to escalate the sense of conflict and tension.

So that's who Jamie and Claire were, to begin with. <g>

Now, it was my husband who observed to me, sometime last year (when people started saying that Outlander was "Claire's story"), that in fact, it was Jamie's story as told through (and by) Claire (who was naturally an integral part of said story).

I mentioned this quote to someone, observing that I thought he was right (not that I'd ever thought about it myself)--and now we have all this nonsense. (Not blaming you for it, I hasten to add. <g>)

What _I_ think is that a) of COURSE it's Jamie and Claire's story. How could it not be? It wouldn't be the same story without either one of them--as is quite obvious when you see the separate tracks of their lives in the first part of VOYAGER. And b) what is behind my husband's observation is true, but it has nothing to do with the importance of either character _as people_.

It has to do with the fact that Jamie lives in much more interesting (read, dangerous, unpredictable, and to a large extent unfamiliar) times. Claire's post-war, 20th-century life without Jamie is, on the surface, not real interesting. Re-establishing emotional connections with a husband (but in a context of mutual safety and mutual desire to make those connections), or (later) dealing with the challenges of becoming a professional woman and balancing those challenges against the responsibilities and emotional draw of motherhood.

Yeah, you can make a good novel out of such material--hundreds of Women's Fiction novels do. But the raw material is not intrinsically interesting. What makes it interesting is either an intense and unique personality of the main character and/or cultural interest/outrage on the part of the readership. Women respond to this kind of story because they face those challenges, and they want to see how other women might manage them. Men, not surprisingly, don't; that's why it's "women's fiction."

So, Jamie's story. He's a wanted outlaw, constantly at odds with just about everybody, from the British government to a large segment of his own family. There's incipient social unrest surrounding him (and his whole culture), with the constant potential for violence, subterfuge, mistrust, and imminent execution. In other words, he lives in a high-stakes context; Claire lives in a very personal (but overall low-stakes) context. Adventure (and the demands of such things on character, for good or evil), vs. "My husband KNOWS I take care of a squalling baby all day, how can he bloody invite people to DINNER without asking me?"

So. You introduce Claire into Jamie's time (and his life) and she immediately enters the much more adventurous, vivid context. A lot of what happens to her in OUTLANDER (and later books) has to do with who Jamie is and what he chooses or is forced to do. This doesn't mean she's a bystander, onlooker, or in any way a nonparticipant; the fact that she's _there_ is vitally important, both to Jamie and the story overall, and she makes personal choices that shape her own life, as well as dealing with circumstances forced upon her. But it's Jamie's context in which both of them live their lives together. She's telling it, because she's the outlander, the fish out of water, the stranger--we identify with her, because that's what our role would be in similar circumstances, and it's a much easier way to tell a historical story, if you can use modern idiom and perception. That doesn't mean it's principally her story, or that her part in it is either more or less than Jamie's--as previously noted, the story itself doesn't exist without both of them, and both of them _together_.

But if you're looking at the structure of the story, then yeah, it's Jamie's story as told by (and lived with) Claire. So what?”

Below are some screencaps of Diana’s tweets on March 19th.  Remarkably similar to the above explanation, right?

[cruddyborderlandstheories]

i have so many theories!!! theyre all screaming at me!!! i must write out them all!!!!! 

so here’s one that’s been knocking around my head since finals week began:

the Writing 3 Playlist on Spotify 

I think this bad boy is a hint at the game’s timeline

maybe not 100% explanatory, but I think we can guess certain parts of the game through this

and i just wanna tell y’all now, almost all of this is speculation, as honestly im 90% sure the playlist was created bc it had borderlands-y songs in it (although the last few have me scratching my head)

lemme explain why im writing this, though I’m very thirsty for lore

tl;dr: game goes like this: lilith powers stolen. go to promethea, go to jungle, find brick mordy and tina, get into a fight, lose fight, go find other VHs, get into another fight, Krieg shows up to save Maya, maya die. (oh no she ded), the twins have their we are GODS moment, the VHs get summoned to the Eridian homeworld, there’s a huge ass final battle, someone attempts to create an end-of-the-world scenario

so the playlist itself was created to help one of the authors of the game get into their borderlands jam 

it starts with a Cage the Elephant song, “Trouble”, the band of which we all know wrote the first song used in BL1. Not really much else to say here, but we do know the opening cutscene of the game involves our current team of Vault Hunters being attacked by the Children of the Vault. this is, of course, not indicative of any songs used in bl3, but we can assume it captures the general feeling of the game.

Second song: “Fire” by Barns Courtney (holy shit I love this guy so fucking much!! if you’ve never listened to his music, PLEASE do so! I really recommend “Rather Die”- I am in the process of making a bl3 animatic to it actually lmao). 

So anyway, I’m just sayin’, the lyrics of this song...

“Oh, a thousand faces staring at me Thousand times I've fallen Thousand voices dead at my feet Now I'm gone... And my mother told me son let it be Sold my soul to the calling Sold my soul to a sweet melody Now I'm gone... Oh gimme that fire ...”

Honestly, I would not be surprised if this song was about Lilith’s loss of her powers. I mean, she used to call herself the Firehawk because she burned the shit outta bandits. c’monnn.

The man, the myth, the legend himself even says that "[The song is] quite defiant as well, like this cannot be how it ends, it cannot be my situation."

Mooooving on

“Majesty” by Apashe and Wasiu

holy fuck i love this song so much. and its so very obviously about the Calypso Twins- at the very least its Tyreen.

“All the stars and galaxies address me as your majesty So better say your majesty, I might react erratically Throw you in a fire, purify you I'm the sire, my empire's on the rise You better find yourself a place to hide Your place to find, but say it twice My name divine, I'm aimin' high Don't look in my face or eyes Take a bow and save your life Glory to the emperor, my temperature is risin' Always hot, it's getting violent”

I mean come on if its not when we meet the twins for the first time after they steal lily’s powers, then its definitely when they do something absolutely badass and really show us why they’re revered as gods. Possibly related to the Holy Broadcasting Center?

“The Way I Do” by Bishopp Briggs 

this one honestly had got me stumped as to its purpose, i lowkey kinda think its getting Sanctuary 3 up and running (and possibly meeting Maya for the first time- still not sure about that). I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a whole thing for Scooter and this song fits pretty well. I imagine we also meet Vaughn and the Children at some point, so maybe here?

“Greeting the Menace” by Zack Hemsey 

yeah i uhhhh dunno. This sounds like a song about a dude getting tortured which scares me a bit lmao. 

I thought maybe this song and the next 2 could be VH-based songs, as the next 2 have no lyrics whatsoever and the third is called “Best Friends”, but who knows... If this is the case I could make the argument this is about Zane or Moze, leaning towards Zane cuz he’s pretty covered up, plus I think “Best Friends” would be more Moze’s style lmao

I could also see this being a song about Troy... could explain all the ‘body mods’ and the missing arm.

“ProtoVision” by Kavinsky

If we’re going with the idea that these next few songs are about the Vault Hunters, then I imagine this would be Fl4k’s. It’s got that synth and some guitar which I think fits perfectly with his robo-hobo aesthetic lol

Other than that, I truly have no idea what part of the story this song could reference since there aren’t any lyrics. Maybe Promethea’s city? I could kinda see it, it sounds pretty high-tech

Similarly, “diatribe.” by Oliver Michael

the beginning gives me a whole meditation vibe which I kinda associate with Amara and her phasecast skill which “sends out an astral projection” of herself. 

Then again, this could be the outskirts of the Promethean city... I could see myself wandering around the huge ass foliage and discovering an abandoned research base to this song idk

“Best Friends” by grandson

aaahh i love grandson. I think this could be a Moze-based song. I just get that vibe from her leather jacket... anyway

I also could totally see this as discovering Brick, Mordecai, and Tina in the research base (if that truly is where they are). Cause we saw them in the trailer hanging out there. 

tbh the lyrics themselves kinda remind me of pre-Tales Rhys and Fiona and all their friends

“All of my best friends Like to go and get fucked up Then they talk about all the lives they never got to live Oh, they're still waiting for some sort of invitation It's never coming along, oh no, you'll get just what you give”

but idk if that’s what its meant for

“Bap U” by Party Favor

hmm another ‘lyricless’ song. not really lyric-less but uhhh the lyrics are pretty nonsensical lol

I could see there being a fight scene with Brick Tina and Mordy as AIs helping out here, maybe exploring the abandoned research base?

“Not Human” by elegant slims 

oh you know what im going to say here hahaha

monster troy p l e a s e

i wouldn’t be surprised if Tyreen started accumulating more powers here, like perhaps the previous fight scene was over the Vault on Promethea and the twins were able to access it before us? and Tyreen gives the Vault Monster the succ

“Crack in the seams You're breaking through The animal inside of you You're not human anymore... Your eyes go black electric blue The animal inside of you Life on a string Watch it swing Hide your teeth”

and one (or both) of the twins start going feral lol

“Way Down We Go” by KALEO

one (1) fear and that’s that someone dies during the scene that corresponds to this song

hopefully its just the boys being depressed over a loss instead of a victory, but oof

anyway, you know what they say: “sometimes you gotta fall before you make it big” ;) thats a typhon deleon quote

“I’m a Wanted Man” by Royal Deluxe

I want to believe these next few songs are us recruiting the rest of the Vault Hunters not seen yet

I kinda associate this one with Axton since his whole History with DAHL, but who knows! It could be Gaige, too. or Maya since she looks like she’s being incredibly gay criminal on the Maliwan Monastery planet. Maybe both Axton and Gaige? I would love that

“The Devil You Know” by X Ambassadors 

Could also be Axton! I lowkey think its Salvador or Timothy Lawrence. The reason I think its Timothy is cuz the whole song gives me huge Handsome Jack vibes, but it could also be Sal cuz I totally imagine him becoming a bounty hunter to fund his gun addiction lmao

“00000 Million” by Ella Vos

this one also gives off Maya vibes imo. I wouldn’t be surprised if this one is about her and the introduction of Little Blue. I could also see Athena and Janey here, just living their lives out in a cottage somewhere. awww

“Jungle” by Tash Sultana

Ahh a love song [pukes] Hopefully this one is about Athena and Janey, cuz there is a depressing lack of both of them in all the trailers we’ve seen! It sounds lowkey sad, though. I hope nothing happened to them D:

“Don’t Wait Up” by Dustbowl Revival

this one gives me very big Fiona and Sasha vibes. 

Of course, there’s also the fact that the song is about a dad, and we still don’t know who the heck “the Father” is on all those Calypsos posters. We also dunno who in the heck “Mother” is, either. Sounds like Father left the cult, though, oof, and Mother stuck around. Wonder what that’s all about, maybe he felt like the twins were working fast/efficient enough and left to do things himself? Very lost on this idea tbh. the song seems very out of place, but it has to connect to something, yknow?

“Dies Irae” by Apashe and Black Prez

For those of you who don’t speak fluent Latin (the fuck guys?? lmao jk), the title means "Day of Wrath". Nice, nice, nice. 

the lyrics, you might be asking:

“'Cause I'ma beast. Where you at? I've been unleashed. Whatchu doin'? Sink my teeth. Y'all can't fathom I'ma beast”

me: [vibrating in my seat] monster twins monster twins monster twins monster twins

at the very least this is definitely a fight scene here. Probably with the twins again (hopefully). Maybe they found some way to imbue the cultists with fucked up powers and are sending them against the VHs as giant demon things and as we fight through the temple (apparently with some Guardians) we realize the final one is Troy and/or Tyreen?

I like to imagine this is where Maya gets her powers stolen, if only because the next few songs... I think she’s around because she’s now the only person with Siren powers on the side of the Crimson Raiders, so they might need her help with the Vault in some way

“RAMPAGE” by GRAVEDGR

y’all wonder why I seemingly forgot about Krieg in the above songs? Well, this is why. 

The only lyric for this entire song is “Bitch, I'm on a rampage- mask on my damn face”

I mean come on, Krieg with his psycho mask on, the fact his action skill is literally called “Buzz Axe Rampage”, the fact he loves Maya as shown in his introductory trailer... it’d be so perfect. And I bet badass psycho Krieg would be the only thing able to beat back whatever’s attacking at the moment. I’m just imagining him smashing down a wall and going apeshit

“Black Out Days” by Phantograms

Another song I think is about Krieg and Maya. I don’t think Maya does too hot in this game, I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if she gets the Roland treatment if you know what I’m saying. I wonder if this causes Krieg to devolve back into insanity cause the whole song seems to focus around that. I hope not D:

“Hide the sun I will leave your face out of my mind You should save your eyes A thousand voices howling in my head Speak in tongues I don't even recognize your face Mirror on the wall Tell me all the ways to stay away”

To be honest I could also see it being that Maya gets her powers stolen and thoughtlock-ed by the twins to fight on their side (as she’s seen fighting with the big demon elemental things), and maybe we have to kill her or hurt her in some way to get her to stop attacking us. God I hope not.

Let’s hope this is someway about the twins and definitely not about our favorite Siren and/or Psycho

“The Finishing” by Stavroz

oof i think somebody dies... If its not Maya, my best guess is Krieg or Lilith. Maybe Mordecai or Brick? Oh I hope not, I love both of them way too much for it to be healthy. But, hey, at least Tina learned some coping mechanisms :(

“Intro” and “Apocalypse Please” by Muse

merged these into 1 because Intro is like 15 seconds long and is literally the introduction to Apocalypse Please. 

Definitely reaching the end of the game here... 

“And it's time we saw a miracle Come on, it's time for something biblical To pull us through And pull us through And this is the end This is the end Of the world Proclaim eternal victory Come on and change the cause of history And pull us through”

I think the twins (or whoever may have become the main villain- perhaps the Eridians?) have claimed victory/gotten the ultimate power in one way or another, and/or this is the Crimson Raiders getting themselves ready for a final stand-off with the big bad evil guy. 

I would really love if there’s a scene right at the end of this where the Twins have their huge “BOW TO ME” moment and then they just get COMPLETELY obliterated by a new villain. Just absolutely decimated.

New villain, like if they opened a Vault and whatever was being imprisoned there just wipes the floor with them (something like the Destroyer, if not the Destroyer itself), or fuck shit maybe even Tannis? or the Eridians looking for help in the war. or the Eridians bringing war. Who knows!

Again, could just be the Twins having gotten their hands on the end-game material, like realizing they can turn troy into big demon fuck (no i am not letting this one go) and we are kinda fucked now.

“Free Animal” by Foreign Air

I... have no idea lol

maybe Krieg getting rescued, maybe (one of?) the twins getting recruited by the Raiders for the final fight? It could fit into the ‘Beast’ imagery. Fuck, maybe even rescuing/finding Typhon or something? Idk, im kinda in the party that Typhon is going to be coming back some way or another lol, I’d love to meet the guy

“Dreams” by ZHU and Nero

This definitely sounds like a new BBEG has just been introduced or the big bads just entered the final phase of their plan, like the Crimson Raiders just learned about something life-changing and this is their “oh shit” moment

i wanna believe that the Eridians or another alien race (like the Seraphs!) are going to come in at the ‘end’ of the game and the Watcher is gonna be like “bitch did you really think I thought these dumbass ECHOnet streamers were the epitome of War??” I imagine we’d be on the side of the Eridians here, since y’know, the Watcher came to us for help.

Of course, the twins could still be the BBEG and have gotten their hands on that universe-destroying power that was described on the website (”to recover a map to ancient Vaults and prevent a universe-destroying power from falling into the wrong hands”) so maybe the Eridians called us in in order to meet and get help against the COV?

“Beyond the Fray” by Cassandra Violet

personally i think this one is about the Eridian homeworld

“I'll mark the day When we can meet beyond the fray Don't lose the will to see your home You find the way so we can meet beyond the fray I'll fight to see that you get home Consider this small clue Look beyond your point of view Make a space for honesty hide“

Wouldn’t even be surprised if someone made a sacrifice so we could get there... I imagine its hidden somewhere in the alternate dimension or wherever the Vaults lead to so it couldn’t be found, so maybe Lilith’s got her powers back at this point and she sacrifices herself to send us there?

idk...

“Outside the Realm” by Big Giant Circles

ah yes, another reason I think the end of the game involves the Eridian homeworld in some way. Have you heard this?? huge “we just stumbled upon a long-lost-alien-planet” vibe. I love it. Maybe even just a shot of Sanctuary III slowly gliding over the giant planet, having just exited phasewalk. God yes

“Battle Royale” by Apashe

another reason i think the final fight is some giant battlefield/wave fight instead of just against 1 or 2 enemies. not to mention the fact that the VH skills we’ve seen so far are crowd control based instead of raid boss focused. 

Its likely the VHs against the Cult of the Vault, but if we defeat the Twins halfway through the game, then the Cult will dissolve on its own. Either way, I really really really really really want a huge fight against an army. I don’t care if its against the Children of the Vault, the Eridians/some Guardians, or if its against the Seraphs or a new set of aliens we’re gonna get (maybe whatever the Destroyer was/is?). idk idc i just want a huge battle. I imagine we’re on the Eridians’ side, as I said above, but who knows, maybe the Watcher went rogue. 

oh and also, the next song:

“Doomsday” by NERO

oh hey, I recognize this song, it’s giving me major BL2 flashbacks lmao

Also the last song in the playlist, which is giving me the big fear (tm)

I imagine that we wouldn’t have been brought to the Eridian homeworld if it wasn’t kind of a huge deal, and what’s more of a huge deal than the end of the universe?!

that’s what i’d call doomsday, anyway.

could be the reason the Eridians are coming out of hiding after all this time. Either to stop our dumb human asses from opening the Vaults, or to get help against these alien fucks because our dumb human asses keep destroying their first line of defense- the Vault Monsters.

If the twins actually DO remain the main villains throughout the whole game, then I imagine this is them prepping to destroy the universe

but maaaan i really want some aliens... maybe the universe destroying power IS the aliens? aw hell yeah

[areyoureadyforsomemeatballz]

The Happiest Place on Earth

Summary: You have been an Avenger since the beginning and Thor has always been one of your closest friends. When Tony declares a Disneyland vacation is in order, Loki decides to finally force you and his brother to face your feelings.  

Pairing: Thor x Reader

Word Count: 1550

Warnings: Relentless sibling teasing. It’s pretty fluffy guys, but if I missed anything then let me know!

A/N: This is my first Thor fic and I am beyond excited to share it with you all. He is my baby and I hope I did him justice! I also love Disneyland, so this was a bit self-indulgent. I wrote this as an entry for @caplansteverogers Caplan’s Disney Challenge. She’s so talented guys I highly recommend checking out her master list. My prompt is in bold.

On occasion, all the criminals in the world would decide to take a vacation from their evil ways. This would leave you and the team without any missions. These breaks were usually spent relaxing in the facility, but Tony decided that the team could use some fun. What better place to go than to the happiest place on earth?

The whole team, along with Pepper, boarded one of the quinjets and set off for California. After unloading at the hotel you all make your way down the street to the entrance of the park.

“I’m so excited for this,” you say excitedly as you shake Thor’s arm. “Steve and Bucky’s first time was magic, you and Loki are going to love this!”

Loki looks up from the map in his hands and tries keep a bored expression on his face. “A Midgard amusement park is hardly magic, but I will give it a shot for your sake.”

Bucky turns around at the sound of his name and drops Steve’s hand to pull his sunglasses off his face so he can look at Loki. “I saw you looking at mouse ears on the computer last night, so you’re not fooling anyone. No shame though, it’s great here.” He shoots you a wink and turns back to Steve who presses a kiss to his brow.

Loki brings the map to his face and Thor’s booming laugh fills the sidewalk. “I for one have no problem expressing how excited I am. Y/N and I have been watching movies in preparation.”

“I’m sure you have been,” Loki says eying you and Thor.

You turn away from Thor with furrowed brows. “What’s that supposed to mean, Lo? I invited you to watch with us.”

“I had no interest in intruding on your date, pet.”

“It wasn’t- we weren’t…” you trail off and look to Thor for help. His cheeks are ruddy, and he is keeping his attention anywhere but you. “I’m uh- gonna go check on Pete. Tony can’t keep him entertained forever and I promised May that I’d watch after him.”

You push past Bucky and Steve to make your way to Peter. “Why do you have to say things like that to her? She’s always so kind to you,” Thor scolds.

“I am simply tired of the two of you tiptoeing around one another. You have always acted like a scared little boy when it comes to her.”

“I am through talking about this, Loki. If you know what’s good for you then you will drop the subject. She is my friend and comrade in battle, nothing more.” Thor swipes the map to the park out of his brother’s hand and dashes down the sidewalk after you.

“Imbecile,” Loki mutters loud enough for Thor to hear.  

After signing autographs for countless kids and a few adults you finally push through Main Street and into New Orleans Square, where the lines for a few of the rides are.

“We have to start with The Haunted Mansion! It was closed last time we were here. Thor, we watched the movie, remember?” you steer the group toward the dilapidated building with a grin on your face.

Thor nods his head eagerly and smiles down at you. “Yes, sunshine, that was the one with the risen dead and the ghosts.”

You hum at him and grab his wrist to tug him along with you. “Yeah that’s the one. The ride is so much better than the movie, though. You’ll see,” you look over his shoulder and notice Peter standing alone near the back of the group. “Pete you can ride with me if you want.”

He looks at you with a grateful smile. “I wish Ned could’ve come, but you are a close second.”

You rub the back of your neck and look up at Thor. “Sorry, big guy. I’m sure Loki will make a good seatmate, though.” You drop his wrist and move next to Peter’s side.

Loki appears next to Thor and digs his elbow into his side. “Say something, she wanted to sit with you.”

“I told you to drop this nonsense,” Thor growls under his breath.

“You never learn, brother.”

“I don’t know what you’re suggesting…” Thor trails off as he looks ahead of him in the queue. A wide smile spreads across his face as he watches you joking with Peter in front of him in line. He can’t take his eyes off of you as you point out the different decorations that are placed around the room.

“Stop staring at her, you buffoon, and go and talk to her.”  

Thor’s head snaps toward his brother. “Careful, Loki, someone might think you actually care about someone other than yourself.”

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I just cannot bear to watch you pine. It’s disgusting.”

Thor rolls his eyes at his brother and leans against the wall. “I am not pining. We are friends, it’s nice to see her laughing.”

Loki looks to you and then back at his brother, a smirk spreads across his lips. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I invited her out to dinner this evening, then? Hm? I’m sure we’d end up in my room, you know Stark splurged for the suites. I’m sure we could make use of that big bathtub.”

A growl tears its way out of Thor’s throat. “Leave her be.”

“Why would you care? Why wouldn’t you want your friend to be treated to a nice evening? I’d make it very nice, she deserves it. Say it and I’ll back off.”

Thor looks up to you and his eyes soften. “There’s nothing for me to say.”

It’s Loki’s turn to roll his eyes and he makes the snap decision to force his brother’s hand. He wiggles his fingers and watches as Thor’s long hair ties itself around the candelabra above him on the wall. “The line’s moving, brother. Let’s see if I like this ride as much as Y/N said I would.”

Thor goes to move but groans as his body slams back into the wall. “Loki what did you do?”

He winks and turns toward where you are standing. “Y/N, I believe that dear Thor could use some assistance,” Loki calls to you and nods his head to his brother who is leaning his head against the wall.

You look closer at Thor and notice that he is stuck to one of the candlesticks that are hanging on the wall. You erupt in laughter and quickly slap your hand over your mouth when a grimace spreads over his face. “Sorry for laughing, honey. Don’t worry about it, we’ll have you unstuck in a jiffy. Just be grateful that the fire is fake, or this could’ve been bad.”

A deep blush spreads across Thor’s face and he tries not to jerk his head. “Thank you for helping me. Loki seems to think it’d be a good idea to leave me trapped.”

You run your fingers over the candelabra that is wrapped up in Thor’s golden hair and suck in a deep breath. “Why is your hair so long? This is going to take a while to undo. How’d you manage to get so tangled up anyway?”

“It’s totally a Game of Thrones thing,” Tony says from beside Pepper. “He’s like Drogo and has never lost a battle.”

“While that may be a nice notion it’s because he overheard someone talking to the Widow about how much they liked long hair,” Loki mutters.

Thor’s eyes widen, and he grits his teeth together. “Loki stop talking.”

You can feel your cheeks heat up as your fingers work at the nest of his hair. You glance at his face and he meets your eyes. “I do like it, for the record,” you whisper.

He looks at the ground with a small smile and leans his head into your soft touch. You run your hand through his hair again and it magically releases from the candlestick. Your brows furrow and your eyes snap up to Loki. He avoids your eyes and ushers the others toward the doom buggies at the front of the line. Thor nudges your shoulder with his and your attention snaps back to him.

“Would you care to share a carriage with me? It appears that Loki has ditched me.”

You bite your lip to hold back a smile and glance over at Peter giving you two thumbs up. “I’d love nothing more.”

“Kiss her, Point Break,” Tony shouts as he steps onto the ride with Pepper. She elbows him in the ribs and then smiles at you and Thor.

“I guess that leaves me with the spider-child,” Loki mutters.

“It’s Spiderman, Mr. Loki. But, you can just call me Peter.”

“Don’t test me, spider-child.”

Thor pulls you to the front of the queue and presses a quick kiss to your cheek. “After you, milady.”

Once the two of you are settled in the seat and ride begins you pull his face to yours. You reach up and tangle your fingers through his hair as your lips work against his. He smiles broadly at you as you startle away when a clap of thunder booms through the speakers. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

His thumb reaches up to stroke your cheek. “Me too, sunshine.”

In front of you, Loki shrieks from his carriage and both of you erupt into a fit of giggles.

Masterlist

Photo source

[welllpthisishappening]

I feel like I should tell you that second last bullet point about PK and Matt made me cry immediately wow the emotions Laura

Hellooooooo anon. I AM HERE TO FORCE MY HOCKEY DOG EMOTIONS ON YOU, IN A WAY THAT SOUNDS FAR LESS THREATENING THAN THAT. Here are some more emotions that got decidedly more emotional as I wrote them. 

Age update because there are words here: Matt just got drafted. So he’s almost 21, Peggy is 17 closing in on 18 and Chris is 11. This is a few months after Getting in the Shooting Lanes and goes along with this post about the dog Will and Belle adopt. His name is PK. That story is here. 

I’ve got no excuse for this except how often Tyler Seguin posts about his dogs. Also, like, how much I want Chris Jones to be certain his older brother is the best player in the entire NHL ever. Alright, let’s get emotional:

“So, uh, Mom, you think you’re ever going to stop crying, or, like…what’s the deal?”

Emma glanced down, narrowing her eyes slightly at the smiling kid in front of her – decked in head to toe Rangers team apparel and that was actually pretty impressive because she could not begin to fathom where he got shoes with the appropriate color scheme.

Chris smiled, rocking back on the heels of those same shoes and he spent far too much time wth far too many professional athletes. It was doing wonders for his self-confidence. And, now, there was one more professional athlete to contend with.

Emma was never going to stop crying.

“That’s not an answer, you know,” Chris pointed out, hooking his thumb through the loop in his jeans and most of them had changed at some point between landing at JFK and finding their way back uptown and none of them had really slept. They were a whirlwind of brand-new jerseys that looked oddly familiar because they still said Jones above the number twenty and that was, at least, seventy-six percent of the reason Emma couldn’t stop crying, and there were FaceTime calls to be made and Roland Locksley actually screaming in Philadelphia  and Elsa nearly sobbing in Colorado and they should all probably eat something.

Emma couldn’t remember the last time they ate something.

“You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are, kid,” Emma muttered, tugging on the front of Chris’ shirt. He did something ridiculous with his eyebrows.

“And you’re going to set a record for crying in a single day.”

Emma inhaled, something potentially maternal and possibly a bit like grounding on the tip of her tongue, but the eleven-year-old in front of her had grown up far too much in the last few weeks, ankle a normal size again, and he’d spent most of those same few weeks reading any draft information he could find.

He regularly printed out reports that Matt was going to go anywhere except second overall to the Rangers, just so he could crumple them up and dramatically throw them into the corner of the room. Killian found a small mountain of them a few days ago. He made Chris take them out.

And then discussed draft options with Chris for several hours after.

Emma scowled when her kid didn’t stop smirking at her, lips twisted and eyebrows still just as high. She inhaled again, another quick pull of air through her teeth as several voices came from the kitchen.

“Yeah, that’s probably true,” she admitted, and Chris didn’t argue when she pulled him against her side, lips on the top of his hair and the very likely misplaced effort to keep him eleven for the rest of his life.

She was crying again.

“Although Aunt Elsa may give you a run for your money,” Chris added.

“That was just because she saw Dad crying.”

“Dad cried?”

“Oh definitely.”

Chris was silent for a moment, and for half a second Emma felt something dangerously close to terror slink down her spine, a cold rush of worry that landed in the pit of her stomach with an almost audible thump. She swallowed, licking her lips and willing her pulse to stay relatively human. It had been through enough already in the last twenty-four hours.

And she absolutely, positively was not prepared for the sniffle she heard.

Emma twisted on this spot, nearly losing her balance in the process, but Chris’ teeth were digging into his lower lip and he looked a little wobbly himself, eyes squeezed closed and shoulders shifting and—

“Kid,” Emma snapped, crouching in front of him and that was a mistake because he towered over her now. “Hey, hey, hey, what’s the matter? Is this a hunger thing?”

“I’m not an actual baby anymore, Mom, I’m not crying because I’m hungry.”

“Then…”

Chris clicked his tongue, exhaling with a put-upon sound that made him look far older than Emma ever wanted. That felt selfish. But one kid had already gotten drafted that night and the other was getting ready for college and she really had no idea why they’d agreed to come back to Will and Belle’s apartment.

Maybe they had food.

She couldn’t remember if they had food home. Probably not. They’d been far too preoccupied with draft stock and a whole week of prep in Chicago and picking out color-coordinated ties.

“He’s totally going to wreck in the league,” Chris mumbled, eyes still closed, but pointed towards his feet anyway and Emma’s heart could not cope with this. Her whole being could not cope with this. “Just like…he’s probably going to set some kind of rookie scoring record.”

“I think they may have him play in the AHL for awhile.”

“Yeah, right. You’ve seen how fast Matt is, right? We’re desperate for that kind of speed.”

“We?”

Chris’ eyes all but flew open – probably so they could get them as wide as humanly possible when he realized what he said. “Ah, that’s how it works or something, right? Even without my own speed.”

Emma swallowed, not sure she could actually voice the myriad of increasingly sentimental nonsense sitting in the back of her throat and she nearly fell over when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Matt was still wearing the jersey they’d  made him put on when they called his name, but there was an actual name on the back now and he smiled at his brother when he met his gaze.

“Keep using the collective pronoun, C,” Matt said. “But Mom may be right about the AHL. We’ll see how camp goes.”

Chris rolled his eyes. They were getting as good a workout as Emma’s pulse. “Are you serious?” he scoffed, and there were more footsteps and she didn’t even have to look up when Killian moved next to her.

“That’s usually how it works, kid,” Killian reasoned.

“You didn’t play in the AHL.”

“Ah, well, he’s got you on that one,” Emma muttered, glancing up and Killian’s smirk was a bit more fine-tuned than either one of their kids. They’d get there. Probably. They were all far too competitive not to.

“If this is about MD playing in the Garden on opening night, then I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Peggy shouted from the kitchen. She was probably sitting on the counter. Emma was almost surprised there was a plaque there, designating it as Margaret Elsa Jones’ space and solely for Margaret Elsa Jones.

Matt clicked his tongue. “Wow, that’s actually kind of rough, Mar.”

“And not true,” Chris added. “You seen our centermen? Their face-off percentage is the worst.”

“I mean not the worst,” Killian shrugged. “It got better last season.”

“Dad. It’s not good. It’s not totally your fault, you’re not a centermen. But I bet Matt could help out.”

“Wow, thanks for that incredible vote of confidence, C,” Matt mumbled, the smile still on his face when he tugged Chris towards him. “Although he’s right about that face-off percentage, Dad. Embarrassing.”

Killian groaned, holding out a hand for Emma and she didn’t quite stumble into his side, but it was awfully close and she’d blame the whole thing on dehydration via crying. So, naturally, there was something else to cry about immediately.

And maybe the real reason they’d come back to Will and Belle’s apartment.

Matt made a noise that somewhere closer to a yelp of excitement than anything else, Peggy all but leaping out of the kitchen and sprinting towards the living room, somehow sliding into both of her brothers when her socks proved unable to provide any traffic on the hardwood floor.

“Ah, of course,” Killian mumbled, mostly into Emma’s hair when his mouth landed there and her vision was already starting to swim in front of her eyes.

And, really, she should have known from the very beginning because, really, they’d been with that dog from the very beginning and Emma was almost surprised Roland didn’t demand to be put on this FaceTime phone call too. He and Matt regularly argued over who was PK’s favorite.

It might have been Chris.

“It’s definitely Chris,” Killian muttered. He winked when Emma gaped at him.

“God, you’re the only reason Chris thinks he’s as funny as he’s absolutely not. Why are you a mindreader?”

“You’re not very good at disguising your emotions when you’re weeping them out, love.”

“Oh, shut up. You could use some eye drops too.”

He didn’t quite blush, but the tips of his ears went read, eyebrows twisted and another kiss pressed to her temple. “I wouldn’t say no, honestly.”

“You guys are missing this moment,” Will announced, perched on the arm of his couch with his fingers wrapped around Belle’s shoulder and Matt was kneeling on the floor in the first Rangers jersey that was his, making faces at a dog that had been as much a part of his childhood as anything.

Emma was seriously never going to stop crying.

“Make sure you get the good angles,” Belle laughed, and Chris hummed in response, a phone in his hand and a smile on his face. “That way we get all the likes.”

“Ah, we’re going to get all the likes, aren’t we?” Matt asked, an absurd twist of facial expressions at a dog who was drifting very close to ancient, but still managed to get down the hallway when he realized the Jones Line had come to visit.

“This is honestly the best part of the weekend,” Peggy announced. “Way better than those facts we learned about Chicago.”

Kilian groaned. “You appreciated those facts. You had no idea the world’s first skyscraper was built in Chicago.”

“Somehow I feel like I’d have gotten by without this information.”

“But now you know and you can brag about it.”

“When would that ever come up?”

“Make it happen, Margaret.”

“Oh my God.”

Emma laughed, burrowing her head into Killian’s chest and that was a mistake because Belle mentioned angles again and Matt was still making faces when she looked up, mumbling a string of barely understandable words to a dog who absolutely could not hear him.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Matt laughed. He was on his stomach now, sprawled out across the floor without a single care to what it was doing to his jersey. “Listen, PK, listen, listen, I’ve got exciting news, man.”

PK barked in response.

“Yeah, that’s right. Listen, hey, remember when we were kids and we made Rol practice that one wrist shot and then you showed up and made sure we could get the puck back? Well, it totally worked, PK because I got drafted.”

Another bark.

And several sniffles.

A world record for crying. Right there in Belle and Will’s apartment.

“He’s going to get called up by Thanksgiving,” Chris announced, eyes flashing back to Emma and Killian like either of them would be wiling to contradict him. “I’ll bet you guys Matt’s signing bonus.”

“No deal,” Matt grinned. He hadn’t gotten off the floor yet, but no one told him to move and Chris handed Emma the phone so she could actually hit upload when all three Jones kids moved to brush their fingers over PK’s back.

“Thanksgiving,” Chris repeated. “At the latest.”

The video got an absolutely ridiculous amount of hits, Roland leaving several caps lock comments about MISSING OUT and, three days before Thanksgiving, with the Rangers playing in Vancouver, Emma’s phone rang – “Mom,” Matt said, and she could hear the giddy sound his voice, the way it managed to crack on three letters and one word and all that meaning. She sat down.

They almost missed puck drop, calling in every favor from every single person they knew and Graham met them at the airport, ignoring several laws on both sides of the border to get them there on time and Emma cried again.

So did Killian. So did Peggy. It made the phone in her hand shake.

Chris didn’t. He smiled.

“Told you.”

[dubsdeedubs]

A Thousand Natural Shocks [16/16]

[AO3]  

[A/N:  I don’t even know what to say.  I... wrote up a lot more on AO3, and I recommend that you read this there because this is 10,405 words (!!!)

Thank you all, and I hope you enjoy the ride for one last time.]

Summary: Thirty years ago, Stanley Pines made a deal. Now, in the wake of Bill’s defeat and his brother’s disappearance, Ford begins to unravel Stan’s dark secrets

With each passing minute, Ford sunk further into the gaping maw of the beast.

It was entirely too late to escape, he realized with quiet resignation. There was simply no fight in him anymore. He had been foolish enough to lower his guard in the monster's presence, and now he was paying for it with his life.

That, and there was some deep, dark part of him that very much welcomed the knowledge that he had no options left - that, after everything, there was nothing he could do to save himself this time.

Ford closed his eyes, and waited for the end to come.

There was the heavy sound of approaching footsteps.

"Huh," he heard, and, "...You look comfy."

"Hrmg," Ford said eloquently, and pressed his face into the plush armrest. Even without the benefit of sight, he could feel the look his brother gave him like a physical thing.

Stanley leaned heavily on the back of the armchair, and the cushion sagged obligingly. "...Don't have a lot of chairs as nice as this out there in the multiverse, huh?" He asked casually.

Familiar, immature annoyance flickered back into life for a brief moment. "No, Stanley. In fact, I haven't had much comfort in general for the past thirty years," he said crossly.

...The effect of his words was somewhat undercut by how the majority of his lower body was currently propped up above his head and his voice was muffled behind his sweater neck, which was a full inch of unwashed alien wool.

His brother looked distinctly unimpressed.

"I suppose," Ford muttered after a moment, and slid down another humiliating inch.

And, alright. If he had to be honest, and he supposed he should be in the sanctity of his own thoughts, it really was a fine couch. Certainly not just because the only other in recent memory had been constructed by Bill Cipher from an unholy combination of human flesh and demonic magic.

In a moment of sudden clarity, he could understand perfectly why and how his brother could spend the majority of his free time reclining here, watching a nice, mindless cartoon duck series or two.

It was a tempting thought, and certainly, there were worse sins than sloth to add to his own budding collection.

...Ford wondered fleetingly if this truly was some kind of human flesh eating cryptid, ready to ensnare any victim foolish enough to take a seat. Stranger things had happened in this house, and it would explain a great deal indeed.

"Got it for ten bucks at a garage sale," Stan muttered nostalgically. "Well, I would've gotten it for ten bucks if I didn't steal it right out of the guy's house. Found a big ol' tomato sauce stain right under the cushion afterwards, though. Serves me right, I guess."

He paused thoughtfully. "...Least, I hope it was tomato sauce. I dunno. Guess that would explain why this thing was so cheap."

Ford winced, feeling a lot less comfortable pressing his face into the armrest than he did just thirty seconds earlier - but still not nearly enough to move. "That's horrifying," he muttered, voice muffled.

"Well I mean, not anymore. I've gotten much worse stains than that out of stuff with a whole lot less, y'know." Stan crossed his legs nonchalantly, and grimaced. "Paul Bunyan, these pants are tryin' to kill me," he announced. "Can you believe I used to fit in these, no problem?"

Ford... really, really could not believe they were having this conversation.

The universe had nearly ended. They had nearly died (or something very much worse that he really would like not to think about, thank you very much.) By any sensible standards, the past fifteen minutes of mindless chatter was entirely pointless and an obvious waste of time.

Surely, after everything they had gone through, with everything that still needed to be said, shouldn't he and his brother have more to say to each other than some truly ridiculous small-talk?

Stan poked him in the side. "...You fallin' asleep on me, Sixer?"

"It would be a miracle if I was," Ford retorted immediately, turning his face just enough to give his brother a well-deserved glare with one eye. "Considering those tights you're wearing must have the same blinding intensity of a supernova seen from its closest galaxy."

"Uh."

"Why do you even own those?"

"Yeah, well, Soos convinced me to do a special holiday version of the Mystery Shack tour awhiles back, before I got immunity to those puppy dog eyes of his. Long story."

Stan cleared his throat. "So, you done making fun of my fashion choices or what?"

It was nonsense, but the easy back-and-forth of conversation was familiar in a warm sort of way - the kind that sapped the weary tension from his aching muscles and tugged at the edge of his lips until his expression softened.

Yes, Ford decided, allowing himself a particularly helpless smile. This was entirely ridiculous, illogical, and immature - and that was exactly why he would not trade it for anything.

"I can't say about the tights. Ma did always say you had chicken legs," he said lightly.

"Oh, fuck off," his brother replied with a roll of his eyes, but there was no real heat in his words. "Ma was just teasin', and you know it. I've got perfectly normal legs for my body type. And y'know, it's really all about the tailoring of the thing."

Ford raised an eyebrow. That... sounded suspiciously familiar.

"Ma told you that, didn't she?"

Stan's expression softened for just a moment in fond memory as he looked down in his lap, before settling down into a blank poker face. "Yeah, well. Ma did tell us a whole lot of stuff, Sixer."

He nodded slightly in agreement and had just opened his mouth, a particularly ridiculous anecdote already on his tongue, when Stan spoke again.

"Sometimes, I uh. Well. I still get myself thinking about what she'd say about things." His brother's words came halting at first and then all at once, as if Stan couldn't believe that he was saying them out loud either. "...Even if it's been thirty years since she -"

He went abruptly quiet, his expression stiffening in realization of what he had almost just said.

Ford blinked, a cold pit forming in his gut.

There it was.

"Stanley," he began, slowly and carefully, entirely aware of the stakes at hand.

It was something he didn't need to bring up, he tried to tell himself even as he dug his nails painfully into the new skin of his hands. A topic that was obviously impossibly difficult for both of them to talk about. He could forget about it, move on, enjoy the rest of his life in a dimension that wasn't (usually) actively attempting to kill him with his family.

(What was left of it.)

But despite himself, despite the fact that he had been waiting for decades and certainly could wait longer, despite his own pragmatic certainty that the answer would only come painfully -

- he had to know.

Because they couldn't move on without talking about this. Not really. Not in any way that mattered.

"...Yeah?" Stan muttered tensely.

"What happened with Ma?" The words flowed out all in a rush, coming much harsher than he wanted. Ford regrouped. "With... with the both of them," he finished his sentence awkwardly, words clumsy and inelegant around the one topic, one person he could not bring himself to mention out loud.

His brother wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Look, Stanley. It's - it's alright." There was a strange kind of desperation in Ford's voice, one that he didn't want to think about too hard. "I... It has been three long decades. I am fully aware of the most likely answer to my question. And to tell you the truth..."

He swallowed. "I haven't held any real hopes for any kind of reunion with them for years. I've always assumed that they had - already passed, but I would just like to -"

"They're gone," Stan said shortly, cutting off his ramblings like a knife through hot butter. Ford went abruptly silent, not necessarily out of surprise but... really, because of how bluntly his brother had put it.

Neither spoke for a long moment before Stan winced and said, "Sorry. I shouldn't have told you like that." He let out a ragged breath. "You were right. They... got old. Got sick."

Ford nodded slowly, with a touch of bewilderedness. Like a dog chasing after a car, now that he had gotten what he had wanted for so long, he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. He had not lying at all about the fact that this was the answer he had entirely expected. And yet, it still sent a familiar pang of loss through him.

Hearing it from his brother made it... real, concrete somehow. Concrete in a way it never felt when he was hundreds, thousands of light-years away from Earth.

"It was cancer with Ma," Stan continued, without any real prompting. He kept his eyes fixed on some distant thing, carefully not meeting Ford's gaze. "Years and years ago, at this point. But it - took its time with her. Turns out her pack a day habit was no good for anybody, but uh. You don't needa be a fake psychic to know that, do ya?"

"Stanley..."

"...Dad went a few days after," he said finally, his expression suddenly, carefully blank. "And who knows what it was with him?"

Ford went quiet, though not for lack of desire to speak. There was, well.

He had always wondered, in the way humans instinctively sought resolution, if their father had ever... well, change was a strong word, stronger than Filbrick Pines - for all his demeanor and his bluster - could ever be. But if he ever understood what he had done all those years ago. If he realized even a bit of what Ford had understood over all these years, if he had caught a glimpse of what Ford saw now in the brutal clarity of hindsight.

He knew better than to ask.

His brother grimaced. "Rabbi waxed poetic about broken hearts, but I've always figured that Pa's more - like a golem, or somethin'." He spoke with a strange. uncertain softness in his eyes. Something that could be, in a far kinder world, be called fondness. "Like the stories Ma used to tell us. Keeps chugging as long as he's got that little scroll in his head, take that away and."

He cleared his throat. "Y'know."

"...Yes." Ford said roughly. He wasn't sure why it was so difficult to speak. "Yes, I remember those stories."

Stan let out a low chuckle, one without much humor. "Yeah, I know. You were there for them too, I know. It - was a weird thought. But somehow... I knew you were the one person I wouldn't hafta explain it to."

Ford didn't know how to reply to that. All he knew was that the warm rush that washed over him upon hearing those words and left him breathless... that was a feeling he wanted to keep forever.

"...Did you - did you go?" he asked hesitantly. "To their funerals, I mean."

Stanley looked at him for a moment, as if in surprise.

"I - yeah," he said haltingly. "Actually, I - I was still decidin' whether I could risk goin' to Ma's funeral when I got the second call from Shermie about Dad. Tellin' me to get my ass over there in the next twenty-four hours if I wanted to keep it."

"That sounds like her," Ford noted, smiling despite himself at the thought of the little girl he had last saw decades ago yelling into a phone with Ma's Jersey accent. "Maybe not the - profanity - but -"

His brother lets out a bark of laughter. "Sixer, you have no idea."

They're both quiet for a companionable moment, and oh, oh, Ford had missed this. He had missed this more than words could say.

There was something - had always been something deeply heartening about being able to talk to someone who could understand. Especially given Ford's own experiences with fitting in, or rather, the lack thereof.

Relaxing in this way, soaking in the easy silence that only came from the knowledge that he did not need to speak to be understood... it was something he had not felt for a long, long time.

Maybe, time had not changed them as much as Ford had feared.

"...Ma had called a coupla times before," Stanley said slowly, clearly reluctant to break the moment of calm. "She sent me some money before when things were really down, but… first time I had actually seen either of 'em for a decade was at - well, my own burial."

He winced. "And that had been risky enough already, even with my corpse lying there in a box several yards away. Guess that was for the best. With Shermie the only one hanging around, I didn't have much of an excuse not to go and ah, see 'em off."

"I wish..." Ford said slowly, without knowing exactly how to end the sentence. I wish I had been there. I wish I had seen them one last time. I wish, I wish, I wish.

Judging from the look his brother gave him, he didn't need to.

"I'm sorry," Stan said roughly, a new tenseness in his body language that made his movements frantic, jerky. "I'm sorry ya couldn't be there."

Ford didn't reply for a long minute. This was one of those points, he knew, that the two of them could never completely forgive and get over. It had to be - doing otherwise would be a lie, a disservice for both of them. It hurt beyond words that he had lost everything he could call his own for thirty long years, that he had missed the funeral of his parents, that he did not get to watch his younger sister growing up.

But it had not been a one-sided hurt. It had never been a one-sided hurt when the two of them were involved, not even at the very beginning.

Blind forgiveness had never been the answer, Ford thought to himself with a strange calm. The problems that had stolen most of their lives from both of them would have lingered on, simmering until the moment they could not be ignored again.

He didn't know if it was possible to move on and forwards without forgetting the past. Ford certainly had not succeeded before.

But then, he had never really wanted to try, before.

"I am sorry as well," Ford said quietly. "I am sorry that you could not attend as yourself. That you - lost them so early."

They both knew well that he wasn't talking about their parents' passings.

"...Don't apologize for that, Sixer," Stan muttered. "It was my own stupid mistakes."

"I could have said something."

"No, ya couldn't." His brother said flatly. "...You saw the look on Pa's face. It wasn't some… spur of the moment kinda thing. I'd been packin' my bags for weeks up till that point, just waitin' for the last straw or until I turned eighteen, whichever came first. Nothin' you coulda said woulda changed his mind."

He grimaced. "He already knew I was a loser, Sixer."

"Then he should have learned that he was wrong!" Ford exclaimed, a familiar indignant anger rising in him - the same kind he felt at Crampelter and the bully's ugly laughter, at the recruiters from West Coast Tech and their cruel, calm rationality, at Bill grinning and cackling in laughter and saying, Fordsy, did you really think I would have chosen you if I wanted someone significant?

Stan winced. "Be honest with yourself, Sixer. Was he really? Just - look at what I ended up doin' after that. I just - I just kept runnin' cons. Sold cheap shit to people who were too dumb to know any better. Made deals with some - some real horrible people to keep myself going."

He sighed. "...Tell ya the truth - if you hadn't called me up here, I would've ended up dead young."

"You still did," Ford said steadily.

His brother refused to look him in the eyes. "You know what I mean. Worse than what happened here. I'd be in some - some shallow grave that no one would've even tried to look for. Moses knows I had gotten close to it before."

"Stanley..."

"You don't get it, do ya? Only good I've ever done in my life has been right here." Stan hesitated, as if he was gearing himself to say something he had wanted to say for a very long time. "...Only good I've ever done in my life wasn't even as myself."

"Don't say that," Ford retorted immediately, with an urgency that surprised even himself.

"Dunno, Sixer," Stan shrugged, not meeting his eyes. "Figured I should tell the truth. For once in my life."

Ford opened his mouth, then shut it. Took a long, slow breath, and let it all out.

He said, his voice only slightly wavering, "When I told Shermaine the truth about what had happened between the two of us, she told me how you died."

His brother went still. Clearly, this was not what Stan expected to hear. "I, uh," he mumbled, eyes wide. "I... still really wish you hadn't done that."

"Apparently," Ford continued vehemently, " 'I' had been instrumental in the destruction of some cross-border drug operation that had orchestrated your -" He hesitated. It was real. It was exactly what happened. Why was it so hard to say? "Your murder," he said at last, mouth uncomfortably dry. "Shermaine had an idea or two on how you had gotten - involved in it."

He swallowed. "Is... is that where your scars came from?"

His brother's silence was particularly telling. "Some of them," Stan said at last, voice gruff.

They eyed each other, quietly willing the other to speak first.

Ford relented. "...I haven't said much to you and the twins about my years on the other side of the portal," he said haltingly, unsure of what he was getting at himself but hoping with everything he had that he would figure it out along the way. "They were not - the best."

"Well, yeah," Stan said, matter-of-fact. He flushed at the look Ford gave him. "Not like that. I meant... You startle easily."

"I what," Ford said flatly.

He had heard many descriptors applied to him in his life, everything from 'eccentric' and 'brilliant' to 'neurotic' and - in one not particularly fond memory - 'batshit insane.' 'Easily startled' was not one of them. Perhaps at the very beginning of his career in studying the paranormal, but even that was a stretch, considering that getting one of Mothman's composite moths in his mouth was obviously enough reason to -

"Fucking - not like that, sorry. Look, I just meant -" Stan took a deep breath. "Whenever I get up close to you without warning, you tense up. Hands twitch a bit, like you want to make a grab for something. It's not that hard to tell if you know what you're lookin' for, and I - uh."

He grimaced. "I knew what to look for. I dunno. I just - kinda always figured you weren't havin' the time of your life out there."

Ford... didn't know how to feel about that, that his trauma had become something entirely readable from the way he moved and lived.

"It wasn't the individual incidents that got to me, Stanley," he said instead, refusing to let the topic change. "Certainly there were many of them, over my three long decades of living life on the run. But no. It... was the constancy of it all."

He wasn't in danger all the time, of course. A month or two holed up in a safe haven, his time recovering and learning from Jheselbraum, the very few times he had genuinely thought his journey may have come to an end - that he had come to a place in which he could live instead of just survive, at least up until he had prepared enough to face Bill for the last time.

And that was it, wasn't it? "I realized eventually that there were two ways my journey would end," Ford said flatly. "Either I would die taking Bill with me, or I would die having failed in my mission. There were no other options to speak of. I... had no hope for myself in regards to that."

"Ford," Stan said, and there was something stunned, something entirely horrified in the blankness of his expression. "How could you just - decide that for yourself?".

That made him stop in his tracks, just a bit. "I didn't decide that for myself," Ford said, almost annoyed, because how was it that his brother didn't understand? Because it wasn't a decision, not in any way that mattered.

"Really, Stanley. It wasn't as if I had simply - sat down one day and decided that I had no direction in life other than one that culminated in death. "

Stan flinched. "But -"

"There was never a choice," he said matter-of-fact. "All I was doing was to accept the cards already dealt to me. It was all I... was..."

Worth.

Ford trailed off, the ending of the thought making him stop in his mental tracks. It was - a familiar thought, that there was no doubt about.

already knew I was a loser, sixer.

But now it was familiar in an entirely different kind of way.

His brother was looking at him, he realized, in concern. There was something suddenly, inexplicably hilarious about that, considering the entire unspoken conversation of worth and sacrifice and unnecessary martyrdom that had led up to this moment.

The smallest hint of a hysterical laugh bubbled up within him.

"...Sixer?"

"But I was wrong," Ford said breathlessly. He knew what he wanted to say now. What he had to say. To his brother - and to himself. "I'm alive, and I was wrong."

Stan grinned uneasily, unsurely. "That's - great, Sixer, don't get me wrong. But uh, I'm honestly kinda lost abo -"

"And so are you."

His brother stared at him like he had gone off the deep end.

"I had been wandering the dimensions for three decades by the time you fixed the portal," Ford said, buoyed by a heady combination of adrenaline and certainty, and it felt like shrugging off weights, opening the curtains, seeing and feeling something that had been there all along. "I had been hungry, I had been cold, and I was always afraid. By that time, I... had done many things I regret."

He hesitated. "But I won't say anymore on that because I don't need to explain all of that to you. Our circumstances were different, certainly. And any comparison of suffering is inherently wrongheaded. But... something tells me that you understand my experience more so than anyone else on this planet."

"Well, perfect," Stan said after a moment of stunned silence, his voice dull. "What I've always wanted. My brother to live like a criminal on-the-run for three decades."

"But it goes both ways, don't you see?" Ford interrupted, eyes wide. "I don't know everything that happened to you, that you went through, but trust me when I say that I understand much more than you might realize."

"I'm not sayin' you don't, but -"

"The reason I was so - determined to sacrifice myself for the sake of the universe," he said, voice clear, "was because I believed that my greatest worth was to others, and not to myself. I had made so many mistakes and let so many people down in my life, that this was the only way I could make up for them."

His brother looked deeply uncomfortable. "Ford..."

"I thought that because I had already given up all hope for myself," Ford said steadily. "But Stanley, you believed I was worth more than that. And you gave - so, so much of your life to give me another chance."

He hesitated. "I suppose... I just wish I could have done the same, when it was you who needed me."

It was all too easy to think back to a much younger Stanley, newly homeless, newly brother-less, and see their parallels. Even easier to put himself into the shoes of the familiar-unfamiliar man who had showed up at his door all those years ago, stinking of exhaustion and defeat, a strange desperation in his eyes when he asked Ford why he had finally asked him to come back. What he could do so he didn't have to go away again.

And instead...

take this book, get on a boat, and sail as far away as you can!

Ford's expression tightened. "I should have," he said, voice rough, "and I am sorry I didn't."

"You couldn't have known," his brother said automatically.

"I shouldn't have needed to," he snapped with a ferocity that surprised even himself. "I - Listen to me,. You might have never wanted me to give up so much for you, but - I never wanted you to give up so much for me either."

Stan sucked in a breath. "But - Ford -"

"Stanley," Ford said, slowly, steadily, "if we want to make this work, we have to be worth just as much to ourselves as we do to each other."

His brother stared at him for a long, frozen moment.

Then, as if waking from a dream, Stan opened his mouth. Maybe to protest, maybe to agree, maybe to throw out some terrible unfitting joke that only related tangentially to the situation like he always did whenever the circumstances became emotionally dire.

Ford didn't know, but what he could be certain about was that this time, he would not let his brother shrug off his words with false nonchalance, that this time they could finally -

And, of course, it was at that very moment that the doorbell rang.

Both brothers froze at the sound, faces gone slack in the exact same blank expression of disbelief and confusion.

As if in reply to their unvoiced question, the bell rang yet again, almost plaintively.

It felt as if a spell had been broken. "Who the hell…?" Stan trailed off, patting at his wrists as if looking for a watch that was no longer there. "It's dark outside, but - shit, what time is it?"

"It's - late," Ford replied blankly, mind too fuzzy to be at all helpful. There was something nagging at the edge of his consciousness, something important that he had forgotten. What was it?

"...Y'know what," his brother said decisively, and stood straight. "I'll go and tell 'em to fuck off. How do I look, Sixer? Decent?"

He looked at Stanley's wildly mismatching, garishly colored outfit cobbled together from the tourist shop lost and found and Ford's wardrobe from when he was 28, which could only be described as "hopelessly tweed." Certain pieces somehow, against all laws of physics, managed to be at once too tight and too loose.

"You look absolutely terrible," Ford said bluntly.

"Perfect." Stan adjusted his three overlapping collars. "Then maybe I don't even have to say anythin' for them to run."

Ford bit back an exasperated sigh. "Stan, would you just wait a moment? There's something about this that's -"

The doorbell rang again. It was clear that their visitor had no intentions of leaving without an answer.

Stan gave him a Look. Ford relented, an entirely terrible decision he would later chalk up to a combination of sleep deprivation and the multiversal destabilization all the molecules in his body had gone through not even an hour before.

Decision made, his brother limped over to the door and fumbled momentarily with the inner locks. There was a satisfying click as the door unlatched and he turned the handle.

And, of course, it was at that very moment that Stanford remembered exactly what was so significant about having a stubborn visitor to the Mystery Shack so late at night.

"Stanley, wait!" He exclaimed, jumping to his feet, watching the door open in slow-motion. "It's Sher -"

"MISTER PINES!"

Ford blinked. The voice was - a familiar one, undoubtedly. Just... not even remotely close to what he was expecting to hear.

A quick, stunned glance confirmed his initial suspicions. The late night visitor to the Mystery Shack was Soos the handyman, the rather gopher-ish man who had become close friends with the niblings over the summer. And, he remembered with a twinge of sheepishness, the same person who had accompanied him on his trip into the woods and experienced with him the aftermath of his brother's ridiculous plan.

Without warning, the handyman in the doorway rushed forwards to enclose Stan tightly with two pudgy arms.

"I'm so glad you're okay, Mr. Pines!" He wailed, eyes moist. "After everythin' that was going on and all the stuff that other Mr. Pines told me, I was so worried that somethin' had -"

"...Soos?" Stan said slowly, clearly lost. Just slightly more so than Ford felt, a fact that gave him some reluctant pleasure. "Uh, Soos, what the heck are you doing here?" A moment passed, and then he added, completely unconvincingly, "Oi, leggo of me, ya big lug. Yer getting sweat all over me. And - " He squinted. "Is that my fez?"

Soos loosened his grip reluctantly and wiped at his gushing tears - not an exaggeration, Ford watched on with awe, despite possibly being not humanly possible. "I just wanted to see if you were alright, sir. And, oh yeah! Your fez!" His eyes widened. "I was gonna return it, Mr. Pines, I swear!"

"Yeah, I don't doubt that," Stan muttered, and squinted. "Uh, what are ya doing here anyways?" His eyes widened as the realization hit. "Wait, Soos, how did ya even know I was here?'

Soos paused, a sheepish expression on his face. "Oh, uh, about that, Mr. Pines -"

A familiar-unfamiliar figure stepped into view in the doorway. "Ford," it said dangerously, eyes glinting behind thick glasses, "you scared the shit outta me."

Stan blinked, entirely bewildered. "...Shermy? What the hell are you doin' here?"

She punched him directly in the jaw.

The next few seconds of movement passed too quickly for Ford to intervene.

His brother staggered backwards with (no, not a squeak, because Ford will give his brother that little bit of dignity even in the sanctity of his mental narration) an 'oof' of some pain and mostly surprise. "What the fu - hot Belgian Waffles was that?" He groaned, raising one hand to rub at his sore cheek.

"What the hell do you think I'm doing here, Ford?" Shermaine demanded, her left fist still clenched pale and bloodless against her side.

"I... don't know?"

She faltered. Her anger seemed to dissipate, replaced by something much more real.

"Why did you call me?" She asked, voice ragged. "What were you - what have you been thinking?"

Stan took a step backwards, confusion written clearly across his face. He glanced quickly at where Ford was standing, just slightly out of sight, in an obvious plea for help. "I... don't remember calling you? I mean," he added, in what seemed like a futile attempt to hold up his false identity, "not saying I didn't call you, but uh -"

For just a moment, her face fell - no masks, no guards, no performative fury to cover up the raw grief in her expression. "...What happened to you?"

Ford took in a deep breath and takes a - the single step forward.

"He didn't call you up here, Shermaine," he said, speaking to his younger sister face-to-face for the first time in three decades. It took every bit of self-control he had just to stop his voice from shaking.

"I did."

Shermy turned around slowly, face pale.

She looked at him like she had just seen a ghost, a dead man risen, like if she blinked even once he would disappear back into the realm of her imagination. Which, if she was anything like the rest of her family, were all entirely accurate descriptors of what she must have immediately - and understandably, he supposed, given the circumstances - concluded.

A long moment passed and gone. Ford just stood there, a small, sad smile on his face. He said, as gently as he could, "It's really me, Shermaine."

She looked at Stan, then back at him, then back at his - at their brother again.

"The two of you," Shermaine said thickly, a single hand held shakily to her mouth.

"You're both - both -"

To Ford's confusion, she fumbled in her purse for what he only barely recognizes from Dipper and Mabel's brief show-and-tell as a modern phone. Shermaine held it up, her arm visibly shaking, and looked at him through its screen.

"Um," he said.

"You can't take a picture of a hallucination, Sixer," Stan explained quietly. He looked on calmly, like he had seen the process many times before. More likely than not, he had, Ford realized, reminding himself of the many years of shared life between the two that he had missed out on.

Shermaine made a small, broken sound. The phone slipped from her slack grip and smacked loudly on the ground.

The handyman reached out a hand as if in pain.

"Don't worry 'bout it, Jesús," she said distantly, slowly putting her arm down to dangle limply at her side. "I got an Otterbox. That thing can survive a nuclear meltdown."

There was a brief moment of silence as the three Pines siblings stared at each other, none of them particularly willing to be the first one to speak. Just when it got to the point of becoming truly uncomfortable, Shermaine sighed.

"Do me a favor, will ya, sweetheart?" She said to the handyman with easy familiarity. "I'm gonna have a talk with my idiot brother." A hesitation. "Brothers. Fuck. ...You might want to come back in a bit."

The handyman fidgeted, sneaking a look at Stanley. "Well -"

"Probably a good idea," his brother sighed. "Sorry about gettin' you involved in all of this, kid. We'll talk later, yeah?"

That got Soos in motion. "Sure thing, Mr. Pines!" He saluted. "By the way, Mrs. Pines! Abuelita told me to tell you, uh, felicidades!"

"On winning the 9th annual Pines-Ramirez pickle-eating contest, or on the Pulitzer?" Shermaine asked after a moment of thought. Ford gave Stan an incredulous look.

The handyman paused in contemplation. "Sorry Mrs. Pines," he said apologetically. "I think Abuelita only follows the pickles."

Then he was gone, and it was just the three of them. The silence in the house felt suddenly, uncomfortably oppressive.

"So," Shermaine said. She looked between the two of them like she wasn't sure whether she wanted to hug them or kill them.

Ford tried his best not to seem apprehensive. "Yes?"

"You're both alive." She hesitated. "You're both - here."

"Yeah," Stan said awkwardly. "Well. We've got a, uh, whole lot of explaining to do, I know, and we can definitely -"

"Are you kidding me?" Shermaine exclaimed, clearly caught between exasperation and astonishment. "Do - do I look like that's what I want from you two right now?"

"Er -" Stan said, but whatever he wanted to say after that was forgotten as he was promptly yanked into a bone-crushing embrace.

"Thank God I didn't lose you too," she muttered, voice muffled against the scratchy cloth of his shirt. Stan let out a pained wheeze when she squeezed.

After a long moment, Shermaine loosened her grip. She turned and shot Ford a look of pure disbelief. "What are ya doing still standin' there?"

"Er," Ford said unsurely, "I -"

She groaned. "Get over here and let me hug you, ya dingus."

He approached them slowly, carefully. But really, it was all over the moment he got into grabbing range.

Ford and Stan stood tense and breathless for a long moment as Shermaine held them tight and pressed her face into both of their shoulders, at the space where the two met.

After a long, frozen moment, she let out a long, ragged breath. Her grip slackened, and let go. "You assholes," Shermaine announced, voice low. If there was a moistness in her eyes, no one was idiotic enough to mention it. "I can't believe you two. Fuck."

"Shermaine -"

"You - absolute - fucking - assholes."

Stan winced. "Fair enough."

All three of them were quiet for a long moment.

"How long?" Shermaine asked finally, voice choked.

"Just a couple weeks, Sherm." Stan said tentatively. "Ford hasn't been back for long at all."

Shermaine blinked slowly. "'Ford,' you said," she intoned flatly.

He coughed, alarm written bright and clear across his face as Stan realized the mistake of what he had said. "Um, yeah, about that -"

"Either you've picked up the habit of referrin' to yourself in third person in the past week, or -" Her eyes glinted. "I've been missing the wrong brother for the past thirty years."

Stan hung his head.

"I'm Stanford," Ford said, cutting in hurriedly because clearly Stan needed some help sorting out the hurt his - at the time - convenient lies had dished out to everyone involved. "He's Stanley. I was the one who called you, but..." He hesitated. "He was the one you've known for all of these years."

Shermaine stared at him for a long moment, as if she hadn't been expecting him to talk at all. Considering he - or at least, 'Stanley' - had been some sort of cautionary tale for their family for decades, he supposed that was more or less understandable.

"Oh," she said finally. "Alright. Okay."

There was a beat. "No, actually, that's not okay. Ford - Stanley - whoever you are," Shermaine brandished a finger furiously at Stanley, who winced at the sudden attention. "You've had thirty years to tell me all of this. Any of this. And now it turns out you're our long-dead brother that you've been - pretending to grieve for all this time and -"

Her voice cracked.

"Sherm," Stan said slowly, "I can explain."

"Can you explain why you lied to me for all these years?" Shermaine snapped immediately. Then she paused, her eyes widening in slow, horrified realization. "...No, not just to me. Our whole family." Her expression hardened. "Our parents died thinking you were gone."

"I know. I know, Sherm." He took a long, ragged breath. "There's nothin' I can say that can fix things, but I... gotta explain. Maybe it won't make up for any of what happened, but just - gimme a chance, alright? To tell ya everything I couldn't during all these years."

Shermaine looked at him quietly for a long moment. "...This is a lot," she said, voice low. "You know that. This is a fucking lot."

"Yeah, Sherm," Stan said hollowly. "It - really is."

She sighed and massaged the bridge of her nose with two fingers.

"I need a fucking drink." 

"So," Shermaine said, an hour and an impromptu scavenger hunt in the Mystery Shack later. She nursed a small but very dangerous amount of whiskey from Ford's - or possibly Fiddleford's, which was even more alarming - thirty-year-old stash. "Armageddon."

"We've been referring to it as Weirdmageddon, actually," Ford ventured. "But in hindsight, 'Oddcapalypse' certainly has a ring to it -"

"Ford, shut up." He flinched. She went quiet. "...Sorry. I didn't mean that. I just. God."

"I know it's a lot to take in," Ford said tentatively. "And certainly very difficult to believe. But I swear to you, this is the truth."

"Demons, dimensional portals and coming back from the fucking dead," Shermaine said dully. "No, actually, I got that part just fine. Honestly, Ford - fuck, it feels weird to even call you that - I've seen enough weird shit in my life and especially as part of this family that I really have no place to say what's make-believe in this world and what's not."

"Oh."

He... had no idea what to say to that. There should be some sort of relief, shouldn't there? Ford knew better than most how entirely unwilling to believe people could be when it came to the strange and abnormal. "That's - wonderful, Shermaine, I'm glad you're taking this so well -"

He realized almost immediately that that was the wrong thing to say.

"The only reason I seem to be taking this so well," Shermaine said calmly, dangerously, as she set down her cup, "is because seein' the two of ya here, even if I don't have a goddamn clue how this is happenin', is infinitely better than what I was afraid I was gonna find once I made it up here. Which, just so you know, is that the only brother I've got left had lost his goddamn mind on me - and had brought my grandkids along for the ride."

"That's -"

"Here's a secret, Stanford. I'm not takin' this well at all. Because what I don't get," she continued, a promise in her words as she turned to stare down Stanley, "is exactly what part of that was stopping me from getting told the truth for thirty goddamn years?"

Stan had been quiet for awhile now - a particularly guilty silence, Ford saw with the clarity of hindsight. "I was gonna tell you all of this once I got Ford back, Sherm," he said gruffly, not meeting Shermaine's angry look.

(No, he wasn't, Ford realized with a burst of horrified understanding. Because he had never expected to survive long enough to tell the truth, and he had thought Ford would have been perfectly fine with stepping into the hole he left behind.

...After this, after all of this, he was going to give his brother a good talking-to.)

"So in the meantime, you decided to impersonate him and let us all go on believin' you were dead?" She asked disbelievingly.

"Sherm, I wasn't even sure if I was myself -"

"I coulda told you that, you knucklehead!"

Stan stared at her with wide eyes. "Uh -"

"We both remember what you did for me, Fo - Stan," Shermaine said through gritted teeth. Ford watched on in confusion.

He winced. "That doesn't have anythin' to do with this, Sherm -"

"Yes it does," she bit out. "Because decades ago I was a scared kid because I was gonna have a kid, and I didn't think there was a single person in the whole world who wouldn't flip their lid on me if they knew. You were holed up north so you didn't have to risk giving yourself away, but you still picked up when I called. And you said yes and cleared out the spare room in the Shack, and -"

"What the hell are you talkin' about, Sherm?" Stan exclaimed, disbelief written large across his face. "Of course I did, what kind of brother would've left you hanging? Hot Belgian waffles, what kind of monster would've..."

He trailed off in slow realization.

"Exactly!" Shermaine shouted, eyes wild. He stared at her as if she had yanked a rabbit out of a hat and promptly threw it at his face. "So Stan, how the fuck did it take you three whole decades and the almost end of the world to figure this out yourself?"

Ford looked between the two of them in a strange mixture of morbid curiosity and a sensation of inexplicable loss. Inexplicable, because it was entirely illogical to expect to understand, to feel as if he had lost something he had never had, to -

To feel like an outsider looking in.

(Thirty years was a very long time, he felt - really felt - for the first time since returning to this dimension.)

"I - look. Stan. I get why you didn't want to tell Dad. Even Ma." Shermaine took a long, deep breath, her grip tightening on the glass in her hand.. "But, at the very least... why couldn't you tell me?"

Stan flinched, and looked away.

"Did ya really think I would've ratted you out if you told me what really happened between you an' Ford?" She demanded thickly. "Or did ya think I wouldn't believe you? Because I would've believed you, seeing how for some reason, I trust you!"

"I know, Sherm," he said roughly.

"So why?"

They looked at each other for a long moment. "I dunno," Stan said at last, each individual word coming out slow and reluctant. "I was stupid, I dunno. I don't have a real good answer for you."

"Well, ya better think of one, or -"

"I guess." He swallowed. "I guess, I just didn't wanna disappoint you."

Shermaine stared at him. "No," she said tonelessly. "No."

Stan's expression didn't change.

She exploded. "You knucklehead, what the hell made you think I would be disappointed if I knew you were actually you?"

He didn't meet her eyes, and that was answer enough.

Shermaine let out a long, deep breath. "Do I - do I look like Dad to you?" She demanded, eyes wild and just slightly moist. "Because I'm not him. Lord knows I've tried my best not to be, all of these years. You know that."

"I'm sorry, Sherm," Stan said roughly.

The silence hovered around them for a long moment.

"I still can't believe you're him," she said at last, voice blank. "That - you're you. Everything I heard growing up, all those files I searched up, those fucking pictures - that was you. This whole fucking time."

"That - doesn't change anything, Sherm," he tried.

"No, Stanley. It changes everything." Shermaine sighed. "I - can't talk about this anymore. I need time," she said roughly. "Enough time to sort out this clusterfuck that's in my head right now."

She glanced over at Ford, who had been sitting rather stiffly to the side during the whole exchange, unsure of how - or even if he should - add anything to the conversation.

"Hi, Stanford," Shermaine said slowly, deliberately.

He fidgeted slightly under the weight of her gaze. "Hello, Shermaine," Ford replied rather awkwardly.

"I wanna apologize to you right now," she said, matter-of-fact. "Because now that I think about it, I don't remember much about you at all, and you deserve a whole lot more than that. Just that..."

Shermaine trailed off in thought. "That your hands always smelled like chemicals, and you dropped an apple on my head once, so you could tell me about Newton."

He remembered that too, in some distant part of his brain he had thought lost to time and hurt. It suddenly became very difficult to speak. "You don't need to apologize to me, Shermaine," Ford said gently.

"Yep, I do," she said, just as calmly. "Someone does, because you've missed out on a whole lot all these years, Ford. You've missed out on meeting two whole generations of Pineses because you had to go all - Stargate-y."

Ford's expression tightened at the reminder of what he had lost. "I'm well aware," he said stiffly.

"Might not be anyone's fault," Shermaine said contemplatively. "But as far as I'm concerned, someone's gotta fix it."

She paused. "And that someone's me."

Ford blinked. Shermaine downed the rest of her drink in one go, and began to get up shakily.

"Sherm -" Stan - tried - to interrupt, a look of concern on his face.

"Stanford," she announced, voise rising in volume as she stood, "consider yourself back in school. You are officially enrolled in a little crash course I like to call, 'Pines Family 101: A Drunk History,' starting..."

Shermaine checked her watch, only swaying slightly. "Right fucking now. Who's gonna help me grab my bags from the trunk?"

"Hell, Sherm, you brought the family photo albums?" Stan asked, pained.

"Every volume," she said cheerfully, and Ford could not miss the resemblance to a certain glitter-loving nibling. "And we're going through all of them. Together."

Life moved very quickly after that.

Maybe it was making up for lost time. There had been, after all, many, many photos to be seen. It was a pleasant surprise to realize that blood relation was quite possibly the least important factor of what it meant to be part of the Pines family as it existed now. Ford blinked blearily as he was introduced to second cousins and adopted aunts and more in-laws than he could count on both hands.

At one point, he thought he had seen a man with his niblings' wide grin, his arms around a woman with their curious eyes.

By the time he had 'graduated' from Shermaine's crash course, dazed and overwhelmed but full with emotion in a way he could not put into coherent words, Ford had been told the date of the next big family reunion and been made very aware of the fact that a great number of people attending would Very Much like to meet Great-Uncle Ford-But-Not-The-Other-Great-Uncle-Ford-Who-Was-Actually-Great-Uncle-Stanley-This-Whole-Time.

("But you should definitely ease yourself into it," Shermaine had said sheepishly, upon catching the expression of pure panic on Ford's face. "We're a bunch of weirdos and I love them to pieces, but I'd be the first to admit that we are a whole lot. So take your time, y'know? They'll understand.")

And then Shermaine was gone, because apparently - to his entire lack of surprise - she hadn't said much at all to anyone else when she started on her cross-country drive over to Gravity Falls. Now that she was satisfied that neither of her brothers was dead or dying or would be in the foreseeable future, she had a great deal of explanations to give herself, back home in California.

The Shack was very quiet after that.

But even so, between giving more-or-less adequate explanations to everyone who had a right to know (which was quite a bit more than Ford had expected, even knowing how deep his brother's connections ran in this town) and dealing with the constant crowd of townspeople clamoring for a reopening of the Mystery Shack, a few long days had passed before Stan and Ford got a moment to themselves to just... pick up their pieces.

It finally happened on a particularly nice summer evening, the kind with just enough of the occasional breeze to have a comfortable chill to it. The two of them sat perched on the back porch of the Shack, looking up at the many brilliant stars that hung distantly in the sky.

Ford could never say what triggered the thought in his mind, or if there even was a trigger at all. Maybe it had been there all along, just waiting to be spoken into existence.

There was something about the heavy darkness of the sky that made him contemplative and thoughtful. After that, it was just a matter of time before it slipped out.

"Stanley?" He spoke, his voice uncomfortably loud in the ambient noise of the Pacific Northwest woods.

His brother shifted next to him. "Yeah?"

"What happened to Six-Sights, in the end?"

Ford's words came out all in a rush, and he wanted to take them back the moment he realized he had spoken them out loud.

Stan was still, and for a long moment, it felt as if the entire world was holding its breath.

"I figured this was coming," his brother said finally, but there was no fear in his voice, no surprise. He leaned back, propped himself up with his own arms. "So. There's a long answer, and there's a short answer. Which one you wanna hear first?"

"...Maybe for once the universe will allow me to take the simpler path," Ford mused to himself, and found it entirely impossible to believe. Still... "The short answer, if you would?"

"They're still here."

Ford blinked. Opened his mouth, closed it again. "...I see," he said at long last, mind racing through more doomsday scenarios than he wanted to count. "Stanley, I mean this in the best possible way, but that particular answer brings me a great deal of fear and anxiety for the immediate future of the world."

"Not like that, geez." His brother rolled his eyes. "I meant, still here." He patted himself on the chest.

For a moment, it felt as if there was no more breath in his lungs. "But you're - you're human now," Ford said faintly, and it sounded more like a question than a statement.

"'Course I am, Sixer. I wouldn't have lied to you about that, geez. I'm just sayin'..." Stan was quiet for a moment. "The deal that we had going on. You remember that it goes both ways, right?"

"Yes," he said slowly, unsure of what his brother was getting at.

"So I get what I want. And they get what they want. You already know what I wanted, and it was easy enough when all they wanted was whatever Cipher told them to want." Stan hesitated. "Things... got a lot more complicated once they got a taste for what consciousness was like."

"They began to want something different," Ford said with no small amount of trepidation. He had trusted an eldritch being knowing that it was mostly his brother holding the reigns, but the thought of an existence beyond all human comprehension given access to whatever they wanted was entirely - and understandably - terrifying.

A particularly upsetting question popped into his head. "But - what could something like them want?"

Stan snorted in laughter. "Sorry," he muttered when Ford turned to stare, a strange smile still on his face. "It's just. I remember asking that too, way back when. Exact same question. Fiddleford had been giving me the whole spiel about eldritch whatchamacallits, and this was the only one he couldn't answer. Didn't want to answer, more like."

He grinned to himself. "But I figured it out, in the end. Figured it out before you two, even."

"I believe you've had," Ford said delicately, "what most would call an unfair advantage."

Stan shrugged. "Point taken. But just think about it, Ford. People can't make sense of them, but... we couldn't make sense of people either, y'know? Humanity was a whole - way of existing we'd never even considered. It was ridiculous, it was overwhelming, and y'know what?" He grinned, only slightly maniacally. "It was addicting."

He blinked, unsure if he had heard wrong. "I'm not quite sure what you're -"

"See, you've got some - ageless, all-knowing fact of the universe, and they've got everything that anyone could possible want." A strange, distant expression passed over his brother's face. "But what the hell is any of that good for if you're not living?"

For a moment, it felt as if the night got just that much darker.

"Of course we wanted more," Stanley said, voice rough. "After the deal, we never could've gone back to the way we were before."

"Um," said Ford.

His brother blinked, and grinned a bit sheepishly. When he spoke again, the strange tone in his voice was gone. "Sorry. It's, uh, a bit... hard to separate things out nice and clean after all of that, y'know?"

"But what you are now is human," he said searchingly. "Entirely, completely, human."

"That was the deal, wasn't it?" Stan said, matter-of-fact. "I get my brother back. And we get to be human."

...Ford could not help but notice that he hadn't actually answered the question. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to be concerned.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, occasionally slapping at the mosquitos that had begun to emerge from the nearby lake.

"So you're okay with that?' Stan asked suddenly.

The question was so ridiculous Ford had to fight the urge to laugh out loud. "I - Stanley, did you forget every single word I said to you while you were having your world-ending identity crisis?"

"No! I just - this is different, Ford." He fidgeted. "And it was the end of the world back then, I figure maybe you had -"

"Yes, Stanley, I'm okay with that," Ford said, and could not keep the exasperation from his voice. "It really isn't as entirely offputting as you seem to think. It's not as if you're not you." He paused. "They're just - you, too."

A thought popped into his head at that, and he found himself looking up at the dark sky. The entirety of the existence that Bill called 'Six-Sights' must have spanned - planets, galaxies, even, perhaps even outside of the human perception of physical size.

"...But you're not all of them, are you?"

"Yeah, I mean," his brother shrugged. "We never were. There was a lot of - us. The bit of us that got let onto Earth by Cipher was, uh, just one part in a billion billions. Maybe more."

"And the rest of them is - still out there, in whatever corner of the universe they existed in before Bill prodded them awake," Ford muttered out loud. "Doing whatever they've always done."

It was a strange thought. He had been vaguely aware of the entity's existence in his years traveling across the multiverse, but with the revelations of the past few days, he could not help but - perhaps wrongly - think of them with some degree of sympathy.

A strange expression flickered over Stan's face. "...Yeah."

Ford blinked. For a moment, he could have sworn - "You know something," he accused.

"What? No!" His brother hesitated. "...Maybe. It's nothin', honestly."

"Then it shouldn't be any issue for you to catch me on what exactly it is that I don't know. Right, Stanley?"

"Alright, alright. Just, uh." Stan paused, cleared his throat. "We were part of the same them for thirty years. Everything we saw, and felt, and got... they did too."

Ford didn't get the significance of that for a long moment. When the realization finally hit, it hit like a battering ram.

"What you're saying," he said slowly, "is that there is - at least some part of them remembers being you. Being my brother."

Ford tensed, his thoughts barreling towards a conclusion he did not want to accept. "And... it knows full well that they can never come home."

His brother's silence spoke volumes.

Cold horror flashed through him. "That's -"

"Ford, we don't know that," Stan said quickly. "You're overthinking it, honestly. This is thirty years of living compared to what, eternity?" He sighed. "See, what I think is, all of that was probably just one long blink for Six-Sights. Then it's all back to status quo."

"You don't actually think that," Ford accused.

"Sure I do," his brother lied, and let out a sigh. "C'mon, Sixer. Don't do this. Even if you're right about that, what can ya do about it?"

He didn't know, and that was bothered him the most. Ford felt a chill that did not come from the summer breeze.

A hand landed heavily on his shoulder and almost sheepishly, patted him sympathetically.

"Hey," Stanley said awkwardly. "Don't worry about them, alright? If they're anything like me, they'll figure something out. They'll - make it work for them."

Ford swallowed, hard. "...I suppose," he allowed.

They sat in silence together for a moment. When Ford looked at the night sky again, the darkness was almost solid.

For a long moment, he felt surrounded, from every side, every angle. He was within, somewhere deep inside the innards of some colossal existence, part of the bigger whole, and -

...There was something deeply familiar about the blackness of the night, the faint glint of stars that he could have sworn he had seen somewhere before, in a memory of green so deep in his mind that he could not be sure if it existed.

For a reason that he could never put into words or explain, not even to himself, he knew he was protected here.

...Maybe his brother was right, after all.

Ford thought about how Stanley had managed to repair the portal with a few dozen textbooks and pure tenacity, had subsumed an eternity-old fact of the universe out of sheer willpower, had out-manuevered a demonic con-man purely on the basis of his love for his family.

If there was anyone who could make the most out of being an age-old eldritch abomination suddenly given human consciousness, it was him.

"Ford," Stan said suddenly, his voice crashing through Ford's thoughts like a bull in a china shop. "I've been thinking about what you said."

"Hmrg?" He managed.

"Y'know. Before Shermy knocked on the door."

Oh. His mouth suddenly felt very, very dry. "Have you."

Stan didn't speak for a moment. Then, with no small amount of panic, blurted, "We need to make it work, don't we?"

"Er."

"Shermy knows there's two of us now. So does the rest of - well, everyone else." His brother fidgeted. "And they're not gonna settle down for any less than that, huh?"

With a burst of clarity, Ford saw exactly where this was going, and almost couldn't keep the relief off his face. "No, I daresay they won't," he said lightly.

They sat there, a silence stretching out into eternity.

"I can't promise anything," Stan said suddenly. "I just - can't, Sixer. I care about you and the kids too much to put myself above you all, and it ever comes down to it, then -"

"I'm not asking you to do that, Ley," he said gently. "Just to not put yourself below us."

A moment passed and gone. "I'll try," Stan said, voice hoarse.

Ford let out a breath, long and slow.

"That's enough for me," he said, and meant it.

And, despite himself, his thoughts began to drift, far, far away from the little town of Gravity Falls and the patch of Oregon forest that surrounded it.

Shermaine must have made it home by now, to Dipper and Mabel, and to a Pines family that Ford - should - have found strange and terrifying, because there was no one left that he knew.

And no one left that knew him.

But... what had surprised him was that when he had looked through those albums, learning a history he had thought lost to him with Stan and Shermaine throwing out embarrassing stories over his shoulder, he had not seen strangers. Ford had seen people he knew in parts, again and again - in bright grins and expressions of wonderment, to - a distinctive raised arch of an eyebrow that was all Ma.

...All the parts that made a family when shared.

Ford did some calculations in his head. 

If this year's reunion was in Piedmont, Northern California, then - that was near the ocean, wasn't it? 

And that really wasn't too far from Gravity Falls, geographically speaking, though one should - theoretically, completely theoretically - have some degree of nautical experience before attempting the journey.

Which, as far as he was concerned, just meant that they needed to get right on it.

"Stanley," Ford said, "how do you feel about buying a boat?"

[imgilmoregirl]

The Secret Affair

AO3 Link

Notes:  Ah-ha! Look at this big chapter! I'm kind of proud of my work here. I've tried to make it sound as realistic as fiction possibly can so I hope you guys like it!

Chapter Six

It was Thursday night, the weirdest heat wave of all times still punished Storybrooke and the nearest towns with no forecast to when it would end. The large windows of Isabelle French’s bedroom were open and the fan was working on it’s maximum, but it still seemed pretty hot in there for her and one of her closest friends, Jasmine. They were sat on the floor, books and pieces of paper surrounding them as the girls wrote the most important things about their latest classes and made questions to each other in an attempt to have everything covered for their Chemistry test.

"So,” started Jasmine, looking up from her notebook to take a look at her friend for the first time in long minutes, “are you really babysitting Neal Gold tomorrow?"

"I think so," Belle answered with a shrug, reaching for her bottle of water and taking a sip.

She grimaced when she noticed that what once was a perfectly cold drink was now a hot waste of water. The girl pulled it away and focused on Jasmine’s inquiring glare. Her arched eyebrow let it clear that something was coming.

"You think?"

"Mr. Gold and I haven't been talking for the last two days so I'm not really sure if he still wants me to do it or not."

"Oh, what have you done, Bells?"

It was a simple question, anyone could tell, even Belle herself, but to her tired, irritated ears it even sounded like an offense. She threw her hands up, letting them fall back on her thighs with a loud clap that startled the other girl a bit, but Belle couldn’t quite notice it now as she was feeling a hot wave of anger taking her whole body.

"Nothing! Jesus, Jas, I thought you were the only one in this town who was not judging me,” she complained, feeling her eyes burning with nonsensical, unshed tears. "Even Ruby and my father have suspicions about the two of us!"

"Slow down, girl, that's not what I've said," Jasmine defended herself. "What I meant is that you're clumsy, I thought you could have broken something expensive and he was angry."

"Ah, yes," Belle murmured, now completely ashamed of her own behaviour. "I'm sorry, I'm exasperated. Must be the Chemistry test."

Jasmine only snorted and closed up her notebook, starting to gather her things and put most of them back to her backpack, leaving only her notepad and a pen on her lap.

"Well then, we should study because it's almost eight and I can predict my father calling me at any second now."

Of course, her father, the school, their test. Belle wasn’t focusing in any of it when Jas suddenly decided to speak up, actually, she was thinking about the taste of Liam Gold’s lips and the way they moved in synchrony with her, however, she had to come back to reality before she lost herself to a fantasy that clearly wasn’t happening a second time.

"Teen drama," the brunette murmured to herself. "I cherish it now."

...

Although she was expecting to come home after school, Belle had told her father she was babysitting for the entire weekend – she didn’t say who exactly she was watching, obviously – and prepared a bag with clothes and other essential, that would stay in Ruby’s recently fixed car during their classes. However, right when she was leaving for school, Belle found the envelope Milah Gold had obviously dropped there for her.

A roll of her eyes followed the quick, exigent and careless note she had left, because as someone who knew exactly what was a good mother, Belle could tell that Milah wasn’t one. She didn’t get to that conclusion just by remembering about her own mother’s lovely and preoccupied behaviour, but by gathering the memory of all the amazing mothers and grandmothers of Storybrooke. None of the good ones paid their children’s nanny’s like this, nor left the town without making sure they weren’t going to be safe and cared for.

That one small event had made a new, strange rage settle on Belle’s chest during the whole day and even when she picked the sweet Neal Gold up from school, smiling to him and offering the boy a pack of chocolate chip cookies, she was still feeling it and needing to scream to someone just to relieve the stress. It probably was the reason why they reached Mr. Gold’s shop so quickly that afternoon.

The sign was turned open and she swung the door open with no hesitation, bringing the little boy along with her, his hand tucked in hers with a security that made her heart ache. Most children weren’t so fond of strangers and if Neal was, it was probably because he wasn’t receiving enough attention at home.

"Belle?" Liam’s voice took her away from her musings, making Belle look up to see his surprised eyes focused on the boy she had brought. "What are you doing here with Neal?"

"Well, your wife left an envelope by my door this morning with my payment and the keys to your house, so I guessed I was the one who had to pick him up from school," she answered with a shrug, trying to keep herself as calm as possible, knowing that she should mind her own business and not be angry at her boss’ wife in any way. "We just came by to say hello and ask you if there is any routine I should follow with Neal or if I should just do things my way."

Gold blinked, astonished. Leaving the watches with which he had been working, Liam walked towards them, leaving heavily on his cane as he kneeled in front of his son and allowed the little boy to happily throw his arms around him – not even fussing when some cookie crumbs fell to his perfectly clean suit.

"Do as you prefer, dearie," he told her as he petted Neal’s hair and pressed a dry kiss on his cheek. "You, my boy, be good to Ms. French alright?"

Ms. French, again they were back at it. But if Liam Gold wanted to play this game and pretend there was nothing happening, she was going to follow it. When she was Ms. French to him, he would be Mr. Gold to her.

"I'll eat all my vegetables and go to bed when she says so," Neal said, waving his head promptly.

"You're adorable," Gold laughed, tickling his chin and making Neal giggle.

Yeah, Belle was definitely right, Neal’s lack of affection came from his mother not his father.

"I've said that a thousand times on our way from school to here," she agreed. "I could spend my whole week with your son and I wouldn't be tired of him."

When Liam looked up at her she felt that weird thing again, as if the world had stopped and a thousand damned butterflies were fluttering in her stomach. She had to remember herself how to breath as Gold pulled Neal down to the floor and stood up with some effort.

"Uh, I think Milah must have the guest room ready for you," he said in that weirdly polite tone of voice again, the sweet moment between them, clearly getting to na end. "There is a bathroom there you can use too and feel free to eat or prepare anything in our kitchen."

"Alright, thank you for the hospitality, Mr. Gold," Belle replied nodding for him. "Should we expect you for dinner?"

"No, darling, I'm going to be late here, so if you please, put Neal down before I arrive," he explained as he turned away, making her heart race with the word darling. Liam picked up the very same black folder he used every last week of each month and waved it toher. "Rent time."

"Ah, good luck with that, I hope the nuns have their payment in hands."

"So do I," he answered with a smirk.

And all of the sudden the reality of the situation hit her hard. Belle was spending the whole weekend in his house, all alone, expect for his child. She swallowed hard as she felt her hands trembling a little with the uncertainty of how she should act for the next two days.

"Papa,” Neal called and the two of them immediately looked down at him, both relieved to have something else to think about. “Can you read the bunnies for me today?"

"Oh, my boy, papa will be late today, but I bet Ms. French can do it for you."

"Sure," Belle confirmed. "Which book is that?"

"One about a father and a son who loved each other more than anything," Gold whispered, touching his boy’s cheek and smiling in a way that took Belle’s breath away. "Neal will show it to you."

"I'm excited to see it," she said, taking Neal’s hand again. "Let's go, buddy."

Neal nodded, following her with bouncy steps. When they were at the door, ready to leave, the turned around, waving back at his father and pulling another grin to Belle’s face.

"Bye, papa!"

...

Taking care of Neal was easy, Belle soon realised. He was quite a nice child, unlike most of the ones she had watched ever since she was fourteen, he would do the things she said and only insist a tiny bit to do what he actually wanted. In the end he was in bed by eight after a lovely night reading that she enjoyed as much as he did.

Gold’s house was another whole subject. Of course she had already seen it on the outside and knew how huge it was, but once Belle entered it, she had a big surprise. Not just because of the warm, dark colours of the walls, floors and furnitures, but because it was full of interesting objects and books that called her attention from the first moment she stepped in there.

Every room seemed to be bigger than her whole house, darker, even with all lights switched up and fuller. She knew it must be a matter of personal taste, but she concluded that the house felt quite sad and depressing. Neal’s bedroom was the only happy and colourful corner she found, the rest could have been taken from a horror movie for all she knew.

There wasn’t much life there, either. Lots of trinkets, just like in Gold’s shop, but not life. The curtains were made of a heavy velvet that gave her the impression that they were barely touched by anyone in there, she only found two photographs, one a huge portrait of Neal in a younger age that was hanging above the fireplace and the other, a very smaller portrait that could have gone unnoticed if she hadn’t been taking an attentive look at all the stuff gathered in a glassware. It was a family picture with baby Neal wrapped in Gold’s arms, but the strange thing about it was that no one looked really happy, specially Milah.

If she could, Belle would have spent the whole night just opening cabinets, drawers and trying to find what was wrong with the Gold Family, but she knew that she couldn’t do it... Unless she really wanted to anger her boss and that wasn’t an option while she was sleeping under his shelter. Her only alternative then was to prepare something to eat and get ready to bed.

Her bag was laying on a chair at the guest room that had been marked with her name using a piece of paper and a red pen. She changed to her pyjama and check on Neal one last time before going back downstairs and curling herself up on the couch with a book, hearing the sounds of the crickets outside the house as she flipped up the pages, until a different noise came from the main hall and she looked up to see Gold entering the living room.

"You're awake," he said in awe.

"I've pulled Neal to bed about an hour ago so came down stairs to read a bit and eat something," Belle explained, pulling her book down to the coffee table and standing up to look at him. "I still have pasta if you want some."

"No, thank you," Liam quickly turned the offer down. "I'll be in my office if you need me.”

That was it, she thought, the distance he had put between them been explicitly again. She hated it and what she hated the most was the fact that Gold didn’t have the right courage to face the situation and speak to her, just tell Belle what exactly was going on between them and why he thought she should ignore it all, however, Liam wasn’t escaping her this time around.

"Actually, I do."

He was already on his way out, but Liam stopped turning back to look a her with na arched eyebrow and a confused glare on his eyes.

"What?"

"To talk," Belle explained. "I think we need to talk, Mr. Gold."

"About Neal?"

"No, about us," she insisted, elevating her tone of voice a bit. "Listen, you're driving me mad! You kissed me, freaked out and then stopped talking to me!"

"Ms. French, I'm sorry but you came here to babysit Neal, nothing else," Gold answered drily trying to cut her off even before a proper conversation could start.

It was another thing that drove her mad, his stupid, quiet way of facing this. Damn it, didn’t he know that avoiding things could only make them even worse? Well, if all people he knew enjoyed the silence treatment instead of a good talk, then he was going to lean that Belle was a very different kind of woman.

"See? That's what I'm talking about," the girl pointed out, agrily. "You need to stop right now! Whatever you're doing, just stop! I'm not a toy, Liam and I don't want you to play with me anymore. I hate you when you treat me like nothing and calls me Ms. French as if to anger me but, God, I hate you more when you talk softly and make me feel... Those things."

"Feel what, exactly?"

His voice was now low and husky, just as it was when she wanted him the most, which made Belle swallow hard and fight to keep looking at his eyes when they seemed to burn her body with their brown warmth. His gaze was like chocolate and she wanted to drown in it, drink it and have it all for herself.

"I don't know, I never felt it before," Belle confessed. "It's just this need I don't quite understand yet, this clamping in my belly, this heat on my body."

"Belle, I'm a married man," Liam murmured, his eyes closing as he took a step back.

"I know. So why the hell did you kiss me?"

"Because feel the same, ok?" Gold replied in new, dark and loud tone of voice. One that she didn’t quite know yet. "And unlike you, sweetheart, I do understand what it is and it makes me dirty. A monster, in fact."

The self-loathing in his words, the pain she could see in his eyes behind the desire, it was enough to make her take a few steps towards him and reach for his face, touching his cheek and sighing when he leaned against her palm.

"You're not a monster," Belle whispered before standing on the tips of her toes to press a kiss on his lips.

She knew it was a daring move, that he could pull her away and yell at her just like the last – and first - time they had kissed each other, but she was helpless when it came about him. So then, Belle waited. Waited for the moment he would step back, however Liam remained still, just feeling the touch of her lips on his until Belle herself pulled away to look up at him with confusion crossing her flushed face.

"How can you feel anything for an old crippled man like me?" Gold queried when he noticed she was waiting for his reaction.

"I'm not sure,” Belle considered, thinking about the things people were saying around town and how the girls had joked about it many times. “I know my friends would think I'm crazy if I told them, but I feel it."

Her hand was now on the lapel of his suit jacket, just laid there and she took a deep breath as she moved it down a bit aiming the buttons for a reason that must have been completely instinctive, but that attended the needs her body secretly had.

"You shouldn't come this close, Belle."

"Why not?"

"Because you're tempting me and I'm about to eat the forbidden fruit," Liam said, his free hand finally coming up to wrap on her hair as it stopped on the curve of her neck and his eyes seemed to become darker with something that could only be described as lust.

This time she held her breath. Belle had been taught to be a maiden like in the old times, she should wait until she was married to sleep with someone, she shouldn’t be doing this, she shouldn’t be wanting Gold – a married, older man – like this, but, oh dear, she was.

"What if that's what I want from you?"

His mouth opened slightly and Belle thought he would say something harsh to her and tell her to go home, but then his eyes fixed on hers and Liam seemed to get lost. He bent down to capture her lips in the most wonderful kiss she had ever shared before, his calloused fingers caressing the soft skin of her face and throat as their tongues enlaced together before his mouth escaped hers, dropping down to her jaw and taking her breath away as he sucked and kissed, making her knees seem to be jelly.

The sound of his cane dropping down to the floor didn’t interrupt the moment, Belle could only concentrate on his other hand travelling down her body and then under her pyjama shirt, sending electric jolts through her body that made her feel a stronger need. Belle clutched at him and moaned when she felt the hard bulge in his trousers rub a her belly. That was when he finally pulled away a bit, still holding her, but looking extremely uncertain.

"Belle, no..."

"Please, don't stop," she begged. "I have never felt as loved as I'm feeling now. Please don't turn me down."

"Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, caressing her cheek and tracing her eyebrow with the tip of his nose. "We need to go to the bedroom now."

A ragged breath escaped her in disbelief. They were really doing it.

Belle had time to think, if she wanted, she could still tell him that it wasn’t right and that she should go home, however, the girl knew what the desire they were feeling were leading them right from the start and she never wanted to stop. Smiling at him, she bent down to pick Liam’s cane and offered it to him, allowing her boss to lead them along the corridors, up the stairs and finally to the máster bedroom.

She wasn’t expecting them to go there, Belle thought he would take them to the bedroom she was using for the weekend and not to his wife’s own bed, however before starting a stupid fight, the girl convinced herself that he must have a good reason to do it. She told herself to not think about Milah at all and took a seat on the bed whilst he closed the door and pulled his cane aside before sitting next to her, touching her lower lip with a look that heated her body again, erasing any thoughts from her head.

She leaned forward to kiss him again, this time allowing her fingers to reach for his buttons and open his suit jacket, sliding it down and throwing her arms around his neck to deepen the kiss. Liam groaned and grabbed her by her bottom, pulling Belle up to his lap and pressing up his hidden erection against her legs. A part of her couldn't quite believe she was wanted by someone like Gold, liked to have the power to make him hard this way and wanted to invest in this daring girl she found in herself so recently.

Gold reached for the ends of her shirt and pulled it up, taking it off and throwing the piece of clothing on the floor in that maddening need of getting each other naked. Belle took no time taking his tie and shirt off too, exposing his slim torso to her hands to feel and eyes to admire. He wasn't the fat, hairy guy people supposed him to be and it excited Belle even more, which made her want to make him feel the same about her, so she reached behind her own back and unhooked her bra, pulling it down and blushing as she watched Gold's reaction.

"You're so beautiful, sweetheart," he murmured softly, cupping her breasts and massaging them in simple awe. "Beautiful Belle... Perfect girl."

Her breath got caught on her throat and tears came to her eyes at his adoration. She loved him, now she could tell for certain, she loved William Gold more than she had ever loved anyone. The moment he captured her nipple between his lips Belle gasped louder than she expected herself to. He sucked and bite and all Belle could do was to gasp repeatedly as she felt herself starting to drip between her legs.

"I need you, Liam."

He looked up at her, realising her nipple with a sinful noise and settled his hands on her thighs as he rested his forehead against hers.

"I need to ask, my darling, are you a virgin?"

"Y-Yeah," Belle answered, hoping it wouldn't make him give up.

However, out of what she thought, what Gold did was to help her to move up so he could slid her shorts and panties down as he kicked his shoes and shocks off before letting her sit back on his lap. Belle was now fully naked and Liam drank down the whole image of her before moving his fingers down to her womanhood, parting her folders and spreading her wetness up to a little hidden place that made Belle's eyes roll back as she moaned against Gold's ear.

"I'm going to show you every way in which a woman can be loved, Belle," Liam whispered softly. "I need to warn you though, the first time will hurt and you may not even enjoy it properly."

Belle cupped his cheeks, feeling the ends of his hair touching her skin with softness, she grinned and kissed his lips before pulling back to look straight at his eyes.

"It doesn't matter," she murmured. "My need is you."

Kissing her neck one last time, Gold laid her down on the bed and unbuckled his belt, finishing undressing in front of her and making Belle's eyes widen when she saw his hard cock. She swallowed hard as she sat back, reaching to touch his tip. He was bigger and longer than she had expected, which made Belle feel a moment of panic, wondering if he would fit inside her, but she bet that most girl felt that way on their first time.

"Lay down, sweetheart," Liam instructed. "I need something before we begin."

He reached for the nightstand on the right side of the bed and opened the drawer, taking a silver package from inside it. A condom. Of course, Belle was a fool, she had forgot she used no birth control and they really needed protection. She watched as Liam slid the condom along his shaft before bending down to cover her body with his. Gold slid his hand down her body, caressing her ever so gently before hooking his hand behind her left knee and pulling it up, them doing the same with the right one, parting her legs so he was in the middle, his erection hanging and brushing against Belle's thigh.

"Are you sure that's what you really want?"

"Yes," Belle answered, firmly. "I want you, Liam. I want everything with you."

She traced the lines of his nose, then under his eyes and up to his hair which she clutched as Liam bent down to kiss her as he reached between them to grab his cock and part her lips with it, running up and down to stimulate that little part of her that made Belle writhe before finally settling himself on her entrance. Gold looked at her eyes then, waiting for that ultimate nod before pushing in inch by inch.

It felt weird, too strange and foreign for her body, she felt herself being opened and it didn't feel as good as it did before, it was just uncomfortable and she held onto Liam's back and shoulder to keep herself still as he continued to push. Her brain seemed to scream that he was to big for that, but somehow, her walls were slowly starting to fit him in, gripping his cock tightly until Gold's tip met her barrier.

Belle bit down her lip, holding him closer and took a deep breath before feeling the last thrust, a scream getting stuck on her throat as some tears fell down from her eyes. It really hurt. Damn it, she didn't see that coming, because as much as she knew it was going to happen Belle wasn't expecting it to feel so bad. It was like a part of her she didn't yet know that existed burned intensively.

"I'm sorry, Belle," Gold whispered, pressing a kiss to her neck. "I'm so sorry."

At first, Belle couldn't answer, concentrated in her own pain and breathing slowly as it started to disappear. It was like tripping on the corner of some furniture and hurting a toe, it was a screaming pain that faded to nothing in a short time. What was left was the welcoming sensation of Liam's cock all inside her.

"That's alright," she murmured. "I'm fine, the pain is gone. You can move now."

Nodding, Gold held himself up on his elbows as he pulled almost all the way back before thrusting back inside. At first it felt uncomfortable again, but slowly it started to become pleasurable. It was a good sensation that warmed her body and seeing Liam move above her, letting out small sounds of pleasure made her want more of what she was getting, but Belle didn't quite know how to ask for it. She loved to be in his arms, to be so close to him and she thought that it was this closeness what she was craving, so the girl wrapped her arms and legs around his body and moved her hips forward to meet his cock halfway when he was thrusting in and out. That increased the amazing aching feeling between her legs, so she did it again and again and when she realised, Belle was rocking against him like a mad woman, blinded by desire.

Soft moans came out of her mouth as they moved faster, bodies dripping sweat and other fluids, Gold's cock hitting places inside her that sent Belle to the stars and back at each thrust. She could feel him becoming erratic with every new movement and the sounds he made, those groans that excited her more than anything, became more constant and louder. Belle felt his body starting to shake as she hit a higher level of pleasure and moaned his name to the room, being carried away in white lights when his pace became madly fast just a few seconds before she heard him groaning and shaking more than ever. Then, everything went quiet.

They laid there, a tangled mess above the red bed covers, breathing hard and holding onto each other for dear life. Gold was the first to move, kissing her lips before pulling out of her and taking the condom off, disappearing in the suit's bathroom with it and coming back a moment later to lay by her side again and pull her closer.

"How do you feel?" Liam queried.

"Like a very tired amount of jelly," Belle laughed. "I loved it, thank you."

"Oh, I know you couldn't know what a good love-making is just by this experience, you'll be sore now, but when you're ready I'll show you how it is to cum and writhe in a really good fuck."

The way he spoke made her cheeks become red and Belle looked away from his eyes, nuzzling her nose on his shoulder as she traced his nipple with her thumb. If she told her friends what she had done on that Friday night, none of them would believe, or worse, Ruby would and then would judge her for the rest of her life.

Belle told herself that nobody's opinion mattered when it came about love, if she and Liam liked each other, they shouldn't let anyone come between then. Unless of course, this person was Milah, his wife, the woman who owned the bed in which she had just lost her virginity.

"Liam," she started, slowly, lifting herself up on her elbow to look into his amazing brown eyes. "What about Milah?"

"I have not slept with her ever since Neal was a baby and even after that, we were about to get a divorce," he murmured. "We shouldn't worry about her, but what I do worry about is you. If someone happens to find out..."

"No one will," Belle promised. "I won't tell anybody, that will be our secret."

He sighed, looking away as he distracted himself by pulling a blanket up over them, covering Belle's naked body and wrapping her as if she was a small child. Liam brushed fingers along his hair, contemplating the determined expression on her face.

"You shouldn't want that, Belle and as much as I have enjoyed our night, I'm really sorry I corrupted you this way."

"You didn't corrupt me, Liam," she sighed, kissing his lips, before rolling on her back and hugging the pillow behind her. "No one decides anything in my behalf. If I am in this bed today was because I wanted to."

A tiny laugh escaped his lips as Liam wrapped his arms around her waist, hiding his face on her hair as peaceful silence came over them and the hours passed by, bringing the comfort of a night of sleep over the two secret lovers.

...

Months later.

"Ms. Lucas, I'm warning you, if anything goes wrong with this plan, it will be all your fault," Sidney Glass stated as they drove down the road that lead to one of Storybrooke's quietest neighborhoods.

Ruby had never quite imagined to find herself inside the car of one of her teachers, however with the madness of the last few days, she should start to accept that anything was possible.

"Yeah, I know, you've said it about five times ever since we left Granny's," she complained, moodily but still as determined as the moment she decided to talk to Mr. Glass that morning and just beg.

"Because I'm worried!"

She sighed. Mr. Glass was definitely one to hide behind the words of a book or a good article, she knew that ever since she first started taking his English classes. Ruby wasn't planning to ask for his help at all, it just happened, she saw him having breakfast and attacked with all the arguments she had, just like she did in her craziest moments. However, she should win a few points with this investment, because it was for Belle and for her best friend, Ruby Lucas did anything.

"Why? Belle is a good student, you've said it yourself and you were already going to offer her a scholarship!"

"I know it, but offering her a scholarship and arranging a house for her to flee away from her father and her lover is a very different thing," he insisted.

"Belle made a mistake, ok? But she is trying to fix it," Ruby replied anxiously. "Jasmine already said she can pay for her stay in any where you get."

"This is still wrong, Ms. Lucas."

Oh, that she knew, but everything concerning Belle French and their last year at High School was utterly and completely wrong. She understood it, Ruby had made her own mistakes, she had broken a few hearts and had also screwed her own reputation around town, but it was what made her want to help Belle so badly. Ruby couldn't let the same happen to her, even more when there was a baby involved.

"It's the blue house," she indicated, mindlessly. "Number 35."

Ruby looked down at her phone, the message app still open with no answer from Belle, but the most concerning, no answer from Jasmine, Dorothy or Archie. She had really fucked up and now none of them would talk to her - well, Jas would only answer anything if the name Belle was written on the message and she was the subject of the shortest conversations they shared ever since they met.

Snorting, Ruby leaned back against the car seat looking up to see Moe French dragging a crying Belle to his van. She didn't think twice, Ruby jumped out of Mr. Glass' car as soon as he stopped and rushed towards them, immediately pulling herself between Moe and Belle, insistly punching the hand he had gripping her arm.

"Hey, release her!"

"Get the hell out of here, Ruby," Moe yelled back. "This is none of your business!"

"You're hurting her!"

"He is trying to make me abort my baby," Belle cried. "Please, Ruby, don't leave me."

"What?" Sidney Glass' voice came from where he was, standing beside his car with wide eyes.

They all looked back at him and Moe finally unleashed his grip on Belle's arm allowing Ruby to pull her away, wrapping her arms around the tiny brunette's shoulders as their teacher approached the florist.

"Mr. French, I'm afraid I need to inform you that you can't force Isabelle to do anything, even if she is your daughter and still seventeen," he said in the coldest voice they had ever heard. "And in fact, I came here today to offer Belle a scholarship and a new home in which she and her baby will be safe and cared for. She will be able to study and give her child a better life."

"Really?" Belle asked between her tears.

"Yes, Ms. French, you're a very smart girl and we are investing in you," Glass smiled. "A friend of mine, Fae, has agreed to open her house for you and watch for your baby once it is born, so you don't have to leave college aside."

Ruby caressed her hair, watching as her smile grew bigger and Moe's face became as red as a tomato.

"You can't come here and offer to take my daughter away from me," Moe yelled at him. "You want from her the same thing Gold did, but I'm not letting Belle continue to whore herself like this!"

"Mr. French," Sidney Glass started very slowly. "What you're saying is a very dangerous accusation and I will have to call the sheriff if you insist in saying things like this. Now, Belle will be eighteen in a few weeks, so if she chooses to come with me, she will be free."

Belle French swallowed hard, taking Ruby's hand and stepping away from her father, walking towards Glass, until she felt secure again.

"You're my tower, father, but I won't be Melina," she started. "I will ran away before it is too late for me and I will never treat my child like you treated me."

Moe looked about to explode with anger, he slammed his fists against his own sides and grunted, but then, he couldn't do anything. His daughter was a free bird ever since she was a little girl, she already knew how to flutter and now she was going to fly away, so all he could do was to watch as she entered Sidney Glass' car and left to never come back.

[khrsecretsanta]

To: Fueledbyfangirling (BB)

ARC 1 - Khrkin (Francis)

For BB! I wrote a lil drabble for you centered around Tsuna and Hayato. I hope you’re having a very merry holiday season!

Hayato has a little clear jar decorated in first-grade bright stars, it’s filled with carefully handled memories and fragile treasures, and he locks it neatly away in the more natural accessible part of his mind. For moments when he’ll need them most. About a third of the jar filled with Tsuna’s smiles, his kind looks, overall his everything. Every new expression is neatly stashed away to recollect fondly on days when maybe Tsuna doesn’t have a smile to give.

Hayato’s first Christmas, the one that felt to be full of all the holiday-cheer bullshit or whatever nonsense, consisted of paper snowflakes and a couple of cracked ornaments. And Tsuna’s laughter ringing loud and clear through the house like a happy trill. Even though he’d received a pair of socks with ugly mushrooms on them, Hayato had never felt so full in all of his years of pushing and pulling and fighting. At fourteen, he truly understood what it meant to enjoy the presence of family.

Which brings him to his most recent stumbling block, the twenty-seventh this week and it’s only Tuesday afternoon. It’s no secret that himself and Tsunayoshi are close or preferably in a romantic relationship, which good because of fuck anybody who tells them otherwise. But that makes Christmas a lot harder. Hayato isn’t very good at coming up with meaningful gifts, but for Tsuna, he’s more than willing to try. Only, Hayato isn’t exactly sure where to start.

What does he want? There’s the most frustrating step because Tsunayoshi is so stubborn in the ways that he'll insist on not wanting anything. “I have all that I could ever want,” sweet as those words are it makes Hayato want to nail him occasionally. He’s sure Tsuna is this close to duct taping him to the ceiling as well meaning they’re at an impasse.

The first question goes like this, they’re enjoying a rare moment of relaxation on the sofa that Tsuna insists they don’t need to replace due to one ketchup stain courtesy of Lambo, and Hayato can feel himself drifting off in Tsuna’s arms. The fingers are combing through his hair chasing promises of sleep. And then with a start, he realizes those fingers are shaking. “What’s the matter?” The words come out before his brain can catch up, spurred by concern and his constant act first and ask questions later. Tsuna seems to pause, and that’s when Hayato knows for a fact that he’s overthinking. “It’s okay, you can tell me.” He presses with a nudge of his shoulder.

“I was just thinking, I guess.” Tsuna looks a bit miserable all hunched over with his fingers still buried in Hayato’s hair.

“About what?”

Sighs are long, unsteady things often, their meanings can be dreadful. “It’s weird, but I guess I never expected to make it this far. Twenty-three is a big number, and I’m not sure where to go from there. It’s our ninth Christmas of me being unsure how the fuck all of these things happened. I think, I just don’t want to ruin this year.”

Hayato can barely think, “I don’t see how you would.”

They met on another dreary summer day, by the convenience store at Hollyhock and Maybrook. One wanted a Pepsi; the other wanted anything that could cure this goddamn headache. So when an unfamiliar boy manages to drop a whole two liter of Pepsi while looking miserable and obstructing his path, the two first got on like oil and water.

Gokudera grabbed Tsuna by the collar and Tsuna yelped, stomping on his foot hard and scrambling away, right out the automatic doors.

Hayato swore next time they met he would pummel that kid.

Coincidentally, their next meeting was at his transfer school. Hayato didn’t pummel him as planned, but he did kick over his desk with the kid still in it. Sawada looked shaken for days afterward, serves him right.

And then Christmas rolled around that first year in nowheresville Japan, Bianchi didn’t even stick around long enough for the cake, not that Hayato was lonely, not one bit. It was just like every year, and somehow that just sounded even worse, so he took a walk, not a drive, Bianchi has the car he reminds himself. Not that Hayato could drive legally, but since when did that stop anybody. He should’ve expected it to be cold as fuck but alas there are times when he doesn’t have a fucking brain. Nothing could contest to the rage over that one fact.

It’s funny in a real not amusing at all way how Sawada once again managed to drop soda on his foot! The boy in question flustered, “Hrgh, uh, sorry I guess?” Sawada stares pretty hard, and that makes his blood boil once more beneath his pink cheeks. “What do you mean ‘I guess,’ huh?” The words roll off his tongue just as sharp as Hayato meant them to be. Sawada ducked, waving his hands passively in front of himself like warding off his impending doom.

“I didn’t mean it like that! I kinda got lost in thought…” He trails off scratching his arm nervously, and Hayato represses the urge to roll his eyes before snatching the liter off its merry, albeit slow, way across the floor and shoving it into Sawada’s arms. “You’re thinking too hard. Isn’t it like Christmas or something? You’re the last person I expected to run into.” Hayato jingles his pocket, only three rolls left, shit. Sawada’s eyes blow wide, they’re huge, big as saucers.

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” Genuinely confused Tsuna cringes as the bottle nearly tumbles from his grasp, again. If that’s the case then shouldn’t Hayato be at his own home? “It’s not like I don’t frequent this convenience store or anything.” True that Miura who works the after-school shift often rings him up for another box of band-aids, and Kurokawa who works in the makeup aisle does recommend things to cover up the dark bags that quote on quote make him “look like you haven’t slept in a year,” but still, that has nothing to do with Christmas?

Hayato let out a long-suffering sigh. “Shouldn’t you be I don’t know, decorating cookies with your parents or something?” He punctuates his words with gestures, jerky at best.

“Nuh uh,” Tsuna hefted the bottle of pop up higher in his arms, one mitten sliding partway down his hand. “It’s just my mom and me. She’s at work right now, so I am- er- was going to bring back her favorite pop for when she gets home later. I mean, yeah if I could do that with my parents I’d probably be back at the house.”

Oh.

“Mood.” That’s the first time Hayato has been decent to one Sawada Tsunayoshi, and suddenly it’s as if the boy above received the moon, cliche as it is his eyes glow somewhat like the sun. “Hold this,” Tsuna says, and Hayato is about to say no because he isn’t a caddy boy, but the bottle immediately shoved into his hands, and there���s not much he can do but contemplate dropping it high enough for the cap to dent the pop to splatter and fizzle all over the floor. But then his shoes would get sticky too, wouldn’t they?

His thoughts of petty revenge are cut short by something wrapped around his neck, blue and soft and completely enjoyable. Without thinking one hand flies up to his neck, he pulls, a pretty blue scarf comes along with him. “You haven’t got anything, and it’s cold. Merry Christmas, Gokudera-kun! Be safe, a-and don’t you go catch a cold!”

Even when automatic doors ding, Hayato is still standing there red-cheeked, shell-shocked, sporting a matching hat and scarf. A forgotten bottle of Cola between his hands.

(Later when at home he opens it. Watching it explode all over the table Hayato barks his first real laugh in a long, long time. He finishes off the cake, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.)

January rolls around, a new term. Hayato declaring his undying devotion both touches and terrifies Tsuna.

Hayato discovered the meaning of his words a few days later. Tsuna is nowhere within the base; he isn’t even in his usual place between the corner and stairs of the washroom sorting documents and hiding from Reborn for a missed deadline.

And then he’s gone. Tsuna is gone, and he’s dead, and he’s never coming back to laugh or cry or be the little spoon when Hayato wakes up plagued with nightmares about losing his family.

Hayato can’t believe it. No, he won't find it because there was never life in him before Tsuna stepped into the picture. He’ll never see the man he loved so dearly again.

He keeps three bottles of cherry pop inside the fridge but never drinks them.

That Christmas when they make a feeble attempt to celebrate it falls flat because Christmas isn’t the same without Sawada Tsunayoshi. It’s empty.

Those bottles will never empty, but Hayato does. He empties his stomach into the nearest toilet, abandoning their party.

Trivial things like gifts don’t matter so much anymore.

I have everything I could ever want!

They both did.

Their reunion is something fierce. All gnashing teeth and apologetic cries, latching on to one another and not letting go as Tsuna babbles incoherent apologies, unable to get close enough because nothing is close.

Hayato sobs like a child, not letting go with shuddering breaths because it can’t be, that Tsuna is back! He’s again and he’s living, breathing, crying! How many nights has he laid awake in an empty bed, thinking of what he might give just to hear his boyfriend do anything again?

“You owe me a Christmas.”

Tsuna stops abruptly amidst all of his babbled apologies, tears slipping down his bright cheeks. “Huh?” He says dumbly because there isn’t a better reaction. Hayato is digging his fingers into Tsuna’s forearms looking somewhat like a petulant child, albeit determined. Eyes are shining, nose running. His fringe looks all grown out and messed up from running his fingers through his hair so many times. “I said you owe me the best Christmas celebration you can fucking give, please.”

Well, if he says it like that. Mid-May be damned.

“I will! Right now, Chrome, please get out the decorations!” Desperate to soothe, she scrambles off with a nod.

Empty cola bottles are like reliving a pleasant memory.

They pretend it’s snowing. Tinsel on the doorways, a Christmas tree illusion in the great room. Beneath the fake snow their lips meet. And this time, many more holidays follow in good health.

Loving and loved in return.

ARC 2 - Trilies (James)

So fun story: I was in the middle of writing your gift when Tumblr rolled out with its absurd new changes! And, despite Tumblr saying it wouldn’t touch written things… Well, I didn’t have a lot of faith in them, tbh! So I’ve put your gift on another site: warmskies (dot) dreamwidth (dot) com! It’s under the title of “anchor”, and I hope you like it! It didn’t get as NSFW as I was hoping (the tumblr thing threw me off my game), but that can always change. I hope you like it!