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tossawary · 4 years ago

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Chapter 25: “Home Sweet Home” of “pride is not the word I’m looking for” quotes and commentary. Not a full list of favorite quotes or full commentary.

Anyway, Shang Qinghua makes himself so fucking sincerely annoying that the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators can’t figure out how to politely tell him to fuck off fast enough. Shang Qinghua makes outlandish assumptions about how many thieves there are (at least a dozen, he’s sure, probably twice that) and what methods they might be using (special invisibility talismans, he suspects); Shang Qinghua repeatedly apologizes for being too busy with important things for Cultivator O.B.B. at the last Immortal Alliance Conference, then tries to commiserate with the man about having to get important things done without getting any respect for it; Shang Qinghua also anxiously wonders if they should all go to Zhao Hua Temple Sect to report what happened here, since there’s a troublesome demon and also some sneaky rogue cultivator thieves on the loose out here! He gets turned down immediately, but assures everyone that he’ll at least let Yue Qingyuan know everything that happened here right away!

Liu Qingge pretty much just stands there scowling silently the entire time - he’s no Shen Qingqiu for sheer menacing "I can and I will ruin your entire life" glares, but he’s still pretty intimidating. He does a great job! No notes!

Shang Qinghua nearly pats himself on the back as he and Liu Qingge leave less than an hour after he arrives. “Holy shit, I’m good,” he thinks, a little giddy with the successful extraction. “That’s a skill that good ol’ Liu-Shidi will never have!”

AN: Of course this has a high chance of backfiring. Is Shang Qinghua going to weave webs of lies anyway? Of course.

Love the fact that Shang Qinghua can shamelessly act like a total pushover, while actually manipulating someone so that he gets the results he wanted. Some snobby sect leader walks into a negotiation room, prepared to use SQH as a doormat, and Shang Qinghua is probably internally like, “Bro, me and my jelly spine welcome you to hell.”

He gives them the rundown on what happened, but, to his complete lack of surprise, that doesn’t seem to satisfy interrogators like his little sister-in-law and his fellow transmigrator. They have so many questions! And Shang Qinghua doesn’t have enough answers for them!

No, he doesn’t know what Huan Hua Palace Sect knows or thinks they know. No, he doesn’t know how they knew about that place. No, he doesn’t know whether the monster was just a local opportunist preying on distracted cultivators or something more sinister. No, he’s not experimenting with the creepy special item or discussing it at length here. No, Luo Fanli and Peerless Cucumber are not allowed to poke at the creepy special item!

Why the fuck would he ever let them do that?!

All Shang Qinghua knows is that Luo Fanli and Peerless Cucumber should eat their vegetables and then go to bed! Because they all have a long journey back to the sect in the morning! And also that words cannot describe how painfully old he feels as soon as he says this.

AN: I’ve been thinking about a Demon Trio fanfic in which Mobei-Jun finds himself in a similar position with Luo Binghe and Sha Hualing.

Mobei-Jun and Shang Qinghua are, like, bare minimum twice the age of Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan. Like, yes, neither Mobei-Jun nor Shang Qinghua are old old by the standard of the PIDW world. Yes, MBJ and SQH are stunted as all get out. But the fact that they have bare minimum 2x the life experience as Bingqiu is, in my opinion, funny as hell and severely underused in fanfiction.

Like, imagine Mobei-Jun unintentionally dadding new demon LBH in SVSSS. Mobei-Jun being like, “Don’t eat the meat from this monster. It makes you hallucinate.” Or being like, “These people aren’t politically important enough to be shown this kind of respect. Look down on them properly and go sleep, or no one will ever respect you again in demon politics.”

MBJ looking at SVSSS LBH and SHL like, “Damn, who raised you?”

Because, like, I love to joke about Mobei-Jun being an oblivious fool, but that’s in regards to human culture. Mobei-Jun operating on demonic culture + his level of arrogance in regards to how he’s handling SQH suggests that MBJ can be politically savvy among demons when he wants to be. Also, the mental picture of MBJ being like, “Eat your weird demon vegetables, there’s nothing wrong with them, you picky half-breed brat,” is extremely funny.

I’ll probably turn this into a separate post.

Shang Qinghua does not miss the man’s unconcealed “oh, great, some of my favorite problem people are back, probably with bad news” expression when they arrive. The man is not at all impressed to hear about the drugged-up Shadow Cave Wolf Spiders or the evil, murderous, madness-inducing plant they fought on their mission, but the Qian Cao Peak Lord is reluctantly, partially placated by the jar of three-eyed skeleton tears Shang Qinghua super thoughtfully brought back for his inspection. Mu Qingfang really likes his research projects!

Shang Qinghua lets himself feel kind of good about this gift - he’s the man who gets things and gets things done - and ignores the Weeper’s Eye whispering in his head, “He has resigned himself to the untimely deaths of everyone he knows.”

(Wow. Oh, Shang Qinghua knows that feeling!)

AN: Mu Qingfang doesn’t think that everyone around him is inevitably going to die, he’s just extremely aware of how dangerous the world is and how reckless cultivators can be. Also, for many years, he was fairly certain that Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu were headed for bad ends.

This felt like a good place to insert some optimism back into the sect in general. Luo Fanli has been cured and is willingly going to visit her sister, Liu Qingge has got a hold on his self-destructive tendencies, Mu Qingfang thinks things are getting better, Shen Qingqiu’s health problems have been essentially fixed, Qijiu might actually work their shit out, Shen Yuan shares his real name with Shang Qinghua, and so on and so forth.

It felt like a good contrast with and buildup towards Luo Binghe’s Skinner mistake (not everything is rosy yet, there are still growing problems), the secret basement, and the encounter with Bing-Ge.

Only to flip that around and then bring some surprise Moshang into things!

“I have now been informed that, after learning that you had returned and, at the very least, completing the duties that were intended to have him reflect on his actions, he has disappeared yet again,” Shen Qingqiu continues. “This second disappearance has set some of the other junior disciples into a renewed panic, which has concerned some of the senior disciples, which was, apparently, cause to alert me.”

“Ah,” Shang Qinghua says.

AN: Shen Jiu should not be in charge of a bunch of children, but it is funny to imagine him going through the same “be a less shit person” adoption process as Shang Qinghua. Like, oh, it would be so easy for him to be cruel about this situation, but fuck you if he’s going to be outdone in the recovery and redemption process by Shang Qinghua of all people.

Shang Qinghua: *grows into a kind of decent person*

Shen Jiu: “Fuck you. That’s not allowed.”

Shen Jiu: “...”

Shen Jiu: “Well, if THAT FUCKER of all people can do it...”

Shang Qinghua doesn’t have to look long or far to find his nephew. He finds the young protagonist sitting despondently on the doorstep of his own Leisure House, sniffling into his sleeve. Peerless Cucumber of all people is sitting beside him and keeping him company.

“Focusing on other people’s lives is easier than looking at his own.”

“-think a drowning man first has to save himself… or else he’s only going to bring down the people he’s trying to save,” Peerless Cucumber is saying.

Binghe nods.

AN: Going by, like, the everything of SVSSS, Shen Yuan really is the asshole going, “I’ll die before I look inwards to recognize and deal with my own emotions.” Also, going, “Yes, I’m a hypocrite who won’t take my own advice. And what about it?” What a repressed nerd.

Shang Qinghua clears his throat to get their attention. Both kids (well, teenager and young adult, but still... kids) look up and then stand up quickly. Luo Binghe takes a forgetful step forward, before he wobbles into an appropriate respectful bow instead.

“Shang-Shishu!”

“How dearly this boy is loved!” the Weeper’s Eye declares, in its soft way inside Shang Qinghua’s head. “More than life itself! More than death itself!”

“Ah, never mind all that,” Shang Qinghua says, and steps forward to wrap his nephew in a quick hug instead, keeping the creepy talking eye oriented away from his nephew. “You’re a little too late to talk to me about your mission before your shizun did.”

Binghe, who was just relaxing into the unexpected hug, freezes.

Shang Qinghua knowingly pats the poor young protagonist on the back.

“Oh, shit” is right!

AN: Uncle Shang really is adorable. Still kind of knocks me for a loop writing it, though, given that the SVSSS SQH and LBH relationship is... nothing like this whatsoever. Look upon the field of SQH and LBH content and see that it is relatively barren except for the stubborn motherfuckers with excellent taste in character exploration.

“Ahhh, well, I’ll be there too for this potential family reunion, bro,” Shang Qinghua assures him. “Maybe we can finally get to the bottom of where this ‘Shen Yuan’ name came from.”

Peerless Cucumber makes a strange expression.

“What?”

“...It’s my name.”

“What?” Shang Qinghua repeats.

“It’s my name,” Peerless Cucumber says again, quietly. “It’s my real name.”

“Oh.”

“Huh,” Shang Qinghua thinks, having been operating on the assumption that the System made the name up for its mysterious backstory. Well, that gives new dimensions to Peerless Cucumber’s criticism of the scum villain!

“You can use it,” Peerless Cucumber says, with an air of determined nonchalance. “Everyone else is doing it.”

“Ah, alright. Thanks.”

AN: This is probably the part where I would have made Shang Qinghua reveal his original name in turn... IF HE HAD ONE. It drives me... kind of wild that we get the Airplane Extras and we STILL don’t get 1) Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky’s original name, and 2) MOBEI-JUN’s name.

Which actually makes things a little more interesting here, in my opinion, even though not having those names gets a little frustrating in terms of fanfiction writing. With Mobei-Jun, you get to explore the fucked up possibilities of him not having a name outside of his identity as the future Northern King. With Shang Qinghua, you get to explore him being a squirrelly little fuck who refuses to let anyone into his life.

So, because we don’t have Airplane’s name, we actually get this mildly interesting dynamic in which Shang Qinghua doesn’t even really think to reveal it to Shen Yuan. We don’t see this part, but Shen Yuan is actually a little miffed by this degree of secrecy, which is going to come up later. (Shen Yuan doesn’t like the fact that Shang Qinghua has as much power over him as he does.)

I personally do not hold the headcanon that Airplane’s name was “Shang Qinghua”. It’s a little too on the nose for me. At that point, the only reaction to transmigrating into SQH kind of has to be, “Ah, well, I was asking for that!” Maybe Airplane projected his worst qualities onto Shang Qinghua, but I don’t think he went so far as to give the character his own name.

Airplane’s main identity when he died appears to have been Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky, and we know that he wasn’t particularly close to his divorced parents and any step- or half-siblings. So, the only names that are really relevant post-transmigration are “Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky” and “Shang Qinghua”. By the time that SY gets here, he’s firmly entrenched in those identities, and his original name is completely irrelevant. I could honestly believe that Airplane just doesn’t think it matters anymore.

Shang Qinghua’s nephew, in the way of a true young protagonist or fucking cannon fodder, got the bright fucking idea to slip away to speak with the concubine called Butterfly privately.

“I thought: what if she didn’t want to speak in front of that lecherous old man? What if she wanted to get away from him?” Binghe confesses.

“She was the demon,” Shang Qinghua guesses.

Binghe nods, voice breaking. “It was… I was really, really stupid, Uncle.”

“Well, at least you know that,” Shang Qinghua sighs, and pats his sniffly nephew on the back again.

Oh, he can see why Shen Qingqiu was pissed the fuck off now. Shang Qinghua kind of wants to start yelling! Or maybe just screaming, coherently or otherwise!

Except yelling isn’t going to help much right now.

Shang Qinghua listens as Luo Binghe recounts being captured by the demon and then waking up bound by Immortal Binding Cables - of being so terrified that he could barely breathe with it. His only hope was Ning Yingying and Ming Fan tattling on his disappearance and a senior disciple tracking him down on time. The skinner demon apparently nearly killed Binghe, crooning over his young and beautiful skin, except a flash of warm light intervened and dropped an unstable part of the ceiling in on them before they could hurt the captured protagonist.

“Fu-Shijie and Shizun arrived after that and k-killed it,” Binghe says. “Uncle, it was all stupid luck! Shizun said I should have been dead and that, between my efforts and the demon’s, he had no idea how I wasn't! And he was right! It was so close! If the ceiling hadn’t fallen in like that-! Fu-Shijie suggested the ropes might be faulty and it could have been an unconscious use of spiritual energy, but I didn’t do anything! It wasn’t me!”

It sounds like the System to Shang Qinghua, intervening again at a crucial moment to prevent the premature death of the protagonist. Just thinking about how close his nephew came to dying without him knowing is nearly enough to inspire a cold sweat! Shang Qinghua can’t speak about the System, so all he can really do is keep hugging! Keep holding on for dear life and saying soothing nothings to his crying nephew!

AN: I wanted to include the Skinner mission, but I didn’t want to redo it onscreen because that’s been done in many fanfictions before and I felt that there was really no good reason for Shang Qinghua to be a part of it. The reason I wanted to include it is to show how the plot is off the track of the SVSSS (and PIDW) stories, with the changed LBH and the changed Original SQQ.

LBH wants to be a hero, but he’s not there yet.

“...Don’t put yourself above him… or below him. Tell him what you want and listen to what he wants, and don’t be surprised if things don’t change all at once,” Shang Qinghua advises and, at Yue Qingyuan’s look, quickly raises his hands. “Ahhh, not my business, I know! Not my business! I just… I hope it works out! I hope you two get something better out of this mess! Aha, make the sect meetings a little less awkward and… things.”

“He has never known what better looks like. He will always be Yue Qi, the slave boy. No matter what he does.”

“...Thank you,” Yue Qingyuan says finally, thoughtfully. “I appreciate your… restraint in this matter… in recent months.”

Aha, yikes.

AN: I know that some people wanted more stomping on Yue Qingyuan, but... like... this man is as or nearly as traumatized as Shen Qingqiu. His childhood fucking sucked. He broke his own soul trying to save Shen Jiu and failed. He made some shit decisions where Shen Qingqiu was concerned, but the logic and trauma he’s operating on are pretty obvious. He was trying.

Part of the theme around the Qijiu and Moshang arcs has also been “an eye for an eye”. Like, are you guys really going to keep on not communicating with each other and then fucking up and then taking chunks out of each other? How many misunderstandings and upset over misunderstandings are you going to throw at each other? Where do you put your foot down and say, “I don’t want to live like this forever. We can be better than this. I want better than this.”

Like, it can’t just be hurting each other back and forth (this applies to Qijiu more than Moshang, in which MBJ definitely carries the weight of this fuck-up). It can’t just be privately nursing hurt feelings forever. The options here are “fix it” or “live like this forever”. Fixing it won’t happen immediately, but the other option fucking sucks, so every little step helps.

So Shang Qinghua here is just like, “Bro, I’m tired. My anger has cooled a lot. I just want all our lives to suck less. I hope things work out for you.”

#tossawary svsss #tossawary commentary #pride is not the word

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sebastianshaw · 4 years ago

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Do you have any headcanons about how Haven and Maddie would get along? You mention them both a lot and they seem like they have things in common

OH BOY DO I EVER i happen to love shoving my faves into interaction in my head even if they never met in canon---ESPECIALLY if they never met in canon---and these are my two mega fave ladies! ...coincidentally I was out today on errands and playing Tori Amos (because *of course* I was) and specifically her “American Doll Posse” album, and I was like “GIRL DISAPPEARING and SECRET SPELL have Maddie vibes” (I also listened to KING AND LIONHEART by of Monsters and Men, it’s my fave of theirs, and “As the world comes to an end, I’ll be here to hold your hand” is forever a Haven lyric to me) So massive MASSIVE ramblings under the cut!

Anyway, yes, you’re completely correct, they have a TON in common, both in what actually happened TEXTUALLY to them, and the meta-text of how their stories were handled in very similarly misogynistic ways. Like, they’re both villains through no choice or fault of their own, both the victims of demonic corruption, both exploited specifically for their reproductive capacity (Maddie created literally to have Scott’s baby, Haven’s unborn child used by the Adversary to possess her), and both used to frame female sexuality as evil (Maddie only starts with the skimpy black outfits when she becomes a villain, Haven is a pure and chaste woman who had sex ONCE and as a result becomes demon-pregnant, corrupted, and dies, she’s very much punished for violating purity taboos just ONCE despite all the good she did, while NOTHING HAPPENS to the man who took advantage of her naivete and knocked her up) and both were treated with little sympathy by the story or other characters despite being so very deserving of it. So they’ve got a ton to relate and commiserate on if they ever met and opened up to each other about it, but even if they DIDN’T tell each other about their pasts (which I doubt they would, certainly not at first, it’s not something either is keen to talk about, Haven never told her own beloved brother and Maddie literally KILLS Threnody for throwing it in her face) I think they would get on well. With the understandable exception of Jean Grey, Maddie has NEVER been a jerk to anyone who wasn’t one first (she did go overboard with Threnody, of course...) and Haven, even while a demonically-posessed supervillain, was very calm, composed, polite, and downright kind to the good guys even when they KEPT ATTACKING HER. And to quote the “X-Plain the X-Men” podcast “❝ In this scene, she [Haven] is the one that’s being kind and calm and compassionate, and he [Xavier] is being AN ANGRY JERK. ❞ So, I think they’d get on at first meeting because they’re just both nice people at their default. They’re also both morally good people at their default. Haven’s history is that she’s someone born to extreme wealth and privilege who was driven to use it to help others, she did shit like bathing lepers and caring for dying babies and building children’s hospitals (literally how she got her name in canon, no shit) and even as a supervillain BENT ON DESTROYING THE WORLD OUT OF COMPASSION she STILL does shit like SURRENDERING A FIGHT SO SHE CAN TRY TO HEAL AN *ENEMY* OKAY. And Maddie was just straight-up a superhero even before she had the “super” part going for her, she was one of the X-Men even as a human and even after Scott left her, she had an incredibly strong sense of justice, she did her best at rescuing people in her job as a pilot during crises, she GAVE UP HER LIFE with the rest of the X-Men when Forge needed their life energy for a spell to save the world (she got brought back, they all did, but she didn’t know she was going to be resurrected, she went in knowing she’d die and thinking it would be permanent) and the first time she did get superpowers WASN’T as the demonic Goblyn Queen, but as the healer Anodyne. And you know why her powers specifically took the form of healing? It wasn’t random. The Fire Fountain (from which she and some other humans got these gifts) gave people their powers based on their passions and desires; Maddie’s desire and passion was to help others. So both of these women are extremely moral, healing-types at their core, both in powers and personality, who care about others deeply, even at the expense of themselves. Obviously, Maddie became very morally-grey since in the 90s, but even then she cared about other people first; Sebastian Shaw was never a bad boyfriend in the slightest to her, he was actually her first good relationship, but she left him because he was doing harm to other people, people she didn’t even KNOW, and she wouldn’t be complicit in that even as a bystander. She’s kinda gone full evil in the 2000s but she’s also very much Not Maddie Anymore as of the 2000s, so I just...don’t count that...anyway you see my point! My point being I think they would really come together on helping people, like Haven has the funds (she would probably not have powers anymore if she’s alive, since she’s no longer the host body of the Adversary) and Maddie has the piloting skills and superpowers, they could do a TON of good in the world if they teamed up to do relief work and refugee aid and stuff! I would honestly be really here for that. I really like the idea of them doing good in a way that has nothing to do with superhero adventures and is in no way glamorous or a battle that can be won with powers and punches, but is necessary and worthy all the same. I think they could really get a good working relationship going with this. I think the place they would differ is that Maddie is ANGRY. She’s very angry at what was done to her, she’s very angry at the X-Men, she’s very angry at Jean, she’s very angry at Scott, she’s very angry at Sinister, and she has a RIGHT to be. There is nothing wrong with this. But her anger also isn’t limited to people who harmed HER. Back when Maddie was Maddie and not a walking misogynistic stereotype, she also got BIG MAD at people who did bad things, who hurt others, who oppressed mutants and other minorities, etc. Like, during the story in which we find out about Genosha and how they’re enslaving mutants, Maddie is ready to WRECK ALL THEIR SHIT WITHOUT MERCY using the demonic energy that’s started incubating inside her. And you know what? Good for her. Maddie is the fire of justice and retribution, and if you have done something to deserve it she will FRY YOU IN HELL. Haven is not like that. Again, even when she’s possessed, even when she ostensibly wants to kill the world, even when she’s being steered by an entity of cosmic evil and chaos...she’s still so soft with her “enemies”. Hell, even when she’s come to the conclusion that Xavier must die, she still can’t do it with her own hands and has to just let some other villain out of prison and HOPE he does it, that’s the MOST action she can bring herself to take, and she thinks how “I admire you, Charles Xavier. I respect you. In an odd way, one might say…that I love you. For how can one not love a soul so pure, a heart so full of good intentions? One must love one’s enemy…if one is to slay him with compassion.” And this was AFTER Xavier rammed in his way into her head after she begged him repeatedly to STOP (boy was THAT an uncomfy scene) and she literally unmade herself from existence temporarily (yes, she could do that, and remake herself) in order to get away from him, even though SHE could have just unmade HIM permanently. So, once you take the demon out of the equation, I can only see her as being even MORE pacifistic and forgiving, just the epitome of grace----grace meaning not as in graceful (though I think she’s that too, she’s very elegant) but as in the religious sense of God’s grace, which is mercy where it is undeserved. She’s NEVER going to want to hurt people for their misdeeds like Madelyne does. She wants to comfort the victims, but not attack the victimizers. She’s probably the kind of person who prays for Neo-Nazis. She probably utterly forgives X-Factor and Xavier and the man who got her pregnant. And you know what? I also support that. I support Madelyne’s righteous rage, I support Haven’s all-forgiving compassion and mercy. I think both of these are beautiful. But they WOULD probably make conflict wherein like, Maddie wants to go after some bad guys to avenge the victims, and Haven doesn’t, that kind of thing. And I can see Maddie being angry AT HAVEN for that, and Haven UNDERSTANDING because she’s very understanding but still standing fast in her own beliefs. Haven is at peace with the universe, both its good and its evil. Maddie rages at the Heavens like if Milton wrote a woman. Both are perfect. Also like...I love so much the idea of Maddie being ready to PHYSICALLY FIGHT SOMEONE, no powers, she’s just going to WRECK THEM WITH HER BARE HANDS (trust me, she has a mean punch) and Haven pulling her back. Because Maddie is canonically 5′6 and 110 lbs, she’s not short but she’s VERY skinny (because Marvel likes making all their women borderline underweight; I headcanon Maddie should be more in the 135 lb ballpark) and Haven is a SOLID SIX FEET and has been shown as able to carry around GROWN MEN in her arms, so like Maddie just this feisty lil skinny spitfire ready to MURDER YOU and big mama Haven gently holding her back like an angry lil kitten!! Speaking of physical contrasts I also love how they’re very Tomboy & Girly Girl? Maddy is a pilot, she’s very adventurous and rough and tumble, she’s got cute dresses but she also wears her brown/green flight suit a lot, she’s a goth in the 90s...and then Haven is like, this very well-brought-up polite woman with super-long princess hair and the one time we see her in civilian-wear it’s this GORGEOUS sari with tons of jewelry, they’re just so Queen & Lady Knight, I love it. (It’s not that Maddie is unfeminine, Maddie’s VERY femme, she’s just more versatile and aggressive, whereas Haven is very conventionally hyperfeminine) I think another point they’d have a lot of difference---though not arguement---is sex. Like, Haven still spoke about her one (1) sexual experience with a lot of shame twenty years later, she’s very much a product of a conservative religious culture and while I don’t think she’s the type to slut-shame anyone else, I think she’s now very thoroughly celibate because of her experiences. Whereas Maddie is very much not, like she literally walks into Sebastian Shaw’s bedroom one night and rides that dick because shut up she wants to. While I don’t like the idea of her as this Sexy Evil Succubus that she’s become in the 2000s, I do see her as having a fun, practical, down-to-earth approach to sexuality as something that she enjoys and isn’t ashamed of, while also not being this male fantasy of a femme fatale 24/7. So I can see her commenting on hot guys buff bodies and Haven being embarrass, things like that, maybe Maddie trying to get her a date. Like basically Haven is the Virgin Mary, she’s chastity and motherhood and peace and mercy, and Maddie is Ishtar, the goddess of love AND sex AND war. Another thing about Haven is that she was established as EXTREMELY sensitive to the feelings of others, especially their pain, and that this was NOT a superpower from the Adversary, it’s how she’s always been since childhood. She’s almost psychic, she instantly figures out the personal problems of everyone in X-Factor, from Lorna and Alex’s co-dependence to Guido using humor to mask that he suffers from chronic pain due to his mutation. So while I doubt Maddie opens up to her about her past even when they become friends, Haven can very much feel out that SOMETHING awful happened to this woman. And Haven’s nature as a healer is going to be drawn that, to want to help her, without going too fast or too invasive, without doing anything Madelyne doesn’t want, without forcing anything on her because Haven has had that happen to her and she’s not going to do it to someone else even with good intentions. She’s done ENOUGH wrong with good intentions. And as Madelyne does begin to let her in and let Haven know what happened, Haven in return reveals her own startlingly similar trauma, and I think there’s a mutual healing there in supporting each other. Haven becomes the one shoulder Maddie has to cry on, and Maddie becomes someone who can be angry FOR Haven on her behalf. I see Maddie as probably being protective of Haven, like she has been of other women in the past who were wronged or vulnerable----such as when she was murderously incensed over what Genosha did to Jenny Ransome or when she offered to be Dazzler’s eyes when Dazzler was blinded by a mask magically stuck to her face. And Haven can help Maddie with moving on and owning her own life instead of devoting herself to vengeance anymore, because she loves Maddie and rightly believes Maddie deserves BETTER than that. Honestly, I just...love them both...and want them to be happy and healing...so much...thank you for this ask, I loved talking about them!! ;A;

#haven #maddie feels #haven and maddie #maddie and haven

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ladyreapermc · 5 years ago

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Fic: Too Sober, Enough Sass (John Wick x Unamed OFC)

Summary: you meet a tall, dark and handsome stranger who saves your life

Author’s Notes: So this was supposed to be a drabble based on two prompts I got from @beyond-antares #4 and #83 from drabble challenge, but it ended up developing an actual plot and it might become a series? This would be John before Helen (nothing against her. I think she deserved better) and in my mind’s eye he looks like Keanu circa 2009. Anyway, Nina, I hope you enjoy it.

Wordcount: 2268

Warnings: mild violence, but nothing major.

This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go.

You were supposed to drown your sorrows with your friend Emma by your side to comfort you. She wasn’t supposed to ditch you the second a cute guy winked her way. You weren’t supposed to be left alone at the bar while Emma made out in a corner.

You glanced the couple’s way, noticing they were way past pg-13 and about to be kicked off. With a grimace, you turned back to the bar, signaling for the bartender to bring you another drink

“I’m too sober for this,” you said a little louder than intended and the handsome man perched on the stool next to you snorted and glanced your way.

You've been eyeing him as discreetly as you could since he arrived because he was probably one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. The way his dark suit hugged his well-built frame and the short dark hair and neatly trimmed beard were doing something to your sanity.

The bartender appeared with your ginger ale and you nodded your thanks, taking a sip and sighing. It was as unsatisfying as expected.

“That won’t really help your case,” he said startling you.

You looked over at him and he gestured to your drink with his own glass of whiskey.

“Oh. I have babysitter duties,” you replied with a snort, glancing over your shoulder at your friend. He followed your gaze, before giving you a sympathetic smile.

“That’s bad luck,” he commented and offered you a hand. “I’m John.”

You gave him your name and shook his hand, noticing it was huge around yours.

“So, what brings you here to drink alone, John?”

You turned your body completely to face him. If you couldn’t drink and commiserate with your friend, you might as well flirt with the hot guy in front of you

“Sometimes we are our best company,” John said with a small shrug.

“Wow, that’s...” you paused for a second trying to think on a polite way to phrase it. “really sad and dark.”

John snorted, ducking his head and it was sort of cute, which was something weren’t expecting from a guy like him.

“I guess you have a point,” he said with a smile. “So, you know what that means right? You should have a drink with me.”

You couldn’t help but grin, feeling your cheeks a little warmer. That had been quite a smooth pick up line. But before you could say anything else, Emma appeared by your side, flashing John a smile, before hooking her arm with yours.

“Hi. I have to borrow this lady for a sec,” she said already dragging you to the restroom. “Please, please tell me you have condoms with you.”

You rolled your eyes at Emma. Of course, that was what she wanted. You dug through your purse, finding a solitary foil package at the bottom.

“Are you sure you’re sober enough for this?” you asked and Emma rolled her eyes as she stood on one foot and touched her own nose with her index finger.

“Happy?” she asked, snatching the condom from your hands.

“You do know you’re a terrible friend, right?”

“Oh please!” Emma snorted as she pocketed the condom. “Like you actually mad when a guy like that was chatting you up.”

You rolled your eyes again, more out of habit than anything because Emma was right. Any resentment you had over her actions disappeared the second John started talking to you, but you weren’t gonna give her the satisfaction of being right.

“I’m gonna go. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she said with a wink moving to the door.

“There’s nothing you wouldn’t do,” you pointed out and Emma smirked.

“Exactly.”

With a snort, you turned your focus back to the mirror, fixing your hair and refreshing your lipstick, your heart speeding up at the thought of going back to John.

With one last deep, fortifying breath, you stepped out of the restroom, running straight into John’s strong chest. You stumbled back startled and looked at him, catching a strange, dark expression on his face that terrified you a little, but at the same time sent shivers down your spine.

“You need to come with me.”

His voice was low and deep, almost growly and you were reminded of a predator threatening a prey. You took a step back.

“Excuse me? I’m not going anywhere with you,” you protested, trying to keep your voice leveled as you looked around in panic.

There wasn’t anyone around, but you could hear steps coming closer. John must have heard too because his head turned towards the noise, his eyes narrowed, one hand dropping to his waist, the other grabbing your arm.

You struggled as he pulled you towards the back exit, but his hand felt like a steel cuff around your wrist and no matter how much you dug your heels, John continued to tow you like you weighted nothing.

“HELP!” you shouted, listening to the steps rushing towards you. “SOMEBODY, PLEASE!”

You saw a man turn the corner of the hallway as you and John reached the door. You breathed a sigh of relief, but it caught in your throat when the other man raised a gun at you, and you screamed again.

Faster than you could process it, John spun on his heels, covering you with his body just as you heard the shots echoing in the narrow hallway. You felt him pushing you forward, to the door and this time you went willingly because if a guy took bullets for you, he was definitely on your side.

“Don’t stop, don’t look back. Just come with me if you wanna live,” he said, herding you towards the street, one hand on your lower back, the other on his hip and you could see now that he was armed.

You were both walking fast, not quite running. John was grunting low with each step he took, and you glanced at him with a worried look.

“How are you not dead?”

Instead of answering you, John thumped his own chest with such force, you sucked in a sympathetic breath as a metallic clinking sound reached your ears. You looked back to see several round disks on the sidewalk. You looked back at John with wide eyes.

“Shit! Are those bullets? Oh my God, is this a terminator thing? Am I Sara Connor? I’m not badass enough to be Sara Connor!” You spluttered, panic making you weird and incoherent.

John just ignored you in favor of yanking the passenger door of a slick, muscle car open and all but shoved you inside, taking the driver’s seat before speeding down the street. Good thing it was late enough that there wasn’t much traffic.

“Do you know who wants you dead?” John asked, glancing at you and you let out a burst of hysterical laughter.

“Sure. Let me just check my list of nemeses.” You made a show of patting yourself, before glaring at John. “Oh shoot! Must have left it in my other pants!”

“Enough with the sass!” John hissed and scowled at you.

And maybe he might have seen something in your face, the terror and panic because his expression softened along with his grip on the steering wheel.

“Just think, alright?” His voice was still deep, but a lot less growly. “People don’t just wake up with a contract on their heads. Not regular people anyway.”

“I don’t know, alright?” you replied after thinking for a moment.

You were just an accountant at Wolfram & Hart. The most dangerous thing you’ve ever been involved in was reading spy books and ordering Chinese from the cheap and suspicious restaurant a couple of blocks away from your apartment. And you told John just that.

“Wolfram & Hart as in the investment firm accused of embezzlement last week?” John asked, glancing at you and you nodded.

You were the one that caught the strange proceedings and reported it… oh.

“Shit! My bosses are trying to kill me? When did my life turn into a Tom Clancy novel?”

You looked at him with wide eyes and John took your hand, squeezing slightly.

“You’ll be ok. I promise.”

There was such certainty in his tone and in his intense, brown eyes that you couldn’t dream on doubting him. So, you just nodded, feeling your heart finally slowing down, breathing returning to normal as John pulled up in front of a hotel.

He led you inside and towards the front desk, greeting the concierge with a short nod.

“Mr. Wick,” the concierge greeted with a quick glance your way before his focus turned back to John. “A room for the night?”

John looked at you for a second with a thoughtful frown, before he nodded, and slid a gold coin across the counter.

“That should be enough, but I’ll call in case I need to extend it, Charon.”

The concierge nodded and handed John a keycard. With one last nod towards Charon, John led you first to the elevators, then to a fancy suite on the eighth floor, overlooking Manhattan. If you weren’t so terrified, you’d appreciate the view a lot more.

“What kind of hotel takes gold coins as payment?” You asked as the two of you stepped inside. “What kind of person pays for a room with gold coins?”

“It’s a long story,” John replied. “The only thing that matters is that you’ll be safe here while I take care of this.”

“Why are you helping me?” you asked as the two of you stood in front of one another.

How come you didn’t notice how huge John was? Not only tall but also had broad shoulders and strong arms. His big hands were so big they covered the entire side of your face as he cupped your cheek gently, his palm rough and warm against your skin.

“I don’t know,” he said in a low voice, staring into your eyes, stealing your breath. “Just felt right.”

You were half-expecting him to kiss you and you wanted him to. Instead, John cleared his throat and stepped away from and you immediately felt the loss.

“I have to go now,” he said, glancing at you. “Don’t leave this room until I come back for you.”

There was something in his tone that didn’t leave you any room to question it. So, you just nodded and watched John leave.

As you waited for John, you walked around, exploring every inch of the room until you were bored. You tried to watch TV, but your anxiety didn’t allow you to sit still long enough to enjoy it, intrusive thoughts distracting you all the time.

What if John didn’t come back? What if something bad happened to him? What would she do then? He only paid for the night. It wasn’t like you had any gold coin lying around and you had a pretty good feeling that the hotel wouldn’t take your Visa. What if you went home and they were waiting there to kill you?

With those thoughts swimming through your brain, you were not sure how you managed to fall asleep. But you jumped awake and terrified when John called your name softly. It took you a second to register that yes, it was him. He was alive and well and you’re throwing yourself in his arms without even thinking it through.

“Oh, thank God!”

“It’s alright,” he reassured, hugging you close, petting your hair. “It’s over now. You’re safe.”

For a moment, you just let yourself be held by John, letting all the overwhelming feelings of the night bleed out from you as he comforted you until you finally felt like you could pull back and look at him.

Gone was the intense and focused expression, replaced by a soft look that seemed almost full of wonder and confusion as he watched you and traced the shape of your face with his fingers.

Before you could chicken out of it, you pressed your lips to his and felt him sigh against your mouth before he kissed you back, tongue sliding against yours. You tasted coffee and cigarettes, his beard tickling the skin of your upper lip.

“Come on, let me take you home,” he said as the two of you broke apart and you nodded.

The ride to your apartment was made in comfortable silence. You kept sneaking glances at him, wondering if this was finally the moment you would tell you what the hell happened, who he was and how he took care of your problem.

“Come inside?” you asked once he walked you to your door.

“I shouldn’t.”

You smile fell as John avoided your eyes, taking a few steps away from you.

“John…” you started, but he shook his head, making you trail off.

“It’s for the best,” John sighed and looked up to meet your eyes. “You don’t belong in my world.”

You knew he had a point of course, even if you didn’t understand enough of what had happened, of what he had done for you. But you understood that there was a considerable amount of danger envolved

“Thank you,” you managed, voice breaking as you fought tears. And why were even crying? You barely knew this man. John nodded too, pressed one final kiss to her cheek, before walking away.

You stayed by the door, fingers pressed to the spot on your cheek his lips had just touched until the elevator’s doors finally closed, taking John away from your sight and your life.

xxx

#keanu reeves fanfic #john wick fanfic #keanu reeves x reader #john wick x reader #john wick imagine #keanu reeves imagine #john wick x you #keanu reeves x you #fanfic #drabble challenge #john wick trilogy #alternate universe #fanfic au #one shot #for now

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ad1ostoreador · 5 years ago

Text

>> Spill over.

(in which a very small sand castle is built, @ad1ostoreador actually manages to Verbalize a Feeling or Even Two, to @blurry-end-evil, and they commiserate over the wreckage one Serket left of multiple lives. warnings: features an abuse survivor still being angry and venting off steam about the experiences that left physical and emotional scars on him, and the people who stood around and watched it happen, in ways that are not particularly forgiving or flattering to anyone involved.)

ad1ostoreador:

Tavros has flown himself to physical exhaustion, if still nothing approaching sleep, and is now sitting sort of huddled up on a dry hummock of sand, some distance along the beach and nearly out of view from the main hive. He's got his knees pulled to his chest and his arms around them, ears pinned back, and is still wearing somewhat smeared facepaint.

blurry-end-evil:

Loxi was looking for Tavros, for once glad the troll was tall, with big horns. Though right now, he's not looking so tall. Quite the opposite, in fact. He's on tumblr, he can't have missed it being filled by one Vriska by herself. How surprising.

He walks on the beach towards the curled form, stopping somewhat in the bull's line of sight. "Hey TV. What you're doing here ?" For once he's not teasing, just asking neutrally.

ad1ostoreador:

He barely lifts his head and doesn't look up, but one ear pivots to follow Loxi's approach across the sand. "...just sitting." His answer is as neutral as the question.

blurry-end-evil:

And here goes Loxi, flopping himself near to him, vaguely cross-legged. "You look like shit." He informs politely.

"Are you going to take me for an idiot again and pretend everything is peachy ?"

ad1ostoreador:

He snorts, shrugging a little. "I, uh, don't really care what I look like, right now... and, probably, you saw enough of the dash, to, um, draw your own conclusions... unless you are actually not following anyone at all, and also living in a hole..."

blurry-end-evil:

"Ha, ha. Believe it or not, I'm actually following people. Tho, yeth. I have hypothethith." A small grin. "Couldn't mithth how thith part of the web thuddenly got even more webs. But I wasn't thure it could make you go be all depreththed on the beach."

ad1ostoreador:

"I'm not depressed..." Not today. Today, he's just... frustrated and helpless and grouchy. He's not sure whether it's an improvement or not. "...they always crawl out of the woodwork in bunches. Like one isn't more than enough..."

blurry-end-evil:

"I'm thurprised tumblr didn't crumble under thith army of eight patth creatureth, yeth. They're thtill good at fooling their world, it theemth." He leans back on his hands.

ad1ostoreador:

"...it's like people just...--" He cuts off again, rubbing at his mouth with the back of one hand, and making a noise that isn't entirely unlike a growl.

blurry-end-evil:

"Forget ? Forgive ? " He offers, rather neutral, but... A little bitter, too.

ad1ostoreador:

"...never cared, at all, in the first place, unless it happened to personally, uhh, inconvenience them, like maybe some blood got splashed on their shoe, which they then had to try and clean off, because it wasn't a pretty color." It's half-muffled into his hand, or his knee, or just a low, tense mumble in the first place.

blurry-end-evil:

"People are aththole. What elthe is new ? Either they're shithead and don't care about what she did, either they're too nithe and forgive her. Or too thtupid and she manipulate them." He huff himself. Loxi tries to act as if things don't really touch him usually, but... He lost a lot, too.

"Mothtly, other don't get it. Why would they care ? Eh."

ad1ostoreador: "...even the ones who try and talk like they care... don't. Not really. It's always more important to them to chase her quads, or pretend like she's some sort of friend or something.... just shove everything under the textile square, right? If nobody talks about it, it's almost like it didn't happen, and it's all my fault if anything is maybe, not pleasant, a little, because I should have just gotten over it, like everyone else did, ha ha! It's not like she took anything important, just my best friend, and my future, and my legs, and my whole life, that I had..." He's... possibly a lot closer to tears than he'd like to be. Ugh.

blurry-end-evil:

He won't point it out, even look at the sea rather than him to not make him feel too self-conscious. He's not good at comfort, but that doesn't mean he'll be an asshole here. "I know. I was here, remember ? She maid me kill AA. Tho, I disagree with whatever thome shithead who wantth to feel better than they are, forgive her or find her excuses. She turned fun games into dethtroyed lifes. I don't thee why the fuck you should be over it, or me, or anyone wanting to be mad at her. She could die under my eyes and I wouldn't even move a thingle finger."

He breathes noisily, annoyed now. Frustrated, too. Sometimes he wish he could have made her pay, for real. "She made your already hard life an impoththible one. If cullers had found you, you'd be dead. As if being a lowblood wasn't giving uth enough to handle, already. But, nooo, mithth blueblood don't thee why we're all tho mean with her, really, we're all awful." Loxi rolls his eyes, hissing a bit.

ad1ostoreador:

It gives him time to get his breathing back under control. To fight down the ghost of remembered pain in his back that is trying to make his legs go numb and nerveless, and to quash the little surge of panic that is the automatic response to that (lack of) sensation. He digs his claws into his knees a little, then shifts, clumsily. "...My legs are okay now, but... all of it still happened." A shaky exhale. "I don't have to forgive her, or forget it."

blurry-end-evil:

"Of courthe not. Magical repairing or whatever it is, it doesn't suddenly make everything fine again. And it'th not like she is the one who gave you your legs back. Right? Tho she didn't do anything to detherve forgivenethth. If she even could detherve it to begin with, which I doubt."

He's sort of enjoying having someone to trash her with.

ad1ostoreador:

"She's dead, and I'm not sorry at all," Tavros mutters. "I'm never going to be sorry about that. Or decide that I am, um, okay with listening to some other version of her brag about all the terrible things she did."

blurry-end-evil:

"Is she ?" He lifts his arms straight above him, and let himself land on his back, on the sand. "Nithe. Finally thome good fucking news.'

Loxi snickers. "At leatht it meanth there's one lethth in the fuckery of the multiverthe. But, yeah, why you have to do that ?" He lift himself on his elbows. "You don't have to juthtify yourthelf, you know ? She did awful things. Kick her, kill her, ignore her. All good choice." He grins, now. "Pretty thure she'd prefer you kill her than you ignore her, the bitch."

ad1ostoreador:

He hackles up a little, hair prickling up in a crest, and flattens his ears, but at least he actually looks at Loxi this time. "I have... a negative amount of care, actually, about what she wants, or wanted, or would have preferred. All I care about is that she's gone, and at least one version of her... can't hurt anyone else, ever again.."

blurry-end-evil:

He stares back. "It'th what I thaid. And I altho thaid ignoring her is probably the betht. I guethth I'm jutht more revengeful than you." It's not judgemental, just a fact.

"...We can't make people thee the real her, though. Thadly."

ad1ostoreador:

"...I know. Nobody ever... wants to see it, until it's too late, and she's... broken something they actually care about, in a way that can't be fixed." Tavros rakes a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it back down. "....it's just... really tiring." He isn't even sure if he means the effort of trying to blacklist and block and filter her out, for his own sake, or the struggle of trying to maintain any trust at all toward people who let her in.

blurry-end-evil:

He nods tiredly. "She's just like... A life viruth. Or a happynethth viruth. It'th in her code, she won't change. It'th bullshit."

Loxi goes back to sitting position, crosslegged and elbow on his knee so he can rest his jaw in his hand. "You warn people, but they don't lithten. What elthe can you do ?" It's a rhetorical question.

ad1ostoreador:

"...I don't even try to warn anyone anymore," he murmurs, voice quiet and drained. "It doesn't do any good, it never did... and no one cares. Maybe whatever... weird timeline versions everyone else is from just... magically happened to fix whatever was broken in her, so that she could try not being a terrible person, for once. But... I don't have to trust that, or believe it, and I don't have to try to help her anymore, when most all those, uh.... versions of her act and sound and do everything just like she always did."

He sighs, deeply, rubbing both hands over his face (and really making a further disaster of his facepaint). "...it doesn't make me a bad person, for just... not being willing to put myself in that position, with her, ever again..."

blurry-end-evil:

He listens quite patiently, ears twitching. "Thure. You're trying to convinthe me, or you ? Because." Loxi raises one finger. "To me you're, for onthe, right. Tho I don't need to be convinthed. Thecond-" He raises a second finger. "I'm no exactly good at comforting people tho I hope you don't expect that from me.

ad1ostoreador:

Tavros snorts again, muted, but almost smirks a little at him, ears still low. He doesn't know who he's trying to convince, honestly, but it does feel good to get the words out without anyone turning it into something other than what it is. "...Okay, I get it, you have a thing for 'two'... you don't have to try to convince me, I know..." blurry-end-evil:

Smirking back, he stick his tongue out at him. "I jutht, honethtly had only two pointth to make. Like often."

ad1ostoreador:

Tavros scratches his jaw with one finger. Maybe a rude finger. Oh look, there's the other one, to match. "...Maybe I just don't, uh... feel like going back inside, yet."

blurry-end-evil:

Nice, two of them. He snickers. "You better not. Your fathe lookth like a grub rolled in paint then rolled on your fathe."

ad1ostoreador:

"I'll clean it up and redo it... might keep wearing it, um, more often..." He shifts a little, wings making a subtle crickety rasp as the edge of one drags against the edge of the other.

blurry-end-evil:

"Thure ? I'm gueththing it'th a thing between you and Gamzee. I am not really contherned by thieth piethe of info." He's just a little perplexed.

ad1ostoreador:

"Yes... and also no? It's... I don't know. I guess... I want to, uh. Show some respect, toward the one who made this whole place." He shrugs, sheepishly.

blurry-end-evil:

He frowns, thinks. "Thith plathe is linked to the religouth figures of the clown church ?" Not that he knows them, he just. Suppose.

ad1ostoreador:

He's a bit surprised that Loxi has heard of them at all, to be honest. "Um... yeah, kind of. Maybe not in... exactly the way they thought, but. One's a destroyer... but the other one is a maker. This place exists because of the Muse..."

blurry-end-evil:

Between playing and sniffing online, he heard a lot. That and he still heard people talk around him, on the ship. "How do you know that ?"

ad1ostoreador:

"Because we met her..."

blurry-end-evil:

He's genuinely surprised. "Hm. Okay. What she lookth like ?" Loxi could call him a liar or naive, but. Doesn't sounds fitting, here.

ad1ostoreador:

"Tall... and, uh, green. Kind of... bony-scaly? She was... very different from anything that I might have expected."

blurry-end-evil:

"A thcalebeatht thkeleton ? Original." He's amused, but not like he doesn't believe him. Loxi he's pretty sure Tavros isn' tthe type ot invent this for fun. Further not since it's touching a topic important for his matesprit.

ad1ostoreador:

"Just... very different. Her, uh... 'brother' was tearing everything apart, where we came from. From the stuff she said, he... was the kind of same cheater Vriska always was. If he wasn't winning, he'd just... twist all the rules around, and make it so he had to, no matter what." He grimaces a little, giving his head a shake. "...I told her, the only way to, uh, win a game, with that kind of person, is to stop playing their game at all, and walk away."

blurry-end-evil:

He raise an eyebrow, interested by the story. 'Did she lithten ?"

ad1ostoreador:

"...I kind of... think that listening was maybe a thing that she did."

blurry-end-evil:

He burst in a snicker at that. "Shit, could oyu make thith thententhe even longer ? Normal people jutht thay 'yeth'. Or 'I think'." Loxi doesn't sound very mean, but he's definitely amused a mocking a little.

"And, tho. She created thith planet ? For you ?"

ad1ostoreador:

Tavros blinks at him, mock-innocently. "Maybe, I don't like to make, uhh, firm statements, about what reasons for doing something another person may have had, unless they have personally explained them? But... she made this place, and... I like to think it's for everyone who never got a chance, to be free from all of that time-loop stuff."

blurry-end-evil:

A grin. "You mean, every thtray troll you can manage to thave and bring here ?" This time it's a tease.

ad1ostoreador:

He huffs, quietly. "...I wasn't going to just sit around while an imperial ship caught up."

blurry-end-evil:

"Oooh, thir Nitram thank you for thaving my poor thcrawny athth~" Then he snickers. "Good thing you did, though. For me, at leatht. For you, I'm not thure, cause now you have to deal with me." He's grinning, highly amused.

ad1ostoreador:

"You're not, uh, nearly as bad as you think you are," Tavros points out, amused. "...Scrawny, yeah, but..."

blurry-end-evil:

He tries to take an offended face, but he can't fully erase his grin. "Excuse me ? I'm tho bad. A true movie villain. Awfulnethth in perthon. The evil thtraw, it'th me."

ad1ostoreador:

He rolls his eyes, then shoves his shoulder a little, but gently. "Okay, we've both met Vriska, I don't think anyone else is really going to, uhh... manage 'movie villain' levels of awful, compared to that." Being able to crack a joke about it is at least an improvement.

blurry-end-evil:

As a legitimate scrawny gremlin, he nearly stumble to the side at the shove. Is he exaggerating for dramatic effect ? No one will know. "Shit, you're right. I'll be thith annoying thecond role that always annoy everyone then. I let you the 'naive but big hearted' hero role. I know you want it."

ad1ostoreador:

"Okay, if that's what you, uh, insist..." He huffs, lightly, then just sighs, wings dragging faintly over each other again.

blurry-end-evil:

"What. You thee me as the hero of anything, really ?" He mocks, though he's probably rather mocking himself. Then, just because he can, Loxi use his psionics to start building a very small sand castle on Tavros's knee. Or shoulder, if the knee is obstrued.

ad1ostoreador:

"Strictly, uh, the sidekick. That's the, um, secondary role, right?" A little smirk. He doesn't move to dislodge the sand being piled up on his knee, though.

blurry-end-evil:

He huff, displeasure visible. "The thidekick is often jutht thtupid and clumthy to make the hero lookth better." He's making a neat little sandcastle. Tryings to get whatever not-sand he find to land in Tavros's hair. Enjoy cleaning that, Gamzee.

"I could be the one with brain thells and computer who's thaving the night by actually thinking and making plans tho the hero don't die, though."

ad1ostoreador:

"If you are watching movies where the, uhh, sidekick is stupid and clumsy, then probably I don't know what kind of movies you're watching, but you should maybe find better movies, that don't suck?" He snorts, then gives his head a shake to shake out debris all over Loxi, too.

blurry-end-evil:

Except avoiding getting them in his eyes, he doesn't bother avoiding or removing the debris. The sandcastle is not so miraculously still there, thanks to psionics. "I had only alternian movies. Where the thidekick is always a thtupid and clumthy lowblood, you know. And now I altho watched Moana, where her thidekick are a terribly thtupid featherbeatht and a thupposedly cute oinkbeatht. "

ad1ostoreador:

"We need to, uh, show you a bunch more human movies. They're really alien, in how they look at things, sometimes, but... some of them are actually pretty good." He brushes at his hair then, with one hand, still not minding the sand on his knee. "Anyway, I don't think that I have ever thought of you as, uhh, terribly stupid, or a featherbeast?"

blurry-end-evil:

"Thank you. " He says, wry and amused. "I know I'm rather a thmartathth, in every way. But thavynethth can't always thave you, or your friends."

Loxi shrugs, looking not bothered. Only looking, though. "I prefer to be thome shitty thidekick not allowed to pilot the ship in fear they'd make it crash, than to be the motor of thaid ship." It's said with a snicker.

ad1ostoreador:

Tavros laughs a little, shaking his head. "Well... being a, uh, power source isn't something which you will need to worry about, here, ever..." His smile fades, then. "...Sometimes, nothing can save anybody. But... sometimes we can."

blurry-end-evil:

He stares at Tavros, then turn towards the sea. Without his focus on, the sandcastle crumble on the troll's knee. "...Maybe thome can thave people, and others jutht attract death."

As if nothing happened, Loxi turn to grin mischieviously at the bronze. "You know, like thome kind of... unlucky charm. Garanted to not bring you luck."

ad1ostoreador:

His expression turns more serious, then. Severe, even. "...I don't believe that luck is, uhh... really a thing."

blurry-end-evil:

He lean back on one hand, tilting his head as he smile more than grin, for once. "Each one their beliefs, hm ?"

ad1ostoreador:

"Yeah, except when you're, uhh, just really wrong." A little bit of a shoulder-bump, fleeting contact. "Also, you're here now, so..." He dusts crumbled sand off his knee.

blurry-end-evil:

He's a little more ready this time, and just chuckle under his breath at the bump. Loxi is not... Really used to contact. Even before the helsman thing. "Jutht watch me, I'm gonna attract thome disathter on your pretty planet by the only forthe of exithting and being here."

He's... Only half serious.

ad1ostoreador:

Yeah, that makes two of them, between distance and social isolation. Even after a sweep or so with Gamzee, and time on the meteor before that, Tavros is... extremely skittish and careful about touching literally anyone else. "Or, you will be fine, and so will the rest of us, and also the planet..."

blurry-end-evil:

"I am very grateful for you to thay that." His face is serious, until it split in a grin. "Because either it'th true and then good, or you're wrong and the night it'll all go to shit I'll be able to thay 'I told you. I was right.'. A win-win."

ad1ostoreador:

"In that case, maybe I should point out that I'm right, in the meantime, every night." He sticks his tongue out a little.

blurry-end-evil:

Shit. He pouts, having not thought of that option. "Make it a thweep, and I'd call it fair."

ad1ostoreador:

"If we get to one whole sweep, and there, uh, hasn't been a disaster here, just because of you being here, specifically, then you have to publicly admit that you were wrong."

blurry-end-evil:

He winces, and actually weighs it... The tip of his tongue poking out as he calculate the odds. "...Okay. Deal. I guethth I don't need to find a forfeit for you, you'll have enough at handling the disathter and my gloating."

ad1ostoreador:

"Also, your computer having some kind of, uh, error, does not count as a disaster." Snort. "And you dropping a bowl of food on the floor, also, does not count as a disaster. And neither do things which have nothing to do with you, and that you could not possibly have caused."

blurry-end-evil:

He glares, but quick smile again... And lift a finger. "Firtht, my computer don't have error. Thecond -" And here lift the second finger. "Of courthe, we talk about real disathter here, not KK'th tantrum level.

ad1ostoreador:

"Just, uhh, preemptively ruling out some things, so you don't try to get away with claiming something silly as a 'disaster', to avoid admitting I was right..."

blurry-end-evil:

"You're thuggethting I'm a cheater ? I'm not. At leatht, not when I play againtht thomeone."

ad1ostoreador:

"That is, um, good, because I wouldn't want to play games with someone who cheats... but I am looking forward to winning, pretty thoroughly." He flashes a grin at him, almost cockily.

blurry-end-evil:

He can't help but grin back, excited at the prospect of challenge and safe competition. "You wish. I'll beat you at any game, TV." Maybe not, but Loxi believe it.

ad1ostoreador:

"It's going to be funny to, uh, watch you try, anyway," he retorts. It's definitely a safer way to compete. There's nothing enticing about real harm as physical stakes, to him. Not anymore, if there ever was.

blurry-end-evil:

They're two, then. As much as he likes competition, Loxi would probably panic at anything turning into a fight, or close to. Some child-like fight would be okay, but anythign more... Would not. "You dream as big as your horns, but I wouldn't bet a coin on your thkills."

ad1ostoreador:

"If you keep, uhh, pointing out my horns, I'm going to think you have a complex..." Tavros grins, teasing. "And also, out of the two of us, who on this beach right now, has been a ranking regional champion, at a game? Because I am pretty sure it's not you..."

blurry-end-evil:

A snort-huff. "You're kidding me ? You're the one talking about them as if you perthonnaly built them." He blinks at the next information. "If you're bragging about the fact you're a regional champion of thith planet, I wish to point out there's lethth than ten people living here..."

Loxi shrugs. "I've had my thuccethth on Alternia though. Got a pretty dethent claththment." He had the bad habit to quickly look at a game's code though, and it caused a bunch of ban. That and he liked to bother people even more than wining.

ad1ostoreador:

"Grew them myself," he adds, and waggles his brows a little.

"I'm not talking about this, uh, planet... I mean back on Alternia." His grin turns a little softer. A little sad. "With Aradia... we were pretty good players. Before, um... everything happened."

blurry-end-evil:

"Well, thame for my bulges and you don't hear me talk about them all the time." He mocks a bit, but his grin drops at the mention of Aradia.

"Oh, that. Yeah. She talked about it a lot, but I didn't know it was ranked." His face is neutral, which is his form of 'depressed', probably. Loxi likes to believe it's behind him. To pretend it's not keeping him up at noon. "Not the same as a video game, though." He tries to get the conversation on a less mourning topic, maybe.

ad1ostoreador:

Aradia's always been a... sensitive topic, for Tavros. Especially where any version of Sollux is involved. Some nights, he wants to just remember her, but blame is a complicated thing for them both. He lets the topic drop, aware that now probably isn't the best time, and settles for flicking a bit of sand at Loxi.

"Yeah, well, some of us aren't, uhh, allergic to going outside..."

blurry-end-evil:

"Computers are better inthide, and Alternia's outthide wasn't exactly a nithe walk in... WHatever is peaceful and thafe." He gesture vaguely to illustrate his thought.

ad1ostoreador:

"You also lived in a hivecluster." He shudders a little, exaggerated. "Too many people, all crowded together..."

blurry-end-evil:

"I didn't thee them much. And what can I thay. Inthide is just my natural habitat." He has... A ton of reason, for that. But none that he's willing to talk about. "My neighbourth had the good tathte to ignore me, and I did the thame. It was great. I didn't have to thit on the thand, getting thome probably everywhere up to my nook, to lithten thome rude troll inthult my thkillth at video gameth."

It was hard to miss the way Loxi was grinning at him though, Loxi making it obvious he was just teasing, and not truly minded. He would have left, if he did.

ad1ostoreador:

Tavros raises a brow, glancing down, then back up again, but says nothing further on the topic of Loxi's anatomy with regards to sand. "So, you're just doing all that, for the pleasure of my, um, company?" Smirk.

blurry-end-evil:

"Who knowth. I've always known to have shitty tathteth, after all." He smirks right back, raising an eyebrow.

#blurry end evil #narration mode #//cw: abuse mention

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screamingatanemptyroom · 6 years ago

Text

Baby’s First Revenge Part 4

Continuation of the Baby’s First Revenge story. A little bit of development for Brandon (the boy playing the role of her childhood friend, that’s based off of Peter).

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 linked here.

Hope you all enjoy!

Something’s missing.

Brandon leaned back in his chair, sighing with boredom as he waited for his next scene. They had just started filming, and so far all of his scenes had gone very well. He should have been happy, or at least satisfied… instead he felt frustrated. His gaze naturally was drawn to where they were filming, where a short girl wearing ragged clothes was pretending to fight a man twice her size.

Her face was distorted, filled with terror and pain. Every action seemed desperate, as if she was fighting for her life. It was terrifyingly realistic. If he hadn’t known he was watching a movie scene being filmed, could see the cameras pointed at her, he might have thought she was fighting for real.

Maybe that’s why she doesn’t fall for it.

Brandon had always been a blessed child. Born to wealthy, intelligent parents, he had everything he ever wanted just within reach. He was small for his age, despite being seven years old he looked two years younger. That along with dark hair that was curled just enough to never looked combed and a face that looked innocent, many people upon meeting him assumed he matched his appearance, and was a sweet, weak child in need of protection. Most tried to help him out because of it. Others tried to take advantage of him. All ended up playing right into his hands.

Brandon knew his personality was different from his appearance, but he also knew that if he smiled and acted innocent, then he could quickly get what he wanted. It worked surprisingly well. The director, the adults on set, even his own parents were fooled by the childish façade he hid behind. It made him laugh sometimes, watching people treat him like a naïve child, unknowingly being used by him instead. It made him feel powerful, in control.

But it didn’t work on Charlotte.

Brandon had thought she would act like everyone else. That she would fall for his smile, his innocent act, and instantly think they were friends. He assumed that this was the fastest way to achieve a good atmosphere between them, to allow them to act naturally together on set. He had no concerns about his performance, he’d been acting since he was a small child, but an unknown kid… it was better if he brought her to his side. He had smiled, introducing himself and holding out a hand towards her. Brandon expected she would smile back, grab his hand and chatter happily, just like everyone else did.

Instead she had stared at him as if he were a ghost. She had called him by the wrong name, and when he corrected her, although the dazed look in her eyes had faded, the expression with which she looked at him with was even worse.

It was a look of disgust.

Since that time she had avoided him. Sitting as far away from him as possible, ending conversations with monosyllable answers, Charlotte had done everything possible to limit their interactions while still remaining polite and professional. It was a little embarrassing, as it hadn’t been subtle that she didn’t want to be near him. The commiserating looks from the staff, that “you poor thing” attitude from the acting coach and other children made him want to vomit. They were all acting as if her behavior were normal, like any small child afraid of “cooties”.

He knew better. Brandon saw the look in her eyes, the understanding behind it. She saw him for what he was. And she hated being near him.

Surprisingly, it didn’t affect her acting when they had read scenes together.

“Don’t worry, I’m here to protect you.” Charlotte had smiled at him, so brightly that he felt himself believing her, wanting to trust her.

“I’m scared.” Barely remembering his lines, he continued practicing the scene.

“Want to know a secret?” She then leaned forward, a conspiratorial smile on her face, whispering. “I’m scared too.”

“Good job you two!” Lacy, the acting coach, had stopped the scene, breaking Brandon from the part. It was like waking up from a pleasant dream, and facing an uncomfortable reality.

Charlotte, despite having looked at him kindly, the sincerity on her face perfect for the protective friend she was pretending to be, changed. Now she leaned away from him, not wanting to see him.

Brandon sighed. Seeing the disconnect between the times of sweetness when they were acting and her normal disgust was demoralizing.

Now that filming had started, his discomfort had only grown worse. Her presence when they were acting together was overwhelming. It pulled him into his character, making it harder to separate himself from it even after the word “Cut!” was heard.

He was playing Jordan, who in the script was a young boy living on the streets with his friend Edith. Depending on each other, looking out for each other, they faced all sorts of terrible, life threatening situations. Their situation was pitiful. But, despite that, Brandon felt himself envying Jordan.

What would it be like to have someone care about you so much they would be willing to risk their life for you? He couldn’t help but wonder as he studied the young girl who flipped a fully grown over her shoulder, stepping on his throat with a snarl. The scene was almost over, and then it would be his turn.

“Hey, you’re the producer’s kid, right?”

An angry voice broke him from his confusion. Looking over, Brandon saw one the teenage actors who played thugs in the next scene. If he remembered correctly, this actor was playing the role of the bully who would have to pretend to beat him up.

The key word here being “pretend.”

So why was the guy glaring at him so hard?

“What can I do for you?” Brandon kept his voice neutral, his face only showing naïve curiosity.

“My parents paid good money to your folks to get me onto this movie.” The teenager stepped forward, poking Brandon’s chest with a finger. “So why am I stuck in such a tiny role like this?!”

In the face of the other boy’s fury, Brandon wanted to laugh, but kept his expression controlled.

Because even money can only do so much for trash like you.

“I don’t know what you mean!” Brandon blinked a few times, bringing up tears. “If you’re mad at my mommy and daddy…” He trailed off, sniffling a couple of times for dramatic effect. This was about the point where most people would write him off as a weak, innocent child and leave him alone.

Most people…

“Stop crying, you little twerp! We paid you, so get me the part I deserve!” Brandon’s collar was grasped and pulled, bringing his face closer to the angry teenager’s. “Otherwise I’ll make sure you and your lying parents regret this!”

With that last threat, the boy threw him down and stomped off, obviously still furious.

This… isn’t good. Brandon clenched his fists, his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands. He knew his parents weren’t the most honest people, but still, did they have to cheat the actor that would have a chance to “accidentally” do him physical harm? He thought about calling them, but knew at best they would just ignore the call, at worst not believe him, or tell him it was his own problem. Brandon knew from bitter experience that there was no one to help him, he could only depend on himself.

He stared down at the script in his hand, once again wondering what it would be like to be someone like Jordan, who had a friend like Edith.

Someone who could see through me. Who I could be myself around.

The script crumpled in his small fist.

Why even bother imagining it? The truth won’t change. I’m on my own.

He sighed quietly, thinking about the threats from the actor before.

Hopefully he won’t beat me up too badly.

It was almost time for his scene.

Charlotte crouched on the ground, ignoring the sweat dripping into her eyes as she stared down her three opponents. They circled around her, looking for any opening, hands outstretched to grab her and hold her down.

Just like old times.

She worked hard to suppress a vicious smile.

It had been a pleasant surprise that her skills from her past life hadn’t gone away. The knowledge, the muscle memory was still there. It only had to be tweaked for the smaller, weaker body. Even accounting for that, however, she had more than enough ability to participate in the movie’s many fight scenes. Of course, convincing the staff of that…

“Now Charlotte, I know it might be scary, but you just have to pretend to fight these men for a few seconds, and then stunt doubles and CGI will do the rest.” Lacy had instructed her with a concerned expression, a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“I can just fight them, that will be easier.”

“… That’s a… very nice offer, but we need it to look real. A little girl like you can’t actually beat up grown men.”

Charlotte had grinned in response. “Watch me.”

She then proceeded to take down three grown men in a practice fight, ducking under their reaching arms and targeting their weak points. Going up against trained stunt men, even they had to concede that in a real fight they weren’t sure who would win.

“I’d win.” Charlotte had answered them with such confidence, and given her abilities, no one else wanted to argue with her.

And so they had decided to let her perform the action scenes as well.

“I’ll kill you!” One of the men, snarled at her, a bat in one hand. Charlotte jerked her head up, at the sound, and targeted the man who spoke. Moving quickly along the ground, she almost seemed as if she were sliding across the floor, she dropped down on her back, slipping between the man’s legs while she kicked the back of his knee, knocking him to the ground. Clambering onto his back, she pulled the bat from his hand and raised it above her head.

“Not if I kill you first.” She grinned, and brought the bat down towards his head.

“CUT!”

The directors words were like breaking a spell across the room. Charlotte and the actors froze in place, and then sat on the ground with sighs of relief, relaxing.

“Holy crap, little girl!” The stunt man rubbed his knee with a complicated expression. “I know I told you to go all out during our fight, but I honestly thought you were going to kill me for a second.”

“Don’t worry so much!” Charlotte smiled at him sweetly, “If I actually wanted to kill you, you wouldn’t have time to worry about it first.”

“…”

The three stuntmen stared at each other silently for a few moments.

“Scary.”

“Yep.”

“Don’t piss her off.” They all nodded in unison, shaking her hand with respect before retreating quickly.

“Charlotte!” Her mother called out, worried, and so she moved closer, smiling and turning around to show she was alright.

“Don’t worry, Mom, I got this!” She ran her fingers through her now short hair, having had it cut to a close crop to help her portray her character in the movie.

Her mother reached out and touched her hair as well with a sad smile.

“You don’t like it?” Charlotte asked nervously. She didn’t know why, but despite never having cared in the past about other’s opinions, she wanted her parents in this life to always be happy.

“You are beautiful, short hair, long hair, all of it.” Her mother grinned. “I’m just a little sad that I can’t put your hair in braids or pigtails anymore. That was mother-daughter time.” Pouting, she hugged Charlotte against her chest tightly.

“It’s okay, Mom, we’ll do something else together instead.” Charlotte patted her mother’s head gently, having no choice but to grin at her parent’s cute behavior.

“Okay, don’t forget that you promised!” Her mother agreed with a bright smile.

Chuckling, they both settled down in chairs to watch them set up the next scene. Her costar, Brandon would be threatened by a few thugs, even getting “punched” by one of them. It would eventually lead up to Charlotte stepping in and saving him, but only once the little boy had already gotten beaten up a bit.

“What an adorable little boy.” Her mother muttered quietly, almost unconsciously as she hugged Charlotte closer. Carefully concealing her feelings on her face, Charlotte smiled, but her eyes were cold as they studied the boy preparing for his scene.

He reminded her of Peter.

There was no way around it. Sweet when he wanted to be, cute when he had to be, no matter the interaction, he always came out on top. HE had been the same way, in her previous life. She noticed it, even back then, how could she not? He used other people for his own gain on a daily basis. But back then she made excuses for him.

It’s to help us survive. Just like how I fight with my fists. She would argue to herself.

He doesn’t pretend with me. We’re always honest with each other. That delusion had hurt more than any other. She had thought she was different. That his smile for her was genuine. That even though everyone around them was a pawn to Peter, she was family.

She had been wrong. She not only was a pawn, but an easily disposable one.

So she avoided Brandon, as much as possible. Seeing him made her uncomfortable, like looking into a window of her past. It confused him, irritated him, she knew this. She even felt a little guilty, as it wasn’t like the kid had done anything to her yet. But it was the safest option.

She relaxed on her mother’s lap, and enjoyed the scene as they acted it out.

“L-leave me alone.” Brandon was doing a good job, he looked pale, frightened. He backed away slowly from the two teenage boys who approached him, glancing around desperately as if looking for a route to escape. Charlotte was impressed by his skills.

“You’re not getting away this time, brat.” The teenage boy stalking him grinning like a maniac, a violent atmosphere surrounding him. Charlotte felt herself tense up. She had seen him practicing before. He had been tense, uncomfortable, and unable to act at all under pressure. At the time she could only assume that his parents had paid a lot of money to secure him the role, he certainly hadn’t earned it through skills.

Watching him now, however, she felt she might have judged him too early.

If I didn’t know better… He really looks like he’s planning to hurt Brandon.

Something seemed wrong.

“No… please.” Brandon fell to the ground begging, still looking around him wildly, as if hoping someone would show up to save him. For one brief moment, their eyes met.

And the world slowed to a crawl.

She didn’t see the fear he was pretending to show.

Even the cute and naïve mask he often wore was gone.

What she saw was a hopeless fatigue.

Those were the eyes of someone who knew that no one was coming to help them.

She had seen that kind of gaze only once before.

Peter’s eyes had looked like that. Right before she died. When the mask had come off, as he waited for the poison to do its job.

The only time he was ever truly honest with her.

He’s actually in trouble.

She didn’t trust Brandon. Didn’t even like the boy. Hated that he reminded her of Peter. Reminded her of a more naïve version of herself who trusted and was betrayed.

But as soon as she realized he was going to be hurt, her body was moving before her brain could catch up.

“DON’T!”

Brandon had closed his eyes, not wanting to see the blow aimed at his face before it struck. He thought to that moment he had met eyes with that girl. The one who never fell for his lies. Tired, scared, he had forgotten to keep up the act, and just looked at her with a single thought:

I wish I was Jordan. I wish she was Edith.

I wish I didn’t have to be alone.

There had been a brief look of the surprise she had shown in that moment, but he knew better than to expect anything. She hated him. Saw him for what he really was. A fake. And so he closed his eyes, hoping that he wouldn’t be injured too badly.

“DON’T!”

BAM!

Brandon heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh without feeling any pain. Shocked, he opened his eyes, and couldn’t believe what he saw.

Charlotte crouched over him, stubbornly protecting him. One hand clutched her face, where a red mark already was blooming on her cheek where she had taken the blow for him. Despite the fact that it should have knocked her off her feet, she had braced herself on the ground beside him, her body blocking his own.

Protecting him.

His wide, shocked gaze met her steady, sad one.

“Why…?” He heard himself whisper.

“Old habits die hard.” She gave him a grin, not showing any pain despite the fact that it must have hurt to move her mouth, and Brandon felt his breath stop at the sight.

“CUT! Charlotte, what are you doing?!” The director, Mark, ran over, his face stern. “Why did you jump into the shot like that?”

Charlotte stood tall, still blocking Brandon with her body, her back unyielding. “He was actually going to get hurt.”

“No, sweetie, it’s just acting…” Charlotte’s mother tried to jump in, but trailed off at a glare from her daughter, who gestured to her own cheek.

“Does this look like acting to you?” Her face was already swelling, it would be badly bruised by the next morning.

The director’s face stiffened. “What the… What’s the meaning of this?! You were supposed to pull the punch and stop before you actually hit him! We were going to shoot the actual blow from another angle! Why in the hell did you swing so hard?!”

Everyone’s attention turned to the teenage boy who had struck Charlotte, who turned bright white with fear. “I- I…”

Brandon decided to help him along, bursting into tears. “He threatened to hurt me because my parents didn’t get him a better part in the movie!” He sobbed into his hands, feeling a small comforting pat on his back. Charlotte’s hands. He glanced up at her wry smile, and not wanting to lie to her, gave her a quick wink before pretending to cry again.

“See, you scared him!” Charlotte hugged Brandon tightly, surprising him. “Fortunately I stepped in! How could you try to hurt him? He’s just a kid!”

“…” Everyone stared at her for a moment, thinking the same thing.

What about you? Aren’t you a kid?

“I’m sorry!” The teenage boy backed away from her glare, only to run into Lacy, who looked ready to tear him limb from limb.

“You hurt that wonderful little girl’s face. Sorry won’t cut it, I’m afraid.” Her grin was vicious. “How about I show you what it means to be hit by someone stronger than you?”

The director coughed uncomfortably. “Lacy…”

“Don’t worry, Mark… I won’t kill him.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Just maiming should be enough.”

“Someone hold her back.” He sighed loudly as a couple of stuntmen pinned the acting coach down before she could make good on her threats, turning his attention instead to the teenage boy. “We’ll call this an accident, and not press charges. But you’re officially off this project.”

“But-“

“Leave before I change my mind.”

He was dismissed with a wave of the director’s hand.

Brandon had stopped pretending to cry, and looked up to see the teenage boy glaring at him.

This isn’t over. Is what that look said.

Brandon turned away, ignoring him.

“Umm… for what you did. Thanks.”

The girl who had been pretending to comfort him stepped away quickly, as if unwilling to be any closer to him than necessary. “Don’t thank me, it was more instinctive than anything else.”

“Well I’m sorry that you got hurt.”

“Why? You didn’t do it to me.”

Faced with her coldness, Brandon lost his composure. “Just accept the apology dammit!” His voice was low enough that no one else heard them, but her eyes widened with surprise.

“That’s a little out of character for you, isn’t it?”

He shrugged. “Not much point pretending when it never worked on you in the first place.” He hesitated for a moment, and then continued. “Besides, sometimes it’s nice to be able to be… myself.”

She shook her head. “I don’t trust you.”

“That’s probably for the best. I lie constantly.”

“Is it really okay for you to be saying this?” Charlotte held her head in her hands, looking confused.

“Probably not, but I’m going to anyways.” He stuck out his hands once more. “How about this: I’ll be nothing but honest with you, and in return you stop pretending I don’t exist?”

She stared at his hand, her delicate features twisted with suspicion. After a long pause she sighed. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

Charlotte reached out and shook his hand.

Brandon smiled. “Probably.”

“Ugh.”

“See, I’m being honest!”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s not something to be proud of, idiot. That’s baseline human decency.”

“Baby steps.”

“So says the five year old.”

He glared. “I’m seven and a half!”

“Wow, so impressed.”

“You’re younger than me!”

Her smirk irritated him. “Only in physical age. Mentally I’m a decade ahead.”

“I don’t like you.”

“Likewise.”

For some reason, despite the argument, they both turned around and walked away with a smile on their faces.

As Brandon walked away, he heard a dark mutter from the corner of the room.

“Disgusting.”

Surprised, he looked up, it was the writer of the original work, Peter McAllen. He was glaring at the young girl’s back, with eyes filled with hatred.

Seeing the look on his face, Brandon turned away, a chill of fear running down his spine.

#writing #baby's first revenge #part 4 #reincarnation #revenge #acting #friendship #less revenge in this part #but its coming #and now she has a friend

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dearmrsawyer · 5 years ago

Text

whentherewerebicycles replied to your post “attempting a bit of looking back and looking forward![[MOR] work...”

1. I can’t believe I know someone who’s head of a library, the PERSON IN CHARGE, the madam pince of your school!! also this made me think of your ‘1d as students who visit the library’ post and I cackled remembering it.

2. 2. “myself and the library live on the ground floor” i don’t know why I love this phrasing so much it’s like you are an entity and the library is an entity and you coexist on the ground floor, slumbering peacefully beneath everyone else. also man I am seriously impressed by all the work things you accomplished this year!

3. I love the idea of courageous writing and I REALLY love this description of Neil Gaiman’s short stories! I feel like that style works especially well for fantasy / horror / magical realism type stuff, where the premise itself is so weird or creepy or intriguing that it’s almost more satisfying to just get a little sliver of that world? because you’re left with so many QUESTIONS and you want more but it’s over! that was the idea and it’s done! go imagine more for yourself!

tl;dr version i loved reading this (all I ever want to do is read long detailed reflection posts about my tumblr friends’ lives! there’s something so nice about being able to imagine everyone living their lives and going about their days!) and also you are awesome

i keep thinking about myself in terms of ‘head of a library’ and laughing out loud LOL like behold my empire of ONE! here i preside over my office of just me and all these books and computers that don’t connect to the printer!!

but now i also can’t stop laughing at the image of my and the library as two entities that live far below everyone else. we’re like the cave of wonders in Aladdin, lying in wait for someone to approach in the quest for riches (through knowledge). (I HOPE i don’t give off Madam Pince energy, but i respect her energy, who knows what she’s had to deal with as the librarian at a wizarding school, i’m sure she’s earned it.)

I so agree that such a style suits more ‘genre fiction’ i.e. fantasy and the like. sometimes a short story is barely a story, just a concept, but i love that? i love being left with questions! below the cut i’ve copied one of Gaiman’s shorter short stories, The Sweeper of Dreams, which is one of my favourite examples of stories that do this. i remember after first reading it just thinking about it for ages and ages, about all the possible stories that could come from it. like it inspired creativity in me? that’s amazing?? i do cite Gaiman as my favourite author for a few reasons, firstly because i just have the best time reading his books, i love the stories he tells so much. but also when i found him he was the kind of storyteller i myself hadn’t realised i was trying to be, as an adolescent still trying to find herself as a writer. plus his books came to me at the precise point in my life i really needed him, fresh out of highschool and about to start an undergrad in creative writing. he really gave me back my joy for reading, which i’ve definitely lost in the last few years of high school and desperately needed as i was about to start a WRITING course lol. and also, that sort of degree really drums into you ‘don’t break the rules until you’ve learned to master them’, it was three years of trying so hard to master the rules that there were times you almost forgot they could be broken. and it was helpful for me to be in the honeymoon period of discovering Gaiman, who was so good at breaking rules.

ANYWAY have this very short story:

The Sweeper of Dreams by Neil Gaiman

After all the dreaming is over, after you wake, and leave the world of madness and glory for the mundane day-lit daily grind, through the wreckage of your abandoned fancies walks the sweeper of dreams.

Who knows what he was when he was alive? Or if, for that matter, he ever was alive. He certainly will not answer your questions. The sweeper talks little, in his gruff grey voice, and when he does speak it is mostly about the weather and the prospects, victories and defeats of certain sports teams. He despises everyone who is not him.

Just as you wake he comes to you, and he sweeps up kingdoms and castles, and angels and owls, mountains and oceans. He sweeps up the lust and the love and the lovers, the sages who are not butterflies, the flowers of meat, the running of the deer and the sinking of the Lusitania. He sweeps up everything you left behind in your dreams, the life you wore, the eyes through which you gazed, the examination paper you were never able to find. One by one he sweeps them away: the sharp-toothed woman who sank her teeth into your face; the nuns in the woods; the dead arm that broke through the tepid water of the bath; the scarlet worms that crawled in your chest when you opened your shirt.

He will sweep it up - everything you left behind when you woke. And then he will burn it, to leave the stage fresh for your dreams tomorrow.

Treat him well, if you see him. Be polite with him. Ask him no questions. Applaud his teams' victories, commiserate with him over their losses, agree with him about the weather. Give him the respect he feels is his due.

For there are people he no longer visits, the sweeper of dreams, with his hand-rolled cigarettes and his dragon tattoo.

You've seen them. They have mouths that twitch, and eyes that stare, and they babble and they mewl and they whimper. Some of them walk the cities in ragged clothes, their belongings under their arms. Others of their number are locked in the dark, in places where they can no longer harm themselves or others. They are not mad, or rather, the loss of their sanity is the lesser of their problems. It is worse than madness. They will tell you, if you let them: they are the ones who live, each day, in the wreckage of their dreams.

And if the sweeper of dreams leaves you, he will never come back.

EDIT: to add the short story since everything under the cut disappeared?? why is writing this post such a tribulation, please tumblr let me make my points

#whentherewerebicycles #replies #sorry it took me a while to reply to this i'd already written this whole post out but after i queued it tumblr just deleted it?? D:#i didn't c/p all your really kind comments because it felt like too much an act of ego sjfkld but thank you they meant a lot to me <3 #i particularly wanted to respond to your points about short stories!#and #i think last year i got really self conscious re: posting about my self/life on here #i just felt really self centred every time i went to?#i can't trace my emotional journal to a source lol but i appreciate your words #i have put a lot of energy into remembering that just as i love to read about my friends lives they may also like to read about mine!#the things i enjoy in a friendship aren't unique #if we were all irl friends we'd share that sort of thing and it excites me to have that with online friends #maybe that can be another goal for the year! be more reflective/recount... ive? lol on here #and i really appreciate all your replies!

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viam-tuam-sequar · 5 years ago

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Journal # 9 - 22.7.19

I was going to use a prompt today...but then I realized I wanted to talk about something else, something that happened this weekend.

I have a very toxic family. Both my parents were heavily abused by their parents (my dad mainly physically, my mom emotionally and spiritually), and then in turn, because they never got help and therapy, they passed the abuse on to me and my sister.

It took years to fully realise how abused I was. I would jump and shake if a man - any man - got mad. I buried my emotions because I was a “drama queen” for crying a lot. If any kind of conflict, even on TV, started happening, I would mute the TV or leave the room from the stress.

My grandpa (mom’s dad), of all of them, was and is the worst still living. He’s an alcoholic who treats the family, especially the women, like garbage. When I became Catholic, he essentially called me a Satanist and acted as though I had converted to piss off him specifically and personally, among other things.

When I met Sir, even before we were officially dating, I laid it all bare about my family trauma. He also had family trauma, so he understood and supported me through some of the roughest emotional parts of my life. When he offered the chance to move to be with him, I looked at my options: staying in a state with none of the family I loved (my dad and sister made career moves elsewhere) and only having my mom’s parents to dread seeing...or start life anew with someone I trusted deeply. The choice was obvious.

Grandpa didn’t approve of this move either. He hadn’t met Sir, so he couldn’t give his blessing! ...Yup, in the 21st century.

Because of all of this, I felt I needed to make sure my grandparents knew what we expected from them vis a vis behaviour at my wedding. Sir told me I had to call them. It would be on speaker, so he would hear everything from both sides and be able to step in if needed.

To be honest, I was petrified. The whole week before, if I thought about it, I would get a headache and have a very hard time breathing. I was having near panic attacks multiple times a day over a fucking phone call. I wanted to just put it off forever, but I knew that was never gonna happen.

Finally, Sunday came. I was shaking as I hit the call button. I was imagining the worst - screaming and denial, and immediate cutting off with lots of crying. Somehow...none of that happened. I was calm. I was polite in expressing my feelings, and they seemed to handle my requests well. I got off the phone and sunk into my chair, tears of relief welling up in my eyes.

My happiness was short - lived. My grandma texted me, asking how could I think they would act that way, that she hopes they’re still invited...all the guilt trippy stuff.

And then my uncle called. He laid me on a guilt trip, saying, “You know that’s how they are...you know your grandma loves you, right?...”

I found myself going back to the old emotional patterns, agreeing that I was equally to blame for the bad relationship... I got off the phone, crying, feeling like a colossal failure.

I told Sir why I was crying-that I was a failure-and he immediately stopped me.

“Alys,” he said, “you are not a failure. What you did today took so much guts. I wished for a week that I could make that call for you. But you did everything perfectly. You said exactly what you needed to say, and their emotional response is not your fault. You were the exact opposite of a failure. You are one of the strongest women I know for surviving the abuse you endured and still being positive and not being completely bitter and jaded.”

Until that moment, I’d thought I was just scraping by with the skin of my teeth, mentally - merely a survivor. But through Sir’s eyes, I could see how I had not only gotten through some of the worst abuse ever and made it to the other side. No, I was - I am - thriving. I have a life I love, a Sir who cherishes me, family members who don’t play the toxic game, friends to commiserate and enjoy with...my life is good.

If you went to 18 year old Alys and told her exactly how good her life was going to be, she wouldn’t have believed you. She never would have dreamed of the love, the life, the freedom she has now. And so much of this is due to my amazing Sir, who sees my struggle, who supports me, even and especially through the difficult times.

All love and respect to my Sir,

-A

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garywonghc · 7 years ago

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Waking Up to Happiness

by Natalie Goldberg

Last summer I was sick in bed. I could write “flu” and be done with it, but that would be a generalisation. My eyes were blood red and caked shut in the morning — the doctor said it was conjunctivitis. “Isn’t that what little kids get?” I asked. A lump was developing in the bottom of my mouth. I coughed up green phlegm. My ears were ringing and I heard things as though I were under water.

Why do I feel the need to state all this? While sick, I read The Makioka Sisters by Junichiro Tanizaki. The book was long, slow, magnificent, and included everything — many details about the main characters’ colds, allergies, bug bites, and intestinal problems. But as I read I didn’t cringe or back away. We are in human bodies and sickness is natural, a part of this physical life.

I took extra delight in the book’s last line. The third sister was finally going to be married — one of the strong narrative drives throughout the book — and the result: “Yukiko’s diarrhoea persisted through the twenty-sixth, and was a problem on the train to tokyo.” and so the book ends. we are left with the ginger hesitation of a woman in her thirties — late for marriage in mid-twentieth-century Japan — riding to her destiny, her body engaged and nervously pumping. Now don’t be a prude. You have to love it. The honesty alone. No one else tells us these things. Thank the writer for being honest.

While I was sick, lying in bed reading, I’d occasionally look up through my bedroom window and watch the pale green on the distant willows and near lilacs. and sometimes I’d pause to sneeze, cough, blow my nose, take a sip of tea. Friends would call to commiserate. Yes, I was awfully sick — it did seem a long time to be in bed — then I’d return to the dream of the book in hand.

The truth is I was happy. Happier than I’d been in a long, long time. Yet I knew that as soon as my energy returned I’d plunge back into mad activity, full of passion. I was lucky because I loved most of what I did in life, but as I lay in bed I realised passion was different than happiness. You don’t do happiness. You receive it. It’s like a water table under the earth. It’s available to everyone but we can only tap it, have it run up through us, when we’re still. a well that darts around can never draw water.

We misinterpret success, desire, enterprise, and the things we love as the state of happiness. Usually, we don’t even consider happiness because we’re too busy dashing after life, defending, building, developing, even fighting, asserting, arguing. we’re in the scramble—lively, engaged. so where does happiness come in? It’s a give and take, a meeting of inside and outside. even enlightenment is a meeting, a relationship of the inside and outside. The Buddha was enlightened — his whole nervous system switched gears—when he glanced up and saw the morning star. we don’t wake up in a vacuum. we can’t be at home with ourselves in a cubicle. to be at home with ourselves is to be at home in the world, in the interaction with others — and trees and slices of cheese and the broad, sad evolving of politics.

When I was sick, I was settled down. I didn’t have a lot of energy for engagement, the daily tending to a hundred details. I am not saying the ideal state is a sick body, but when I began to aggravate about something I knew I was getting better. when the bite of concern and worry snapped in, I was reentering the pale of human life. At that moment, where was my happiness? I lost my connection to home plate, to the core of reception, patience, the bottom of my belly, to the ground of well-being.

The next day I dragged myself out of bed and crossed my legs, sitting up straight for half an hour to anchor my wandering mind in the breath. To keep coming back to the present moment. To regain the contentment I’d so quickly lost.

As I sat, I was lost for a long time in a memory of Auschwitz, where I’d meditated for five days the previous summer, then I was lost in the thought of turning over the compost out back in my yard, then in considering maybe buying some granola. Thoughts have no hierarchy. The mind jumps from the serious to the mundane in a second. Then snap. I came back to myself. If I want happiness I have to understand it and then dedicate myself to it moment by moment. I can’t stay in bed sick all the time to attain it. I have to commit myself to it when I’m also well.

The thing I love about the Zen koans, those terse, enigmatic teachings from the Chinese ancestors, is that they include sickness in their presentations to realise original nature.

Great Master Ma was not well. The director of the monastery stopped in his room and inquired, “How is your health? How are you feeling?” the Great Master replied, “Sun Face Buddha, Moon Face Buddha.”

We could speculate on meaning here but the important thing right now is that sickness is included in the realm of realising peace, understanding, and happiness. Nothing left out. How can we stay connected to contentment in the dentist’s chair? How can we be with peace as we listen to the news? sometimes happiness is being in the centre of our grief.

When my friend’s husband died in his thirties and she was bereft, her therapist said, “Enjoy your grief. You’ll miss it when it’s gone.” Can you imagine that? To be in the heart of your life whatever your heart holds.

I am not saying there is a prescription for happiness. Just that the trained mind examines situations; it does not simply fall apart. If you are sick in bed, it’s an opportunity. If you continually have a hard time with a friend, look deeper than the bickering and misunderstandings. Maybe the relationship died years ago and you neglected to notice it, hanging on to old ideas of love. Maybe it will take root again — maybe not.

In college, the single class that caught my interest was an ethics class in the philosophy department. We studied Descartes, Bergson, James, Kant, Socrates, the full gamut of white dead Western men. The essence of each reading was the question of happiness. What is it? How to attain it?

When I studied with my Japanese Zen teacher he said, “Whatever you do, let it be accompanied by dharma joy.” He lifted his dark eyebrows in an expression of inclusion. Yes, you, too, Natalie, are capable of this. At the time I was thirty-one years old.

No one can hand over happiness on a silver plate — or on a doily. Especially when we don’t know what it is. Our job is to pay attention and examine it. Can we have happiness and peace at the same time as joy, fun, pleasure, anger, and aggression? How do we learn to abide in ourselves?

I ended up staying sick in bed for five weeks. That’s a long time. My ears, the Eustachian tubes, became congested. The middle of my head filled up. Finally, on a Wednesday, I had some energy and went out. Eagerly I plunged into life again. How foolish I was. I must have done thirty different tasks, including going out that night with friends. I enjoyed it all, but just as I was falling asleep, I asked myself the question, “Were you happy?” Quickly the answer came: only the half hour I was planting tomatoes and strawberries in the backyard.

The next morning I woke with the black stranger loneliness sitting beside me. Certainly I’ve been lonely before but this time it manifested heavily beside me. I’d lost paradise, my time in bed.

In the next days at different intervals I asked myself, “Are you happy?” Head-deep in my active life, I didn’t know how to find happiness again. I couldn’t make it happen. Then just seven days out of bed, standing in line at the bank, like a cocker spaniel or possum, I felt happiness, for absolutely no reason, ringing my bell. After I made my deposit, I sat in the car wondering what had happened. I was almost “bursting with happiness” as they say in romance novels but I was not particularly in love, only swimming in my own being.

Then this morning, as I dressed to go out, I again asked myself, “Are you happy?” I was darkly blue from allergies and constant may winds and a drought that made my skin almost crackle, so I growled no but I wasn’t convincing. Some defence had been smashed. Even in misery there could be happiness. and then it bubbled up, clear and full, for no reason. But there was a reason. I was paying attention.

Happiness is shy. It wants to know you want it. You can’t be greedy. You can’t be numb — or ignorant. The bashful girl of happiness needs your kind attention. Then she’ll come forward. And you won’t have to be sick to find her.

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terreisa · 7 years ago

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The Savior and The Scoundrel: Risk to Exist

Emma has had a few titles attributed to her in her life: princess, captain, pirate but none sat so heavily on her shoulders as Savior. When fate forces her to step into the role prophesied before her birth the only saving she wants to do is to bring back the man she loves. Fulfilling the Prophecy along the way is an additional reward. Sequel to A Crown and A Captain.

Prologue, Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12

ff.net, AO3

Emma stared dully out the window of Walsh’s car as he droned on and on about various buildings and locations dotted around Storybrooke. When she had been led out of Sunset Storybrook she had been all but certain that Walsh was going to take her straight to Zelena. What she hadn’t realized was that Walsh had seemingly only been told to find the strangers in town, not what to do with them once he did. At first she had tried to figure out how to use his naivete to her advantage but after slowly moving down seemingly every roadway within the borders of the town she was merely trying to continue the charade of being interested in what he had to say.

“And this is the Sheriff’s Station where I and my deputy slog away the hours,” Walsh said jovially as he brought the car to a stop in front of a two story brick building. He undid the straps that ran over his torso and lap, “Come on inside, I’m sure there’s still a donut or two left and our coffee’s much better than the sludge at Granny’s. I bought us a Keurig last quarter.”

“Sure,” she said with a shrug, knowing she had no choice in the matter.

She carefully undid her straps the way she’d seen Walsh do his. When it furled successfully back into place she silently sighed in relief. Vaguely remembering how Killian had let her out of his car she grasped the only metal handle she could see and was rewarded with the dull click of the door unlatching. They were small victories but she would take anything she could get when she felt like she was walking towards a hangman’s noose.

“The original jailhouse was built on this site only a year after Storybrooke was founded in 1838 and was used up until it was destroyed in a fire in 1933,” Walsh began as soon as closed the car door behind her. He motioned for her to walk beside him, “The second jail lasted less than forty years, it was a hurricane that time, and the city council decided the next building should be able to withstand pretty much anything. This is that building.”

“It’s very, um…”

“Dated, I know,” Walsh chuckled, opening a glass door and ushering her inside. “We’ve had issues with the plumbing and a seriously leaky roof. Don’t get me started on all the electrical problems we’ve had. It’s a nightmare trying to run the copier when both I and my deputy are here.”

She gave him what she hoped was an interested hum, glancing around herself in real curiosity. It was stark, almost imposing in it’s lack of character and with an eerie quiet within its walls that she wondered if the people jailed there simply went mad within a few hours of their confinement. Even the sound of their footsteps and Walsh’s voice sounded muted as they walked deeper into the building.

They ended up in a large open room with two barred cells on one end, a smaller room with glass walls on the other, and two desks pushed up against each other in between. Sitting at one of the desks, his feet perched atop as he leaned back precariously, was Robin. Emma sucked in a breath in surprise and Walsh looked at her sharply.

“Is there a problem?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

“No,” she said with a stuttered laugh, playing into being caught off-guard. She waved her hand at the room around her as she furiously tried to remember Robin’s cursed name, “I wasn’t expecting it to look quite like this or that I’d be seeing Deputy, um-”

“Archer, ma’am,” Robin said with a wide smile, dropping his feet to the ground with a thump and standing, offering her his hand to shake. “I haven’t seen much of you around since that day at the docks. I hope Mr. Jones hasn’t been taking up too much of your time.”

She tried not to grimace at his accusatory tone as she gave his hand a perfunctory shake, letting go quickly, “Kieran has been nice enough to show me a few places but I’ve also had the chance to look around for myself. Although, nothing quite compares to the in-depth roundabout tour I just received from Sheriff Baum.”

Robin burst out into surprised laughter while Walsh frowned slightly. Emma was slightly worried that she’d pay for her comment later but with Robin still laughing she didn’t want to think about it until she had to. It was clear that while Walsh held the power in the room Robin didn’t hold much stock in it.

“Did he take you all the way out to the Wishing Well?” Robin asked in a conspiratorial tone. He leaned closer to her, keeping his humor filled blue eyes on Walsh, “Rumor is if you make your wish politely it will come true within five to ten business days.”

“Ha, ha. Don’t you have paperwork to finish up?” Walsh asked dryly. He stalked over to a table with various cups, a black and silver contraption that he began fiddling with and a bright pink box on it, “Do you prefer dark or medium roast?”

“Uh-” Emma looked confusedly at Robin who merely shrugged back at her, “I don’t really know the difference?”

“Neither do I so you’re in good company here. At least he didn’t offer you the french roast, bloody awful it is,” Robin said with an exaggerated shudder, sitting back down at the desk.

“Paperwork, Archer,” Walsh said shortly, placing a cup in the contraption and turning back to them. “We have some time to kill before Mayor Viridans joins us so why don’t you go ahead and have a seat in my office and I’ll be in shortly with your coffee and one of these donuts.”

Her stomach dropped. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Robin looking at her with shocked puzzlement. It was clear that neither of the men knew why Zelena wanted to speak to her. She had no doubt that if Zelena had been informed that the stranger in town they were keeping under close watch was her that the witch would have already been waiting impatiently for their arrival. She took little comfort in the further delay of their confrontation.

“Why would the mayor want to see me?” Emma asked, keeping her tone curious.

“You must either be really important or a real trouble maker. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Viridans in here, even when we broke up that smuggli-”

“That’s enough, Archer!” Walsh snapped at Robin, his eyes flashing in anger. He took a deep breath and looked back at her, “Eva, excuse us, I need to have a word with my deputy. And if you’d close the door please?”

She looked at Robin who gave her a commiserating shrug and an unworried smile. Reluctantly she walked into the small glass walled room and shut the door behind her. Walsh watched her for a moment before turning to Robin and began speaking in a low tone ensuring she couldn’t hear them.

Watching closely through the glass she could see that Walsh was nervous. He kept shifting from foot to foot and running his hands through his hair. Every so often he would dart a glance towards where they’d entered before checking on her once more. She did her best to look uninterested when he did. The most telling, however, was the change that overtook Robin. He went from smiling to frowning to carefully sneaking glances at her almost as often as Walsh. Knowing she was pushing her luck she turned her back on them and sat down to wait for Walsh to join her.

She tried not to think about how much Robin’s opinion of her might have changed due to whatever it was Walsh had said. Instead her mind wandered to Killian, wondering if he’d found Turner and if they were currently forming a plan or if he’d ignored her pleas completely and was about to walk into the room in some attempt at rescuing her. As much as she hoped for the former she couldn’t help the small smile at the thought of the latter.

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

Emma jumped, so lost in her thoughts she hadn’t heard Walsh enter the office through a second door she hadn’t noticed. She silently scolded herself for letting her mind wander when she needed to pay attention the most. Walsh closed the door behind him, placing a cup of coffee and a round pastry with a hole in it on the desk in front of her.

“Thank you,” she said as she picked up the cup. She nodded her head back towards Robin, “I hope he’s not in trouble because of me.”

“Don’t worry, he’s not,” Walsh said with a false smile. “I wasn’t sure how you took your coffee but there’s sugar and creamer back on the table there.”

“This is fine-” she took a sip, not wanting to risk being cornered and questioned by Robin when she already had to contend with Walsh. She slipped back into her curious, unknowing guise, “You never said why the mayor wants to see me. I haven’t done anything wrong have I?”

“No, no, nothing like that-” Walsh’s eyes slid to the second door that he’d entered through, the one that opened to the hallway leading to the entrance of the building, “She’s just interested in meeting you. We don’t get very many visitors here and I think she might want to know what brought you to our town. To see if we can use it to boost our tourist draw.”

“Really?” Emma asked, trying not to scoff in disbelief.

“Of course,” he said with a nod, focusing back on her. “So what did bring you to Storybrooke?”

“Kieran asked me to help him with something,” she said, shrugging and taking another sip of her coffee. Walsh’s eye twitched and she kept a victorious smile off her face, “I just couldn’t say no.”

“And where exactly are you visiting from?”

“An off the map town far from here,” she answered vaguely, her feeling of victory souring in her stomach.

He hummed and leaned back in his chair, “But you didn’t come by car. At least I haven’t seen an out of state license plate driving down our streets lately. There’s also no bus route or train that makes a stop anywhere near here and the harbormaster hasn’t mentioned any unfamiliar boats floating around his harbor. So how exactly did you get here?”

“Kieran picked us up in Portland,” Emma said calmly, somehow remembering the place Pinocchio had mentioned earlier even as her thoughts were racing almost too fast for her to keep up with.

“Us?” Walsh leaned forward again, picking up the same kind of strange quill she’d used at the library and holding it tightly, his eyes eager.

She cursed herself but schooled her features into one of deep confusion and slight betrayal, “Why are you asking me all these questions? I’ve done nothing but come here to help a friend.”

“Yes, help him undermine an open investigation. So I’ve heard,” Walsh said gruffly, tapping the quill on the edge of the desk. “Did he tell you what happened?”

“His brother was killed,” she said slowly, realizing that was all that Killian had told her.

“He was,” Walsh said, a small vicious smile unfurling on his lips, “You see, we’ve had a bit of trouble with smugglers using our small town as a way station for their assorted goods. Thomas Jones just so happened to be their main contact, his job down at the docks giving him cover for being there at all hours along with knowledge of the harbor patrols and the habits of the others that worked there. A pretty sweet gig for a man who barely finished high school.

“Of course it’s only good as long as you don’t start putting your hand in the cookie jar. Word is a few things went missing here and there, payouts were short a couple hundred bucks, and it all seemed to point back to one man. We only have circumstantial evidence, nothing concrete enough to satisfy the younger Jones brother, but all signs point to Thomas Jones being killed by one of his more nefarious contacts.

“The kicker, which makes this so much more amusing, is that Kieran Jones is now believed to be working with that same smuggling ring. He’s seemed to convince himself that they have answers for him when we already have them here. So far all he’s gotten out of it is a missing hand and an arrest record that keeps growing.”

Emma was glad she hadn’t eaten the pastry that Walsh had brought her or really anything since she’d left Regina’s cottage earlier that day. She felt nauseous, not because of the accusations Walsh was making against Killian but by the lengths gone by both him and Zelena to make his life miserable. Swallowing thickly she hardened her resolve to break the curse as soon as possible, if only to end Killian’s suffering.

“Why are you telling me this?” Emma asked, setting her cup down so she wouldn’t be tempted to throw the still hot coffee in Walsh’s face.

“I just want you to be aware of the type of people you’re associating with and the illicit activities they’re involved in. Especially if you really are here to look into Thomas Jones’ death. Although now that I’ve warned you I’d have no choice but to arrest you as an accomplice if something were to happen while you were in Jones’ company,” Walsh said smugly. He sat back in his chair and gave her a contemplative look, “Then again we might be able to work something out. We’ve hit a bit of a snag in our investigation but if you were to let us know times where Jones disappears or heads down to the docks I might be willing to look the other way where you’re concerned.”

Her jaw dropped in disbelief. He was watching her, the smug smile still on his lips, seemingly confident that she would take his offer. She regretted setting down her coffee and it was only the thinly veiled threat against her and Killian that stayed her hand.

“Kieran asked me to come here because he knows that something isn’t right about what he was told about his brother’s death. Now I know what he means,” she grit out, gripping the armrests of her chair until her knuckles were white. “I’m not going to spy on him for you and I’m going to help him uncover the truth. Whatever it may be.”

Walsh looked almost disappointed in her answer but she could see the gleam of triumph in his eyes. They both jumped in surprise when the door Walsh had previously closed crashed open and Zelena was standing at the threshold. Emma noticed the color high on her cheeks, her green eyes glittering with malevolence but she did nothing more than stand there, staring at her.

“Ma- Madame Mayor, we, uh, didn’t expect you for another hour or so,” Walsh stuttered, tripping over his feet as he stood. “I was just telling Miss, er, that is to say Eva here about some of the things we do-”

“Get out,” Zelena said, cutting him off without looking at him.

“Madame Mayor?”

Zelena finally tore her gaze from her and fixed Walsh with one of displeasure and impatience, “I said get out, go somewhere that’s not here and stay there. And take your lackey with you. There are some things I’d like to discuss with Eva in private.”

“We can’t just leave the station unmanned!” Walsh gasped clearly taken off guard.

“I highly doubt the supposedly seedy underbelly of this town will know the difference,” Zelena scoffed. She stepped into the office, opening up the doorway, “Go.”

Walsh’s face was a ruddy with anger and humiliation. He shot her a look of disdain before storming out of the office, shouting at Robin to follow him. Emma watched his fit of pique with only a little amusement, knowing that once he was gone there would be nothing between her and Zelena’s wrath.

They stayed silent, waiting for the sounds of the men leaving to end. Emma was surprised to see that there were dark circles under Zelena’s eyes. Upon closer inspection she noticed that her clothing was slightly rumpled while her striking red hair was hanging in limp curls over her shoulders. She felt a zing of vindictive triumph that she was at least holding herself together marginally better than the woman in front of her.

“I think I liked him better as a winged monkey,” Zelena sighed. She turned, fixing her with a malignant stare, “I also liked you better when you were merely looting my ships.”

“I can’t say the feeling’s mutual because I didn’t even know who the hell you were until that night at Regina’s palace,” Emma snarled, “I just have a pure hatred for you and what you’ve done.”

Zelena’s nostrils flared as she drew in a deep breath, “Oh, of that I have no doubt. Seen your precious prince yet? I have so enjoyed watching him bumble about this town trying to figure out who killed his so-called brother all while avoiding the woman who’s made him more miserable than even I could have predicted she would.”

Emma jumped up from her chair, “You bitch.”

“I prefer Wicked Witch but that’s neither here nor there,” Zelena said with a flippant wave of her hand. “Have a seat, we have some things to discuss.”

“I don’t want to discuss anything with you. I just want you to know that I’m going to break this curse and get everyone back where they belong.”

To her annoyance Zelena smiled, sitting down in the chair Walsh had occupied only moments before, “Sit down Princess, you’re going to want to hear what I have to say and once you have you’ll be just as keen as I am to keep this curse from being broken.”

“I doubt that,” she grumbled, reluctantly sitting back down and hating herself a bit for giving in so easily.

“Ah, but I have your attention and that’s really all I need,” Zelena trilled with a triumphant grin. She tilted her head to consider her, “How did you get here? I thought all the magic beans had been used or destroyed.”

“Not all of them,” she said grudgingly.

“Of course not-” Zelena sneered, “You hero types always find a way don’t you.”

“I had sufficient motivation.”

“That has been one of the few highlights in this wretched land, knowing that I had your prince under my heel, effectively throwing a wrench in your treacly romance. Not quite as satisfying as watching my sister flounder about this land in rags with everyone thinking she’s some mad hag but there was still some joy in it.”

Emma stood so quickly she knocked her chair over. Her hand flew to her side, fingers grabbing for the sword that wasn’t there. She was about to dive for the dagger in her boot when the sound of Zelena’s voice broke through her rage.

“Did you never wonder whose heart I used for the curse?”

“I assumed it was plucked out of the chest of one of your black knights or some innocent servant who wronged you in some tiny way,” Emma spit out.

“For the Dark Curse?” Zelena scoffed. “I knew you weren’t practiced in magic but I didn’t think you’d be so daft.”

“Say whatever it is you need to say or I’m leaving and the next time we cross paths I won’t be leaving my sword on the ship.”

“Ship? Are you joking? No, clearly you're not,” Zelena said with a roll of her eyes. “We’ll discuss the impracticality of that later. There's something I need to show you.”

Emma bit back a scream, “I thought you had to tell me something.”

“I do and I can say it just as well while we're walking-” Zelena stood and immediately walked out the door. Without looking back she called over her shoulder, “Come along, Princess, this is the only way you'll get the answers you so desperately want.”

She stayed stubbornly standing in the office until she heard the door of the station closing with a distant slam. It took a few deep breaths remembering why exactly she was there in the first place before she resigned herself to chasing after her. With a frustrated kick to the chair on the ground she stalked out of the office.

Zelena already had a considerable lead on her when she stepped out of the building. She refused to give her the satisfaction of forcing her to quicken her pace, ambling half a length behind her. Finally Zelena stopped, swinging around to face her with a snarl.

“Would you hurry it up? I have a meeting with the parks department at four.”

“Why should I? You're the one wasting my time!” Emma snapped, not caring who heard her.

“And if you hadn't dawdled you'd have some answers already,” Zelena huffed, quickly crossing the roadway as soon as she caught up. “It was always supposed to be me who cast the curse but the imp lied to me and chose my undeserving sister instead. She couldn't even go through with it! The weak willed bitch.

“When she failed to act I saw my opportunity. It was almost too easy to strike her down in her own palace and accomplish everything she'd ever failed at. What I failed to take into account was the unceasing determination you heroes have when you take up a cause.”

“You stole my kingdom, imprisoned my parents, killed hundreds of innocent people, including Killian's father and his best friend-” Emma seethed, barely keeping herself from reaching out to strangle the witch. “If you're looking for sympathy, then fuck you”

“Sympathy? Please-” Zelena scoffed without breaking her stride, “I’m trying to get you up to speed. I cast the curse to finally have my time without belittling myself by wearing that bitch’s face. But there was a cost.”

“A heart. I know,” Emma growled.

Zelena stopped suddenly in front of a door causing Emma to nearly walk into her. When she turned to look back at her she had something close to regret in her eyes, “The price to cast the curse was one I should have thought twice about paying.”

She had brought them to a shop that seemed to sell all manner of things. Emma looked up at the sign hanging over the door. She was unsure what a pawnbroker was but she had heard the name Mr. Gold from both Killian and Regina and knew he was a man of importance.

Just as she was about to ask who exactly Mr. Gold was in their land she noticed someone over Zelena’s shoulder, watching her from the side of the shop. She sighed quietly in relief when she realized it was Turner and had to bite the inside of her cheek against a laugh when Killian’s head popped around the corner too. Both were watching her with matching looks of concern but she could do nothing to signal that she was alright without tipping off Zelena to their presence.

“Word’s already gotten around that you’re here as some sort of private eye so if he asks keep up that ridiculous lie,” Zelena said with barely concealed disdain. She put her hand on the doorknob and fixed her with a narrowed glare, “Whatever you do don’t answer any question that requires more than three words to answer. We can at least keep the damage to a minimum that way.”

Zelena turned to push open the door causing Turner and Killian to quickly disappear around the corner again. She held the door open expectantly and Emma had no choice but to follow her in without pause. Her only solace was that Killian had done as she asked and it gave her a glimmer of hope that breaking the curse might not be as difficult as she had been dreading.

The interior of the shop was dark from the dim shaft of light that streamed through dusty windows and the dark stained wood that lined the floors and walls. It took a moment for Emma’s eyes to adjust and when they did she couldn’t hide her astonishment.

Nearly every nook and cranny was filled with all manner of objects. There were several long encasements made of glass displaying more odds and ends along with a few more that stood upright spread throughout the shop. The walls were made of shelves to house more things and there were even items hanging from the ceiling. She was so enthralled by the sheer number of oddities that she didn’t notice there was a man behind one of the glass encasements until he moved out from behind it.

He walked with a pronounced limp, using a cane to keep his balance as he approached them. Emma observed him curiously. He was older than her parents, thin in build with light brown hair that hung loose about his face. There was nothing remarkable about him except for his eyes, they somehow seemed to gleam in the gloom of the shop. Even before anyone uttered his name she knew the man was Mr. Gold but she couldn’t recall ever meeting him back in their land.

“Afternoon Madame Mayor,” he said in an accent that somehow sounded like it was from everywhere and nowhere at once. His glittering eyes flitted to her before settling back on Zelena, “I’m afraid the object you’re interested in is still not for sale. Bringing in someone else to try and negotiate that point won’t change my mind.”

“I’m not here for that ostentatious bauble,” Zelena huffed, waving her hand as though she didn’t care but Emma had seen a vein in her temple throb. She sniffed and nodded at her, “This is Eva. Eva this is Mr. Gold.”

“Ah, one of the newcomers that has the authorities in this town in an uproar,” Gold said with a smile, revealing a single golden tooth. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, dearie.”

Emma felt a cold chill run down her back at the endearment. It pulled at something in her memories, something dark and foreboding. Before she had a chance to grasp at what it could be it danced away from her. She felt unsettled and gave Gold a tremulous smile that she hoped would suffice as a greeting.

“If you’re not here about the necklace may I ask why you are here? It’s the beginning of the month and there are still rents I need to collect,” Gold said a bit impatiently, an expectant look on his face.

“Eva is working on a pet project, you might say,” Zelena said as she walked slowly around the shop. She stopped in front of an encasement that appeared to have a sword inside, “Eva?”

“Oh, uh-” Emma rocked back on her heels, unsure what to say when Zelena had instructed her not to utter more than a sentence. A sudden wave of nervousness overcame her as Gold regarded her closely, “Is there, er, anything you might know about Tommy Jones’ death?”

Gold’s eyes widened slightly, as though he had expected a different question from her. He smiled again but there was a sinister edge to it, “Thomas Jones was a blight on this town and while his death was unfortunate there are not many who were sorry to see him pass. Unfortunately his foolish younger brother seems intent on not only pursuing innocent parties to blame for it but also straying down the same path that got Thomas killed in the first place. Take it from me, dearie, you should bury your questions with the dead before you end up six feet under as well.”

While Gold’s tone was one of caution Emma felt a sense of glee underlying his words. Her sense of unease only heightened as she tried to formulate any kind of adequate response as Gold watched her expectantly.

“I’ll take the risk if it means I can help Kieran finally learn the truth about what happened-” she turned and glared at Zelena, “No one deserves to be lied to like that.”

“I see you believe you have a measure of the situation, Miss-”

Emma looked back at Gold finding him looking at her with far more interest than he had before. She wasn’t certain but she thought she saw his eyes gleam yellow for a moment, disconcerting her even further.

“White,” she blurted out. Taking a deep breath to get ahold of herself she decided to attempt to gain back some iota of control that she had lost the moment Walsh had appeared at Sunset Storybrooke, “Are you suggesting that you know something?”

“I never implied anything of the sort,” Gold said pressing a hand to his chest, seemingly taken aback. He dropped the same hand on top of the one already holding his cane and leaned towards her to speak in a low tone, “It’s common knowledge that Thomas Jones was killed by men who have broken moral compasses. If they would do that to a man they knew and made deals with who knows what they would do to a stranger that pokes their nose where it doesn’t belong. I’m only thinking about your well-being, Miss White.”

“I can take care of myself well enough,” she said, lifting her chin and holding his gaze. “Do you or do you not know anything about Tommy Jones’ death?”

Gold’s lip twitched as he settled back on his heels, “I don’t know anything more than what was printed in the papers. The misters Jones were tenants of mine but other than collecting their rent I had no further interactions with them. Is that answer satisfactory enough?”

“It’ll do,” she sniffed.

Emma felt accomplished, even though she had done nothing more than stand up for herself. Zelena cleared her throat, causing both her and Gold to snap their attention to her. She had completely forgotten Zelena was there in her attempt to try and stay afloat under Gold’s scrutiny.

“I believe we’re done here,” Zelena said shortly. She looked at Gold with a sneer, “We don’t want to keep you from collecting your dues.”

“That attitude doesn’t do you any favors, dearie,” Gold tsked, limping back to the encasement he had been behind before. “Feel free to stop in if you have any other questions Miss White. You’ll find I’m quite agreeable when the mood suits me.”

She gave him a close lipped smile, pushing down the impulse to scoff at the idea that she’d ever return on her own. Zelena pushed past her and wrenched open the door, causing the bell attached to it to ring wildly. Rolling her eyes she turned to follow but stopped short when a glint of silver caught her eye.

Without a thought she drew closer to a small glass enclosed display of various pieces of jewelry. Sitting amongst the necklaces and bracelets of gold and pearls was a lone ring. It was finely crafted out of thin woven bands of both gold and silver. Emma didn’t need a closer look to know it was the ring she had made for Killian back in Arendelle. The one she had conjured out of thin air because she hadn’t known how to fully express what she felt for him, that he had worn on his left thumb from possibly the moment he had received it until Zelena had cut off the entire hand in a vicious act of petty revenge.

“Is this ring- how much for this ring?” She asked with a warble she didn’t have a hope to hide.

“Well, let’s see now,” Gold trilled as he made his way over. He opened the back of the display and pulled out the cushion the ring was sitting on, “Lovely piece, clearly unique and possibly handmade, I couldn’t possibly let it go for less than three hundred dollars.”

She didn’t know if it was a fair price or not and she didn’t care. Ignoring the tapping of Zelena’s foot by the door she reached into her coat and pulled out the small sack of gold coins she had with her.

“All I have are these-” she dumped the entire contents of the sack onto the glass counter, “You can have it all.”

There were at least thirty coins spread across the glass counter. It was a fortune back in their land, enough to feed a family for nearly a year. Zelena made choked noise behind her but she ignored it, focusing on Gold and the way his eyes raked over the bounty. He picked up a single coin and weighed it in his hand, bringing it up under his nose to inspect it closer.

“I’ll tell you what, Miss White-” Gold walked the coin over his knuckles and into his palm, gripping it in a tight fist. He smiled, his gold tooth flashing in the light, “I’m not going to take any of these for the ring. Just one of them is enough to pay for it three times over.”

“What do you want? Anything, it’s yours.”

“Em- Eva!” Zelena hissed. “Don’t offer him an open ended deal like that. He’ll only use it against you.”

“Now, now, Madame Mayor I believe the deal is between myself and Miss White. If you’d be so kind as to keep out of it,” Gold snapped, glaring at Zelena. He looked back at her with a predatory smile, “The ring is yours. All I want for it is a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” she asked warily, belatedly realizing that she had waded in too deep.

“Oh, that I don’t know quite yet-” Gold opened his fist and the coin was gone. He snapped the fingers of his other hand and the coin was there, her family crest gleaming up at her, “but when the time comes I expect you to comply, fully.”

Emma hesitated, trying in vain to remember who Gold could have been in Misthaven. Looking back down at the ring she decided she didn’t care. She knew that Killian deserved to have a piece of himself back, even if he had no recollection of what it meant to him or her.

“Okay,” she agreed, making sure to look him straight in the eye as she did.

“Excellent,” he grinned, dropping the coing in his hand onto the counter with the others. He deftly plucked the ring off its cushion and held it out to her, “I believe this is yours now.”

Her hand was steady as she held it out to him. Gold dropped it easily into her palm, watching her beadily as she slipped it onto the thumb of her right hand. It sat there loosely, twisting round and nearly slipping off her thumb as she began to scoop the pile of coins back into her sack. Clicking his tongue in impatience Gold pulled a simple golden chain from the display the ring had come from.

“Here, a little added gift-” he unclasped it and let it snake onto the counter amidst the few coins that remained. “No need to give it back once you’ve given the ring to whomever it’s intended for, of course. Consider it a signing bonus if you will.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Ignoring Zelena’s scoff Emma delicately picked it up and slid the ring onto it. It took her a moment’s fumbling with numb fingers to work the clasp for herself to fasten it around her neck. The ring felt heavier than it should, as though the weight of her deal with Gold had somehow leaked into the gold and silver bands. She quickly dumped the rest of the coins in the sack and gave Gold a brief nod of farewell.

Before she could rush out the door he called after her, “I do hope to see you again, dearie. Perhaps with less of a hovering eye next time.”

Zelena growled low in her throat as she practically pushed Emma out the door. She blinked in the sunlight, bright after the dimness of the shop, as she slid the sack of coins back into the pocket they had been in before. Her fingers immediately went to worry at the ring hanging around her neck when she turned back to face Zelena, belatedly remembering that Turner and Killian were close by.

“Why did you bring me here? Who was that man back-”

“Not here,” Zelena hissed. She looked back and forth along the roadway before her gaze settled on something, “Follow me.”

She set off across the roadway, heedless to the cars passing by. Emma followed, wincing at the loud blare of noise coming from the cars in their wake. Looking quickly back behind her she saw Turner and Killian emerging from around the corner of Gold’s shop. She gave them a quick nod before focusing back on where Zelena was leading her.

They didn’t go far. Zelena hardly stopped as she wrenched open the door to the library, impatiently waving Emma inside. She caught a glimpse of Turner and Killian crossing the roadway before she stepped into the vestibule. Pinocchio was sitting behind the desk but stood up quickly when Zelena slammed the door shut behind her.

“Mayor Viridans! How can I hel-”

“Sit down and mind your own business Booth,” Zelena snapped. She stalked over to the large metal door Emma had noticed on her first visit, “This is between Miss White and I.”

“Miss White?” Pinocchio raised his brow at her and Emma could only shrug in response.

Zelena opened the door revealing a metal gate and a tiny room beyond it. Lifting the gate she ushered Emma in with a click of her tongue and another wave of her hand. She had never had a problem with confined spaces before but she still stepped into the room with hesitation, unwilling to be in such a small space with Zelena for company.

A shiver of warning slid down her spine as Zelena fiddled with a lever before slamming the gate down. Immediately the room moved and Emma backed into the corner, bracing herself against the walls.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake it’s just an elevator,” Zelena huffed, tapping her toe in irritation. “It’s taking us from one floor to another instead of bothering with stairs. God, I forgot how primitive the Enchanted Forest is.”

Before she could ask why Zelena had called their land the Enchanted Forest the room came to a stop. A set of doors slid open revealing a cavernous room with a twisting metal staircase leading to a landing under the backside of a clock face. As Zelena lifted the gate Emma noticed the cogs and gears of the clockworks suspended in the middle of the room. It was loud, almost deafening and she understood the reason Zelena had brought her there to talk.

“Are you finally going to give me some answers? Who was that man back in our land? What does he have to do with the Dark Curse?” Emma asked as she stepped into the room, once more fiddling with the ring.

“That thing you talked to back there isn’t a man. Not anymore,” Zelena muttered, barely loud enough to hear over the cacophony of sounds in the room as she stepped into it herself.

“What do you mean?”

“The Dark Curse is called that for a reason. You don’t cast it using rainbows and happy thoughts,” Zelena scoffed.

“I know that,” Emma bit out, fighting the urge to scream at the circles they were talking in. “You needed a heart.”

“Not just any heart,” Zelena’s annoyance dropped away immediately and she looked at Emma with sorrowful eyes. “You need the heart of the thing you love the most.”

“The thing… so you killed the thing you loved the most to get some kind of petty revenge? Guess Regina really does have a conscience if she couldn’t go through with it.”

“Would you stop being so goddamn glib for a second and listen!” Zelena screeched. She took a deep breath as she focused intently on her, “If Regina had cast the curse she would have had to kill her father to do it. I on the other hand loathed the man who raised me and resented the woman who birthed me. There was seemingly no one who came even close to fulfilling what was needed to cast the curse. That was until it was pointed out to me by my mentor that there was someone that I did love, him, and in nearly the same breath he told me he didn’t want anything to do with me, not if I would have to kill him to cast the curse.

“That was the whole point of him teaching me, molding me into the most powerful sorceress in the realms. He just needed someone to cast that damn curse to get him here, to the Land Without Magic. He chose Regina, spineless bitch that she is, when I was clearly the only one capable. I hated him with every fibre of my being for that. So when the time came I knew that the line between love and hate might be thin enough to work.”

The phrase pulled at Emma’s memories and she said slowly, “You said that, before. Before you crushed the heart, you said that.”

“I didn’t find out until we’d been here for a week what a grievous mistake I had made,” Zelena continued, ignoring her. “I saw him, limping down the street as though nothing had happened. He’s just as cursed as everyone else but I could see it. Deep in his eyes it’s there or should I say it isn’t there.”

“Zelena, who was he?” She asked impatiently, even as she was beginning to dread the answer.

“You haven’t figured it out by now?” Zelena asked with a hysterical giggle. “Who but the Dark One would know how to cast the Dark Curse and then manipulate others to do it for him? Who do you think is powerful enough to somehow still live despite his heart being crushed?”

“But… that’s-”

“Impossible? Not as much as you or I would think-” Zelena began to pace, “The only way I can figure it is Dark One has always been someone who was cursed with the Darkness, a mortal, but the Darkness itself is immortal. For centuries it’s slid from one host to another through the use of the Dagger to end the previous Dark One but it’s never been defeated, never killed. I didn’t use the Dagger, I merely crushed the heart of the man whose been playing its host. The Darkness is now the only thing in that body and the curse is the only thing keeping it from realizing it.”

A chill settled over Emma as the words sunk in. She had heard tales of the atrocities committed by the Dark One, not only from her own parents and the whispers of others but from numerous history books and old tales told over too many pints in taverns far from Misthaven. He had been imprisoned for the entirety of her life, captured through the machinations of Princess Ella and her parents. While she had never even seen a glimpse of him she had always been afraid of the possibility of him escaping his prison and exacting his revenge.

“So do you see why you can’t break the curse?”

“What?” Emma croaked out, shaking her head in confusion. “I’m going to break the curse.”

“If you break this curse you’ll be defeating me, yes, but you’ll be damning everyone and everything in the same moment,” Zelena said slowly, as though she were talking to a child. “The Dark One has always had a weakness and it was never the dagger that controls him, not entirely at least. The Darkness has been held in check by its vessel, the morality and conscience the person had before succumbing to it. Even the worst of them had some piece of it left or the passing of the Darkness from one person to another would have stopped at some point. If the curse is broken it will have nothing to hold it back, nothing to keep some kind of tenuous hold on it. It will destroy everything in this town before moving on to the world beyond and then finding a way to travel to other realms to do the same. It will never stop until it holds control over it all.”

Emma could barely hear Zelena over the buzzing in her ears. She felt lightheaded and gasped for air. Black spots danced in front of her as she bent forward, balancing herself with her hands on her knees. Slowly her head cleared and she straightened.

“You’re lying,” she panted.

“I assure you I’m not,” Zelena sighed. “You can ask Regina if you truly don’t believe me.”

She merely stared at her, willing her to take back everything she had said.

“Or don’t I really don’t care. Come along, Princess, I have a meeting to get to.”

The ride back down to the ground floor wasn’t as harrowing if only because her thoughts were decidedly focused on whether or not to believe what Zelena had told her. She stepped back into the vestibule feeling as though she had lived an entire lifetime in the room above. Pinocchio was fidgeting in front of his desk, his eyes shooting to the library beyond when he caught her gaze.

“Do you need anything Ma’am?” He asked, shifting from foot to foot.

“Of course not,” Zelena shot back. She looked back at her, “The decision is up to you, I won’t try to stop you. Oh and feel free to bring your… ship into the harbor. No need for such cloak and dagger now is there?”

Zelena swept out of the library, leaving Emma gaping behind her. She heard Pinocchio breathe a sigh of relief as he moved across the vestibule, closing up the small room once again. A hand landed on her shoulder causing her to jump in surprise.

“Easy, lass, it’s just us.”

She spun on her heel and saw that it was Killian, looking at her with concern. Turner was standing a few paces behind him, staring angrily at the door that Zelena had disappeared through.

“I- we have to go. Turner, we need to go. Now,” she rambled, avoiding Killian’s gaze.

“Of course-” Turner stepped around Killian and looked at her carefully. “Are you alright?”

“Fine, I’m fine. We need to go,” she repeated.

Turner nodded and she took in a shaky breath before turning to leave. She heard Pinocchio murmuring something to Killian behind her but paid them no attention. Her mind was still trying to comprehend everything that Zelena had told her and her only coherent thought was to get to Regina as quickly as possible.

She weaved through the town as quickly as she could without breaking into a panicked run. Turner was keeping pace behind her, quiet aside from the sound of his boots hitting the ground. They reached the woods quickly and Emma pushed on faster, single minded in her pursuit.

When she reached the cliff overlooking their cove she skidded to a stop, nearly tumbling over the edge. She was saved by a hand grabbing her elbow and when she turned to thank Turner she was caught off guard to see Killian there instead.

“Careful lass,” he said as he gently urged her to take a step back, “You mind telling me why you just tore through the town like the devil was at your heels?”

“What are you doing here?” She snapped, her tenuous control on her emotions at a breaking point.

“I-” he dropped her elbow, raising his eyebrows in surprise, “You just left, first with Baum and then you spend nearly an hour with the woman we’re trying to take down before taking off again. What happened? Why did she take you to the pawn shop?”

“She… I-” she looked helplessly at Turner who was at Killian’s side. The absurdity that she wanted to talk to him about what had happened and not Killian wasn’t lost on her. She took a deep breath and said as resolutely as she could, “You need to go.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s between me and my crew.”

“Then let me come aboard the ship. We’re supposed to be helping each other, right?” His eyebrows drew down as he looked at her more carefully. “Right?”

“I’m sorry but you have to go,” she said resolutely even as her voice started to tremble.

He narrowed his eyes and looked her over as though he would find something amiss. “What did she say to you?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly.

“You’re lying,” he said matter of factly. He stepped closer to her and said in a low voice, “You can trust me, lass.”

“Kil- Jones, I do but this… this is something I have to handle myself.”

“Just you and your ‘crew’, yeah?” Killian spat as the look in his eyes hardened to a glare and he took two steps back. “Whatever it was Viridans told you was a lie. I hope you realize that sooner rather than later and when you do I’ll be waiting.”

He gave her a hard grin that was more akin to a sneer before pivoting on his heel and stalking back the way they had come. Her hand found its way to his ring, gripping it tight enough in her fist that she was only marginally worried about drawing blood. She jumped slightly when Turner gently touched her elbow.

“What’s going on Emma?”

“Not here,” she whispered, fighting back tears.

She barely paid attention as they made their way back to the Jewel. It was well into dusk, the sky to the east already donning the dark blues of impending night. There was movement on deck and she hoped whomever it was would alert the others that they were back. What she had learned was horrible enough without having to repeat it more than once.

What little luck she had was on her side. Everyone was waiting expectantly with varying degrees of disapproval on their faces as she hoisted herself over the rail. As soon as both her feet were on the deck she crossed over to Regina.

“Who is Mr. Gold?”

“You sneak away at the crack of dawn like an impetuous teenager and that’s the first thing out of your mouth instead of an apology for stranding us here?” Regina snapped, setting her hands firmly on her hips. “Why the hell were you talking to him anyway? What happened this time that we’ll have to scramble to clean up after?”

“Dammit Regina!” Her frustrated shout echoed across the water. “Who is he? In our land, who is he?”

“Of course you wouldn’t know who he is. Your goody two shoes parents wouldn’t dream of taking you to see him,” Regina said derisively, rolling her eyes. “He’s the Dark One, Rumplestiltskin. Just traded one prison for another with the curse.”

“No-”

Emma felt her knees buckle and someone grabbed her elbow to steady her.

“It’s not like he knows who he is,” Regina scoffed. “I tested him one or two times and he’s just as cursed as everyone else. Which isn’t a shock, I would have done the same thing if I had cast the curse.”

“Maybe you should have,” Emma spat out.

Her temper was getting the better of her but she welcomed it. Anything was better than the despair that was cresting, ready to wash away everything else and leave her drowning in despair.

“Excuse me?” Regina said in shock, her hands falling off her hips in surprise.

“Maybe you should have cast the curse, crushed your father’s heart and been done with it! Then we wouldn’t be in this fucking mess!”

“Emma what are you talking about?” Grace asked, her face twisting into a look of concern.

“You need a heart-” Emma snarled, “but not just any heart, it has to be from the thing you love the most. Right Regina? Any guesses on who Zelena loved the most?”

“That’s- that’s impossible,” Regina stuttered, color draining from her face leaving her ashen. “She’s lying. It would have killed him. She has to be lying.”

“Can you think of anyone else who would have worked? Can you?” Emma challenged her. She felt wholly unlike herself but couldn’t seem to stop, “Maybe it should have been you. After all Zelena said the line between love and hate was pretty much nonexistent.”

“Emma!” Grace gasped.

“It can’t- she-” Regina stuttered into silence, her eyes wide with terror.

“I don’t understand-” Marty said slowly, looking around the deck in confusion. “What does it mean?”

Emma slumped, the fight and anger draining from her in an instant with the innocence of Marty’s question. All around her the others were slowly reaching the same terrifying conclusion. She could see it in the way they stood bowed by defeat, the look of horror in their eyes. When she spoke her voice was choked with the tears that had already begun coursing down her cheeks.

“It means we can never break the curse.”

For the first time she truly wished that the curse had taken her too. She knew it was the only way she wouldn’t have had to feel the utter devastation of her hopes and her heart shattering beyond repair.

If you’d like to be tagged so you don’t miss future chapters let me know.

Tagging: @teamhook, @galadriel26

#captain swan #cs ff #cs ff au #cs au ff #ouat au ff #savior and scoundrel

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 7 years ago

Text

My Eyes - Part 2

Pairing: Bucky; Steve x Fem/Reader

Word Count: 4,549

Story Description: Steve is a good man, America’s golden boy, a hero. He’s Captain America for christ’s sake! So it’s normal to want what he has… right? Bucky knows he doesn’t deserve her. He doesn’t even deserve the second chance at life he’s been given. But Bucky can never let him know. Steve can never find out that his friend is in love with his best girl.

Story takes place post “CA: CW” and all tension has been resolved.

Part One

“You look so handsome.” Y/N smirked as she saw Steve straighten his tie in the mirror for what seemed like the 100th time.

His cheeks reddened and he grinned at her through the mirror’s reflection.

Then Y/N got up from her spot and wrapped her hands around his waist from behind him. “And you still can’t take a compliment without blushing.” She kissed the side of his neck.

Steve turned around without breaking contact with her. He looked down at her apparel that did not match his in the slightest. She was wearing cotton shorts, one of his t-shirts, and wool socks that were bunched at her ankles.

“Listen… about tonight-“ He started his usual speech.

“Steve, don’t. We go through this every time. I don’t need to go to these fancy parties anyway. I’m no hero. I’d just feel out of place.”

“I just feel like I constantly need to remind you that I’m not keeping you a secret because I’m ashamed of you. It’s to keep you safe.” He sighed and looked at the ground in shame.

“You need to remind me or you need to remind yourself?” Y/N challenged, raising an eyebrow. “Because I already know all that.” Before Steve could defend himself further, she kissed him lightly on the lips. “Trust me. I’m going to have way more fun than you. I’m gonna swim a few laps in the pool, steal some of Tony’s expensive alcohol, and then I’m going to head home and binge watch Netflix.”

Steve chuckled at that. “Can you drink the stolen alcohol after you drive home?”

“Ugh… Finnnneeee. I guess so, Mr. Responsible.” She teased.

They both laughed again.

Then Steve smiled sadly. “I just wish I could have you on my arm. Show you off to everyone…”

Y/N patted his chest. “Go, Steve. The others are probably waiting in the lobby for you.” But suddenly her eyes darkened. She started peppering kisses across his neck. Then she moved to his mouth and captured it into a passionate kiss. Steve’s body reacted on its own, gripping her waist tightly and pulling her closer to his body possessively.

Steve grumbled when she eventually pulled away. “What was that for?”

Y/N smirked mischievously. “Just wanted to leave my mark… hopefully it will keep all those rich, uppity women off of you.” Then she bit her lip. “And maybe it will make you come home faster.” She added a wink for good measure.

Steve shook his head at her endeavor to be seductive. Little did Y/N know that her innocence and sometimes awkwardness were exactly what he found so sexy about her “It’s cute that you think I’m not going to find you passed out on the couch with an empty bottle of wine.”

“That was one time!” Y/N wailed.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself.” Steve chuckled. Then he spotted Porthos, Y/N’s german shepherd, watching them as he lay on the bed. Y/N had wanted to name him Zeus when they first got him. But Steve turned down any god-like names, feeling it was sort of awkward since they knew an actual god. Y/N decided on one of the Three Musketeers. She’d always loved the book and told Steve that Porthos was the comic relief. But when it came to battle, he was perhaps the most loyal and always executed brute strength with his giant size. Steve liked the sound of it.

Steve moved to the dog now, petting its head. “Look after our girl, okay?”

Porthos wagged his tail and licked his hand. Steve was the only other person he was pleasant toward. The other Avenger’s couldn’t get within five feet of the dog. Even Thor, an actual god, seemed wary of Porthos’ aggression.

Steve gave Y/N one last kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you at your place later tonight.” He confirmed.

Y/N looked at her dog now. “What do you say, Porthos? Should we go for a little swim in the pool?” He barked in agreement. “Don’t tell Tony. He gets mad when he finds all your fur clogging up the drains.”

---

Bucky was on his way to the gym when Porthos started barking joyfully and ran toward him.

He bent down to pet the dog. “Hey boy. What’re you doing here?”

Then Y/N walked around the corner, wrapped in a towel. She was only wearing a bathing suit underneath and her hair was still slightly dripping. Bucky does a double take, not expecting to see her. His smile disappears as he managed to find his unfriendly demeanor again.

“Oh, hello. I didn’t realize anyone else was home.” Y/N said awkwardly. She tightened the towel around her body. But Porthos attempting to lick Bucky’s face quickly interrupted her thoughts. She had a pleasantly surprised expression now. “I-I’ve never seen him so friendly. He pretty much hates everyone but Steve and me. Even Fury won’t get close to him.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the dog. “He doesn’t seem so mean.”

“I guess it’s just the side effects of all Steve’s training.” Y/N sighed and laughed lightly. “When he forced me to get a dog, he made it clear that he was meant to be protective.”

Bucky was now standing up, despite Porthos whining for more petting. “Steve got him for you?”

Y/N tried to hide the shock from the two of them actually having a conversation. “Yeah, Steve is a little… umm… let’s say overprotective. When we first started dating, he bought Porthos for me. I think it gives Steve a little peace of mind when he’s away that I have a little bodyguard.”

Bucky nodded. In his mind, he told himself he’d do the exact same thing. It was no secret how much Steve loved Y/N. But Bucky also knew how much Steve worried about her safety.

“Why aren’t you at the party?” Y/N asked slowly. She tried to contain her excitement that they were beating the record time of conversation between them.

“Uhh…” Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not too fond of crowds and parties. Stark likes to show off all the Avengers at those things. No one really wants to see a Hydra assassin at a fancy charity event.” He saw Y/N quickly open her mouth to defend him. So Bucky quickly turned the attention on her to stop it. “So why aren’t you there?”

“Oh, I don’t go to any public events with Steve. People would figure out our relationship if they kept seeing the same girl at those parties, lovingly eyeing Captain America all night. Then our secret relationship wouldn’t be a…secret.”

Bucky couldn’t help but look at her with a little commiseration. It must be hard to be with Steve when she couldn’t be with the Captain America part of him. He understood why his friend did it, but that didn’t make it easy to see the disappointment on her face.

Before Bucky could accidentally be nice to Y/N, Porthos saved him by running to Y/N’s side. The dog looked up at her and whimpered as if he could sense her small distress.

Y/N smiled down at her dog. “It’s fine. I always have Porthos to keep me company.” Then she got a hopeful expression as she looked at Bucky. “Hey, I was going to steal one of Stark’s fancy bottles of wine and watch Netflix back at my place. But now that I know you’re here, we could watch a movie or something in the theatre. Steve mentioned you were trying to catch up on some classics.”

Bucky’s heart warmed at how thoughtful and kind Y/N continued to be toward him. Why couldn’t she just respond to his malice with hatred like he wanted?

“No thanks.” He replied curtly.

The quickness of his answer hurt Y/N more than the actual answer. She knew she got too hopeful. Y/N just nodded, trying to hide her disappointment. “Well, I’ll see you around Bucky.”

He noticed how her shoulders slumped lower as she walked away.

Bucky rubbed his face and turned back toward the gym’s entrance. Going out of his way to be mean to Y/N was terrible. He wished he could be friendly with her. But he knew better. That would become a dangerous game. Friendliness would turn to flirting and then Bucky wouldn’t be able to hide his feelings. He couldn’t do that to Steve. Bucky never believed Y/N would betray Steve and give anything in return. But Steve just discovering Bucky’s affections would be unforgiveable.

Working out seemed to be the only thing that could make Bucky feel even slightly better.

---

Steve tried to be as quiet as possible when he was unlocking Y/N’s front door. The lights were all turned off when he slid in.

He was greeted with a dangerous growl from a few feet away.

“It’s just me, Porthos.” Steve whispered.

The growling immediately stopped as the dog recognized Steve’s voice and promptly went back to sleep.

Steve was already trying to undress himself before he even got to Y/N’s bedroom. When he entered, he found that the TV in her room was left on. Netflix continued to play episode after episode of Parks & Rec. Its volume was low enough to set the perfect sleeping conditions with white noise. The TV was the only form of light in the room, enough for Steve to tiptoe around.

Steve smiled at Y/N who was sound asleep in bed. He quietly chuckled when he saw the almost empty glass of wine and an empty bottle next to it on the nightstand. He could only assume it once belonged to Tony.

Now only in his briefs, Steve slid under the covers. Y/N immediately responded to dip of the bed next to her. She rolled to face him, still half asleep and wrapped an arm across his bare chest.

“Ugh. You smell like rich people cologne and perfume.” She groaned. Steve just chuckled.

“Hmm… how was the party?” She mumbled.

“Extremely boring.” Steve answered quietly, loving the feeling of her warm body against his. All the tension from talking to strangers and forcing polite conversations was gone the instant she touched him.

Y/N giggled sleepily. Steve didn’t think a cuter sound existed. “Did you get hit on by a bunch of women?” Her eyes squinted open now.

“No. That kiss of yours must have worked.” Steve teased.

“Guess who I talked to tonight…”

“Who?”

“Bucky.” Y/N grinned proudly.

“Really?”

Y/N nodded eagerly. “Porthos loves him. Did you know that? He ran right up to Bucky and couldn’t stop licking his face. I was shocked.”

Steve brushed some hair behind her ear. “Dog’s got good judge of character.”

“Maybe this means we’ll be friends soon.” Y/N sighed optimistically. Then her eyelids were becoming heavy and her body was begging for sleep again.

Steve wanted to tell her not to get her hopes up. But he couldn’t do that to her. She seemed so happy that Bucky even acknowledged her.

---

Steve looked over at Y/N for the hundredth time during their short car ride from her house to the compound.

“Please stop looking at me like that.” Y/N sighed. But her eyes never stopped looking out her passenger window.

“I’m sorry. I just hate how quiet you get before I leave for missions.” Steve replied.

“I can’t help it.” Y/N mumbled. “Who’s going with you?” She looked at him now.

“Tony, Nat, and Bucky.”

Y/N nodded. “I’m glad Bucky’s gonna be there.”

Steve smirked and looked away from the road. “Why is that?”

“No one will ever protect you more than him.” She answered as if it were obvious. “You have Bucky and I have Porthos.” The dog’s ears perked up as he heard his name from the backseat. Y/N reached behind to pat him on the head.

Steve smiled at that. “I’ll make sure to tell Buck that you just compared him to our dog.”

“Oh god, don’t make him hate me more than he already does!” Y/N yelled out, but was still laughing as she said it.

They were at the compound now and Y/N walked onto the jet hangar with Steve. It became their little tradition: Y/N coming to see him off, no matter what. There were only a handful of times when missions were such a last minute emergency that Y/N didn’t get to do her little sendoff.

Y/N waved goodbye to Nat, Tony, and Bucky as they walked past the two of them. “Be careful, you guys.” She said in a warning tone. Bucky barely even looked at her. Nat, however, sent her a little wink. Tony blew her a kiss. It made Y/N giggle.

Before she even had time to turn back to Steve, his lips were crashing onto hers. It was always like this. Before he left, he kissed her like it would be the last time. A part of Y/N felt like it was him being his overdramatic self. But another part of her, the part that she managed to keep quiet, knew that it wasn’t at all dramatic. Steve’s chances of dying were much higher than she allowed herself to consider.

He pulled away after a minute and rested his forehead against hers. “I love you.” She nodded and her lips inevitably turned into a frown. “Hey, none of that.” Steve begged. It was hard enough leaving her, but leaving while she looked unhappy made it even worse.

Steve then bent down to Porthos, who was sitting obediently next to Y/N. He pet his head, “You look after my best girl, you hear?” The dog barked in response. Steve grabbed his bag and started walking backwards, not wanting to look away from Y/N until he absolutely had to.

“I love you.” Y/N muttered.

Steve gave a little crooked smile. “I know.”

“Get your own lines, dork, and stop stealing Han Solo’s!” Y/N laughed. She knew he did it on purpose. He always tried to leave putting a smile on her face.

Her and Porthos watched as the jet lifted off the ground. The wind from it was tossing Y/N’s hair around. Porthos barked at the loud engine.

Steve took the seat next to Bucky’s, leaving Tony and Nat to pilot the jet.

“I feel like I’m watching ‘Gone with the Wind’ every time you guys kiss like that.” Tony teased from the pilot’s seat.

“Don’t be jealous, Stark.” Natasha smirked darkly.

Steve rolled his eyes at the mocking. “Maybe don’t watch next time...” He suggested.

“Yeah, nobody’s forcing you.” Nat added.

Everyone laughed. Even Bucky smiled a bit. It was always good to keep things light before missions. It kept the impeding doom to the back of their minds.

Steve glanced at his best friend. “You know, she really likes you.”

Bucky eyed him. “Who?”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “You know who, punk. Y/N!”

Bucky didn’t say anything, his jaw just clenched at the uncomfortable subject.

Steve didn’t bother pushing it. After all, he’d promised Y/N he’d never bring up the weird relationship between the two of them. Or better yet, the lack of relationship between the two of them.

---

Steve huffed after punching out what seemed to be the last of the agents from the Hydra base they’d infiltrated. He heard someone step behind him and he readied his shield to toss at them. He quickly stopped mid-swing when he realized it was Bucky.

“You good?” Steve asked his friend, who barely looked like he was breathing heavily or had even been in any sort of altercation.

Bucky nodded.

“Hey, Rogers. I’m in the control room. You’re…ugh…you’re gonna need to see this.” Natasha said through their comms.

Bucky and Steve shared a concerned look. Clearly she wasn’t in trouble. Her tone and word choice made that clear.

They quickly made it to the control room. They found that Natasha and Tony had already hacked into the system to gather all the information on remaining Hydra bases. But what made Steve stop dead was the image on the giant screen.

Y/N’s face was plastered on the display. It looked like a photo that paparazzi had taken: candid and she was clearly completely oblivious to being followed. Her full name and date of birth were written on the file. It even stated her affiliation with Steve. But what made his heart stop was the address written in large font.

“We have to get back to base.” Steve ordered calmly. But they all knew he was in a panic.

They were flying on the jet as Steve cursed after Y/N didn’t pick up her phone once again. “Did you try the base again?” He asked Tony.

“Everyone that was left home got called out on another mission a few days after we left.” Tony said regretfully. “Do you want me to send Happy over?”

Steve shook his head. Happy wasn’t capable of engaging if there was an enemy there. He didn’t want to throw Tony’s best friend into danger.

Bucky gripped Steve’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. “She’s okay, Steve. We’ll be there soon.” But it felt like he was trying to convince himself too.

Tony didn’t bother landing at the compound, going straight to Y/N’s place instead. Her house sat on a large plot and Tony managed to land the jet in a small area where the trees hadn’t claimed it for their own.

The platform wasn’t even down all the way before Steve was sprinting off the jet. Bucky was right on his heels, gun at the ready. Steve shoved his shoulder into the front door, not bothering with the key.

The house looked untouched.

“Y/N!” Steve called out. No answer. “Y/N!” He tried again.

Bucky was checking all the rooms for possible intruders. His gun was held up, ready to kill.

To both their shock, Y/N came slowly walking out from her bedroom like a zombie. She clearly had just woken up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Steve?” She mumbled. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, thank god.” Steve gasped, rushing forward and pulling her into his arms.

This woke her up, but further confused her. “Is everything okay? You weren’t supposed to get back for another couple of days.”

Steve put her down but refused to let go of her. His hands brushed her hair away and then he softly clutched her face. “Y/N, I’m gonna need you to pack whatever you need. You have to come to the compound with us. It’s not safe here anymore.”

“Steve, what the hell is going on?” Then she looked over his shoulder and realized that Bucky was standing behind him, gun at his side.

“Y/N, please just do it. I’ll explain on the way back.” Steve hurried.

She looked at Bucky again and somehow saw that he too seemed in a panic. So she just nodded slowly and turned back to her bedroom, Steve right behind her.

“The surrounding area is clear. My heat sensors aren’t picking up any signs of life in this creepy forest.” Tony reported through their comms.

“Roger that.” Bucky replied as he looked out the windows to double check. Suddenly he felt someone bop the side of his thigh. He looked down to see Porthos looking up at him as if he were asking what was going on. Steve and Y/N’s anxiety must have made him a little spooked.

“Everything’s okay, boy. You did your job.” Bucky patted his head and then heard Steve and Y/N coming out of the bedroom. He met them at the front door.

Steve held Y/N’s hand and carried her bag over his shoulder. He was calmer now that he had Y/N.

“Where’s Porthos?” Y/N asked Steve quietly.

“I got him, doll. He’s right here.” Bucky grabbed her attention.

If Y/N weren’t so confused with the situation, she would’ve look at Bucky with disbelief from how nice he just sounded.

---

Bucky, Nat, and Tony sat silently in the kitchen as they listened to Y/N yelling.

“So what? I’m just going to be a prisoner here now? I have a job Steve! You can’t keep me locked away here forever! I’m a civilian, not a damn Avenger!”

She wasn’t mad; she was scared. Bucky could hear it in her voice.

“Exactly! You can’t protect yourself! I’m trying to keep you safe, Y/N!” Steve yelled back.

Suddenly Nat stood up from the stool.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Tony asked.

“I’m going to track down that file, find out where it came from and find every place that has it in their system.” She paused her exit. “Steve’s gonna want to go after it. We all know it.”

Bucky knew she was right. Hell, he’d go with him to kill anyone that knew Y/N existed. They had to tie all loose ends.

Tony eventually left. Bucky assumed he was going to find Pepper. If a scare like this did anything, it was to remind everyone else to hold their loved ones close.

Bucky was left alone in the kitchen. He’d never been so scared in his life. No one else caught on to it, thank god. But he was just as scared as Steve to find that Y/N had been taken, or worse… killed, before they could reach her.

Steve came walking back into the kitchen, making Bucky sit up straighter at his entrance.

“She okay?” Bucky asked quietly.

“She’s scared. But she won’t admit it.” Steve sighed. He looked exhausted. “She can be as mad at me as she wants. I’m just glad she’s here…safe.”

“What do you want to do?” Bucky asked.

“I need your help, Buck.”

“Of course. Just tell me what you need.”

---

“Steve, I should be going with you!” Bucky argued.

A few days after the scare with Y/N, Natasha had helped Steve compile a plan to assure the information didn’t travel any further. What no one seemed to speak about was the other part: killing every single person that already knew about it. Tony, Wanda, Vision, and Sam had already agreed to go along with them. Maria would be their eye in the sky, remaining at the compound to instruct needed information in real time.

Steve refused to ask for Clint’s help. It was too close to home for the man. Steve couldn’t ask him to protect the thing he loved when Clint had a family he’d successfully kept hidden…unlike Steve.

“Bucky, there’s no one else I trust more.” Steve stated evenly. He gripped Bucky’s shoulder and stared him down, leaving no room for reason.

“We’re always better together. Let me help you in the field, Steve.” Bucky knew there was no point in trying.

Steve’s face softened and looked down at the ground. “Please, Buck. I won’t be able to focus out there if I’m worried about Y/N. If she’s with you, I know she’ll be safe.” Then he looked up with those lovesick eyes from just thinking of Y/N. “I love her. I just need you do this for me, okay?”

Bucky couldn’t even find the words to respond. He just nodded slowly and patted Steve on the back.

But Bucky truly would have been more comfortable with Steve. He wanted to hunt down anyone that could pose a threat to Y/N just as much as Steve. But of course nobody knew that. Being her bodyguard instead felt like Bucky was being benched in a fight where Steve needed him most.

Bucky looked down at the files Natasha had spread out onto the conference room table earlier. “Does she know about all of this yet?”

Steve sighed and Bucky instantly knew it wasn’t a good sign. “Y/N struggles already with watching me leave. And now I’m endangering my life for her sake… let’s just say she’s struggling with that even more.”

Before either of them could say more, Y/N came rushing into the conference room. “I’m not done arguing with you.” She snapped at Steve.

Bucky took a step toward the door to give them privacy. But Y/N pointed her finger at him with such a glare that he felt frozen.

“You’re not going anywhere, Barnes! You need to hear this too.” She barked.

Bucky held up his hands in surrender. He’d never seen this side of her before. Glancing at Steve’s expression, he looked more prepared than Bucky.

“Steve, I refuse to let you go on this suicide mission. I am fine! Everyone is fine! I promise I’ll stay here. I’ll move into the compound! What safer place is there than here? I’ll sell my house. I’ll do anything… just…just please don’t do this. You’re not putting anyone at risk for me!”

“We all care about you, doll.” Bucky surprised everyone, even himself. “Steve didn’t ask any of us to do this. We all volunteered.”

Y/N looked at him in shock for a moment. But her emotions got the best of her and she managed to look past his unexpected statement. “You’re no better, Barnes! You’re encouraging him! Why aren’t you talking any sense into him?! Isn’t that your whole thing?”

Bucky’s face reddened at her verbal attack. He was trying to take her outburst seriously. But his warped mind was too busy finding it cute that she was calling him by his last name to express her anger.

Bucky looked at Steve for help.

“Bucky’s not coming with, Y/N.” Steve corrected her.

“What do you mean?” She whispered. If there was one thing worse than Steve going through with this crazy operation, it was him doing it without Bucky.

“I’m taking you to a secure location.” Bucky muttered, not having the courage to take his eyes off the ground.

“This is a secure location!” Y/N retorted.

Steve stepped forward and raised a hand to comfort her. But he knew better than to try to fool her anger with intimacy. “Tony has a lake house in Canada. It’s off the grid. The island isn’t even on the maps. It’s a safe house. You’ll be protected there.” Steve wasn’t submissive like Bucky. His shoulders were tense, jaw clenched, and eyes serious. He was using his Captain America mode on her.

She didn’t like that at all.

“Fuck that.” Y/N practically growled. “Fuck all of this.” She stepped closer. “Steve, what the hell are you doing?” Her voice was a whisper now. “Why don’t you take me? You and me, Steve. We go to this stupid safe house and nobody goes on this fucking suicide mission. Because I’ll never be safer than when I’m with you.”

Bucky’s heart dropped at that.

“I have to do this, Y/N.” Steve demanded, still in his captain voice.

“For me or for you?” Y/N whispered.

“For us, Y/N.”

“Bullshit.” Y/N spat before she left the room just as fast as she arrived.

Bucky shifted his weight awkwardly. “Your girl’s really got a mouth on her, huh?” He tried to lighten the tension, mostly because he didn’t know how else to help. But it was like Steve didn’t even hear him.

Bucky inhaled. “Steve?” His voice was so earnest that it got his friend’s attention. “I promise I’ll look after Y/N. I’d die before I let anything happen to that girl, you hear me?” It was a risky statement to make for Bucky. But Steve took it as a sacrifice for friendship rather than a confession of love for Y/N.

---

Part 3

Thanks to everyone who has contacted me so far. You are all such sweet and lovely humans. I am so lucky to have people reading my stories.

#marvel fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #steve rogers fic #captain america fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #my eyes part 2 #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #steve rogers x you

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lazuliblur · 7 years ago

Note

Madara falling in love (with tobi ? ;p )

As a gen girl who doesn’t understand Tobi/Mada, I tried. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯Hope it’s readable.

Hashirama’s laughterbrought life to the room where the meeting with the representatives of the FireDaimyou had just taken place. Like a drop of sake in winter, it warmed the heartand cleared the mind. Suddenly, the night was not so cold anymore, nor so dark.Weariness and protocol were put aside as the dull-eyed envoys of the Lord ofFire responded to the Senju’s joy in kind.

Hashirama opened hisarms and all were drawn to him, like chicks to a mother hen. They followed theSenju out of the room, happily chattering about dinner arrangements and accommodationsfor the night.

Madara wanted to go too,but he could not. He knew that Hashirama’s gesture did not include him. It wasonly meant for those representatives, to earn their favour and their trust.

All that he wanted,though, was for Hashirama to see him as an equal, for him to forget aboutmeetings and politics and villages and see Madara.But that would be like asking the dragon to defer to the sparrow.

While the committee vacatedthe hallways outside, Madara remained seated at the conference table. The gaslight mounted on the wall flickered as a breeze slipped in through the openwindow.

That would forever behis place, he suspected. The shadow in the corner that was ignored in favour ofHashirama’s sunshine, ever-present but never fully welcome. He wished that hecould be that irresistible bright flame too, if only once.

The noise of shuffling paperjerked him from his self-commiseration. Madara snapped to attention, turning tothe far end of the table, only to find that Tobirama had also stayed behind. Hesat arranging a sheaf of loose notes, his gaze set on Madara.

The Uchiha froze. He hadthought that he was alone and had lost track of time, watching the open doorthat Hashirama had taken. How long had Tobirama been staring at him? How muchhad he seen?

“What are you looking at?”

The question waspractically snarled. There was no love lost between them. Hashirama usuallyacted as buffer. He was the one reason why they tried to act civil in front ofone another, but he wasn’t there now.

“You,” Tobirama said,deadpan.

Madara fumed. The gallof that Senju knew no bounds. He wasn’t even going to do Madara the courtesy topretend otherwise.

“And why is that?”

If the Senju wanted afight, Madara would give him one. He was spoiling for one, really, and had beenfor a long time: since earlier that afternoon when Tobirama had interrupted hisconversation with Hashirama – since two weeks ago when Tobirama had dismissedMadara’s suggestions regarding the protective barrier around Konoha – since fivemonths ago when Tobirama had welcomed the Uchiha to the Senju camp for thefirst of their peace talks and pretended that a last minute inconvenience hadleft Madara bereft of proper accommodations – since two years ago when Tobiramahad cut down Madara’s baby brother like cattle.

Madara jumped to hisfeet. His chair screeched from the sudden motion. “If you have something tosay, then come out and say it!”

If Madara was fire, Tobiramawas the still waters at the bottom of a lake. He lowered his gaze back to hispapers and nudged the corners until the stack was perfectly aligned. There wasa profound sense of resignation about him.

“For a long time, Ienvied you,” he said in a low voice. “I hated you for being the focus of hisattention, for holding his love. He would have died for you, at your request. Almostdid. I see now that I was unfair.”

Madara knew who he was, of course. Hashirama. It was easier,though, to feign incomprehension and outrage, than it was to see his ownfeelings reflected back at him so perfectly in the man that he hated most ofall in the world.

To want to share a pieceof Hashirama’s light. He understood it so well.

“You’ve gone mad…”Madara had wanted it to sound derisive, mocking, destructive. Instead, hisvoice came out a tenuous thread.

Tobirama was undeterred.Like Madara, he knew like when he saw it. He had known that awkward inadequacy thatcame with being close to Hashirama longer the Uchiha, though, so he had alreadygrown past the need to deny it.

“You will never have him.That is his way. He makes you love him and need him, until you can’t imaginelife without him, and then he leaves you for someone or something else, becausehe doesn’t need you. He never did.”

Madara clenched histeeth and scowled in silence. It was better than to let his voice betray him asecond time, especially now that his most secret thoughts had been spoken aloud.

Tobirama picked up hisnotes and stood up to leave, the slight noise of his chair and footstepsechoing in the completely silent room.

“I’d tell you to becareful around him, but you and I both know how pointless that is. It’s too late. Weare but flies happily trapped in his lure.”

With a final nod, Tobiramadisappeared behind the same door as Hashirama. As Madara watched his back, hefelt a startling pang, a surge of kinship like he had never expected.

They were more alikethat he had ever thought. Two half-shadows forever waiting for a light that wasturned the other way.

#it was a challenge!! thanks :D #tobirama senju #madara uchiha #naruto fandom #fic!#lazuliblur

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preservationandruin · 7 years ago

Text

Oathbringer Liveblog Part Two; Chapters 44-48

Sorry for the delays! I have a life and it is busy.

Shallan seems to bond with another Radiant a little, we look in at Bridge Four new and old, Jasnah talks with Ivory, and we get a view into what’s going on in Alethkar.

The epigraph mentions that the writer has “many realms”--that’s interesting. Also they’re either speaking for a group of people or using the royal We--both are possible.

Anyway, Veil is lounging around with her boots up on a table. Also, we get a slang word-- deevy, meaning pretty cool, and Ishnah is trying to teach the dudes of Shallan’s gang how to be spies while Veil peoplewatches and drinks. We also get that “she’s grown some nice rockbuds” might be slang for “she has nice tits.” This information is courtesy of Gaz. Ishnah has them try to repeat people they saw in the tavern without looking again; when it’s Veil’s turn, she rattles off a long list of information. Veil is so absorbed in this that she almost forgets one of Shallan’s meetings.

One day, someone might realize that they never see Veil and Shallan in the same place. Of course, Shallan can fix that with illusions, but the question is if she’ll think to before someone catches that particular wrinkle. Interestingly, the personas are getting more distinct--Shallan is irritated at how much Veil drinks, Veil thinks Shallan’s preoccupation with scholarly questions gets nothing done.

Anyway, there’s a meeting going on in the library, including May Aladar, who I still like, and a bunch of other scribes and learned people. Shallan also got so caught up in thinking about Veil that she basically just froze in the doorway for a few moments. Shallan, this way of life is interesting, but it’s going to become unsustainable soon.

The woman’s arrogance was what Shallan didn’t like--not, of course, that Adolin had been courting Janala soon before meeting Shallan. She had once tried to avoid Adolin’s former romantic partners, but...well, that was like trying to avoid soldiers on a battlefield. They were just kind of everywhere.

In case anyone forgot about Adolin Kholin’s train wreck love life. Anyway, Shallan almost considers that she might need another persona to deal with scholarly stuff and then starts panicking--because isn’t that who she is? Isn’t Shallan the scholar?

She’s starting to fracture.

Anyway, Renarin was sent to listen to the meeting--he’s clearly very uncomfortable, stimming and perched nervously on his seat. He noticed something important, but when he pointed it out everyone started lowkey mocking him--and Shallan got indignant for his sake.

“Surely, Janala, you didn’t just try to insult the son of the highprince.” “What? No, no of course I didn’t.” “Good,” Shallan said. “Because if you had been trying to insult him, you did a terrible job.”

She proceeds to viciously drag Janala. Unfortunately, Navani was probably going to do it better, and this does get her another Jasnah lecture. Anyway, Renarin seeks her out to say thank you, and also is surprised and happy that he can see Pattern--because Pattern can’t go invisible, just blend into things.

“Thank you.” “For?” “Defending my honor. When Adolin does that, someone usually gets stabbed. Your way was pleasanter.” “Well, nobody should take that tone with you. They wouldn’t dare do it to Adolin.”

I am here for the pair of them getting to be on better terms. Anyway, they’re both feeling that the gemstone center powers the entire city as a fabrial. He also gives her some tips on avoiding getting infuriated by Jasnah. Surge of Illumination Bros.

And Dalinar came to listen too--because he didn’t want Renarin to feel awkward. Nobody will make fun of Renarin for being “unmanly” for being there if the Blackthorn is also doing it.

...Back to Moash. Great. He’s basically being kept as a slave, now, by the parshmen. The Parshmen are giving out work to the humans--including the lighteyes, something that Moash relishes a little. He finds Guff, an old caravaneer who he knew. He finds a group in resistance--and realizes that even there, the lighteyes are still in charge.

He wasn’t broken. All of them were broken. Alethi society--lighteyed and dark. Maybe all of humankind.

Gang, I think Moash is having a bit of either an existential crisis. He just doesn’t react to anything, and signs himself up for the worst job he possibly can. That...doesn’t bode well. I’m worrying that he’s leaning toward a “so let me be evil” moment.

Over to actual Bridge Four, with Skar! He’s irritated--out of all of them, only him, Dabbid, and Rlain haven’t been able to draw in Stormlight, and he’s trying to push himself harder. Anyway, Sigzil is trying to logic out Lashings; Drehy has gotten it down, and they’ve been practicing racing with Stormlight--Drehy beat Lopen, who had the previous best time.

“You stopped for food on the way, Leyten.” Sigzil said. “Even Rock beat your time, and he was skipping like a girl the last third.” “Was Horneater dance of victory,” Rock said from near Leyten. “Is very manly.”

I. adore Bridge Four. Also, they’ve started explaining their pasts to each other; Skar explains that he tried to get into the army, but they wouldn’t take him because he was a “runt.” He’d tried to steal their armor to get in, and got branded as a slave.

Teft was an addict. Drehy had struck an officer. Eth had been caught planning to desert with his brother. Even simple Hobber had been part of a drunken brawl.

Anyway, Kaladin’s late, which irritates them. He does show up, though, with more hopefuls.

Kal: it feels wrong, having lighteyes at bridge four skar: other than you, and renarin, and any of us if we win Blades, and Rock technically is a lighteyes with his people-- Kal: fine i get your point

Skar points out that with Bridge Four, good-natured ribbing is the norm and what you have to watch out for is when they’re not being assholes. He and Lyn start commiserating about how much they want to be out there, being able to fight and fly with the others. He gives her a speech--a pep talk of sorts--and she actually manages it, becoming the first female Windrunner Squire of the group. He also realizes--he did something similar for Rock. He is about to go say that he’s going to join Rock’s cook crew--and Rock lets him get halfway through before he points out that Skar is glowing.

I! LOVE! BRIDGE! FOUR!

And, apparently, we’re at Taln now. Interesting. We get his whole prepared speech--teach you to forge bronze, soulcast metal, So much is lost between Returns.

Okay, we were at Jasnah--she’s reading over Taln’s words. Ivory is with her--we get more of a description of him. He’s dressed in a formal suit, and is jet-black with slight prismatic elements to him. His features are too angular to be human, more like a statue. Jasnah feels like she’s losing her footing--things she spent her life slaving away at are now common knowledge, like the Parshmen being Voidbringers.

We get a glimpse into what might have started breaking Jasnah.

Something stirred deep within her. Glimmers of memory from a dark room, screaming her voice ragged. A childhood illness nobody else seemed to remember, for all it had done her. It had taught her that people she loved could still hurt her.

Jasnah is unsettled and haunted by the fact that the Heralds--Taln especially--have been driven mad, because she can always rely on her mind, “except once.” That’s probably important. Ivory is called an inkspren; it’s mentioned that Ivory’s generation basically had to raise themselves, as there were no elders around due to the Recreance. Also, he’s apparently the only inkspren to have bonded someone, marking Jasnah as the only current Elsecaller.

He had taken the name Ivory as a symbol of defiance. He was not what his kin said he was, and would not suffer what fate proclaimed.

I love him.

Some other notes: Jasnah thinks that Shallan might need more challenges, instead of more structure--and honestly, that’s probably a better way of handling Shallan. Also, the honorspren apparently once tried to rule Shadesmar. Spren politics, y’all.

And Jasnah mentions learning something from Wit--something Ivory insists will cause another Recreance. it’s the same secret that the Stormfather refuses to tell Dalinar, isn’t it.

Moash, again. The epigraph mentions that the speaker/s “stand in the sea, pleased with our domains.” He mentions that he’s one of the more enthusiastic workers, because honestly compared to bridge work the hard labor he’s doing is easy. Also, Moash is surprised that the Voidbringers actually treat their human slaves well. It’s calmed himself down, some. Unfortunately, he’s not really facing the facts here...

What happened at the Shattered Plains wasn’t my fault, he thought as he hauled the sledge. I was pushed into it. I can’t be blamed.

Sorry Moash, you can totally be blamed for that. You didn’t have to join the conspiracy. You didn’t have to keep going with it once Kaladin intervened. You didn’t have to stop going to stew nights, Moash, you broke yourself from Bridge Four long before you fought Kaladin.

Anyway, he’s realized they’re moving toward Kholinar. He’s starting to admire the Voidbringers, too--rationalizing that they were sent back because humanity didn’t deserve to govern itself. The only thing that mars his picture of the Parshmen as an efficient, more caring and humane version of the human armies--is the fact that they’re still keeping parshmen as slaves.

That’s...wow. The slave parshmen are treated worse than the human slaves.

Meet the new boss, same as the old boss, I guess. Apparently, that group ‘brought a false god into their group’ and the speaker looks up at the lfying Fused.

Oh, god. That’s Kaladin’s group. That’s the group that Kaladin travelled with, and they’re being punished for it. We haven’t seen the little girl, but--I’m hoping that she’s not there.

God, they didn’t fucking deserve that. Moash sees them whipping a fallen parshman from that group, and walks over, yelling at the parshmen to stop being like humans. He catches a whip meant to hit him, and tells the parshman to ride in the sledge to heal his feet, and takes his place.

There’s still a bit of Bridge Four left in the guy. A bit who isn’t willing to let the world be shitty without a bit of fighting back.

No one dared to again raise a whip against the parshmen crew the rest of the march.

#oathrbringer spoilers #stormlight archive liveblog #FUCK YEAH BRIDGE FOUR #ivory

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ohjohnno · 5 years ago

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Outrageous Fortune Reviewcap: S1E04 (”The Cause Of This Defect”)

This isn’t quite a bottle episode - it does feature a couple of new characters, and there are a couple of moments on new sets - but in a lot of ways it does feel like one. It’s weirdly plotless, for one thing; aside from the cold open, the entire thing takes place over a period of about, at most, five hours, and as a result it’s very slow paced. That allows for a deeper exploration of more characters than usual, and the result is one of the most complex, affecting, and engaging episodes the show ever did.

The “plot”, or rather plot substitute, is a funeral and its immediate aftermath. In the cold open, we meet this guy:

That’s Billy Grady West, and we don’t know him long. He dies a sad death by misadventure while fleeing a cop, making the mistake of hiding in a dustbin on the day the binmen come round. Over the course of the episode, we learn that he was Eric’s son, but also that he was really a West, to the point where he’d changed his name to reflect his feelings. Now, one could argue that we maybe should have been introduced to him in an earlier episode - it’s a bit weird that we’ve passed without mention of this guy so far, after all - but I don’t mind; he’s really more a plot device than a character, and that’s as it should be. The most important thing about him is that his death gives the writers an excuse to take Wolf out of prison for a day, thus setting off a chain of events that teaches us a bit more about just about every character.

It’s gonna be difficult to split this up into individual character-plot analysis like I usually do, so this is gonna be a little bit more like a traditional recap. So much of import is happening in just about every second of this episode that I’d feel worried about missing something if I didn’t. So, once we’re past the cold open and the opening credits, we jump right into the action with the Wests.

Right away, we learn several things. First, that Van - judging by the wall he punches - was very fond of Billy; secondly, that Loretta is, judging by her facial expression, a little bothered by still being what Pascalle calls “the oldest virgin in West Auckland”; and thirdly, that neither Cheryl nor Jethro are particularly looking forward to Wolf’s impending appearance at Billy’s service, even though he’ll be under guard. Eric appears, and it’s unclear whether his reticence to attend his son’s service is inability to face up to grief or just a lack of it. Then we’re at the service.

Jethro’s giving a speech over Billy’s grave, and you can tell instantly that he didn’t like him; he’s awkwardly stumbling over euphemisms about his skills and talents, treating him like an embarrassing fuckup whose funeral he is attending only out of obligation. But Wolf shows up in the middle of it, and their brief interaction is fraught with significance.

He embraces Pascalle and Eric (as Cheryl looks on in disgust), but steps up to Jethro as if he barely knows him, standing there with an abrasive “thanks, mate” and staring him down with the full force of fatherly authority until he moves, clearly seething with long-brewed resentment that surely grows a little more potent right in that moment, as he’s forced once more to put a lid on it and bottle it up, making way for the indomitable force of his father’s self-assured machismo. Wolf, for his part, then delivers a wonderfully engaging, emotionally resonant speech (mostly about a digger Billy once commandeered) that captures the audience’s hearts, driving Jethro even more round the bend. “Only he could turn a bloody tragedy into the big day out,” he seethes to Cheryl, who isn’t any happier with the situation. Her mood isn’t improved by their lawyer, Corky, demanding money up-front for the appeal. They leave him in the dust.

Back at the house now, and Jethro’s rage has subsumed into a piercingly smug contempt. He mocks Billy to Van’s face while preparing meat on the “barbie”, and he doesn’t mince words: “A p-head screwup. If he hadn’t gone now, he would have gone next week, next year...” Van doesn’t like that at all, and that seems to give Jethro all the motivation he needs to keep pushing, seemingly itching to start a fight. Their brewing confrontation is interrupted by Cheryl, but it’s clear there’s something going on here that goes far deeper than Jethro’s dislike for Billy. Indeed, it’s pretty clear that this isn’t about Van, either, who did nothing whatsoever to provoke Jethro’s barrage of needles. This is a resentment that goes all the way to the top.

Wolf’s prison guard allows him a visit to the house, too, and Cheryl still isn’t pleased to see him. Loretta is, though, and he’s not the only one she’s pleased to see.

Wolf politely introduces her to Paul, his young, attractive prison guard. Loretta, well... look at that face. The “oldest virgin in West Auckland”, indeed, but far from an unfeeling robot.

Cheryl burns her hand on a tray of sausage rolls, and runs to the bathroom for cold water; Wolf follows her, and they have brief, very confused, and very passionate sex. Loretta, meanwhile, does her best to hit on Paul, and it’s absolutely hilarious in the way that only awkward, antisocial nerd attempts at hitting on people can be. Her attempt is a nervous, motormouthed pile of obscure film references and weirdly sexual insults, the sort of thing that’s usually presented the other way around, gender-wise; it’s really quite rare to see the traditional gender roles get swapped like this, and it’s all the funnier for it. Poor Paul has no idea what to do, and it’s clear his torment isn’t gonna end anytime soon; Loretta asks him if he likes movies, and what’s anyone supposed to say to that?

Jethro, unable to piss in the toilet Van’s moping in, accidentally interrupts his parents; this unceremoniously ends their tryst, and things are immediately back to normal. Wolf, once more, demonstrates himself unable to understand what, exactly, it is that is making Cheryl so angry about the Allen situation; Cheryl, by now, has little to no interest in enlightening him. So she leaves, telling him to “fuck off back to prison”, leaving Wolf fuming in the bathroom. He sees Paul and Loretta going back to the latter’s room (for a “movie”), and it’s instantly apparent that he knows exactly what’s happening. Still, he lets it pass without comment, or at least without explicit comment; something tells me Paul might’ve been able to read between the lines when he said “I’m not going anywhere.”

Loretta continues to be her awkward self; “I’m gonna be a film director,” she proclaims while showing Paul her collection, and she keeps insulting him. He’s not bothered, but he thinks it’s funny, and he tells her so; “You don’t hold back, do you?” Loretta is suddenly very awkward indeed; “Do you think that’s... not attractive?”

In prior episodes, we’ve caught sight of the vindictive and manipulative sides of Loretta; here, we get an extremely important, timely reminder that she’s a fifteen year old girl, and that it’s absolutely essential to take that fact into account when evaluating her actions. She asks him, hesitantly and nervously, if he wants to have sex with her; he (rather shockingly) agrees, and that terrifies her. But after a moment’s frozen, deer-in-headlights terror, she gets up and closes the door anyway.

Down in the garden, Wolf has, once again, stolen Jethro’s thunder; he’s manning the barbie now, and asks Jethro if he wants a sausage. “No thanks,” says Jethro bitterly, skulking back into the house as Wolf tries to call in enough favors to convince Corky to represent him pro bono. It’s unclear whether it’s working, and Van overhears enough of it to get a little nervous. As Paul kisses Loretta - giving her what looks like a huge overload of very strong, conflicting emotions - Jethro and Cheryl commiserate in the kitchen, only for Jethro to seem to get a little mad at her for not being mad enough at Wolf. Ted wanders in, confused as usual, mentioning his late wife Rita as Pascalle consoles Eric, who seems unusually interested in the details of his late son’s sex life.

It’s not clear whether Pascalle “rooted” him before or after he changed his last name to West, not that I suppose that matters; it wasn’t like he was a blood relative, after all. Eric suggests that it was “one of the highlights, I think, of his whole life”, displaying a truly remarkable ability to perv on women in literally any conceivable circumstance; cut, hilariously, to to Loretta and Paul, lounging in bed, their facial expressions telling the whole story.

Paul, to his credit, seems upset that Loretta didn’t enjoy it, and immediately tries to make amends by, as the Jamaicans say, going bowcat. Meanwhile, Wolf and Van have a heart-to-heart in the garden; Van, it transpires, blames himself for what happened to Billy, mentioning that he didn’t join him on his criminal scheme this time because he knew Cheryl wouldn’t approve. Wolf isn’t having that. “You are a good man, with a lot on his plate,” he insists, and then something equal parts fascinating and horrible escapes his mouth: “Trying to listen to your mother and do the right thing by the family!”

It’s one short sentence that says volumes about his mentality. On the one hand, he truly does deeply, profoundly love and care about Van, and is genuinely speaking from deep within his heart as he does his best to try and comfort him. But it reveals a lot about what, exactly, is in that heart. He does, it seems, believe that a son should pay attention to the words of his mother, but the way he phrases it suggests that he really only believes this out of a sense of traditional moral obligation; he doesn’t really believe, or even countenance for a second, the notion that Cheryl could maybe have a point, the idea that her opinion is of equal value to his. Instead, he frames her decisions as a tragedy, the rock opposite the hard place that is “do[ing] the right thing by the family”, an obstacle that Van will have to overcome if he is to live up to the duties Wolf wants of him with the family. It’s advice delivered with pure intention from a deeply impure heart, and it may, alas, be just about the worst advice Van could get right now.

Elsewhere, Pascalle and Eric have been joined by Draska Doslic, a girl from a nearby Croatian family who initially appeared in episode two, but who was inconsequential enough there that I forgot to mention her. She’s Pascalle’s on-again, off-again friend, and it turns out both she and another mutual friend also, in fact, “rooted” the late Billy, much to Eric’s shock. They admit it was a “pity root”, motivated by Billy’s sad life and broken home; Eric immediately starts droning on about his sadness and guilt, about as transparent as a man can humanly get. It’s hilarious, but it’s also kinda sad in itself, y’know? Billy was raised - in theory, anyway - by a perverted, drunken criminal in an environment almost entirely filled with drunks and criminals; of course he was gonna turn out a fuckup. That cycle isn’t gonna be broken anytime soon, not if these surroundings are anything to go by.

Draska immediately perks up when Van walks in; Van barely notices, fresh off his conversation with Wolf, and accordingly starts a fight with Cheryl, drunkenly accusing her of betraying him while throwing some highly smashable stuff around. See what I meant about bad advice? Wolf has yet to learn that Van takes everything in the most simplistic, literal possible terms, and doesn’t have any sort of capacity for subtlety. If you tell him that what Cheryl’s doing is the opposite of “the right thing by the family”, how d’you expect him to react? The boy just about worships his father; the fact that he’s making him choose between him and Cheryl is cruel for both of them.

Loretta, as it turned out, did not like Paul going bowcat, and is particularly grossed out when she learns of the blood that accompanied the loss of her virginity. The whole thing seems to have made her very uncomfortable, and Paul isn’t really reading the signs very well. He’s clearly enjoying himself a lot more than she is, so he has much more motivation to keep going than she does. She’s so not enjoying it, in fact, that she’s genuinely astonished to learn that he’s willing to go again. Still, she doesn’t kick him out.

Elsewhere, Cheryl’s friend Rochelle shows up. She’ll be pretty important eventually, although that’ll take a while. She showers enthusiastic affection upon both Wolf and Eric, the latter of whom is particularly pleased. Pascalle comes out, and Wolf gives her genuine and heartfelt encouragement to pursue her modelling career; it’s a lovely thing to do, especially given Cheryl’s constant haranguing of her for it, no matter how understandable. Wolf is in such a good mood, in fact, that he starts dancing with Cheryl, who can’t keep a big grin off her face. That’s Wolf’s thing, see: he’s very charismatic indeed, and his love for his family is so genuine as to be difficult to deny. One can almost see the twenty years of beautiful memories replaying in Cheryl’s head as they dance, erasing these horrible last few months and taking her back to paradise. It’s a rare portrait of the deep love that once existed between them that we mostly missed out on in this show. It’s heartwarming and heartbreaking at once, a snapshot of a rosier past and an alternate present where everything is much happier. But, alas, it’s - how did Lorde say it? - just a supercut.

Loretta and Paul are just talking now. For a moment, it seems that Loretta has regained her confidence; she messes with him, briefly making up and retracting a story about parental abuse just to see the look on his face, and complains about how much she disliked Billy even when he was a small child. But Paul sees through it, and gently pokes her; “so you do have feelings”, he says, and her reaction is really quite fascinating. Immediately, her confidence goes away; she bundles herself up, wrapping her legs up in her arms, frowns and tremulously denies it. “Nah,” she says, “not many, if any.”

That is an important moment; it may, in character terms, be the most important moment in the episode. Loretta is a child who doesn’t fit in; she’s not like her sexy, popular sister, or her jocky, popular brother, and she feels alienated from just about everyone else in her age group. And she is, we know, a person with great capacity for doing terrible things, whose reputation on that front precedes her. And she takes refuge in that latter trait, throwing it up as her shield against a world that rejects and cruelly mocks her, throwing that cruelty back in its face in the form of searing witticisms and cruel schemes. But it’s not that she can’t feel; if anything, her feelings are very strong indeed, and at her core is a tender, fragile girl whose soul is all fractured from the neverending ache of loneliness. Maybe her actions in episode two really were jealousy; maybe that kinda abusive, controlling friendship she has with Kurt really is all she has, thus motivating her to do anything to protect the totality of her hold over him. Without him, she’d be alone with the feelings she wishes she didn’t have, having to confront her own normality.

Van, down in the garden, is not enjoying the sight of his parents dancing nearly as much as everyone else. “Your parents are so cool,” says Draska, but Van’s mind is clearly on the fragility of it all, and so off he goes, grabbing his balaclava.

He encounters Jethro on the way out, doing a very bad job of lying to him about what he’s gonna do. Jethro follows him, encountering and mostly ignoring Allen (from the last episode) on the way out. Allen walks with great purpose through the house, finds Eric, and punches him, thinking he was the one who snitched on him last episode. Wolf gently takes him aside and calmly explains to him that he was the one who snitched on him, and what follows is a fascinating demonstration of the dynamics of macho honor.

They don’t fight, that’s for sure; they converse like equals who respect one another, even though the topic of their conversation is Allen’s admitted attempts to pull Wolf’s wife. “Jesus Christ, Allen, you didn’t give me a choice!” says Wolf, and it’s fascinating that he doesn’t once suggest to Allen that maybe he might have been in the wrong to try and sleep with a married woman. Rather, he seems to view this as natural and expected, and frames his own actions as a necessary evil to protect the one he loves. He doesn’t give Cheryl any agency in this, either; she’s just the object being fought over, and Wolf seems to believe that Allen “spending every day with [her], giving her money” would have been enough to break her loyalty. But he doesn’t even think of breaking off his friendship with Allen; instead, he apologizes for what he had to do and promises to make it up to him. This episode is the last we ever see of Allen - I presume he went to prison shortly after this - but I’ve no doubt Wolf would have kept his promise if able. It’s a fascinating thing, that macho honor system, and a resilient one - but it’s not a good one.

We get a timeskip; it’s nighttime now, and Van is trying to rob a closed gas station in order to get money for Wolf’s appeal. Jethro has followed him, and gently reminds him that lawyers generally charge a little more than gas stations tend to keep within their premises. Van goes off to rob somewhere else, leaving Jethro sighing. Meanwhile, Eric is making the most of the sympathy he’s getting from Rochelle while Wolf and Cheryl talk.

Wolf lays out an ultimatum. If Cheryl still loves him, he’ll go back to prison and faithfully serve the remainder of his time, for the sake of the children; if she doesn’t, he’ll make his escape right now. Cheryl says “when you’re here, it’s like you never left”; Wolf smiles and takes that as an expression of love, but Cheryl’s face afterwards indicates that it was far more complicated a statement than that.

Maybe Cheryl does love him, but she’s also very much aware of what impact Wolf escaping would have on her kids and their lives. With that to look up to, what would become of her experiment? What would happen to her kids’ lives? And on the other hand, does she really want things to go back to how they were before Wolf left? Sure, it feels good, but where does it all lead?

Pascalle and Draska share a confession. “I didn’t really wanna root Billy”, says Draska; “Me neither,” affirms Pascalle. Draska did it to make Van jealous, and while we never find out why Pascalle did it, one presumes she had her reasons. Considered in context with Loretta’s escapades this episode, and this episode presents a fascinating critique of the way society pressures women into having sex for all sorts of reasons except them actually wanting to have sex, thus ultimately satisfying only the men at their expense. Pascalle and Draska finish up by, as The Onion once said, validating the living shit out of each other while Wolf shoos Cheryl away so he can talk about “plans” with Allen. Cheryl steps away and looks over the party, clearly having something of a moment of clarity as a psychedelic guitar solo plays from the stereo in the background. Wolf loves her enough to tell her that he does; he doesn’t love her enough to trust her with any real knowledge about the things he does.

Elsewhere, Van is breaking into a drugstore, on the same idea as before. Jethro follows him, again pointing out that this makes little sense. They’re interrupted by a kid who seems to be sleeping there, who chases them out with threats to call the cops.

White trash bastards!

Van twists some stuff round to blame Jethro for Wolf’s predicament, still following the lines Wolf himself laid out for him in their conversation earlier: that this is all because of Cheryl and her crackpot scheme to go straight, and that Jethro is aiding and abetting her by being a “mummy’s boy”. Jethro objects a little too strenuously to this characterization, and essentially flips it back on him, accusing him of wanting to be Wolf. He’s probably more right; Cheryl doesn’t realise how different Jethro is from her, but neither Van nor Wolf realise Van isn’t cut out to be Wolf 2.0. Only Jethro realises that. He cautions Van against following this path, lest he end up a “dead loser like Billy”; they fight (kinda) and Jethro, being the less drunk of the two, wins. Jethro leaves; Van turns round and sees a digger.

Jethro returns home, and he and Wolf have their first real conversation of the entire show. It might be the most hostile interaction between any two characters so far, too, and that includes that one scene in episode two where a woman was beating her nephew. There’s mutually flowing resentment here, both tied to things bigger than the men themselves. Wolf has some sort of class resentment tied up in the way his son has decided to live his life; “Mister I work in town, I wear a suit”, he mocks, bemoaning all the potential wasted when they decided to send him to the “uni-var-sity” instead of drawing him into the family business. Jethro isn’t as explicit about the reasons for his resentment, but he doesn’t need to be; it’s clear as day, and has been from the moment Wolf stepped up to him at the service. Jethro has a complex about his father, feeling at once intimidated and abandoned by him, clearly craving the love and affection he shows the other kids while idolizing his macho self-assuredness and self-control, and channeling his resentment at his lack of that into a general hatred of Wolf, the things Wolf does, and people who remind him of Wolf. He certainly didn’t have Van’s best interests in mind when he told him to be his own man and stop imitating his father; no, he was just bitter, aiming squarely where it would hurt, fighting a substitute for Wolf because he knew that was the closest he could get to beating him. “Oh, thank god Mum doesn’t buy your shit,” he snarls, but it’s clear from his actions in the previous episode that Cheryl is just an ally of convenience to him, herself not realising that she and Jethro are united only in their shared distaste for Wolf and not in any of the reasons.

Loretta and Paul are at it again; Loretta seems to be enjoying it, but quickly reveals (much to Paul’s chagrin) that it was just an act. She’s gotten bored enough now that she’s back to her usual ways, getting most of her pleasure from messing with him; when she finally tells him she’s fifteen, his shock gives her the first real smile of the night. Not that this excuses him, natch - he really should have known, and I think on some level probably did, but that didn’t stop him. He’s entirely in the wrong here, both legally and otherwise - but there’s no denying the joy she takes in making him panic. Which is the story of her life, really, so far as we’re able to tell from these four episodes - she doesn’t have a lot of joy in her life, but she takes what she can get in making other people suffer.

Wolf and Cheryl have their final conversation of the night. They share jokes and laugh at their friends, like any happily married couple. But their differences are still there, and irreconcilable. “There are no prizes for suffering, love,” says Wolf. “Nobody thanks you for it.” It’s a great, great quote, applicable to many situations and, in itself, entirely correct - but hot on its heels comes a quote arguably even more important: “I’m not gonna change, love.”

Cheryl knows he’s right, of course. But Wolf has to go before the conversation can finish. He says his goodbyes, and after he’s gone Loretta allows herself a moment of gloating to Pascalle; “You’re still a slut, but I’m no longer a virgin,” she says, before proclaiming that she’s never gonna do it again. And who can blame her? As far as I can tell, that was awful. Bad sex isn’t depicted too often on television, or if it is it’s usually the butt of very immature comedies. Here, it’s treated maturely and seriously, as an important character moment and a rare possibly-realistic depiction of the embarrassing awkwardness of teenage girldom. Hats off to the writers for this one.

Paul lets the ever-well-behaved Wolf sit in the front seat of the prison van on the way back, secure in his knowledge that he’s not gonna try and escape. Or at least that’s what he thinks before a giant digger, piloted by an ecstatically drunk Van, blocks the road ahead. Van gets out, caterwauling about an escape attempt; Paul reaches for his radio to call for backup, but Wolf assures him that he’ll handle it.

He tells Van much the same thing he’s been telling him already: “Go home and look after your mother for me, okay?” For once, it might be good advice. He gets back in the prison van; it drives off, leaving Van confused and dejected in the middle of the road.

Our final scene is Cheryl mostly-monologuing to Jethro, vocalising most of the things we’ve been able to figure she was thinking towards the end of the episode: she truly does love Wolf, and probably always will, but needs him to stay in prison if they’re to continue making a good life for themselves. “It’s like when you turn the lights on in a room full of mess,” she says; “you’ve seen it, and it’s too late.” It hurts her, but it’s good to see her making the right decision. She’s not gonna go forward with the appeal; despite everything, she’s gonna let him rot in prison. Jethro, naturally, seems perfectly happy with this decision. Alas, for all her clarity on Wolf, Cheryl is still blinkered on him; she doesn’t realise just what he is, or the reasons he feels what he feels. But for now, he’s being a good mummy’s boy, listening to her talk about feelings and getting her drinks. And so the family’s life goes on, same as before; the difference is, as Cheryl said, that the lights have been turned on now and we’ve seen a whole lot about many of these characters that can’t be unseen. There’s a depth and complexity of character here that’s rare to find in any fiction, and I cherish it very much. This is an episode without a wasted moment, where every scene is just as important as the last. It’s as good as TV writing gets, if you ask me, and it’s one of my favorite episodes of anything ever. But it’s still early days yet, and the show will cover a lot of ground, both good and bad, beyond this. To the next!

#antonia prebble #siobhan marshall #antony starr #robyn malcolm #grant bowler #television #outrageous fortune #frank whitten #rachel lang #gutter black #nz

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alongwalktoforever · 8 years ago

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Japril’s Misunderstandings & Missteps: Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Moving Forward?

Sometimes something drastic has to happen for you to realize what you really want. As Jackson reels from his mistake, April makes a decision about moving forward.

When April finally enters the cafeteria for lunch, she is immediately bombarded with a whole table of people she is not in the mood to talk too. Arizona is eating lunch with Maggie, Alex, and Meredith. April had to fight the urge to turn right around and leave, but before she can she hears someone call her name.

“Keps!” Riggs was calling her over from a table in the back. April lets out a sigh of relief and walks over.

“This is probably not helping stop Arizona’s head from spinning,” April points out, but she sits down anyway.

“Yeah, well. Can’t sit at that table or Meredith will get mad. And yes, I know how ridiculous this all is,” He says honestly as he takes a bite of his sandwich.

“Well, I can’t sit there either. I’ll get dirty looks from Maggie and Meredith. And Arizona is Arizona,” She commiserates.

“And now your ex-husband is sitting with them.” Riggs gestures. April turns around and sees Jackson pull up a chair next to Maggie. There is that gnawing feeling again. Damnit.

“Well, at least we have each other,” April jokes as she lifts up her juice to cheers. Riggs laughs and they clink their juice boxes.

Across the room, Arizona was staring at the two surgeons. She was trying to see if they were acting any different than they used too, but they seemed the same. Riggs had just made April laugh about something. Maybe this was going on longer than anyone realized? Maybe this was going on the whole time since Riggs showed up? But Arizona knew that this was impossible. Until fairly recently, Arizona was sure that April was still in love with Jackson, but doing her best to deny it. And he was doing the same. I mean, what sensible exes live together? This whole thing was very very odd.

“Arizona, why are you staring daggers at Riggs and April? They key your car or something?” Alex comments, bringing her back to the present.

“Hmm what? No, I’m not staring at them. Or anyone. I am just enjoying my lunch,” Arizona tries to sound convincing. But she can’t help but glance in Jackson’s direction, who doesn’t miss her look. His brow furrows but he doesn’t say anything.

“You were definitely staring.” Alex replied.

“You shush. Um. April and I are in a tiff so that was why I was staring. Okay? Let’s drop it.” Arizona knew that this was the wrong crowd to raise her suspicions.

“Yeah, that is enough Kepner talk for me,” Meredith states. Both Jackson and Arizona look up at Meredith’s harsh comment. “What? She stole my job.”

“No, she didn’t. You got suspended,” Jackson reminds her.

“Whatever,” Meredith had a very thick skin and didn’t understand when others didn’t. Arizona had noticed that Jackson had been better at sticking up for April as of late. Most people were over the whole chief fight, but Meredith was always a little prickly. Arizona knew that Jackson was upset about the Webber thing, but she also noticed that Jackson and April were much friendlier since they returned home from that Montana trip. There were parts of the story that Arizona needed to know to get a whole picture.

“Now, you are staring at Jackson,” Alex accusatorily points his fork at Arizona.

“Do you want me to stare at you?” Arizona smiles trying to divert the attention by being charming.

“Just stop staring, in general. You weirdo,” Alex grumbles.

“Ignore him. Alex is entering grumpy old man territory,” Meredith says, who then changes the subject to the surgery her and Maggie had to perform today.

“I have to go!” Arizona stands up quickly and walks out of the cafeteria without waiting for a response.

Jackson watches as Arizona leaves the cafeteria. She had been acting particularly weird all day. This morning when she was asking about April and his living situation. He wonders if she knows about him and Maggie, but she seemed much more concerned about April and Riggs than him. Jackson looks over and sees April laughing as Riggs spills something down his shirt. He had no right to feel jealous. He knew that April and Riggs were just war buddies, who shared experiences that he will never understand. And the fact that he had spent last night with another woman did not play well in his favor. He tries to center back on the conversation happening at the table, but he just can’t seem to focus. Jackson couldn’t get Arizona’s weird behavior out of his head. He sees April finish her lunch and bid goodbye to Riggs. As she walks past the table, April sends a friendly glance in his direction but doesn’t stop to say hello. A few weeks ago, they were inseparable. He remembers their first days back.

“Bye sweetheart.”

“Bye nugget, see you later.”

Jackson and April stand at the door of the hospital nursery and wave at their daughter as the nursery attendant takes her inside. Without hesitation, they walk together to the attendings’ lounge. Surprisingly, there hadn’t been any weirdness between them since they had gotten back from Montana. Everything seemed to be back to normal from the outside perspective, yet no one, but Jackson and April, felt the electricity that flowed between them in every interaction.

“Her six-month birthday is coming up,” April points out. They continue to walk side-by-side to the lounge. She felt his hand graze hers and neither moved away.

“God, soon she’ll be going to college and getting married,” Jackson fakes shock.

“Starting her residency, picking a specialty,” April matches his faux-concern, furrowing her brow and nodding along.

“Don’t think I haven’t seen you whisper Trauma techniques to her as a bed time stories,” Jackson turns toward her.

“What? She’s going to make a great trauma surgeon. You saw how quick she picked up on Patty cake. She is a natural,” April takes off her bag, puts it into the closet, and grabs her scrubs.

“Hey, remember we agreed on no parental pressure on career choices.” Jackson had enough of that growing up. Harriet’s childhood was going to be very different from his.

“You’re right. She can be anything she wants to be. Even a farmer.” She jokes and they smile at each other. Jackson tucks a loose hair behind her ear. The unspoken rule of personal space had been forgotten since that night. April looks as though she is going to say something, but they are interrupted by Maggie and Meredith. Jackson takes a few steps back from April so not cause any unnecessary questions. Maggie continues on a rant about her mother’s upcoming surgery. He sees from the corner of his eye, April sigh and turn away.

On the surface, everything seemed back to normal. April and him still were co-parenting. Even at this table, Maggie and him were acting just like they had before and Alex seemed content to play along. However, Jackson couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. Lately, Jackson had been so wrapped up in Diane and Maggie that he didn’t feel the cataclysmic shift happening underneath his nose. Everything wasn’t fine. And it hadn’t been fine for a while.

Arizona had rushed out of the cafeteria, but stops a few steps outside the doors. She realized that she didn’t really have anywhere to go. She just couldn’t sit at that table and act normal (not that she was doing that good of a job at it). But before she can actually decide on a destination, April walks through the cafeteria doors. The trauma surgeon looks anything but pleased.

“What? You’re stalking me now?” April asks exasperated.

“If I was a stalker, I would have hidden behind that garbage can,” Arizona’s attempt at a joke does nothing to crack the iciness between the two. “Listen, I know you are mad, but can please talk?”

“Arizona, we are not going to chitchat our way back to being friends.” April folds her arms, but she doesn’t walk away, which Arizona takes as a start.

“Listen, everything that happened these last months. I’m sorry. It was stupid to get so involved in these hospital politics. But something really life-changing happened to you. Which we totally do not have to talk about. I just want to know that you’re happy. So, are you happy?” Arizona watches her friend, who has been looking away the whole time she was talking. Suddenly, April faces Arizona and she can see the tears in April’s eyes. April hadn’t realized just how badly she needed to talk to someone.

“Oh April…” Arizona says, apologetically. April opens her mouth to say something, but the cafeteria door swings up and Jackson stops short at the sight of the two women.

“Hey…” Jackson can tell that he just interrupted something. When he sees April’s face, Jackson can’t help himself and takes a step towards her. Concerned, he asks, “April, what’s wrong?” “Nothing. I have to go,” April wipes her eyes and walks away. Jackson goes to follow, but Arizona stops him, shaking her head indicating for him to leave it be. Jackson looks confused but doesn’t argue. He stares after April for a few seconds and Arizona takes that as her cue to leave. However, she only takes a few steps before she realizes that she is being followed. He pulls her into one of the on-call rooms.

“Hey woah! Jackson, you know I’m gay right?” Arizona jokes.

“Enough! You know something, Arizona. And don’t lie, you are a terrible liar,” Jackson has a seriousness in his voice that Arizona has never heard before.

“Jackson, I don’t…” Arizona tries to deny it, but Jackson continues.

“I saw you talking to April. She was upset. So who told you? Amelia? Alex?” Jackson’s anger is palpable.

“I… well, Riggs told me,” God, Arizona had known this secret for less than 24 hours.

“Riggs?” Jackson was starting to think everyone in the hospital knew what happened.

“Yeah, he let it slip. He didn’t want too. I pushed,” Arizona didn’t want any more hospital brawls. She was sick of fights, especially after everything that happened with Alex and Deluca.

“So, April knows?” Jackson’s voice is low as if the words were painful to get out.

“Well, I think she suspects that I know if that’s what you mean,” Arizona could see that Jackson looked lost and she didn’t know how to help him. She asks, “Jackson, this is none of my business, but how did this happen?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” He sits down on the bed and looks defeated.

“I mean, are you okay? What’s going to happen? Is she going to move out?” Even in their darkest moments, Arizona always thought that Jackson and April would find their way back to each other.

“Arizona, I don’t know. I was hoping to keep it quiet. Maggie and I, we both agreed it shouldn’t have happened. I just don’t want anyone, especially April, getting hurt.” He is an idiot that was the only thing he knew for sure.

“Maggie?” Arizona is confused where the cardio surgeon comes into this mess.

“Yes, she doesn’t want what happened last night getting out either. We both want to move on,” Jackson had tried to pretend that everything was normal, even sitting next to her at lunch. But, things had changed and he had to accept that.

“You slept with Maggie?” Arizona says out loud, hoping that she was wrong.

“Yeah… Arizona, what the hell do you think we have been talking about?” Jackson wasn’t sure if Arizona was still processing or messing with him.

“Wait, wait, wait. Did you and Maggie happen before or after April and Riggs?” Arizona is trying to get this straight in her head. If Jackson was seeing Maggie, why was he upset about April and Riggs?

“Riggs? What are you talking about?” Jackson’s eye grow wide and his brain starts firing off a million possibilities. What the hell did she mean April and Riggs? Did April make a similar misstep? No, she wasn’t like him, she wasn’t going to accidently fall into bed with someone (well, again). If April sleeps with someone else, it would be deliberate and because she had serious feelings for them. This made Jackson lightheaded and nauseous. Was April falling for someone else? Was Jackson really that unobservant?

“Nothing. I.. Nothing.” Arizona could see that Jackson had no idea about Riggs. Goddamnit. She really was the worst secret keeper.

“What do you know?” Jackson needed to know all the details how this happened. He towered over Arizona, but she was not one to get pushed around.

“You know what? No. Talk to April. I am not getting in the middle of this again,” Anymore meddling from her would only make things worse. Arizona stops with her hand on the door handle. Without turning around, she gives some final sage advice, “Jackson, tell April. Be honest about what you want.”

Jackson is once again left alone with his thoughts.

After the Arizona debacle at the cafeteria, April headed to ER to get her head straight. Some may find it odd that the most chaotic place in the hospital was where April felt the most calm. See, in the ER, every problem has a solution. It may take some creative thinking, but there is always something that can be done. She had the answers here. Out in the real world? Not so much.

She shakes her head when she thinks about Jackson. Of course, he had to be the one to walk out when she was crying. She knew that he would be asking her about it later. April was hoping to just avoid the whole thing. If she doesn’t talk to Jackson, then things don’t have to change.

“April, missed you this morning,” Owen says from the ER desk. When April doesn’t respond, Owen taps her on the shoulder causing her to jump at the unexpected interruption. He laughs, “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Sorry, weird morning. How’s the board?” She walks over to the ER board to see how many patients that they had.

“It’s actually a pretty quiet day. A few consultations, but so far no surgeries,” Owen updates her.

“Ah, okay,” April was hoping that she could get her mind off everything with some trauma. Not that she was hoping people would get seriously hurt, maybe just an unstable fracture? Or internal bleeding?

“Sorry to disappoint,” Owen says, amused by his friend’s dismayed expression. He returns to updating his tablet as April takes a look around the quiet emergency room. There was an intern taking the blood pressure of a very severe looking woman and a teenager holding ice to his kneecap. Nothing that exciting. She turns back and watches Owen for a few seconds, before she says.

“Owen…”

“Yeah?” He says without looking up.

“I’m moving out of Jackson’s,” she blurts. She takes a deep breath, it was the first time she had said it outloud. Owen looks surprised at the proclamation and sets down the tablet.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” He says, sincerely. “Any particular reason why?”

“It’s time.” April shrugs. She can feel the tears rise, but she tells herself that she isn’t going to cry. She continues, “It’s not that I am not grateful for Jackson taking us in. He really supported me through everything and he is such amazing father. But Harriet is finally sleeping through the night. I just think the longer we wait, the more complicated it will become.”

Owen doesn’t say anything, but just nods sympathetically, which causes April to spill even more.

“I am being selfish, right? I am hurting Harriet because I need some space. Jackson and I had this night a while back. And it just reminded how we were. I want to feel that again. But I don’t know how to do this. I never pictured myself as a single mother. It has been so nice raising Harriet together, maybe I should…”

“April. You are doing the right thing,” Owen interrupts her. He puts a hand on her shoulder and she relaxes. He always had a way of calming her down.

“I am?” April had no idea how badly she needed to hear those words.

“You are an amazing mother. Harriet will be just fine. Moving forward isn’t a bad thing to do, it may be the healthiest thing you can do,” Owen knew from experience. Sometimes, you have to let go. April sighs, this had been eating her up inside. Owen adds, “And if you and Harriet need a place to stay, you can move in with me for little bit.”

This causes April to smile, before she realizes the implications.

“Is Amelia still not living there?” She asks, solemnly. Owen was always there for her, but he rarely seeked out help himself. Owen looks away.

“It may be time to take my own advice and move forward,” He puts on a brave face, but April can see the hurt.

“I’m so sorry.” She replies.

“Some differences just can’t be rectified,” He states. Suddenly he remembers something, “Also, Arizona came by asking vague questions about you and Riggs. I don’t have to kick his ass, do I?”

“No. No more fights, please. I’m doing him a favor, you don’t have to worry,” She smiles, which he returns.

“Why don’t you head home early? Spend some daylight hours with your daughter. I’ll cover for you.” He states. April is incredibly grateful for her friend. She gives his arm a squeeze and heads up to the nursery to pick up her daughter.

The rest of the day is uneventful for Jackson. He didn’t see April again, only a receiving a text that she and Harriet were heading home early. When he gets home, the house was quiet. Jackson notices April’s purse on the couch and heads up to Harriet’s room, knowing that it was where she was likely to be. When he gets near, Jackson can hear April’s soothing voice. He stands and leans against the doorway, careful not to disturb them. April was faced slightly away from him, so he could only see the profile of her face. She was sitting in the rocking chair, one of the only things leftover from Samuel’s nursery, and singing softly to a dozing Harriet. He smiles as he recognizes the song, Leaving On A Jetplane by John Denver. It was always one of April’s favorites. He listens as she slowly rocks back and forth, smiling down at her daughter and singing her to sleep.

“Now the time has come to leave you, one more time let me kiss you, then close your eyes, I'll be on my way. Dream about the days to come when I won't have to leave alone, about the times I won't have to say: kiss me and smile for me, tell me that you'll wait for me, hold me like you'll never let me go. 'Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again. Oh, babe, I hate to go. I'm leaving on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again. Oh, babe, I hate to go.”

Jackson watched over this scene in reverence. April’s face is illuminated only by the nightlight in the corner of the room. It gives her hair a shimmery texture and her hazel eyes seem to glow. God, she was beautiful. In this perfect moment, Jackson realized something. He had been running around all day, feeling so lost. He was so scared that if April found out about Maggie that it would ruin everything. But the fact is last night happened because he was scared. He was scared to open up the part of him that Montana had reminded him. That night: the two of them, it was like a dream. He remembers how he barely slept, desperate to soak up every minute of having April in his arms again. The way her skin felt against his, the way her lips tasted. It felt so right that it sent him spinning.

Jackson knew that they weren’t the same people that were the last time they were together. And he used to think that meant that they shouldn’t be, that it wouldn’t last. But maybe it meant that it would finally work, that they could be a real family. He had spent the last year feeling like something was missing, like no matter what he did, the pieces in his life never seemed to fit. Jackson knew the truth now; he was in love with April Kepner and he always would be. He had visions of them together: April and Jackson, happy and in love, with Harriet and another on the way. A real family, taking walks in the park, family costumes for Halloween, holidays together. Since the divorce, he had tried to forget those thoughts, pushed them back he always thought it was just a fantasy. But he knew now. This was what he could have. This is what he wanted. He didn’t want to fight it anymore. He wanted to tell her everything. I love you. I miss you. I want us to be together forever. He just hoped to God that it wasn’t too late.

#Japril #jackson x april #jackson avery #april kepner #japril fanfiction #grey's anatomy #cliff hangggerrrrrrr #dum dum dum #this one is a doozy #misunderstandings & missteps

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