#and then stormed off on my evil grandmother before she called me about an hour later

[thedepressedweasel]

My DNA contributors abused me out of nowhere yesterday and then proceeded to play TeH vIcTiN and tell everyone who would listen that I was a monster and that I did everything wrong, all because they were going to Flora and her boyfriend's house and I didn't want to stay home with my evil grandmother. I forget nothing and I forgive nothing. Not anymore. I hate them so much that I honestly don't understand how someone can be this old and still be such a cunt. I refuse to call these monsters my "parents" because they're not my parents; they're just things who have abused, tortured and neglected me my whole life since I was born. That's all they really are to me.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Faithful (Sternclay)

The last fill is the winner of the more sweet than spooky prompts: My friend/relative is too sick to go trick-or-treating, so I’m taking their kid

“Thanks so much again for bailing me out” Lillian ties her scarf around her neck before kneeling down, “Grace, you be good for your uncle okay? I’ll be back in time to tuck you in.”

“Okay” Joseph’s niece smiles and bends her head foreward so his sister can kiss it. 

“That’s my girl. And don’t eat too much candy” She stands and gives Joseph The Look, “moms rules, got it.”

“Got it. Drive safe.” He hugs her, then holds Grace’s hand as they wave her off to her car. 

His niece looks up at him with what he can only describe as the Stern Family Gaze, “what are ‘Moms Rules?”

“Your grandmother would let us eat as much Halloween candy as we wanted on Halloween itself. But only if we ate actual dinner first.”

“What are we having for dinner?”

“You mom left some chili for us.”

“Blech”

“All the candy you want, remember?”

She narrows her eyes,  “Fine. But I’m getting into my costume first. You’re helping me.”

“Of course, my little lake monster.” 

Ten minutes later, he’s staring at grotesque chicken in place of his niece. 

“You’re…an evil robot?”

“Her name is Chica and she’s possessed by a murdered child.” She says with the scorn only a seven-year-old child can muster. 

“Okay then. Come on, it’s dinner time.”

He’s bemused that his sister would let be something from a horror game but on the other hand maybe this means he’ll one day have someone to watch scary movies with. Not that he’s testing that theory tonight; Lily has baby pictures and is not afraid to use them if he accidentally traumatizes her kid. 

They set out into the streets as it gets dark, porches lighting up orange and purple and the smell of candy and singed pumpkin drifting through the air. 

This neighborhood is full of families, so they spend plenty of time waiting at the foot of steps for other kids to collect their candy. It takes all of five minutes before someone is telling Joseph what a good dad he is just for holding her hand when a flock of boisterous tweens storm past covered in fake gore. 

He smiles and corrects them; this happens to him a lot. Lily works on-call half the time, and his brother-in-law is an RN whose schedule seems to think he does not actually have a life. A perk of having left the FBI is that Joseph can set his own hours, so at least once a month he’s summoned to keep an eye on Grace. Not that he minds; it’s nice to talk with someone who still thinks he’s the coolest guy in the world. 

Grace insists on the long route for candy collection, and by the time they’re heading along the park towards home there are hardly any families on the street. 

As he’s asking her what her favorite decorations were, she freezes and tugs his arm. 

“There’s a dog in that bush.”

He follows her pointed finger, expecting a beagle or pomeranian cowering in the foliage. Not a fucking wolf. 

“Yes, it seems there is” there are no wolves in Madison, so this has to be a really big husky or a wolf-dog or something, “but let's leave him be.”

“But he’s hurt.” 

She’s right; the animal has a cut on its snout. Joseph takes a step, then another, and all the dog does is whimper. 

“It’s okay, big guy, we’re friendly. Are you lost?”  He gestures slowly for the dog to come to him, “let’s see who you belong to, then we can-” he sighs as he sees there’s no collar or tags, “we can figure something out.”

The dog licks his hand, sad brown eyes staring up at him. Its fur is gorgeous dark brown and very soft when Joseph pats its head. He can’t shake the feeling that he’s looking at a wolf that’s just not quite right in the face. 

“Is he nice?”

One floppy ear perks up at Grace’s voice, and then the dog flops onto its side, showing her its belly. She laughs and kneels to pat his head. 

“It seems like it. I’d say he should come with us but I don’t have a leash. So how about this; we get you home, then I’ll come back and look for him and see if we can find his owner.”

Grace agrees, reluctantly stands, and takes Joseph’s hand. A few seconds after they’re back on the pavement, this a click-click of claws following behind. 

“Uncle Joseph, look, he likes you!”

He glances behind them with a smile, “That or he wants your candy. Either way, I guess he’s coming home with me.”

Joseph coaxes the dog into his car to wait until Lily gets home. Once his sister is back and his niece is putting away her candy, he hops in and drives back to his house. It’s on the outskirts of the city, where the woods start to encroach, and the dog sniffs the air in the direction of the treeline as he unlocks the door. 

“Now, I have a dog already. Her name is Nessie. She’s a little scared of other dogs, so she might run away or hide from you. If you chase her or bully her, you will spend the night outside. Got it?”

The dog boofs once, a low and happy sound. 

“Good enough.”

As he expected, Nessie skitters out to meet him and freezes when she sees what he’s brought home. But instead of running, she cautiously comes closer, sniffing the newcomer, who sits patiently during her inspection. Then she licks him once on the face and trots over to Joseph for attention. 

Interesting. 

“I missed you too, girl. Now let’s find our new friend somewhere to sleep.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

In Barclay’s defense, he never meant for it to get this out of hand. 

He’d known this area had some nasty off-shoots of vampire hives, but he’d also heard that some of his friends might have found safe haven here. So he was willing to risk the trip. Turns out nasty gangs of vampires breed nasty gangs of humans (or maybe it’s the other way around), and said humans like to stab first and ask questions later. He’d avoided a knife to the gut but not the face and ran for his life, changing into a wolf once he lost them so any humans would see an injured dog, not a huge scary man. The plan was to lay low until he could sneak into the night and find a safe place to hide. 

And while the foot of Joseph’s bed is certainly safe, it’s weird to lay here in the dark with a human happily asleep and completely unaware they let a vampire into their house. 

Weirder still has been how gentle Joseph is with him. No raised voices or threats, no getting annoyed when Barclays bulk knocks things over. Just the offer of dinner (Barclay managed to let Nessie eat his share without the human noticing) and then a bath. A bath during which a very good human stripped to his boxer-briefs and undershirt in order to scrub mud and blood from Barclay’s fur. A bath after which Joseph toweled him off and put a bandaid on his nose and called him a good boy for being so well-behaved.

Barclay would have gone belly-up for him in that moment even if he was in his human form.

His plan is to escape come morning, but Joseph doesn’t leave for an office as Barclay assumed he would. Instead he spends the morning on the phone calling around and checking online to see if anyone is missing a dog. When that search turns up nothing, he bundles Barclay into the backseat of his car and drives to a vet. 

Mercifully, he just wants them to check Barclay’s cut to make sure it doesn’t need stitches. He doesn’t, and he uses the moment of eye contact with the vet to put them in enough of a thrall so they tell Joseph no other care is needed. 

Joseph stops at a burger shack on the way home, pulling into the lot to eat. Barclay’s pleading eyes earn him a fry, which is for the best; he couldn’t handle much more mortal food than that without getting sick. But it’s not his fault salt and fat still smell good to a vampire.

In the evening, Joseph walks him over on a makeshift leash to a pet store, then back towards home on a sturdy, tartan-patterned one. As they’re cutting through an alley, a figure steps from a back door and calls Joseph’s name.

Barclay knows another vampire when he sees one, and bares his teeth as the man steps closer. 

“Easy, big guy” Joseph says calmly, “Alan is a friend of mine.”

“More like your fucking servant.” The vampire smiles, “my sister got out yesterday; the fang-mark stuff you showed the cops did the trick.” He offers his hand, “You ever need to woo someone or go to a funeral or anything, your orders at my place are on the house.” 

Barclay glances up to see Gravedirt Florist printed on the backdoor. 

Joseph says he’ll keep that in mind and waves goodnight. As they walk he muses to Barclay, “You didn’t act that way towards anyone else today. I wonder…can you tell vampires from humans? Or do you just want to protect me?”

Barclay barks in what he hopes is an affirmative tone. 

“That gives me an idea. After all, a vampire ‘hunter’” he makes literal air-quotes, “can use all the protection he can get.”

They reach the door of the house. Barclay shouldn’t follow him through it, shouldn’t let himself be alone in a room with a fucking vampire hunter, sure as fuck shouldn’t agree to be his guard dog. He should use all his strength to yank the leash free and run for the hills. 

Joseph rubs his head, “We can sleep on it, right big guy? You deserve a break and to be spoiled after being lost and fending for yourself.”

Blue eyes shine, trusting and kind, as the grip on the leash loosens so he can open the door. 

Barclay cuddles up to Joseph’s thigh and follows him in. 

Just a few more days. Then he’ll go.

—-------------------------------------------------------

A week after bringing the new dog home, Joseph follows the sound of Nessie’s barking into the living room. As he expected, a vampire with a grudge is waiting for him. 

“That’s the most pathetic guard dog I’ve ever seen.”

He needs at least a few seconds to grab his tool-belt from its hook.

“Oh, Nessie is just the alarm.” A growl grows in the darkness behind as he says glibly, “Bigfoot is the muscle.”

It turns out when you have a massive, snarling dog, troublesome vampires show themselves out without fight. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

Barclay stands, surveying the house for the last time. For two and a half weeks he’s only left it with Joseph or on the few nights he snuck out to visit the butcher. It feels wrong to be leaving with no intention of coming back. 

Nessie prances at his feet, UFO chew toy in her mouth. Whenever Joseph is gone for the day, Barclay will turn human and play with her for hours before cuddling up on the couch to read from Joseph’s excellent collection of mystery novels. 

“Sorry, sweet girl. Not today.” He rubs her ear, “take care of him, okay? And for go-ow, for goodness sake try to get him to sleep more.”

He slips out the front door and down the street. His first stop is the butcher for some blood, then to the library to use the computer to look for somewhere to live. When he comes out, no leads to be found, he sees Joseph on the corner, asking the guys at the falafel food truck if they saw a large, brown dog come this way. 

Barclay’s not going to feel bad. He’s not going back. He’s not. 

He sees Joseph several more times throughout the evening, having some version of that same conversation. 

At three in the morning, his curiosity gets the best of him, and he sneaks back to the house. Through the window he can see the human on his laptop, refreshing what looks to be the community notices page; the one where people post lost pets. 

Joseph closes the computer and leans back, wipes his eye and casts a hopeful glance at the backdoor. 

No one’s mourned his departure that much in years. 

He takes his wolf form, scratches at the door, and waits only a few seconds before Joseph is on his knees, hugging him and making him swear to never do that again. 

He can’t promise that. But maybe he can hang around a little longer. 

—-------------------------------------------------------

“Well that could have gone better.” Joseph peels off his bloody shirt, already standing in the shower to avoid making the whole bathroom into a crime scene. 

Barclay nods, a habit he hasn’t managed to hide and is praying Joseph won’t notice. His fur is matted with blood from a truly horrendous night. He didn’t know there was such a thing as a multi-mouthed graveghoul, but it turns out there is and that it’s aggressive as fuck.

Joseph points to the tub and he climbs in, lets the human scrub him clean and run his hands over him in search of injury. Once he’s clean and dry, Joseph shoos him out so he can take a proper shower. 

Seeing him step out ten minutes later in only a towel makes Barclay hot under both the literal and figurative collars.

“I’m glad you’re okay, big guy” Joseph ruffles his fur, “we make a good team.”

They do. But lately all Barclay can think is they’d make such a better one if he could be human. If he could make breakfast for Joseph after a long night, could sit and read while the human looks over his case files, could walk holding his hand instead of on a leash and talk with him about everything. 

(Could feed from him instead of sneaking drinks from a carton)

But being honest with Joseph can’t mean anything but losing him. And Barclay’s not quite ready to lose him. Not yet. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Here we go, some entertainment for you” Joseph sets the puzzle toy down for Bigfoot, “and some light reading for me.” He laughs at his own joke as he drops a stack of new, vampiric history books on his table.

Bigfoot wags his tail at him, then settles in to nap. Fair enough, they did have a long night of chasing down a vampire hunter who was lighting vampire businesses on fire for the hell of it. 

The first book is A Compendium of Vampirical Powers. When he hits chapter three, he turns the page to a plate showing an illustration of a vampire who has taken the form of a wolf. Assuming this is an accurate image, he’s impressed; it does look like a wolf. 

A wolf who’s not quite right in the face. 

Joseph looks at his guard dog. His guard dog who only eats when Joseph isn’t looking at him, who learns commands as if he understood english, who always seems to bark when a human would reply to Joseph thinking aloud. 

“Bigfoot?”

The dog opens its eyes and lifts its head to regard him. 

“If you…if you were a vampire, you would tell me, right?”

The dog tenses, which does nothing to soothe Joseph’s worry. 

“I wouldn’t be angry. I promise. But if I’m onto something, and you care about me even a little, please be honest with me.”

Bigfoot closes his eyes with a resigned sigh, and then there’s a large, bearded man on Joseph’s rug. 

“Um. Hi.” Strong arms wave from a ratty t-shirt, and thick, hairy legs stick out of shorts, “So, you’re right, I am a vampire. I was being chased by some of those shitty guys we dealt with last week and I panicked and turned into my wolf form to hide and then you were there and…yeah” he undoes the collar at his throat, “I’ve been living as your dog for months.”

“Ohjesus” Joseph runs a hand through his hair, “I can’t believe I was so dense, it was so obvious, oh god I have rubbed your belly so many times and you, you slept in my bed!”

“You said you wouldn’t be mad.” The vampire winces away from him. 

“Sorry. I’m just…why did you let it go for so long?”

“At first I needed somewhere to hide, then I couldn't handle running away and making you upset and I, I really, I like you, Joseph. You saw a huge, scary dog and took him home instead of calling the cops, and you were so good to me I didn’t want to leave. Even though I knew I should. I’m so sorry.” He sits up, scrunching in on himself to seem smaller, “I can go.”

“Do you have somewhere to go?”

“Not really.” The vampire says sheepishly. 

Joseph slides down to the floor so they’re face to face, “Then I’m not kicking you out. I trust you; if you were a threat to me, you would have attacked me by now.”

“Never” The force of the reply surprises them both. 

“Am I right that you don’t have a job either?”

“Uh huh.”

Joseph touches a tattooed arm, “What’s your name, big guy?”

“Barclay.”

“Here’s what I propose, Barclay: I still need extra protection. And I have the money to pay for it. So if you want, you can keep working for me and living here. Just as a roommate.”

“I’d really, really,  really like that.”

“Then it’s a deal” Joseph helps him to his feet and tries for levity, “but no more sleeping in the bed.”

“I thought it was what a dog would do! Plus it gets cold at night and Nessie hogs the spot by the heater.”

Joseph chuckles, “She really does. I’ll guess I’ll just make sure there’s lots of extra blankets in the spare bedroom.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The benefits of Barclay having told Joseph the truth are many, starting with the fact that Barclay is an excellent cook and likes making meals for Joseph even when he can’t eat them himself.  Joseph feels like a spoiled husband whenever he wakes up to breakfast already made or comes home to dinner waiting on the table. 

Barclay is also an excellent conversationalist, even though Joseph is playing catch-up when it comes to getting to know him while Barclay is familiar with all his most embarrassing habits. Then again, it’s tremendously relaxing to be around someone who’s seen him sing to ABBA or curse at the dishwasher and still wants to spend time with him. 

For his part, Barclay is clearly enjoying not having to hide anymore, and is just as protective of him as a man as he was as a wolf. He’s also still using the dog shampoo Joseph bought him because he likes the way it makes his hair soft. 

Joseph does miss being able to touch him, and with every passing morning the temptation to reach across the table and hold his hand as they have coffee becomes less bearable.

Tonight, Barclay is humming along to the radio as he dusts pumpkin ravioli with ricotta. As he bends to grab a plate from the dishwasher, Joseph notices an odd lump in his back pocket. If it’s what he thinks it is, it’s a very interesting situation indeed. 

He stands and slips it free just as Barclay straightens. 

“Whoa, hey there” Barclay laughs as he turns, “you that…hungry…for..oh man I can explain I promise.”

“Please do” Joseph dangles the old collar between them. 

“I kept it as a, uh, a souvenir. Of the part of being hidden I liked.”

“Keep talking.”

“I liked” Barclay looks down, “I liked being good for you. Being yours. I like belonging to you because I knew you’d take care of me and it made me so fucking happy and also it was really fucking hot to be on a leash for you which gives me all kinds of weird feelings. And being with you now is agony because it’s so close to being yours, and now I know how well we work together, but I don’t want to make you feel like you have to want me….

“So what I’m hearing is that you’d like to keep being mine under certain, um, conditions? My good boy who’s also my boyfriend?” Joseph sets the collar on the counter. 

“Please.”

“I think that can be arranged.” Joseph leans in and kisses him, the vampire whimpering until Joseph puts his arms around him and holds him close. 

“Does this mean I can sleep in the bed again?” Barclay smiles, fangs glinting promisingly in the kitchen lights. 

“Yes, big guy, it does.

[sailingintothenight]

“WANNABE.” T.H. Imagine.

And what if after years of chasing each other like a cat and mouse, you and Tom started to wonder if you wanna be something else in each other's life?

A/N: I am posting a one shot after weeks of writer's block. I hope you like it. It's 9:30 pm in Peru and it's still April 28, so it's still my birthday! Give it a try. Pleaseeeeee! And yes, I borrowed a scene from Mean Girls (Because I loveeee that movie)

“Hello God, it's me again, (y/n). What's up? I know we haven't talked much lately, but, hey, listen, I have a favor to ask you- I have behaved well, I haven’t gotten drunk at any crazy party of any Hollywood star and I haven't accepted drugs, ever: I'm afraid my grandmother will appear in my room as a ghost and pull my blankets in the middle of the night, plus, I haven't make out with any Stone-cold Hollywood hottie, and trust me, I've had more than one chance. Anyway, about the favor–”

"Yes, but (y/n)'s grandfather invited us to his birthday party..."

Tom's voice startles you and cuts off your internal dialogue, turning you back to the reality.

It’s 6 am. The sun shines in the clear sky, and you are on a flight back to England in a luxury privet jet that is about to arrive at the airport, while Haz, Harry, Tom and you are sitting in comfortable velvety seats, with the view of morning sky on your left side. 

The exciting memory of your last recording still seemed to run through your veins, too exciting to let you sleep. Because that was the end, the goodbye after incredible months. All your efforts from the past months were hidden behind that last performance that looked like a fantasy, except for the kiss, ugh, you had to erase it from your mind. But now, you're going back home, ready to take a break away from the set-up bridge and blue and green backgrounds, away from the makeup artists who gave your face the final touches of the magic of Hollywood, far from the suit of a superhero who had just won her last battle and who got the cute boy, Peter Parker.

But not far away from Tom Holland.

Because evil takes a human form in Tom Holland, your lifelong neighbor.

How do you even begin to explain Tom Ho– Stop, people say that if you pronounce his name 3 times a curse falls on you.

But fans say Tom Holland is flawless, you heard his curly hair is insured for 10,000 dollars, his favorite movie is “Spider-man Homecoming”, duh, and very soon, “far from home”. One time he met Robert Downey Jr. in his own village and he started hyperventilating, and once he threw a fan's phone on the floor and she said it was awesome.

"Please don't tell me you're going to his birthday party." You complain, because you can't help it.

"Would that bother you that much, darling?" Tom smiles, tilting his head back so that his tender smile fits perfectly with his tender face. “Then of course I will go. Also, your grandfather still has the hope his granddaughter would get a man like me.”

"Ew. Why would my dear grandfather want me to be with someone who enjoys keeping a frog in his mouth?" You ask, earning yourself an Oscar for best actress with the innocence you exude and the seriousness you manage to put on your face, even when Tom's eyes narrow from the attack you just launched, while, enjoying the show, his friend and his younger brother laughs, shaking heads with a familiar expression on their faces because of the familiar discussion between you and him that happens, every two or three days. "Seriously, Tom, give the poor Henry a break."

"Henry?" Tom asks with real confusion, his accent thick, while the other male voices ask it in a collective whisper too.

"I named your frog Henry, hope it doesn't bother you." And you laugh, victorious to feel how Tom exhales the air through his nose.

“Seriously, (y/n), when will you confess that you are in love with me? You don't have to be so shy, darling.” Tom laughs too, using his finger to tap your nose, because he knows perfectly well that you don't like that, just as you don't like being called darling anymore. “Ray is a wise man, you should listen to your grandfather."

"Yes, if you like skinny ones."

"I'm not skinny. I have the perfect body.” Tom defends himself.

"For now, but in a couple of years you will named your big belly as your dad does after drinking with mine." You laugh like a little girl because you love Dom, because he's warm and funny, because he loves his wife and children, and because of how funny he is when he and your dad have had too much alcohol, like the time they started a cartwheel contest in the middle of the street. "Who's there? It's Dom Junior.”

"Shut up! My dad is still sexy!” A heavy silence falls over the small place as everyone looks at Tom with furrowed brows and true confusion, but that's when he realizes the choice of words he used to refer to his dad. "That's not what I meant!"

You raise your hands in a sign of peace, your gaze avoiding his as you stop yourself from laughing and mocking him.

"That's so wrong, Tom." Harry says, with a certain bittersweet taste on the tip of his tongue. "Now because of you I won't be able to see dad's belly the same way."

Harry and Haz chuckle at Dom's expense.

But when the jet landed smoothly on the headlight-lit runway in the early hours of the morning, the heavy hours from the past months feels now as if they weighed the same as a feather, pain and exhausting sleepless nights disappeared in the blink of an eye, and now, there is no oceans that could make you feel far away, because in the end, you always came back home.

"Besides..." You say to finish that conversation, your backpack on your shoulder before making the victory path towards the stairs to get off the plane. "I would like a boyfriend who can grow a mustache, not like the failed attempt on your face. Thank you very much."

"Hey!" Tom frowns as you pass him by, and his voice rises even higher than it already is. "My doctor says it's just a hormone problem."

"Damn, bro..." Harry laughs as he puts an arm around Tom's shoulder, giving him a brotherly hug before walking out to the car waiting outside. “(Y/n) will be hard to catch, you know? But try it, maybe you will make it in this century."

Harry laughs, and then, walks out of the plane.

"What does that mean?" Tom asks Harrison, who is still waiting by his side.

"I think he meant that you are in love with (y/n), but you haven't noticed it yet."

Harrison chuckles, but after patting Tom on the back, he rushes to place a hand on his best friend's shoulder to stop him.

“Hey, mate… you, uh…” Tom's eyes soften, almost to the point where his brown eyes resembled the gaze of a little 5-year-old boy, sad, and lost. “You haven't told anyone why we came back, right?”

“Of course not.” Harrison says, and his gaze smiles just like his lips. “Don’t worry about anything, okay? We are home, you are home. You can take the time you need to rest.”

Tom nods, unsure, but tries to be strong as they both get off the plane. 

The gray autumn clouds hang with invisible strings in the sky as Tom Holland, actor, handsome, wealthy, and the loneliest person in the world, releases a deep breath that is lost among the sounds of the world, because his world is no longer sparkling or velvety thanks to the cameras or a red carpet, and while his new movie is a box office hit that never in his best dreams he would have imagined, something wasn't right for him.

That’s why he is back home.

The car ride is silent as some sleep, except you and Tom, because your eyes seem to recognize the streets you grew up in, because your hearts recognize your home. But for Tom, he recalls tilting his body to the left and a camera captured his best actor pose a week ago, but since then, his body has felt null, as if floating in the air and no longer responding to his orders. He was crystal clear, but a few people seemed to see clearly through him. Tom tries to convince himself that the tickling in his hands is his body's response to tiredness and not his anxiety, because he suffers it too, but he feels that something is eating his soul.

"Are you okay, Tom?"

Among a sea of ​​people, Tom Holland has always pretended to be an interesting person, but now, he takes a deep breath and looks at you, nervous, lost in the middle of that huge world, but you, looking back at him gives him peace, because he doesn’t feel alone anymore. 

What did you think? That someone is interested in knowing if you are really okay? Of course they care, right?

“Of course, darling.” Tom smiles, as if in a snap of fingers, everything is fine.

But there, he catches a movement of yours.

You tilt your head to the side, like his beloved Tessa when she is curious about something, but he doesn't say it out loud because you would take it the wrong way, but the movement in slow motion worthy of a Hollywood scene and the serenity of your gaze makes Tom hold his breath, that breath that previously didn't fit his chest with so many problems that he carried inside.

But suddenly he can breathe again, finally.

“Okay.”

The minutes pass until the car stops on a street that you two recognize perfectly. When everyone is out, the car leaves, but because your favorite boys are about to leave, too, you hug everyone as the promise to celebrate Harrison's birthday next week hangs in the air. You love them so much, because they are beautiful people who helped you to save yourself from the storms of doubts and fears, each of them in their own charming way, and for that, you were grateful.

"My friend Danielle is coming so I would like you to meet her, Haz." You chuckle adorably before leaving, noting that Harrison's smile is as real as his desire to meet her.

"I'm looking forward to it, darling."

"Wait, why he can call you darling?" Tom says, and for a second, you see a sparkle in the brightness of his eyes, but as the door of his house opens and his beloved Tessa runs to receive him, the confusion disperses like the morning haze.

"There she is the only darling you will ever get, Thomas."

And the moment you turn around, because the door of your house opens too, you lose sight of Tom's honest smile and the question that he hides behind his sweet eyes. Was he in love with you all this time without realizing it? And what if he wanna be your boyfriend? 

Oh, right. The favor that you were going to ask God for? To get you a boyfriend, a cute one, a hot one... maybe like Tom. Weird, isn't it?

Tag list: @galaxies-of-the-heart​

[m-c-coy]

Sero X Kaminari ghost au

Here's a fanfic idea I won't do anything with but I hope you enjoy!

Sero lives an average life. Average job, average looks, average apartment, etc. But he likes it like that.

The only really exciting thing in his life is his friends: Mina, Kirishima, and Bakugou.

They go out every Saturday night. Tonight being Mina's turn to choose what they do.

They go bar hopping for a bit until they get lost along the way and end up in front of a fortune tellers shop.

It being Mina's night to choose what they do demands that they get their futures read.

So they go in and do exactly that. Kirishima and Bakugo get told something about love making them blind, Mina gets told that she will excel at her new job (and upon request will be successful in love as well).

Oddly enough they all also get told that they will grieve the lost of someone they all hold dear soon.

Then Sero goes expecting the same but the old lady that has been telling their fortunes almost freezes the moment he sits down

"You will have a boring life full of disappotment and loneliness."

"That's nice"

The old lady quickly grabs what looks like a necklace that has a small obsidion rock with golden lines running through it like lighting.

She buts the necklace in Sero's hand and says he must keep it on him at all times if he wants a chance of having an exciting and fulfilling life.

He tries to leave without it but she says thats its free and he needs to take it. So he does.

Over the next week of wearing the necklace he notices some werid things happening.

And by werid I mean that he is now being haunted by what looks like a blond ghost his age in clothes from hundreds of years ago.

Sero tries to ignore it to see if it will go away but he won't stop talking.

"Hi! My names Kaminari Denki and I need you to help me cross over to the after life!"

"No thanks dude, I think I'm good."

But Kaminari won't leave him alone and keeps messing with his lights, throwing things off his shelf, messing with his TV, etc.

Its driving him crazy! Denki even follows him to his job! He can't take it any more. He wants him to leave him alone!

Sero's friends start to notice his werid behavior as well and don't hesitate to let him leave their next saturday outing early for "personal" reasons.

"Why do you keep following me, huh!? Why can't you see that I don't want to help you and instead bother someone else with your problems?"

"My soul is trapped in the necklace you're wearing...I have to go where ever it goes."

Denki continues to try and apologize for the trouble he has caused. He says that he was only trying to help him but Sero doesn't want to hear it anymore. He takes off the necklace and chucks it into the tree line.

And with that. Sero walks off and is free from the annoying little ghost. His apartment is quiet, all of his stuff is organized, and he actually has a productive day at work!

But its almost to quite now. His apartment dosen't feel as lived in and he has nothing to distract him when his work gets slow.

He soon realizes that he was a little harsh on the ghost that just asked for his help. So he goes back for him.

He goes back to where he thinks he tossed the necklace and begins to search but he can't find the necklace anywhere. He's panicking now becuase he thinks he just lost Kaminari for forever.

"Did you drop something young man?"

Its the old lady from the fortune telling. She has the necklace in her hand and scolds Sero for not taking better care of his things.

Once Sero gets back home he puts the necklace back on and can immediately see Denki again. He apologizes for what he did and asks if he would still like his help in finishing his unresolved buisness.

Kamianri of course agrees with his 100 watt smile and Sero can't help but bask in the light.

The mood is almost immediately ruined though when kamianri admits that he dosen't know what his unfinished buisness is.

Time to call in the moral support!

Sero calls over Mina, Kirishima, and Bakugo to explain why his been acting weird and for their help in freeing Denkis soul.

"So remeber that necklace that ildy lady gave me, yeah it kinda huanted and the ghost needs our help."

"Bullshit!"

After Denki reveals himself and their shock wears off, they get down to buisness.

They ask Denki about his life and how he died to see if that could be any clue to why he hasn't moved on yet.

"Well I died from being struck by lighting..."

"Thats kinda manly..."

Denki tells them that he was tied to a metal poll during a thunder storm and left to die becuase the people of his town thought he was a demon in disgues.

They basically find out that he didn't have a life full of friends or fun and died to young to truly experience anything so they decide to go on adventures so that Denki could actually "live" a little.

They take him to the mall, site seeing, carnival, museums, game nights (Denki figures out that he can possess a controller and actually play with them) and even to the bars

All of them get closer to him and he feels like the finale piece of the puzzle making their little group whole.

Once Denki learns that it is socially acceptable to date the same sex, he becomes Minas wingman at the bar. Literally ghost pushing girls into her arms or stealing their items for Mina to "find" and give back

Kaminari is determined to make Kirishima and Bakugo confess their obvious feels for eachother. He give Kirishima peptalks about how they have the actual ability to be together and gives him old English poems to recite to Bakugo. Denki gives Bakugo plenty of time to confess his feeling by some how always getting the two of them alone. Whether that's sticking them in an broken elevator or locking them in rooms.

But now that the gang can see Kaminari, they can easily tell that Sero is his favorite person to help. He follows him at work making sure that his coffe cup is always in reach, holding elevator doors open so he dosen't have to take the stairs, catching stakes of papers before they can fall off his desk, etc. He does it so seamlessly that they don't even think Sero notices his actions.

After a few months of hanging out together the group is once again out on another Saturday night. They have already hit a couple bars and are now walking through the park.

Mina is texting the girl Denki helped hook her up with, Bakugo is hold Kirishimas hand as he drags them to a swing set.

Sero walks over to a pond off to the side. He dosen't even have to look to know Kamianri has followed him and is floating next to him.

Sero can't help to notice how pretty Kamianri looks in the moonlight making him look like he is glowing, but also solid. Like hes a real person.

"So, do you think that we are any closer to you crossing to the otherside?"

Denki shakes his head no and Sero mentally sighs in relief.

They watch their friends laugh behind them and Denki smiles. He's so happy that they found and are with the love of their lives.

Denki frowns at the thought.

"I didn't tell you the whole truth of how I died."

Sero turns to Denki completely as he tells his story again but this time he says why he was left to die by his towns people.

"I don't know how, but they found out that I didn't like women. Were I'm from... liking men is a sin or the act of the devil so...they thought it was best to get rid of me and cleans their town of evil."

Sero never wished so badly that he could touch Kaminari and pull him into a hug.

"That wasn't right of them. I'm sorry you had to go through that...but while you're here you are free to like whoever you want."

"What if...what if I like you?"

Sero pauses only for a second before smiling the biggest smile in his life.

"Well...seeing as how I kinda fell for you, I would accept your feeling for me."

Kaminari has a shy smile on his face and asks if Sero could close his eyes for a second.

Sero does without hesitation and its not long after he feels what could only be described as phantom lips on his.

When the pressure on his lips leaves his, he opens his eyes to see Denki moving way from him. And see as he starts fading away.

Denki looks at his hand then up at Sero with big water eyes. Or maybe thats Seros eyes. He can't really tell in the moment.

Denki gives him one last smile before thanking him for everything and then disappears from existance.

Sero tries to grab him but its useless. He's gone. He turns and walks back to his friends.

When he finally reach them and they ask where Denki is, he finally allows himself to cry.

They end their Saturday night outing in Seros apartment all cuddled together and mourning the loss of their friend.

Some more time has passed and no one has really recovered from Kaminari's abrupt departure. Mina, Bakugo, and Kirishima try to keep a brave face on for Sero's sake but they all feel the loss.

Because all things happen on Saturday, the gang decides to go on a walk around town as their activity. Mina brought her girlfriend along so now Sero has somehow become the 5th wheel and is not fan of this revelation.

His sad boy hours are cut short though when he is suddenly hit by a guy caring a box.

They both go to the ground with the box opening and spilling everything around them.

The guy immediately starts to ask if Sero is okay and if he needs help getting up, but Sero can't respond in that moment because he is staring at Kaminari. A Kaminari that he can touch!

The gang by this point is also staring and watching this guy ramble on about being new in town and helping his grandmother with some errands exactly like how THEIR Kamianri would ramble without a breath in between.

Kirishima finally breaks the spell and helps the guy pick the stuff up and asks if he would like help caring the stuff to his grandmothers.

The guy agrees and then introduces himself as Denki.

Sero can't talk or function right now. He is so confused but also filled with so much happiness he thinks that he's going to burst.

"I know I just met you guys but, I feel like I known all of you from somewhere... maybe we were friends in our past lives!"

They all laugh off the comment as they come up to a familiar hole in the wall shop that started this entire journey.

Denki greets the old women with his 100 watt smile as he introduces everyone to his grandma.

The women just gives them all knowing smiles as she ask for Sero and Denki to put the boxes into the back room.

They quickly put the boxes away. Sero had to stand behind Denki to put his on the top shelf and he couldn't help but notice the blush spreading on the others face before joining the group back outside.

The old women informs Denki that these lovely people have volunteered to show him around town and even invited him to go bar hopping with them.

Denki agrees immediately and Sero can't help but be thankful that his boring life got interrupted by the ball of sunshine now walking next to him.

[fizzyxcustard]

Fear and Loathing (5)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

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Fandom: seaQuest 2032

Summary: (Part 2 of The Right Thing - this will be a chaptered fic) Captain Hudson knows that you and Lucas are more than just friends, and after changing your shift rotations to make sure you’re not on duty together, you take things into your own hands and request a transfer from seaQuest. Before your transfer can be processed, officers and crew begin showing signs of extreme anxiety, anger and paranoia. Some are worse affected than others, you being one of them. Can you fight for not only your relationship with Lucas but your state of mind?

Pairings: Ensign Lucas Wolenczak x FemLieutenant!Reader, Commander Jonathan Ford x Lieutenant Lonnie Henderson (only slight)

Warnings: Language, violence, insecurity, angst, paranoia, anxiety, mental instability, very mild sexual references/smut mention, age difference/gap.

Comments: If you wish to be added to my seaQuest tag list, which will be separate from all my other tags, let me know, and I will only tag you in these if you specifically request to be tagged. This is practically a dead fandom now, but I would still like to share my writings with you. If you would like to ask any questions, then by all means just ask! People are probably wondering why I’m still continuing this fic when it gets so little feedback, but it’s purely because I enjoy writing it. It’d a pleasure to be reminiscing in old times.

You lay awake, crying. It was a week after your first panic attack. The doctor had been forced to begin turning crew away from the Med Bay to treat them in other areas of the boat, such as the mess hall and gymnasium. Because you were one of the first to show symptoms of this virus, the doctor made sure that you remained close by in the Med Bay so he could test you daily. You were the ‘ground zero’ case. Over the last week and you had seen panic attacks, seizures and complete mental breakdowns of crew. There had been fights, screaming and paranoia. It was clawing at you from the inside, the screams and bellows; even when things were silent, you could still hear it all ringing in your ears. Life in the military had been an enormous life change and exciting experience, but now there was a small part of you which was starting to regret enlisting. No bad experience in your life had come close to the last week.

Fredricks suddenly began to cry out in her sleep again, tossing and turning. Her blanket was flung onto the floor and the bed beneath her creaked. You knew you couldn’t stand this any longer. With tears still falling down your cheeks, you got up and ventured out into the emptiness of the corridor. It was always eerily quiet during the witching hours. With only a very bare minimum crew working, everyone else was either sedated or could control themselves enough to remain quiet. Your heartbeat quickened and you breathed deep. Whilst you held each breath in your lungs for a few seconds, you thought of Lucas. Your mind may have been working against you, turning your whole body into a ticking bomb, but you were adamant you would re-gain control of yourself again.

Once you had reached your quarters, you turned the large, round lock and stepped inside. To your surprise, you found Lucas curled up on your bed. His eyes snapped open and he jumped.

“I’m sorry,” you exclaimed, holding out your hand for emphasis. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Lucas whispered your name and bolted from the bed towards you, his hands immediately cupping your cheeks. He looked down at you with so much happiness and contentment in his eyes. “I love you,” he told you. “I just like being close to you at night.”

You both kissed for a few seconds and then sank in each other’s arms. Being in Lucas’ arms calmed you, and you sighed. His body was warm, comfortable, protective. “What are you doing up?” he asked, his voice muffled slightly as he kissed your neck, the two of you still locked in an embrace.

“I can’t stand being in there, Lucas. Freddie cries and screams every night. The two engineers opposite me were shouting at each other again this afternoon, and I just can’t take anymore of this. How are you feeling?”

Lucas smiled as he drew from the embrace and looked upon you. Even when you were struggling mentally, you still put him first. “Don’t worry about me. You need to go back to the Med Bay. The doctor can keep check on you in case you have a seizure or panic attack again.”

“I’m prodded with needles every morning. He’s constantly taking my blood pressure and…” you broke down and wept. “I want to go home, Lucas. I can’t stand being here anymore. I feel like I’m going to die and I’ll never see my family again before the end….”

“Shhh,” Lucas whispered, taking you into his arms again. He gently took you over to your bed and wrapped the quilt around you. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise. Do you trust me?”

Through watery eyes, you looked up at your boyfriend. “You know I do.”

“Then trust me when I say that I’ll keep you safe. We’re all being taken to a hospital in twenty-four hours, and I’ll stay right beside you. I will never leave your side.”

You shook in Lucas’ arms.

He held you all night.

When you finally woke, you heard someone shouting, “She’s in here!” Commander Ford stormed into your quarters, terrifying you.

“What are you doing, Lieutenant? You were meant to remain in Med Bay,” Ford told you.

Lucas woke with a start and glared at Ford. “Give her a break, Commander,” he growled. “She can’t take it being cooped up in there.”

“No, Lucas. He’s right. I should have stayed in the Med Bay,” you said, getting to your feet to look at the Commander. “I just needed time away last night. It was getting unbearable being in there, and I wanted something more personal. I wanted to be back in my own bed.”

The doctor walked into your quarters, standing behind Commander Ford.

“Lucas, you should leave now,” Ford ordered. “You don’t want the Captain to know about this.”

“I was looking after her, Commander. She was terrified,” Lucas countered.

“Ensign, I understand that, but I’m ordering you to leave this room now. This isn’t up for debate.”

“Lucas, please. If Captain Hudson finds out…Thank you, Commander,” you said softly.

You sighed as you sat down on the empty bed in the Med Bay, where you had been housed the last week. The blanket was still tossed aside and a large dent in the pillow where your head had lain. Fredricks was still asleep in her bed next to yours, and for once she actually looked peaceful.

The doctor left the Med Bay about an hour later after completing his round of everyone there, and moved to the other make shift medical rooms. As he left, Dagwood walked in, mopping the floor.

“No point doing that. We’re all being moved out at 12:00 hours,” the engineer opposite you spat. He glared at Dagwood in sheer distain.

“What is your problem?” you hissed. “He’s only doing his job, more than can be said for you!”

Dagwood stopped mopping and looked between you and the engineer, his dark eyes bright with confusion and nervousness. “Dagwood is only doing what he normally does. Captain Hudson lets me clean.”

“And you keep on cleaning, Dagwood,” you reassured with a smile. “He can leave if he has a problem.”

“You fucking…” the engineer began, jumping from his bed.

In that moment, you felt your adrenaline rush through you, and you lunged out of bed, coming almost eye to eye with the engineer. “Go on, big man,” you growled. “Do it!” The engineer wasn’t a particularly large man, certainly not Dagwood’s size. He was taller than you by a few inches, but a little scrawny for working in the Navy and working with tools on a daily basis.

“Don’t fight,” Dagwood said in sadness. “Men don’t hit ladies.”

You scoffed. “I would loosely classify him as a man.”

Where had this sudden surge in anger come from?

The engineer attempted to grab you but was then tossed aside by Dagwood. His small frame was like a mere feather, light, to Dagwood. You glared at the man’s dark, evil stare as he was pinned to the wall by the Dagger.

The adrenaline was still surging, until suddenly you only saw darkness.

You opened your eyes and saw only bright lights. There was the chatter of distant voices on the air and the beeping of medical machines. Everything was pure white, sterile and reminded you of when your grandmother died. Disinfectant was thick on the air. All around you were curtains, which you pulled aside. Next to you was Jim Brody.

“Where are we?” you asked, battling your tired eyes against the blinding lights all around you.

“The main science and medical wing a few miles from the UEO headquarters,” Brody replied.

“Where’s Lucas?” you asked. “Are you okay?”

“Lucas is further down the room. But I think they’ve taken him for an MRI. We’re all going one by one. How are you feeling? You had another seizure,” Brody told you.

“Got a bit of a headache but I feel calm,” you replied.

“Good, you’re awake,” a voice came, muffled. You looked upon someone in a full body suit and protective face mask. You could only just see a pair of eyes staring out of the thick, plastic visor. “Your MRI results have come back normal as we took you straight in when you arrived. Your doctor tells us that you’re the first person to show symptoms.”

“Yes,” you replied simply. “Do you have any idea what’s caused all this?”

The man – well, as far as you could tell, it was a man – never answered your question and began typing on a handheld computer tablet.

“I take that as either a no, or you’re just not prepared to tell us,” you huffed sarcastically. “I think it’s the latter.”

Brody chuckled to himself from the next bed.

Suddenly you heard your name being called and you turned, tracing the direction of the call. Lucas came racing down the centre of the room towards you. “Thank God you’re awake,” he said, grabbing you in a tight embrace.

“Can you back off, please, Ensign?” the man in the suit asked, his voice sounding full of disgust.

“Whether you like it or not, he stays with me,” you demanded, and reluctantly let go of Lucas.

Lucas held your hand tight and remained by your bed side as the man in the suit took your blood pressure, temperature and another blood sample.

One by one, each person who had been aboard the seaQuest had blood samples taken, their blood pressure taken, MRI scans and had their files assessed. Even the crew who were seemingly immune were tested, their results showing as a baseline for everyone else’s. That afternoon, just before evening set in, and Captain Hudson, who had been being checked in his own private room, addressed the majority of his crew who were in the large open space which was filled with rows of beds.

“The seaQuest is currently being tested thoroughly for signs of what caused this virus to spread so rapidly. Before we’re able to set foot back on board, the boat will undergo decontamination procedures,” Hudson said. A large circle of people was standing around him, spaced out between their beds.

“What about Darwin?” Lucas asked.

“The dolphin is safe, Ensign. He’s been taken to a medical tank and is being tested the same as we all are. Secretary McGath advises me that scientists from all over the country are looking into this; doctors have been flown in and we hope to be back in the water within the next seven to ten days.”

“Do they have any idea at all, Captain?” Brody asked, his arms folded across his chest.

Hudson sighed. “It’s been proposed that what we’re experiencing is a hormonal reaction to some kind of natural toxin that has been brought aboard, which has probably mutated and become a virus. This could be why the dolphin hasn’t shown any signs of it, along with certain members of the crew, including Dagwood, who has a completely different genetic structure to us. Like with most viruses, some people are naturally immune and some people are affected worse than others. Our coordinates for the last month are being analysed to try and piece together where this toxin may have come from.”

Captain Hudson disappeared a short time later, having been called into a vid-link meeting with Secretary McGath and the head of the science division within the UEO.

Meals were given out: disgusting looking, sloppy food in metal trays. It reminded you of something the children in workhouse would eat in nineteenth century Victorian England. Brody had since swapped beds with Lucas and disappeared further up the room, allowing you time with your boyfriend.

“I can’t eat that,” you grimaced and dropped the tray down on your bedside table.  “I’m starting to get suspicious that they’ve put something in it. You know what these testing facilities are like, especially when the doctors wear hazmat suits. It’s a wonder we don’t start turning into mutants or something.”

“Ain’t you a joy to be around,” Piccolo chuckled from two beds down to your left.

“Don’t tell me that you don’t get a weird vibe from all this though, Tony?” you asked, looking past the officer to your left in order to make eye contact with Piccolo.

“You heard what the Captain said. We should be out of here in ten days tops,” Lucas told you.

“I don’t quite believe that,” you muttered, drawing your knees up towards your chest. “Something doesn’t smell right to me about all this.”

***

seaQuest tag list: @shrimpsthings​ @lathalea​

[dani-luminae]

The Start of a New Happily-Ever-After

[A bonus chapter for Good to be Bad: A Disney Descendants Twisted Tale!

While not a part of the mainstream story, I figured it would be stupid of me not to at least write and include a Ben and Audrey proposal chapter.

This short story/chapter is okay to reblog.

@deafchild2000​ since you asked to be tagged, here it is!] 

 The Start of a New Happily-Ever-After

Wednesday horseback riding and picnics had been Ben and Audrey’s thing, even back before they had started dating. Each Wednesday, almost every week, they would take their horses from the stables at Beast Castle and ride out along some paths in the countryside. Audrey brought the food, a homemade picnic-style lunch, and Ben would choose the place for them to stop and have their picnic. It was their thing, their tradition, a few hours of solace from the castles and their royal lives and responsibilities, just some time for them to be with each other and enjoy the company of their dearest friend.

Now, after so long and so many changes – a breakup, Ben’s sudden love for another, a proposal, Ben’s abrupt turn to evil and back, and then the proposal being broken – it almost felt hard to believe that they were going to do this again. With the handle of a picnic basket swung over her shoulder, the food inside the basket hidden under the flowery picnic blanket tucked over it, Audrey walked up to the door to the stables, her heart racing in excitement. She put her hand on the handle and paused for a moment. She could hear someone moving around inside the stables.

“Ben?” She called softly as she opened the door.

There was Ben, dressed in a t-shirt and riding pants. His hair was slightly ruffled, with a strand of hay stuck in it, but he quickly brushed it out and tossed it aside when he saw Audrey. “I’m here,” He said, smiling. “I have our horses ready.” He turned to the stalls, where stood two horses, a chestnut mare and dark silver stallion, saddled and ready to right. “You remember Delia?” He asked Audrey as he touched the mane of the mare.

Audrey nodded. “Of course,” She said. Delia, the mare, had always been her horse when they went riding before. “But that’s not Laurence,” she noted, glancing at the other horse. Ben’s usual horse, Laurence, was still standing in a stall in the corner, munching on hay.

“No,” Ben said. “Laurence is a bit too old for me to keep riding him now. This is Toby.” He pat the stallion’s neck. Toby moved his head and snorted. “I’ve practiced, and he’s just as good,” Ben continued. “We shouldn’t have any problems with him.”

Audrey agreed. If Ben trusted the horse, she saw no reason not to. “I brought the picnic,” She said with an excited grin, swinging the basket off of her shoulder and showing it to Ben. “All your old favorites, homemade.”

“I can’t wait,” Ben said, fixing the reins on Toby.

Audrey walked over to Delia and checked the reins and saddle. The horse was properly prepared. “Do you know where you want to take us?” She asked Ben.

Ben glanced towards the doors of the stables like he was mapping out a route in his head. “There’s some really old paths I found through the woods,” He said. “They’re almost hidden. I thought we’d go see what’s down there.” He threw a leg over the saddle and pulled himself up, into position.

The saddle jostled slightly and there was a little bark as a tiny wet nose and a familiar pair of bright amber eyes poked out of the little pouch near the back of the saddle. It was Midnight, of course; she was Ben’s constant companion anymore, even for outings like this. “I’m sorry, she won’t let me be alone,” Ben said to Audrey. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind. I’m sure she’ll be a better chaperone than all the chaperones our parents used to send with us on these outings when we were younger.” Audrey laughed at the memory. “Remember that?”

“Of course,” Ben said, rolling his eyes. His parents, or Audrey’s parents, used to always send chaperones with them on picnics. It had been exasperating. “Come on – let’s get out of here before they get any ideas.”

Audrey climbed onto her horse. The mare, Delia, snorted and shook her head slightly, but seemed completely calm, happy even, to be reunited with her old rider. Ben and Toby led the way out of the stables, and Audrey and Delia followed.

“It’s good weather for a ride,” Audrey noted, looking around. The golden sun was high in the blue sky, the air was warm, and there was a slight breeze to keep anything from seeming too still.

Ben nodded. They’d taken rides in far worse weather, though. “Do you remember when we took a ride through a pouring thunderstorm?” He said to Audrey as he turned Toby and started towards the woods.

“That was an accident,” Audrey said, though she remembered it well. In the middle of a picnic during the middle of fall, the dark clouds, pouring rain, and sudden wind had swept in without warning. “That storm came out of nowhere and we had no choice but to ride back in it. I don’t think my hair was dry for three days.”

“You looked great, though,” Ben said with a smile.

“Ben,” Audrey said, not sure if she was chiding him or laughing with him.

But Ben looked very happy and calm, and she certainly didn’t want to ruin that. “The paths are this way,” He said, leading them towards the woods, a line of trees with green foliage and golden sunlight behind them. “In the woods. It might get a little dark and dense, but I think we’ll be fine. It’s not like there’s anything dangerous hiding in there to ambush us, after all. My spell sent all the villains back to the Isle the moment the Dragon’s Eye was broken.”

Audrey was slightly surprised to hear him talk like that, speaking so calmly about his time as a villain. While she had told him everything about the adventure she’d been on with Celia, Uma, Harry, Gil, Mal, Evie, Jay, and Carlos, Ben had been very reluctant to say much about his role in the adventure, as the villain who had caused so much chaos. She had accepted that to mean it was a topic he didn’t want to talk about at all. But he was mentioning it now, at least calmly; she hoped that was a good sign, that it meant he was healing. His burned hand still looked as stiff and painful as ever, and he still sat tensely on the saddle like his scarred side hurt him, but he had lost his wariness; he hadn’t had nightmares for a few nights, either.

“How’s Jamie?” Audrey asked.

“Jamie is… about the same. Always happy whenever you’re around,” Ben said. “He’s the one who helped me find where we’re going today.”

I’m proud of the place I found! Jamie said. Once again, only Ben could hear his voice.

And I’m glad you found it, it’ll be perfect for the picnic, Ben said to Jamie. Far away from the press, so they can keep their noses out of this.

Don’t want a flashy proposal like with Mal? Jamie guessed.

Audrey and I would both prefer the press keep talking about our program for the Isle kids rather than gossip about our engagement, Ben responded. The press can have a field day after the engagement party happens, but for now, our engagement doesn’t need to be well-publicized.

That’s fair. Jamie didn’t like the media either. He saw them as arrogant and self-centered. He much preferred being out here with Audrey, like Ben did.

They rode along, wobbling slightly on the horses’ backs as Toby and Delia made their way along a path that was hardly more than just a dent in the foliage in front of them. Audrey looked around at the forest surrounding them. The tree trunks stretched impossibly tall, like columns, holding up the green canopy overhead. Thick beams of sunlight flittered through the leaves, casting puddles of light on the ground. There was the sound of animals rustling through the thickets and foliage, and birds called overhead. The breeze made the branches creak slightly, the leaves shaking. Audrey didn’t think it was scary at all. It was very calm and serene out here, and she loved it. She was far away from her grandmother and from the media, at least for a short while, and she was with Ben. She couldn’t think of a happier moment.

Not yet, at least.

“Here,” Ben said, guiding Toby down an even fainter path. It led down a shallow slope towards a stream, and as Delia and Audrey followed, the trees thinned slightly. They passed by the low, crumbling remains of a rock wall. Audrey looked around and saw, dotted sparsely here and there through the foliage, some more worn-down stone walls and spires. She wasn’t surprised. Auradon was a very old land, even before it had been filled with the kingdoms that existed today, there were bound to be ruins that the land had reclaimed. The idea actually fascinated her.

A little farther along the banks of the stream was a beautiful gazebo with stone columns and a worn dome roof. Wildflowers dotted the landscape around it. It was very old, but clearly very well-kept, and Audrey smiled. “Oh, Ben,” she said, “It’s lovely. Thank you for finding this place, Jamie.”

Ben didn’t hear Jamie respond, but he got the feeling that Jamie was very pleased by Audrey’s happiness.

They led Toby and Delia down the path and dismounted, tethering the reins to the branches of a nearby tree to keep the horses from moving very much. Ben retrieved Midnight from her little pouch on the saddle, while Audrey carried the picnic-basket to the gazebo. The cobblestone ground was cracked, slightly, but otherwise dry and even. She spread out the picnic blanket, and Midnight hurried over, took a corner in her teeth, and pulled, trying to help. Ben and Audrey laughed, gently pulled her away, and set out the blanket themselves. Once the blanket lay flat, they sat down and started to unload the picnic basket.

Ben smiled as they unpacked the picnic basket. Audrey really had remembered all his favorites. “Peanut butter and jelly,” he said, seeing the sandwiches that she had brought.

“With grape jelly,” Audrey nodded. “And I even had the time to make sugar cookies – the kind with brown sugar that you like.”

“Amazing,” Ben said, looking at her with love in his eyes.

They sat down on the blanket and had their picnic – sandwiches and fruit, and cookies to finish it off. It was a simple picnic, nothing like the grand lunches served in the castles or the banquets at state dinners. But they preferred this to any of that. Just a good picnic, the two of them, and serenity around them. Toby and Delia grazed in the grass. Midnight gobbled up any crumbs that they dropped.

“So,” Audrey said as she finished her food. “Is anyone else giving you problems about finding homes for VKs?”

“No, not really,” Ben said as he watched Midnight lick up the remains of a dropped speck of jelly. “Snow White also offered to foster some kids, and between my castle, yours, Cinderella’s, and Snow White, that’s all the kids fostered. And as for finding permanent homes, some families have volunteered to adopt.” He smiled, clearly proud to announce this. “And when I say ‘some’, I mean ‘a very surprising amount.’”

“So things seem to be falling into place?” Audrey said, pleased to hear it.

“It seems so. Once they have steady homes, either by adoption or fostering, we can work on getting them registered for school,” Ben thought aloud. “Not all of these kids are old enough to attend Auradon Prep. We’ve got kids aging from preschool to college-age.”

Audrey nodded. In the past, arranging housing and schooling for the Isle kids had been easy: they would live in Auradon Prep’s dorms while they attended school. But for now, the dorms were closed, and besides, not all the kids were old enough to attend the high school. That made sorting out school attendance a much bigger task. “We’re making progress,” She said, “But there’s still a lot to do.”

“No kidding,” Ben sighed. Of course he hadn’t been in his right mind at the time where he had broken the barrier and freed the kids, but still, he much preferred this way: even with all the chaos it took to get things settled, at least the rest of the Isle kids were in Auradon, instead of waiting on the Isle for a useless application system. And this way, Ben wasn’t the only one working to help the kids. “But there’s the good part. I’m not alone,” He said. “I’ve got my parents, I’ve got Mal and Uma and the others, and I’ve got you.”

Audrey smiled at him teasingly. “Do you?”

Ben played along, knowing she was playing. “Well, I hope I’ve got you.”

Audrey laughed. Her laugh was sweet and gentle, like music. “Of course you do, Ben. Dance with me, sweet prince,” She said.

These were hardly clothes to waltz about in the forest in, Ben thought, but that didn’t matter. “Happy to please my lady.” He got to his feet and Audrey did the same. She stepped forward and he held her in his arms. She was beautiful and perfect as ever, the definition of a fairy tale princess, but also a brave hero who had saved the kingdom, and, soon, hopefully, a brilliant and compassionate queen…

Audrey began to sing as she and Ben twirled and waltzed around the gazebo, with the peaceful green forest surrounding them. “I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream… I know you, the gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam. And I know it’s true, that visions are seldom all they seem. But if I know you, I know what you’ll do – you’ll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream…” They two of them spun and twirled, together, like the picture of a fairy-tale scene. Audrey loved this song – it was her parents’ song, after all – and Ben loved to hear her singing. “But if I know you, I know what you’ll do – you’ll love me at once, the way you did once – “

“Once upon a dream…” Ben sang too, and he adored the smile of delight and surprise on Audrey’s face. “I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream. I know you, the gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam. And I know it’s true, that visions are seldom all they seem, but if I know you, I know what you’ll do…” They spun, and Ben gently let go of Audrey. She twirled away from him, light on her toes like a ballerina. “You’ll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream…”

Audrey came to a stop, smiling. It had been such a long time since they had last sang together, and especially that song. She took a deep breath, savoring the moment. This was probably one of the best dates ever. Then, she turned around and came to a sudden stop.

Behind her, Ben was kneeling on one knee, holding up a beautiful small blue box; inside the box, nestled in pearl-pink fabric, was a beautiful golden ring.

“Ben?” Audrey whispered, like she couldn’t believe her eyes, as she looked down at the ring in the box. It held a gleaming white gem, surrounded by intricate golden metalwork, four points with rounded corners.

Ben smiled at her. It was a nervous smile. “Audrey… it may have taken me a few years and some time as a villain to realize it, but you are my True Love, and I love you deeply,” he said. “I should always have known. And I’m not going to let myself forget, ever again. Will you marry me?”

It took Audrey a moment to realize what he had asked. But she smiled, her eyes shining. The answer was obvious. “Of course.”

Ben swore he felt his heart skip a beat. “Will you wear the crown and be my queen?”

“Of course,” Audrey repeated, “And always.”

Ben beamed. Words had never made him happier. He stood up, and Audrey took off one of her gloves. Ben slid the ring onto her finger, and it was a perfect fit. It gleamed brightly in the sunshine, like it belonged there. Audrey stood on her tiptoes and kissed Ben again. He wrapped his arms around her.

Midnight barked happily at the sight. Jamie was silent, calm and content with the moment.

This was the start of a new era of Auradon, an era of change and union.

[prorevenge]

Abusive mom is ruined and wanted

It's a rough story to start, so I'll just go chronologically.

The first exmaple of how evil she was my older brother told me. Back when I was really young, my dad was in the Army and managed to score some leave (vacation time) from Desert Storm to surprise my mom for her anniversary. When he knocked on the door, all my mom said was "Why aren't you dead, I need the money." Her new beau then started backing out of the garage in my dad's mustang cobra.

He got revenge, but that's a story for later if you guys want.

The divorce was pretty much what you expect, mom got custody of me. My dad later tricked her with some money and got me for a visit, then filed for custody since my mom had warrants out for her arrest.

A few years later my dad remarried to your typical evil stepmother who doted on her daughters and hates her stepson. For example, for Easter my step sisters got huge baskets of candy and chocolates, a couple toys, etc. I got an old soup can with my name painted on it (poorly) that "I could use for pencils."

This witch managed to talk my dad into sending back to my mom, and here the story begins in earnest.

Where my mom was living was an old two bedroom, one bath house. My sister's shared one room, my mom and stepdad shared the other, my brother got the whole basement, and I got a "room" so small that I could touch fingertip to fingertip each wall, and it was double that long. I had a curtain instead of a door.

I got nothing. I hated life there. I was one of only a few white kids at school, so I got beat up alot for being white, it was low income area in Michigan, so I was the one who always had to shovel, rake, mow, and then my mom would "rent me out" to the neighbors, and they all just paid her. I did all the chores and was "grounded until she felt like ungrounding me." I basically sat on my bed for six years anytime I was not in school, cleaning, or making her money.

I learned this later, but my mom was "extorting" money from my dad. She would demand $3000 for a school photo, and he willingly paid $700 a month in child support, even though there was no need to. (He worked in the oil field business after he retired, on a corporate board). She would make stuff up like "Our car broke, etc" and demand money. My dad had to fork over $12,000 for me to go visit him for a week. He couldn't take me in at the time, he wasn't home enough (lots of travel) and he was single, but I found out he was sending me Christmas and birthday gifts every year, and I later found out from my brother she pawned them all. He bought me a brand new Color Gameboy, which was promptly taken away because "I was grounded." She pawned that too. She would often hit me for stupid reasons, like when I once put the dishes away a bit damp or if I managed to get a chocolate milk from the school cafeteria. Once I got fed up and pushed her, she called he police and he chided me.

In short, it was hell.

Meanwhile my sister's got upgraded to a private school and lots of amazing toys. She took custody of my grandfather who had MS from the waist down and couldn't even use the bathroom by himself. She got power of attorney and took all his money and blew it, as well as taking half his pain meds (like Vicodin) and giving them to my brother to sell. This will be important later, kinda.

Now the revenge part. This is going to be a bit long, so I apologize in advance.

In my junior year of high school, I got to working in the library. My teachers were amazing and supportive, and knew my situation. I got my dad's email, and we started planning. He figured once I finished high school, he would personally come up and get me. Finally when my mom decided to have a "graduation party" for me, complete with inviting all her friends and none of the like, two people I could call a friend, a couple days before my graduation ceremony. About two hours before the party was going start, my dad pulls up. I invite him in, and he looks around, looks confused. He leans in and asks me "Where is she?" I point. She was right in front of him lying on the couch. He screwed up his face, and said he'd wait in the car.

While I was gathering all my stuff in a single garbage bag, my mom finally realized who this stranger was, and lost her shit. She tried everything from bribing me with Nascar tickets (I hate Nascar, she liked it but I knew she didn't have any) to physically obstructing me. She had pulled out all the stops for this party, spending a couple thousand and lots of time cooking, err making me cook. I get outside, throw my stuff in the truck, and we take off.

(Side story. We get halfway down the street and my dad has to pull over. He laughs uncontrollably for awhile. I asked his what's up, and in his Texan accent says "Boy, when I was a kid I always wanted to marry a movie star. I just didn't think it be Jabba the Hutt." Evidently they didn't recognize each other at first, she put on ALOT of weight after they divorced.)

We get to his place, and it starts. I get updates from my sister in law. The party was f*****d. She was humiliated. Since she didn't have me, my dad stopped sending money. They had months worth of unpayable bills. She had to pawn her jewelry, pull my sister's out of the private school and back into public school, sell one of the cars she had. Soon she started calling for money claiming someone stole the mail all the time so they couldn't pay their bills and needed money to replace the mailbox so they wouldn't steal it anymore.

It was refreshing knowing I was free, and I could say no with no repercussions. I was happy to live and let live. I vowed to leave her be and let her sink or swim by her own hand. I was elated to be free, and had no desire to look back at that part of my life.

But she wasn't done with me.

I decided to follow my dad's example and join the service. I decided the Navy was the place for me. My job required a top secret clearance, so they do a very thorough background check, to include a credit check. Turns out I was delinquent in mortgage payments, I was receiving social security, and I owed a power company alot of money among other credit card debts. That b****** stole my identity and ran me into debt since she couldn't get anymore money. I knew about identity theft, it just never occurred to me that a parent has everything they need to do so.

This couldn't stand. After I finished basic training and my technical school, I spoke to my Chief (supervisor). Chief was awesome. She managed to wrangle me a "temporary assignment" to a recruiting station in my old town where my mom lived so the Navy would buy my plane tickets. I spoke to the police and filed a report. One by one I managed to clear most of the debts from me and send all the debt collectors after her.

Then I made a visit to the social security office. I was in uniform at the time, and spoke to a clerk about how I was somehow getting payments when I never got anything. She looks up the account, and boom. My mom was here. She claimed I was permanently mangled and disabled in an accident and I was physically unable to sign, giving her permission to cash my checks. The clerk read that last part out slower as it dawned on her that I was clearly more than able. She opened a case. For the monolithic bureaucracy that was the government, they move pretty fast when someone's stealing money from THEM.

Turns out when they went to investigate, she had already skipped town. They issued warrants for her arrest and she is on the run.

I got cut a check for $20,000, the amount that was garnished from my wages for what she stole from the social security administration, and she now owes that much to Uncle Sam.

So this was ten years ago.

So evidently my brother found out that not only am I doing great, I am very successful. I recently left the service and I am starting an even more exciting job. So he told Mom, and she came crawling out of the woodworks via Facebook for money for a "doctor", but I told her prison gives free medical care, and it felt good. Turns out when my aunts (her sisters who lived in another state) found out about how she treated me, she was cut out of everyone's will, to include my grandmother. Unfortunately we didn't get to my grandfather before she cashed in on him.

So heavily in debt, with no family to turn to, no way to get a job, with fraud on her record as well as selling prescription medication, and warrants out for her arrest, my mother, Jabba the Hutt, is receiving hers.

I got cut a check for $20,000, the amount that was garnished from my wages for what she stole from the social security administration, and she now owes that much to Uncle Sam.

Sorry if this is the wrong sub, but I thought I'd share.

(source) story by (/u/Admiral_Bismarck)

[starman-john-tracy]

Radiation Poisoning | Chapter Five

by @starman-john-tracy and @asteria-star

In which John Tracy gets exposed to uranium and nearly dies, The Hood is evil, and Star generally freaks out a lot.  

[Chapter One]  [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Six]

Star startles at John’s attempt at her name and the frantic hand that breaks away from hers to paw at her arm, before she’s catching John as he tips himself on his side. He’s vomiting, painful jolts that make her grimace in sympathy. He’d gotten himself up, but she’s holding his arm to keep him from falling entirely off the bed, the spaceman’s usually cool skin hot and sweaty against her hand. One of his hands flails vaguely, as if hoping she’ll catch it.

“Alright, John, it’s okay,” She gets up so that she’s kneeling on the bed beside him, still wearing nothing but his too-big shirt advertising a vacation location she’s never been, the supportive hand around his bicep and the other rubbing steady, comforting circles into his bare back. “You’re alright, I have you. Just let it out… you’re okay.” She can feel his heart hammering under her palm.

It’s a struggle to remember what had happened or where he is and that’s terrifying. John just knows he’d closed his eyes, just for a blink, just for a moment, and everything had kind of fizzled out around him. The air tastes of static. Tastes sick. He thinks he’s back, that he’s present now, but he’s not really, not quite because everything is wrong and his cells hurt and someone is smoothing their small, cool fingers blessedly over his overheated skin and whispering reassurances, but it’s hard to tell exactly who or why. He chokes hard again, dry heaving now that there’s nothing left inside him to cough up. He can’t seem to catch his breath between the heaves, his stomach carrying on with its convulsions regardless. John groans, low and long beside her, and grits his teeth.

She hopes John can’t see the red. Star forces herself to look up at Virgil’s hologram, to meet his eye, and mouths the word blood.

If a hologram can pale, Virgil goes practically white.

Eventually, as it calms, John makes a small, high keening noise and presses his hot face into her arm, obviously distressed but slipping rapidly out of consciousness again, the dizziness and disorientation dragging him down. There’s another bit of a struggle as he tries, vaguely, to roll back onto his back, the motion accompanied by a low pained sound. Star notices that the deep purple bruise at his side, half hidden at present under his clutching fingers, is looking much bigger and darker than it was earlier. It’s even a deep reddish colour toward the centre - like a stab wound but with no literal puncture. That’s… not right.

It looks like internal bleeding, Star thinks, blinking dumbly at the bruise. She’s all too familiar with how that feels.

Clang- Star flinches at the considerably-more-aggressive-than-usual sound of a ship docking against the space station, heart rabbity and in her throat as she hears the sounds of people boarding.

All she can really think to do is call out; “watch the spacesuits”, so she doesn’t cause the irradiated death of another Tracy with the mess she’s left behind.

“Star!” Alan all but tumbles into John’s little bedroom, tripping over his feet and nearly spilling the tower of medical gear he’s carrying everywhere in the process. He crashes to his knees beside them, without a care in the world for the mess John has made, and he grapples for his brother's wrist, pressing two small fingers down hard on John’s pulse point and counting the beats aloud, interspersed with yells of: “Scott!” and “Hurry the hell up!” over his shoulder. “Star, hook this up.” A simple vital sign monitor gets shoved into her hands, the little sticky pad electrodes needing to be applied to John’s skin, so they can start to get readouts. “Scott! Where are you!?!”

Star almost drops the thing, but manages to hold on. She peels the backing off each sticky sensor and places them on John’s skin - one on each shoulder, three in formation with the curve of his ribs on his left side, one on the opposite side of his chest. He’s not conscious, far from it, but that doesn’t stop her smoothing over each sensor gently as she attaches the lead, shushing him softly when he writhes in place.

The oldest Tracy brother crashes his way in, the backboard and padding he’s carrying having slowed him down considerably. He’s swearing up a storm that he’s very lucky his Grandmother isn’t around to hear. The little old lady is down with Brains in the Tracy Island medical room, ready to prep whatever Virgil will think John needs. Speaking of Virgil, the little holographic approximation of him has folded his arms across his chest, and is frowning.

“Careful Alan.” He prompts, “Area, Assess, Act.”

“Area clear,” Alan reports, “Except for those biohazard suits of yours, but they can wait ‘till later. Assess…” He slides his fingers from John’s pulse point, shooing Star out of the way as he goes, so that he can hover over his brother and try to get a good measure of his condition. “John can you hear me?” There’s a pause, but Alan doesn’t wait very long. “No?” The spaceman is limp and quiet - he seems to have passed out again.

“Uhh… ok, so we’re looking at acute radiation syndrome, almost definitely. It’s presenting as haematopoietic and,” The kid wipes his knee on a section of cleaner floor, his nose wrinkled, “gastrointestinal.” He bravely resists the urge to gripe about it. Instead, Alan brings up a small hand to carefully palpitate the awful, discoloured patch of John’s swollen side, testing for a reaction from the blotchy skin. “Looks like he’s haemorrhaging. Nosebleed and something internal. His blood cells must be wrecked.” For the first time since he’s crashed into the room, Alan’s voice wobbles, but it’s only for a moment - the kid manages to hold it together fantastically.

“Right, Scott, chuck me a scanner.” The older man does as he’s told, handing over the instrument and making himself useful while Alan works, by testing the unconscious reflexes of John’s white feet, which are poking out over the edge of his bed. “Ok good,” If Alan had sleeves that weren’t spacesuit-tight to his skin, he’d have rolled them up. “Hang in there John, I’m running a scan now.” The little device clicks out an appendage that emits a soft blue glow and casts eerie, alien shadows on John’s skin as Alan runs it over his brother. It makes the dark purple-red of his side look even worse.

If there’s one thing that’s true, it’s that John Tracy would be very proud of his little brother right now. Alan is cool and focused under pressure like he’d be on any rescue. The kid’s really grown up these past few months.

“It's hard to get a grasp on his neurological functions like this but…” He looks up at Star, those big blue baby eyes sharp and serious. “He’s not been seizing, has he?”

Alan pushed her out of the way, and Star ends up sitting in the corner. The room itself isn’t big, so her attempt to get herself out of the way has left her sitting against the wall but the feet within inches of the bed. She’s brought her legs up to her chest, trying to keep her shaking under wraps for how tight she’s squeezing them.

She knows Virgil can see her, and she doesn’t want him to. Scott being in the same room is making her skin crawl. Alan is so little - this is their brother she’s killed. John, John who hates contact but puts up with her hugging and always makes sure she’s safe first and would rather work himself to death than let a call go unanswered. John is going to die, and the universe is going to be without the greatest light she has ever seen.

Alan’s talking to her, Star almost jumps out of her skin when she sees him looking at her with those big, blue eyes.

Has he been seizing?

“No,” she sniffles, silent tears still burning hot tracks down her face. It’s the only thing she can feel, everything else is numb. “But he’s gone downhill quickly. He was awake and coherent less than an hour ago.”

Alan takes in the sight of her curled into the corner with wide eyes. She’s small and pale with eyes full of shell-shock and tears. He’s preoccupied with his brother, the scanner in his hand bleeping urgently, but even he can see there’s something not right with her.

“Star? You ok over there?” The kid’s voice wavers, like his tenuous hold on keeping himself together is fraying, “Oh Christ, you’re not. Virgil?” He’s wrist deep in scanner readouts, and so fielding her to their only other present and conscious brother makes the most sense.

“I’m fine” Star murmurs, hugging their knees closer to her chest. Virgil opens his mouth to say something she doesn’t let him get out before snapping “I said I’m fine.”

He frowns at her, all scrunchy black brows and worry.

“Did you get exposed to the uranium at all?” If he were there in person Virgil would lead her to the side and have this conversation in private. “We’re gonna do all we can for John, ok? I… you’ve been very brave.” And that’s far too a sweet, kind thing for him to say to her right now, drowning in guilt as she is. “We’re not gonna give up on him. I… John’s gonna be alright, yeah?” It’s a completely empty promise, words to be regretted later if things take a turn for the worse, but, now, in the moment, they build a stop gap between that bleak possibility and the present terror. It’s fortunate that Virgil is the kind of man who, when he tells you something, he says it so honestly that it’s hard not to believe him.

“Not without my suit on,” Star tells him, because to be perfectly honest, she doesn’t know what he wants her to say. Was she in the same room as the uranium? Yes. Did she have her hands on canisters of the stuff? Yes. Did her scanner occasionally flick to the dangerous end of orange? Once or twice. But was she ever sitting, barefaced and suffocating, practically on top of the stuff? Absolutely not.

Virgil gives her a smile, warm and relieved.

“I’m glad.” He tells her, “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Scott, have you got the blood bag?” While Virgil’s been trying to talk her down, Alan’s got an IV cannula set up in the back of John’s skinny wrist, prioritising the replacement of his damaged blood cells over anything else. “Thanks.”

Scott’s been remarkably quiet during this whole thing, but he sets the pole and bag up with ease, connecting the tube to allow good, clean plasma-strong blood to flow down toward his brother’s damaged veins. It’ll keep up his platelet count and make sure his fluid levels are high so that his blood pressure won't drop any further. The scans hadn’t shown anything good. John’s got a dangerously high temperature, a fast, uneven heartbeat, and a bad bleed amongst his internal organs.

“Is he going to need surgery?” Virgil is asking, and Scott, perhaps to save Alan from having to answer, rolls his shoulders through a shrug.

“If the bleed doesn’t stop on its own soon, sealing off the damaged blood vessels might be his best chance.” A worry-weary hand pinches at the bridge of his nose, “We’ll be running a high risk of infection though, and radiation poisoning is going to have wrecked what little of an immune system he’s got.”

“We’ve got to prevent infection as much as we possibly can.” Virgil agrees, knowing full well that, under the effects of radiation poisoning, even something as simple as the common cold could kill a patient. “But holding off on surgery because of that isn't gonna do him any good either.” After all, infection can’t kill you if bleeding out already has.

There’s a speckled pattern of small, ruptured blood vessels, Purpura, blooming like tiny stars across John’s pale skin, on his cheeks and collarbones where the radiation has damaged them. It makes a sick kind of parody of the constellations he so loves, still visible though the dirty pane beneath their feet, if only any of them had the time to look.

Having done everything he can for now, Alan’s hands drop to his sides, and he suddenly looks very small next to the outstretched length of their spaceman.

“Scott?” Wide blue eyes turn, searching, to his big brother for answers. Because it’s oldest sibling Rule One that Scott always has the answers. “I… What do we do now? A backboard? Three? We should get him home, right?”

Scott nods, his throat dry.

“It’s gonna be a rough ride. Star, you with us?”

Star, raised on a lifetime of men who want her dead, finds that the last place she wants to be is within arms reach of Scott Tracy. But arguing would just waste John’s time, time he doesn’t have, and she isn’t about to put him in danger again. Alan and Scott are preoccupied loading John up, but Star can feel Virgil and EOS watching her, and it's making her skin crawl. Virgil’s got the look on his face like he wants to talk. Star desperately doesn’t want him to. She takes the comm off her wrist and tucks it under a pile of discarded blankets, just to be safe. She stumbles upright, curling her toes against the cold of the glass floor.

“I’m coming,” Star tells Scott, setting her face into a firm expression that takes her a moment to realise might come across as a glare.

On her way out, following John - not anyone else - to Thunderbird Three, she swipes a book off his bedside table. It had a bookmark in it as well as dog-eared pages, depending on which of the two of them had read it first. John’s not halfway done… Star can’t bear the thought of him not knowing how it ends.

Star flinches around Scott on her way to her seat, giving him as wide a birth as possible, and when she sits down she finds a smear of John’s blood along her trembling thigh. She’s shaking… cold… she hadn’t even noticed. In favour of not looking at it, Star glances over her shoulder. John’s deathly pale, strapped in with the oxygen mask back over his face and an IV feeding blood back into his veins. Star focuses on the little uneven puffs of condensation on the inside of the mask. Breathing, alive.

Scott’s not stopped frowning since the second he got the call from Eos. He’s stooped over his brother, obscuring him mostly from Star’s view. He doesn’t seem to have the time to grill her about what happened, and that’s probably for the best. He’s busy checking over the huge trocar needle in his brother’s wrist, cleaning the hastily-applied port with sterile wipes to prevent the kind of potentially-deadly infection Virgil had warned them about.

Virgil’s reassuring hologram had been left behind on Five, while the dark haired Tracy helps his Grandmother and Brains prep for their landing. It’s a shame, in a way, as he’s the only one who’d have noticed that Star seems to be in shock. Alan’s thoroughly occupied by flying and Scott is busy checking over oxygen leads and blood pressure scans and tucking the blanket over his brother in just that little bit more firmly around the sides. 

John probably needs drugs too, the good stuff and some coagulants to clot the blood and prevent further bleeding, but Scott’s not even sure which cocktail would be best, and he doesn’t really want to give his brother anything without Virgil’s say so, as he definitely remembers something about morphine causing breathing problems in patients and the last thing John needs is any more of those.

“Scott? Star?” Alan twists his head round to look over his shoulder at his big brother, cutting into his deliberation about drugs. “We’re angling down through the atmosphere, burn’s gonna start any minute now. You guys and Johnny good? I’m gonna have to make it a hard one.”

“I’ve got him.” Scott tells his brother, “We’ll be ready; you focus on flying, ok Sprout?”

Something in Star’s chest twists at Scott’s words, because he’s right. He’s got John, not her, and John looks far better off than when he’d been left in her care. Star swivels right way around in her seat, watching Alan’s quick fingers dance across Thunderbird Three’s controls. He really is a compact version of John, the likeness jumps out when they’re working, the focus and care and the way their eyes light up at the sight of space, even in the most dire situations.

Thunderbird Three’s walls start shaking around them, the vibrations jolting up their spines as they brace themselves for re-entry. Scott comforts himself with the thought that at least John, while unconscious, won’t feel the burn as they break through Earth’s atmosphere. The ship’s juddering getting worse and worse all around him and it’s like Alan’s ‘bird is trying her best to violently shake them apart at the seams. Scott grits his teeth, his neck straining as he feels Three’s every bloody jolt and jerk and rattle as she throws them out of the stratosphere and breaches the ozone, flames licking around her nosecone as they plummet. 

Star closes her eyes and holds on, white knuckled. 

They break out of the ozone with a hard punch that throws them deep into the troposphere, the feeling not dissimilar to being thrown though a brick wall. Gravity takes over, dragging them down and Scott gets a heady surge of relief as he feels, somewhat mutedly, the fierce rumble of Alan firing the retro thrusters under them. Big brother winds his fingers with John’s and gives them a reassuring squeeze. Just in case he can feel this. The shaking begins to abate around them, the burn spent, but they’re still shooting towards Earth, spiralling down and Scott would think Alan has lost all control over Thunderbird Three except he can feel how precisely his little brother’s ‘bird is descending.

[momo-de-avis]

There is a saying in Portugal---but bear with me before I tell you what it is. There’s a collective consciousness about ‘popular knowledge’. Everyone knows the people---the rural, the uneducated, the non-city dwellers, what have you---know best. It’s them who teach you that you use white wine to take a red wine stain out of the table cloth. It’s them who make benzeduras with olive oil to heal you of all evil. It’s them who know just the right tea to heal your every malady. It’s them who recite the mnemonics you’ve known since you were a kid that become life-savers as an adult. Knock on wood three times. Never open an umbrella inside the house. Putting a shirt on backwards brings good fortune. A dog who barks doesn’t bite. A spider in the home means money. Seagulls on land, storm at sea. Use a broom to sweep the feet of an unmarried person, they’ll never marry. Get rid of unwanted guests by turning a stool upside down behind a closed door. Rural knowledge.

All of these have a background---they’re superstitions in a country with a strong pagan heritage. Most of these exist side-by-side with catholicism, they’re not really frowned upon---hell, you’ll hear an old lady say she knows better than the local priest. They are just there. They have been passed down for generations and held close to heart. Most of these exist in sayings, popular singings people chant, just that.

But there’s one particular saying that has stuck with me because it exists in spite of something really wicked. ‘Never stick a spoon between a husband a wife’ (it’s silly because it’s supposed to rhyme). It means you should never---no matter what---interfere with a husband and wife fighting. I suppose in principle, it sounds about right. Not in praxis.

When Conta-me Como Foi was on---a show about a family living back in the dictatorship---one of the episodes was about domestic violence. The family kept hearing the woman screaming while the man beat her so loudly they could hear his hand smack against her head, cutlery clanking against the floor while a glass, or a dish, or the whole dining set given by one of the in-laws as a wedding present, shattered. Something knocked over, a table or a cabinet. And those wailings in the background, of a woman begging to stop, the man’s roars, imposing: shut up, bitch. The family ignored. The kid was terrified. To ease his spirit, the mother said: never stick a spoon between a husband and a wife. 

My mom was watching and said: I remember that being common, everyone had a neighbour whose wife lived through hell. We all heard women crying, weeping, begging to be saved, and no one did a thing---because you never stick a spoon between a husband and a wife. She shook her head. I remembered the tons of books she read about muslim women being oppressed with hijabs, niqabs and burqas, the tone of disgust on her face when she explained the story of one poor woman who was stoned in public because she put her hand on her brother’s knee. My mother always tried to be a feminist, but in the end, she’s very western.

A few years later, we were watching the news---her, me and my uncle. Domestic violence had increased in the past few years. With Troika and the financial crisis, the number of mothers committing suicide-homicide---suffocating to death inside their cars with their children because they couldn’t bear to witness them go hungry---had gone up. But so did domestic violence. The victims: overwhelmingly women, and the children: unreported. The subject was severe: it demanded to be talked about in public, urgently.

My mother looked at my uncle. “I don’t remember this ever existing back in our days.”

I immediately went pale. I remembered the day she agreed with that domestic violence episode of the TV show, the piles of books about oppressed muslim women, the anger on her face when she told the story of widows in India being forced to beg because they were barred from working. Her very own story ceased to exist. The things she had witnessed, that had been such a common territory for every portuguese person of her time, erased.

I said: “You’re joking, right?”

My uncle added gasoline to the fire: “You didn’t hear about this.”

I was already breaking off. “Because it was a dictatorship. You had censorship torturing people. You told me you were scared to death of reading a Gorky book. You work with lawyers every single day of your life, you know the constitution acknowledged women as objects. You had to ask your dad permission to drive, otherwise it was illegal. As it was illegal to talk about it. What are you talking about? Of course, you didn’t hear about it---and however uncomfortable it is for you to hear about it at the dinner table, I’m glad I at least live in a world where it is on the news and I am allowed to publically discuss it.”

More years down the line. I’m in my mom’s living room when I hear screaming outside. I lived in a street where often drunk people walked past to get home, so I didn’t mind---until I heard a child cry. And a woman’s voice. And a man, angry. ‘Stop,’ she was saying. ‘Please, not in front of the kid’. I went outside, to the balcony, but couldn’t see very well. Then, I heard a slap. It just echoed across the roundabout and reverberated into my goddamn brain---I had absolutely no doubt about what I was witnessing. I looked down and saw two women holding a child, a man---drunk---throwing kicks and punches. I looked up: the younger people in the building were peering out their windows, phone in hand, calling the cops. One of them screamed: hey, you’re such a man why won’t you come here and beat me, you piece of shit? The man ignored him. I grabbed my phone, just when my mother appeared next to me.

She looked down, quiet as a mouse. Whenever there was a fight in the building, she never said a word. Often, she’ll talk about someone who is not there in whispers, because she’s afraid someone will hear. Secrecy was a big part of one’s education back in the dictatorship. She told me several times one of her father’s greatest lessons: never talk about politics inside the house, you never know who’s listening. There was a snitch living in the next building. She said he used to sit for hours on the balcony, watching. Occasionally, someone in the city disappeared---reappeared then completely torn, broken. Everyone knew they went to Caxias, got tortured because the snitch gave them away. It wasn’t hard, after all---this is a communist city.

Every time there was loud screaming, my mother’s immediate reaction was to shut off the sound of the TV and perk her chin up to listen carefully. My downstairs neighbours made her do that a lot. The upstairs neighbours---all of them---as well. She never intervened. Her second reaction was---after everything had quieted down---to pick up the phone, call my godmother (who lived one floor below) and ask: did you just hear that? And then they would discuss. When my godmother wouldn’t answer, she’d ask me---I always brushed it off, pretended I didn’t hear. I hate prying into other people’s businesses, and could tell the fight was just a fight. But they would never interfere: that meant taking sides, listening to someone. This way, they could speculate all they wanted without really having to admit someone was in the wrong. This way, the husband and the wife were both crazy.

So when we both witnessed a woman and her child being physically assaulted by the kid’s father in public, her immediate reaction was to draw back. “Close the window,” she said. “They might see you.” And she disappeared back into her room.

Never stick a spoon between a husband a wife.

I can guarantee you there isn’t a single person in this country that does not know one woman who has been physically abused. We all had grandmothers, mothers, great-grandmothers. My friend L’s grandmother was forced to give birth to all her children completely alone because her husband wouldn’t let anyone look at his wife’s vagina. I know women who are in long, excruciating judicial battles against their aggressors, while their children are forced by court to live with the man they witnessed beat their mother on the ground. I’ve heard women tell me ‘my grandfather beat my grandmother to death’. I know people whose grandmothers and grand-aunts had 20 children because their husbands had their way with them, and there was no possible way for them to prevent that from happening. I’ve heard stories spoken so sweetly it took me years to realize it was abuse. ‘He beat me, but he was a good man’ and ‘he only slapped me once’ is a common thing to say.

That night, I called the cops---a bit late, too. The caller told me I was about the fifth one to make the call, which gave me a breath of relief. At least, I saw the guy being hauled into the back of a police van, screaming ‘I’ve been in jail before’ (and you’ll be again, said the cop---a woman, too). My mother went back to her room, didn’t think about it again. That same room was stacked with books about non-western women being oppressed by their societies, the same she preaches on about in that gloriously ironic western way. She still thinks it’s so funny that my grandfather once ran out of shirts to wear because there was not a single woman nearby to wash them for him.

This thing, this saying---never stick a spoon between a husband and a wife---it’s so ingrained into our brains even the most liberal woman (like my ever-growing-feminist mother) acknowledge it as law. In theory, the contrary works---you should really see the way she talks about oppressed women everywhere else in the world. But the moment it happens before our eyes, we have to snap them shut. 

Every single one of us knows a case of a girl who was in an abusive relationship. A guy who stalked. A dude who gaslighted her into insanity. A guy who showed up unannounced at her doorstep, who followed her everywhere after they broke up, who controlled her social media. At one point, we accepted it, because you never stick a spoon between a husband and a wife. I’m not going to pretend I was very avant-garde in this matter: I wasn’t. I was taught to shut up whenever I witnessed abuse. I was taught to swallow cause life is just that way. So there’s this taboo that abuse doesn’t belong in the public space---it belongs in the home, in the secrecy that my mother was brought up with---and consequentially taught me---that allows for a man to beat his wife to death.

Because you don’t challenge, you avoid. My brother still thinks his friend was stupid for geing back to his wife because he quit a high-paying job, and she got fat. My sister-in-law goes berserk at the sight of her son in pink. My mother wasted her every effort into forcing me to be a girly-girl: cleaning products for toys, loads of baby-dolls, pushing me into maternity. You never know---you have to avoid, you have to prevent. But you never speak about, never make it public. It’s impolite to say those things in public.

Over the past few years, our country has reached the highest numbers of women killed by their husbands in many decades. The judicial system protects the abuser. One guy just recently took the electronic bracelet off a guy’s ankle after he beat his wife until she became deaf. The same guy, a while back, absolved a woman’s husband and lover from beating her to unconsciousness together by quoting the bible to justify how much the man’s dignity had been affected by her cheating.

I live in a country where the judicial system, the men in charge---white, old, the ones who ruled the country when my mother had to ask permission to drive---consider us toys to garnish the men. We exist in a script, inside and outside our bodies. I remember the case of a 50-something-year-old woman who had invasive surgery to her vagina and was given a last minute change she didn’t consent to. As a result, she has to wear diapers and is in constant excruciating pain. The doctors did that because ‘at 50, a woman’s sex life is non-existent’. The court ruled in the doctor’s favour. She got financial compensation---not nearly enough for a few month’s rent. I am thirty---I suppose I have twenty years to enjoy my sex life, then. Because the men in charge have dictated the next line in my womanly script: I can’t fuck. So they can just... ravage me on a surgical table if they wish. No court will ever stand up for me---as they didn’t in the past.

I have no brilliant conclusion to this. In fact, I have no conclusion at all. Tonight I was faced with yet another piece of horrific news: a woman’s head was found inside a plastic bag. People are making fun of it on Facebook, joke after joke: haha, she lost her head! Who ate the rest of the body? Women are gonna lose their head with this one!

And I am just overwhelmingly tired. I acknowledge that I live in a backwards country that refuses to grow out of its own catholic past, imposed by 50 years of fascism we just cannot, no matter what, let go of. I am just completely worn out by the women on TV like my mother, who think they’re so avant-garde by saying a niqab is oppressive, but who will slam their window shut when they hear a woman screaming for help. I am tired of people who tell me this saying I was brought up with, smothered by the need for secrecy, that just strengthens every abuser in their own home and ruins the lives of women and children everywhere you have to live with bruises and scars inside and out: never stick a spoon between a husband and a wife. Because though right now I am in a loving relationship with a wonderful man who witnessed this same domestic abuse and will stand up himself---however necessary---in the face of it, me, as a woman---then a girl---there was a time in my life when I couldn’t help but think: it’s going to happen to me, because it happens to everyone.

Sorry for the long post.

[filmmakersvision]

Why Arjun Reddy And Kabir Singh Are Misogynistic Characters But The Films Do Not Promote Misogyny

Disclaimer: This article contains spoilers. Both films are very similar so if you have seen only one you can read this article.

by Inakshi Chandra-Mohanty

Within three days of release, Kabir Singh has created a storm throughout the nation. Never has a film been so debated, and caused this many ugly fights between people who are on two different extremes in their opinions on the film, neither willing to listen and try to understand the other’s point of view. Kabir Singh has functioned like religion, dividing the nation in half through controversy. There is no right or wrong. There are personal opinions that should be expressed and discussed in a civilized manner without the people against the film categorizing the ones who liked the film as sexists and the people who liked the film making fun of those criticizing the film and labeling them as pseudo feminists. Here I will list a few of my opinions on the film and the debate around the misogyny in the film, as well as explore its differences with its predecessor, Arjun Reddy.

I think it will be effective to first analyze why Arjun Reddy was a huge success and did not receive as much criticism from critics and public at the time of its release. The Telegu film industry is one of the larger film industries in the country and countless people watched this film, even people like me, who do not speak Telegu, yet were curious to see  the film due to the praise it was receiving all around. A few negative comments that highlighted the misogyny existed but were limited, not because it wasn’t as big a film as Kabir Singh, but purely because there were less people that saw it as problematic. The reason for this is that Arjun Reddy broke all the clichés of commercial Telegu cinema in terms of storytelling, style, and character arcs. It was a path-breaking film in Telegu cinema. Most commercial films in the Telegu film industry have a heroic man as the lead protagonist, who has the strength to fight off evil villains, and the style to woo the awestruck heroines. Though not always, there are many cases where this hero also propagates misogyny, touching the heroine without her consent, or speaking to her in a rude manner as if she is his property. And these scenes are often seen as a form of comedy akin to the behavior of heroes in 90s Hindi films. Arjun Reddy, however, broke this convention. The protagonist was no longer a perfect hero, who gets the girl after a few successful tries. Now, he’s a deeply flawed man, who loses the girl because of his own problematic actions, and only reunites with her after going through a partially redemptive phase. He is a man who is not afraid to show his vulnerabilities, to cry and show his emotions in front of people, and that is why people were able to empathize with him, as he had human qualities, which most Telegu film protagonists do not have. The audience that was so conditioned to seeing perfect men using their style to get their way with women without any complications, was now seeing an imperfect man, with rebellious but non-heroic tendencies, lose the girl due to his very flaws, and then go further down a dark path, fighting his own demons and finally reuniting with her.

Arjun Reddy/Kabir Singh is a flawed man. He does have misogynistic tendencies, and his relationship with Preethi is definitely a toxic relationship, in which he maintains most of the control, while her submissive nature relegates her to the backseat, succumbing to his whims. The two instances in the film that stood out to me in terms of misogyny, are how he decides that she is his after only seeing her once, before even knowing her consent, and when he says during one of his anger fits that people only know her as his girl, as if she has no identity of her own. Due to his anger issues and his feeling of his entitlement, he behaves in a misogynistic manner at times. But it is not “toxic masculinity.” His behavior towards Preethi is not of a man who feels that he should have control over the woman in the relationship, purely because of his gender. His nature to control comes from his feeling of entitlement. He comes from an upper class/upper caste family and he has always been given what he wanted. There is a scene in the film where his grandmother narrates a story in which he badly wanted a toy but was not able to get it so he sulked for many days. His behavior with Preethi is similar. He desparately wants her and when he loses her due to his own ego, he spirals onto a self-destructive path, taking up alcohol, drugs, and eventually ruining the one thing that he has created himself, his career. His behavior towards Preethi is not due to gender dynamics, as he behaves similarly with everyone, his friends, his family, his classmates, his superiors at work, and even the dean of his college. He has a physical fight with his brother when his brother attempts to get him away from alcohol and drugs. He yells at his friends for the smallest of issues. When he finds out Preethi got married, he behaves rudely with his grandmother because she had said that they would end up together. There are even times when he snaps at his patients and colleagues. Numerous instances like these exist throughout the film, which show how his controlling and rude behavior is not limited to Preethi, or to women for that matter. His need to control Preethi comes out of his need to control everything happening around him, and the moment he loses control over her, he loses control over himself as well, and becomes a self-destructive alcoholic.

Preethi’s character is a little difficult to analyze because she doesn’t speak much throughout the film, and she is not present on screen for about an hour of the film in the second half. Yet, even in her silence, we can discern some of her reactions towards his advances. Her not resisting when he took her out of the classroom to teach her was not a sign of consent as she could have been intimidated and there was no point at which she clearly said yes. And Arjun/Kabir’s decision to kiss her on the cheek was also inappropriate as it was done without consent. However, we also know that she is not completely disgusted by him. When he draws on her hands to teach her, instead of going back and rubbing it off in disgust, she shows it to her friends as if it is something she is proud of. Similarly, when he puts his head on her lap (another rude and controlling move by him), she calls her friend to bring a blanket showing she has some concern for him. So, yes, many things happened without her consent and Arjun/Kabir’s behavior was definitely misogynistic and controlling, but even her feelings began to develop early in the film. However, we are not given enough information to discern why she is attracted to him. As Baradwaj Rangan said in his analysis of the film, both of them are nutcases and they both deserve each other. Arjun/Kabir continues to behave in a controlling manner but even Preethi has some agency in the relationship going forward in the film. The first move, before they kiss and have sex for the first time, is made by Preethi. She holds his hand, giving him a signal that she wants to move forward in the relationship. Even when they are in a long-distance relationship, she is the first to go and visit him. Even though he is clearly the dominating power in the relationship, and she speaks very little throughout the film, she definitely has some agency in the relationship. However, we have to remember that her character is written in a one-dimensional manner, so despite these small signs of her effort in the relationship, we cannot fully discern her thoughts towards him. It is not clear whether she is just attracted to him, or she feels truly connected with him, or if it is a case of Stockholm Syndrome.

The ending is a bit too neat, starting with him noticing Preethi in the park, to her still visiting the same park even after his vacation’s end, to her accepting him, and even the fact that the child is his. But despite these “too good to be true” situations, I loved the structure of the last scene. For the first time in the film, Arjun/Kabir wasn’t in control. Yes, his nature still remained the same as he insisted that Preethi come with him despite her refusal to initially speak with him. His tone of speaking to her was still full of attitude. But the whole conversation was controlled by her. Arjun/Kabir just stood there calmly, pleading without losing his cool, while she disparaged him for causing her so much pain. This shows the evolution of his character. For the first time, he didn’t get angry when someone said “no” to him. He kept his ego in check and listened to her as she expressed her sorrows. And then he let her slap him, multiple times, because somewhere inside, he was aware that her suffering was his fault. He didn’t completely change. He didn’t become the perfect man for Preethi. His attitude and controlling nature remained the same, but his ability to control his anger and his ability to actually listen to what someone else had to say, is what made him a slightly better person than what he was before.

Films have the power to influence people but only to the extent that they allow it. The highly problematic nature of this film is due to the fact that there are many people in India who will view this film with a patriarchal mindset, and will see the film as validation for behavior that they already practice. The fact that Arjun/Kabir succeeded in his love, will allow these people to use this film as an excuse for behaving in a rude, controlling manner with women. However, the film cannot be held responsible for the behavior of a select few that already have it in their mind that it is alright to behave in this manner with women. The film never glorifies his horrible behavior, and in fact, punishes him by taking away his love, his family, and then eventually his career. He only reunites with Preethi after he sets off on a path towards redemption. Arjun/Kabir is a very very flawed man, but even flawed men deserve stories.

[mutantsrisingrpg]

Congratulations ANTHONY! You’ve been accepted as DIONE.

Excuse me as I scream because you finally brought us a Finn, Anthony! Finn is a character that is filled with a lot of complexities and you touched upon beautifully within your app. Life for them has not been kind, and yet they continue to look for that family they’ve never had. And let me just say, Finn’s intelligence? Chef’s kiss. They know they’re smart and they use it to their advantage to get what they want - which is the exact reason our dearest Alma picked them out of all the possible mutants. 

Welcome to Mutants Rising! Please read the checklist and submit your account within 24 hours.

Out of Character Information:

NAME/ALIAS: Anthony

PRONOUNS: He/Him

AGE: 19

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: I can be pretty active most days except for Tuesdays and Thursdays!

In Character Information:

DESIRED ROLE: Finn Croix | Dione

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Genderqueer | He/They

DETAILS & ANALYSIS:

Dione, the deity of the springs, and a water goddess. She’s tied with Finn’s first name due to Fionn mac Cumhail (Fionn being where Finn comes from) gaining wisdom from an enchanted salmon. Also, Dione was an oracle, and Fionn had wisdom. Another thing is that Croix, which means cross, and it’s said that Fionn isn’t dead, but is resting and waiting for a horn to be blown three times, similiar to how in Christianity, Gabriel must blow the horn three times to signal the end of the world. Next, Fionn gets white hair, and maybe Finn was born with white hair, so they shaved it off to not be as noticed as others.

For me, Finn is a very complex individual. They have grand things they can accomplish in their life, but also, they are very comfortable not doing any of them. They are where they want to be, when they want to be there. Another thing is how they relate to people in life. Finn in my eyes, doesn’t like to get close to most people. They like to push off, to not get close, unless they choose to. But at the same time, I feel like they are very warm and caring with those they have chosen to love. The first two lines of their aesthetic says that to me. Also, I feel like Finn doesn’t like to truly settle down. They may stop at one place, but never truly stay. For them, life is the ability to be free. To not be tied down, unless they choose to. And I feel like, Finn has chosen to be tied to where they are now. That’s what the next two lines say. The final line, I feel like is how Finn feels, about everything. They’ve been forgotten their whole life, and don’t really know what to do. Other people forget them, and feel bad about it, but don’t really change things, unless they want to get rid of the feeling.

BIO:

Finn Croix is the fourth son of the Croix family. They were born, one horribly storm day in the middle of August. By the time their one-month old mark rolled around, they looked almost nothing like their siblings. Incredibly pale, white hair, the only thing that showed Finn was even related was their dark brown eyes. However, to most of their family, it didn’t matter. They were just another Croix kid, and they belonged. It did matter to their mom, Etna, though. She wanted Finn to look like her, to be like her, to be born a girl. That never happened. Etna kept her distance, too greatly disappointed by her final child not being the little girl she had been praying for. So, she kept her distance from her youngest, confusing Finn as they grew up, not sure what they had done wrong.

By the time they were five, Finn had learned not to talk to mother unless spoken to first, not to bother father unless it was life or death, and that their brothers were ride-or-die to a degree. They also knew that, regardless of anything else, the evilest people on the planet were, of course, Mutants. As long as they never associated with that group, they would be fine, in the long run. That choice was taken away from them.

One day, while Finn and their brothers were playing outside, their eldest brother, Daniel, accidentally started a fire. Finn, to this day, isn’t actually sure that Daniel meant to start it. All they know is, one second, Daniel’s doing something, and then next there’s a giant fire and Patrick, Finn’s brother barely older than them, is crying. After that, Finn heard people yelling around them, obviously scared of what just happened. However, Finn was more worried about Patrick, so they rushed to his side, and somehow, miraculously, made the burn marks that had already started to form on Patrick’s hand, cool down.

In the long run, this was not a smart thing to do.

After the event was immediately over, Finn was pulled away from Patrick, along with Daniel. They were both brought before their father and mother. Their mother, who had obviously just gotten finished crying, and their father, who looked furious. Their father, Daniel Sr., was quick to inform them that they were no longer to call either of their parents’ “father” or “mother” and that they were no longer “true Croix’s.” Daniel Sr. went on to explain that both of them would be separated, one sent the Croix’s in France, and the other, to the Cullen’s in New York. Then, they were sent to their rooms, and that was the last time that Finn saw their brother, Daniel, in person.

After that, it was a whirlwind of things happening. Finn quickly found out that they were staying with Etna’s parents, the Cullen’s. They also found out from Baptiste, the second oldest Croix child, that the Cullen’s were of the opinion that the only good mutant was a dead one, and the only good alive mutant was one who was constantly in full control of their powers. Another thing they found out is that they would no longer be able to contact their siblings. Finn was lost. No friends, no contact with their brothers, what was there left?

At the age of six, Finn was fully moved in with their grandparents. They also learned a new set of rules. Their grandfather was only to be referred to as Alastar, their grandmother, Kennedy. They were not to touch anything in the house freely without permission, except in their room. They had a tight schedule on what Finn was allowed to do, and if Finn missed something? They would be punished, and not lightly. They had training every day to master their powers, to learn the self-control needed to no longer be a danger to society.

By the time Finn was eight, they had learned more prayers and hymns to help keep themselves in balance when they feel they are about to have an episode, than they had friends in the world. And they didn’t know a lot of prayers or hymns. By the time they were nine, they had a strong mastery over their powers, and were granted some freedoms. One of those being to go back to public school. By the time they were ten, they were allowed to make a choice. They could stay with their grandparents, or go back to their parents. They decided to stay with their grandparents, because the evil you knew was better than the evil you didn’t.

School was a breeze for Finn, for the most part. They weren’t messed with in class, due to the strong fear that everyone had to them being mutant. The classes were also pretty easy, due to their grandparents refusing to have a grandchild that didn’t understand the subjects they were being taught. By the time Finn was in the eleventh grade, they had the top scores in the class, with no problem, and were considered to be the only viable choice for the valedictorian. When twelfth grade rolled around, the rules changed though. Suddenly, at the age of 70, Alastar Cullen, had a heart attack. Two days later, he was dead. Three days after that, Kennedy Cullen was found dead from taktsubo cardiomyopathy, or, heart break.

Finn didn’t know what to do. They had just turned 18, were about to graduate from high school, and both their guardians were dead. When the wills for both of their grandparents were finally discussed, it was found that the Cullen’s had left nothing except a few thousand dollars to Finn, and everything else to Finn’s brothers, Baptiste and Patrick. It was the first time that Finn had seen them in years. However, Baptiste seemed disinterested, and Patrick wasn’t allowed to talk to them. Then, they were kicked out of their grandparent’s home, as they were no longer welcomed there. By the time that everything had settled, with the will reading and Finn getting kicked out, Finn had lost the only “family” they had, their safety of a home, and their position as valedictorian due to not being able to keep up with the course work. They were still high in rank, but it wasn’t the same.

So, they moved. With only a few thousand dollars to their name, they began to travel the country. They had no steady job, just picking up random ones when a mutant needed help, or when someone wanted to do something illegal and needed a mutant who didn’t care too heavily about who they were hurting.

It wasn’t until around the age of 25, that they realized they weren’t happy. After a job gone wrong, where they had someone get scapegoated, did Finn realize that they weren’t helping anyone. They had been burned by their family, and, in turn, started burning fellow mutants. And for what? A bit of extra cash? They hated themselves for that. They began a side research project, once they had this realization. They quickly looked up areas where there were high mutant populations, where there was more acceptance to mutants, and where they could find a job with their specific skill set. It wasn’t hard to find a city like that.

Chicago was the haven for mutants, but was also losing ground as that haven. Then, Finn found the Big Three. The Blackburn Syndicate, the Jem family, and Kings Collective. The three most powerful groups in Chicago, with an underbelly, and the ability to help other mutants. That’s where Finn wanted to be.

They quickly finished up the jobs they had left in the current city they were in, and began to head towards Chicago. It wasn’t difficult to get there, and only slightly more difficult to find a way into the group they wanted. While the other two groups were good, they weren’t what Finn was looking for. The Jem Family believed in mutant supremacy, which Finn had never seen, and the Kings Collective who wanted to steal art, which they weren’t that interested in. No, they were interested in the protection that the Blackburn Syndicate offered. They quickly searched for a way to set up a meeting, but found they had no reason to. Their leader, Alma Rosario, found them first. She quickly offered a spot to Finn, in exchange for Finn to work for her. It was no question. Finn Croix, was now a member of the Blackburn Syndicate.

EXPANDED CONNECTIONS:

Rebeka York – Finn and Rebeka were never bound to get along. Too similar in powers, and Finn loving to annoy people at times, it was bound to not be a good friendship. However, that doesn’t mean that Finn doesn’t appreciate Rebeka’s gift. In fact, they see Rebeka as an equal, in terms of mutations, regardless of the differences between them.

Rahim Avery – Rahim and Finn are close, and Finn will fight someone for trying to say otherwise. To them, Rahim is a breath of fresh air. It’s nice, knowing that there’s someone on his danger level that they can relate to. It’s very nice, knowing that Rahim trusts them.

Abigail Imani – Abigail is, was, and always will be, the first friend that Finn had, that they felt safe enough to be themselves around. They miss Abigail, a lot more than their willing to admit. They knew, maybe from the beginning, that they wouldn’t stay friends, but it still hurt. However, it’s not like they stuck around to see what Abigail thought. Once they learned about Abigail being in Chicago though? It was like another thought went through their head. Maybe, just maybe, I can reconnect?

EXTRA:

Mock Blog

Playlist

Aesthetic Unsplash

Family Lineage

Headcanons

ANYTHING ELSE: I didn’t know if I needed to fill the OOC part again, so I did it just in case!

[daywillcomeagain]

in the indigos of darkness

a story about found family, three unrepentant king’s men under pharazôn, disability, religion, and death. 5.4k words. dedicated to @absynthe–minded​, who was interested in hearing about my views on the akallabêth; sorry i couldn’t be more eloquent than this. thanks to @anarima and @metimauresse for reading it over and offering opinions!

Saptharôth first saw the face of Melkor when she was six. She fell to the ground in convulsions; her father screamed and her mother, rushing to the noise, froze in horror. Her father moved in the way that one does when wanting to do something but terrified that anything done will make the situation worse.

She lay there after, terrifyingly still. They could see her breathing, her tiny chest rising and falling, but Gimiltarîk still knelt beside her, eyes wide, searching for a pulse. He jumped when Saptharôth’s eyes opened. They were unfocused and her pupils were dilated, but a tiny, weak smile began to glow on her face. “I saw him,” she whispered. “And then he sent me back for you. He doesn’t want me to die. He doesn’t want anyone to die.”

“Who?” her father said, scooping her limp body into his arms, though he already knew the answer. His voice was wet with tears.

“The Giver of Freedom, the Lord of Darkness. Everything went dark and the darkness will save us. At night I can see when others cannot. I saw him. The Giver of Freedom. Arûn-Mulkhêr. Melkor, Melkor, Melkor, Melkor –”

She repeated his name for an hour before she came back to herself.

-

For a time, she was hailed as a miracle. A prophet back from the dead. After the second time it happened, she wasn’t allowed to climb trees anymore. She would stare at them, lost, while Gimiltarîk climbed them, whispering words in what she claimed was a language only she could understand. It was the same thing she did when the town gathered to make their prayers to Arûn-Mulkhêr; they occasionally murmured about calling Zigûr to translate for her, though of course they never did. The right hand of the King had greater things to do than listen to a young girl, and besides, they were still claiming that he was a prisoner.

Gimiltarîk had tried to decipher it, once, falling asleep on his desk where he worked. At first, he thought it was his own error. It must have been. He checked and double checked. The paper he wrote on grew tear stains when he realized it was gibberish, that his sister wasn’t speaking a divine truth, that she was just–rambling. That it was the same as her convulsions: random, pointless.

He didn’t tell her. It hurt, to remember her halfway up a tree, swinging her legs and laughing and refusing to come down until nightfall, biting her lip as she carefully picked her way down far enough that she could safely jump off into her father’s arms. It hurt more to remember her staring at them, hands grabbing at the air, sobs building in her lungs. She cried enough already.

-

Saptharôth got worse as they grew older; when the temple went up, she was not allowed to visit it. She pounded on the walls and screamed until her voice went hoarse; when this failed to open them, she paced for hours talking to herself, claiming that she needed to walk to Valinor and bring back the secret that the gods kept hidden away. When the temple went up, she was inconsolable; to this this Gimiltarîk was sympathetic in truth, for the smoke was terrible, and reeked of human flesh. It disquieted him; for always the King’s Men had been those who had spoke against death. He had always thought that this was the difference between them and the Faithful: that Eru’s Gift was death, that blinded the eyes from the inside and made one insensate to the world, while Melkor’s Gift was darkness, which merely hid the world outside, and indeed allowed any light to shine out all the clearer. It didn’t make any sense; and at times Gimiltarîk heard their screams and wished to join her in wailing and fighting.

Still, they had to keep her inside, no matter how much she pounded or Gimiltarîk pitied; for even with her words mixed up, voice jumping from rhyming and sing-song to flat and repetitive, she made herself known, scratching imaginary bugs off of her skin, and blaming the false prophet Zigûr in the same high voice that praised Arûn-Mulkhêr. And since both their parents worked, the job fell to Gimiltarîk’s shoulders.

He tried to convince her over and over, that it did not matter which of them was false, that she would be a dead prophet if she said that aloud; and in response she laughed, light and happy, and spoke of Valinor, and of the change she could make, and did not stop speaking.

It was on one of her bad days that she grabbed Gimiltarîk’s arm with surprising force. “Zigûr is sending them–they’re everywhere, they’re covering me, please, say the right words, he’s trying to choke me so that the people do not hear me, he’s watching me, he’s trying to kill me, you need to save me, he’s lying to everyone, I need to stop him, I need to walk to the West, he’s the reason you’re trying to stop me, he’s convinced everyone that you have to kill, the smoke becomes shadows and follows me, it’s all crawling on me, all you have to do is let me walk to the West and bring it back–”

Gimiltarîk wrenched his arm back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I don’t know what words you want me to say, tell me what to do and I’ll do it but I’m not letting you walk yourself off a cliff–”

“Please, please Gimiltarîk they’re crawling on me–can’t you see them–”

“Saptha, there’s nothing there. Please. Look at me. There’s nothing there. It’s just you and me. If you keep talking like this, you’ll die, or–waste away in here–please.”

She didn’t look at him; she turned away, pacing faster. “Zigûr’s cloaked you with the smoke, why won’t you listen to me, why doesn’t anyone listen to me, you can’t hear me because of the bones in your ears, if I could just walk then I could reach the land of the Valar and steal back life and nobody would die, not ever again–if I could just find out how to clear away the smoke–”

He backed out of the room slowly at first. Once he was out of earshot, he ran until he collapsed, tears glittering on his cheeks.

Their mother stopped letting Saptharôth go outside unsupervised after that, no matter how much she bit and clawed. There was a growing, silent knowledge of what happened to people who called Zigûr a liar where other people could hear them.

-

Gimiltarîk first saw Aglaril outside a restaurant, giving a passionate speech to a gathered crowd, her dark hair swirling around her like a cloudy halo.

“The Elves told us that the Valar are good. The Valar send storms and lightning, hail and plagues, that kill old men and children alike; they dangle paradise where we can see it and tell us that it is for our own good that we are not allowed to enter, as though we were children to be shielded from our own choices. The Elves told us that death is a gift. Yet they left, naming us evil when Ar-Gimilzôr and Ar-Pharazôn gave their people such a gift.

“The Elves told us that Zigûr was evil. He came in chains before us, humbled, and asked nothing of us, but gave. He told us how to build ships of a kind we had never built before, sailless and hulled with metal; and we have sailed them. He told us how to build an engine, so that we might travel across Anadûnê or the colonies on Middle-Earth in a fraction of the time; and we have built them. He told us how to create machines that might capture an image of the world as it is, in a fraction of the time it would take to make a portrait; and we have seen them. The first thing he did here, he told us how to boil milk, so that we might fight the onslaught of death, and it has saved people.

“The Elves claim that we do not have enough faith. I think that this is a lie, just as everything they have told us has been a lie, to hide the fact that they do not have facts. That they are wrong, over and over again.

“The Elves told us that we must obey the Valar in everything, for the Valar are good and just; and so it must seem to those who are living in paradise, who have never known true death as we have. We are the Children of Men, and we have seen our fathers die and their fathers before them, and our mothers and grandmothers, we have gotten sick and suffered and prayed and noticed how prayer only sometimes works. How even when it does, it only ever delays the inevitable. If death is a gift, why do we not kill children on their birthdays? But we humans have always known that death is not a gift. Death is the enemy. It is as Andreth said, so many years ago: we knew in the beginning that we were born never to die. Our birthright is life everlasting, without any shadow of any end.

“The Elves told us to surrender. Zigûr handed us weapons and told us we can win. Who do you choose to believe?”

-

He saw her again on the beach, two days later; it was cloudy and windy, but it was not raining, and the water was warm. He ran to catch up to her.

“I heard your speech.”

“What did you think?”

“You asked–if death is a gift, why don’t we kill children. But we do. You didn’t talk about that.”

Her eyebrows creased; she looked at him as though he were a particularly fascinating puzzle. “You’re not dressed like one of the Faithful.”

“That’s because I’m not Faithful.”

“You’re in hiding?”

“No. I’m a King’s Man. My sister is the prophet Saptharôth.”

“Then why are you asking me?”

“Because I want to know the answer.”

“We only kill the children of the people who insist that death is a gift.”

“So you think—what? We kill their children to prove a point?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Stop avoiding the question, then.”

“Alright. Zigûr has killed thousands of people and I think that is unconscionably evil. If Eru exists–”

“Eru’s a lie from either the Elves or the Valar. Why else does he only say things that are convenient for them?”

“I don’t think Eru exists. Why should I? But. If Eru exists, he has killed millions. One third of all children die as children, and that’s not because of Zigûr, he’s not on that scale. You can’t even compare them, because for each person Zigûr kills–if Zigûr had spared them, Eru would have killed them too, but slower. If Eru were to spare someone, truly spare them, for forever, nobody would dare kill them. But Eru has never spared anyone; death kills us all, the young and the old. We kill children and Zigûr burns innocents alive and every single death is a tragedy and–we are fighting a war. I don’t–if I could press a button and keep them alive for another two hundred years, I would. If I could press a button that would undo the Shadow over Anadûnê and keep everyone alive for another hundred, two hundred years, I would. But I would pass both of those up for a chance at actually winning, instead of just–postponing our loss.” She was paler than most of the people of Númenor; beneath the tan, Gimiltarîk could see her face go red with passion and breathlessness. “Imagine it. Imagine winning. Millions of people, all living for millions of years, tending gardens and raising children and writing books and studying geology and stitching quilts and gathering to rejoice that nobody will ever have to die again. Killing a few thousand people took Zigûr years. It took Eru days. I wish we had better allies. We don’t. And it is a war, you have to know that it’s a war. Death has been killing us for thousands of years and finally we’re fighting back. It’s–the same story that we’re always told about Melkor, in a way. That the Noldor killed innocent people thrice, but–the war couldn’t have been won without them, and there were much worse enemies to fight.”

“In that story,” Gimiltarîk said slowly, “they lost the war anyway. The Noldor prolonged the fight, they didn’t win it. The Elves were reduced to a scattering of refuges along the coast. The war was won with divine intervention. We can’t rely on that. At least, not on our side.”

Aglaril grinned. “Would you like to come to dinner with me?”

Gimiltarîk laughed, more out of surprise than anything. “Are you asking me out?”

“Are you saying no?”

“I didn’t–I’m sorry–” It was Gimiltarîk’s turn to flush red, and he was grateful for his dark skin to hide it. “I mean. I’m. I would love to go to dinner with you.”

“Great,” Aglaril said, and laced his arm in hers.

-

“Do you think I’m selfish?” Gimiltarîk asked Saptharôth one day, throwing a stone at the sea, watching it skip once-twice-falling. He didn’t wait for an answer. “I do.”

“Why?”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t believe in Mulkhêr anymore. We pray to him and the Faithful pray to Eru and nothing changes, for either of us. We have the word of Zigûr, and they have the word of the Elves, and I don’t trust either of them. I–you go to the temple because you believe in them. You hear the words of the Giver of Freedom and you writhe in–divine glory or whatever–and you promise us that we will see the end of death, that it’s coming. And I don’t know if I believe you, and I go anyway. I hear them scream and I want to stand up and run, I want to save them, because I don’t care what Zigûr says, it’s not for any–greater plan–it’s just a fucking waste. But I don’t. Because I’m selfish.”

“You’d join them, if you did.” Saptharôth sighed and swayed, voice loud but flat. “I might still. I believe wrong. I speak against the false prophet, I–”

“Shh!” Gimiltarîk dropped the stone he had picked up absently in order to clap his hand over Saptharôth’s mouth, eyes darting around, searching for people in earshot. “You can’t say that.” And then, kicking up a cloud of sand, he was the one to sigh. “Though I guess that’s what I’m talking about, right? You say what you believe in, even when it’d get you killed. And I’m too much of a coward to say anything I believe in.” He took his hand off Saptharôth’s mouth slowly. “Please don’t say that anymore. Maybe I am selfish, but I–I don’t want you to die. Aglaril says that if something can be destroyed by the truth, it deserves to be, and it seems right, but–you’re my little sister.”

“I don’t even remember it, not all the time,” Saptharôth said. Her voice was not quiet, but it broke. “How can I promise not to say something that I don’t even remember saying? You all already follow me around everywhere to hold me down. I can’t be alone in the baths in case I have a fit and drown there. I stay up all night staring at the stars from my window because it’s the only time I can be alone and talk. If I could make you stop I would.”

“Because you believe in Zigûr? Because you don’t want to die? Or just so that you could convince us to leave you unsupervised to try and climb trees or walk to Amatthânê?” He had intended the words to be bitter. They came out small and sad. “I don’t want to–stand back and watch people die. So I hate going to the temple but I also hate it whenever Aglaril stays home, because if it gets noticed then she’s in danger. A coward and a hypocrite.” His voice shook. “I don’t want to watch you die, either. You’re still my sister. I love you.”

“I know,” she said, looking profoundly sad. “I know.” She buried her face in his chest, wrapping her arms around him in a fierce hug. “I love you too. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I’m sorry too.”

-

A scream ripped from Saptharôth’s throat, her voice breaking halfway through. She screamed and screamed and screamed, eyes wide and dilated, until her voice went hoarse and she started yelling and pounding on the walls.

That was not such an uncommon thing; even when her parents got home, they took dreadfully, painfully long to arrive. When they did, they screamed too, at the sight of it: at the sight of Gimiltarîk, unconscious on the floor of his room, bleeding from both wrists.

-

He awoke in the hospital. It was the middle of the night, but there were still doctors awake; more importantly, there was his sister. “Saptha,” he croaked.

“It’s me,” she replied, her breath quivering in her chest. “Gimiltarîk. I found you.”

“Oh, Saptha,” he said, and suddenly there were tears threatening his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want you to find me like that. I’m–fuck. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Saptharôth said. “Or. No. It’s not okay. But you’re hurting worse than me.”

“It–I shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn’t have had to find me like that. I’m so sorry.” The tears had begun to fall; he waited until his chest stopped shaking to speak again. “Our parents? And Aglaril?”

“They’re all here,” she agreed. “I’ll get them?”

“It’s okay if they’re not awake, I don’t want to upset them any more–just–fuck, Saptha, I’m sorry. Tell them I’m sorry? And that I’m okay. Tired and in pain, but–they shouldn’t worry.”

She approached the bedside slowly, eyes still wide as a frightened deer. She reached out her hand tentatively, careful of the stitches, took his, and squeezed it tight. “I love you. Please don’t do that again.”

“I won’t,” he said. “I won’t. I love you too. To the moon and beyond.”

-

It was Aglaril, of course, that said what everyone else had been dancing around. She was alone with him; Saptharôth had collapsed in convulsions again, and their parents were bringing her food while she was still too tired to get her own. “Why did you do it?”

“Why should I be spared? I’m not different from the people who–from the sacrifices. I was lucky enough to be born here instead of Middle-Earth, to a family that believed in Mulkhêr instead of the Valâi. It’s so arbitrary. And I was pretending for so long, trying to hold it together, but–I don’t deserve that luck, I’m not any better than them, if anything it’s the other way around, lots of them are just–me but more courageous, me but more honest, me but a better person. I stand by and watch them die, because I’m too much of a selfish lying coward to do anything about it. And if being a better person means I have to die–” His throat tightened and closed. “I wanted it to be on my terms, not on Zigûr’s.”

Aglaril’s expression was sad, but there was something else there too, closer to interest than horror. “If you die,” she asked slowly, “what good does that do? It doesn’t save them. Neither would speaking up or trying to drag them away. All it means is that more people die. If someone is holding a knife to your chest while they kill someone else, it doesn’t make you a bad person not to throw yourself onto the knife trying to get to the other person, it makes you realistic. Maybe a more honest person in your circumstances would be different, but it’s not wrong or evil to lie in self-defence to preserve your life, not when telling the truth wouldn’t even change anything.”

“But I don’t deserve–”

“No one deserves to die,” she said instantly. “I’ve said that before and you know how much I believe it. No one. No one deserves that, even if they have done things wrong. I don’t think you have. But if you won’t stop believing that you have, then at least hold on to that. No one deserves to die, ever, no matter what. Every last person on this world deserves to live forever, and you are not an exception to that. You see that people are dying, and you’re a better person than half the people on this island so you want to do something about it, but since you can’t do anything you decide to join them. But it’s not–it wouldn’t fix anything, it wouldn’t make anything better. All it would do is add more death to the world. And death is bad. It’s–it truly is that simple, or at least it can be. If you die, that’s wrong, it’s awful, it’s undeserved, because there is no such thing as a death that’s not.”

“I don’t know if I can believe you yet,” Gimiltarîk said, slowly and quietly, “but I’d like to.”

“Good,” Aglaril said, and kissed him, gently at first but then hungrily, as though she was acutely aware of how much time they had and was determined to make the most of it.

-

Gimiltarîk’s wounds closed, in time, leaving two thick, raised lines that snaked up his wrists like rope. His smiles came back slowly at first, but then more and more.

Aglaril sat at his bedside and tried to read him books. She stumbled over the words and tripped on the sentences but blazed forward despite it with the fierce determination that went through everything she did. He listened intently, and refused to accept apologies for her poor reading skills, insisting that the stories that tumbled forth from such a beautiful voice made everything that came out of her mouth incredible. When he could sit up, he did, and took the books from her hands; he read faster than she did, and into his words he infused passion and character, voice growing loud and quiet, sad and joyous in turn to match the dialogue. He claimed it was to repay her, but she refused to accept repayment for what she insisted was a gift, and repaid him in turn by reading poetry; she had to practice, but once she had gotten a handle on a poem, her voice soared and leapt through the words, delighting in the music of it.

Saptharôth sang lullabies at night, swaying with her eyes closed, and squeezed his hand, tight enough that it was hard to believe she could ever let go.

They moved in together, the three of them, to a small place on a cliff where they could look out at the sea. Saptharôth started a garden and spent most of her time in it; herbs and flowers and dirt were soft on her, when she fell, better than the cold stone that left her with bruises, and she could sing as she worked. She didn’t seem to mind the rain, at least not like Gimiltarîk did; when he ran inside at the slightest shower, her hands laughed at him, and when she shivered from the cold sleet, he was there with a warm drink. Her and Aglaril talked more and more, until they had a language of their own, trading poetry quotes when it was too hard for Saptharôth to use her own words. Saptharôth taught Aglaril how to tend the garden, and Aglaril brushed Saptharôth’s hair with her fingers and then braided flowers into it.

-

It was said in books that, when Númenor was first established, the weather was always as it was needed. But in the later days, it felt as though there was naught but storms, blowing at the warships that accumulated at the coast. Gimiltarîk complained incessantly and spent much of his time inside, reading; Aglaril debated at length whether it was better for the Valar if the books were lies (because then it might be true that they did not control the weather, and therefore it was not their fault when a storm drowned the crops and sent children hungry to bed) or if the books were truth (because then at least they had once cared and helped, even if they did so no longer). Saptharôth tilted her head and said that the oceans they had longed for were falling upon them from on high, that gift and punishment had knotted into a single rope impossible to untangle, and in the end she came the closest to the truth.

Aglaril’s debates were settled when Manwë declared war; and clouds came in the shape of eagles, or perhaps eagles came so large and dark that they appeared as clouds, darkening the dusk, hiding the light of the stars and moon and sun.

(Aglaril just laughed, and said, “It is good that we did not listen when they told us not to worship the dark!”)

But the declaration of war was not merely the messenger; for either they were clouds in truth, or else Manwë’s eagles had some fraction of his power, for lightning struck and the temple burned.

(“If it was only the temple,” Gimiltarîk said, “I would understand. Yesterday, I was walking down the street, and a man was holding hands with his daughter, and they were going into a sweets-shop to get her something for her good performance in school. He let go of her hand to get his money and he—fell to the ground with a burst of light–and oh, how she screamed–it’s wrong. If this is what the Valar call justice then I am glad I am a hypocrite.”)

Sauron did not die, when the temple burned; he stood there and laughed, even as the lightning struck and the ground beneath him shook and burned and smoke rose from the Meneltarma, too, not only the temple.

(“It’s too late,” Saptharôth whispered, and wept inconsolably. “We are blinded twice now, once for each eye; once for Zigûr and once for Amân. The smoke is so thick, Gimiltarîk, it’s choking us all. How do we live yet?”)

Ar-Pharazôn ordered the navy to gather in preparation. Where the clouds blanketing the sky were vague and dark, an amorphous vision of smoke, the ships off the coast seemed almost too detailed, gleaming with gold sails and steel plating, a forest where there should not be a forest. Aglaril’s face was determined when she left to join them, though Gimiltarîk wept. It seemed to him as though he was the only one not to have known that this would be their future.

“Death has been killing us for thousands and thousands of years,” she said to him as they stared at the dark waves crashing upon the shore. “I can’t avoid this war. If I try to ignore it, it will come to kill me. This is just a chance for me to fight against it. We haven’t–Amân kills us every day, refusing to face us in a form we can fight. And Eru–Agân–and we still haven’t fought, we’re still not going to fight until they do worse. But they will, they have shown time and time again that they will. I–I hope they do. I hope they do something so monstrous that all the world rises up together against them and ends the tragedy of death forever. I knew it would come to this, my love. I have to fight, you know I do.”

“I do,” Gimiltarîk whispered, and rested his forehead on hers, clutching her tightly and hoping it would not be for the last time. “I do. I’ve always known. I fell in love with you because I knew. You are a woman who sees death and does not rest until she has killed it, and I love you for it, and I–I’m selfish. You know that. I love you. I hope you win.”

She kissed him, tasting of smoke and sea-salt, and turned away.

-

Gimiltarîk spent many of his days after that watching the ships that hung in the sea, counting them and wondering. Which of them was Aglaril in? How many days would she be there? How long until–until–

(For it did seem as though they were waiting, though they did not yet know what for.)

–until Saptharôth came to tug his hand insistently and sing a lullaby and the message was clear enough even when she was unable to speak; and so, day after day, Gimiltarîk allowed himself to be led to bed, until–until–

Until he woke one morning to find Saptharôth sitting on the floor, looking at the ceiling, not moving or responding to his words. She moved shifted obligingly when he moved her, limbs limp and compliant beneath his fingers, but she stared ahead, eyes dilated but terrifyingly empty, and she did not help him, just sat on the floor as dead weight. It was only the rise and fall of her chest, the periodic blinking of her eyes, the steady pulse of her heart that comforted him.

He went outside, preparing to call for a doctor, and stopped in his tracks. It seemed as though the Eagles were coming from the sun itself, points of dark against the brightness; as they approached, they blotted it out so that they glowed red as a finger might if you put a candle behind it. There seemed to be no end to them, and suddenly Gimiltarîk grew afraid for Aglaril, and wished he could run out into the sea crying wait! wait! please! you cannot fight infinity, you are going to die there without having said goodbye, I am selfish and I do not want you to be a martyr I want you to be my wife I’m so sorry I never got the chance to ask you–

Saptharôth came out of the house eventually, and Gimiltarîk held her with a desperation until the trumpets blew out and the ships set sail and it became time for her to hold him. They clung to each other, listening to the thunder and the trumpets war, and heard beneath it all the sound of crashing waves; and they stayed there, frozen, until the night came and the stars rose and silence fell over the island of Númenor, and at last they heard only their own sobs and a vain hope that was not quite a prayer.

-

Thirty-nine days passed. Saptharôth and Gimiltarîk ate one hundred and fifteen meals at their dining room table, alternately avoiding and staring at the empty chair. The sun and the tides rose and fell, and waves lapped at the shore, and no news came. Gimiltarîk did not sleep, but watched the coastline, listening for the slap of oars on water; and Saptharôth did not sleep, but paced, and rambled, and prayed.

“He doesn’t want me to die,” Saptharôth wailed, pacing her garden, inconsolable. “He sent me back because he didn’t want me to die, he told me what to do. And now Zigûr and Amân have sent smoke so I could not hear him and so no one can hear me and everyone has forgotten and so I am caged and unfree and I have to bring it back in turn. They’re here, they’re all here, they’re everywhere, why can’t you hear the screaming–”

“It’ll be okay, Saptha, they’ll win–they have to win–and you’ll be free forever,” Gimiltarîk said gently; he reached for her arm but she jumped away, eyes wild. “There isn’t any screaming. You’re safe for now.”

He had scarcely finished his sentence when fire erupted from the Meneltarma, and the ground tilted and the wind felt like a wall of air whipping them around and at last Gimiltarîk could hear the screaming, and he grabbed for her arm more urgently a moment too late.

-

Whether they died from the fire or the sea or the debris thrown by the winds none are alive now to say; but many say that it was a just punishment for their treason, given by a merciful divinity. It is thus that their bodies were sunk alone, the light gone out of their eyes; and it was thus that Aglaril had been imprisoned days before, screaming, beneath the falling hills of the Calacirya.

[fantasyandromancelover]

The Tale of Tales Chapter 32

"Not that I'm happy that you two nearly drowned but I am glad that you ended up here." Wendy said pouring the tea for her guests. "I don't get many visitors except for the animals but they can't really carry on a conversation."

"How come it's summer here?" Juvia asked.

"Because it's my favorite season so I make it always summertime where I live."

"And you're allowed to do that?" Gray said. "Doesn't that upset the balance of nature or something like that?"

"Only if I do it to the whole world but there's no harm if I do it in my own private home. Humans can't really see or enter a fairy's home without their consent. Technically we're supposed to avoid humans but I hate that rule because it's so lonely to always be in hiding. When I get my wings I'm going to be a fairy godmother, they're the only fairies allowed to have contact with humans."

"Why do fairies have to hide from humans?" Juvia asked.

"No offense but it's in the nature of human beings to be selfish and greedy sometimes so there have been plenty of cases where fairy magic has been abused by humans who give into their selfishness and greed. That's why a law was passed that we stay away from them."

"Then why do you have these fairy godmothers?" Gray said.

"Because not all humans are bad. Some of them are very kind and hard working but are forced to live unhappy lives. Those humans need help, someone to give them the courage to change their lives for the better. Then there are children who have no home, no family, and are alone in the world. That's what fairy godmothers are for. We help and care for good-hearted humans who face off against things that are beyond their control but only if they truly have goodness in their hearts."

"And how do you know if they have goodness?"

"That's easy. We can see into a person's heart."

"You can?"

"Yep."

"No offense but that's creepy!"

"Humans have done far more creepier things than that."

"Where do fairies come from exactly?" Juvia asked.

"Well it all depends. Most of the time magical creatures like fairies and dwarfs come from nature like me but then there are rare cases where magical creatures are born to humans like my friend Lisanna. Her mother, father, and older sister were both human but she was born a fairy and her older brother was born a dwarf."

"How the heck does that happen?" Gray asked confused.

"Well her great, great, great, great, great, great, maternal grandmother was a fairy and her great, great, great, great, great, great, paternal grandfather was a dwarf. So in it's in the genes."

"I didn't think humans, fairies, and dwarfs married outside their species." Juvia said.

"Normally they don't. In fact it's an extremely rare when fairies and dwarfs get married at all."

"Why is that?"

"Well for one thing all dwarfs are male and all fairies are female. They were made that way because they were supposed to have one purpose and that's to serve the earth. The dwarfs are the only creatures strong enough to break through the enchanted soil the holds special diamonds, gold, and silver which can be crushed into fairy dust. So the dwarfs mine for them, crush them into fairy dust, and give it to the fairies who use it to bring goodness and happiness to the world."

"Are all fairies and dwarfs good?"

"We were made to be good and have no selfish desires but even we can be morally corrupt. There have been a few evil dwarfs and dark fairies. There was this one dark fairy who cursed a princess to sleep for a hundred years and then there was this evil dwarf who turned a prince into a bear."

"I thought that they could only do good magic."

"It was like that until an evil spirit wrote down all it's evil spells and potions in a book that it gave to dark hearted humans, fairies, and dwarfs to use. The book disappeared years ago and no one knows where it is, hopefully it was destroyed."

"Wendy! Wendy are you here?"

A pretty fairy dressed in green with glasses walked into the garden. She looked much older than Wendy.

"Oh Hello Evergreen what are you doing here?" Wendy asked her.

"I have some news, don't go out for awhile because a snow storm is coming."

The fairy called Evergreen looked over at Gray and Juvia.

"Wendy who are these humans and why are they here? You know you're not allowed to expose yourself to humans?"

"I know but they fell into the river and when I found them they were both unconscious. I couldn't just leave them out in the cold they would have frozen to death. You can understand that?"

"I guess. So who are they?"

"This is Gray and she's Juvia. Isn't she beautiful?"

Evergreen looked at the two of them skeptically. Her eyes scanning them up and down several times as if she were studying them.

"She's a pretty thing I guess but not nearly as beautiful as I am. The young man is kind of cute but they both look bedraggled. I mean just look at their clothes and their hair. What a sight."

"Hey!" Gray and Juvia said insulted.

"You'll have to forgive Evergreen she's a little on the vain side and she's not really polite." Wendy said. "Evergreen I can't believe how you rude you can be."

"As queen of the fairies I have no need to be polite to anyone least of all humans."

"For the last time Evergreen you're not the queen of the fairies. We don't even have a queen. That human didn't know what he was talking about when he called you that."

"Don't be jealous Wendy."

"I'm not jealous." She rolled her eyes then turned back to Gray and Juvia. "Listen I don't think you two should try to go back home until that snow storm passes."

"A little snow never hurt anyone." Gray said.

"But a lot can kill you handsome." Evergreen said. "And there's definitely a lot coming."

"I'll have two extra bedrooms made up in my house." Wendy said.

"Oh we couldn't impose." Juvia said.

"I insist and besides I like having guests."

"If we must stay then at least allow us to do something in return."

"Us?" Gray said.

"Of course. We don't have any money to pay for board here so we'll make it up with work."

"You don't need to do anything to be allowed to stay here for a few days especially when it's because of a horrible snow storm." Wendy said.

Juvia didn't feel right about staying at someone's house without providing something in return but Wendy assured her that it was no trouble and Wendy was such a wonderful little fairy. She was sweet, thoughtful, and a great conversationist. She and Juvia would talk for hours and hours. Wendy would talk about the other fairies and what they did for fun while Juvia would talk about her life at the castle and living with the dwarfs. After staying for three days, Juvia and Gray decided to repay Wendy for her kindness by helping her work in the garden.

"So are you really a princess?" Wendy asked as she watered the violets and irises.

"Yes I am." Juvia answered while pruning the roses.

"But if you're a princess how do you know how to cook and clean and garden? I thought princesses never did that stuff."

"Yeah I've been wondering that too." Gray said pulling out weeds.

"Growing up my stepmother never allowed me to leave the castle when my father went away so to keep myself busy I asked the servants to teach me how to cook, clean, and tend to the flowers in the royal gardens." Juvia said. "They were the only things keeping me from being bored, well that and my needle work. I love to sew and knit also, my mother used to do it alot."

"Well you're doing a wonderful job with the roses." Wendy said. "Thank you both so much for helping out with the garden."

"It's the least we could do after all you've- ouch!" Juvia had pricked her finger on one of the roses's thorns.

"What happened?" Wendy asked.

"It's nothing. I just pricked my finger."

"You didn't just prick it you got a thorn stuck in it." Gray said. "Wendy can you get me a needle?"

"Sure thing." Wendy said going into her house.

"What are you going to do?" Juvia asked.

"I'm going to dig it out."

"Won't that hurt?"

"Yes but do you want it to stay in your finger for good?"

"No but try to be gentle."

"I make no promises Princess but I'll try not to hurt you bad."

Wendy came back with a needle and Gray carefully began using it to try and dig the thorn out. It stung but Juvia didn't complain or cry, she just grit her teeth a couple of times.

"You sure do have a high pain tolerance." Gray said.

"Well it's not like screaming and crying will make the thorn come out faster."

"Okay almost there and...Got it."

She looked down at the red blood starting to drip out of her white skinned finger. Gray firmly but gently pressed a handkerchief on to her wound to stop the bleeding.

"Am I squeezing too hard?" He asked.

"No. Thank you for getting it out. Where did you learn to do that?"

"When I was seven I fell out of a tree and landed in a brair patch. I had thorns all in my hand and my father dug them out of me with one of my mother's needles. It hurt like hell but there was no other way to get em out. Good thing you only got one stuck in there, I had like twelve in my hand."

Juvia laughed a little.

"You have a cute laugh." Gray said not thinking and his hand flew to his mouth as soon as he spoke them. Juvia blushed.

"You think my laugh is cute?"

"Uh...Well uh..." He started to back away from her. "I think all girl laughs are cute cause their girls and uh...Whoa!"

He accidentally walked backwards off the edge of Wendy's fish pond and fell right in. Juvia and Wendy burst out laughing at the young man sitting in the pond dripping wet with a fish flopping on top of his head before it leapt back into the water.

"Are you...giggle...Alright?" Juvia said trying to stop laughing.

"I'm fine." He said in an irritated voice.

After laughing for another minute Juvia grabbed Gray's hand and pulled him out.

"That was the most humiliating moment of my life." Gray said before blowing his wet hair out of his face.

"Oh my goodness. I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard. You're very funny."

"I don't do funny."

"You just did something funny a few seconds ago." She laughed. "Come on I'll get you a towel and dry you off."

They went into Wendy's house to search for a towel. As Wendy watched them she thought to herself.

"What a cute couple."

[rax-writes]

Title: The End of Us

Fandom: Game of Thrones

Characters: Margaery Tyrell x Reader [featuring Loras Tyrell, Petyr Baelish, Olenna Tyrell, and Mace Tyrell]

Word Count: 2,065

Warnings: None

Notes: Request from anon for “Margaery x female reader with the prompts ‘have you lost your mind?’ And ‘please don’t go’ ?”

You could only describe the atmosphere within the tent where Renly Baratheon’s body laid as the calm before the storm. The prospective king you had all been fighting for was now dead. His men remained in limbo in the yard, presently between kings as they awaited Stannis’s arrival, knowing that the moment he arrived, they would flock to him. Meanwhile, your husband kneeled beside the corpse of his lover, and your lover – his sister – paced nervously about the tent.

You had wed Loras, to be closer to Margaery. Being that Loras was always nearby Renly, Margaery had wed Renly, to be closer to you. The setup was absolutely perfect for the four of you, although it would have seemed very peculiar to most – had you four not adamantly protected the joint secret. Renly and Loras did a piss poor job of concealing their affair, as everyone in the kingdom knew of it. But you and Margaery were much smarter about it. No one suspected a thing of the time you spent in one another’s tents, brushing it off as a close bond between sisters in law. If they only knew….

“We need to go home,” Margaery stated, finally stopping her pacing to face Loras, and sufficiently breaking you free from your misguided train of thought. When he didn’t respond, she called his name, but Petyr Baelish entered the tent before she could continue persuading her brother.

Lord Baelish warned you all of the fact that Stannis would be arriving at the camp in an hour – far too soon for anyone’s liking. He also pointed out that Renly’s bannermen would join Stannis upon his arrival, throwing the present Tyrells into further danger. You and Margaery were both momentarily dumbfounded when Loras drew his sword to Baelish, before telling the pair of you to return to Highgarden. Instinctively, Margaery attempted to calm Loras, but you knew it was no use. You could only imagine how distraught you’d be if, gods forbid, anything happened to Margaery.

Much to your surprise, it was Baelish who managed to talk sense into Loras, advising him to be smart about how he goes about seeking revenge on Stannis. Margaery further encouraged him to leave, pleading with him to bring the horses so you all could flee. Finally, Loras gave one last longing look to Renly, before stomping out of the tent.

“I should go assist my husband in preparing our departure,” you stated, standing from your seat in the corner and moving to leave, but not before resting your hand on Margaery’s shoulder and giving it a comforting, gentle squeeze. The two of you had always been remarkably skilled in communicating without the use of words, and she knew that your gesture was done with the intent of reassuring her that everything would be alright. Upon seeing her small smile in response, you took your leave.

It wasn’t long before you, Loras, and Margaery were heading to Highgarden, a handful of House Tyrell soldiers in tow. Travels with your husband and your lover were usually very upbeat, filled with lighthearted conversation and laughter, but this trip was far from buoyant. Loras stared straight ahead, his normally warm blue eyes appearing cold as they struggled to hold back the tears that threatened to spill at any given moment. You knew that he was heartbroken, but trying desperately to pour all of that heartbreak into his rage. When your horse neared his enough, you’d place your hand over his, thankfully seeing his grip on the reigns relax enough that his knuckles were no longer white. He’d give you a forlorn smile, attempting to show gratitude for the kind gesture, then return his attention to the road.

Margaery was a bit more difficult to read. You knew what she was feeling, simply by knowing her well. You knew that she was upset to have lost her potential to become Queen, and also upset for her brother’s sake. You also knew that she was sorrowful that Renly died, for a variety of reasons, none of them being because she loved her husband. Primarily because it put a significant dent in the setup the four of you had established, although there was much more to her expression than just that. To the naked eye, she simply looked like a grieving widow, who was still in shock from the newness of her husband’s death. However, you knew that her look was more of deep thought than grief or shock, and you brushed it off as simply wondering who she may be wed to next. In contrast, that was a thought you were actively trying to keep far, far away from your own mind.

When you all returned to Highgarden, finally safe within its walls, Margaery wasted no time in declaring, “I need to speak with my family in private.” She nodded at you to follow her, then guided Loras by the arm to the meeting room, where she knew the remainder of her family awaited you all.

“I propose that House Tyrell fight alongside King Joffrey in the next battle, allowing him to win against whatever odds he may face. To show his gratitude, he will offer House Tyrell a favor in recompense for our aid. At which point, we will request that I marry King Joffrey, securing House Tyrell to the crown and assuring our prosperity.”

You were certain that your heart skipped several beats upon hearing Margaery’s words. Before her grandmother, her father, or her brother had the chance to weigh in, you blurted out, “Have you lost your mind?”

Your voice came out far more broken and distraught than the incredulous tone you had been aiming for, and Margaery’s confident expression turned to one of sadness when she looked to you. She knew that her proposal would not be well received by you, and that the prospect of her marrying anyone else – especially someone as vile as King Joffrey – would wrench your heart. But she knew that this was her family’s best chance, and her best chance at becoming the Queen.

“It’s not a bad plan,” Lady Olenna declared, breaking the poignant silence between the two lovers with a shrug. “Margaery certainly has the looks to win that little prick over, and she’s not the child of that Stark traitor, so I’m sure it would be easy to convince Joffrey to marry her. Regardless of how legitimate or not his claim is on the throne, it’s best for us to side ourselves with whoever’s ass is currently seated upon that iron monstrosity.”

“This is true,” Mace agreed – although he was essentially mindless, and quick to agree with whatever his mother suggested.

You then looked to Loras, hoping that your husband would talk sense into Margaery, and tell her that there’s another way to provide House Tyrell security. But he just sat there, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. You suspected that he had barely heard a word of the conversation, and you were certain that he didn’t care what happened next. He was still too immersed in his grief.

Before you even realized it, you were standing and storming out of the room. You couldn’t bear to hear another word of their plan to marry your sweet Margaery to some blond buffoon, who would only bring her pain. The last thing you heard was Margaery calling after you, “Please, don’t go!” But you ignored her, slamming the large wooden door to the meeting room shut behind you.

The sun had long since set before you heard the familiar sound of a gentle knock on your door. You knew that it would be Margaery. You’d been expecting her since you left the meeting.

“Come in,” you called, but she was already opening the door. The two of you had never had much care for privacy when it came to one another. In fact, it was rare that either of you knocked when arriving at the other’s quarters. You guessed that she only did so because she knew that you were upset.

Margaery found you leaning against the large window in your room, which looked out over the vast, prosperous fields of Highgarden. She joined you, although her gaze fell upon you instead.

“Talk to me,” she pleaded softly, and you couldn’t help but sigh.

“You shouldn’t marry someone like Joffrey. Out of all of the whispers I’ve heard of him, not a single one has been good. Some of them are simply appalling. He’ll only cause you pain, likely mental and emotional in addition to physical. I do not doubt your strength, and your ability to handle even the most horrid of men, but you deserve more than to suffer for the rest of your life, Margaery.”

“I know that Joffrey is horrible, and I know that I deserve someone better. In a perfect world, I’d just marry you, and we’d live happily ever after,” Margaery said with a smile, although you did not return it. “But he is a man, and any man can be manipulated. From what I’ve been told, he isn’t invariably evil; he’s tolerable, so long as everyone is doing what he wants. So, I’ll just do everything in my power to make him happy, and he’ll be bearable.”

“You’re willing to bet your happiness for the rest of your life on that theory?” you snapped, shooting her a stern glance before exhaling slowly and returning your eyes to the field.

Margaery was silent for a few moments, before adding, “Highgarden isn’t far from King’s Landing. You’ll be able to come visit me often, and I’ll come whenever I can.”

“We won’t be able to be together, Margaery! Don’t you get it?” you cried out, pushing off from the windowsill to begin angrily pacing around your room. “I don’t care how often we’ll see each other, it won’t be the same! I won’t be able to see your face every day. I won’t be able to kiss you whenever I want. I’ll see you once – maybe twice a year, if I’m lucky. This… this is the end of us.”

Margaery stopped you with a pair of delicate hands on your arms, and she stared at you for a long time. Her eyes seemed to look right into your soul, and her hands slowly slid down your arms to intertwine her fingers with yours. After what seemed like a brief eternity, she finally spoke.

“I won’t deny that you’re right – this is the end of us. But we’ve both known it was coming since the day we first kissed…. Do you remember it? You’d been in Highgarden for less than a month, and you’d been stealing glances at me constantly. You had no idea that I had been doing the same. So, the moment we were alone in the gardens together, I took a chance, and I kissed you. I still remember how you smiled at me afterwards, and I knew right then that I was already falling for you,” Margaery recalled, a warm smile on her lips. This time, you returned the smile. You couldn’t help but grin every time you remembered that day. Margaery’s smile slowly faded, and she grew serious once again. “I love you more than anything else in this world, but the hard truth is that love isn’t enough to keep us together. All we can do is make the most of our time together – now, and whenever we see each other in the future.”

You could only nod, not trusting your voice to remain steady if you were to speak.

Margaery kissed you then, tenderly cupping your face in her hands as she did so. The kiss was brief, as she then pulled away to murmur, “Let’s start making the most of it right now, yes?” The smirk on her lips was enough to ease your mind instantly, and your hands fell to their familiar place on her hips, allowing you to pull her closer. You kissed her again, this time much deeper, before breaking the kiss just enough to respond to her previous question.

“Yes.”

Love may not be enough to keep the two of you together, but you knew that enjoying whatever time you had with her, whenever you were lucky enough to have it, was worth whatever distance may be forced between the two of you.

@whoabrekker @alexsunmners @pyppenia

[rydenstories]

my sister’s disappearance and the church in the woods

REDDIT

Many people in my life don't know it, but I spent two years of my childhood living with my grandmother.

When I was approaching my teen years, it had come to light that my mother had developed a pill addiction after a surgery left her on pain management. She had kept it hidden pretty well for a while, but eventually rehab was the only option. Unfortunately, this left my dad with no one to care for my sister, Diane, and I while he worked countless overtime hours. Nana had to be the one to take us, even though she lived hours away. I didn't mind the move. Any patch of the middle of nowhere is about the same as any other, but Diane felt betrayed. She was a little younger and didn't understand the nature of the situation, she just thought they got tired of us.

Diane often asked me why I wasn't mad that they'd abandoned us. There was nothing I could say convinced her that they hadn't.

During our time living with Nana, she homeschooled us. Our parents didn't necessarily know how long recovery would take and they didn't want us to acclimate to an overwhelming social environment we could immediately be ripped from at any time. They never expected recovery to take so long and they never expected Diane to see it how she did; lockdown. She felt they shipped us away to punish us. Somewhere along the line, she had come up with this evil fairy tale version of our parents when, in reality, they were just kinda having a hard time.

We spent the first fall and winter inside, expecting to go home any day, and when Dad showed up late one night in March, we thought we might really be going home. However, his face was painted with anger and tears. He told us Mommy needed more time, but that trailer was small. I easily overheard the words "relapse" uttered under hushed tones in another room. I don't think Diane understood that much, but when she saw me cry at the realization, she made some sort of connection and it only heightened her disdain for mom and dad.

Spring came around and warm weather opened up the entire world outside. Nana left us to our own devices after lessons and the trailer sat in the middle of a gigantic campground. She told us that there would be many kids to play with when the summer campers came around, so it would be a perfect time to spend spring exploring the grounds. Diane practically bolted out of the door, despite the chill and the rain. We spent a while getting to know the place better together. There were the normal things kids like; two rather large playgrounds and a swimming pool we just couldn't wait for them to open that summer. However, we were more interested in the wooded trails. The entire place was surrounded by dense forest and if you went just a little far off the trail into the trees, you'd find tons of abandoned structures to climb on, waterfalls, and even a few caves.

Diane was very excited about the prospect of meeting and playing with other children. She had a rather large group of friends in our neighborhood back home, and she felt so robbed of that being sent to live with Nana. I was a little shyer, but wanted desperately to convey that I wasn't. I was two years older, but Diane was much cooler and more charismatic than me. I didn't want to seem uncool, so I played it up that I was just as excited as she was. Together, we planned out an amazing hide and seek game in the woods for when the summer kids arrived. We tried to recruit the few other children living on the campground year-round, but there really weren't many. Most of the people living there were old, and if they did have kids around, they were usually only visiting. We gave up and returned to exploring and planning on our own.

There was a day that was particularly rainy at the end of April in which Diane wanted to go explore, but Nana said there would be a big thunderstorm coming that night and she'd prefer we didn't go out further than the two playgrounds. Diane stomped her foot and protested until she finally realized she wasn't getting her way. Then she turned to me, expecting that I would go with her. I told her that I really didn't want to, and she gave me a look accompanied by the hardest of eyerolls before storming off. She slammed the screen door way harder than necessary and was gone. I shrugged it off and fell asleep on the couch, watching gameshows with Nana.

Diane returned later with a different attitude and pulled me aside later on that night, under the cover of the sound of thunder, to express her excitement about having made a new friend at the park named Eden. I laughed, and she became immediately confused and defensive. I genuinely thought she'd made up the name as I'd actually never come across it before then. Being the older sibling, I picked up on her defensiveness and decided to pick on her a little bit, claiming not to believe in her new imaginary friend. I didn't necessarily believe she'd made it up, but messing with her proved to be an opportunity my sisterly instincts didn't wanna miss out on. This made her determined to prove Eden to me.

It took a week but Diane proved me somewhat wrong after spotting a little girl I'd never seen down the path. Her hair was dark with a natural curl and she wore a green gingham print sundress despite the late spring chill. Diane called out to her, using the name Eden, but the little girl didn't turn to respond and instead ran away, down the path and around the corner. I expected to see my sister hurt but instead, she immediately chased after her, laughing as she turned the corner out of site. I tried to chase them down, but they were nowhere around. I turned around and instead found them waiting for me at the head of the trail. I wanted to ask how they'd gotten there, but I didn't get the chance before Diane started boasting about her new friend.

Eden was Diane's age but my size and although she seemed well spoken enough, she didn't get many words out between my sister jabbering on about how Eden knows where to find great hiding places just barely off the path. I scoffed, knowing myself that we'd explored pretty much all of the immediate areas off trail. There weren't any awesome places I didn't know about. Still, this strange girl seemed like she'd been there much longer than us, so I wasn't about to question her. She led us across the campgrounds to another edge of the woods that was mostly bike trails and I immediately felt a smug little smile cross my face, realizing that there weren't any structures on that side. Diane and her little friend were about to make themselves look stupid and I couldn't wait to laugh it up.

Before I could say anything, however, Eden disappeared into the trees with her hand gripped firmly around Diane's wrist, who immediately snatched mine. Suddenly, we were sprinting across bike trails and through trees, not even really bothering with the trails at all. I desperately wanted to ask either of them where we might be going, but I could barely breathe. Both girls had so much momentum that they were practically dragging me behind them. We finally halted at some high bushes, which Eden pushed aside with one fluid motion to expose a large field. At the back edge of the trees was an enormous church.

I stood in shock directly in front of the small opening we'd gone through. Many of the buildings in the woods were intact, some of them weren't even that old, but nothing this huge stood so solidly, the steeple being the only thing missing. Even most of the stained glass windows were intact. It was the kind of discovery you read about in teen fantasy novels, something you expect to be magical. However, I felt wrong for being there.

Although the grass in the field had grown high, there were multiple tiny paths through towards the church that Eden led us down. As we neared the almost too-goliath building, I started noticing things that bothered me; abandoned toys, a few lost bikes, some other toys that looked like something you'd see in a museum. I finally found my voice and spoke up, pointing out the fact that other kids clearly know about this place. My sister shot a look back at me with a condescending "So?" I reminded her that we were looking for hiding places, and Eden wasn't leading us to a good hiding place if every other kid knew about it. Eden spoke up, calmly stating that it wasn't a hiding place. I stopped, feeling a little more than uncomfortable. This stopped the movement of the entire group, bringing both girls to look back at me with an almost impatient demeanor.

They didn't need to ask before I stated that I felt we might get in trouble for being there, someone had to be keeping the place so nice, and it clearly wasn't the other kids, with them just throwing their garbage toys around like that. Eden answered with a little scoff and giggle that said she clearly knew more than me, but I wasn't going to get into trouble for some girl I barely knew, so I grabbed my sister's arm and turned back. She fought against me, but I threatened to tell Nana, and that ended the argument pretty quickly. Eden didn't try to stop us or follow. She instead disappeared up the church steps and through the heavy sun bleached wooden doors.

The following week, neither of us went out. I was to unsettled by the church, and Diane was a mix of angry at me and afraid I'd tattle. Nana seemed a bit concerned and took me aside, wondering if anything was wrong. I didn't tell her anything, though. To tell the truth, I was mildly afraid I might get into trouble too. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Diane listening in. It was clear that she'd heard and realized that I wasn't going to tell Nana anything. She seemed pretty satisfied with that.

I woke up the following morning and noticed that Diane wasn't asleep in the cot next to mine. I wasn't surprised, I knew she'd wanna go out and play now that she knew she wasn't going to get into trouble, so I got out of bed and went to go find her. She could play with her weird little friend without me but I had to at least make sure she wasn't at that church again. I knew in my gut that we weren't supposed to be there, no one was. However, I didn't find her at any of the regular spots. At that point, I found myself getting more and more miffed at her choices and at the fact that I now had to go search the bike trails for her.

I had this smug attitude about me and even had come up with a pretty good idea of exactly how I was going to tell Diane off. I felt pretty self-assured up until an hour into searching all over that side of the forest and finding absolutely no sign of my sister, Eden, or the church. I doubled back to the trail-head and sat for a moment before ultimately deciding to go back to the trailer and tell Nana. We'd be in trouble, sure, but I reasoned with myself that Diane would be in more trouble than me, and at least Nana would probably know where the church was located, or one of the grounds managers definitely would.

I'd made it about halfway back to the trailer when an unsettlingly warm hand grabbed my wrist from behind and spun me faster than I could react. Eden, this time wearing a yellow rose print button up sundress. She had a genuine look of worry on her face. She told me that she and Diane had been playing hide and seek, and she couldn't find Diane for some time. My own worry kicked up, but I was also a little intrigued; this was the first time I'd heard Eden speak at any length. She had an accent I'd never heard as a child and still can't exactly place as an adult, and she told me that Diane might be hiding somewhere really dangerous.

I listened to her talk more as we walked across the campground together, her taking the lead. Eden spoke the whole time, telling me about all the different structures in the forest, and what they used to be. She told me about these dangerous little rock ledges she'd told Diane about, and how we'd go there to make sure she hadn't hurt herself. Her voice was smooth and even kinda comforting, it put my worries at ease. I started to feel guilty. Maybe my previous discomfort with this girl stemmed from jealousy. I could still feel something off about her, but it was now muffled under the comfortable surface that her voice provided.

When we reached the edge of the trees, she grabbed my wrist again and asked me to trust her. Before I could say anything, we were gliding through the forest again. This time, she pulled me behind her with her own force alone, fast enough that the trees around us all started to smear together in shades of green and brown. We burst through some brush and again, there stood the intimidating church and the toy-littered grounds around it. Eden had let go of my wrist and I was kinda feeling that uneasiness again. I knew this wasn't where she said we were going, but without really thinking about it, I allowed her to grab my hand and lead me ahead.

The doors seemed even larger up close and looked heavy, but Eden grabbed the handle and pulled it open with ease. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust from the brightness outside but I was shocked to find that the inside of the church was almost completely pristine. The red walkway carpet that led to the pulpit looked brand new and the beige floor underneath could've been freshly mopped. Twelve rows of wooden pews lined each side of the center walkway. They were all littered with children's toys, little trinkets, jewelry, jackets, and even a few loose shoes. The rest of the room had stood through the test of time, but those things didn't for some reason.

The fixture that immediately drew my attention was a dark, bathtub sized basin on the far side of the pulpit. Eden led me to it. As we grew closer, I noticed that there was murky water inside. It smelled rank, like swamp. She told me there was a really cool animal living in it. She wanted me to see it. I wasn't able to think much more about it before I felt my legs moving me toward the tub, my head leaning closer to the water in hopes of seeing such a strange creature. Something underneath the surface started to swirl. Light glowed from somewhere far deeper than the basin itself was capable of being. I saw something floating deep and I leaned closer to look.

Diane's face floated in the deep distance, just close enough to see, but somehow much too far away to reach. Her eyes were vacant, her face bloated. The word drowned popped into my head a few moments before my mind registered what that meant. I started to feel my body freaking out and I felt myself start to back away when a hand from behind me, now hot and much too large to be a little girl's, landed on my neck and shoved my face hard into the water. I screamed before I thought to take a breath or close my eyes, so I went in blowing air out. My eyes burned horribly for a second as I closed my mouth and I tried to conserve what little air I had left, while also trying to fight to get my head out of the water. As I struggled, I got a blurry look around. The water around was much too vast to fit the tub's capacity, it was kinda like putting my head down into a hole in a frozen lake. Multiple lights started appearing in the far, murky distance.

They began to approach, dread knotted up with my empty lungs, and I fought harder.

I got my head up long enough to pull air and turn to glimpse Eden. She was much taller now, the floral dress she wore was torn and stretched over her bony, hunched over body. Her skin was all dried up and warped like sun-bleached wood. Then, my head was back in the water. The lights were much closer. I started to wiggle and contort my body in any way I could to get up.

At some point I brought my left arm up a little too far back and I felt something tear in my shoulder. Before I could register what I'd done, that arm struck something hard and Eden lost her grip. I ripped my head out of the water and turned my entire body to her, hoping not to let her get the upper hand on me again. Before I could even focus on Eden, I noticed the room had dramatically changed. The pristineness of it all had disappeared and replaced the whole room with the smell of wet, disgusting swamp stink. A few pews were now missing, the others rotten, termite-eaten, and moldy. The center carpeting was ripped up in a bunch of places and stained. The floor underneath was warped and muddy, with small puddles of dark water pooling all around. The decay of the room finally matched the decay of the objects it housed.

My eyes returned to Eden, still showing her true nature. Her large hand clutched her chest, where I must have hit her to knock her grip loose. I was lucky.

The natural curl of her hair had degraded into long, lifeless tendrils that hid her face as she was preoccupied, looking down at her chest, less in pain and more likely in shock that I was able to knock her back at all. I took the opportunity to move as quietly (but quickly) as I possibly could around the basin, away from the pulpit, and towards the door. I stopped dead in my tracks for a moment when I noticed a single item that hadn't been there before, sitting in the middle of the carpeted walkway; a tiny, silver bangle. It was a gift from my mom to Diane when she turned 8. I know during that time at Nana's, she hated our mom to some extent, but not enough to ever take that bangle off. My knees threatened to cave when three small voices began speaking in perfect unison from behind me. I didn't turn around, I didn't want to see any more of whatever Eden really was, but I never forgot what those voices said.  

"It doesn't matter if you get away. You lost. She's mine. They all are."

I bolted without another thought. I didn't bother to look anywhere except ahead as I ran out of the doors, away from the church, and into the woods. I ran until I realized that I was no longer in the forest at all, and I'd actually exited from a completely different area than I been led into. I returned to Nana's trailer as fast as I could and blabbered out everything without putting much thought to whether or not she would believe me. Whether or not she did didn't make itself immediately apparent. Instead, she covered her very clear concern for my sister in as much comfort for me as she could while she grabbed the phone and called the police.

They arrived and I told them everything as well, but my spirits were dampened by the sheer disbelief and almost disgust some of the officers wore on their faces long before I finished my story. Despite that, I probably recounted it exactly the same, eight or nine times by the time my dad showed up. He shoo'ed everyone away from me and wrapped me in a big hug. It was the first time I felt safe all day. However, it was also the point where the adrenaline finally wore off and extreme pain exploded from my arm and back. The crying began. My dad took me to the hospital, where I learned that I'd completely tore a muscle in my shoulder.

Searches began. The campground owner said that there used to be a church on the land, long before they'd bought it, but they were assured that it had burnt down. In fact, it was one of the only previous structures on the land that didn't have any recorded ruins. They didn't have anything to go of off, so they just searched everywhere. Over and over.

They never found the church. They never found my sister, either.

The authorities wanted to piece parts of my story together that made sense so they could write their reports and let it go. Diane had been lured into the woods by a kidnapper using another child as bait. They tried to do the same to me, but I was able to get away. That was the reality they chose to believe and to present to the rest of the world. It didn't need to be more detailed than that for them.

I spent another entire year living in that trailer, on those same grounds. I lived in fear because I knew what reality actually was. I knew it every time I remembered the taste of that foul water in my mouth, or the heat of Eden's hand on the back of my neck as she held me under. Diane's bloated face stared at me whenever I closed my eyes. It wasn't until my mom finally recovered and I was able to move back home did I start to heal and feel safe again.

The fear faded, but the memory never did. Still, I chose to keep it to myself. It was easier to live with it than experience the disbelief of others over and over again.

In the middle of the night last Saturday, I was jerked out of my bed by my throat. The fingers wrapped around my neck were so hot, I thought they might be metal. It only kept a grasp on me long enough to get me up. I collapsed to the floor in total darkness and loudly gasped for air. The struggle woke my fiance and he quickly flicked on his bedside lamp to reveal an empty bedroom. He got up and helped me up, asking me about a dozen questions, none of which my brain registered. Instead, I ran off to the bathroom, where I cried until I knew I had to tell him everything.

I'm very lucky that he believes me, or at least it seems like he does. I hope he does. Our house has absolutely reeked of swamp stank since it happened, so I know he is at least aware of that. Thankfully, I have yet to be yanked out of bed again, but I'm afraid.

I don't know what to do from here, but I'm tired of being the only person that knows, even if there are no answers out there for me. Even if this just serves as a helpful warning for others to be careful.

[jeaneybean]

So this session the idiots faced Five ( three full and two halves) goblin zombies and a bone tornado.

We pick up where we left off, asleep for the most part. Jhaykeovh gets sucked into the magical amulet from the previous session. The idiots get to their feet and prepare, with Magnolia taking a few hard hits. But Mags gets to do the best part about being a cleric in monster Transylvania, which is turn undead. The two halves poof, the three whole zombies run, and the pile of bones in the corner shudders. 

Vera: N O.

Vera manages to kill one of the zombie goblins before turning to the bone tornado, which has set it’s sights on Jasna. Jilly is taking potshots at two of them that’re running away from Magnoilia down the hall. Nitahn wakes up confused and starts to play his accordion. Jasna tries shield bashing the bones to little success. Vera smites evil on the bone monster and does a lot of damage, yelling out to her comrades basically ‘hey do holy shit’ beccause it’s a zombie.

Jansa gets engulfed by the pig storm and Nitahn rushes to help and succesfully bull rushes her out of the swarm. Boney boy gets mad and tries to get her again, and Nitahn sucessfully pulls her out, but gets swarmed himself. Jasna shield bashes again to moderate sucess.

meanwhile: the paladin, cleric, and bard are all trying to get a hand on this bone tornado because using healing spells are touch attacks. Finally Jilly gets a hand on it and does the damage needed. Then it’s some benny hill bullshit as the party tries to chase down the two fleeing zombies. Vera gets one dead and Nitahn belly dances past the other to block it off. Jasna gets behind it and they block it in, eventually killing it.

Meanwhile the entire time I’ve been rolling a cons check because Vera has been very visibly distressed this entire time. ‘There is no rest for the angry dead’ repeated like a mantra, literally yelling NO when the bone pile raised up, ‘It’s weak to hold, use- I don’t care just kill it kill it’. Right after they kill the last zombie is when Vera fails her cons check. She turns to the wall and throws up on the ground. It’s at this point Anya disables her ghost lights, so they’re in pitch darkness. Vera kinda shut down for a second, causing Magnolia and Jasna to both grab her and carry her out of the tunnel.

Vera cleans her mouth out and takes out her flask, taking a few sips. The group decides to head back through the mines into town. They get there and Anya knocks on the door before shoving Vera to the forefront, as she’s become the face of the group. After some deliberation the guards unlock the door, muttering about haivng torches and if the group wasn’t who they said they were, they’d set them on fire.

Illuminated by torchlight was a paladin who was a bit scruffed up and holding a flash. “If you hit me with your torches, by all that’s holy, Goddess forgive me for what I do to you.” (or something like that.) Rolled a 24 for intimidate. Guards fucking book it.

Minor deliberation in the group with Vera about short circuiting. Yells after the guards (”What are you yelling, beccause they might just keep running”) “Hey, I’m sorry, it was bad down there please get back here and do your jobs!” Lights come on in houses, but with a 28 new guards come up. Said guard tries to make a joke when Vera’s like ‘it’s good you keep that under guard’ and is like ‘Oh, so if we hear your voice on the other side we shouldn’t let you in?’ and Vera’s just like. Dead faced. “If you hear my voice coming from the other side of the door, I’m not using it anymore. You gather everyone you can and be prepared to kill what’s on the other side.” 

Guard is like ‘uhhh’ and a few of Vera’s friends take notice of how specific she was. She eventually explains to Anya that her Grandmama (great grandmother, but that’s what they call her) came from Rusk on a land route. During the caracan trip a boy got lost. He started crying from the woods at night, saying he was trapped and begging for help. But he wasn’t wearing his skin anymore. Something else was pretending to be him. And that’s why Vera doesn’t go in the woods. On the way back Nitahn looks for an offering for the caravan’s soothsayer. He finds mushrooms. Yay! Red spotted ones!

Magnolia just barely passes a knowledge nature check and is like ‘hon put those down’. Nearby, close wolves wail. Nitahn quicklly leaves the woods.

The next morning a few of the party members go to the soothsayer to get her to explain the spell she cast on Anya, Magnolia, and Jhayke the previous day. Through some oh fuck it’s 7AM

-Nitahn and soothsayer switch to dormund to not be overheard, but Mags had prepared the spell to comprehend languages. She overheard the whole thing. The three of them may or may not be married.

-jilly asks patchouli about vampires in the area. That, combinded with his bardic knowledge, has him 100% confirmed they are dealing with vampires. Procedes to have a 24 hour bender because, oh fucking christ, vampires.

-Jasna, Vera, and Anya head into town to talk with the mayor about vampires. Vera insinuates that the mayor is pretty enough to have slept his way to power in a bigger city. Mayor is confused. Eventually a butcher approaches them and asks if the caravan might be interested in buying meat. They get a bit more information from him, his usual buyer hasn’t came by. A dark haired pale man.

-all three have a simelutaneous realization that Jilly had said the Goblins said they took the human for food, but kept him alive for three days. Someone, prboaby the pale man, has been buying meat and feeding the goblins to get humans.

-Heading past the mayors house they hear someone arguing, shrieking about the gypsies stealing her son. Mayor is like ‘omfg we have confirmation it was fuckign goblins’ ‘NO HE’S IN HTE CARAVAN MY KIDS SAW HIM’

-Give the news to patchouli, who’s pretty pleased anyone wants to trade with the caravan. Vera brings up what she overheard, and lets him know just how much Havalah (nitahn) looks up to him, how he’s a bright shining pure soul, and if Patchouli is doing anything to tarnish that she’d act accordingly.

-while in town delivering a messge to the butcher they look for the woman who’s son was ‘kidnapped’. turns out she is a horrible person and vera instantly stops giving a shit. similar reacton from Jasna.

-that night, Vera’s helping on watch and Anya’s doing patrol. They spot a young man abandoning his post and sneaking into town. They follow, eventually finding him crawling into a window. Anya overhears after climbing up (leaving vera behind and below because vera’s got a -6 to climb and move silently) that the boy is leaving the caravan to be with the girl he’s fallen in love with.

-”patchouli isn’t leaving tomorrow if he’s stayed three weeks here for that one missing kid.’

-Next morning Anya and Vera head to Patchouli and they tell him a kid’s ran off into town. Patchouli reacts badly. Vera and Jasna react badly to his reacting badly. Anya mitigates the situation. Nitahn shrinks in horror when Vera and Jsana both say some pretty awful shit to Patchouli. Patchouli takes two guards and heads into town with Anya leading and Vera and Jasna providing a foil.

-”If you drag tht boy out of that house you’ll never have his heart again. He’ll leav you behind at first chance or try to betray you.” Vera advises, because running away in the middle of the night is something she emphasises heavily with.

-Jasna rolls a whopping 1 diplomacy when talking to patchouli. She also emphasises leaving your hoome for love.

-In town he knocks on the door and is like ‘WHERE’S MY BOY’ and the dad is quickly like ‘’DIANA THERE BETTER NOT BE NO BOYS IN YOUR ROOM” and they head upstairs with Anya. Meanwhile, Vera’s kind of making eye contact with Jasna as they both ave the same idea: climb up the fucking wall and let the kids know.

-as patchouli and Dianda’s dad try to yell at thier kids while simeltaneously not insultiing the other parent’s child, anya succesfully disables the door in front of them while Jasna gets them out the window. The argument has drawn people from town.

-meanwhile Nitahn hears an argument and goes to a caravan with an open door, where a young woman is trying to pull a young man away from a screaming older woman. He initally assumes the guy’s snuck into a woman’s caravan and tries to help her restrain him, but at the woman’s filthy words he’s like ‘okay bear hug time to get her the fuck out.’ the fight goes to a fever pitch

-in town, they can hear the fight. Bart the idiot traveler goes running back to the caravan, while the guards alert patchouli. The townspeople also head over.

-missing boy from town has fallen in love with a travler girl. It’s adorable. Mother’s shrieking, girl is fed up and is like ‘HE’S GOING TO STAY BECAUSE HE’S THE FATHER OF MY CHILD’ and the assembled group is like OOOOOH like tv drama

-Jilly suggests to Patchouli that htye basically swap kids, bart for the villiage boy (Plus the traveler girl is already preggers, that’s essentially two people) and they hold a double wedding to sort of bring light after both the caravan and the twon have lost people. Patchouli agrees with Jily’s logic. Jilly is still drunk. Jilly has been day drinking.

-the mayor finds his voice, yells for people to shut up (after magnolia, the big beautiful orc, goes up to people indivdually and shushes them) and the plans for a wedding occour.

scene out.