#and she wants Edward to have an Unforgivable Past but not SO unforgivable that he's completely damaged goods

[fuckmeyer]

Wiggins!) the bizarre thing about the vampire men in the cullen family all seem to be at least subconsciously what Smeyer wants Bella to have but can’t seem to get over her initial vision of what she saw in her drafts or whatever. It’s odd that every single one of the Cullen men are like strongly devoted (but mostly devoid of personality because it’s so Bella centric) but when you compare them to Edward they seem interesting in some ways. Like Narratively we’re supposed to have this threat that Edward is constantly holding back from killer her but I don’t feel like we see that. Conversely, Jasper is constantly the one who is suffering about human smells and is the more vampire-like. But he’s also a glorified lap dog. So it’s like ‘oh he’s a monster but he’ll never hurt me” (things Alice has said out loud. Man even psychics slip up. I swear her powers weren’t so accurate until Smeyer needed an excuse for plot reasons)

Emmett feels like when some women say they like waifish guys because they don’t want to seem like they’re vapid for liking “big dudes with muscles” so of course you pair Emmett with the “shallow blonde”

Carlisle, I swear only exists so Edward has someone to model but I would also argue that he’s proto-Edward before whatever reworking she had to do when writing Twilight for a YA audience and brought him back as a different character.

Yeah a rant

hello again bestie Wiglet! (note to self: learn Photoshop so i can shop Jacob's bad wig onto a pic of Piglet)

this is such an interesting take! thanks for sharing. i totally see what you're saying. in all the Cullen men we see both a blend of softness & devotion *and*, interestingly enough, a patchwork of patriarchal ideas of what a man "should" be. & this idea comes to the forefront with the depiction of the love interests

smeyer wants us to see Edward as the chivalric gentlemen from the Days of Yore. we see this in the opening doors, the cutsey little romance taglines ("you are my life now," "look after my heart; i've left it with you," "so the lion fell in love" etc), the knight saving the damsel in distress, the expensive tokens of his affection, etc.

at the same time, in both Edward & Jacob we see the crude traits of the Patriarchy Dreamboat kinda guy. if i had to sum it up, it's like the guy you see in 80s movies. "bad boy." "opposites attract." he's a jerk. he's a hunk. he's domineering. he's allowed to show emotion only & especially if that emotion is anger. he's persistent in his efforts to get the girl, going so far as to kiss her without her consent if it's For a Good Cause (Edward in New Moon post-Volterra, Jacob in Eclipse). he's a cool guy who's In Control 👉😎👉

perhaps that's why the Twilight saga appealed so such a large swath of women & girls. the women, who grew up with the notion that they could have the true love of their dreams so long as they submitted to the patriarchal social contract, saw the contract being fulfilled in Edward. (i.e., "you can be the king if you treat me like a princess.")

on the other hand, the 90s/00s girlies who grew up in the midst of a feminist revolution & who could see the glimmer of a dismantled patriarchy on the horizon were attracted to Edward for the flashes of radical feminist love they saw: the unapologetic expressions of emotion, the honesty of him sharing his vulnerabilities & weaknesses, Bella's ability to override Edward's will when necessary, etc.

sorry, i know this isn't really the crux of the rant you submitted, but it is extremely interesting to see these contradictions playing out in all the male characters of the saga. it's almost like smeyer is having this internal debate with herself without even realizing it...

[neil-neil-orange-peel]

🍑🍰 for addie basterd!

Thanks, anon! You've unlocked my pretentious waffling 😂 here we go...

🍑 What sort of traits does your OC look for in a Significant Other?

Oh boy. Well. Poor Addie is young and naïve, though she doesn't quite realise it. Because she's virtually alone in the world and had to grow up even quicker than her peers (who've all grown up through the Second World War, remember), she isn't so keen on young lads who are more interested in mucking about. Addie thinks men should be masculine and sophisticated - though she probably couldn't give you a precise definition of what she actually means by this. She also has her idealised creation of Edward the farmyard boy, but Edward isn't so much a person as a fantasy of someone who will love her unconditionally.

To be frank, Addie really doesn't have the best taste in men. She's attracted to what she sees as exciting and flashy: whatever might get her away from the lonely, grey existence she has been living since the war broke out. This is unlikely to lead to stability in the long run.

I'm not sure whether it'll ever become explicit in The Basterds of Hammersmith, but I actually view Addie as asexual. Of course, she doesn't have the language to describe this in the 1940s - and I think it'd take her a long while, and a lot of heartache, to realise she isn't so much attracted to these men as to the false ideals she sees them as representing... but, even then, a girl's gotta get by in this world.

But, at present: Addie has a view of what love and men are supposed to be. It's quite a childish view, based on surface charms and romantic dreams. She chases it in a bid to survive, be taken seriously, and to be loved. Addie's ideal man is someone who will adore her, take her out to do fun things, and can be relied upon for financial security. He is a hero, an idol, someone better than the rest of us in every way - in other words, he does not exist. And the issue of sex, which most people of Addie's generation would be ill-educated on and wouldn't expect to encounter until after marriage, will never be something Addie especially wishes to dwell on.

🍰 What's something your OC counts as unforgivable?

At the moment, Addie considers her mother's suicide to be unforgivable. She lost both her parents during the war, but she doesn't feel any anger towards her father because his death happened far away and was out of his and her control. When Addie's mother killed herself, Addie felt that was a choice - a choice to abandon Addie to a cruel world, and a choice to let Addie find her body. She also felt there was hypocrisy in her mother leaving her, as she hadn't let her evacuate to the country in 1939 (this was largely due to Addie's mother's own issues around abandonment, because cycles of trauma is one of the major themes here).

Dealing with such a massive trauma at such a young age - on top of other massive traumas, in an era where any kind of trauma isn't going to be handled as well as it should be - would be tough for anyone. Deep down, Addie is entirely grief-stricken and wants both of her parents to come back and let her be a child again. The "haunting" of her mother she endures during the night isn't a real haunting, more a symptom of PTSD. Her mother wouldn't actually haunt her like that (you'll just have to trust me on that one), but Addie is unable to move past what happened and so relives it.

Thanks again for the ask!

[flameleadsarc]

Fuery's hands were shaking. It wasn't due to cold or anxiety, but, as Roy quickly learned, anger. At him.

He can't say he blamed Fuery. Were he in his position, he would be angry too. Hell, he was angry at himself, but that wasn't a fact anyone needed to know. Thus, he moved to sit up as straight as he could, his hands knitted together on his lap, and his eyes not leaving his subordinate. Clearly, he had a few things to say, and his Commanding Officer could at least listen.

Even if he wanted to interrupt. Like hell he didn't care. But, Fuery didn't believe he did. Why? What caused him to believe that?

Would he do this to Lieutenant Hawkeye? To his sons? The nerve of bringing them up---Roy had half a mind to stop Fuery there, his posture stiffening in his seat as his gaze narrowed. He stopped himself, stilling his tongue as he glanced at his lap. Fuery had no idea what hell he put the Lieutenant through in Ishval, the sheer betrayal and hurt he caused her. What he did to her... it was unforgivable. The fact that she trusted him again continued to amaze him.

As for his boys... Fuery had no idea what happened recently, did he. How he almost lost Edward, and how it was his fault. All while in the south. It was all because of him.

The frown on his face deepened, and he kept his gaze down. He couldn't be upset that Fuery brought up his sons in this moment of anger when he didn't know. Southern Command was probably too busy to tell him about what happened. No, Fuery had every right to be upset with him for bringing up a war he sent him to---even if the Fuhrer technically gave the orders, he was still at fault. It was him poking the lion that led to Fuery fighting in a war zone.

He didn't want to fight anymore. Permanently? For now? Didn't matter. Roy couldn't make him, not after what he went through. How could he? He wasn't heartless.

"Then I won't make you." Quiet, his voice barely came out above a whisper as he brought his gaze back up to Fuery. He didn't have to sit up. That had to be exhausting. "You've done more than enough for me. I won't make you fight more of my battles. But, if you need me to, I'll fight any of yours with you. Especially against anyone who made you believe that you're not worth caring about."

Like him, Colonel Bastard---as Edward so affectionately called him.

"You have every right to be angry with me. I haven't been a good Commanding Officer to you. If there's more you want to lay into me about, I'm fine with that. But, before you do, when was the last time you ate or had something to drink? Would you like something? And if you're cold, I could find a blanket or two..."

The tension became palpable as soon as she finished speaking. Had she erred? Been too blunt? It was obvious that White Cloud wasn't comfortable with that question by the way he tensed up. She could have chosen the wrong words to say. Surely the Colonel could have phrased it better, more delicately to try and ease all parties into the situation. Unfortunately, Cid and White Cloud were stuck with her.

Her and her simple thinking. Chaos was still there, but the Earl was dead. The Earl was once Chaos. If White Cloud was at all aligned with Chaos in the past, then that was a problem that needed to be discussed. It wouldn't be a long discussion since he likely had his reasons---he seemed like the type to think things through most of the time. She only wanted to understand.

He started to explain, and some of the pieces began to fall into place. No, he didn't align himself with the Earl---who he once again called His Excellency---but he was stuck with him. The Earl's followers didn't see him as aligned with him either. He was a threat to them before just as he was now. But... Riza still felt like she missed something. White Cloud left pieces out of the puzzle. There were blank spots.

It would have to be good enough. She wasn't going to pry.

"You can count on me and the Colonel to help with that." She gave him a nod. "That's all I needed to know in that regard. I suppose my next question is will they try anything against the boys if they find them first?"

|| shiroi---kumo -> flameleads -> @justaradioguy

His hands won't stop shaking.

It seems contradictory, given how long he's been awake - one would think his muscles would be trying to conserve themselves.

But no, here he is, his hands shaking almost uncontrollably because if he doesn't get his emotions out that way, he's going to end up in a fight.

His anger needs to go somewhere, and he refuses to let himself become violent no matter how strong the urge is to punch Roy across the jaw right now.

It won't make anything better. It won't fix anything. It would be temporarily satisfying, and that's not enough for Kain.

He does not believe in violence unless it's a good solution, and he forces himself to stick to that.

He knows every word out of the Colonel's mouth is a lie. He's not worth caring about - he's so easily replaceable, he's just a stupid, naïve communications guy, and now he's aware of that so it's only a matter of time before he's thrown to the curb.

And because he refuses to resort to beating the shit out of anyone, and because he unfortunately still cares deeply for Roy, he grits his teeth and speaks instead.

"You - you care? Is that what you want me to believe? Because I don't." He draws in a breath, trying to keep from losing it too badly.

Being fired is one thing. Being on fire is another, much less desirable thing. He needs to keep himself contained at least a little. After two more controlled breaths, he looks up.

"Because it seems to me like you're only in here to gauge if I'm still useful or just... dump work that you don't want onto the pile. Right? I doubt you'd do this to Lieutenant Hawkeye. You'd be worried about them, not throwing a war you sent them to up in their face for no reason. You wouldn't do it to them, you wouldn't do it to your sons, you wouldn't do it to anyone you actually care about. So no sir," he growls, emphasis on the word 'sir' as if it is a mockery of the formality, "I don't believe you care about me. I don't think you or anyone else ever has. The least... the least you can do now is-"

He stops, letting 'admit that' die on his tongue. It's as if he's frozen, all too aware that there's now and there's then. All he has left is his denial, a small part of him called hope that's crying out for him to be wrong, for him to be mad for no reason. It's hard to let go of that because it's all that's been keeping him alive for so long. He's not ready, because he knows the moment he releases it, he really will have nothing left.

His face is hard as stone, but his eyes are watering and full of nothing but fear, searching for something to hold on to, some semblance of truth to the Colonel's words, even the smallest ounce of comfort or connection to ease the overwhelming amount of pain in his soul.

But... Roy is a colonel. Roy is a colonel with things to do and more important people to deal with who won't waste his time or be upset with him for doing his job or get in the way - people who aren't Kain.

It's all heavy enough to make him sink back down where he'd been laying before Cid and White Cloud put his leg in a brace.

He doesn't want to sit back up. He doesn't want to do anything except lay there and take whatever's coming as a result of his insubordination, then go find someplace to disappear where no one can hurt him again.

"I don't want to do this anymore, Colonel," he states, volume and tone right back down to what he knows is a pathetic zero, but there's no fuel left in him for any fire to burn - be that through his voice or otherwise.

He's too tired to defend himself. He just wants out - he just wants something better than this. He wants someone to wrap him up and keep him safe and tell him everything will be alright, but he's too scared, hurt, and exhausted to actively seek it out. All he can hope for now is that Roy won't be too harsh and that Hawkeye doesn't find out what he just did.

|| @shiroi---kumo -> flameleads -> justaradioguy

[dairogo]

School AU

Edward Elric is a day-to-day casual teacher as a life choice - he'll go wherever calls him up, maybe get a block of work here or there, but isn't tied to any one school. He does, however keep getting called back to the school he went to as a kid, alongside the jerk of a teacher who convinced him he wanted to be one.

Roy Mustang is a contradiction. He's the guy who motivated Ed to make something of himself out of pure spite. He's a ... good ... teacher, but he's also the worst. And now Ed is sometimes in the same staffroom as him, he doesn't know how he survives as a teacher because he's so disorganised. The days Ed subs in for him, Mustang emails him paragraphs of description for what students should be up to, which Mustang has obviously made up on the spot, and half the time he doesn't give enough content to last an entire period, so Ed is left wrangling Mustang's classes trying to keep them settled when there's nothing for them to even do. At least Hawkeye is usually teaching across the hallway, and Ed can count on her to have his back. For one thing, she's absolutely unforgiving for any student who tries to use the chaos of Mustang's lack of planning to sneak out, and she can identify any student in the school from the other end of the building so there's no chance of them getting past her.

Subbing for Hawkeye on the days she's out is a breeze in comparison. Her entire term's work is already compiled onto PowerPoints with info for students to write, questions to answer, built in videos and space for class discussions. All she needs to email Ed is which slides the kids are up to, and he can go through them sounding like a pro because of how she's set up to succeed. Excellent, 10/10, would sub again. The problem here is that then Mustang is there across the hallway, his feet up on his desk as he just rules his class through pure irritating personality, smirking through the open door at Ed every now and then. Ed doesn't know how Hawkeye can stand it, but then again he bets Mustang never does that with her.

The days he's in for someone else in the staffroom and both of them are there, though, are great. Just seeing Hawkeye telling Mustang to get his lesson planning done is the sort of justice Ed needs.

[aroaceslytherin]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29226306/chapters/76373429

Love is love is love...

Snippets of Regulus, Narcissa, Sirius, and Andromeda's love life.

What does it take to make a love forbidden?

Someone you can’t have, usually. Whether that means they are already in a relationship, or family doesn’t approve. Well, for the children of House Black; it is the second option. Throughout history and many generations, they have matured faster than those around them. Each family member had someone to marry by the time they were born. Although, most of these children found love elsewhere and were forced to make a choice.

Alphard Black was the second known to run away from family rules because they had not accepted him for whom he loved. Cyfrin Black was the first; he discovered werewolves and fell in love with one, making a family and home with him.

Andromeda Black also ran away; the first female to do so, third Black to run from rules. It irritated Walburga Black to see her family going against the rules - especially so that it reminded her of her brother.

You would never know how terrifying Andromeda Violet Black can be until you meet her. They raised her on pure-blood rules, anger, and dark magic, following her two eldest sisters who dabbled in Death Eater ways. She could have a few tricks up her sleeve. Especially with two mischievous younger brothers.

She was a hat stall. The Sorting Hat had tried to put her into Hufflepuff but eventually landed on Slytherin for her. Andromeda stood from the stool tall and proud like her family taught. Upon sitting with her elder sisters who were in year three, Bellatrix leaned over and whispered in her ear.

“Four years with us, dear sister. I hope you follow us, ‘tis the only way to win over mother and father.”

Andromeda had then rolled her brown eyes. Surely at eleven there was not much you could do in a family of darkness except become the brighter, happier one? As Andromeda grew up, she rebelled against them. Instead of wearing black and green, she would wear earth tones; browns, greens, and oranges throwing in a bit of pink and blue here and there.

Andromeda, like her siblings, grew up lonely. Her mother; Druella Black, passed away when she was young. People said she passed during child-birth but she was there when her sisters were born. At three years of age, Andie watched her father mix a green sort of potion into her mother’s medicine. She wondered why he would even consider doing so. Later, she found out he did it so he could have power over her and her sisters - especially since he wasn’t gifted an heir (Walburga eventually took custody of them when she realized he was trying to get one from his daughters like they used to do in years past.)

At eleven years of age, Andromeda ran away to Alphard’s apartment. He hid her for three years until Walburga came pounding at his door; dragging Andromeda back home. At fifteen years of age, she noticed Edward Tonks (or Ted as he preferred). She would sneak off with him often, in hopes and fear to not get caught. Though at sixteen she had been and she ran away with him; burned off the tapestry, becoming a blood-traitor. She graduated at eighteen, married Edward, and had Nymphadora Tonks at twenty-three.

***

We all know they betrothed Narcissa to Lucius Malfoy, what you don’t know is that she was also interested in Severus Snape. She had flings with Lily Evans, dated a few girls in school; including Alice Fortescue. Like her elder sister Bellatrix, she kept her last name and slept in different rooms as her husband/fiance/boyfriend. It infuriated Lucius but he would respect her. (the only thing different was that she hyphenated it to Black-Malfoy)

Narcissa Druella Black was not a Death Eater like most believe, she did however have the Dark Mark that she was born with. It appeared on her left arm at eleven years of age. She kept it hidden behind long sleeves and arm sleeves. No one could tell which side she was on (in which she learned from Snape). She may have learned the ways of Death Eaters and Dark Arts from the time she could talk, but she may never have accepted that path completely.

Narcissa and her sisters did not have a good upbringing. Though being the youngest daughter, she had always been a powerful person mentally, physically, and magically which was an important thing to be when being a member of the House of Black or your partner spent most of his life in Azkaban.

Narcissa was the middle half of her sisters; black and white, never fully good but never fully bad either. She was a protector, a dreamer, a fighter. A mother, an aunt, and a lover. She not only raised her own son and daughters... but she raised Bellatrix's daughters, helped Andromeda with her daughter, helped/took in Remus, Sirius, James, Regulus, and Lily's kids when they passed.

She raised her son; Draco Malfoy, with great intentions and did her best to give him a better upbringing than she had. It was difficult to do so with Lucius Malfoy as a father. That is where Severus Snape stepped up and lent a hand to be a father figure for Draco. He protected him with all that he could. But was unfortunately too late in stopping him from inhibiting the Dark Mark like his parents. Lily Evans was a third parental figure with rights to him.

Narcissa screamed at Lucius the same words she had screamed at Bellatrix: “He’s just a boy!”

She may have come off as overprotective but she knew if Draco went down that path, he would never be the same little boy she had spun in circles in the ballroom late at night when he couldn’t sleep. She would stay up at all hours of the day just to see him happy.

It broke her heart when the smiles stopped. All she wanted was her baby to smile. Lily got him to smile sometimes, but it was never enough. It would never be enough for Narcissa.

Never enough love, hugs, attention, or money could ever repair Narcissa from the damage her family had caused on her and her son.

***

Sirius Orion Black. The family troublemaker, rule-breaker, and rebel. A lion in a pit of snakes. If anyone were to act like Alphard and drive Walburga even further up the wall - it would be her own son. She had never expected to see what it was like to raise Alphard all over again, but Sirius did just that. He had put up a fight since he was born.

At eleven years of age, Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor and became the second blood-traitor. His father hated him from then on and would abuse him with the unforgivable curses. They told him he was no longer a suitable heir, and it fell to his youngest brother; Regulus Black. Though Sirius could see who Regulus truly was even if he was too afraid to find it within himself. Sirius understood that; their family was terrifying. Only in things for money, power, and keeping the name of Black pure. Though incest was the farthest thing from pure.

Sirius also noted at eleven years of age that he was a few steps ahead of his dorm-mates in puberty and interests. Within two months of him being at Hogwarts, he had kissed a girl two years older than him and was already trying to figure out the two girls his family had chosen for him to marry when they were of age. Kissing and flirting with girls made him sick. Sirius soon realised that he wanted one of his best friends.

He realised his feelings were getting stronger when his friends came back after Summer Break in 93’ and Remus’ voice was deeper, his face was sharper, and he had grown a few inches. Sirius could never act right around him anymore. He noticed little things about Remus he hadn’t before, his quirks became cute, changing in front of him got awkward, and he got flustered seeing him fresh out of a shower. It was hard to tell what Remus was feeling since he was always blushing.

He was thirteen when he first kissed Remus. They were alone one day talking about crushes and things when Sirius looked into Remus’ amber eyes and whispered; “You.” Remus was blushing hard and smiling randomly the rest of the day but either of them would deny it whenever Peter or James asked what was going on.

Sirius was sixteen when he ran away to the Potters because his parents found out he was gay and dating a half-blood. He couldn’t even fathom what they would do if they found out that his boyfriend was a werewolf. He would occasionally go back home just because of Regulus.

He would never forget what his father uttered to him just before he grabbed Regulus’ hand and ran with him out of their father’s office before anything worse could happen. ‘You disobeyed the rules! You are to keep the line pure, marry a woman and raise perfect heirs!’ It would never happen. And he even said it out loud; ‘That would be very unlikely.’ He closed his eyes to take a deep breath when he remembered what had happened next.

His world flipped upside down a few times; being betrayed by one of his best friends, living through a war, finding out he was pregnant at seventeen, and marrying the love of his life at nineteen. Although, when he had held his little girl (Omega metamorphagus/trans Veela) he thought everything would be alright.

Until it wasn’t and the Aurors threw him into Azkaban at twenty-two. He lost his family, his husband, his son and daughter, his friends, his lovers, and his brothers. (Remus rescued him two years later.)

***

Regulus Arcturus Black. Although the youngest and perfect in everyone’s eyes, has some pretty well-hidden secrets of his own. Like how he would dance with girls just to spite his family but then he would get his brother to signal for him if he ended up getting thrown towards a girl his family wanted him to marry and walk away.

Regulus Black...

The biggest rule follower. Followed in his family’s footsteps even if he had not agreed with everything they were saying. Did all he could to get on his parents’ good side. As he grew up, he realised there was no good side. It was either “follow us to death” or “run as far as you can and make a life of your own in hiding to gain safety”.

His parents were wrong when they said to him and Sirius that all they had in common was black curly hair, chiseled faces, and grey eyes. They were similar in brave stupidity, chivalry, and honesty. Regulus may have been sorted into Slytherin but there was no doubt he had a heart of a lion, making him a lion in a snake’s den whereas his brother was a snake in a lion’s den. Sure Sirius was a Gryffindor, and that is where he belonged, but there was no escaping the teachings and rules of their family.

You could change yourself, think differently, and behave differently but you were still going to be holding on to knowledge of Dark Arts and how to protect yourself even if it meant death. Sure other people would fight to death, but some would stop before someone got hurt.

Not his family. If it wasn’t what they wanted; they would never listen and never stop until the last breath was taken. Even once you get away from them and years later become unrecognisable to them, there are going to be moments where you have a thought or two on what they did, who they were, how you were raised, and questioning the lies even after finding truth.

Another thing they were similar in?

Being gay.

Sirius’ friend was right. You are born the way you are. You can’t help who you love.

And Regulus couldn’t help but love James.

It shattered him to break up with him when he became caught in the turmoil of Voldemort.

Once Regulus went running back to James - even though he was married to Lily - he took him back into his arms and they welcomed him into a home where there was nothing but love.

Regulus thought he could not love two people; that it was wrong. Even with seeing Narcissa and Sirius doing so.

They showed him he could, and it was alright.

They protected him, helped him, and rescued him.

Unfortunately he still died at eighteen leaving behind his husband, two daughters, a son, and another unborn son. (Or did he?)

***

So what makes love forbidden?

Nothing.

Love is love is love.

[shiftynightshade]

Inhaling softly Roy rested his face into his gloved hands, fingers threading into black hair and tightening into a solid grip. He left them there for a few seconds before dragging his fingers over his eyes.

“Sir?”

Roy looked up at Hawkeye from where he was sitting, her eyes hard yet shining in concern. “I wish we didn’t have to bring Fullmetal into this.” He whispered, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t like it; he’s too young to witness war on this scale.”

Hawkeye didn’t make much sound except for the soft exhale as she closed her eyes. “I don’t like it either sir, but… orders are orders.”

Roy pursed his lips. ‘Orders are orders…. Yeah right. Just like how the genocide of Ishval was just ‘orders’’

 Roy sighed and opened the car door, slipping out and grimacing at the chill breeze that swept its way through the streets. With a few long strides, Roy was standing in front of the dorm's large doorway. ‘Here goes nothing, tch, damn you, Bradley.’

They found Ed’s dorm easily enough, having made plenty of house calls beforehand to know the path by instinct. He rapped his knuckles against the door and waited for any kind of response, not that they ended having to too long.

Behind the door soft, nearly inaudible footsteps approached the door. The door creaked open slightly, half of Ed’s head poking out from behind it, eyes narrowed and eyebrows drawn.

When his eyes rested on them, he obviously relaxed, though the tension didn’t completely leave his body.

“Oh, it’s you two.” Was all he said. He stood back and opened the door fully.

“Lieutenant,” He tipped his head respectfully towards Hawkeye.

 His eyes met Roy’s. “Colonel Bastard.”

Roy spluttered. “Hey! why do you acknowledge Hawkeye with respect but I’m ‘Colonel Bastard!?”

Ed raised a single eyebrow. “One; I give my respect to people who I think deserve it, and two; I may be reckless but I do value my life.”

Hawkeye coughed into her fist. “May we come in Edward?”

Ed blinked before giving a hesitant nod. He stepped out of the way and grabbed the doorknob.

“Mind the mess though.” He muttered.

Hawkeye nodded and strode past him, leaving Roy to trail after her. The second he was through Ed shut and locked the door, wriggling the knob for a split second before nodding in satisfaction.

Roy rose an eyebrow. ‘That’s an odd habit, though I guess it’s better than Fullmetal never locking the door.’

Roy smirked. “Paranoid much, Fullmetal?”

Ed scowled at him. “Like you aren’t?”

Roy dropped his smirk and blinked. He wasn’t that easy to read. Was he?

“Either of you want something to drink?”

Both of them shook their heads. “No thanks.”

Ed shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

The blonde stumbled slightly over to the counter and grabbed a steaming mug with his automail hand, yawning and leaned on the counter. He peered at them over the rim of his mug.

“So,” He began. “I’m gonna assume that this ain't a social call?”

Hawkeye nodded solemnly. “Where is Alphonse? We’d rather he not hear this. He would probably want to hear this from you and not us.”

Ed’s eyes dimmed slightly at the mention of his younger brother, shoulders drooping and body slumping.

“Al’s not here right now, hasn’t been here since yesterday, and won’t be back for a while, so you don’t have to worry about him overhearing anything.” He muttered, taking a long gulp of his drink.

Roy rose an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that? You two rarely leave each other’s side, and with how crappy you’re looking, I highly doubt he’d leave you alone.”

Ed’s eyes flashed with annoyance at the ‘crappy’ comment, but he didn’t say anything.

“He and I had a fight yesterday, it was… pretty bad.”

Roy took the time to observe Ed, eyes roving over the small Alchemist. His hair was down, a simple sweater and soft pants replaced his usual leather get-up. His eyes were droopy and his bags were darker and more pronounced than usual.

Ed pursed his lips. “I don’t even remember what the fight was about, it was pretty loud and,” He sighed sadly. “We said some things we didn’t mean. So he stormed off and most likely won’t be back for a few days.”

Roy couldn’t hold back the small flinch at that. ‘Shit, he’s not going to like this then.’

Roy and Hawkeye shared a look. Ed looked between the pair, eyes narrowing. “What aren’t you two telling me?”

Roy frowned before sighing heavily. “Drachma’s been attacking our borders in the North and North-West with increasing frequency, and State Alchemists are being called to the frontlines as back-up.”

With that one sentence any semblance of sleep that clung to Fullmetal disappeared, his once lax body stiffening and his eyes more aware. “So… we’re looking at war here, aren’t we?”

Hawkeye tilted her head. “Yes, we decided to come get you personally, as our team’s being shipped out later tonight.”

At Ed’s outraged face Hawkeye raised placating hands. “We were just given our orders, Ed, so it’s not like we purposely withheld this from you.”

Ed huffed an agitated breath, hand coming up to slide into his hair and grasp the golden strands into an unforgiving fist.  “Shit, shit, this is so fucked up.”

Ed trembled slightly in his spot against the cold counter, his automail deceptively steady as he placed the ceramic mug down. Roy stared at his subordinate. “You still have your military uniform Fullmetal?”

Ed glanced up at him. “Unfortunately.” He looked annoyed, like having to go to war was simply a mild inconvenience and not a life-changing experience.

 “Good, go get changed.”

Ed frowned, apprehension growing in his eyes. “…How long do I have?”

Hawkeye gave a sad smile. “Half an hour max.”

Ed nodded and made his way through the maze of books and other research instruments that made up the dorm. “Don’t touch any of my research notes Mustang!” He called from the depths of the dorm.

Hawkeye chuckled, shaking her head. “I’ll make sure he behaves Edward.”

“Lieutenant!” Roy shrieked.

Hawkeye smiled serenely, ignoring his indignant splutters.

“Like you haven’t been badgering him about his notes for weeks now sir, I don’t exactly blame him for being wary to leave you with any of his research.”

Roy did not pout thankyouverymuch.

The sound of boots hitting wooden floorboards drew them from their bickering. They both immediately took in the changes in Ed’s appearance.

No longer did Ed look like a simple civilian with artificial limbs; he looked like the ferocious Fullmetal Alchemist, Hero of the People, someone whose loyalty knew no boundaries. Mixed with the blue uniform he looked like every part of a soldier.

It made Roy sick.

‘Child soldiers, we’re using child soldiers.’

“Damn Fullmetal,” Roy smirked, if only to mask the nauseating guilt that was building in his gut and creeping up into his jugular. “You should wear the uniform more often, maybe then you wouldn’t look like such a shrimp.”

Fullmetal spluttered, rage growing on his face, though Roy could see the small amount of thankfulness in his eyes. ‘Give him the familiarity that he will soon lose.’

Fullmetal set his suitcase down and grabbed a stray sheet of paper and an abandoned pen, setting himself down heavily to the wooden chair.

“Just give me a minute to write something for Al,” Not once did Fullmetals’ eyes leave the paper.

“I don’t want him to come home to me being gone with no reason or explanation.” He said it so softly that Roy had to strain his ears to hear him.

“I won’t abandon him like that bastard did.” He spat, right hand curling into a tight fist.

Roy frowned as he watched the alchemist continue his note, continuing his way down the page before gently placing it under a paperweight made from some kind of shiny mineral.

Instead of setting the pen down, Ed grabbed another paper and began to write something else, seemingly oblivious to the slightly tense silence that had dominated the small apartment.

Ed gently folded the paper and slid it into an envelope, sealing it and tucked the letter into his jacket pocket. Fullmetal stood from his spot and picked up his suitcase, He nodded at them, only to stop and turn slightly, running a hand slightly over his scarlet cloak that hung on the chair.

 He inhaled and pursed his lips. “Let’s get this shit-show on the fucking road, eh?”

Even though it was inappropriate, Roy smiled.

~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~

“Ah, young Edward!”

Ed looked up from his book just in time to get a face full of Armstrong’s chest, his large arms wrapping like a vice around his frame.

“H’ly shit Armst’ng, c’nt breathe!”

He was dropped almost immediately, Armstrong patting his shoulders. “Ah, my apologies!”

Despite himself, Ed smiled at the Major. “You joining us as well Armstrong?”

The major gained a slightly darker expression on his face. “My apologies, but no, I won’t be.”

Ed tilted his head in confusion. “I though all state alchemists were being called in?”

Armstrong smiled bitterly. “Ah yes, well I was an exception. Mostly because I wasn’t deemed trustworthy enough due to my… reluctance to fight during the Ishvalan Civil War.”

He shook his head. “No matter, I was assigned to look after your younger brother while you were away, so I’m not complaining.”

Ed smiled at that, despite the ache in his chest and the stinging in his eyes at the mention of his brother. He didn’t want to leave the country without finding Al and apologising for their fight, but he just didn’t have time.  

He frowned, the letter in his pocket burning despite it being nothing but paper and ink. “Hey… Major?” He asked softly.

“Yes Edward?” Armstrong definitely picked up on his mood change, if the concerned look on his face was anything to go by.

He dug into his pocket and pulled out the envelope, gently pushing it into the Major’s hands. “If…” He inhaled, trying to ignore the trembling in his limbs or the thick lump that had made itself known in his throat.

“If anything happens to me, can you give that letter to Al for me?”

Armstrong’s sharp inhalation was barely audible over the crowd, but Ed heard it all the same.

The Major opened his mouth to protest, but Ed peered up at his colleague through his fringe.

“Please.”

Maybe it was the look in his eye, or the soft plea, but Armstrong nodded stiffly and pocketed the envelope.

“Fullmetal.” Mustang suddenly appeared at his back, eyes lingering on the envelope in Armstrong’s hand before meeting Ed’s.

Ed turned to stare at Mustang, then back at Armstrong. Mustang put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s time to go.”

Ed bit his lip and nodded. “Seeya Armstrong, look after Al for me would ya?”

When the younger Armstrong nodded, he smiled. “Thanks.”

With that, he turned his back on the larger man and began to follow the colonel towards where the rest of Team Mustang had gathered.

Havoc raised a hand. “Heya Chief!”

Ed smirked. “You guys ready to kick some Drachma ass? Havoc cheered. “Hell yes!”

The wind picked up at that moment, putting out Havoc’s cigarette and sending the skirt overlays of their uniforms flying with the wind. One airship lifted into the air, almost looking ominous in the dark.

Ed inhaled. “So this is it, huh?”

Hawkeye nodded from her spot beside Mustang. “Colonel Mustang!”

The team turned in surprise as a soldier ran up to them and saluted. “You guys are up next.”

Mustang nodded. “Thank you.”

The soldier nodded and pointed to the airship closest to them. “Your teams been assigned to that airship alongside General Simmons. Good luck sir.”

Without any pre-amble, the soldier had dashed off.

Breda stretched his arms out wide before picking up his pack. “Well we better get aboard.” He grinned. “Don’t want to get left behind now, do we?”

Ed snorted. “Pretty sure Colonel Bastard wouldn’t let us be left in the dust even if we wanted to.”

Hawkeye rolled her eyes with a smirk. “Come on boys, we have work to do.”

They all groaned sarcastically, but made it onto the airship without any trouble. ‘What a shocker.’

The rumbling of the airship taking off beneath his feet rattled Ed’s bones.

With a tightness growing in his chest, Ed sat and leaned against the wall, willing his brain to imagine the rocking of a train carriage in place of the rumblings of the airship.

~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~

After a few days of cooling off and stewing in alleyways, Alphonse finally felt stable and confident in his emotions to go talk to his older brother. Al sighed as he picked his way through the streets, the sun almost warming him in ways he hadn’t felt in years, even if he was still entombed in a bodiless state in his armour.

Just thinking about his armour made Al flinch and want to hide away in shame. ‘Some of the words I said… oh brother I’m so sorry.’

The words he said still echoed in his head, and it made Al want to both scream and cry and rage at the world and himself.

“If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be stuck like this!”

Al sighed and made his way towards the dorms, apprehension growing in his metaphorical chest.

‘What if brother doesn’t forgive me this time? URG Dammit Alphonse! Why do you have to be stupid!?’

He finally made it to the dorms, letting his feet take him to the apartment he and his brother shared. When he got to the door though, Al stopped. “What do I even say…”

He gripped the doorknob and shoved the key into the slot after a moment with his other hand.

“Brother, I’m home!”

Absolute silence.

“Brother?”

Alphonse walked further into the apartment, taking note of the dust and how none of the books had been moved an inch.

The glint of colour on the table and flash of scarlet caught his attention.

‘Brothers coat, what is it doing here and not with him?’

As he approached the table, it became obvious that the other colours that were glinting in the sun belonged to a paperweight.

It was a simple thing in retrospect, but it was a small gift from Teacher last time they had visited her, and it meant the world to them.

The paper under it though was new, and after a few brief moments of hesitation, Al picked it up.

Soulfire eyes roamed over the paper, disbelief and world consuming guilt encompassing the world around him.

Al let the paper slip from his hands and onto the table, armour rattling in distress.

“Brother...” The whimper slipped out before Al could stop it, even though there was no one around to hear it. Like it was a shameful little secret.

Suddenly the sun didn’t seem so warm.

[jadelotusflower]

Robin Hood Rewatch: 1x13 A Clue: No

“Previously on” recaps can be annoying, but there is an art to it and I love a good one. This is a very, very good one, summarising the last episode with ramping tension as the music builds, then cuts to a different take of the last scene as the theme song starts, and we’re into the opening credits.

This is a long one, so it’s going under the cut:

Guy estimates that the “inner circle” of Robin’s gang is “a dozen at the most” and I find it very funny that neither he nor Vaisey have twigged that it’s always the same five people around him. What’s more annoying than funny is that they don’t know how many are in the “outer circle” because that really should have been A Thing in the show (Forrest and Hanton should have come back to guest star! I will never let this go!) After all, we see Little John with more men in the first episode, there are other outlaws in the forest/across the shire that are either working with Robin, or pose a risk to them, and I wish this had been explored.

Djaq manhandling and holding her sword to Pitts’s throat - I love Djaq.

The first arrow Robin shoots is intended for Vaisey, but one of the guards inconveniently walks in front and gets it in the chest. The second arrow is intended for Vaisey as well but he ducks (”my tooth!”) so we can’t fault the writing for a credible attempt at Why Doesn’t Robin Just Kill The Sheriff, because in this scene at least, he tries.

Bye Pitts. You certainly were.

I actually really love this scene (which probably seemed odd given the high body count), but Robin drawing his sword and charging, with Much, Djaq, and John backing him up to avenge Marian’s apparent death/make a final stand, as the music shifts from the jaunty Rescue Theme to Marian’s Theme, just gets me every time.

Although thanks to the cast commentary, I can’t unsee Djaq flipping that guy over her head twice, but hey, it’s a badass move. Clearly they didn’t shoot enough coverage of this fight, because we get the same action from several different angles.

Other than the flashback in episode 8, I think this is the only time we see Robin in Crusader mode, and just how lethal he (and the gang) can be when unleashed and with nothing to lose. Even when the enemy retreats Robin remains kind of wild-eyed with rage unsated, and it takes a beat for him to snap out of it. It’s symbolism time - he sticks his sword in the ground and leaves it there, and we don’t see it again this episode (or much in season 2).

There’s some nice acting going on from everyone in this scene - just utter exhaustion, Allan and Will oblivious to why the rest are so distraught, Much taking it upon himself to tell them but can’t say the words, and Robin with the finality of “she’s dead.” Their faces!

Djaq is still holding two swords as she enters the cave, which is a nice character beat - no doubt the fight also brought back unpleasant memories/triggers for her, and she remains on edge, for the moment unwilling to give up her defences even when the threat is gone.

I really love this scene too (the gang mourning Marian) and I think it’s quite deftly written - Djaq’s immediate reaction being the importance of a quick burial (as per Islamic tradition), Robin trying to keep it together, attempting to ask John/Will to build a coffin but unable to, so deflecting to ask Djaq to prepare Marian’s body, before trying twice again; John soothing him and taking charge. Will’s single tear and speaking of Marian’s goodness. Much responding with “Good? Oh, she was... She was...” looking to Robin because of course his thoughts are for Robin’s grief before his own, and also that his own relationship with Marian was complex. Allan: “She was alright...yeah” that says so much, and of course John’s “Her, we liked.” Again, some fine acting, kudos everyone.

“I loved her and I never told her” is ironic because Robin still won’t tell her until halfway through the next season, and if he had in the aftermath of her apparent death he could have spared himself a lot of the angst of the rest of the episode. But of course he doesn’t tell her, doesn’t learn from this moment, because emotions are hard, and sometimes we make the same mistakes over and over again.

I really love that it’s Allan that notices that Marian is alive, and his little “told ya” flourish.

Score note: while Marian is “dead” her Theme is strings, when she opens her eyes, it’s back to the guitar.

Guy’s guilt in finding out his impending marriage to Marian is based on false pretenses - would he still have forced the marriage if he’d known that from the start?

Djaq still has her two swords as they take Marian back to Knighton.

Guy, if your first instinct when told Marian is not at home is that she’s run away rather than marry you...maybe take a hint? “She cannot run from me” is a big yikes, and this confuses me as to Guy’s motivation in this scene. Did he intend to tell Marian the truth, but then convince himself otherwise (because “the excitement of the wedding” =/= “the wedding excites her”), but then why so angry when he thinks shes run? The difference between getting someone go/being left, I suppose.

Illness is a perfectly plausible explanation for delaying the wedding that no one seems to think of.

Edward is actually pretty bang on in this scene with Robin from a father’s perspective, telling him to let Marian go if he cannot stop it, and do the right thing. On the other hand...

“I am sick of doing the right thing” is why Robin is such a compelling character for me - because it is hard to always be good, to be held to that higher standard, and make the unselfish choice. I enjoy narratives that explore that, and this show is surprisingly unflinching about it, exemplified by:

The next scene, which is one of the most emotionally brutal/hard to watch of the entire show, in which Robin lashes out and does everything to drive Much away, including calling him “a pox”  and a “small man” until Much’s heart visibly breaks.

Now I don’t want to excuse Robin here, because he is objectively awful to someone who doesn’t deserve it, who is trying to give him support but also telling him some much needed hard truths (even if it is slightly self-serving, which is what what seems to set Robin off). But at the end of the day, if he loves Marian he needs to accept that it is her choice to marry Guy, to “do the right thing” to (she thinks) protect her father - and later of he does just that. For now Edward and Much are both right, it is more important for him to try and protect the king from Vaisey, because if he is ousted and Richard back on the throne so many lives would be improved, including the people of Locksley. But Robin has been pushed to breaking point all season, and has now snapped and can’t see reason, but is stuck in his own grief/rage.

But unlike previously, when Robin said regrettable things in the heat of the moment and then immediately took them back, this is a calculated attack designed to hurt Much the most, because he loves Robin so much that it takes A Lot to push him away. It’s a bold move to make your hero so unlikable in such a moment, because Robin really is unforgivably cruel here, and trust the audience to understand why. I mean, I don’t want to bang on about the PTSD, but it’s (partly) the PTSD, based on a triggering, precipitating event causing a self-destructive spiral. Robin needs some Ye Olde Therapy.  

For all the talk about Robin getting his title and lands back, nothing is said about what happens to Gisborne once he does, other than that they can’t prove he was the one who tried to assassinate Richard. Because really, Richard probably would believe Robin even though the tattoo was burned away, and Guy’s certainly committed other crimes that could be testified to just like they’re intending for Vaisey - and let’s be real, it’s not like a king needs evidence to order someone’s death (hello, season 2 finale). Boom - Guy executed, marriage to Marian annulled, problem solved!

So, the scene between Marian and Guy, in which Marian is more concerned with whether or not Guy tried to kill the king than the fact that he stabbed her. But its understandable, because Marian thinks there’s no way out that doesn’t risk her father’s life, and it’s easier to convince herself that maybe Guy didn’t do it to make the best of things. I think she does have some kind of feelings for him, or is at least moved by his feelings for her, and believes if nothing else she can influence him/continue working from the inside; giving up the mantle of the Nightwatchman but doing the same work (in a different way) as Lady Gisborne.

And then it’s Robin/Marian angst, round 3, and it’s a far cry from their interaction in the cave milliseconds away from “I love yous” - in both tone and body language they’re back in defensive positions talking past one another. The tension, it be thick.

Marian is making her best rationalisation with “deprived of love” and Robin not at all buying the Woobification 101. Once she tells him her decision to marry Guy, he accepts it, but it’s Marian’s reaction that’s telling, she’s surprised that he doesn’t argue, deep down she wants him to fight for her, to say that the real reason she shouldn’t marry Guy is because he loves her. It’s quite a contrast from the previous scene where Guy was very open about how he feels about her, while Robin deflects, but while she was conflicted about Guy trying to kiss her, she’s frustrated, disappointed, and angry when Robin leaves.

But really, this is rather unfair of Marian, because Robin did already declare himself in the cave (”we should be together”) without her reciprocation, so expecting him to take the first step again without any encouragement is a bit much.

Would a depressed person sit slumped against a tree all night?

“But by taking Marian in holy wedlock, I will wash away those crimes. Her pure heart will cleanse mine.” Yeah...not going to touch that one. I appreciate that there’s a lot going on with Guy and many, many people find it compelling, but I’m afraid it’s not really a narrative that interests me.

Speaking of pure hearts: Much. Faced with the same choice he was counseling Robin on, but with the additional wrinkle of knowing the king’s an imposter, he still decides to stop the wedding. “Her heart belongs to another” is A Moment and I don’t know exactly why but I find his very soft pleas following this and calling her “my lady” very affecting. 

She’s beauty and she’s grace, she punched Guy in the face.

“A trap. I knew it.” I haaaaate this line. NO YOU DIDN’T KNOW IT ROBIN YOU KNEW NOTHING OF THE KIND IF YOU HAD KNOWN YOU WOULD BE EVEN MORE OF A DICK FOR LEAVING UGGGHHHH.

“We can’t be seen together” Right in front of my salad two guards on front gate duty, who get front row tickets to the kiss. Look at them! They’re right there! This show drives me absolutely bonkers sometimes.

I do love this dress though.

“An audience with the king has been suspended!” Going out on one last pun.

Regardless, I really love this episode. Despite the lack of fallout from the emotional wringer they all went through, I can’t help but smile when the gang does their silly little jump for joy at the end.

[asthmaticbee]

Ok guys since my brain ain't shutting up I decided to just word vomit any and all Ishvalan Veteran Edward AU scenes that come to mind into a doc so I can eventually come back to it and edit the motherfucker.

Again, this won't receive actual serious work until I have finished other fics and my thesis and I actually have, you know, the time and brain power to plan and write this properly.

That does not, however, mean I won't randomly send snippets out into the tumblr void to make you all suffer alongside my dumb ass.

(that's like half the motivation for writing PTSD war veteran Ed in the first place, the other is that my mid-20s ass has developed an obsession with writing about war and PTSD for some godforsaken reason)

So, have fun, I guess?

Disclaimer: these snippets might get edited or scrapped when this undergoes its final writing process. You may also go and go crazy with the AU idea to your heart's contend. I mean it. Go nuts.

Part 1 for the curious

--

Alphonse doesn’t say goodbye.

“I can’t believe him,” Winry’s voice is small as she walks him to the train station, the streets deserted as they have been for months. Most people in Resembool had been evacuated long ago.

Edward stays quiet, eyes far away. The blue uniform is stiff, new and never worn. It feels more like a collar than the silver watch ever did, and weighs more than his metal limbs ever could.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?!”

He stops midstep, eyes wide and aware for the first time since the summons. “Winry, what-,”

Tears run down her cheeks as she glares at him. “First they take my parents and now-,” she hiccups, and her voice breaks. “Now they make you-, Ed, this isn’t right.”

In the distance military personnel shouts orders, preparing the train that will carry him away to a desert covered in blood and ash. There is a chance he’ll return in a casket, and this truth has been hanging over them like a fog for the past weeks.

“Ed, I-,” she’s cut off by his arms wrapped tight around her, and her hands come up to clutch the back of his new black coat. The fabric barely gives under her fingers, crisp and unforgiving like a shroud. Edward feels distant like a ghost rather than solid against her, and it is as if he’d already died.

“I’m sorry, Winry.” It’s not what she wants or needs to hear, but Edward won’t make his last words a lie.

“Don’t go.”

Her plea is useless, and they both know it. When he pulls away from her his eyes are alive for once. “I really am sorry, Winry. That’s not why I asked you for an arm and a leg to stand on,” he goes for teasing, and he almost seems like his old self in that moment. Then he swallows, and his face closes off, his eyes like golden disks. There is a distance between them, then, civilian and soldier.

Winry doesn’t think that distance will ever disappear again.

She looks at him, decked out in military blue and death black. There is the briefest flash of two holstered guns underneath his jacket as he bends to pick up his suitcase again. The four golden stripes and singular star marking his rank are covered by his coat but she knows they are there. A fifteen-years-old Major; she thinks it sounds like a bad joke but she must have missed the pointe.

Their eyes meet again as he straightens back up, and he hesitates briefly. He moves the suitcase to his left and shifts, then holds out his right. When Winry looks down she sees the silver of his pocketwatch shining in the morning light.

She meets his gaze again, and there is a wry smile barely visible on his face. “Keep it safe for me, will you?”

It’s the closest he dares to promise his return, and she swallows thickly, wiping at her eyes. Winry nods once, taking the watch with a white-knuckled grip.

“You better take this useless hunk of metal back, you alchemy freak.”

“As if I’d let you keep it forever, you automail fanatic.”

Edward takes one last deep breath and straightens fully. Winry wonders if he’d always been this tall or if it’s just the way he seems to have aged years in the span of mere weeks, before he’d even been deployed.

His gold eyes are hard, and he sets his jaw. “Goodbye.”

Winry can’t bring herself to say it back, just nods and tries to keep her tears at bay long enough to see him off.

The last she sees of him before he boards the train is his retreating back.

As the train departs, she weeps.

[goldeneyedgirl]

TwiFicMas20 Christmas Eve: All These Broken Things

... Is it really the end of FicMas if I haven’t posted something from All These Broken Things? I think not. The first sections can be found here and here. This is the fic where Alice travelled with James and doesn’t meet the Cullens until that baseball game. 

It's very strange finally being with the family she was always destined to be with, when she thought she had lost them so long ago.

She finds great satisfaction just watching them - Emmett yelling at the sports on the television; Edward perched at the piano, Rosalie working on her cars. She hovers, like a little ghost, folded into corners and against doorframes, vanishing the second they might acknowledge her.

Esme seems to like her company, as she goes about day-to-day things, chatting away to the silent girl with the enormous, sad black eyes, who trails after her like a stray.

She stays away from Carlisle, trying to avoid the moment he declares her to be cast out, too far gone for them to redeem.

And she stays away from Jasper, because it hurts too much. She doesn't tell Jasper what she knows, what they were meant to be to one another. The past is gone, and she has been broken into too many pieces. He watches her like a hawk, and without words, she knows he will be the one to destroy her if she steps out of line. His hands will crack her limbs apart and he will not flinch or feel any loss.

She wonders if she should tell him that if he was the to destroy her, she would not fight it. She would part in his hands like a paper doll, and hold no ill will to him for such an act.

Sometimes, she lets herself remember the old visions, the ones where they were everything to one another. Only when Edward's away, though; she doesn't like him rifling around in her head. No one deserves being forced to see some of those things.

And it hurts, a raw wound in her heart, that she was meant for something else, for happiness and peace and love, instead of what she was dealt in life. One of her greatest unanswered questions is why? What unforgivable thing did she do in her forgotten human past that earned such a punishment?

Then she remembers what she has done at James’ side for so many decades, at the faces and the screams and the suffering, and somehow she lived her crimes and her penance at the same time.

So she continues to pretend she doesn’t notice that Edward keeps Bella away from the house; that Emmett or Jasper hover in the background as she trails after Esme, as she watches Rose. That she can only go hunting when Jasper and Emmett can go along too; the ones strong enough and fast enough to restrain her.

When Edward does bring Bella back to the house at Esme’s insistence, she sits on the opposite side of the room, and listens to the conversation, keeping still and silent.

When Carlisle arrives home from work, she focuses on the magazine or book she has found, pretending to be absorbed by the glossy pictures, still and silent, to not notice as he studies her with patience she isn’t sure is genuine.

When Jasper joins Emmett for something noisy and angry on the television, their gazes occasionally sliding towards her, she is frozen in place, her gaze out the window.

She’s played this game before. Be good and quiet and still. The blow will come, eventually, but at least she can prepare herself for it, brace herself for the inevitable fall. They don’t trust her.

She doesn’t trust her, either.

Six.

They settle into a sort of routine.

She’s allowed to hunt with Esme and Rosalie now, though she’s careful to keep her distance, to trek a little further into the forest, to reassure them. She usually waits until they call her back.

She is always carefully supervised during their hunts, and finally, finally, the cracks James left across her nose and cheeks have finally faded away. They hunt too often for her, and when she forces herself to finish the animal, she vomits everywhere. She says nothing, but she feels safer a little hungry, her eyes black rather than a strange gold-orange.

Edward lets her sit beside him when he plays the piano, tells her about each of the pieces of music. He tries to teach her once, attempts to guide her hands into position, but she panics and jerks away, and he doesn’t offer again.

Emmett is nice to her. He seems to understand not to come up behind her without warning, not to touch. Sometimes she perches on the end of the couch and watches the television with him. She doesn’t stay very long, but he always gives her a big smile when she leaves, as if he’s had a wonderful time.

She doesn’t understand Emmett, but she thinks she could like him.

Rosalie can’t seem to decide whom she dislikes more – her or Bella - and she’s sure that Rose is going to get whiplash from changing her mind about both of them so many times. But Rose addresses her and is reasonably civil, mostly out of some kind of misguided caution that she is some kind of threat, and that is some kind of progress.

She and Bella have few words to say to each other. ‘Sorry I helped someone attempt to torture and exsanguinate you’ isn’t something she can work out how to say out-loud and have it sound genuine. Mostly because the truth is closer to, ‘I’m sorry you found yourself in this situation, but I don’t regret my choices. The consequences for me would have been much, much worse than you can ever comprehend. Your fragile mortality would have spared you of the worst of it. I’d make the same decision one hundred times in a row without a second thought.’

She’s certain that would upset everyone.

Bella seems rather reluctant to spent time in her presence, and she does wonder if that’s because she’s the side of the coin that isn’t beauty-wealth-love. She’s the side of suffering, of pain and of misery, murder and regret. Bella wants perfection, wants the glamour and magic of the Cullens, and none of the honest truth of being a vampire.

But it’s probably the murder attempt.

Then there are things that haven’t changed since she arrived. She’s not allowed to be alone, or to leave the house aside from hunting – even then, she has to be accompanied.

But every single day, James is still gone and she is still here. And there will never be a time when that knowledge is not sweet.

//

Her wardrobe is limited - a few old t shirts that once belonged to Esme and are too big, her worn jeans and the filthy, stained cardigan that she had when they found her. Her thin knees have long since torn through her pants, and the cardigan's sleeves are frayed and holey, but she is clean and free.

And then she is deemed in control enough to go shopping. Esme approaches her with the idea, with glossy magazines and gentle suggestions. It is an idea that has even intrigues Rosalie enough for her to join them.

They clearly still think she is a risk, though, because it is a family outing, with looks of such boredom and long-suffering on the faces of the male Cullens when it is decided, that she laughs softly behind her hand.

The building they take her to is huge and full of people. It is like a blow to the face, of blood and scent, and she visibly recoils from it at first, unsure and on edge. And they are patient, escorting her in, with encouraging words.

Eventually, though, they show her the clothes and the sight of the racks is enough to distract her from the heady scent. It is overwhelming, the colours and fabrics and styles, and she simply stares, with Emmett laughing at her stunned expression.

Esme is so kind, guiding her gently through the racks, telling her to choose anything she likes. She is careful, though, picking new jeans, a new cardigan, soft and clean and sunshine yellow. Esme helps her pick shoes out - the first pair she's had in decades. Soft brown winter boots, black sneakers, gold and black flats that make her feel like a princess. At her childlike delight with her fancy shoes, Esme buys her a black sundress with ties at the back and bows on the straps, that will bare her arms and triangles of flesh on her back.

Underwear is a strange concept. It's nothing that she has ever bothered with before. She is useless in the wake of so many choices, and let's Esme and Rosalie choose what she needs, dress her like a doll, whilst she amuses herself with how clearly uncomfortable both Jasper and Edward are in such a department.

She almost feels pretty – even desirable - in the plain cotton that make her skinny frame look almost womanly. She’s too embarrassed to even try on the satin and lace sets Rosalie has chosen. They aren’t for girls like her – girls that wear those things are more than she will ever be – prettier, sweeter, bolder. They are too much, and when she refuses, she doesn’t understand the look Rosalie and Esme exchange, Rosalie looking sly and Esme with an expression of warning.

Afterwards, they look for other things. The books hold little interest for her, as do the endless electronics. She doesn’t mean to wander off, but a demonstration by the art supplies store catches her eye, and she stands a little away from the crowd, watching the man draw. It is Esme and Jasper who find her, both looking alarmed, but she pretends she doesn’t see them, her gaze focused on the pencil that so carefully makes its way across the page.

“Alice,” Esme is at her side. “You scared us.” Her smile is bright, but her eyes worried – what would the Cullens do if she attacked in a place like this, with so many eyes? She doesn’t get to ponder that thought much longer, as Jasper’s hand closes over her shoulder and she is guided away.

For the rest of the afternoon, Jasper is her ominous shadow, as she dutifully trails after them.

She doesn't have her own room, but she doesn’t truly need one. Until now, she hasn’t had any possessions to store, and she doesn’t require the privacy a mated couple does. But, she has found she likes the attic. Full of things that need repairs or to be stored, it is a mad tea party of furniture and items.

There’s an old grey chair is missing a leg, and has an ugly stain that not even Esme could draw out that she likes. She folds herself into it, and she feels safe in that little corner, with the narrow window that overlooks the forest and spills in afternoon light. There's an old dresser up there, too, so that's where she arranges her new things, carefully folding and smoothing them into each drawer, precisely and lovingly.

Rosalie brings her some cosmetics and half a glass bottle of perfume – the bottle is shaped like an egg and etched with tiny flowers and curlicues and it is so delicate and beautiful, she is frightened to hold it. Rosalie watches as she sprays the scent into the air, the delighted look at the scent of flowers. She is nervous at Rosalie’s gesture, but grateful. Grateful enough that she allows Rosalie to cut the matted ends of her hair off into a neat, shorter style.

It makes her look more delicate, younger, maybe sweeter, she thinks as she strokes the strands in the mirror. And less like a roving maniac, at least according to the shiny-haired Rosalie, who watches her with satisfaction in her eyes.

She should be offended, but there’s this tiny hope that maybe, just maybe, Rosalie is turning her into something new. Something good and better.

Something like a sister.

//

It’s Esme’s idea to invite Bella around the evening of her birthday. Just a family gathering, with a few simple gifts. Everyone sort of agrees, and try to work out what to give the sullen girl.

She manages a portrait of Bella and Edward seated together at the piano that Esme gushes over, and has framed.

There have been some hints, from Carlisle and Edward that she will have to attend school eventually. She doesn’t understand that, but is just waiting for them all to graduate. They’ll leave when they’ve graduated and she won’t have to worry about school again.

She arranges peonies on the piano for Bella, upon Esme’s request, and is reminded of her old, fragmented vision of blood and glass. But nothing comes to her; the future is clear and her mind has decided to play tricks on her again.

Or perhaps her mind is the best part of her, the gentle warning she ignored becoming obvious as soon as Bella’s finger slips against the wrapping paper. Jasper’s eyes blacken as soon as Bella’s flesh parts and the blood beads, and suddenly he is lunging. She sees it in an instant, Bella’s crumpled body in his grip and Edward’s howls and the house of the Cullens irreversibly fallen. She sees an endless parade of James’ victims, broken and dead in Bella’s blank eyes.

She sees the horror and the guilt in Jasper’s eyes, sees the vastness of Mexico and the rise of a monster born of regret and impulse.

It is over before he even moves, decision made, and she has to stop this.

The shriek startles them all, coming from her mouth as she darts in front of him.

In another life, the flavour of her desperation and fear would be enough for him to pause, to grasp wildly at his resistance. Instead, he throws her aside, her body crashing through the front windows in a rain of wood and glass, leaving an imprint of her body in the flowerbed outside.

She picks herself up out of the flower bed as Emmett and Rosalie drag Jasper bodily from the house, Esme close behind them. Their eyes are all pitch black; a harmless paper cut did not cause this reaction.

“She cut open her arm,” is Emmett’s grim explanation as Jasper’s struggles slow, his eyes firmly on the door of the house.

“It was an accident,” Esme adds, shame in every line of her stance.

“Alice seemed to know,” Rosalie murmurs, her eyes still on Jasper.

She will never understand Rosalie, why she always needs to assign blame, to identify the victim and the antagonist. She ignores the statement, even as they all swing to look at her, as she examines her shoulder. Jasper didn’t hit her hard enough for cracks to form, but it doesn’t look like it’s properly aligned.

When she does look up again, she can see it in all their eyes – did she let this happen on purpose? Does she hold some ugly vendetta against poor, sweet Bella?

She did help James …

She’s surprised – she thought it would be Edward that came after her, later, to criticise and punish her for the limitations on her faulty gift. He still might – he hasn’t decided properly, too focused on patching up Bella.

But it’s Jasper, wrenching out of Rosalie and Emmett’s grasp, with murder in his eyes and the target on her.

He doesn’t yell, but his words are poisonous, nasty and accusing. She flinches, Esme gasps and even Emmett tries to get him to stop. Some of them, she knows, aren’t meant for her. They are frustration, humiliation and disappointment directed at himself, at his own weakness.

But when she instinctively backs away, and he grabs her wrist, and she lets out a tiny cry of fear; it is Rosalie who comes to her rescue, who snarls and yells and pries his iron grip from her.

“I don’t care how pissed you are, you don’t touch her like that.”

The words seem to echo, and Carlisle, Edward and Bella are watching from the front door.

Her apology is stammered, weak in the sudden silence, her insistence that she didn’t know sounding bewildered and feeble as she darts away, into the forest to pick glass and wood out of her hair and wonder just how many other warnings she’s missed.

//

[ianthedisastrous]

In my Father's Eyes

People assumed Edward doesn't recall his father, perhaps thought of him only in the sense of another story. Truly, shouldn't the author who penned that tale be Edward's parent? His creator? The thought had puzzled him, from time to time, but always he returned back to several certainties. 

His father was a fair man, one who listened to the pleas of his people; the sort of king that Edward wished to be, if he were to ever be given the chance. Many boys idolize their fathers as much as they adore their mothers, with childishly blind eyes; but Edward had always known the image his father held in his eyes as true for more than only himself; a man who earned the praise of his kingdom. 

"A good king," his father's voice comes back to him sometimes, with warmth in the memory of being very small and sitting before him with expression filled with wonder at what he might learn, "must be kind."

"As kindness is stronger than any terrible deed, stronger than evil men and frightening beasts; kindness can give hope and that is the most important gift that can ever be given. 

You hold the faith of your kingdom in your hands and you must always take care with it." 

And Edward believed, with a strength of conviction that could not waver, believed every word spoken was the guidance of a wise man. 

His father taught him to wield a sword, another memory upon the pages, a young boy with palms sore from gripping too tightly the hilt of the blade that was both exciting and frightening. A weapon that felt so much more unforgiving than he knew how to carry. 

"Steady your arm higher m'boy, lift your chin, for if you must be the one to bring harm to another you must carry the burden of meeting their eyes, their pain you too must see; this is the weight of the blade you hold. 

This is the responsibility of a just man, if he must spill blood. You must remember them, for they too have fought for their cause."

It was a truth Edward never forgot, a memory that gripped him each time he drew his blade, knowing that it was never to be done in jest. And never once did he walk away in victory without solemn respect given to the loss.

Yet, the lesson that pained him the most, filled him with an indescribable peace, was the hardest to learn.

A brave man stricken with grave wounds and tired, hands grasped weakly around the firm grip of his trembling son, a smile spared for his lovely wife and her soft tears, for the sleeping infant cradled in her arms.

A man Edward thought neither sickness nor time could touch, that no injury might slow; in the end was simply just a man. 

"A good king sees his legacy grow brighter in those he leaves behind when his time is spent. There is no shame in weeping only a short while, do not be afraid of giving your grief a voice; it lives in you the same as every happiness and with just as much to teach you.

But you will be a good king one day, as you are a good man grown from the eager child who once begged for bedtime stories of dragons and knights. 

Love, m'boy, is what makes a man the best he can be; for his family, his kingdom, and himself. You and your sister are my proudest moments, Edward."

The words had never left him, not in the days that followed with eyes wet from the ache of that grief, nor ones beyond it when pain gave way to joy at the recollection of good times and gratitude.

What did it mean then when those memories were penned to the pages of a story? Chapters in a novel that held a past truly real to him? Edward returned to them now and then, fingers swept over the words with an indulgent smile. 

Because it was not only a story, it was his story. 

That is what his father taught him, and what he faced with his head held high; his had a legacy to carry with pride. 

Slightly's life, however, had never been a fairytale. 

Kindness had never been the litany of the world they resided within, but their father had urged them to never lower their eyes in spite of the snarl and snap of the darkness; even fairytales have monsters. And monsters have purpose, if only for how they craft it from their own darkness. They were brilliant, they were strong, they would survive. 

He was proud of his brood. 

"You should never forget where you belong, why you were born with claws rather than lofty ambitions.

I expect you to do great things, things that you must do in places others are afraid to walk."

Perhaps the most loving thing their father had ever uttered was how high those expectations were; he believed in a child many would not have. In those early days the words sounded like a demand ushered unfairly upon the child who had no want of it, but with time the purpose unraveled into truth better understood.

Slightly knew more of being a father than they did of their own; the chores of the Mountain Prince were never finished, they cannot recall ever seeing him at peace. Never remember a moment at rest, no more than a fleeting encounter before the call of the Court drew him away. A shadow of a figure that would with time grow fuzzy at the edges of their memories. 

But what other way was there aside from necessity?

"Is father angry, because of me?" So small, Sorrel was only a child filled with foolish questions, dangerous questions, questions Slightly was old enough to know better than speak out loud and settle doubt in the air around them. Doubt could wound far too deeply. Eyes as blue as still waters begged to know, eyes that did not belong to the Mountains.

"No, he isn't. He's mad at other people for arguing about differences," Slightly had shushed the boy and drew him close with claws laced with Sorrel's own, tiny creature nestled in the spot against their side. Secrets carried a burden one so young did not fully understand. "Because no amount of difference means more to him than you do." 

And it was a truth Slightly saw and knew, each time their father gathered up in his arms the boy who was not his own but he would accept as no less. Each time he stepped between him and some threat, the vicious ferocity the Mountain Fey protected their young with fueling an inhuman anger. 

Their father never spoke it in so many words, but he taught that lesson well; those who are your own simply were, no matter where the world's opinions might fall. 

The crueler lesson came too soon; what loss can do and what sacrifices are worth. 

Day by day Slightly saw their father fade to a terrifying emptiness in his voice, the horrors of giving too much of himself to the pain of having his eldest ripped away from him. 

He gave up, hour by hour, until the light was all gone away into a stillness that lay glassy and hollow in his once fire-bright eyes and Slightly was left choking on the rage of being abandoned. 

How dare he choose to mourn one child so intensely that he left the others behind. To make the decision to fade away rather than fight after all his demands that his children must always do so.

"Keep your eyes open, you must always be ready." 

The words of the one who had not been able to do the same, the one who Slightly trusted and found themselves suffocating in the wake of what they could not understand.  

Slightly locked away the memories; his voice, his lessons, every moment buried deep and soaked with a bitter pain. They had no choice; Sorrel needed to be looked after and mother was taxed with a role meant for two. 

Their father taught a poignant truth with his death; leaving those behind to fend for themselves was the cost of some choices.  

But even so, Slightly could not bear to truly hate him, not when they missed him so very, very much. Children do not simply forget the ones who were their world.

It took long years to find the truth in the pain, to shift through and see that all joy has a shred of sorrow within it, that all love carries a bitter core of fear in the loss; that sometimes a sacrifice is not written so much in blood as it is in a broken heart. 

Slightly learned to grieve from the one they called father, to value those near more than anything that could be won, and most importantly; that sometimes loving someone means you cannot save them from their own demons. That you must accept, and forgive, that they may fail you. 

But shadowy creatures and skies filled with unfamiliar stars never crossed Ian's mind much as a child; he couldn't concern himself with storybook monsters when he knew far too many real ones waited for him in the cold gazes of his classmates. People who didn't understand him, people who were taught to never dare to understand.  

And his mom tried so hard; every day it seemed like she came home just a little more exhausted than the one before. Her soft smile might not have wavered but Ian knew her heart was still just a little too broken to tell her why he was afraid of the world.

She needed him to be brave, but he could only pretend to and hope it was enough. She urged him to speak but he remained as silent as he dared; it was her tired eyes that hurt him at the thought of asking too much of her.   

But his dad always listened. Whenever he needed him, even if he never answered.

As a child, barely tall enough to reach the desk where his mother kept her glossy albums, Ian believed that somehow his late night conversations, hands tightly gripping the only photo he had of the man, did not go unheard. 

"Please come back. Mom is sad all the time and I don't know how to make it better," he would speak in no more than a breath of sound, eyes dropped and half shut to hold back the tears. "I know they're wrong at school. That...that you didn't leave because you wanted to, not because we're...different from everybody else. But if you could just come back? Nobody could say those things anymore."

Some places, his mom explained, people could not come back from, as she kissed his forehead one day. It was a day he could barely recall later his age or the other details, only the words she spoke when he voiced what he had really wanted for his birthday. 

Children so young still believe that magic could do a great deal more than it ever should. 

"He wanted so badly just to meet you," and with the words Ian saw a gravity in her eyes that he never had before, "He loved you boys more than anything in this world, but he just didn't have the chance to stay."

Ian learned that love was powerful, but sometimes it was very unfair, and it was why a person had to be strong for those who needed them the most. The world was scary, it always would be, but people had to try. 

He didn't ask his mom again, he couldn't stand to see that sorrow. 

His dad always was there; never judgemental in that silence. And as a child it had been too easy to overlook that silence could only exist without judgement and find the best in that. It felt safe, so much safer than risking speaking the doubts to anyone else. Silence was patient, and so too then was Ian's dad in his memories of a man who could not be there.

"We have to leave soon,'' quiet moments in his room had long since given way to rooftop vigil under the sprawling skies; maybe somewhere in that expanse of forever his father resided just beyond his reach. "I..I thought I'd be happy to leave this place but I'm just scared. I'm always scared; I wish-" He sighed and drew his knees up with the tired words. "-I wish I were like you, not afraid of anything." 

But Wilden had been afraid; of the sickness that stole his life in small measures, of the world moving on without him, of missing so much of it, and most of all of his boys never knowing who he was. 

Ian had been surprised when he discovered that, as his mom reassured him that it was okay to be afraid sometimes, but just as often she spoke of his bravery in the face of those fears and that it rooted itself down deeply into Ian's mind.

The man he had never had a chance to hear speak taught him that everyone was afraid sometimes, that everyone fights their battles, and the best a person can do is to find a reason to. 

But it wasn't right to let that fear turn a person cruel; time and again he heard of his dad's forgiving nature. And bit by bit Ian learned what parts of himself he wanted to be so much like the man, and what parts he had to let go, for his own sake.

"I don't want to have to be you, dad. I'm sorry." Ian whispered to the darkness as the morning crept so steadily closer; every star in Swynlake glittered in watchful attention to that conversation from the balcony. Twenty years to his life that very day. "I don't know what I want to do from here but you won't be mad if it's not what you expected me to, right?" 

The night could not speak, ghosts belonged in days and years behind him, but it did not mean their presence was any less wanted. Ian could not think in the past tense, not when he still felt there was too much more left to learn. 

He knew what his dad had already taught him, how many times that memory had held vigil to his unsteady words, and he was not nearly done yet. His dad had never been there, not so much the way other people could have claimed, but he had done what any good father strived to; he had listened. 

"I miss you."

[jostenneil]

your top 5 anime couples?

ok so the funny thing is i wrote out my answer to this ask a few days ago and just as i was publishing it my internet decided to die so i lost the whole thing and got rly sad. but i’m back now and perhaps with some better answers so maybe this worked out to your benefit lol 

edward/winry (fullmetal alchemist) → this is pretty self explanatory but nonetheless, i adore the potential with these two. i think there’s a lot of subtleties to their relationship that aren’t touched upon enough in fandom, like how far their intimate understanding of each other goes, how their fears for each other manifest in the work that they do every day, etc etc. they’re a wonderful portrayal of the childhood friends to lovers trope just by way of the fact that they know each other down to a microscopic level. like i think it can’t be overstated enough just how amazing it is that a part of ed’s life is in winry’s hands and a part of her life is in his hands, and how that builds upon the foundations of their unbreakable trust in each other. i also love how their relationship is built on the fact that they’ve essentially been the heads of their households since they were kids. that burden and sense of responsibility they share in is so palpable and esp fun to explore in the post canon when they finally have time to focus on themselves and what they want to do with their work and their family in the long term, i love to think about it! 

tsumugu/chisaki (nagi no asukara) → there isn’t a lot i can write here without spoiling the events of the series itself, but to describe the basics of these two, it comes down to a sort of complicated love polygon that they’re caught in the middle of, and i love how it plays out here. chisaki has loved one of her childhood friends for her entire life, so when her feelings start to change and she develops them for tsumugu instead, she’s weighted with this intense sense of guilt that parallels to a traumatic event that occurs mid series. chisaki is someone who hates the idea of change and growing up and tsumugu as first her friend and then her potential love interest is someone who subtly tries to challenge that mindset and help her grow, all while caring very deeply for her. it’s a really nice case of push and pull, and what amplifies it even more are all of the sea associated metaphors that their relationship is entwined with. chisaki is like this tumultuous and unpredictable sea, while tsumugu is the boy in the boat who patiently weathers her storms. it’s magnificent (and on netflix)

junichi/yurika (kids on the slope) → the funniest thing to me about this manga is that unlike most ppl my greatest takeaway from it was the relationship between these two as opposed to the main focus between the homoerotic, catholically symbolized best friends (which is still impeccable), but i have my reasons! i like these two bc they depict what a mature relationship between two people, no matter how damaged, ought to look like. when they first meet, jun is charismatic, flirtatious, and daring, yurika haughty and alarmed but also intrigued. there’s a brief potential there for some magic, and then they don’t see each other again for several months. the next time they meet, all the previous facades have been shattered. he’s been disowned by his family and now lives alone, depressed and jaded by the world, and she’s growing increasingly frustrated with the impositions put upon her as a pretty girl from a rich family growing up in 60s japan. the conversations between them thereafter are very charged and challenging as they poke and prod at each other’s world views, but it’s ultimately a healthy banter that’s necessary for them to come to an understanding and move forward. jun fears hurting the people he loves and isolates himself as a result, and yurika pushes back at those walls and limited thinking bc they’ve been towering over her all her life. it’s just a beautiful exploration in balance esp since they’re a couple that has to make it on their own without their families’ support, so they need mutual understanding to survive 

marco/connie (gangsta.) → the relationship between these two is pretty complex. marco is originally a born and bred child mercenary, but at a point in time he begins to harbor some doubts about the work he does with his “friends”, and the turning point in his life becomes the death of connie’s parents at their hands. connie cries these angry, unforgiving tears and stares at him with so much hatred in that moment that it rocks him to his core, and a series of events leads to him abandoning the mercenary lifestyle and completely starting over in an effort to repay kindness to the people he’s only ever harmed. what’s interesting about these two is that connie rly holds him to this endeavor. she’s constantly skeptical of him and she doesn’t like him nor holds these great hopes for him to improve as a person. she makes no moves to help him initially when he’s mocked and jeered at for attempting to start fresh, and why should she? he ruined her life. but the interesting thing is that marco’s persistence when it comes to doing good and wholeheartedly repenting is something that begins to intrigue her, and slowly she starts to let him into her life. first as a delivery boy she greets at the door, then as maybe an acquaintance, then a friend, and somewhere along the way, a lover. it’s a really dark relationship (explored in more detail in gangsta. cursed) but i love how it’s explored and how they push each other to be better people 

taichi/arata (chihayafuru) → if you know anything of this fandom you know this is the unpopular choice, but nonetheless, my reread this past year enlightened me to it. i feel like these two really take rivals to lovers to the next level. their initial friendship as kids barely touches the surface of some of the insecurities each of them harbors, but as they grow up apart from each other there’s this simultaneous loathing and longing that manifests in each of them for the other that’s really amazing to watch unfold. there’s so many backhanded comments between them followed by bouts of remorse and self-hatred, there’s secret expressions of just how happy they feel when they’re able to play each other, the tension that exists between them as they fight not just for chihaya’s love but for the love of karuta is so so intense and devastating, and ultimately it’s a really well fleshed-out exploration between childhood friends vested with different life experiences that ultimately put them at odds with each other. the way their relationship has developed up until now in the manga is just crazy to see and i sometimes wonder if they’d be more popular had they been straight lmao 

[mrsbhandari]

Back to the Future

A/N: hi!! I feel bad about not putting out an official fic so here!! Have some angst!! I've been teasing it for @anotherbeingsworld so I hope they like it, too💞💞

---------------------------

The future, compared to Eden's little stint in the past, was quick. Overwhelming. A mile a minute. She thought of her time on the ship every day. She thought of Edward, with his dark brooding in the daylight and his light smiles in dimly lit taverns. She thought of Charlie, with her willingness for a party and her soft comforting touches at the helm.

She thought of Oliver.

She recalled his warm, tan skin and its seeping heat that seemed to run down her body from the slightest touch. His laugh would come easy when he wanted it to, and he always seemed to want it to when she was around. His fingertips would roam, searching and committing every curve, every divot, every scar to memory, followed closely by his lips that sent shivers down her spine.

He was gone now.

Now.

In the future.

"Eden! Why do you want to visit a stuffy old library anyway? We're in DC! We need to pa-"

"We can party after I find something, just give me a minute!" Eden soothed her friend's whines as she made her way to the Library of Congress. She had planned this trip with a secret in mind, wanting answers and closure. She spotted an employee and tried to calm her nerves before speaking.

"Hi, can I help you, ma'am?"

"Yes, I'm doing a report and I need to find out everything on Lieutenant Oliver Cochrane. He was in the British Navy under Admiral Cochrane in the 18th century. Can you help me find him?" The employee gave her a weird look and it wasn't until after she had gotten the resources she needed that the pang of loss truly hit her; she wanted to find him.

Cracking open a large and dusty book, she flipped to the back towards the index and ran a perfectly manicured fingernail down the page until she settled on COCHRANE, OLIVER: PG 278-282. She coughed a little bit as she turned back to the page number, and her breath caught as she spotted a portrait of him, covering a full page. He stood alone in his fancy Navy getup, a hand on the hilt of his sword as he looked off to the right, cold and regal.

Lieutenant Oliver Cochrane, aged 26.

Her eyes drifted to the next page, skimming the descriptions of his early life in favor of getting to the parts where maybe, just maybe, she would make an appearance.

Lieutenant Cochrane often spoke in his personal journals of a pirate, Edward Mortemer, who was the sworn enemy of Admiral Cochrane. Even more intriguing are his writings of a crew member of Mortemer's ship (The Poseidon's Revenge), identified as Eden Bellamy. When cross referenced with Mortemer's own journals, Bellamy only appears for a small period of weeks before disappearing. No other known records of an Eden Bellamy exist in the time period. Below are excerpts from Cochrane's journals, during the brief siege and destruction of The Poseidon's Revenge by Admiral Cochrane:

June 6, 1799

The tavern was lit, not by the candles, but by her smile. Eden would always ask just what I was staring at, but I would always answer that her beautiful face was my object of distraction. The brown of her eyes did well to help me forget about my mission, but the longer I chased after her, the more I found myself uncaring.

June 7, 1799

A pirate, a pirate! My luck has truly run out. The woman who I don't believe I could ever forget is actually a woman I'm told to not forget because my father wants her head on his wall! But she's fierce, and unforgiving. I believe myself to be infatuated, against all odds and reason. Father Admiral is watching my every move closely, but her own movements captivate me.

June 8, 1799

I've found myself in a maze, guided by both my father's iron hand and my love's gentle caress. Love? I do believe it to be. She takes hold of my mind, of my thoughts, of my dreams. My father destroyed her ship, something which can never be undone, yet she still looks at me with...forgiveness? Which I previously thought was not a sure thing.

A tear splattered onto the page, and it was only then that Eden realized that she was crying. Her quiet sobs seemed to disrupt the silence surrounding her, suffocating her, and yet she still struggled to hold it in. Against her better judgement, she continued.

After Bellamy's disappearance, Cochrane's writings still fill with images of what he thought of a future with her, even when he married the daughter of a rich merchant at age 27. The marriage was believed to be a loveless one, and Cochrane's writings continued to tell of Eden Bellamy until the day he died at age 58.

December 19, 1829

I feel death close now, and it reminds me of the gentle touch of a lover: soft and sweet, yet haunting. Maybe Eden was death, yet I was too young and stupid to comprehend at the time. Now, I feel ready to leave, and possibly even meet her. My breath is shorter now, as it was in the Captain's Quarters of my ship some 25 years ago. She, Death, calls for me, warping the wood under her nails. I eagerly await.

[tonystarktogo]

“It’s never gonna be over.” They are a practiced liar in it only for her own gain, an amoral mercenary who doesn’t play well with others and a business shark on a warpath. [If there is such a thing as a match made in Hell, they are it.]

*

Natasha stares at the number on her bank account — well, one of them — in stunned silence, too numb to feel the happiness, joy, ecstatic shock that is probably appropriate for a moment such as this. 

As a grifter — a damn good one at that, Natasha strives for nothing less than perfection in her chosen craft — Natasha is used to being surrounded by wealth and money, extravagance and shameless posturing. It’s basically her job description. 

But there’s a lot of zeros and then there’s a hell of a lot of zeros. It’s too much, the amount far too high to feel real. The kind of money that goes beyond wealthy, beyond filthy, stinking rich. Tony’s rich, Natasha knows that. Everyone knows that. Or, well, he used to be. Back before he sold his properties and put all his money into saving Stark Industries, only to turn around and retire from his position, sell his stock to his successor and disappear out of the public eye.

[Everyone in the industry knows there’s more to it than that. Everyone knows there’s something shady about the way Tony Stark left his own company — some say of his own volition, some say his hand was forced. No one is stupid enough to believe that the murder of his assistant preceding those changes is in any way or shape a coincidence.

But Natasha is one of the few who has run into Tony Stark since then — or rather the ruin of what used to be Tony Stark. He goes by Anton, these days, and that he smiles a hell of a lot less is the least of the changes. As such Natasha isn’t forced to rely on unconfirmed rumors and gossip. She knows damn well that Stane did something unforgivable. And didn’t have the smarts — or the guts — to put Tony Stark down when he could.

He’ll regret that weakness one day, of that Natasha has no doubt. If there is a man out there, that will one day turn Tony Stark into a killer, it is Obadiah Stane.]

The point is, even for the old Tony Stark this would amount to an indecent fuck-ton of money. For your usual mortal — which Natasha in spite of all her talents is — it’s the kind of sum you vaguely dream about because you can’t even picture what it might look like. What it might mean.

Now here they are.

“We’re gonna be set for life when this is all over,” Natasha mutters. Tries to work through the confusing mixture of disbelief, shock, relief, exhilaration and amusement this seemingly innocuous number evokes in her. To understand how she feels about this, not just the situation itself but its implications.

She’ll never have to work again. She’ll never have to do anything she doesn’t want to again. And — far more important — she’ll be able to do anything she wants. 

This? This is what Natasha’s been working towards, been dreaming of all her life. It’s what every grifter wants, really. Every criminal even. This is the mythical big score. The one everyone always talks about and most never, ever achieve.

[It should feel more satisfying, shouldn’t?]

And yet, despite all that Natasha isn’t sure what to do with it. She’d assumed it would take her several more years yet to reach this moment. [And even then, the payoff she would’ve considered acceptable would’ve been much, much lower.] It feels almost too easy.

Natasha forces herself to tear her gaze away from the screen. The number won’t change and it’s not wrong, she’s already run those checks a dozen times. While her temporary colleagues have remained quiet — perhaps caught up in their own shock, though considering their identity, that doesn’t seem likely.

Anton isn’t smiling.

It’s such an odd, little thing to stick out to her, and yet it’s the first thing Natasha notices. After all, people usually smile when they’re holding a payout of more millions than they knows what to do with. Not that it surprises Natasha.

[She hasn’t seen Anthony Stark smile since the day Pepper Pott bled out in his arms.]

Anton’s staring at her now, not avoiding eye contact for once. An unvoiced challenge. [Natasha’s never been good of letting those go unanswered. And it irks her, just a bit, that he knows her well enough to know this already, even though she’s already decided she doesn’t mind playing along. For a bit.]

"There’s no way Hammer put this much aside," Natasha states the obvious. "Even if we’d taken his company for everything it got, no way would we have made this much money off one job."

"Or maybe you’ve been working the wrong jobs." Anton smirks when she rolls her eyes in response. "Come on, I’m a motherfucking Stark. You can’t seriously think I don’t have any tricks up my sleeve. Playing with the stock market? I’ve been doing that shit since I was fourteen and contrary to what my esteemed former board members like to think, I’ve learned a lot over the past decade."

And the thing is, Anton wears casual arrogance like second skin and just like his infernal goatee and those ridiculously fancy suits he’s so fond of, he makes it look good.

As if to underline Natasha’s point, Anton continues with a simple "All of this?" accompanied by a careless wave of his hand. "There was no way I was gonna let us walk out of this job with anything less. It’s the least of what we’re owed."

There’s something in Anton’s eyes that sends a by now familiar thrill down her back  – because Natasha knows that cold edge. Knows Anton’s brilliant mind that constantly works on fifteen problems at once. Knows even now, with this little game of theirs finished [a stunning victory, as though it could’ve been anything else] he is already setting up the next move. [The next target.]

Natasha has met men on a warpath before and Anthony Edward Stark meets every single criteria. She doesn’t need to understand how he thinks exactly — doubts anyone could, the man’s been called many things, but his unofficial title as a genius has been hard-earned — to know that somewhere in that pretty, pretty head of his, Anton’s keeping book of every offense committed against him and his. Is slowly but surely working through a list only he knows the full extend of.

[Stane was a fool. Part of Natasha — the part that has watched Anton break himself apart over the last fourteen days — hopes she’ll be there when Anton finally, inevitably turns his attention to him.]

But now is not the time for these things. With that in mind, Natasha forces a teasing grin on her lips, keeps her eyes shadowed but her words light. "Yes, yes, we all know you’re amazing."

Even Barnes snorts at the dryness of her tone, though Anton, at least, is unbothered.

"And don’t you forget it."

"Well, then." Natasha catches herself before she involuntary glances down at her phone’s screen again, still not convinced that this money is real. Is hers. "I suppose this is it."

Catches the eyes of Barnes, then Anton because they deserve that much. Working with competent partners is always a pleasure. And though Barnes prefers too much brute force for her taste and there’s a ruthlessness to Anton’s machinations that goes far beyond Natasha’s own cool practicality, she’s enjoyed this job. [More than she thought she would.]

"It could be."

To her genuine surprise, it’s Anton who says those words. [The same Anton whose first words to Natasha were 'I don’t do teams’ with casual derision.] But there’s no doubt he means them — means what they imply — else Anton wouldn’t have spoken up at all.

A quick glance towards Barnes confirms what Natasha has assumed: He’ll let her take the lead on this conversation, if only because it means he won’t have to talk himself. Barnes is a man of very few words indeed.

"What else is there to do?" Natasha obligingly asks. "The job is done. We’re done. It’s over."

[She knows those words are a lie, of course. Knows that big score or not, it was never just about the money. You don’t become a world-class grifter wanted in seven countries and counting just because you need money. Maybe that’s how it started — and sure, the riches are nice to have — but Natasha loves it. Loves the rush. Loves reading the mark, enticing it, blinding it. Loves pulling off a job and getting away with it against all odds.

It’s been less than ten minutes, but Natasha doesn’t need time. She already knows that, millions or not, she won’t stop now. Wouldn’t know where to start, even if she wanted to.]

“It’s never gonna be over.” Anton says it absently, matter-of-fact. "Not for me."

A simple acknowledgement of a truth Natasha already knows. [Men like Anton, they don’t stop half-way through. They don’t stop at all. And perhaps she should know better than to get involved with someone so hell-bent on revenge, but. Hell was always gonna be her ultimate destination anyway. Why not enjoy the ride?]

The way Anton looks at her, at Barnes, there’s no missing the implication. The unspoken offer. The warning. 

You can walk away now if you want. [Get out while you still can.]

A sensible person would’ve taken him up on that offer. A sensible person would walk away.

“Good.” Barnes hums. “I’d be bored to death if I didn’t have to pull your ass out of a fire.” Light and easy, everything he shouldn’t be and usually isn’t. [Like he isn’t committing to a cause without a take-back option.]

Natasha thinks she hates Barnes for that, a little. For the light in his eyes that never dims, no matter how much blood he spills. For how easy he makes it seem, like he really just makes that decision in the spur of the moment, because he likes Anton well enough and doesn’t mind sticking around some more.

[Like he doesn’t care at all about all the ways in which this can and will blow up in his face.]

Anton raises a questioning eyebrow at Natasha. She licks her lips. Thinks of the life she can afford now, somewhere far, far away, without an extradition agreement to any of the countries she wouldn’t like to revisit. The comfortable, even extravagant life she could lead. [Thinks of the bloodied smile on Barnes lips, the way Anton’s eyes lit up when Hammer broke.] Shrugs.

“You’re not completely incompetent. Sure. What’s one more job?”

*

AN: I hope you’re all safe and healthy and that this fic will be a pleasant distraction for everyone who’s currently trying very hard to keep calm and carry on. Please take care of yourselves, lovelies!

[yinseal]

                               travelling with doctor marcoh

this  is  part  explanation  /  part  meta  on  sakura’s  work  with  doctor  marcoh,  since  i’ve  danced  around  this  subject  in  previous  headcanons,  and  consider  it  a  driving  force  in  sakura’s  fma  canon.  some  personal  interpretation  on  marcoh  towards  sakura,  but  overall  just  sakura’s  experiences  with  marcoh  /  what  happened  re:  her  ptsd.

sakura’s  relationship  with  marcoh  is  both  immensely  complicated  and  deeply  formulative.  to  begin  with,  sakura  has  no  idea  of  marcoh’s  war crimes  or  involvement  in  the  genocide  of  ishval  until  well  after  the  events  of  the  promised  day;  she  initially  seeks  marcoh  out  shortly  after  he  abandons  the  military,  around  1909.  because  sakura  does  not  know  of  marcoh’s  involvement  of  the  philosopher’s  stone,  her  searching  for  him  is  purely  on  a  medical  level         she  knows  that  marcoh  is  a  highly  respected  doctor,  and  she  trusts  him  because  he  did  leave  the  military.

in  brief,  sakura  grew  up  in  central  largely  during  the  ishvalan  genocide,  and  it  quietly  /  powerfully  built  a  strong  anti-military  sentiment  within  her.  considering  at  this  point  she  doesn’t  know  alchemy,  her  desire  to  heal  people  is  a  sincere  one,  with  no  political  or  career  ambition  behind  it.  she  would  admire  marcoh  for  his  talent,  and  she’d  secretly  approve  of  his  leaving  the  military     (  considering  the  fact  that  all  she  knows  is  that  he  is  a  state  alchemist  with  a  speciality  in  medicine.  )

once  sakura  has  tracked  marcoh  down  and  convinced  him  to  train  her,  she  puts  her  nose  to  the  grindstone         and  then  some.  already  an  accredited  doctor,  sakura  largely  learns  more  specialized  medical  treatments,  more  direct  surgical  skills,  and,  most  importantly,  alchemy.  i  think  marcoh,  who  is  suffering  deeply  from  the  trauma  of  ishval  and  his  part  in  it,  finds  some  measure  of  relief  in  having  sakura  as  his  pupil.  there’s  no  demand  for  power,  no  searching  or  cruel  questions.  sakura  wants  to  heal,  and  picks  up  alchemy  to  heal.  marcoh  finds  an  exceptionally  talented  doctor  as  his  pupil,  and  sharpens  her  skills  with  his  own  knowledge;  it’s  at  this  time  that  sakura  also  begins  teaching  herself  a  simple  form  of  alkahestry.

it’s  also  revealed  in  the  manga  that  marcoh  lost  his  own  daughter  at  some  point  prior  to  the  events  of  brotherhood,  and  i  suspect  that  a  certain  amount  of  familial  bonding  occurs  between  marcoh  and  sakura.  certainly,  sakura  comes  to  regard  marcoh  as  a  quasi-father  figure;  she  highly  values  his  input  and  lessons,  and  she  takes  to  heart  his  sincere  desire  to  help  anyone  and  everyone  who  needs  him.  although  sakura  questions  him  once  or  twice  about  his  past,  or  about  his  research,  marcoh  keeps  her  firmly  in  the  dark  on  anything  beyond  faint  framework:  he  so  furiously  deters  her  from  thinking  about  the  philosopher’s  stone,  that  she  is  one  of  the  few  alchemists  who  has  never  tried  to  pursue  the  subject,  even  after  her  travels  with  marcoh  have  ceased.

sakura  experiences  a  number  of  traumatic  incidents  on  these  journeys,  however,  which  have  a  profound  impact  on  her.  marcoh,  in  an  effort  to avoid  recapture,  takes  sakura  as  far  north  as  briggs,  and  as  far  south  as  aerugo         their  travels  frequently  take  them  deep  into  warzones,  areas  of  active  unrest,  and  villages  suffering  from  debilitating  sickness.  often,  very  little  assistance  can  be  offered,  and  more  than  once,  the  military  has  shut  down  what  small  operations  can  be  maintained.  sakura  frequently  clashes  with  the  red  tape  over  these  incidents,  but  is  usually  forced  to  leave  with  marcoh.  

sakura  is  a  forced  witness  to  a  number  of  atrocities  by  both  the  military,  and  outside  forces.  listing  them  would  be  too  great  and  gruesome,  but  about  three  months  into  her  journey  with  marcoh,  sakura  begins  to  have  trouble  sleeping.  her  work  ethic  increases  dramatically,  and  marcoh  expresses  concern  about  her  health.  

four  months  into  their  journey,  sakura  is  attacked  by  a  soldier  who  strangles  her,  near  to  death,  before  a  fair  number  of  witnesses.  marcoh  is  able  to  save  her  life,  but  the  incident  has  a  profound,  distressing  impact  on  her.  she  is  twitchy,  hypervigilant,  develops  insomnia  and  nightmares,  and  routinely  /  obsessively  smooths  her  fingers  over  her  throat,  as  if  feeling  for  bruises.  her  ptsd  blossoms  fully  towards  the  latter  weeks  of  her  travels  with  marcoh         when  marcoh  suggests  ending  their  journey,  sakura  fully  believes  it  is  because  she  is  “unnerved.”    (  in  reality,  marcoh  fears  capture  from  the  homunculi,  and  wishes  to  ensure  sakura  is  safely  removed  from  any  harm.  )

based  on  the  canon  i’ve  established  on  this  blog,  i  believe  that  sakura  loses  contact  with  marcoh  shortly  after  she  moves  to  dublith.  although  she  attempts  to  find  him,  she  is  almost  immediately  caught  up  in  her  work,  and  later,  with  the  cast  of  the  devil’s  nest.  sakura  does  not  hear  of  marcoh  until  well  after  the  promised  day.  i  suspect  that  either  greed  or  edward  would  be  the  ones  to  tell  her,  but  it.  does  not  go  over  well.

personally,  i  think  sakura  discovering  what  marcoh  has  done  /  his  involvement  in  the  philosopher’s  would  be  a  severe  emotional  devastation  for  her.  it  is  both  an  utmost  betrayal  of  what  she  believes  in,  and  a  further  act  of  treachery  from  the  military  that  sakura  has  come  to  despise.  sakura’s  rage  and  hurt  towards  marcoh  would  be  a  significantly  powerful  factor         i  headcanon  that  her  more  overt  symptoms  of  ocd  and  ptsd  would  resurface  for  several  weeks  after  her  discovery,  and  she  harbours  an  active,  almost  aggressive  grudge  against  even  the  barest  mention  of  him.

this  could  be  a  meta  on  its  own,  but  breaking  it  down  simply:  sakura  is,  at  her  core,  in  every  action,  a  woman  of  unparalleled  love  and  care.  she  cannot  turn  her  back  on  people  who  need  her.  she  cannot  give  up  on  trying  if  she  thinks  she  can  make  something  better.  she  would  view  marcoh’s  past  as  action  that  goes  against  everything  she  has  ever  believed  in,  and  more  than  what  it  does  to  her  personally:  she  would  never  be  able  to  see marcoh  as  anything  but  a  man  with  blood  on  his  hands.  he  killed  thousands  of  ishvalans  to  make  his  stones,  and  the  corpses  pile  behind  him.

sakura  does  end  up  naming  her  son,  timothy,  after  marcoh:  it’s  a  decision  she  does  not  make  lightly.  there  isn’t  any  denying  or  forgiving  what  marcoh  has  done,  but  i  suspect  that  greed’s  role  in  sakura’s  life  plays  a  big  part  in  her  moving  from  rage.  greed,  who  believes  he  was  otherwise  unforgivable  /  unredeemable,  exists  because  of  the  love  of  others;  he  would  have  likely  shared  stories  of  how  marcoh  worked  so  hard  to  fix  his  mistakes.  sakura  chooses  to  name  her  son  after  an  idea  marcoh  once  represented         a  belief  he  nurtured  in  her,  and  a  hope  that  this  tim  will  be  better  than  the  one  who  came  before  him.

while  their  relationship  never  goes  back  to  what  it  once  was,  sakura  does  write  to  marcoh  once  or  twice  a  year  after  the  birth  of  her  son,  and  likely  travels  to  visit  him  before  he  dies.  their  journey  together  helped  to  shape  sakura  into  the  doctor  and  alchemist  she  becomes,  and  helps  solidify  her  desire  to  create  a  better  world,  for  a  brighter  namesake.

[vintagedaydreams]

True Love Never Runs Smoothly Part 4 (Marcus)

@littlebabybatthings​ @amwolowicz​ @waxingmoonstone​

 Here is Part Four for the Marcus story arc! I do sincerely apologize for the delay.

The usual warnings apply - mention of suicide, some cussing, etc.

Enjoy!!

(The Carlisle version of Part Four will be up once it’s complete!)

You finally emerged from your room, your grumbling stomach pushing you to venture out in search of food.

You glanced around warily, still shaken by your dream. Damn brain. As if this wasn’t a bad enough situation – now you were dreaming loving, comforting dreams about who knows who.

Surely you didn’t deserve any of this, right? It wasn’t like you were a horrible person or anything!

“(Y/N),” a voice suddenly greeted from behind you and you yelped, spinning around.

Bella and Edward stood in the corridor, Bella looking at your worriedly, Edward half amused.

“Uh,” you cleared your throat, “hey guys.”

“(Y/N),” Bella said softly. “Are…are you okay?”

You grimaced, thinking back to the dream and how absolutely done you were with this whole situation.

“I’m okay…enough,” you finally sighed.

“How are you feeling?” she pressed, her and Edward both moving closer to you.

Hurt, confused, nervous, anxious, depressed, angry, lonely—“Hungry,” you finally muttered.

Bella opened her mouth to say something, but Edward cut in with, “Come with us. I’m taking Bella to the kitchens to get her something to eat as well.”

Your mind flashed back to the confrontation with Carlisle last time you tried to get food from there and Edward added quietly, “No one will be there, (Y/N). Just the three of us.”

You nodded, sweeping out a hand halfheartedly. “Lead the way, tour guide.”

Edward gave a small smile and you all started down the castle corridor. The doors to a room you assumed was the kitchen had just come into view when Edward suddenly spoke up, “Bella and I are not Bond Mates.”

You jerked your head over to look at the two of them, thrown by the sudden conversation starter. “What?”

“It’s true,” Bella said with a small smile, picking up the conversation after a glance at Edward. “Marcus has the ability to see relationship bonds and can tell what kind they are. Not every vampire has a Bond Mate – hence why they’re so sacred. But those that don’t are still capable of finding love. Very deep, strong love.”

“Like you and Edward,” you said softly.

“Yes. Like me and Edward.”

“When did you become an expert in vampire bonds, then?” you asked after a moment as you all ducked into the kitchen.

“She’s been asking a lot of questions and gathering intel since we’ve both decided to disown my family until they get their act together,” Edward answered smoothly before Bella could.

A deafening silence rang out through the kitchen.

“You…what?” you finally managed to get your mouth to work.

“Well, we were going to tell you with a little more finesse,” Bella replied, “but this works, I guess. I’m not sure what Carlisle is playing at, but everyone in the family has treated you horribly. And that’s not right. Rosalie wasn’t even this horrible to me when Edward started up with me and he has less of an excuse for falling for a human.

I mean, with Edward and I not being Bond Mates, I can kind of understand that Carlisle and Esme love each other, okay sure. But Carlisle lived with the Volturi for decades. I find it hard to believe that he not once was told he had a Bond Mate, especially with how sacred they are in the Vampire world. And even if he did love only Esme, and would only love Esme no matter what, that does not excuse the way that he’s been treating you. I’ve lost a lot of respect for the ‘human loving’ vampire that he claims to be. He’s one of the worst of the lot, especially since the family takes their cues from him. If he would just man up and get to know you, or at least tell them to quit being complete and utter assholes, he might have a smidgen of my respect still.”

You were wide eyed by the end of Bella’s rant. You looked from her somewhat red faced and breathless form to where Edward had quietly started to get breakfast items gathered on the counter.

“She’s not wrong,” the bronze haired vampire said with a gentle look to you. You felt your eyes instantly fill with tears and mentally cursed at him. So much for no more tears. You should have been dehydrated by now.

“I don’t…I mean why…How are…”

“(Y/N),” Bella said firmly, taking charge once again and leading you over to sit at the table in the middle of the room. “You are my friend. You helped me so much when Edward left. You are more important to me than a family who can so easily turn on someone who should be one of their own. Quit questioning it. Edward and I are here for you. And we always will be. Besides,” she said with a wicked grin, “I have some ideas for how we can get them back. And a few of them include Marcus.”

You choked on your next breath and Edward lightly scolded Bella from where he was cooking on stove.

Bella took it all in stride, waiting until Edward was finished before saying, “Half of these were your ideas, Edward. Besides, you were the one who dropped the ‘we’ve disowned the family’ bombshell suddenly. Don’t act all coy now.”

You looked back and forth from Edward to Bella as they bantered back and forth, feeling yourself settle and a small smile take over your face.

At least this was still the same.

Edward served both you and Bella breakfast and thankfully, he steered the conversation to random things – what the castle looked like, the gardens, how he and Bella were actually being accepted wholeheartedly into the Volturi, the library, the shops and stores that he and Bella had explored after sunset – instead of anything to do with Carlisle and family.

And you were so grateful, you couldn’t even put it into words. So instead you just sent warm fuzzy thoughts to the mind reader, hoping he’d get the picture.

The soft look he gave you said that he did.

It wasn’t until you three were walking down the corridor from the kitchen that Bella brought up Marcus.

Your somewhat horrified look at her question, “So what do you think of Marcus?”, made her laugh lightly.

“The Queens think you would be a perfect match,” the brunette continued with a sly smile and you choked on air.

“What?” You had thought that Athenodora had been just trying to prove a point, not actually being serious!

Bella cast a glance at Edward who sighed and nodded. “It is true, (Y/N),” he said with a slight smile. “Queen Athenodora did brush up against me and her thoughts were all centered on finding happiness for Marcus. And you featured prominently in all of them.”

You gaped at Edward, mind running a mile a minute. Didn’t you have enough on your plate with Carlisle without trying to think about the…attentions of any other vampire? And if you weren’t good enough for your Bond Mate for crying out loud, the most sacred and revered bond in the entire vampire world, what made any of them think you were good enough for one of the Kings?

A low growl broke through your thoughts and you had a very brief flashback of that night in the throne room, before Edward was speaking to you.

“You are more than enough, (Y/N). My sire is an idiot.”

“Eddie,” you started lowly, shocked that he had called Carlisle his sire and not his father, but Edward continued on as if you hadn’t spoken at all.

“Bella and I have talked about this a lot, (Y/N). She is right. We are not Bond Mates, but love each other very much. Carlisle may love Esme and may not want another, but he could have – should have – handled it better. Much better. The fact this his Bond Mate, that you, were contemplating suicide and had felt so abused and cut off from the family that was supposed to at least treat you with respect due a Bond Mate that you felt suicide your only option… It is unforgivable. Whatever excuses he may have, it does not excuse his treatment of you. I am only sorry that I did not do something about it sooner than now.”

Your eyes filled with tears once again, but you valiantly held them back. Nope. No more crying. Though you were touched by both Edward and Bella’s words. It was comforting to know that you weren’t in this alone. Not anymore.

“Thank you,” you managed to croak, hoping again that your warm fuzzy thoughts could adequately express what your vocal cords could not at the moment.

“Anytime, (Y/N),” Edward said softly and Bella came around to wrap you in a gentle hug.

“We’ll always be there for you, (Y/N),” she murmured before pulling away and giving a small smile.

“Now! Enough of this or I’ll start crying too. Back to the Plan – so how do you feel about a late lunch in the garden today?”

You looked at Bella quizzically. “I’m sorry?” You were sure that she was going to ask again about your thoughts on Marcus. Not on tea time in the garden.

“Yeah, I think it would do you some good to be out in the fresh air. No other Cullens – or Hales – will be around, (Y/N), promise.”

You looked from Bella to Edward and back again before giving a hesitant nod. Maybe some time outside your rooms would be good for you.

“Okay. It does sound nice. What time?”

“Oh, later in the day. Sometime after 2pm probably. But I thought we could go exploring a bit until then. The castle really is beautiful. And I think you’d enjoy the library. There’s even a piano in there.”

You gave a small but genuine smile. You never learned piano yourself, but absolutely loved listening to it.

“I’ll make sure you have some music to listen to,” Edward said with a slight smile.

You reached out and wrapped your arms around Edward, feeling yourself settle a bit when cold arms wrapped around you in return. After the tremulous past few weeks, it was nice to feel grounded again.

“Come on,” Edward said after a few moments, “the library’s this way.” --

The library was absolutely stunning. High vaulted ceilings, ridiculously tall bookshelves practically bursting with books, comfortable looking chairs and couches scattered around and along the far wall, perpendicular to the fire place, a stunning piano, framed by large glorious windows.

“I may never leave this place,” you murmured in awe, wandering slowly from bookcase to bookcase and reverently touching every other spine.

A low chuckle sounded behind you and you absently flipped Edward off, tilting your head sideways to read the spine of the book in front of you.

An incredulous laugh escaped your lips.

“Seriously? They have the book Dracula?”

“Caius picked that up on one of his travels,” came a cultured voice from behind you and you spun to see Aro in the doorway. He gave a courteous nod to both Edward and Bella before moving across the room to stand next to you. “He thought it would be a good collector’s item. All things considered.”

You gave a somewhat delicate snort. “Makes sense. I mean…all things considered.”

Aro chuckled lowly offering you a hand and gesturing to the settee behind you. “Come, have a seat. Perhaps Edward may play something while we catch up? It has been awhile since we last spoke.”

You hesitated for a moment, thinking of all the quips and remarks about you and Marcus. What would Aro think when he saw them? Marcus was his brother, his fellow king, one of the few vampires who could claim to know Aro. And now, here you were, unfit for your Bond Mate, but being thought of to pair with the soft-spoken King?

Edward gave a soft growl as he passed you and Aro on his way to the piano. You blushed lightly at the questioning look Aro sent you before you bit the bullet and placed your hand in his.

Cold fingers wrapped gently around your own and after a moment, Aro gave a soft sound, mouth turned down into a displeased frown.

You winced. You knew it. Of course, a vampire thousands of years old and a ruler of an entire race would not be a good match for you. Or rather, you wouldn’t be a good match for him.

“I had rather thought we talked of this already, (Y/N),” Aro said suddenly as he gently steered you towards the couch, opposite the chair Bella was occupying.

You looked over at Aro questioningly and he gave you a measured look. “I do believe we spoke about your worth already and the grave misstep of Carlisle and his family. I will have none of these downtrodden thoughts.”

You blushed again, even redder than before, not meeting either Aro’s or Bella’s eyes.

A soft tune started on the piano and you sent Edward a mental thank you once again.

“My sister and my wife have been telling me about the conversation they had with you,” Aro began quietly after a moment and you startled to feel your hand still wrapped gently in his own. Your eyes shot up to Bella as she got up and moved over to stand by Edward on the other side of the room at the piano thoughtfully giving you and Aro some privacy. Well, from her ears. Edward could still hear every word, though he was pretending he couldn’t.

A light tug on your hand turned your attention to the vampire leader seated next to you and you realized what he’d just said.

The conversation the Queens had with you. In your room. About Marcus and his state of happiness.

Oh dear.

“I must admit, the idea has merit,” Aro continued and your eyes shot to his in shock. Even Sulpicia, Aro’s wife wasn’t thrilled about the idea when Athenodora brought it up in your room. In fact, Athenodora had to reassure her that no one, especially the kings, could hear anything they said about it.

But now it had merit?

“My brother has been alone for a very long time, (Y/N).” Cold fingers finally released yours with a final pat. “We have all watched him slowly fade century by century. It is neither something that we want for him, nor something that he wants for himself. But I must admit, we have all been at somewhat of a loss. Oh, he’s tried to court a few women over the centuries, but no one ever really piqued his interest or stood up to our rigorous standards. Until you.”

You knew you were gaping unattractively at Aro. You knew it.

You just couldn’t help it.

“I…what?” you finally managed. They hadn’t even known you for more than a few days; how would they know that you would be good for anyone, let alone a vampire that had been alone for centuries? And why would Marcus think you were interesting? You’d literally done nothing but cry and cuss out vampires since you got here.

“Why me?” you finally asked after a few minutes of silence.

“Why not you?” Aro countered and you threw him an exasperated look. Which he countered with a raised brow. “I truly am at a loss for your low opinion of yourself – and I have seen your memories. You are a remarkable woman, (Y/N). I do wish you would believe those of us that are around you and can see you clearly. But I know Marcus and he’ll enjoy the challenge of restoring your self worth where it belongs.”

Before you could utter anything, Bella suddenly called from the other side of the room, “We were planning on a picnic in the garden later.”

“How splendid!” Aro grinned, turning half way on the couch to look behind him at Bella and Edward at the piano. “It should be fine weather this afternoon. Well! I shall leave you three here to peruse the books. Please feel free to read anything here; there is quite the selection. (Y/N), might I suggest the bookshelf nearest the fireplace to the left? I think you may enjoy a few of those titles there the most.”

Standing gracefully, Aro gave a regal bow before exiting and leaving you staring after him. Somewhat concerned with exactly what books Aro thought to point out to you, you headed to the suggested bookshelf and glanced at the titles.

A large grin broke over your face at the sight of your favorite genre and you happily picked a book before heading back to the couch.

Reading would definitely take your mind off of everything. With a contented sigh, you flopped onto the incredibly comfortable couch and immersed yourself in the pages, lulled by the still playing piano.

[zertzertzhang]

Stand and Deliver: My Life Turned Upside Down CH.2

A/N: This is my first time writing on Tumblr, so please bear with me! I am usually active on FFNet and AO3, but since this fandom is basically nonexistent except for here, I thought maybe I could post my works for this movie here. The story is a fanfic based on the 1988 movie ‘Stand and Deliver’ starring Edward James Olmos, and taking a deeper look into the lives of the impoverished students in East LA.

Eventual Angel/OC, and warnings of racial slurs with some physical violence.

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First chapter link here > https://zertzertzhang.tumblr.com/post/627185848305270784/stand-and-deliver-my-life-turned-upside-down

Chapter Two: Circus

The second Vianne stepped out of the car, she realized her mistake. The school wasn’t what she expected at all. Garfield High broke the scale...in a bad way. Chipped walls decorated the main hall, flooded with overflowing trash bins and rusty pipelines. It had to have been decades since the last renovation, with the building looking like something she saw from abandoned prefectures. 

Like all other complexes she’d seen around there, the place was standing on its last two feet. This was supposed to be the best building around. 

Her white Giuseppe sneakers stepped on something sticky, and it was a challenge to hold in a disgusted snort. There was dried gum everywhere on the sidewalk, making Vianne wonder why they even bothered with trash cans in the first place. She winced when it was clear that her shoes would be torn to shreds by the end of the day.

Then came the worst part of her arrival; people stared. And it wasn’t some half-assed look you gave to a passersby on the streets. Students were either throwing her a look-over or straight on gaping. It could’ve been the way she was dressed, or the fact that she was probably the only Asian mingling in the midst of Latinos and very few Caucasians. Most likely both.

Ironed blouses and slim denim were not in fashion around here. Among the rest of the population with oversized shirts and baggy mom jeans, Vianne was the runt of the litter. She wanted to jump back into the car, go home, and put on an invisibility coat. The dirty look she saw from some of the girls did nothing to calm the queasy storm in her stomach.

“-That fresh meat?”

“It’s a fuckin’ chink. What’re they doin’ here?”

“Heh, looks like a lost puppy.”

The boys were doing a terrible job at whispering. Vianne wasn’t sure if it was an attempt at passive aggression or just plain stupidity. She glared in their direction, lips pulled into a slight frown as she entered the building. A cold sweat broke through her back, stretching its spindly fingers around her body in a tight cocoon. 

Ignore them and get on with it.

Her mind screamed at her to keep walking, and she obliged. Repeating the mental mantra, Vianne soon found her way into the main office with her slip in hand. A handful of police officers crowded in one tiny space, speaking in rapid Spanish. Order did not exist in this school; the secretary was talking to five people at once, without the time to think about the things she said. Voices filled with agitation hung in the air. 

Vianne was this close to thinking she had entered the wrong room when a small figure spotted her from behind.

“Miss? Can I help you?” A small tap on her shoulders sent her whirling around in alarm. Her little outburst startled the short woman behind her as well. When Vienne finally registered the lack of threat in front of her, her cheeks flushed bright red.

“Sorry! I’m looking for Racquel Ortega. It’s my first day and I was told to come here to get my finalized schedule.” The young woman spoke so fast she swore her lips would fall off. 

The curly-haired woman in the maxi dress looked surprised. “Ah, that would be me. Are you Vianne Yang.”

Vianne nodded. “I was supposed to meet my TA instructor for math. It’s my first period.”

Ortega smiled warmly. “Yes. Welcome to Garfield High. Please follow me.” She held out a hand, and Vianne shook them without hesitation. 

The duo weaved back and forth in the crowds, desperate to dodge the flying paper balls. Ortega would yell once in a while at a group of boys before pointing to the office behind her. The way her docile demeanor went from zero to a hundred freaked the young woman a bit. But Vianne couldn’t blame her. Had she been in her shoes, she would’ve quit before she even started.

As it turned out, her instructor was a retired engineer. Of all places, Vianne didn’t expect that to come from a high school teacher, particularly in this neighborhood. Ortega did an excellent job at filling in the details. It would seem that Jaime Escalante needed a breath of fresh air from the corporate environment. 

Vianne almost felt sorry for him. There was no relaxation here; she’d be surprised if the teachers weren’t dropping dead from exhaustion because of the students. Garfield, from what she’d seen so far, could drive a devout nun to insanity. 

The increasing voices of everyone around spiked her anxiety to new levels. She was doing her utmost best to not break down and cling onto the older woman for dear life. The mass of bodies was like an unforgiving current, threatening to wash her away if she slipped up.

They reached a door with the sign ‘Math 1A’ scribbled on the whiteboard next to it. Someone had decided that a drawing of a dick was appropriate to be placed right under the description. The person even added a smiley face onto the artwork, showcasing their enthusiasm. Real classy. 

“Racquel please come to the front desk. Racquel please come to the front desk.” Ortega’s walkie-talkie crinkled pitifully, before choking out a command. The math advisor sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She nudged Vianne closer to the door. 

“Here’s the classroom. Mr. Escalante should be there already. Good luck with your school year.” A tight smile appeared on Ortega’s face, and within seconds, she was making a mad dash back to the main hall. All alone, Vianne was left standing there feeling like a complete fool. She blinked at where Ortega was previously, and the sense of dread overwhelmed her. On cue, the bell rang its warning. Everyone groaned in unison like a chorus before the wave of students began flowing into the classrooms. 

Lucky for her, she had no need to run to class. Grabbing the nob with renewed strength, Vianne pulled herself into the room. There was one person at the front desk; a middle-aged man nearing his sixties stood near the chalkboard, hand moving furiously as he wrote down an equation. She prayed that this was going to be the right person.

“Mr. Escalante?” Vianne cringed at her pronunciation of his name. She herself knew what it was like when people screwed up hers in the past. But this man had an entirely different level of difficulty. Ortega’s way of saying it felt so natural compared to hers, which sounded like an insecure toddler butchering their first word.

The man turned his head to face Vianne, eyes widening a fraction. His oversized glasses gave him a sage-like appearance despite the head, or half-head, of dark hair. The bald spot in addition to his very casual attire made her think of a grandpa who was likely to yell at the kids across the lawn. 

At the sight of her dumbstruck state, he quirked his lips. “Yes, how may I help you?”

The slight South American accent trailed after his speech, giving away his ethnicity. Vianne felt her mouth open and close, but the nervousness took the words from her mouth. She stuck out her hand that held the transfer letter. Escalante better have known about this, or she’ll flip a lid.

“I’m Vianne,” she explained. “Your TA. I think Mrs. Ortega already told you about me?”

Escalante’s brows rose to new heights, his amused smile broadening. “Yes! Miss Yang, is it? Welcome to my class!” The elongated hiss in his way of speech, coupled with the wild gesture of his arms painted the picture of a mad scientist in her head. It was nearly endearing.

“I’m afraid there’s not enough chairs for an extra student,” Escalante said. “Please stand here and wait for everyone to arrive so I can take a headcount for the others.”

Vianne obeyed without a word and flattened herself against the wall next to him. In response, the door was barged open, and the group of students flooded the room like a swarm of wasps entering their hive. Restless chatter buzzed her ears as she took note of everyone that rounded the class. It was hard to catch what most of them were saying; Spanish wasn’t the language requirement she took back in Napa.

Knowing French wasn’t the best course to help her in this situation. And even then, she only took it up to level two. The people before her all wore the same dazed expression, jeering in loud volumes and hooting on the sides.

Someone shot a rubber band across the room, hitting one of the boys square in the face. Angry shouts erupted from both sides as the rest of them began to laugh at the brawling duo. More paper balls were thrown, and Vianne could hear some of them yelling ‘bitch’ to one another.

It was a fucking joke. The whole class was a joke––scratch that––the whole school was a joke. And Vianne was the poor audience that bought the overpriced ticket to the hellhole circus. There was not a word that could describe the boiling feeling in her gut. She couldn’t believe it; this was the place she had to deal with for another year. 

There was no way the teachers here could’ve survived each day without going into a catatonic state before school ended. Vianne drummed her fingers against her books without mercy. A panic attack was just inches away from happening if the class refused to settle down. And from the look on Escalante’s face, it would appear that they shared the same sentiment.

A scowl donned his face, creasing the heavy lines on his forehead. If it weren’t for Vianne’s distracted state, she would’ve been frightened by those narrowed eyes. 

“Come now!” Escalante’s voice boomed throughout the small room. “You don’t want no mama’s chancla when you get home, no? I’d love to see you fight with your parents around.”

The overt threat was not lost among the students, with some of them slinking away in defeat. Others ‘booed’ at the command, but made no extra attempts to disrupt the already late start of the lecture. It took about five minutes to get their total attention to the board, and that alone fried Vianne’s brain.

“Orale!” Escalante’s mood quickly brightened at the cooperating mass, his smile twinkling with interest. “Allow me to introduce my new TA. She will be your lovely assistant for the rest of the school year. Any extra questions, she will answer for you.”

His hands gestured to her like a magician preparing his new subject for a spin. But only in this state, nothing was magical. It became clear that Escalante was waiting for her to present herself; the man eyed her expectantly, his grin not budging an inch. 

Vianne felt her cheeks flush so hot that it put the musty LA weather to shame. Clearing her throat, she stepped forward. “Hi, uh, I’m Vianne. It’s a pleasure to meet you all...uh, hope I could be of some help.”

An urge to facepalm was strong. Had her grades been irrelevant to her stay in Math 1A, she would’ve made a beeline for the door. The reception after her introduction was a nightmare, because everyone began jabbering all at once.

“The fuck?!” A young man with a messy afro glared at her. His buddies around him sniggered in agreement.

In the front, a chubby male with curly hair snorted. “Booooring!” His female friends rolled their eyes and swatted him on the shoulders. But their giggles weren’t held in for long.

Vianne wanted to find the nearest cliff and throw herself from it. If she converted to Buddihsm now, maybe she’ll even have a decent shot at getting a nice reincarnation.

“First you, now the chink?! This is messed up man!” A few more hostile tones rose from the back. 

Her eyes flared. Vianne changed her mind; she didn’t want to throw herself off a cliff anymore, she wanted to throw them. Her body trembled with brewing rage under her skin. The nerve of the scoundrels! As if she wanted to be here! If it were up to her, she wouldn’t even spare them the time of day. Like an uncontrollable tick, her temper fired in sparks. A snide retort was about to make its way to the public when Escalante’s hands came up in a flash.

“Silence!” The tone of his command left no room for arguments. “Another remark as such, and all of you will be spending Saturday school for a month!”

The teacher was practically bristling from head to toe. His friendly disposition came and went at a dizzying speed, tugging Vianne onto an emotional roller-coaster. However, she was nonetheless grateful for the save. One thing was for sure, skin color was not up for debate in his classroom. At least she found an ally in desperate times. 

At his outcry, the students grumbled amongst themselves and quieted down. She still received dirty looks from the girls, but they were mostly silent. One youngster in the front row with earrings gave her a lopsided grin and tutted with refined casualness.

“Yo ese! Does that mean if you assign sex homework I can ask her number?”

A few other boys cheered from the back, throwing their thumbs up as if they heard the best joke in record time. The girls cringed and sent disgusted scowls their way, with one of them commenting about how horny the bastards were. Only one person in the audience didn’t react. The girl with short, curly hair looked at Vianne, a pitying stare adorned her guise. 

Humiliation wasn’t something Vianne dealt with on a daily basis. And the sudden onslaught nearly had her burst into a tearful temper tantrum. Glancing over to Escalante, she could see the patience waning from him as well. The class was saved from another wrath from either of them when the bell rang again. 

Without a second thought, everyone except for the girl with short hair bolted for the door. The insult Vianne had prepared was lodged in her throat, unable to make their move. Was this a mistake? She was sure that it wasn’t even halfway through the first period, they still had more than an hour left. Time was a foreign concept to her in this town, and she figured her mind must’ve been playing tricks on her.

“Um, is class over?” It was a rhetorical question. But what answered her caught her off guard.

“Give it a minute,” the girl said. Her pencil tapped with a delicate rhythm against the desk as she wore a tired expression. Vianne stared at her with disbelief before turning her head to the instructor. Like the girl, Escalante showed no interest in leaving, instead opting to go towards the window. 

Curiosity got the best of her, and she soon joined him by the blinds. “What’s going on?”

“They rigged the bell again.” From Escalante’s frown, she reckoned that this was a common occurrence. Following his gaze, her eyes landed on a group of young men congregated before the main school alarm. All of them were donned in dark clothing, wearing baggy jeans and beanies. The distance made it hard to see their faces, but Vianne thought she caught sight of a tall figure moving amongst them. He was laughing obnoxiously, while engaging in a bro-shake with a shorter male. 

None of that was relevant, though, because the bell rang again, this time from the superintendent. His red face deepened to a shade of purple as he and the principal began their rounding of the rioting teens. The mob of students were herded back to their respective classrooms, all groaning and whining at the ‘unfair treatment’ of their lunch break.

“Lunch isn’t for another two periods!” Principal Molina shouted. “Get back to class!” His finger pointed to the doors, and his eyes bulged like an angry bull’s.

“Shut the fuck up!” A few students jeered. More paper balls were thrown, but there wasn’t anything Molina could do about it.

All the while, Vianne and the girl sat dumbstruck as they stared at the whirlwind of people coming back to their seats. Vianne swore that if this was how it was going to be for the rest of the day, then she’ll gladly accept them leaving on their own accord.

After another ten minutes wasted on trying to get her classmates to settle down, Escalante wiped his brow with a handkerchief. The toll of the students had taken its effect on him as well. But the sly grin never left his face, unbreakable like hardtack.

“I told you it was futile to escape,” he taunted softly. “There’s always a bigger fish in the pond.” 

Vianne sent him a disbelieving look. Was the man not afraid of backlash? But the rest of the class only ignored him and glared, defeated. The class TA let out a breath of relief, for a moment she feared that it’ll lead to another brawl, this time at the instructor.

“Turn to page fifteen! And I want all of your homework turned in to Vianne right here. Once you’ve done that, work on problems one through ten on the multiplication of fractions.” The command was calm and precise, not a word stuttered. Escalante corrected the glasses on his nose and squinted at the chalkboard, not giving a fuck about the moaning teens.

It was Vianne’s cue to get to work. She didn’t hesitate, and began roaming around the room collecting wrinkled papers. With time, she learned that the girl who stayed behind was Ana, the frizzy-haired girl behind her was Claudia, and next to Claudia was the redheaded Lupe. Neither of the two gave Vianne much of a glance, preferring to ignore her existence as she took their homework.

Not bothering to tell them about the mutual disdain, Vianne clicked away happily. She soon found out that the man who kept asking for sex was Tito, his lopsided smile broadening when she came to take his paper. 

“How ‘bout we do a trade,” Tito suggested, licking his lips. “My work for your number.”

Vianne wished very much to flip him off and top it with a whack on his head. But she chose to snatch the homework from his hands without a word. A snort escaped her as she turned around.

The boy next to him, Frank ‘Pancho’ Garcia, hooted. “Rejected!” 

Tito scoffed. “Tsk, tsk. Playin’ hard to get I see.” He waved a casual hand and went back to his workbook. “It’s her loss.”

That’s what every virgin says. Vianne rolled her eyes at the added comment. The stack of writings were presented to Escalante, who took it with a gracious ‘thank you’. His lack of reaction to the jeers made her question just how much he was going to take because of his job. The probability of him being numb to the antics was high.

 Just when Vianne thought her task was done for the time being, the door creaked open. She raised a brow; there were three more seats left in the corner, so it made sense that there were more people coming in. Facing the entrance, Vianne tried to get a better look than using the corners of her eyes. 

Her stomach lurched at the sight, and she had to bite her lips to keep from hyperventilating. If her memory served her right, then those were the exact same boys she saw loitering around the alarm. The shortest one with a bandana stalked up to the front, head bobbing with self-assured arrogance. His hollow eyes stared at her with mild interest before they hardened when Escalante came into his view.

“Kimo,” he drawled. “Who’s the freshie?” The languid demeanor gave away his stoned state. Vianne made a subconscious step away from him and his pals, eyeing them warily through her glasses. He smirked, showing off a row of white teeth, seemingly glad at her reaction.

“You’re late, Chuco.” To her side, Escalante came into the conversation. “Vianne’s your new TA and I need you to sit your ass on a seat.”

Chuco gave a slighted look her way before he sauntered past her to the back, followed by his buddies. Vianne didn’t realize how tall the teen she saw through the window was until she was mere inches away from him. Dressed in an oversized bomber jacket and jeans too big for his waist, the towering youth could easily pass as a man in his twenties. A good feet taller than her would be a low estimation. 

What on earth are his parents feeding him?! 

Vianne stared straight on, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing her discomfort. Like Chuco, he also paid her no attention as he strolled next to the ‘leader’, plopping down on the desk in a bored manner. 

It made sense that Escalante would want their homework as well, so she made a begrudging advance in their direction. Her feet padded across the room, drilling needles of dread into her legs with each stride.

“I need your homework, please.” Vianne tried to sound as polite as possible. But the grinding of teeth made it hard to sound sweet. 

Chuco leered. “Ain’t got no homework, chica. Do the problems in ma head.”

One didn’t need a degree in astrophysics to know he was messing with her. Vianne grinned a little too forcefully and sighed. “Fine. Please turn to page fifteen and work on problems one through ten.”

She walked over to his tall companion, prepared for another unpleasant conversation. “Homework, please.”

The young man proceeded to pull his beanie lower over his ears. At that, Vianne was millimeters away from flipping her shit. Did the blockhead not comprehend? Or was he messing with her, too? Her father did say that certain people around the area couldn’t speak English, so she tried to push the excuse in a better light. Maybe he really didn’t understand her.

“Give me your tarea, por favor?” She tried to remember the basic Spanish from her previous encounters. But her knowledge decided to ditch her last minute. “Uh, Speak Ingles?”

He looked at her, eyes wide with what she hoped was understanding, and his lips twitched. Then his brows joined in, before he busted out laughing. Chuco howled along with him, slapping him on the shoulders with glee. 

“Sometimes,” the tall youth answered. He smirked, tilting his head in her direction. Vianne balled her hands into fists as she watched on. The tips of her ears burned with a passion.

“Orale Angel!” Chuco high-fived him hard. “Nice one!” The duo continued their chorus of laughter, completely oblivious to the subject of their jest.

Vianne wished that turning invisible was a possible feat. It was adamantly clear that this was going to be a long year. The storm inside her grew, barely holding the thunders at bay.

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A/N: As per usual, shoutout to @classic80sand90smovieloves2 for encouraging and helping me get over writers block and whatnot ;)