#and the death museum one used to be a tag on a sweater

[amphibioticdescent]

Sorry for lack of art lately, I had gotten a brain worm for makin patches for my first patch pants : D I got most of the ideas from Pinterest and Tumblr so if there's some familiar things that's why. I've still got a ton more to make and some things to paint on them but I figured I'd show y'all how it's goin ^×^

[blueberrysets]

EXPLORING SONGS: HOW THE SUN TEMPTED ME

pairing: timeskip!tsukishima x f!reader

genre: fluff and angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: swearing, mentions of death, mentions of alcohol use, depression, grief, angst

word count:  3,343

summary: after the death of his best friend, tsukishima swore to never speak a word about that night and to not even mutter his name again. he would rather stay angry at himself for the rest of his life than to think about that incident. yet, it haunts him in his dreams and in his every day to day life. until the lovable roommate of his seems to show more care towards him than anyone else in his life.   

song to play: fine line by harry styles

an: yay!! this is my first installment in my writing collection of exploring songs! I’m super excited to keep writing for this and diving deep into the lyrics of the music. I hope you enjoy and let me know if you would like to be in the tag list for future installments!

masterlist!

taglist: @emiyummy @nyelsy​

In the five stages of grief, tsukishima seems to be stuck on the second stage; anger. He’s been that way for the past four years since he lost his best friend. it’s a relentless anger that is directed to anyone who happens to irritate him just slightly. he finds himself having to hold his tongue while an annoying little kid asks him a dumb question while he’s explaining fossils. he used to love their curiosity and would lend a hand to teach them. his anger starts at the bottom of his feet, flowing all the way up to the middle of his throat. having him choke slightly at the ball of frustration blocking his airways.

yet the one thing he can’t get rid of, is his annoying lovable roommate.

“tsukki!” her voice rings out, bouncing off the walls of the bustling museum. her arms stretched way above her head as she waves him down, a bright smile lighting up her face as her cheeks and the tip of her nose are rosy from the winter air outside.

tsukishima finds the corners of his mouth raising slightly at the sight. it’s not a new one, she’s always there for his lunch break so they can eat together. always making food and coming to his work with a bento that has his name on it. the slight smile stays for a second, but is soon replaced with his familiar scowl. he makes his way over to her, hands shoved in his khaki pants. his worker ID hanging around his neck on a lanyard, irritating the back of his neck and bumping against his dark brown sweater. 

her office attire is covered by a long, black peacoat and a thick, tan scarf paired with it. her hands lower as he gets closer to her, but her smile doesn’t falter. the familiar big purse filled with the contents of their lunch is hanging off her shoulder, the same color as her scarf. she calls it her “mom purse,” stating how she can literally carry anything in there. if only he could take his grief and place it in there as well. 

“look at you,” tsukishima snickers, “finally dressing appropriately for the weather.”

a look of annoyance replaces her smile, he feels himself missing it already. her hand winds back to land a slap right onto his bicep. he couldn’t help but laugh even more at her reaction. it’s fun to tease her, especially when she gets pouty. 

“keep saying stuff like that and i’ll stop making you lunches,” she grumbles as she sticks her tongue out at him.

“you and i both know you won’t,” he shrugs. 

“shut up, i hate when you’re right,” she mumbles again, pushing the straps of her purse higher up on her shoulder as she walks to where his break room is. 

a hearty laugh leaves his lips as his head is thrown back. his shoulders rising up and down as the laugh takes over his body. it stops y/n in her place to look back and take in the sight. seeing the pure joy covering his face as he laughs, it's a sight she doesn’t want to miss. so, she halts in her tracks and admires him. but before he could notice, she turns back around and continues her way to the break room. but how odd was it, to know that he only laughs that genuinely around her. 

the clicking sound of her heels now echo off the walls, and he follows the noise all the way to the familiar staff break room. she clunks her purse down on the dull, wooden table that sits in the middle of the room. to the left of it is a kitchenette area with counters, a refrigerator, microwave, coffee maker, and sink. to the right are various vending machines and printers. she places the two bentos and two pairs of chopsticks onto the table before dropping her bulky bag next to her chair. she unravels her scarf and shrugs off her coat before hanging them on the back of her chair.

it’s annoying how frustratingly beautiful she is, without even trying. her black skirt fits her curves nicely and goes great with her favorite maroon turtleneck sweater. the black tights that cover her skin from the cold air transition nicely into her black high heel boots. her hair in its natural state as her face is adorned with work-suited make up. yet, his favorite look on her would have to be the casual clothes she lounges in at home. 

he takes his usual seat across from her, sitting down and grabbing the chopsticks that were set nicely next to his bento box. he breaks them apart before unwrapping and opening his meal. but stops his movements to see her loosely putting her hair into a bun before she eats. stating that it keeps it from annoyingly falling in her face as she eats, another habit that he can’t seem to stop gushing over. they sit in silence as they start to eat, it’s a comfortable silence. one that is usually filled with the humming from the printer.

“how’s work been today?” she asks with her mouth slightly full, her gaze on her food as she continues to shovel it into her mouth.

“the usual, how about you?” he softly asks as he picks at his food, “is that greg guy still bothering you? you know i can sort that out for you.”

she lets out a snort, setting her chopsticks down as she wipes her hands on her skirt. chewing her food completely and swallowing before she replies. 

“i’m a big girl, I can handle it,” she states in a sassy manner, her gaze meeting him from across the table, “but no, he’s not.”

“good,” he answers shortly, briefly meeting her gaze before it’s redirected back down to his food. 

she clears her throat as she picks up her chopsticks again, returning to quickly eating. their lunch time together is short as she has to catch another train back to her office in a different part of the city. he’s told her multiple times that she doesn’t have to do this, that he’s perfectly capable of having lunch by himself. but she insists, and he’s glad that she still does. perhaps, he doesn’t like being alone. 

“i can’t believe it’s already december 12th,” she mumbles, mostly to herself, “it’s getting close to christmas, i’m not even done shopping yet.”

while the statement of the date is an innocent remark, it stills has tsukishima freezing his movements as the breath gets caught in his throat. he slowly places his hands back down on the table and slightly pushes the bento box away from him, no longer hungry. 

well, it’s official. 

today marks five years since his best friend's death.

“tsukki,” her voice breaks through to his ears as his eyes snap open and his body being shaken by her, “tsukki!”

his breathing is rigid as his hands grip onto her arms, the covers thrown off of him as he feels the hot tears streaming down his face. his eyes scan his surroundings in his semi dark room, the only source of light being his bedside lamp. his glasses are placed on the bedside table and his clock shows that it’s currently 1:23 am. then his eyes finally land on her. 

her hair messy from her bed head and her eyes holding a look of concern. her hands slide from his chest up to his face, wiping away the tears that continue to fall from his eyes. he’s confused, throat dry and raw.

“you were screaming,” she whispers softly, one hand leaving his face as she runs it through his hair, “i think you were having a nightmare.”

it hits him. he was. memories of that fateful night replaying in his mind, over and over again. always the same outcome, always him being too late. he squeezes his closed, more tears leaving his eyes as does. yet the gentle touches from her hands wipe them away.

“do you want to talk about it?” she asks gently, causing him to slowly open his eyes to connect with hers. 

he shakes his head no.

“that’s okay,” she nods, “whenever you want to, just know that i’m here. let me get you some water.”

she stands up, turning to leave to walk to the kitchen. his hand latches onto hers, stopping her from leaving. she turns around, her gaze soft as she looks down at their hands then back to his face. he swallows, this is very out of character for him. but he doesn’t want to be alone. 

“will you stay with me?” he gasps out, shyly lowering his gaze, “just for the night.”

her thumb caresses his hand before she gives it a gentle squeeze.

“of course, i’ll stay for as long as you need,” she coos, “let me get you water, then i’ll come to bed.”

he nods his head, releasing his grip on her hand. she turns and walks out of the room, her bare feet padding on the hardwood floor. the sound fades out as he is left with his own thoughts again. he lays back down on the bed, running a hand through his hair. his eyes dry from the tears and his head throbbing for some sleep. yet he can’t go to sleep, he doesn’t want to see it again. he can’t keep seeing that night again. it’ll tear him apart more than it already is. 

before his thoughts could get even more jumbled together, she finally returned with a glass of fresh water. she sets it on his nightstand before crawling into bed next to him, pulling the covers up with her. he turns over to grab the cup, taking a few sips to soothe his throat. he sets it back down and turns off the lamp. he flops back down onto his back. a hand laying underneath his head as he stares at the moonlight leaking in through his window. then he feels her, her arm thrown over his waist as her head lays on his chest and her legs tangle with his.

his heart swells at the contact. it was at this moment, that he knew he could trust her with anything. despite his snarky remarks, silent grief, and witty attitude; she decided to stay with him. how lucky can one get?

“i’m not sure if i’m ready to fully tell you everything yet,” he explains softly, one of his hands drawing circles on her arm, “but just know that things would’ve been different if i was there before…”

“nonsense,” she cuts him off, her face still buried in his chest, “fate works in mysterious ways, kei. sometimes it does shit that seems so unfair, so heartbreaking. we can’t help but blame ourselves sometimes. yet, it’s not your fault. things happen for a reason whether we like it or not. you could’ve prevented it then, but who's to say it wouldn’t just happen later on? stop being so hard on yourself, instead take time to heal from whatever hurt you.”

another tear falls at her words, but god how relieving it was to be on stage three; bargaining.

he was so tired of being angry.

“i’m going out!” he remembers her saying as she struggles to pull her high heel onto her foot, “don’t wait up for me, i’ll text you when i’m on my way home!”

yet it’s morning, and there was no text. no call, no text from her friends; there's just nothing. he paces the living room, frantically calling her number over and over. his hair a mess with how many times his hands had run through it. his pajamas fitting loosely on his skinny body, he has lost some weight hasn’t he? 

“pick up, pick up,” he whispers to himself as his bottom lip is being nervously gnawed at, “y/n pick up, damnit.”

voicemail, again. he aggressively pushes the red button to hang up, harshly throwing his phone onto the couch. he grips the edge of the sofa, his foot tapping anxiously as he tries to wrack his brain around what is happening. where was she? if she got hurt wouldn't he get a call from the hospital? or if it was something else, wouldn’t her friends or the police station call him? he is her emergency contact, he should be hearing something! what if she got kidnapped? maybe that’s why no one has told him anything. what if-

the sound of the front door being unlocked and opening interrupts his thoughts. he whips his head in the direction of the noise to see her walk in. she wears clothes that seem to be her friends as she holds her heels in her hand. she sets them on the ground gently, not wanting to make much noise so she doesn’t wake him. 

“where the hell were you?” he asks loudly, causing her to jump from the surprise.

“oh!” she exclaims, “i spent the night at a friends place, but my phone died. sorry i didn’t text you.”

“you didn’t think of maybe having a friend text me?” he asks in a snarky tone, angrily walking over to her, “i was worried sick, y/n!”

“i’m sorry,” she laughs, “i didn’t think it would’ve been that big of a deal.”

“not a big deal?” he sneers, his hands gripping her biceps in a tight hold, “what if something happened to you, huh?”

“kei, let go,” she warns, “your grip hurts.”

“i can’t lose another important person, y/n!” he yells, taking in a sharp breath at what he just said. 

“another?” she questions, her gaze more confused than angry now. 

“forget it,” he mumbles as reaches behind her to grab his coat. shoving his feet into his shoes before walking out the front door, slamming it right in her face. 

onto stage four: depression.

the last person he expected to see waiting for him at the end of his shift, would be her. her black peacoat contrasting with the red scarf wrapped around her neck. the scarf looking bulky against her frame, but comfortable. they haven’t had a conversation in two weeks, an awkward environment surrounds them since that morning. they kept to their assigned rooms in the apartment, yet she showed more compassion for him than he thought she would. she still set food outside his door, still packed him lunches, still did his laundry, or cleaned his room since he lacked motivation to do anything. opening his eyes felt like a chore lately, yet she still supported him silently. 

“come with me,” she said softly, reaching a hand out to him, “i’m taking you somewhere.”

his eyes are wide, filled with curiosity and confusion at the current situation. yet he still reached his hand towards her mitten-covered one and held onto it. he let her pull him along with her. following her to the train station, sitting patiently for their stop, then following her off the train. their hands never once letting go. he was afraid that if he did, she would disappear in thin air. truly, leaving him completely alone. 

she pulled him all the way to the beach, the waves slightly frozen as they crash into the rocky shores. she pulls him up onto a big rock ledge, sitting down once they reach the top. her legs dangling off the edge and the golden rays of the setting sun hitting her face. tsukishima was still standing, looking out at the perfect view of the sunset. but then averting his eyes to his own person sun sitting on the rock. he follows along and sits next to her, the harsh wind from the ocean hitting both of their faces. 

“i asked your brother about what happened,” she states over the sounds of the waves, “about yamaguchi.”

he lets out a shaky breath at the mention of that name, one he promised himself he wouldn’t say. for his own sanity, he wouldn’t mention that name again. 

“you did?” he asked quietly. 

“i did,” she states confidently, “and i want to apologize.”

he rips his eyes from the view to look at her, meeting her gaze that was already on him. confusion written all over his face. 

“i should’ve texted you that night, given you some indication of where i was. something to at least ease your mind,” she explains, her voice sounding like she was pleading for him to forgive her. all of this time, they both blamed themselves for the situation, “but i had no idea what you have gone through, but now that i do i completely regret my actions.”

tsukishima swallows hard as he looks down at his hands that rest in his lap. so she knows, and now she probably knows that he’s a huge fuck up. he took a few deep breaths, preparing himself for the conversation. 

“how long have you known,” he starts, “about him.”

“about a week,” she whispers, “i didn’t have the heart to bring it up to you, i wasn’t sure how you would react. but then, i’ve seen the grief and guilt eating at you slowly. i can't stand to see you like that anymore, kei.” 

“he called me,” he whispers, lifting his gaze up to her eyes. tears welling up in his eyes, “he called me that night asking for a ride, drunk. i remember that i was so annoyed by that call, that i didn’t leave right away. deciding that five more minutes of sleep was more important than my friend getting home safely. when i finally left and went to pick him up, the other guests said he left with someone else. then i get the call the next morning, the call that he was… well, you know.”

she scoots closer to him, placing her hands on his face. meeting his eyes with such intensity and care, he didn’t deserve her. the tears ran down his face, seeing who would get to the finish line the quickest. his body shakes from the sobs as he finally talks about that night after five years of avoiding it. 

“this isn’t your fault, kei,” she says slowly, meaning every word.

“but if I just left right away-“

“he would’ve still had time to accept that ride,” she states, her eyes full of certainty, “he knew the risk, everyone does when it comes to alcohol. yet, he still said yes. he could’ve said no, you already told him that you would come pick him up. he left you, you didn’t abandon him.”

“i don’t deserve you,” he sobs out, “i really don’t. you’re like the sun, tempting me to be happy with what i did.”

“i’m not trying to make you feel happy about what you did,” she explains as she uses her mittened hand to wipe his tears, “i want you to accept that what happened, happened. there were mistakes made, yes, but you can't change it now. what you can do, is live in his memory. live life for him, and dedicate every waking day to him.”

“i love you,” he gasps out, “i really do, you sunshine. you temptress. so please, if i’m gonna do this i want you to be there with me.”

a smile breaks out on her face, laughing slightly. for once, his eyes weren’t full with the hardening gaze of sadness and guilt. but bright and full of love, and how she longed for that gaze to be shown her way. 

“i’m not going anywhere, kei,” she smiles, “and i love you too.”

his arms wrap around her waist and pull her closer to him, lowering his head to capture her in a kiss. the sun is almost gone behind the horizon now, yet the glow from his own sunshine blinds him with love. tempting him to deepen the kiss as their grips on each other tighten.

he was right, he doesn’t like being alone.

it seems that he’s not anymore. 

[achillestiel]

the parent trap only works if you’re identical | part seven of eight | ao3 link

Tag List: @littlerachelbee @imthedoctorlove @deancas-handprint @castiel-loves-dean @wanderermatthews @thelahatiel @priscillahc @mridzyp @multi-fandom-dark-lord @thefantasyfiend @harmonyhelms @imlivingliferightnow @kara-merlin @still-clowning-in-this-house @never-forever-more @continuezmesfilserrants @2musiclover2 @castiels-bitch @stjimmie @cmths5 @chamomilecas @syrille

“Just stay. I don’t know how but we can work something out.” Cas said. “Please.” He said pleadingly. Dean’s reply was to bring their lips back together. Cas sighed happily as they just sat on the couch kissing for a long time. “Dean, come to bed with me.” Cas said breathily, his lips hovering just over Dean’s ear. It sent a shiver of excitement through his whole body.

“Of course.” Dean replied, taking Cas’ hand as one of the phones on the coffee table vibrated loudly. Claire’s phone. Dean was about to ignore it until he saw Eileen’s name on the screen. With a roll of his eyes, Dean grabbed the phone off the table, looking down at the screen and smiling.  

Hey! We haven’t heard anything from you for a while. Guessing you’re still in DC. Did you do the car thing? Gotta keep the rest of Team Parent Trap updated!

“You ever feel like your whole family is plotting against you?” Dean asked, showing Cas the screen. “Those kids are seriously doing to be the death of us if they’ve roped Eileen, Sam and Gabriel into this.”

“I think it speaks volumes that they all want to see us together.” Cas said, smiling down at the phone screen as he scrolled back up the messages. “Why are they called Team Parent Trap?”

“You...you’ve...wow. Cas, you’re lucky you’re hot.” Dean said, shaking his head. He threw Claire’s phone onto the couch while Cas flicked off all the lights downstairs. They walked hand in hand upstairs, stopping by Jack’s room and knocking on the door. Jack and Claire were sitting watching TV, looking like butter wouldn’t melt. Claire grinned smugly at Dean when she saw his hand laced with Cas’.

“We’re going to go to bed kids, don’t stay up too long.”

“And don’t even think about touching the car again.”

“We’re innocent until proven guilty with concrete evidence.” Claire said with yet another smug grin.

“Spoken like the niece of a lawyer.” Cas said, chuckling. “You may have gotten away with it if your Aunt hadn’t thrown you under the bus.”

“Dang it Aunt Eileen.” Claire muttered.

“Yeah well, we’ll talk more about your punishment in the morning. Night kids, love you both.”

“Love you too dad.” The twins said in unison. Dean grinned at them as Cas also wished the twins goodnight and headed to their room.

“I honestly don’t know whether to be proud of them or question our parenting skills.” Dean said as Cas led him not to the guest where they had slept the night before but to Cas’ room. He smiled to himself as he walked into the room. It was just so Cas. Nearly every available surface was covered with books, nick nacks from around the globe and photos of him and Jack.    

“What?” Cas asked, noticing Dean’s smile.

“Twelve years and you still manage to make any room you call your own a museum of stuff. ” Dean said, looking around the room and smiling at various ornaments. “It’s like a cross between a gift shop and the library of congress.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.” Cas said and Dean just laughed, pulling him close for another chaste kiss. “I was serious by the way, I want you to stay come the morning.”

“Cas, I want to stay but I need to go home. For starters, I’ve been wearing the same boxers for two days but I also have a garage to run.” Dean said between kisses. “How about we just enjoy tonight and try to work something out come morning?” Dean asked. Cas sighed but nodded, letting Dean pull him in for another kiss. Clothes were soon discarded on the floor, both men losing themselves in the touch of the other.

“Dean…” Cas whispered. Both of them moments away from drifting off to sleep. “I...I love you.” he said. Dean was silent for a beat before Cas felt him wrap his arms around Cas’ waist.

“I love you too.”

When Cas awoke the next morning it was to Dean’s arms holding him close, the distance of twelve years effectively dissolved over the course of two days. Dean’s face was burrowed into Cas’ back, making him smile when he felt Dean’s gentle breaths against his skin. Cas knew their time together was drawing to a close, because even he knew that Dean needed to go back to Kansas. He didn’t want to think about it but it was inevitable. Dean and Claire would have to return home, leaving both Cas and Jack heartbroken.

Downstairs, Cas could hear the sound of laughter and clanging pots. He was warm and cosy in Dean’s arms but if he didn’t get downstairs soon then there was a high chance something would catch on fire. Careful not to wake Dean, Cas slid out of bed and dressed in a simple sweater and pants combo. From the bed Dean let a contented sigh, smashing his face into one of Cas’ duck feather pillows. Cas smiled to himself as he looked down at Dean. Even after all these years Dean really was the most beautiful person he had ever met. Another loud clang from the kitchen pulled Cas’ focus from him. He prayed that his kitchen was still standing as he hurried downstairs.

"Hey Pops!" Claire called as Cas walked into the kitchen.  

"Pops?" Cas asked, glancing around the room. Pots and pans littered the surfaces

"It was getting confusing calling you both Dad. If you don't like Pops there's also Daddy-o or Padre." Claire said with a grin.

"Pops it is." Cas said.

“How long have you two been up? You haven’t been playing mechanic again have you?” Cas asked the twins.

“Not long, we’ve only just got up.” Jack said. “We haven’t touched the car, we promise.”

“I have a hard time believing that when it comes to you two.” Cas said. “What exactly are you two up to?”

“Making pancakes.” Jack said, grinning brightly.

“And yet it looks more like you’re making a mess, scooch over. I’ll make breakfast while you two try to stay out of trouble.” Cas said as he started to make breakfast. He was just plating up a huge stack of pancakes when Dean came into the room.

“I smelt pancakes.” Dean said between a loud yawn. He stretched out his arms as he walked over to Claire, giving her a high five before ruffling Jack’s hair.

“You could smell pancakes from a mile away.” Cas retorted. “There’s fresh coffee in the pot.”

“Thanks.” Dean said, shooting Cas a warm smile as he filled up two mugs, passing one over to Cas. Neither Dean nor Cas missed the smug looks on the twin's faces. “Shut up and eat your pancakes. You two are still in trouble for yesterday.”

“Yes, we’re now contemplating whether to go old testament or new testament god.” Cas added. The four of them sat in comfortable silence, eating pancakes and drinking coffee. The fact that Claire and Dean were leaving still felt like it was hanging over their heads and Cas noticed just how slowly the twins were eating. Drawing out the departure for as long as possible. After nearly half an hour there was no more putting it off.

"Claire, why don't you go and grab your bag? I just have to talk to your dad for a second." Dean said. Claire nodded but she and Jack walked away Dean heard them both sniffling. Dammit, all it took for Dean was to hear the twins sniffling and his eyes began to water. "Um...how about we come here for Thanksgiving? You and Jack can spend Christmas with us...I know it's not the best but..."

"I can't leave DC right now and it's not the best for you to leave Kansas?" Cas offered. "I want you and Claire to stay so much but..."

"We can make something work, right?" Dean stammered as tears welled in his eyes. He tried to blinked when but when he saw Cas' eyes filled with tears that sent him over the edge. "Dammit Cas, you just had to be so easy to fall in love with didn't you?" Dean joked between tears.

"I'm going to kiss you but it's not a kiss goodbye ok?" Cas said, cupping Dean's tear-stained face.

"Ok Cas." Dean replied. Cas pulled him in close and their lips met. They only parted when they heard coughing. Claire and Jack stood their awkwardly, both of them with red-rimmed eyes. "We...we best be heading off...traffic...you know." Dean stammered out. "Come here dude." He said to Jack, holding out his arms. Jack ran into his arms, hugging him tightly as Claire sprinted towards Cas. The four of them just standing there and hugging for several minutes.

"So, Jack and I will be seeing you at Thanksgiving." Cas said to Claire. Claire nodded but Dean could see the tears in her eyes.

"And then you're gonna spend Christmas in Kansas with Claire and me, that's cool right?" Dean said to Jack. He too was crying as he nodded. Dean pulled his son back in for another hug. Holding on tightly until it was finally time to go. "Love you kiddo."

"Love you too dad." Jack said.

"This is going to be hard but try to stay out of trouble." Cas said to Claire. Claire let out a sniffling laugh and nodded.

"I'll try. Love you Pops."

"I love you too Claire-Bear." Cas said. "We'll walk you out to the car." Cas said to Dean. The four of them walked out to the Impala, Dean towing their bags in the trunk. Claire and Jack exchanged a tear-filled hug. Dean wiped away a tear and felt Cas lace his hand through Dean's. Cas gripped tightly, silently telling Dean that he loved him. Dean squeezed back and watched as Claire gave Jack and Cas one last teary look before she got in the car.

"Um...I'll call you when we're home...maybe we can talk more when Claire and I are back in Kansas." Dean said, giving Cas one last kiss.

"Drive safe Dean." Cas said. He and Jack stepped back as Dean got into the car. Cas and Jack stood in the driveway waving to them until Dean was halfway down the street.  

"Are you mad at me?" Dean asked a still sniffling Claire. She turned to glare at him with her red-tinged eyes. "Gonna take that as a yes."

"Yes I am mad at you and I think you're an idiot! You love Pops, I know it and you know it. Heck, Jack, Uncle Gabriel, Uncle Sam and Aunt Eileen know it! Even Pops himself knows it! You love him and he loves you! YOu've always loved him otherwise you wouldn't get drunk and cry watching cowboy films." Claire yelled, her eyes filling with tears again. "I just want my family to be together and instead we're driving away from them! I know we have Uncle Sam and Aunt Eileen back home but Pops and Jack are our family. This whole thing is so goddamn stupid!"

"Claire, we'll see them at Thanks-"

"I don't want to wait until Thanksgiving to see my dad and brother. I want them with us! Don't you want them with us?"

"Of course I do Claire!"

"THEN WHY ARE WE STILL DRIVING BACK TO KANSAS ?" Claire yelled, her voice so loud that Dean nearly slammed on the breaks. "Just answer me that Dad!"

"I...I don't know...holy fuck you're right. I don't know." Dean said, slamming on the breaks and doing a completely illegal u-turn.

“What are you doing ?” Claire hollered, sliding around on her seat as the drivers behind them blared their horns.

“Chasing after your dad...kind of...ok I'm going to your dad...either way, I'm doing something I should have done twelve years ago.” Dean said, racing back down the road towards Cas’ house. The Impala had barely come to a stop but Claire was unbuckling her seatbelt and leaping out the car.  

“Dad! Claire!" Jack called, sprinting out of the house and running up to Claire. They both hugged tightly as Cas stood in the doorway just staring at them with disbelief.  

“It took us about 30 seconds after we left for us to realise we didn't want to lose you two again.” Claire said.

“We?” Cas asked.

“We.” Dean said, climbing out the Impala and striding over to Cas. “I made the mistake of not coming chasing after you all those years ago. I didn’t want you to have to chase me this time.” Dean said, shrugging like his words were far more casual than they were. Cas let out a chuckle and just shook his head.

“How is this going to work?” he asked. “I’m here in DC and you're in Kansas. What about the kids? How is this going to work?”

“We can make it work Cas, I know we can 'cause...I love you Cas. Always have. Always will.” Dean said, pulling Cas in for a kiss.  

"And I love you too Winchester. Until the end of my days." Cas said, grinning from ear to ear.

“I can’t believe we actually did this.” Jack said, high fiving Claire.  

“Yes...you two are still grounded you know?” Cas said.

"Aw dang it." Claire and Jack said in unison.

[zambie-trashart]

Land of the Free and Home of the Wayne pt 5

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masterlist

Summary: Damian and Jon are curious about the girl who saved him. The students tour the Batman Museum.

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Damian looked expectantly at his friend who stood there trying to come up with something to tell his friend that would sound believable.

“I was just telling Jon how every room in this house is cool, even the closets,” Adrien said wrapping an arm around Jon’s shoulders.

“You could just say what you were really doing, you were obviously shoving your face holes together in there. Kent seems frazzled, his hair is messy, and he keeps adjusting his glasses. Your shirt is messed up and you look like you’re hiding something,” Damian said getting closer to the two who’s eyes widened. Jon should have known that he should have done the talking cause what he was about to do might be one of the worst things to do to a fellow gay.

“Yup, totally you got us. Night Adrien,” Jon said kissing him lightly before pushing him out the door and closing it. Damian just stared at him. “What?”

“Doesn’t seem like he’s your type,” Damian said grabbing a laptop and sitting down in one of the many chairs. “We need to find out more about this girl who saved you.” Damian typed in “red superheroine” and Supergirl, Wonderwoman and others popped up but Jon pointed to one that he hadn’t heard of before.

“Who’s Ladybug?” Jon asked and Damian clicked her name and the first cite to pop up was the Ladyblog run my Alya Cesaire. The most recent posts had Lila standing in the front of them probably saying something about how she personally knew Ladybug.

“This isn’t going to get us anywhere,” Damian said bookmarking the cite for later and clicking on a news cite that talked about the adventures of Ladybug and Chat Noir two heroes who fought against akumas who were created by a villain named Hawkmoth who was trying to get the earrings and ring of the ladybug and cat.

“So this guy can just create bad guys?” Jon asked looking over his friend’s shoulder.

“Seems that way,” Damian said and Tim walked into the room holding a mug of coffee.

“It’s like ten o’clock and you two aren’t on patrol tonight so go to bed you hooligans,” Tim said before opening up the clock to go down to the batcave. The two walked over to their rooms and made an agreement to continue their research the next night.

Jon’s alarm blared loudly that morning and he pulled on a collard shirt, blue sweater, dark blue jeans, and vans before running down for breakfast. He looked at Adrien before deciding to sit next to Marinette and Damian who were talking about fashion and Damian actually seemed interested in what she was saying. He looked at Mar’i across the room who was sitting with Tim again, she was on the phone smiling and twirling a piece of hair through her fingers. Was she... no she would have told Damian and Jon as soon as she made it official, she was just smitten.

The class all got back in the cars but this time Dick was the only supervising adult. They arrived at the museum and Lila was strangely silent. Jon just watched her out of the corner of his eye and Damian seemed to be doing the same. Dick was confirming their tour time, or at least he was trying to but the lady at the front desk seemed a lot more interested in knowing about him. Mar’i had to go up and intervene before Dick’s obliviousness got him in trouble.

The class entered the first room which was a tribute for the fallen heroes. Robin II beat to death, Batgirl was paralyzed from waist down by the Joker, Robin IV was stabbed by his mother, and Nightwing’s heart had to be stopped got disable a bomb attached to it. The students just stared at the statues all of them were graphic but they told a story.

The next room was a room full of Batgirls. Batgirl I to Oricle, Spoiler to Robin to Batgirl, Batgirl to Orphan, and Batwoman. Most of the girls were inspired by the towering females who all seemed to have wonder built into their statues.

Next was a bunch of Robins, a Robin with pixie boots to Nightwing, Robin to Red Hood, Robin to Red Robin, and a masked assassin to Robin. Damian stood in front of his statue soaking in what he could have been.

“Damian, you’re not like that anymore and you know it, you chose to be better,” Jon said placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Damian put his hand over the younger’s and the two walked into the second to last room which was Jon’s favorite.

Starfire holding Nightfire standing next to Nightwing. Superboy and Robin fighting Kid Amazo. Red Hood next to Artemis and Arsenal. Red Robin next to Flamebird (Chris doesn’t exist in this universe so I just figured that I’d use his name and give it to Conner just cause) Wondergirl, and Impulse. Jon walked off to talk to Marinette and see what she thought of the Robin and Superboy statues and the whole museum so far and since Damian was alone, Lila approached him.

“I’m really sorry for how I’ve been acting, I was wondering if you could forgive me?” Lila asked and Damian just huffed and went to walk away from her. Lila just pulled on his sleeve using his own momentum against him and pressed her lips to his. Most of the class cheered but Marinette, Jon, and Mar’i just stared mouths wide open. Dick didn’t understand what was going on but the last time he heard, he didn’t know that Damian had a girlfriend.

Damian ripped his arm back and walked out of the room back through all of the previous rooms and Jon chased after him. Damian felt something burning in his chest as he walked down the stairs and Jon tripped down and Damian heard something crack and looked back to see that his best friend was gone and in his place was a note.

Tell B to meet me on top of WE with the Cat’s Eye Nebula or you’re not getting Superkid back. Catwoman

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DON’T KILL ME PLEASE I’M SORRY! *cries*

JPS:  @wannajointhecrabcult @loveswifi @ive-tumbled-down-a-rabbit-hole @liquid-luck-00 @mochegato @thatonecroc @mochinek0 @toodaloo-kangaroo @moonspiritwolf1

Tag list:  @abrx2002 @finallyaniguana@danielslilangel@chocolateherringtacofan @animegirlweeb @fleur-de-jasmin-fdj@pawsitivelymiraculous @justcourttee@ayamestudios@greenteacz@thornalchemist23 @vixen-uchiha@readeracctagmepls @tomanyfandomsinmymind @t1dwarrior-of-earth@michaelshadow7779 @i-is-mysterious

[diegoalvesisgod]

I was tagged by @ibarbourou​ to do this... writing self-analysis, I guess.

Can you think of three images that are recurring elements in your writing? Are they symbolic of something? What do these images mean to you? Do you have any memories/connotations tied to them?

Long post ahead.

fire and warmth

This was the only one I didn’t have to think about, the one I consciously know is a recurring theme.

The image or fire, or anything that represents warmth or creates warmth, or the warmth in itself.

Paulo takes a deep breath and walks inside. The interior looks very different from the outside. It’s not scary at all. It reminds Paulo of a museum a little bit, but it’s warmer and cozier. There is a thick carpet on the floor in the large hallway, and patterned wallpaper on the walls. Fire is crackling somewhere.

(My Love Will Never Die)

He crosses the hall carefully, trying not to trip over anything. The storm outside intensifies, rain beating at the windows and lightnings illuminating the empty hall at least thrice before he reaches the door. The room he finds behind it is much smaller, and somehow also feels warmer. Whoever covered the furniture and took down the paintings before leaving this place most likely forgot about this room. The armchair in front of the large fireplace isn’t covered, there’s even a pelt in front of it, like whoever used to sit there liked to keep their feet warm. A small table to the side to put a glass of wine or a book on, a candleholder near the window, chairs in the corners. There’s still a pile of wood neatly lined up next to the fireplace, and he finds a tinderbox on the mantelpiece.

(let the darkness lead us into the light)

My grandfather was a concentration camp survivor. I was little when he died, but there are some things I remember him talking about to me, and this is one of them. Warmth means life. There is nothing if there’s not warmth, because if you’re cold, the only thing you can think of is warmth, the need to get warm, the lack of warmth. I deeply believe in the third generation trauma theory, and this may be one of the ways it manifests. I am able to cope with cold much better than most of my friends and family - what is cold for them isn’t cold for me, but I also subconsciously focus on things that represent warmth. I love blankets and candles and hot tea and fireplaces, I hoard sweaters, and when I was a little girl, I never wanted jackets, I wanted fur coats. 

For me, warmth, or the lack thereof, sets the vibe and the atmosphere of the story. It determines if the story has potential to have a happy ending, if the characters are even able to experience something positive.

There’s fire burning in the giant fireplace, started by someone from their small entourage, but the stone has been cold for too long, and it only slowly lets the flames warm up the salty air. The shadows in the hall are long and tall, making everything seem monstrous.

“It doesn’t feel like home,” Viktor says, just because the words are burning on his tongue and he needs to spit them out, even if it means another bruise.

(Stars)

The vibe of the entire story is cold and crude, and for me, at the mention of fire, it changes for the better, it starts to get hopeful. It’s what starts the change, and it’s slow and perhaps an impossible task to completely warm it up, but it’s already less dark and desperate.

flowers/plants

I don’t use flowers or plants that often, but when I do, it’s always with intention.

Denis lingers for a while. He takes off the rye wreath and runs a hand through his hair.

“I just… wanted to say that I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“Sorry for what?” Vasek asks.

“Just… you know… being… generally disappointing.”

(all hail the underdogs)

I picked rye as the symbol of love and fidelity, because that’s what their relationship is about. But for the scene between Denis and Taylor later on in the fic, I picked cattail:

Denis nods, and then realizes that he doesn’t have to look for anything. He’s already got it. He pulls out the cattail he had picked earlier, and puts some of the pollen on the wound.

“Here,” Taylor says, handing him a piece of cloth in which Denis recognizes the silvery fabric of the small parachutes that transport sponsors’ gifts to the arena. “Do you need help?”

Denis nods and holds his hand up to him. Taylor wraps the fabric around his palm a bit clumsily, and ties it firmly.

(all hail the underdogs)

Cattail symbolizes peace, mainly between two people who are fighting. It’s literally a symbol of this temporary treaty between them, and of a friendship that could be if it weren’t for the circumstances.

I used the comparison of two different flowers again in Where my dreams are made of gold. 

Alessandro sits at the table and looks at the pile of leaves and blossoms. “What do you need all these flowers for?”

“The leaves. Green pigment,” Riccardo explains and tears another leaf off.

“Lily of the valley,” Alessandro smiles. “My favorite.”

Riccardo just stares at him. Are men even supposed to have favorite flowers? Does he have his favorite flower?

“Simple, innocent, fragile… but also deadly,” Alessandro says, picking up a flower and smelling it. “It’s said it sprang from Eve’s tears when she was leaving the Garden of Eden.”

Riccardo wants to say something about this flower not suiting Alessandro, since he knows from Giampaolo that it symbolizes humility in religious paintings, but holds his tongue. After all, who is he to tell anyone what flower they should like?

(Where my dreams are made of gold) 

Alessandro’s favorite flower is lily of the valley - actually a very feminine flower, associated with purity, humility, chastity and sweetness. It’s not representing him as he is, but the values that he is looking for, the way he wishes he were.

Alessandro nods and looks at the paper in Riccardo’s lap, the sketches of blooms and branches.

“Magnolias,” Riccardo says. “My favorite flowers. They look beautiful up in the tree, but you can’t really take them down. They wither and rot if you do. Beautiful and delicate as long as you just look. If you touch them, they turn to death.”

(Where my dreams are made of gold)

On the same note, Riccardo likes magnolias - exactly for the reason he gives. They are beautiful up in the tree, but if you touch them, they turn ugly and die. They symbolize dignity and nobility - which are qualities that he is seeking. Just before he states this, he says about himself: “A kiss for money or a favor? Not like I haven’t done it myself, although I didn’t call it trade. But see, I’m no one to judge you.” 

In this one, roses are kind of obvious, because it’s a Beauty and the Beast retelling, but here they also play into the whole crucifixion allegory, thorn crown and all that I created - which to this day I can’t believe I did in a piece I didn’t even intend as entirely serious.

The guards apparently didn’t keep the story to themselves, because among the jeers and laughter of the crowd slowly gathering on the square, he hears mentions of roses and the Beast almost as often as he hears himself being called a fool.

Someone pushes a flower crown made of roses on his head. He feels the thorns sink in his forehead, but the pain never reaches where it should. He can’t quite feel his body, nor see where he’s going, and he doesn’t think that he would be able to walk on his own, if it weren’t for the guards’ grip on his arms.  

He stops when they tell him to, looks up to the wooden post and sniffles. This is the thing he feared the most all his life, and now he feels nothing. He raises his hands obediently and lets the guards close the iron rings around them, and he looks down at the crowd like they mean nothing. He doesn’t even feel like explaining anything to them, even if it could stop the jeering and curses and an occasional rose being thrown at him like it’s worth nothing. They would never understand.

(let the darkness lead us into the light)

In let's be winners by mistake, I used roses, but paper roses. On purpose - while they should symbolize love, they are not real. Andrey repeatedly gives Sascha paper roses, but he’s aware of his feelings not being reciprocated, and in this scene, where he already knows that Sascha is in love with someone else, he burns the rose to show him that love like that, with an “outsider”, cannot last and be real.

Sascha lifts his eyes to him for a moment, and when he lowers them again, Andrey is holding a red paper rose.

“We all have dreams,” he says and hands it to him. “But like everything that happens under the Big Top, they are not real.”

He runs his palm over the paper flower, and out of nowhere, it catches fire. Sascha drops it quickly, and watches the flames swallow the crepe paper.

“What… how do you do the things?” he breathes out.

“If I told you, it would no longer be magic,” Andrey smiles.

(let's be winners by mistake)

For me, flowers are a great way to establish a character, or a relationship. When I look at a person, I can usually associate a flower with them. I love flowers, and I’m very picky about them. There are flowers I can’t stand and would never bring them home, and then flowers I am attracted to. So I generally think of flowers just like I think of people. 

liminal spaces

“The spatial dimension of liminality can include specific places, larger zones or areas, or entire countries and larger regions.Liminal places can range from borders and frontiers to no man's lands and disputed territories, to crossroads to perhaps airports, hotels, and bathrooms which are spaces people pass through but do not live in.”

I feel like I oscillate between establishing homes for the characters, and using liminal spaces a lot. I think I used these mainly in my old fics, but sometimes I still like to reach for them. 

The motel he stops at is far from the city, and looks like it could be accidentally demolished any day, as it seems to be completely abandoned. But Paulo knows it’s still open, and barely anyone there cares who rents the rooms.

The room is far from nice, but as long as it has a bed and running water, it’s all they need.    

Álvaro hasn’t said anything since Paulo picked him off the ground and cut the zip tie on his wrists. Paulo suspects that he concentrates on staying conscious. At least whenever he peeked at him from the driver’s seat, Álvaro’s lips and hands were shaking, and by the time they get into the tiny bathroom, he is barely able to stand. Paulo peels off his shirt and the torn jeans, and almost gasps. Álvaro’s body is colored in bruises, none of them dangerous, but all with the purpose of hurting. But Álvaro doesn’t complain, save for an occasional hiss, almost like he takes it as his penance.

Paulo helps him into the bathtub and lets him sit down. Then he reaches for the shower, an old thing that sprays water everywhere, and starts to wash him, not really touching him, just letting the hot streams run over his body. He then scrubs the dirt and blood out of Álvaro’s hair with the hotel soap and tries to dry him as gently as possible with the scratchy towels.

(No Rest For The Wicked)

I am big about the vibe of buildings. As much as I don’t think of myself as of a spiritual person, sensitive to whatever supernatural may exist in this world, and I have trouble perceiving human emotions, I can feel buildings. That’s my quirk. I have a whole theory of buildings, and my own terminology - for example, I know that old houses built of stone are grounded - they have a stable energy, and if I spend some time inside, I just feel very calm, relaxed and at peace. 

I often go to liminal spaces when there’s a transition in the story.

The sky is pale pink interwoven with blue veins, and they both shake from cold and fatigue. They can see the border from here. Ander leans over the car, soaking in the warmth from the engine.

A car’s headlights blink from somewhere behind the border. Andoni grabs his bag. Ander watches him silently.

You could go with me, Andoni says then.

Ander shakes his head slightly. He can’t go anywhere. Your war is over. I still have a lot of battles to fight.

(Hold My Hand When This Ends)

Same here:

He looks like a ghost.

Not that Simon believes in ghosts, but at night the road becomes a strange place, almost like he can cross the line between this world and some alternate space anytime. Sometimes, when he stops for a cup of coffee at a gas station this late, and he’s the only one sitting there, he feels like he’s all alone in the world, like the whole population was wiped out during some catastrophe or epidemics and he’s the only miraculous survivor.

But although he knows that the person he’s seeing is real, has to be real, what is he supposed to think of a boy walking down the side of the road dressed only in jeans and a white sweatshirt when Simon is sure - and the red digits on his car stereo temperature display confirm it - it’s freezing cold outside?

(like all good kids from broken homes)

The whole fic is basically about liminal spaces - it’s about that moment of transition, and there’s basically no plot needed, the liminal spaces do all the magic.

The room is small and simple, with the obligatory double bed, because paradoxically one’s not expected to sleep alone in a place like this, but it’s at least warm and relatively clean. Viktor looks around like a trapped animal, and it takes him some time to relax at least enough to let go of his backpack and kick off the wet trainers.

“I think a hot shower will do you good,” Simon says, nodding towards the tiny bathroom.

For the first time, Viktor’s lips curl in a smile. “Will you feed me, too, and tuck me in bed?”

(like all good kids from broken homes)

Liminal spaces are something I personally love, because they have a special energy, time is very altered there, and they feel like a half-step, like a portal to something new. (The best liminal spaces are the F1 and Ibis budget hotels in France. Their lobby at about 1 AM can take your mind to very interesting places. Gas stations in the middle of the night come closely second.)

[crumbsinkeyboard]

Get to Know Me

Well I’m basically an open book, but let me having fun. (I get the question from https://www.stillbeingmolly.com/2019/11/05/100-random-get-to-know-me-questions-tag/)

1.   When was the last time you cried?       3 days ago i found video on instagram about how 2020 had been so far 2.   Do you have kids? If no, how many do you want?       Mau punya anak 3 3.   What’s the first thing you notice about people?       Ramah/Gak 4.   What is your eye color?       Dark brown-is 5.   Scary movie or happy endings?       Happy endings 6.   Favorite smells?       Newborn’s breath, the smell after rain, bau kulit orang abis mandi 7.   What language, besides your native language, would you like to be fluent in?       French? 8.   What are your hobbies?       Watching random viedos on youtube, making diy’s, grocery shopping, cuddle 9.   Do you have any pets?       Yes. Mochi and Canti the cats 10. Do you have any siblings?       2 elder brother and sister 11. How tall are you?       153 cm 12. What is the least favorite thing about yourself?       My voice 13. What was your favorite/worst subject in High School?       Fave: Math and English. Least: Chemistry, Physics 14. What is your Favorite drink?       Coffee, any kind of drinks with cheese foam on top of it 15. Favorite Perfume?       Burberry Classic (The imitation one, honestly gatau bau Burberry Classic aslinya gimana? Haha) 16. Favorite memory from childhood?       Perjalanan ke rumah nenek selalu jadi favorit 17. How would you describe your fashion sense?       Anything comfortable. I mostly wear sweater and baggy jeans 18. Tell us one of your bad habits!       Stalking people online. Wkwkwkwk 19. Have you forgiven yourself for past personal failures? Why or why not?       Yes. I always learn from them 20. Have you ever won a trophy or an award? What was it for?       Award tukang nyapu waktu KKN (sebenernya bukan karena rajin, tapi emang berpasir mulu lantainya, bikin risih ) 21. What is one guilty pleasure you enjoy too much to give up?       Main hp, makan-makanan pedes 22. What is the first movie you remember seeing?       Film pertama yang aku tonton di bioskop: Happy Feet 23. What do you like about your home?       My room, my pets, sometimes orang2 yang tinggal 24. One word that describes you?       Clumsy? 25. What’s your favorite quotes?       “You should give a fuck, but save your fucks for things that only matter to you” – Ela Zain, 24tahun. 26. Are you an extrovert or introvert?       I’m an outgoing introvert, if that makes sense. People thought im an extrovert but, no. 27. Are you left or right handed?       Right Handed 28. Do you consider yourself a good cook?       I’m only good at dessert 29. What’s your favorite thing to have for breakfast?       Buttered toast, Coffee. 30. What’s your longest relationship so far?       It lasted 2,5 years 31. What is your biggest fear?       Death of my loved ones 32. What is your biggest regret?       I didn’t put my pet Mandu in a cage 33. What is the most important thing in your life?       Family 34. What is your favorite food?       Sushiiiii 35. What was your favorite TV show when you were a child?       Teletubbies and Tom & Jerry 36. Are you more likely to avoid conflict or engage it head-on?       100000% avoid 37. What is good about how you are living your life right now?       I don’t depend on anyone, my relationship goes way more healthy than before, I’m happy 38. Who has left the most impact on your life?       My ex 39. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve seen in your life?       Pisang goreng pake sambel 40. Who is the first person you call when something exciting happens?       Boyfriend 41. Who is the first person you call when something horrible happens?       Boyfriend 42. Do you save old greeting cards and letters?       Yessss i loooove letters i save them all even the embarassing ones 43. Do you sleep with the lights on or off?       Kalo sendiri, nyala 44. Do you have a hidden dream that you’ve never shared with anyone?       Yes, im still gonna keep it now 45. What is your most embarrassing moment?       Jatuh ke got karena jalan sambil merem 46. What is something that amazes you?       Museums, nature, woman’s body 47. What is at the top of your bucket list?       Travel around the world 48. What scares you about aging?       I lose my loved ones 49. Would you ever consider living abroad?       Yesssssssss. 50. What book are you reading at the moment?       Still Me by Jojo Moyes

[dynamicduoau]

Episode 2: Puppy Love

Summary:  Logan Crofters lives his life by schedule.  This changes one day though, when he makes one of his regular days to the Mystery Museum.  After an argument, Virgil uses a power he never knew he had before.  Now the three have to reverse it.

Words:  5544

Relationships:  Platonic Moxiety, One-Sided Logicality, Platonic Analogicality

Notes:  Original story here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20170951/chapters/47980744#workskin

Logan’s alarm clock went off right at 6am as it did every day.  The thirteen-year-old got out of bed.  His glasses were by his alarm clock, so he grabbed them and placed them on his face.

He walked to his bathroom and changed into the normal black polo, blue tie, blue sweater vest, and jeans.  Logan grabbed his hair gel and slicked his hair back.  All of it went back besides these two stubborn pieces by his ears.  Once he finished, he walked down the stairs.

As usual, there was a note telling him that his parents have left already for work.

He thought that maybe today they could have driven him to the library.  Though, Logan did not know why he thought that.  They normally forgot when he asked, so what makes today any different?

With a sigh, he went grabbed his cereal.

He'd go to The Mystery Museum today.  There were those two from yesterday, Virgil and Patton, he could talk to.  Virgil seemed to be more reserve, but he also seemed to be the more intelligent of the two.  Patton on the other hand was an odd person.  He seemed to radiate sunshine and was full of emotions.  The band of Logan’s existence.  Still, they were two people that were Logan’s age, and maybe it would be best to talk to people his age.  They were new to Gravity Falls, so they could not have that large of an opinion on him.

________________

Thomas had told Virgil to watch the giftshop while he ran some of the tours with Emile.  Tours didn’t start for another hour, but Thomas need to stay at the front desk in case of any early customers.  A regular tour took about two hours, so he had about three hours until someone came into the gift ship and human interaction began.

Instead of sitting in a chair, Virgil was sitting crisscross on the counter.  It was lunchtime, but all Virgil had was his coffee that sat next to him.  That was his fifth today.  He didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, so coffee was the only thing that was keeping him running.  The journal was on his lap.  After he could go to sleep last night, he spent most of his time reading it.

A sandwich was placed next to his coffee as Patton went behind the desk and sat at the chair behind it.  The sandwich was peanut butter and grape jelly.  Virgil hated every other jelly flavor.

“Thanks, Pop Star,” Virgil said as he turned around on the counter, making sure to avoid spilling the coffee and sandwich.  “Where have you been?  I haven’t seen you all day.”

Patton pulled at the polaroid camera on his neck, “Been working on our winter break scrapbook.  Trying to incorporate this gnome bread hair.”

He pulled out a clump of white hair he had in his pocket.  Virgil didn’t even remember when his brother took it.

“Why do you even have that?” Virgil asked in disgust.

Patton shrugged before stuffing it back into his pocket.

If Virgil wasn’t this tired, he would have been going on about the diseases that could come from that, but nope all he could think about was the journal and coffee.

He just sighed and took a bite from his sandwich.

Patton looked down at the journal, “Have you read more of it?”

“Yeah, I did during the night,” Virgil yawned.  “Couldn’t sleep anyway.”

Patton looked him up and down, “How much sleep did you get last night?

“I don’t know,” Virgil sighed.  “I couldn’t sleep with all the questions that were running through my head.  Who is the author?  What happened to them?  Why was this book in the woods?  So, in the end, I couldn’t sleep.”

His brother scolded, “Well, as your older brother, I say that you need to sleep tonight.”

“Five minutes, you are older by five minutes,” Virgil replied.

“That just means I have five more minutes of maturity,” Patton grinned.  “Five minutes closer to adultery than you.”

“Patton, we talked about this,” Virgil rubbed his nose.  “Besides, your face is covered in peanut butter.”

Patton began to rub his face with hand, trying to find any source of the mess on his face.  Virgil just laughed, since there was nothing on his face.  His brother was quick to figure it out and punched his knee.

That would teach him.  Patton might be the older twin and the stronger twin and the more social twin…but Virgil was good at things too.  Like he could recite any of MCR's and Evanescence's song.

“Salutations,” a voice came said from behind them.

“Ah!” Patton jumped, and Virgil rolled his eyes as he spun around to see Logan.

He looked just like he did yesterday.  With his very nerdy outfit.  Virgil didn’t understand what Patton saw in him.  He just seemed like a guy that had a stick up his ass.

“Hi,” Virgil mumbled, placing his book back into his jacket pocket.

“Hello Logan,” Patton smiled.

Virgil sighed, Patton might like Logan, but Virgil was going to remain on his toes.  After yesterday, he didn’t know what to except.  Even if the guy didn’t try to force Patton into marriage, Virgil wasn’t going to take any chances.  He could be some creepy scientist that wanted to dissect his brother's brain.

Nope, not going down that road again.

“So,” Patton smiled, “Logan, you come in everyday?”

“Mostly,” Logan replied.  “With these weather conditions, I find it is better to walk here than walking to town.”

“Snow way you could get hurt,” Patton grinned.

"Did you just make a pun?" Logan asked.

Patton lifted his brow up grinning and even Virgil gave a chuckle.

"Of course I did," Patton smiled.  "I'm just a punny guy.  So, whatcha doing here?"

“I do not have anyone to talk to during the day, so I come here since it is closer than the town,” Logan shrugged turning around.  “Human interaction is good for mental health.”

Patton frowned, “What about your parents?”

Logan shrugged, “They work for most of the day.”

“Well, you can always talk to us,” Patton grinned throwing his arms out.

Logan shook his head, “That is quite unlikely considering that once winter break is over you two will be gone.”

Patton frowned, “You can still talk to us.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, “And what would we talk about?”

Patton blinked, “Well, what is there to do around here?  Virgil and I haven’t been around town yet.”

“Well, juvenile things like the arcade, laser tag, some fake psychics,” Logan listed off.  “However, when I do go into town, I tend to go the library.”

It was official, Logan was a nerd.  Though, the library seemed like a good idea.  Not around too many people and a calm place where Virgil didn’t have to worry about his anxiety.

In Virgil’s mind, he wondered if Logan has seen anything strange around here.  Maybe, he could give some information on what goes on around here.

“Have you ever seen anything strange here?” Patton asked.

Virgil wonder if Patton could read his mind.  He could voice what Virgil wanted to know and couldn’t really get out.

“Strange?  How?” Logan looked at him.

“Well,” Patton started.  “We’ve heard some of the rumors around here, and it just makes a person curious.”

“I do agree that this town is strange, but everything here can have a logical explanation,” Logan replied.  “A “werewolf” sighting is simply a dog.  These rumors are the only thing that gets people to come to this town.”

“That didn’t answer the question,” Virgil mumbled.  “Have you ever seen anything strange?”

“I have not seen anything strange.  And anyone that believes these strange occurrences is just paranoid,” Logan shrugged.

Something sort of snapped in Virgil.  You could call Virgil many things and he wouldn't care.  Actually, you could call him anything, but that word.  Sure, Logan didn't flat out say he was it, but he implied it.

Virgil's hands tightened into fists.  Patton noticed and placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, but Virgil shook it off.

He grinned, “Really?  You have a logical explanation for everything, Logan?  Why ships have been bitten and wreaked at the dock?  Or the reports of hauntings at the abandoned grocery store?”

All of his anxiety was gone in his coffee fueled rage.

The two began to glare at each other.

“Okay,” Patton moved between the two.  “Virgil, go get some coffee and please leave the salt out of it this time.”

Virgil just glared as he walked away.

He heard Logan say, “Who puts salt in their coffee?”

God, the guy was jerk.  He knew he shouldn't be that overprotective of his brother, but Logan was making him so frustrated.  Virgil was trying really hard to restrain himself, but it getting more and more difficult.

The emo filled his cup with coffee and chugged it down.  He got another cup and brought it with him.

Once he returned to the gift shop, Patton grabbed his arm.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“He’s being a bit of a jerk,” Virgil shrugged as he sipped his coffee.

“You know I was joking about the coffee.  Your heart is going to explode if you drink any more of it!” Patton whisper shouted.

Virgil simply shrugged, “Death will come when it does.”

Patton slapped a hand on his face, “Where is Thomas?  He should be taking care of the gift shop?”

“He’s working the front,” Virgil shrugged.  “Emile really needs to hire another person here or something.”

“So, do you really believe there are fantasy creatures in the middle of Gravity Falls?” Logan interrupted, tilting his head.

“Yes,” Virgil shrugged.  “Can you completely prove that there is no such thing?”

“Well,” Logan looked down,  “You have no proof of there being any supernatural creatures.”

Virgil had to restrain himself from pulling the journal out.

“Maybe there is,” Virgil replied.  “No one has found it yet.”

Logan scoffed, “If someone made that big of a discover wouldn’t they want to share it with the world.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, “What if their life was in danger because they stumbled upon something so great, they had to run?”

The two glared at each other.

“Okay, everyone needs to calm down,” Patton smiled.

“I am perfectly calm,” Logan didn’t look away from Virgil.  “He is the one that is not calm.”

It was then that Virgil hissed.

Three seconds passed.

“Did he just hiss at me?” Logan asked Virgil.

“I do that when I reach my limit of stupid,” Virgil replied, pouring the rest of the coffee in his mouth.

“I am not the one that is being stupid and paranoid,” Logan growled.

It was then that something happened.  Virgil slipped a hand through his hair and he glared at the ground.  Frustration filled him as he tightened his grip around his stomach.

Logan was looking at him in astonishment, while Patton looked at him in a fearful way.

“Um, son,” Patton started.  “Your eye is glowing.”

Virgil looked up.  He felt the familiar energy surround his eye.  No one was frozen.  No one was moving by force.  Before he could say anything a large blast came from within him.  And everything went black.

_________________

Patton’s arm sort of hurt as he got up.  He hoped it was only bruised.  Looking around, he saw his brother passed out on the ground.  The older twin went over to him and checked on him, making sure Virgil had a pulse.  Once he was sure, he decided that it would be best if he left him.  His son did need his sleep.  And it wouldn’t be the first time that Virgil passed out from that much power.

“Logan,” he called out.  “Logan?”

There was rummaging and Patton turned around not seeing anyone.

“Oh, please don’t tell me he also has the power to wipe a person from the plane of reality too,” Patton squeaked as he looked around.

A bark caught his attention.

Patton looked down and there was a dog.  He had black hair and blue eyes.  Something was familiar about him, but he couldn’t quite place it.  The good boy wasn’t that big, but he was fluffy.  Patton didn’t know where he came from, but it was a puppy, so he could resist the urge to pet him.

“Who’s a good boy?” Patton reached out to pet the doggo, but it backs up.

When he tried to reach out again, the dog reached out to bit him and began to bark once more.

“AAAAAAAHHHH!” Patton jumped up.

That seemed to wake up Virgil as he mumbled and slowly sat up.

“Did I just pass out?” Virgil asked, groggily.

Patton was quick to get to his brother, “How are you feeling, bro?”

“My head hurts,” he rubbed it as he looked at the dog.  “Why is there a dog here?”

Patton shrugged, “Don't know, but he’s mean and tried to bite my hand.”

“Um…where’s Logan?” he asked looking around.  “Um... Patton?  Why is there a pile of Logan’s clothing next to the dog?  And why does the dog looks a lot like Logan?”

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

“AAHH!” the two screamed.

“How…what…when…Did I do that?” Virgil asked as he looked at the dog, Logan.

“What other explanation is there?  It does sound pretty far-fetch,” Patton replied.

The dog tilted his head at the two.  Defiantly him, Logan does that all the time.

Patton grabbed his brothers arm and pulled him over, “When could you change people into dogs?”

This is second time that some supernatural thing happened to his crushes.  Though, this time Patton couldn't feel mad at his brother.  It was a complete accident.  A new power seemed to have formed within him.  Or maybe he’s always had this power and something triggered it.

Virgil shrugged, “I didn’t know I could.  I was just getting frustrated and boom.”

Patton turned, “Can you change him back?”

“I can't control my powers, and this new,” Virgil glared.  “Maybe the book can help.”

His Misunderstood Shadowling began to scan through the book.

Patton moved back over to Logan, “Okay, Virgil is going to fix this.  He just needs to figure out how to get you out of the dog days."

Logan only looked at him.  Right, dogs could only talk in Patton's dreams.  But…Virgil had telepathy, so maybe he could communicate to Logan instead.  Back home when he read animal's minds, he told him it was strange.  Like English but mixed with a bunch of gibberish.  Since Logan is human, maybe he they could talk that way.

With that he ran out of the room and up to his shared room.  He grabbed one of Virgil’s black hair bands that was lying on the table.  With that he ran back downstairs with it.

“You put this one,” he puffed out as he gave his brother the hairband.

“Why?” he asked while looking at it.

“We can’t communicate with Logan,” Patton grinned.  “He seems to still be Logan you should be able to read his mind.  Mind sharing with him.”

Virgil tried to cover the small chuckle that came out.

Virgil slipped the band onto himself and pushed the book into his brother's hands, “Stop if it saw curse, magic, enchanted, or reverse.”

Patton nodded and began to scan through the book.

_________________

Virgil looked down at Logan.

“Okay, I’m going to try and see if this works,” Virgil mumbled.  “You probably want an explanation.”

What did you do to me?!

“Well, I can’t really explain that,” Virgil replied.  “You see I didn’t know I can change people into dogs until ten minutes.  But I can do other things like freeze time, telepathy, and telekinesis.  I just can’t really control them.  I don’t know how I got them, but I do know that my eye is the source.”

Do you think I’m stupid?

“Do I think your stupid?  No,” Virgil rolled his eyes.  “I think your stubborn and arrogant.  Besides, how do you explain that I can read your thoughts and that you’re a dog?”

Clearly, a gas leak is creating hallucinations.

“Okay, you stick with that,” Virgil got up moving the headbands so that it went behind his bangs instead.  His hair covered his eye once again.  He was done with Mr. Logic, “Find anything Popstar?"

“Fairies, witches, and Enchanted Lake,” Patton shook his head.  “I don’t think we can find fairies and witches and a lake isn’t going to help us.”

“Enchanted Lake,” Virgil took the book finding the page.  “Pat, it’s not a normal lake.  It washes away curses and heals the body.  Did you not read this all the way through?”

He boy pouted as he turned around, “I liked the fairies.”

“Okay, change of plans today.  We are going to a lake in the middle of the forest,” Virgil replied.  “Let’s just hope we can get back before the tour is over.”

“I’ll go grab some stuff,” Patton smiled, running upstairs to get whatever he thought they needed.

“Welp,” Virgil smiled.  “Better wait for him.”

Soon enough, Patton reappeared carrying a backpack with him now.  He knelt down and began shoving Logan's clothing into a backpack.  His grappling hook was in the side pocket of the backpack.

“Wait,” Patton went up and pushed his brother's bangs back with the hairband.  “Keep them pushed back, at least for today.”

He walked over the door, placing the journal back into his jacket pocket.  When the other two didn't follow him, Virgil turned.  Patton had knelt down while Logan growled at him.

I will not be carried.

“I hate to break it to you,” Virgil said.  “But the snow is about a foot deep and you're teeny tiny.  Let Pat carry you.”

“Yeah,” Patton added.  “You’ll get cold.”

After a few minutes, Logan relented and Patton was able to carry him.

_____________

They've been walking for a total of thirty minutes and Virgil knew they were lost.  The last time he read a map it was a family road trip and they got lost.  Though, he blamed that on his parents since they were the ones that gave a seven-year-old the map to navigate.  And, the trip ended up sucking anyway.

“If that’s that, and that’s that,” Virgil looked up at the map and at the forest.  “We go that way.”

He pointed the west and began to walk.  Patton was quick to follow his brother into the woods.  Really, that was just a guess, but it was better than what they were doing right now.

“What if we see the gnomes again?” Patton asked.

“You kicked their butts yesterday, we won’t be seeing them for a while,” Virgil shrugged, as he looked at the book.

Wait?  Gnomes?

“Yep, they wanted to marry Patton yesterday,” Virgil replied.

I do not follow.

“Patton explain yesterday’s predicament,” Virgil looked from the journal to get a sense of his where he was.  He hoped he could figure out where he was.

“Oh, so after you left the store, I meet this really cute guy named Norman and I went out with him.  He was so nice and sweet, but Virgil didn’t like him and thought he was a zombie…” he went on about him getting kidnapped and Virgil coming in saving him from the gnomes, but they turned into a giant gnome.

You know the rest.

Virgil traced his hand on a tree, “We need to find a twisted looking tree.”

Patton looked around, “I don’t see one.”

“Hello,” a voice said from behind them.

Virgil was fast to turn.  There was a young woman in front of them.  She had short dark brown hair that had loose curls.  The ends were dyed blond.  She had piercing green eyes and tan skin.  What got Virgil was the black dress she was wearing.  It went down to her knees.  The only thing on her feet were a pair of sandals that's straps went up her legs.

Virgil knew that whatever she was, she wasn’t human.  Virgil hugged the journal closer to his chest.  It gave him some comfort.

“Hi,” Patton smiled.  “We’re looking for an Enchanted Lake for my friend.”

He gestured to Logan.

She looked at the human-turned-dog, “Oh, what happened to him?”

“My brother…” Patton stopped himself from continuing.  “We need to reverse a curse on our friend and the Enchanted Lake is the only thing that can help him.”

She nodded, “Yes, but I’m not going to let you near it.”

“What…” before anyone could move, she threw back a hand sending them all flying.

Large, feathered wings moved out from her back as she walked over to Virgil.  The journal had fallen out of his hands.  He managed to get up, but she was quickly advancing.

“I see human in you,” she gazed at him.  “But I sense something that I’ve never sensed in any other human before.”

Virgil stumbled back, “Stay away from me.”

He fell.  Virgil began to scoot back while in the snow.  Snow seeped into his clothing as he stared at her.  His chest began to tighten.  When she was no more than a foot away from Virgil his eye began to glow purple and she froze him her spot.

He gathered the journal back into his hands and ran back to his brother.

“We have to go,” Virgil began move.

They began to run.  Logan still in Patton’s arms.

“What is she?” Patton asked, as Virgil looked through the book.

“A fae or fairy,” Virgil replied.  “They protect certain parts of the forests.  Some live in groups, while others stay isolated.”

“A fairy?!" the other asked in awe.

"She's trying to kill us!" Virgil glared as they continued running.

"Why doesn’t the Enchanted Lake page talk about them?” Patton asked, switching the topic.

“I don’t know, maybe they weren’t there when the Author found it,” Virgil replied.

A growl came and suddenly the fae was behind them.  She pushed Virgil to the ground and pushed Patton and Logan away from them with her other hand.  The journal slipped from his grip and fell somewhere he couldn’t see.  He tried his hardest to fight her, but her hands came around his arms and pinned him to the ground.

“I wonder,” she stared down at Virgil, “Not many can overpower me, but you did.  Yet you can’t protect yourself from me now.”

He kicked out, “Don’t touch me!”

Suddenly, something hit her in the side of sending her off of Virgil.  She hissed in pain.

Patton was glaring at the fairy.  In his right hand was the grappling hook and in the other was the journal.  Logan had been set on the ground, growling at her.

Once he felt the grip on him slip Virgil ran to the two.

His brother aimed the grappling hook at the fae again, continuing his glare.  She glared back at him, and stood back up.  There was a visible red splotch on her cheek.

Virgil took that as a sign to pick Logan off the ground.

“Don’t touch my brother!” Patton yelled, keeping his aim.

“What are you going to do?” she laughed, the red spot on her cheeks began to leave.

They did the only thing that they could.  The trio ran as far as they could before she could grabbed them again.

They stopped behind a tree, lying flat against it.  Logan was held tighter in Virgil's arms.  Beside him, Pat had the grappling hook in his hands, ready in case she attacked them again.

What just happened?

“Shush,” Virgil whispered trying to keep his breath even.

“Where are you?” she flew in.  "You can't hide from me."

They were behind the tree for a few seconds.  Her footsteps crushed in the snow.  The fae was getting closer and closer.  Virgil stopped breathing.  Logan began to tremble.  Patton tightened his grip on his grappling hook.  She couldn't have been more than ten feet away now.

A snap and a scream made them jump.

Patton was the first to turn around.  Followed by Virgil and Logan.

Once they saw that she was stuck in a bear trap, the two looked snapped back to hiding.  Virgil didn't remember seeing that when they were running for their lives, but to be fair they had bigger things on their minds.  He was just happy that none of them had ran into it instead.  They'd all be dead right now.

"She's stuck," Patton whispered.

“Fae’s can’t touch iron,” Virgil mumbled what he remembered from the journal.  “It’s their weakness.  Steel is an alloy of iron and carbon.”

“We can’t leave her,” Patton turned.  “She’s in pain.”

“Pat, she's trying to hurt us," Virgil reasoned, but the look that Patton gave him made Virgil sigh, “Fine.”

They walked towards the fae with caution.  Her eyes snapped up at them.  She wasn’t pushing them back, so Virgil guessed that the trap weakened her powers.  She struggled to get her leg free, but that only caused her more pain.  She gave a small moan of pain and stopped her struggles, but she still had her guard up.

“We’re only here to help,” Patton reasoned he placed both hands up.

“Stay away,” she weakly gasped.

Virgil set Logan next to him and he followed the twins.

“We can help you get out,” Virgil replied.

Slowly, she let them come closer, but her eyes didn't leave them.

Patton knelt down and Virgil did the same.

Logan bark getting Virgil’s attention.

Ask if she can move her foot.

“Can you move your foot any?” Virgil asked.

She nodded slowly, while moving her foot around.

Virgil, you need to push down on the springs.  When there is enough of an opening have here slip her leg out.  Tell Patton to grab her hand, it is going to hurt.

“I’m going to push down on the springs.  Patton hold her hand.  Slip you’re foot out as soon as you can,” Virgil took a breath as he began to apply pressure to the springs.

Patton wrapped both of his hands around hers.

She gave a small noise as it began to open.  Her grip tightening on Pat's hand.  Virgil pushed down as hard as he could, creating enough of a space for her to pull her leg free.  Once everyone was away from the trap, Virgil let the thing slam shut.  He looked over to the fae, who's leg was bloody and slightly bruised, but he can see that it was beginning to heal by itself.

“Thank you,” she smiled.  “How did you know that?”

“Logan told me,” Virgil replied pointing at him.

“You can communicate with him?” she asked.

Virgil nodded, “He’s human, just doesn’t look like it.”

She looked at all three of them.  They gave her enough room to adjust herself and let her wings stretch out.

“You have no intention of hurting my people?” she asked.

“No, we really are just trying to help Logan,” Patton replied.

She gave them a sincere smile as he flew herself up a little bit to keep herself from using the injured leg.

“Thank you,” she turned towards them.  “You could have left, but instead you helped me.  Come, I will take you to the Enchanted Lake, so that you can reverse the curse on your friend.”

Patton had placed his grappling hook back in his backpack and handed the journal back to Virgil.  He placed it in back in his jacket pocket and stood up.  Pat had gathered Logan in his arms as they began to follow her.

“What are your names?  I’m Rae,” she said.

“I’m Patton,” Patton stated.  “This is my twin brother, Virgil.  And this is our friend, Logan.”

She nodded as she took them to a lake that seemed to glow green.

Other fairies flew around.

“Here it is the Enchanted Lake,” she smiled.  “You three are welcome here anytime.”

“Thank you,” Patton smiled.  “I’m sorry about hitting you, I thought you were going to hurt my brother.”

“And I’m sorry about freezing you, that just happens sometimes,” Virgil replied.

“And I’m sorry for chasing you,” Rae smiled.

Patton took Logan and placed him at the edge of the lake.

He jumped in and after a few seconds he reemerged human again.

“That was not ideal,” Logan said and looked down.  “I am not clothed.”

“We packed you’re clothing and a towel,” Patton pulled off the backpack.  “We’ll turn around.”

Five minutes later, Logan was completely clothed.

"Goodbye," Rae waved to them.

“Bye.  Thank you again, Rae,” Patton smiled.

“Thanks,” Virgil waved.

“Thank you and goodbye,” Logan thanked as he followed the twins.

They walked through the woods.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Virgil mumbled.  “I...OH GOD!  Someone knows!”

“I am the only person that knows?” he asked.

“Other than Patton,” Virgil hugged the journal.  “I want to understand them, but they're just so random.  My brother falls and I can catch him with telepathy, but the when I focus on trying to use them, I can't.

“Well, I will not tell anyone," Logan replied.  "I'm sorry, I caused you distress."

Virgil gave a small smile, "It's fine."

Patton smiled, “You two are getting along now!”

They remained quiet for the rest of the trip.  Though, Virgil didn't find this silence uncomfortable.  It was more of a comforting one.

When the trio returned back to the museum, Virgil placed the journal behind the counter and tied his hoodie around his waist.  He hoped that it covered some of the wet spots on him.  They had thirty minutes before any of the tour groups came in.

“I’m going to go get a snack,” Patton announced before leaving for the two alone.

Once he knew that Patton was gone, Virgil knew he had to say it.  It wasn't like he could hold it back anymore.

Virgil sighed, “My brother is fragile person and for some reason he has taken a liking to you.  Now I understand if you don’t want to be anywhere near me anymore, but can you please not do the same to Patton.  He takes it hard when people he cares about just turn on him.  If I see you in the store, I’ll go in the opposite direction, and you'll never have to see me again.”

Logan took that in for a second, “Today was not ideal, but in all honesty, it has probably been one of the best days of my life.  Most days I spend them either looking through useless junk or reading books I have already read before or just staying home.  Today, I did something.”

Virgil found himself aghast, “Does that mean you’re not going to spray me with holy water.”

“Friends do not spray each other with holy water,” Logan stated.

Virgil gave him a look, “We’re friends?”

“Today you proved me wrong,” Logan looked down.  “I mean this has all been under my nose and I haven't noticed.  Maybe I could help you with your abilities.  You opened my eyes up.  I have to consider someone like that as a friend.”

“How are you going to help me?” Virgil questioned.  Not that he didn't like it.  It's just that he's tried for so long to understand them, he doubted that Logan would be able to crack the mystery that was Virgil's powers.  He's been at it for a while, and he was never able to figure it out.

“I find experiments invigorating,” Logan replied.

“I get to be your lab rat?” Virgil shrugged.  “You know what, I’ll do it.”

Maybe Logan Crofters wasn't that bad of a guy after all.

Patton returned and took a bit of a sandwich, “Are we all friends now?”

The two looked at each other, nodding.

Patton pulled them into a group hug.  With a lose hand he pulled out his polaroid and snapped a couple of pictures of them.

“Thank goodness!” Patton squealed.  "I need photos, so I never forget this!"

“Patton,” Virgil gasped.  “Can’t…breath…”

“Sorry,” he smiled and released the two and collected the photos that had fallen out.

“I got to get behind the desk,” Virgil smiled as he jumped up on the counter.  “Customers are going to start to come in.”

“We should take more photos,” Patton held up his polaroid again.

“Is he always like this?” Logan leaned towards Virgil.

“Yep, but you got to admit it’s pretty cute,” Virgil shrugged.

Logan nodded, “It is.”

Virgil grinned at the blush that formed on his brother’s cheeks.  If Patton and Logan ever got together, Virgil approved of it.

____________

When Logan returned home later that evening, he placed his trench coat on the coat hanger.  From the lack of other coats, there was no one else home.  He took off his boots and went to start making dinner.

He pulled out a polaroid photo from his pocket.  Patton gave it to him before he left.  Virgil was behind the register a little bit startled from Patton grabbing him around the neck.  Logan had been pulled in from the side by Patton.  Patton was in the middle grinning.

Logan smiled a little before placing the photo on the refrigerator.  He didn't know what he has just gotten himself into, but he did not regret it.

[purplechimera8]

21 things

Rules: answer 21 questions then tag 21 people

Nickname: Purple is what most people call me. Some people call me Chimera which I guess is the username equivalent of calling someone their last name? IDK. My husband calls me Starlight a lot

Zodiac: LEO BABY

Height: 5′8″ or 173cm

Last movie I saw: Into The Spiderverse!!!!!!

Last thing I googled: A high-five gif lol because I was on my phone and Discord doesn’t have gifs on their phone app for some bizarre reason

Favorite Musician: UMMMMMMMMM Troye Sivan? Murder By Death? Crosby Stills Nash & Young? Rhianna? idk boo I love all the music

Song stuck in my head: well, right now, the Addams Family theme because my kid came home singing the days of the week to that tune lol

Other blogs: there are other blogs?

Followers: lmao like 30

Following: more than 30? idk lol

Amount of sleep: 9ish hours

Lucky numbers: 8!

Dream job: oh man. I love writing, but I also love, love LOVED when I was a docent at a house museum.

What I’m wearing: A navy sweater, tweed pants and brown boots. Because it is my life goal to actually become Remus Lupin

Favorite food: anything savory. Right now I’m really into making ridiculous sandwiches (yesterday was hard boiled egg, tomato, spinach, avocado & bacon)

Language: English is my native language. I am (very slowly) pulling French out of the recesses of my brain (thanks @art-of-ame !); I speak a bit of Hebrew, and like 4 words of Swedish.

Can I play an Instrument: piano a bit, I played violin for 8 years, and I play the vocal chords ;)

Favorite song: ARE YOU REALLY GOING TO MAKE ME PICK ONE?! You’re so mean.

Random Fact: I used to have a belly button piercing

Describe yourself in aesthetic things: clothes covered in flour, the crunch of pine needles as you walk through the woods, the liminal space of being the only person awake in the house, the clacking of a typewriter, homemade bread, the flicker of birthday candles, hooking your pinky with his, silver wire jewelry, talking until sunrise, living room karaoke, random piles of books

not gonna tag 21 ppl but here are a few (do this only if you want to!)

i’m tagging: @jennandblitz @maraudererasmut @letsdothepanic @chromat1cs @art-of-ame

[the-resurrection-3d]

Somehow wrote 1.1k of a scene for the deer fic? Alright. Brief Paultryck, brief minor character death. Will probably have a version with citations up on dreamwidth soon because it’s almost 5 am and this is what happens when I’m left to my own devices. 

Shakespeare was wrong; most of us are not players. To say that the average man is a player in the course of his own life is at best misleading and at worse tragically comedic. Orwell summarized it best; the truest impulse for the average man is that towards being consumed. Stepping onto the whale's tongue and lying down in its stomach, the final irresponsibility short of death.

Yet I am here. 

Don't mistake me, I have no pretenses that this new 'Red Army' is going to accomplish much of anything, much less anything important, but you also must understand a whale has poor TV reception and few bookstores, even fewer sharp edges with which to drive into one's eye, solid walls against which to smash one's occiput. What else am I supposed to do for fun?

A large man with thick caterpillar brows asks for my name.

Yves, I say. Our name-tags are fill in, and all I have put is my old cat's name in my inherited doctor's script, which thus far not one person has managed to read. His says "Paul," upside down.

We are pretending to mop up a hallway while we smoke, he lolled against the door frame going out into the camp's shipping bay, door propped open against his broad shoulder. Cigarettes are rare and subject to raids during piss-breaks, so we have decided to share one, one toke at a time. That was another thing Orwell prepared me for, excited me with - the breakdown of normal codes of conduct.

I am still a bit caught, though; every emotion is still a little bit disgusting. Such as the way the setting sun paints itself across his arm, up his neck and unshaven jaw.

Paul who is my superior. Paul who is so my type it's pathetic.

He passes me the cigarette, his glove without fingers, leather black and well-worn. He doesn't look he's shaved anywhere but his face since his voice first cracked.

Funny name, he says. I swear I've heard that name before. He snaps his fingers. Isn't that a --

A french designer, Yves Saint-Laurent, I say. And the name of the Pardoner in Patience Agbabi's rendition, from a crooked churchman to a self-help profiteer, You want to know the consequences of sinning? Don't ask a saint, O ladies, ask a sinner.

Getting stabbed and left comatose for ten years, watched over by the corpses of the men I'd meant to poison. Shakespeare would approve.

Paul smiles, but then seems to catch himself, and looks down, taking a long drag. A cool wind is blowing in; I can smell the snow in the air. There's still blood on the floor from a fight Yanov had picked earlier: nosebleeds, a few lost teeth. I'd had to press the cloth to the new recruit's face and listen to him blubber about his innocence, his poverty, his sick mother. A caretaker's white noise machine.

Paul is wearing a fur-lined bomber jacket over his red sweater, one hand in his pocket, the other idly twirling the cigarette. I re-envision the way he'd gotten dressed this morning, out of the very corner of my eye: sitting on his stiff pallet against the wall in only his boxers, back turned so we could all see the way his muscles tense as he put on his black muscle shirt. Exercise first thing after breakfast.

He catches my eyes and I step out, sitting down on the first stone step. A lovely horizon of barbed wire fences and shipping crates. Beyond the first fence, where the other men usually play cards under the mid-day sun, Red Leader has had a dissenter hung. I can't see from here, but I wonder if his blood has already settled, lips blue while his feet are swollen purple. Overnight he may freeze so thoroughly you could cut off a limb without losing a single drop.

A doe has found the corpse, lying in a patch of dead grass amongst the concrete as her infant licks at his pale fingertips.

Hey! Paul calls in Dutch. Get away from there! He bangs his fist on the door so loudly they scatter. Go on, get!  

Better in them than strung up there, I say. Besides, they'll simply come back when Red throws him into the ravine tomorrow.

A noise of discomfort. Maybe so, Paul says, slipping back into English. But that doesn't mean it's gotta be in front of me. Are you sure you're not cold?

I am only wearing the sweater and my fingers are soon to be throbbing with pain. I say, No.

Something hits my back, making my heart leap into my throat with an embarrassing noise. Paul laughs heartily. I twist to grab his jacket, turning my eyes back up to him - the cigarette dangles off the corner of his smile. He's rolling up his sleeves, gesturing for me to put it on. I drape it over my shoulders, allowing it to hang loose and open on me like a blanket instead.

Thank you, I say, voice quiet of its own accord. Turn my gaze back to the hanged man, who is still in the wind, a shock of white with his shaved head and prisoner's clothes against the crimson sunset.

No problem, he says, just throw it on my bed when you come back inside. I'm gonna go see if there are any leftovers; do you want anything?

If I take my gaze away from the sun I'll go with him. Turning into a pillar of salt would be better than sharing another dinner with him, returning his jacket in person, our fingers brushing for a fraction of a second too long to be accidental, having to sleep in too-small on almost opposite sides of the room. Too many entries in-between Auslander and Desmet.

Turning into a pillar of salt would certainly be better than standing up and having him spot my erection. I ask without turning away, You think Red would appreciate the bold aesthetic choice we've left in the hall?

He'll be fine.

I shrug. You know him better than I.

A small laugh. Unfortunately. Last chance for leftovers.

I'm fine. Thank you.

Your loss. The door falls shut. I pull the edges of his jacket closer in, imagining myself a child again, blanket tight around me as my brother and I watched TV with the volume off, because it was close to 11 pm on a Saturday, and we weren't supposed to even be using any electricity. Every creak a sign of the house's incoming treachery, every motion in the peripheral of my vision a tiny little monster, taking notes.

Come to think of it, I called him a dissenter earlier, but I have not actually confirmed that's the case. Does it matter? What's done is done. Either way, the deer come back for us.

For some reason, looking at him hanging there makes me almost want to cry.

The other Yves's home is now a museum. In mine, the statue of Hermione collects scarves and keeps her mouth shut.

[writing-parker]

A Series of Vignettes- Bucky Barnes

Summary: A series of episodes and events in the reader’s and Bucky’s relationship. Big and small, sweet or angsty, these stories lay out the moments in time they carved out for themselves in the crazy world they live in. They all take place in the same universe, but do not need to be read in any particular order.

Warnings: Some of these stories touch on topics including: PTSD, mentions of violence, suicide, death, drugs, alcohol, strong language, and smut. Each vignette has its own warnings.

A/N: So, i so a prompt that said “You’re laying on your lovers chest and their heartbeat speeds up” and this is what came of it. Also, dogs. Lots of fluff. enjoy/ 

Let me know if you would like to be tagged.

A Night in Brooklyn | Beautiful World | Johannesburg

It’s nearly noon, and you’re still in bed. The two of you weren’t normally the type to waste a perfectly good day tangled under the covers, but the cold November air was unforgiving when, earlier this morning, you went to your bodega for coffee and bagels.

“No more ‘outside’ today.” You grumbled to Bucky when you were safely back in your shared loft. “Too cold.”

Bucky’s smile turned into a laugh when he pressed his cold fingers to your neck.

“Stop!” You yelped, squirming away from him.

His arms circle you, not letting you go anywhere, “No more ‘outside’.” He promised.

It was the first really cold day of the year, temperatures nearly dipping below freezing. You spent all summer complaining about the NYC heat, but now that winter was closing in you missed the hot, heavy air.

You hooked your leg over Bucky’s hips, head on his chest, while you scrolled through Netflix titles. “Have I made you watch Cheers yet?” You ask.

Bucky stares out the large windows that your bed is pressed up against. “Don’t really feel like starting something new,” he looks down at you for a moment, one hand coming up to card his fingers through his hair.

“Mmm,” You hum, pressing your face into his chest further and dropping the Apple TV remote, abandoning the thought of television. Bucky’s gaze returns to the streets below you. The large windows that covered nearly every wall in your loft have quickly became his favorite part of your apartment.

Looking for apartments with Bucky had been difficult. Not because he was so picky, but the exact opposite. Where did he want to live? I don’t care, you pick. How many bedrooms? Does it matter? A brownstone or an apartment or a loft? I’m happy if you are.

So, that’s how the two of you ended up in a large loft in Williamsburg, looking over McCarren Park. The space was huge and open, the only walls being the ones that separated the bedroom and bathrooms from the rest of the space. Floor to ceiling windows nearly covered every wall, letting so much light in that you rarely ever had to use the artificial kind.

“It’s huge.” Bucky had said when you guys toured the place, “But, doll, there’s no walls.”

“Nuh-uh.” You said, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the French doors that led to the bedroom, “Look. Doors and walls for the bedroom and bathrooms. And besides, it’s a loft- that’s kinda the point. And it’s right by the train. And Steve’s. And the park. And-”

Bucky cuts you off with a kiss, “You really like it?”

“I love it.” You tell him giddily.

The next day you were signing your first lease together.

Bucky subconsciously pulled you closer to him, your warm body chasing away the chill of the day. He would be content to never get out of bed on the weekends, but you were an early riser, dragging him to brunches and museums and the parks you liked to spend your days in. Not that he would ever complain. He enjoyed that time, too.

And besides, he would follow you to hell and back. All you had to do was hold out your hand for him to take.

You scroll through Instagram and Twitter, listening to the sound of Bucky’s steady heartbeat under your ears. Eventually, your phone falls to the side and you feel yourself being lulled to sleep as his fingers play with your hair absentmindedly.

You’re barely conscious when you hear the speed of Bucky’s heartbeat increase rapidly. You look up at him, concerned, only to find him gazing out of the window peacefully.

“Buck?” You tug at his shirt a little.

“Hmm?” He hums, his gaze not leaving the street below.

“Your heart just got all fast… what are you looking at?” You push yourself up on his chest a little.

“What? I…nothing- just… look at those dogs.” Bucky forces out eventually, cheeks a little red.

You sit up to peer over him and it takes everything in you not to laugh out loud. In the park below your window, an elderly woman pushes a stroller holding two French Bulldogs in matching sweaters. You press your lips together and look at him, eyes wide, smile playing at the corners of your mouth.

“Don’t laugh at me.” He grumbles as he pulls you on top of him and buries his head in your neck. “They’re cute.”

One of your hands comes up to tease the hairs at the nape of Bucky’s neck and you can’t help the loud laugh that escape your lips when you think of his endearing response to seeing the small, well-dressed pups.

“Big ole softie, is all you are.” Is all you say, tugging on his hair a little to get him to look at you. He nuzzles his face further into your neck.

“Y/n,” Bucky whines, drawing out the syllables of your name.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell the guys.” You tease.

Before you know what’s happening, both of Bucky’s hands are tightening around your waist, and he’s flipped you both so he’s hovering over you, tickling your sides.

“Stop!” You shriek with laughter.

With a conniving laugh of his own, Bucky pushes you further into the mattress, fingers unrelenting, “Bucky! Oh my god, stop, I’m gonna pee!” You kick at him, and eventually he collapses on top of you with an over-dramatic sigh, always careful to not put his full weight on you.

You push him up and he flops down beside you, pulling you back to his chest. Settling back in, you feel your eyelids start to grow heavy, and you nuzzle into your boyfriend for an afternoon nap.

“Baby?” Bucky asks quietly.

“Mmm?”

“Let’s get a dog.”

Tags: @liamakorn @acupofhotlatte @captainmommaoftwogirls @reallyconfusednowpt2 @stressedasalways @swtmckngbrd @emmiejames

[jackalopedread]

tagged by @itherienmollymauk (thank you I love filling things like this out :3)

Rules: answer 21 questions and tag 21 people that you’d like to get to know better. (Make a separate post.)

1. Nickname - Ved/Frick/Beepis

2. Zodiac Sign - Opiuchus/Sagittarius depending on how you subscribe

3. Height - 5′4 if ya round up

4. Last Movie You Saw - I watched a documentary about syphilis

5. Last Thing You Googled - uh it was gabes url so I could copy this post lol

6. Favorite Musician - currently murder by death, Leyla McCalla, and Mitski

7. Song Stuck In Your Head - el paso song by st. Cinder

8. Other Blogs - @inspivedis is where I put stuff that gives me ideas/I can use as reference, @bogpaint is my art/poetry blog

9. Do I get asks - sometimes usually from Varen or miranda

10. Followers - 38

11. Following - 554 (holy shit)

12. Average Amount Of Sleep - about three or four unless I've accidentally fallen asleep at like two in the afternoon then I sleep for like eighteen hours

13. What Am I Wearing - big grey partially ribbed sweater and black leggings

14. Dream Job - in this world? I wanna work at a museum, get up to some anthropological shenanigans. Otherwise I'd be the friendly taproom owner who gives the chosen one/dnd party vague allusions to What Is To Come

15. Dream Trip - I wanna go back to Germany soooooooo badly. It would also be a lot of fun to visit Ireland!

16. Favorite Food - I looooooove spaghetti if there was anywhere in town that did delivery spaghetti I'd never cook

17. Play Any instrument - I can play the clarinet!

18. Favorite Song - this does vary but I think my current four are: Doubt Comes In (Hadestown) Plough the Shit (Ben Caplan) Capitalist Blues (Leyla McCalla) Dream in Red (Murder by Death)

19. Random Fact About Me - I used to have a pretty big following and then a post I made during the Height of Dad Joke tumblr a few years ago blew up and I got more followers and I deleted all of my blogs in a paranoid panic (the exact same thing happened with one other tumblr account and my cosplay page of facebook)

20. Describe Yourself As Aesthetic Things - I don't know how to do this but my favourite colour is yellow I chase thunderstorms around when possible clouds are my favourite thing to take photos of and I love doing the laundry take from that what you will

21. Who Are You Tagging - this is so much pressure @elfroots420 @wolfsskull @whomgodsannoy I don't Know I'm very sorry if this bothers anybody

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Chapter 2

I don't know if any of my posts show up under the tags, but I keep trying...

So, here's the second chapter of my WIP on Ao3...

°2° ~Victoria~

As she sipped her scalding hot tea, Victoria glanced up with a startled twitch when the small bell hanging over the door resounded with its high-pitched chime, announcing another visitor to the tearooms.

Usually, it was very quiet so soon after lunchtime and Victoria’s annoyance only increased as she did not enjoy the prospect of having idle witnesses sit by while Angie sprang whatever trap she had come up with on her.

Angie was the sweetest person on this earth, and utterly incapable of lying convincingly, which meant that Victoria was very keenly aware of the fact that some obscure and potentially nefarious plot had been set in motion and that she was most probably the subject and victim of said plan.

Being summoned to the tearoom outside of her usual visiting hours had been the first indicator, but Angie’s flushed face sealed the deal for good. She had hatched out something, probably with Liza, and it made Victoria nervous that she had not even the slightest inkling when it came to the precise nature of her wrongdoing that was to be remedied.

Was it her clothes? She looked down on the short grey skirt and the fluffy sweater she was wearing, finding nothing wrong with their sober, clean aspect. She did not look like she was about to step onto the red carpet, but she presented no offense by being either sloppy or indecently dressed, did she?

The newcomer turned out to be none other than Liza, her dark skin glistening impossibly smooth over a red jumper that made her look positively incandescent. A twinge of envy rose in Victoria as she observed the perfectly applied make-up and the endlessly long legs in tight jeans of the other woman as she strolled towards her, looking out of place and exotic in this quaint little décor.

“Vic!” Even her voice was magical, Victoria thought with a sigh, deep and velvety, Liza sounded like an otherworldly creature every time she opened her mouth; a mouth that now curled into a plum-coloured smirk.

Grabbing one of the tiny sandwiches on the tower in front of her friend, Liza sunk down with perfect elegance and grace, nodding at Jenna behind the counter to let her know that she was to call Angie to the fray as well.

“Ah, you’re here. Hello, my love.” Angie rushed out, her dark ginger hair in a messy bun and her cheek dusted with flour.

As they sat across from her, Victoria was more convinced than ever that she was to be led to the slaughter like an Easter lamb and her eyes darted to the door, gauging how probable it was that she would manage to dash towards it and make it out before either one of the other three women coaxed her back into her seat.

“So…I wanted to ask for a favour.” Liza purred, her voice deceivingly liquid and warm as Victoria motioned to her to go on talking. She would not refuse out of hand, not after the immense service of friendship these two had done her after her nasty divorce and her falling out with her own family.

“I have a work function the day after tomorrow and I wanted to ask you if you were interested in accompanying me.”

“Do you need help serving?” Victoria turned to Angie who nodded along with her partner’s words, thinking, quite rightly, that she would probably serve some of her delicious cakes and canapés at this occasion.

“Oh, no, Jenna will be there.” Angie replied evasively, shaking her head almost imperceptibly at the young woman shifting her weight from one foot to the other nervously behind the counter.

“So…what am I doing there?” Victoria asked slowly, her nostrils flaring as if she was trying to catch the scent of a predator, ready to run for her life. “Having fun? Go out?” Liza’s voice grew harder, steel under silk, and Victoria could hear the sword being unsheathed, ringing with fierce glee in her intonation.

So, that was it. Her tendency to stay home and not see anyone or speak to anyone other than the three women in the room presently, Victoria thought. It had been months and they were growing tired of watching her isolate herself.

It was understandable, but they did not know how hard it had been to leave her home and all the things she had thought eternal. She was not ready to make nice and pretend that there was anything good waiting just around the riverbend for her. Moreover, she had been busy enough, binging shows and movies in the privacy of the narrow, little house she had purchased from the first settlement her ex-husband had sent through.

For years, she had not gotten to watch movies as her father thought it frivolous and detrimental to her intelligence and her ex-husband had only ever watched the kind of movies, he fancied himself. Now, on the other hand, she was her own woman and she had used the time wisely, consuming as much silly, ludicrous content as she possibly could between her reading and her long spells of absent-minded sulking.

“I don’t know. What kind of soirée is that?” She asked, cautious, but Liza promised that it was nothing too outlandish even though she was expected to wear formal clothing. “White tie?” – “No gloves.” Liza laughed; she could imagine Vic turning up in gloves and a real fur-stole, dragging a train the length of a full-grown man.

Victoria was still suspicious, but she didn’t want to offend her friends by being too harsh about their invitation, especially as she knew that they were merely worried about her. It might well be that she had withdrawn just a tiny bit too much since arriving on that blasted island her family hated so much and that the streak of pettiness in her had gotten the better of her, but after the blow she had been dealt, who could have really blamed her?

She had been married at the tender age of 20 and, not 10 years later, her husband had decided that she had grown too old and “fat”, those had been the words he had used, to satisfy his needs and his new-found status. After years of devoted service to him and to his idea, after having helped him create the empire of internet sensations that had made him a rich and influential man, she had been returned to her father like a used bike that had grown rusty.

Her father, of course, had not been overly surprised as she had ever been a disappointment to him, just as he himself had been to the stern woman who now lay six feet under, her lips pursed in distaste, no doubt.

Victoria’s mother had been a minor noble who had been sold to a promising young banker, the stuff legends and bad romance novels were made of, and after their wedding, she had given birth to the eternal disappointment of a daughter who couldn’t even be obedient enough to turn out stunning.

No, instead they had gotten a small girl with dark eyes and dark hair and a petulant frown, a child brought up on bitterness and neglect within a house that resembled a museum more than a home.

In the end, her mother had been that disgusted with her own life that she had drunk herself into an early grave, falling to her death in quite an undignified way, and she had been left alone with a man who couldn’t have loved her if his life had depended on it.

No wonder then that she had run off with the first man to show any interest in her and had been discarded for a young, spritely blonde as soon as his luck had turned. And that was how she had ended up in England, seeking refuge and shelter with two women she had met all those years ago during one of the trips her husband and her once had made.

Back when they had been young and curious, in love with the world and each other, a long, long time ago it seemed to Victoria whose tea had grown cold and bitter, just as everything in her life had.

How was she to blame if she no longer wanted to meet any new people? She knew for a fact that she would disappoint them, that she would fall short of their expectations and that another rejection would flat-out kill her.

She needed time to mend, time to heal, time to build up these walls again that the months spent in her father’s house had torn down. Oh yes, her father was not one to hold back from kicking another person when they were down.

He had made his money and his fortune by swooping in, ready for the kill and eager to strike at all times, he could smell a single drop of blood in an ocean, and he would never hesitate to go straight for the jugular.

“Hmmm, alright, I’ll be there if you want me to.” She agreed slowly, tired already, but she owed them that much. Angie and Liza had taken her in, they had helped her find a house in a quiet neighbourhood and they let her sit around and mope endlessly without interrupting her brooding thoughts with chatter and noise.

Liza had given her a job she didn’t need, and Angie let her hang out in the tearoom at all hours of the day without telling her that it was weird for her to just sit there and watch the sun paint pictures on the brick walls shielding the courtyard from prying eyes.

“Maybe, we can get our hair done? It will be nice to feel like we’re actual, real people again.” Liza whooped, relieved that it had been so easy to sway Vic, because she had really thought that she would have to bribe and threaten her friend to come out of hiding.

For a moment, she wondered if she was about to destroy the little strength her friend had found in her months of solitude by throwing her into a situation she wasn’t prepared for, but she still believed that this could be a good thing.

Vic was too young to behave like a scorned woman or a mourning widow, she was too pretty to let her best years go to waste because that nitwit of a man she had married was too blind to see what a treasure she had been and still was.

A flicker of doubt crept into her thoughts as well as they touched on the men Liza would willingly sacrifice on the altar of Vic’s recovery; they were colleagues and partially…almost…friends even, but men were fickle, everybody knew that, and she had little doubt that they would not mind being milked for an ounce of their charm and maybe of other bodily fluids and then shoved aside. Vic was discreet, she would not drag them through the yellow press, Liza was sure about that.

And, if Martin was to be believed, their intended victim could do with a shag as well.

Angie had not been so keen once the plan had been settled for good, Liza remembered, she felt intense empathy for the lonely bachelor they were about to throw into the maw of Vic’s despair.

“How does it heal the pain of being used and discarded to use and discard someone else?” She had asked and Liza had to admit that she was not wrong, but she was almost certain that there would be no pain this time.

At least, she wanted to believe that there wouldn’t be.

~Richard~

Richard was blessedly unaware of the devious plans of his friend as he sat around, trying to get back to the reading he had been immersed in before being torn away from it by that impish call.

He knew that Martin found it peculiar that he felt so terribly awkward at those functions, but he didn’t like being put on the spot and it was tiresome to try and guess what people were expecting from him.

There would be enough other people to distract potential attention away from him, he tried to soothe himself, having gotten the confirmation from Martin that some of those who really had it made in Hollywood would come to pay tribute to a man who had earned his retirement.

Ah, the very great, he thought with a chuckle, knowing much too well that they were all just people and that, contrary to many celebrities from the other side of the pond, an awkward Brit usually stayed just that, even after making millions.

A cold shiver of anticipation rippled down his spine suddenly. Whatever Martin had planned, he was almost certain that he would easily be able to rope in some of those terribly dignified actor colleagues.

If only their fans knew how wickedly mischievous these people really were. It was one thing to be gently mocked by some reporter or by a family friend and another altogether if people like Hiddleston or Cumberbatch joined forces with Martin.

They were much too smart and too cunning to go for an easily recognised and dodged blow, they would hatch out an elaborate plan and even knowing that he should be weary did nothing to help him discern the best path to choose.

Tread carefully, old boy, he warned himself with a sigh. It was clear that he was being goaded and herded into appearing that evening and he almost wished they would just empty a bucket of pig’s blood on his head.

Checking his phone again, he stared for a few seconds at the empty screen. It had surprised him to be called, because that rarely happened. Other than his brother and his agent, nobody had any reason to call him, and he resented that fact for a minute, feeling the loneliness sink into his bones and making him feel more tired than he had before.

He loved his work, but on days like this one, he wished he had spent less time working and more time building friendships and maybe even finding a woman to stay by his side.

No woman would be willing to live this life though, because the endless waiting and the fretting were too much for any good woman to take. They deserved better, Richard was the first to admit it, and it was unfair and selfish to wish him upon any of them like a curse.

Resolutely, he picked up the script again and, almost immediately, his mind started wandering again. This time, it was the feminine handwriting in the margin that attracted his attention and the acid, unflattering comments made him chuckle under his breath. Whoever that woman was, she was certainly not wrong, and he felt intrigued and curious.

Elizabeth had told him that she had asked a friend to go over some of the scripts, but he had not given it any more thought than that before now. He wondered what that woman would be like and what her background was, as she seemed unaware of many of the clichés common in TV.

There was something else as well, a hint of wicked humour and burning impatience, all neatly embedded in a clean, flowing handwriting that so unmistakeably betrayed an expensive but also rather austere education.

Elizabeth…He remembered the gleam in her eyes when she had told him about her friend and about how she might bring her to the soirée if she could convince her to go out. Maybe, he was not the only one being under duress that evening…a comforting thought.

In his mind, he imagined a mousy, shy girl with lank hair and colourless eyes darting behind thick glasses around the room; after all, Elizabeth had said that her friend was loath to leave the house, which made him believe that she might be the introverted, socially inept type of woman who always felt ill at ease among other people.

“You’re projecting, my dear.” A nasty voice in the back of his mind snarled. If he looked the way he felt, the career he had known would have been out of the question, there was no doubt about that.

Then again, that was the reason why it was called acting, it was pretence, it was not real, he was just good at making people believe that he could be all the things that he certainly was not.

Well, he would ask Elizabeth to be introduced to the woman who wanted nothing to do with people and who wrote such witty and clever remarks in the margin of the script he held in his hands. She seemed like a person worth meeting.

[lostinfic]

Mercier x Betty Soulmates AU

Words: 4k | One shot

Rating: all-ages

Summary: Modern day. Mercier is an historian obsessed with retracing his past lives and a woman appearing in all of them. He will get a little help from a sweater.

This is for @starlightkissedsmiles​ who asked “ Mercier x Betty and sweaters (because of course) for that bingo card? ❤”

The idea came from an ask by @thewolfsdoctor 

Also,  @timepetalsprompts​ for the autumn bingo

Ao3

Mercier’s hands shook as he slipped on a pair of white cotton gloves to handle the fragile artefact. He laid his palms down on the glass table top, each side of a journal. It belonged to Matthew MacEwan, a Scottish explorer, and dated back to the Seven Years’ War, in 1762. Between the leather covers, pages bulged, brown and wrinkled from water damage. The ink would be faded to the point of being unreadable, but he would know what it said anyway.

Mercier took a deep breath, readying himself for the onslaught of sensations. Even before opening the first page, he could feel it coming. The diary brimmed with energy, intensifying the closer he got to it, like the invisible pull of two magnets. To anyone else, it was another relic from the past, immobile, but to Mercier it was a ticking bomb.

He’d experienced it before.

With every manuscript, a tidal wave of vivid memories assaulted him. A hundred-- a thousand times stronger than a “déjà vu”. The smell of mud and excrement in the trenches, the burning metal of a gun, the bark of German dogs, the Russian cold, like icicles piercing his every pore. Stomach-gripping fear, intoxicating despair, and all-consuming devotion.

The first time he opened one such journal, he fainted. A professor assigned it to him during his first year studying history at the Sorbonne. It was from 1943, its author, Antoine Cadieu, was a member of the Résistance. And Mercier, then a 20 year-old, relived this man’s whole life in barely one minute. Not only relived it, but became him. Was him.

His academic work had not prepared him for the possibility of reincarnation.

He repressed the memory for three years until his internship at the Service Historique de la Défense in Cherbourg. He stumbled upon another journal, this one from 1915. It transported him into the mind of a soldier on the battlefield at Ypres.

Two years later, in an antique store in Vienna, he found a bundle of letters from the Napoleonic war in 1814. One touch and he remembered the scratch of his quill on paper, the messenger’s name, the scent of whale oil from the lamp he used to write.

Barely a month after, during a conference in Montreal, a colleague showed the result of a recent archeological dig. A single contract signed by a soldier in 1690 triggered another flow of memories.

Now, he actively looked for these testimonies of past lives, digging further and further into the past. He could only identify one such item by being in its presence, so every city he traveled to, he visited the local archive services and museums.

He approached the problem methodically, scientifically as he’d learned in university. He researched every one of his past selves in depth to find some connections or an explanation. So far, he had only conjectures and intuitions. It was maddeningly random.

Anna disapproved of his incessant trips to obscure archives and late nights at work, but he couldn’t tell her the real reason behind it: he refused to die like his past incarnations.

He didn’t fear physical pain. It’s not the soul leaving the body that hurt, but the dissatisfaction with one’s life. The incompleteness. Unfinished business. It haunted him now, day and night. And it was not always his own death he felt. Someone else’s too. Just as incomplete. His other half’s death. She was there, in every journal. A different name, a different face, but he knew it was the same person. The same soul. Important. Elusive.

In 1943, her home was a safe house for the Résistance. It got her killed before he reached her.

In 1915, she was married to another soldier in his troop. Even though he’d never met her, he was so jealous of his troopmate, he abandoned him to the enemies. His past self never saw the end of the war, guilt made him careless with his own life.

In 1814, in Austria, she was a young man who found him behind his father’s farm and nursed his wounds. After that, he deserted the army to find his Good Samaritan, thus losing his title and possessions. He never saw him again.

In october 1690, in New France, she was an Ursuline nun. He defended the monastery when it was besieged during the Battle of Quebec. She fought alongside the soldiers, showing more bravery than some men. They spent every night of the siege together, but remained chaste. She left the religious order for him, they ran away to a new colony, but didn’t survive the Canadian winter.

His academic work had not prepared him for the possibility of soulmates.

Who would she be in 1762?

He touched the journal. Electricity burst through the pads of his fingers, sizzled up his arms and thundered in his chest.

This one was different, he could tell right away. Quieter. His heart rate decreased. He’d been mistaken, this wasn’t the Seven Years’ war. Only daily, uneventful life.

Peace and silver snow as far as the eyes could see. Stillness, but for glaciers groaning in the distance like groggy giants. Icicles dripped by the entrance of his hut. The musk of reindeers wafted to his nose. In the pale sky, a great, wide bird drew lazy loops between the clouds.

Ice crunched under footsteps; Sámi men, red caps and blue coats, narrowed their eyes at him, the guossi, the stranger from another land.

Then a laugh, as sweet as spring water. And a woman with a rosy, plump face, frosted eyelashes, and a smile so radiant it could melt all the snow. Lottá. Frozen nose tip to his cheek, and delicate fingers slipping in his fur-lined mitten alongside his palm. The men disapproved, but he didn’t care. He’d found her, beyond the Arctic Circle. They kissed with fog on their breath.

And Mercier was conscious enough to hope. Be happy, just this once.

Lottá coughed, and drops, impossibly red, splattered the immaculate snow. His heart plummeted; he’d brought this disease with him.

Mercier returned to the present with a great gasp of breath, like emerging from the water after diving too deeply. His cheeks were wet.

He put the journal back in its place and left the West Yorkshire archive service.

Outside, he let the cool breeze wash over him. He focused on the air slipping between the stitches of his wool jumper. He stretched his arms above his head until joints popped. Reconnecting with reality, the present time, and with his own body.

He needed time to recuperate and process the experience. To grieve.

He bought a coffee from a street cart and followed Bruntcliff road to Dartmouth Park.

Despite the empirical evidence, his rational mind struggled with the notion of reincarnation. It rebelled against the apparent lack of control over his own destiny.

So far, all his past incarnations had been soldiers, then why had he become an historian? Granted, he’d specialized in military history. Was it so he could uncover all these journals and letters? To what end?

To find her, his heart whispered.

But how? Her appearance changed every time. Or was he supposed to keep faith their paths would cross eventually? He didn’t want to wait. Wait and find her too late and die. What a waste.

Mercier dug up a squashed cigarette pack from the depths of his messenger bag. He’d tried to stop but these experiences were too unnerving. He took a deep drag and let the nicotine operate.

Matthew MacEwan, whose memories he’d just experienced, had been fascinated by the North Pole from childhood. He’d enrolled and spent a decade in the Royal Scots Navy to learn the seamanship skills necessary for an expedition beyond the Arctic Circle. An expedition that killed eight of his men. All of this to reunite with Lottá and infect her?

A sigh puffed up Mercier’s cheeks. He sat down on a bench and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Granted, MacEwan’s expedition had also opened major trade routes between Britain and Scandinavia. He’d also dedicated the rest of his life to fighting the disease.

On a smaller scale, Mercier’s own obsession with his past lives had brought to light important characters forgotten by history.

His mobile phone rang: Anna. His thumb hovered from the green button to the red. He hesitated too long and her call went to voicemail. He loved her, but deep down he knew he stayed with her partly to defy destiny. He loathed being controlled.

Clouds floated away, revealing the golden glow of the autumnal sun. Mercier removed his sweater, closed his eyes and turned his face towards sunlight, and the warmth on his cheeks reminded him of Lottá’s smile.

*

On her way back from work at the downtown preschool, Betty cut through Dartmouth park. The beautiful afternoon sun had long been covered by dark clouds, and she quickened her steps so as not to get caught in the rain. Unfortunately, the first raindrop soon hit her nose. She held her jacket over her head and jogged.

Betty stopped dead in her tracks beside a bench. Someone had forgotten their jumper and it was getting soaked. For no reason she could explain, Betty took it and brought it home with her.

She hung the jumper on the drying rack and started cooking, but her gaze kept drifting back to it. It was a deep green, complex cable-knit pattern. The color was not uniform, as if the wool had been hand dyed.

Upon closer inspection, she found a tag, the kind sold in craft stores, it said: “Fait à la main avec amour par” (“handmade with love by” according to the online translator). Wash and wear had erased the name. It had to be special to its owner, good thing she’d saved it from the rain. Tomorrow, she would go back to the bench and wait.

Betty noticed a tear in the wool under the arm. She ended up spending an hour painstakingly mending every broken stitch in the sweater. She marveled at the softness of the wool, like a kitten’s fur, and couldn’t resist rubbing it against her cheek. A hint of cologne, something woodsy and rich, and smoke too. Once repaired, she hand-washed it with her homemade soap.

She couldn’t think of a good reason why she cared so much about that jumper.

The next day, Betty sat in the park, the sweater carefully folded beside her. She’d brought a book, but couldn’t focus on the page. Her palms were clammy, her stomach knotted. She blamed it on the tall pumpkin spice latte she’d drank. A gust of wind stirred a shower of yellow leaves over her. She waited one hour. Two. Three hours. No one came.

She thought she ought to leave it there, in case its owner returned later, or it could bring some homeless person a bit of warmth. She left it there and walked away.

Ten minutes later, she rushed back to the bench and took the sweater home.

Betty kept the jumper for three years. At the first chill in the air, she would put it on. Her friends and sister teased her about it, it was old and too large for her. She would reply it was soft and warm, but the truth was she couldn’t explain why she was so attached to it. She forgot it on the bus once, and it made her cry.

She brought the sweater with her to Ireland. A long weekend trip with her boyfriend, Donald.

“Please buy a new one,” he said as they entered a souvenir shop which, like most souvenir shops in Ireland, sold wool jumpers.

Betty perused the selection, but her heart wasn’t really into it, in fact she was much more interested in a poster advertising tours of the local castle.

“I want to go there.”

Ireland had an abundance of castles and mansions of all kinds, and this one was by no means in the top ten or twenty. Or fifty. A modest construction in the Grenville family since the 15th century. In the drawing room, the current Lady Grenville exposed her oil paintings alongside entries for a pumpkin decoration contest.

As they walked through the halls, a room enticed her. An attraction, a pull similar to the one from the jumper.

The room was closed off to the public, nevertheless, she opened the door.

“Betty? What are you doing?” Donald hissed.

It wasn’t like Betty to do something like that, she’d even insisted on taking a guided tour so as not to get lost in the castle.

Donald continued speaking but his words didn’t register. Betty was fixated on the pantry at the other end of the room. She followed her intuition, opened the pantry, then the trapdoor at the bottom of it.

“Hey! Stop! You’re not allowed in here!”

Betty ignored the tour guide, she lowered herself into the shallow cellar. She crawled across the damp clay floor to the wall and pulled out a stone. Behind it, she found a stack of letters. Ancient letters.

Her senses exploded with memories: earthy smoke from the peat fire, a rough linen robe scratching against her skin, tall grass flattened by the Atlantic winds and cushy under her bare feet. Waves crashing, eating at the cliffs. The urge to jump. A loneliness that tasted like rotten berries. Then a man with one blind, milky blue eye and skin the colour of basalt. The captain of her father’s guards. He made her feel safe. Cherished. In secret letters, he clumsily professed eternal devotion. Her ribs ached from holding in her love for him. Forbidden love. Chapped lips against hers. The clank of chainmail hitting the floor. A bear skin rug, soft under her naked back. A name she whispered: Drest. Then a spark of sunlight reflecting off a large blade.

When Betty returned to reality, she was out of the cellar, on a couch. Fingers on her wrist searched her pulse, a cool flannel dripped on her forehead. Donald and two members of staff stared at her.

“What happened?” Betty asked.

“You fainted.”

“No! To Augusta and Drest?”

The two employees exchanged a quizzical look.

“Augusta? That would be Geoffrey Grenville’s daughter, maybe.”

“She married Lord Fitzclarence. Died in childbirth, I think.”

A lump rose in her throat, and tears spilled from her eyes. The sadness and grief she felt were as strong as when her father died. Donald tried to comfort her, but she pushed him away, curling on herself and pulling the sweater up over her nose.

They said there might have been hallucinogenic fungus in the cellar.

The next month, Betty broke up with Donald.

She’d never been special, never had a greater purpose in life. But this experience, it might be nothing, but she was a hopeless romantic and believed it could be meaningful.

She read everything she could find on Augusta and Drest, which was little, and certainly nothing as personal as she’d witnessed. She bought dubious books on reincarnation and even consulted a psychic. She spent hours at the library perusing the history section.

She didn’t have a method to speak of, instead trusted her intuition to guide her. It’s how she ended up in France, a year later, in the town of Montpellier.

“This house here,” said the local historian in mispronounced English, “was a safe house for the Résistance. The woman who lived here, Sara Bergier, it is said she received warning of the Germans coming, but she stayed. She was waiting for someone. She did not want to leave. And she was killed.”

“D’you know who she was waiting for?”

“We are not sure. One historian believes she was waiting for a double agent called Antoine Cadieu.”

Betty felt a faint pull towards the house, but she couldn’t tell whether it was real or wishful thinking. Unfortunately, it was a private residence so she couldn’t go inside.

Betty followed the tour guide back to the city museum. She perused the exhibition absentmindedly. As she neared the back of the room, she felt an attraction towards a door: the archives room, for staff only. She glanced left and right, and when the path cleared, she dashed for the door. It was locked.

In uncertain French, she asked an employee if she could see the archives, but he refused.

“I only want to know more about Sara Bergier,” Betty said, her cheeks heated up; it wasn’t in her nature to insist.

“I can give you a copy of the article that the historian published on Antoine and Sara.”

Despite the autumn chill, Betty sat outside the café, facing Place de la Comédie and its neoclassical theater. Cozy in her old jumper, sipping a bitter hot chocolate, she read the article. Antoine and Sara had never met prior to the war, she only knew his codename and it’s unclear how she knew he was coming. But, according to the author, J-F Mercier, sources remember Sara shouting his name when the Nazis took her. He also argued that her getting caught saved his lives, otherwise these German soldiers would have been patrolling the area where Antoine was hiding.

“Antoine Cadieu,” she whispered to herself, and then, “Mercier.”

Under the author’s name was his professional email address, he worked at Les Invalides, the army museum, in Paris.

It took three days for Betty to work up the nerves to write to him.

It took five drafts before she was satisfied with her email.

And it took one second of fear to change her mind completely.

“I’ll do it in Leeds,” she told herself.

*

“It’s funny, a year ago, we’d never heard of anyone named Drest in our family’s history, and now you’re asking about him,” Mrs. Grenville said.

“I’m not certain he did live here,” Mercier said, “but there is a five-year gap in his memoirs.”

“Oh, he was here, he was. It’s the strangest thing, this young woman was visiting, and she found letters written by this Drest to Lady Augusta, my ancestor.”

“She found them?”

“In the cellar. I don’t know what she was doing there, it’s closed to the public.”

“Could I see those letters?” Mercier asked.

He’d found Drest’s handwritten memoir in Dublin, he wondered if touching those letters would make him experience something different from his life.

“Sure, you said you’re an historian, right?” Mrs. Grenville verified.

“Yes.” He showed her his professional card. “And could I trouble you for that woman’s name? If you have it.”

“Yeah, I’ve got it somewhere. It’s the most curious thing, she fainted when she found the letters, poor thing. I kept her contact info for our insurances, you know how these things are.”

Mercier swallowed thickly. Fainted? Like he had his first time. Could it be her? Lottá, Augusta, Sara.

His blood pulsed against his temples, his fingers became cold. His knees wobbled, and he had to sit down.

Mrs. Grenville returned and handed him a folded piece of paper. He opened it with shaking hands: “Mrs Salinger 0113 496 0350”.

He could call her today. Hear her voice, schedule a meeting.

He tried to keep his voice steady when he asked, “No first name?”

“Sorry, I’ve only got the name of the man who was with her, er, Donald. He handled the matter.”

Mercier exited the castle and followed a trail leading to the cliffs. Drest had first seen Augusta here, hair to the wind, too close to the edge. Tragically beautiful. They’d saved each other’s life, but the discovery of their affair also caused their ruin. Drest was exiled and Augusta’s father cut off her feet.

Mercier sat on the cracked-stone ground and pulled out his phone. 0113 496 0350, he already knew the number by heart.

Was contacting her a good idea? Mores had changed, these were not disease-ridden, barbaric times anymore. Why shouldn’t they get a happy ending?

Hoping for an answer, he stared out at the grey, stormy ocean. A salty mist whipped his cheeks. The violent waves did nothing to appease his dread.

He needed to know more about Mrs. Salinger first.

*

The train entered St. Pancras station, and Betty made sure her wool jumper was over her shoulder bag. She double-checked before walking off the train, and kept a hand on it as she navigated the crowd. Back from France, she had to catch a train to Leeds leaving from King’s Cross station, just a street away, in twenty minutes.

*

Mercier glanced at his watch and muttered curses at the British railway system. He cursed the Irish port authorities too while he was at it, they’d chosen this day, out of 365, to begin their strike. He couldn’t take the Dublin-Cherbourg ferry to go back to France and had to come all the way to London instead. They’d just pulled into King’s Cross station, and he had a ticket for the Paris train leaving in fifteen minutes from St. Pancras. He grabbed his luggage and rushed out as soon as the doors opened.

*

Betty ran up the stairs to exit the station. She slipped between people on the sidewalk to reach Pancras Road. She stopped abruptly on the edge and lost balance as a car zoomed past her. She grabbed a parking meter and steadied herself. That was a close one.

*

Mercier found an underground tunnel linking both train stations. He ran, even in the escalator. At the top, he stepped on something and lost his footing. Landed on his arse.

“Oh, putain.”

He’d stepped on a sweater. His sweater.

Forgetting his train, he stared, flabbergasted, at the familiar green knit. He turned it inside-out and found the ���fait à la main avec amour” tag.

“C’est impossible.”

He’d bought the sweater years ago, when he was a penniless student shopping in thrift stores. Despite a bigger salary, he’d inexplicably never parted from it until he lost it. And now it was here. On the floor of a London train station.

A woman’s distressed voice pulled him back to reality.

“I-I can’t find it. I had it with me, I swear, right here. I don’t know-- I’m sorry. God, I’m so embarrassed.” she wiped her tears on her sleeve.

“Sorry, love, haven’t found any jumper,” the railway company clerk replied.

She turned around, and their eyes met across the crowd. Molecules shifted, tunnel vision, focused on her like looking through a telescope. Everyone else faded to grey. Deep into the marrow of his bones, Mercier felt the pull towards her. It was all his brain could process.

In a daze, they walked to each other.

“It’s me jumper,” she said

“Mine too.”

They both held it between them, laughing incredulously. Her big brown eyes shone with tears, Augusta’s eyes, he thought, and Lottá’s smile.

“Do you know me?” he asked.

She squinted at him, searching his face. “I… I feel like I do. As if we’ve met before.”

“Yes. My name is Jean-François Mercier.”

“I read your article! I’m Betty Salinger.”

“Betty. That’s lovely.” His cheeks hurt from smiling. “I have so many questions.”

“How is it possible?”

Their hands touched, still holding the sweater. His fingers tingled, the same way they did when he rubbed them by the fire after spending time out in the cold. Circulation revived, cells mending. He rubbed a thumb over her knuckles, and she giggled as if tickled. His heart grew ten folds.

“Can’t be that easy, can it?” she said.

“Who says it will be easy?”

For the first time, they stopped looking at each other to watch the hustle and bustle around them. Everyone going about their lives, unaware of the shadows leaking into this world. When their gaze met again, they were sober, serious.

“We will find answers,” he said, taking her hands fully, under the knit.

“We’ll get it right this time.”

Betty stepped closer to him, and he rested his forehead on hers. Unlike touching a journal, it didn’t trigger a dizzying wave of memories, but a gentle, suffusing flow. Each incarnation’s love slipped into his bloodstream like a drug. She sighed blissfully, feeling it too. High. Happy.

For all his rebellion against his destiny, he accepted it now. He understood.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

“I’ve been waiting three centuries.”

He brushed his nose down hers. Her breath teased his lips. His heart raced faster than for his first kiss.

Betty closed the gap between their mouths before he did. Soft lips parting and moving slowly. She clutched his hand harder and brought it to her chest. He wound his arm around her waist, holding her as close as possible as he deepened the kiss.

They might have embraced for a thousand years. Time was meaningless when the threads of their lives were weaved together.

The End

[belarusaph]

Tag Game!

I was tagged by @pokytoad and honestly I never do these but ya know why not 

Rules: Answer 30 questions and tag 20 people you’d like to know better. 1. Nicknames: Aly 2. Gender: F 3. Zodiac Sign: Pisces 4. Height: 5′3″ 5. Current time: 10:07pm  6. Birthday: Feb. 27 7. Favorite bands: Yelle, Death Cab for Cutie, Coldplay, Flogging Molly, The Offspring 8. Favorite solo artists: Marina & the Diamonds, Stromae, and of course my fav of all time always and forever, Aurelio Voltaire 9. Song stuck in my head: Well it was Disconnect by Marina & the Diamonds / Clean Bandit but now thanks to the lovely gal that tagged me in this it’s The Wolf - Siamés 10. Last movie I watched: Despicable Me 3 bc my mom is obsessed with that franchise 11. Last show I watched: South Park 12. When did I create my blog: This blog I think I made in 2015 or 2016 I can’t remember lol but I’ve been on Tumblr since the Dawn Of Time, 2012 13. What do I post on my blog: hetalia garbage 14. Last thing I googled: “berlin wall" 15. Other blogs: polarroses (aesthetic) and polyglotdaisy (studyblr) pls like comment and subscribe 16. Do you get asks: on my other blogs i’ve had people message me for nudes?? for some reason?? but on this blog lmfaoooooo v rarely 17. Why did you choose your url:  aph belarus is the love of my life and has been since 2013 with my first belarus url, beluras 18. Last thing I ate: some scooby doo fruit snacks bc I’m still 10 yrs old 19. How any pillows: ALL THE PILLOWS. @pokytoad tf do you deal with one pillow i’m calling the cops 20. Favorite colors: pastel pink, blue, purple, yellow, uh i guess all pastels are good pastels 21. Favorite tag to use: “cutee" and “!!!!!” is on every gotdamn post 22. Lucky number: 2 23. Instruments? lmfao that implies that I have talent, girl bye 24. What am I wearing? a sweater and jeans w a choker necklace bc i try to be cute 25. Last thing I wrote? fanfic wise? some lietbel shit probably. last thing i literally wrote? a discussion post for my eastern european history class 26. Dream Job: MUSEUM CURATOR. but also, flight attendant. it’s an internal struggle. 27. Dream trip: anywhere in europe would be the bomb.com 28. Favorite food: any chewy candy that gets stuck in your teeth is my jam (jolly rancher chews?? heaven) 29. Nationality: american 30. Favorite song right now: You Don’t Know How Lucky You Are - Keaton Henson

Going to tag the last 10 lovely people in my activity feed <33 (bc 20 seems excessive) 

@loudemily @fluffyjenny @leashykitty-chan @aph-australia @ludwigbeilschmidtstuff @jyfngha @omuii @glassandmetalwings @blackbirdff @aph-belarusia

[charis-chan]

Nerd Sisters

Beta love to @reinakonanofate. She’s the one that makes everyone able to read my stuff 💕💕💕.

After the last one.. y’all deserved some love between the sisters.

Read on Ao3

“If you touch that, you will die.”

Your hand stops, just an inch from its destination, frozen.

You turn back to Alex and gape.

And you frown.

“Alex!” you whine.

Because your dummy sister is wearing her ‘I gotcha’ smirk.

“Sorry, Kar, sorry,” she chuckles. “You’re just too easy sometimes.”

You pout. You’d like to point out that if Eliza were around she would smack Alex’s head upside down for making Kara panic. But, you have been living with the Danvers for a year now, you have learnt that bringing up Eliza will make Alex shut down.

Even when it’s thanks to Eliza that you are here in the first place.

“You are mean,” you chose to say instead, turning your nose up to her.

Alex sticks her tongue out to you. “Come, Alf,” she says with that little grin that’s reserved just your you. “Let’s buy our tickets and then you can touch anything you’d like.”

You let Alex tug at your interwoven hands towards the Museum’s entrance. Eliza is busy all day with lectures down at Boston University and she gave Alex enough money to last you for a day of activities, even when the money came with a firm reminder that Alex is to take good care of you and to make sure you don’t stand out that much.

You still don’t get why Eliza insists on ‘reminding’ Alex to care for you. Alex cares for you a plenty already… she no longer hangs around with her friends, she doesn’t go surfing as much as she used to, she feeds you breakfast every morning and makes sure to pack your lunch for school, she sits with you every night to do homework and she’s always there to tuck you in at night.

Since Jeremiah’s death, it feels like all of Alex’s free time is spent making sure you’re well taken care of… and most of her not-so-free time too.

She always does everything in her power to teach you and care for you, so, when Eliza’s busy work landed the three of you in Boston for two weeks, Alex decided that the first stop you needed to make is the Museum of Science.

“It’ll be fun. You can see how some things work here and it is child-friendly, so you won’t get bored,” Alex said the night before, once Eliza was asleep on one of the room’s bed and you two were huddled together in the other, under the covers.

“I’m not a child anymore,” you protested.

Alex smiled. “You are to me, little alien.”

So, that’s how you find yourselves at the Museum’s entrance a minute after they open their doors.

“Two full-price tickets, please,” Alex asks politely to the old man at the booth. “Oh, and add the planetarium entrance cost too, please.”

He looks at you two and smiles with a little mischievous glint to his eye as he readies the tickets. “Aren’t you two supposed to be at school?”

You frown. Yeah, it’s Monday and it’s the middle of the semester, but why would he care?

“Oh, no, sir,” Alex says, ever so politely, giving him the necessary money. You know she is annoyed, though, with how her hand is clenching yours. “Mom has work and we had to tag along for the ride. We’re not from around here.”

The old man nods. “Well, have fun you two,” he says handing the tickets and change to your sister. “The planetarium’s shows are listed in there.”

“Thank you, sir,” Alex says and with a little squeeze of your hand, you’re reminded you have to speak to him too.

“Thank you, sir,” you parrot. “Have a lovely day.”

Social cues, just like this one, are still hard to follow. Back at home one didn’t really speak with anyone if they were strangers and interactions like the one with the booth man were strictly business-like. No greetings, no goodbyes, no good manners as Alex puts it.

It’s weird having to be nice to people you don’t know.

“Do you want to hold onto this?” Alex asks you once you have passed the entrance point. She is offering the change the man gave her. “You can buy us a drink later.”

You are not allowed to use money yet. Understanding how it works is still hard for you and you have come close to losing what Eliza called a fortune twice already. Alex said it was closer to a hundred, but you still don’t get if a hundred is much or not. You are not used to carrying coins and bills around. Besides, only Alex has the patience to let you sort out the numbers and the exchange values in your head before you try paying for something …vendors at Midvale are too impatient and too baffled by your inability to use money that they refuse to sell you anything unless you have come with the exact amount of your purchase already counted.

But, Alex insists the more you use money the easier it will get. So, you put your palm up and receive the money. “You will help, right?” You ask her, just to be sure.

Alex rolls her eyes and the familiar sight of it it’s so comforting. “What kind of question is that? Of course, I’ll help. I can’t have you buying me Coke.”

You smile, wide, warmed by her teasing. “Pepsi is nasty.”

“Says the girl that puts pineapple on her pizza.”

“Says the girl who puts Nutella on her bacon.”

“Touché.” Alex laughs, tugging you deeper into the building. “Come on, Kar, we have much to see and so little time to do it.”

“...we have all day?”

“Ah, you, innocent girl… we’ll be spending at least two days here.”

“Oh.”

XxXxX

The exhibits are amazing and you have so much fun interacting with everything that you could get close to. You liked the Hall of Human Life, but sadly you couldn’t contribute any data to it.

You made Alex donate, though, so at least that’s that.

Learning all about the transportation systems and machines humans have had over the years, was amazing. Alex drives, yes, and she’s teaching you how to behind Eliza’s back, but a car is so complicated and so, so, so, frail… seeing all the ancestors of Alex’s beaten up truck made you have a better idea of how far humans have really come.

Similar to it, Mathematica helped you understand a little bit more of the rudimentary thought process humans have in order to explain science. One of the easier subjects for you to learn, but at the same time one of the more complex to wrap your head around, math is the one subject that Alex spends the most time teaching you. The exhibition was a nice way of re-learning some things Alex has shown you already and it’s always nice to

The Natural Mysteries exhibit was fun too. Playing with rocks, sand and dirt made you remember Krypton and, while it was really different, it made you feel at home for a little bit.

But, seeing Alex making a face at having to drink from your shared Coke, maybe feeling like home wasn’t due to the sand and rocks, but due the girl sitting across you.

“What?” she asks. “Do I have something on my face?”

If she were any other person, you would be a little taken aback by her comment. You have come to learn that particular phrase is mocking and meant to make you feel bad. It’s used by the kids at school to sneer at how you often get lost in thought and how, just as often, you end up staring at someone during one of your daydreams.

Like now.

But, this is Alex.

Alex who is your best friend, your sister. Who enjoys being with you and who loves teaching you.

Alex, who is your protector, and your rock.

Alex, who also always manages to stain her face with anything and everything …and, yep, she is sporting an ink line on her left cheek, probably made by the pen she used to submit her information at the Hall of Human Life.

Hence the question. She always asks you that specific question with honesty.

“A little bit of ink,” you say, pointing to your own cheek. “Right here.”

“Damn.” She rubs at her cheek and she only manages to get her skin red with the friction. “Did I take if off?”

She looks ridiculous. The long hours walking around and her engagement in every activity you have done, has made a mess of her ponytail and her cheek is as red as the sweater she is wearing. And she didn’t manage to erase the ink.

“Yeah, it’s gone.”

Alex sighs and takes another sip of the Coke. “Ugh. Nasty.”

“You don’t have to drink it, you know?”

“And have you drink it all? No. Remember the last time you had that much sugar.”

You shiver. Yeah, you remember.

“C’mon, Alf. The planetarium show is gonna start soon.”

You nod, eager, and take her offered hand. You’ve been sitting and resting – in Alex’s case – for the last twenty minutes and you are getting a little bored.

“Just remember, we can leave at any time. Okay?”

You nod, this time solemn. Alex always reminds you that she won’t get mad if you decide to leave or stop doing something suddenly. You fidget with your glasses. “I’ll be fine, Lexie. Don’t worry.”

She scrunches up her nose. Uh, she has some ink there too. “Don’t call me that.”

You smirk, letting your sister present your tickets. You wait until you’ve entered the space to answer. “But I love Lexie!”

“Don’t, Kara.”

You’re about to pout at her and make your eyes water and tease her some more when you discover what’s a planetarium. ~Oh, Rao…~

“Amazing, isn’t it?”

“This… This…”

“Come, little alien. The show will start in five minutes. We need to find seats.”

You let her lead you around, but your eyes can’t leave the images that are shown above you.

You feel your eyes water, but these are no fake tears. Not like the ones you were ready to pour for Alex a moment before.

“We can leave whenever you want.”

“I-I know…”

XxXxX

Alex’s arms are around you as they have been for most of the last hour. The tears are still dripping down and you sniffle pathetically, your eyes still fixated to the images around you.

She doesn’t talk, she doesn’t try to move. She simply hugs you and combs your hair with her fingers, bearing all your weight on her chest.

In moments like this, you are so grateful she’s taller than you, you can easily against her and she doesn’t mind it one bit.

“Alex?” your voice is rough. Your throat hurts.

“Yes, little alien?”

“… can we come back tomorrow?”

You feel her smile against your temple. “We have two weeks, Kara… we can come back every day if you want. We can come back next summer too. And next winter… and every long weekend if you want.”

You take a deep breath and finally tear your eyes away from the stars and planets above you, and you fix them on Alex. On Alex’s honest smile and shiny eyes.

On the understanding reflected in them… on the care… on the love.

“I love you, Alex,” you whisper against her neck, closing your eyes. This is the first time you’ve voiced this.

Alex tensed under you and you’re ready to pull away, to apologize. It’s too soon, you’re still a stranger. You’re still that brat that came into her life and turned it upside down.

But.

Her arms squeeze you tight, tighter than they’ve ever hugged you. “And I love you too, Kara. I love you too.”

[askspiderqueen]

Three’s a Party (Caitlyn x LeBlanc, Elise)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @sweatered-mermaid​

I LOVE YOU LITTLE POOFERFISH

“Don’t you have something that isn’t so....flamboyant?” Caitlyn sighed.

She was seated at the edge of the bed, very patiently watching the one and only Matron of the Black Rose rifle through her side of the closet looking for something that was more, well, plain. They weren’t attending the party to be noticed after all. It was more like a reconnaissance mission, one that Evaine had decided to insert herself into at the last moment. The Sheriff had chosen to give Vi the night off; the Enforcer wasn’t the best at remaining in the background. Pink hair tended to draw quite the attention. She sighed again. LeBlanc’s voice drew her attention, “Ah, what a shame. We’ll have to wait then.”

The Noxian stood in a dark purple sleeveless dress, staring at the mirror and frowning. It was lightly frilled and unevenly cut, with the right side being longer than the left. The garment hugged her curves perfectly, and Caitlyn’s electric blue orbs trailed briefly to Evaine’s behind before she caught herself. Too late. The Deceiver was already smirking at her through the reflection. The Sheriff rolled her eyes, hoping her face wasn’t too red. “Wait for what?”

“Your girlfriend thinks I’m a servant,” a new voice sounded behind her.

Caitlyn jumped, almost sliding off the bed as she turned around. There was a snap of magic and something flew towards LeBlanc. The Deceiver caught it neatly, holding it up to observe the choice of dress. “You’re wearing that,” the newcomer ordered, “And if you don’t like it, you should have gone to get one yourself.”

The Sheriff blinked, staring at the long haired woman before her. Hazel orbs shot over, and a neat eyebrow cocked. “What?”

The gears in Caitlyn’s head turned, albeit a bit too slowly for her liking. “Elise?”

“No, it’s the queen of Freljord, you hamster-brained yordle.”

The woman glared, and the Piltovan just threw her an exasperated look, shaking her head. “Your taste might be improving just a tad, Elise dear,” LeBlanc interrupted their silent battle.

The Deceiver had on a simpler and longer black dress. It had a slit up the right thigh and an intricate design woven in the back. The garment was sleeveless, but not incredibly revealing as the material went up to her collarbone. It was a good choice, Caitlyn silently admitted. She’d never say it out loud to Elise, of course. Speaking of which...

“Why exactly are you still here?” the Sheriff hesitantly asked the Spider Queen, who was currently scowling at the Matron for her previous comment.

Elise’s attention returned to Caitlyn. The new color of her eyes was a bit unexpected, but it was still a great improvement from their usual unsettling blood red. “I hear there’s an event of interest tonight,” the Shadow Isler replied, her expression morphing into a smirk.

The Sheriff blinked, then turned to Evaine for help. The Deceiver was purposely looking away, pretending to fiddle with her jewelry. “No,” Caitlyn stated, standing up,  “No. Absolutely not.”

She had never liked Elise but tolerated her for Evaine’s sake. Actually, the Deceiver didn’t seem to like her much either, but the two seemed to know each other very well....The Sheriff stopped her thought process there and went back to grabbing LeBlanc’s attention. “Evaine? What did you tell her?”

LeBlanc finally looked up, and the twinkle in her eye told Caitlyn she was about to launch into an intricate lie of twists and turns with the purpose of confusing the Sheriff. The Piltovan raised her hand before the Deceiver could speak. “Truth,” she said sternly.

Evaine shared a look with Elise before shrugging. “I needed a small favor so I told her she could tag along if she wished.”

Caitlyn threw her hands up, “Why?”

“Don’t you have a suspicion some of those items were stolen anyway?” Elise crossed her arms and cocked her hip, “By a certain little group that’s been running around everywhere? They have been in Noxus too.”

And that, the Sheriff realized, also explained Evaine’s interest in the “Unveiling of Ancient Magical Artifacts From Across Runeterra”. The businessman conducting the event likely attained some of the relics from an auction by the thieves. However, she had witnessed the Black Rose’s methods of finding people. LeBlanc would often start broad with those who had recently been in contact, spiraling closer and closer until she unveiled secrets and destroyed the victim’s life, letting them suffer before actually killing them. Caitlyn didn’t approve one bit. And if Elise was involved, that meant she had been targeted as well and was also looking for revenge.

The Piltovan took a deep breath, speaking to both other women but maintaining eye contact with Evaine, “They will be caught with time and will be spending the appropriate time in jail. Your interference is not needed.”

She knew even before the words left her mouth that she was wasting her breath. Noxus functioned under a brutal method that used death as the consequence for most transgressions. However, she had been working to convince the Matron such extreme actions were unnecessary. It worked better on certain days than others. “There’s a rumor one of the men is Noxian,” the Spider Queen was rebutting, “We will deal with him under our terms. I don’t take people breaking into my place very lightly.”

Caitlyn gawked for a moment, having expected the both of them to argue for the death of all the thieves. Evaine must have spoken to Elise beforehand and warned her of the Sheriff’s views on the death penalty. “I suppose that...can be arranged,” she finally managed.

The Spider Queen looked as if she wanted to say more, but the Deceiver interrupted, a hand brushing Caitlyn’s shoulder. “Now that that’s settled, why don’t you get changed, dear? You’re the only one who’s not ready. We’ll have to leave soon if we wish to arrive on time.”

Confused, the Piltovan glanced over at Elise, who, despite her altered appearance, was still in a rather casual attire of simple pants and a v-neck shirt. The Shadow Isler must have noticed her look because she scoffed and snapped her fingers. A burst of magic later and she was standing in a body-hugging crimson dress that left one of her shoulders bare.

Sighing, the Sheriff shook her head and started towards the closet to grab her own garment, a dark blue piece that was loose past her hip, allowing for easier movement. It did have a somewhat low neckline, but nothing too revealing. She would put it on the normal way.

If not for the two people she had come with, Caitlyn might have actually managed to enjoy herself in the museum. Well, as much as possible, knowing that some of these artifacts had been stolen. A portion of her attention was always diverted towards keeping an eye on Elise and Evaine. LeBlanc tended to be significantly more mischievous when around the Spider Queen. That’s not the say the two weren’t useful. The Sheriff could tell they were no strangers to disguises and distractions; their tones remained flirtatious to select guests, but hazel and jade orbs - the Deceiver had taken on an illusion as well - were always sharp and alert.

There was...quite the odd crowd in certain spots. Caitlyn’s gut told her there were some individuals here that generally did not attend events like these. They seemed awkward; not quite sure where to look and how to look. She had pointed it out to her companions, and they had agreed almost immediately. One of such people was a large man, almost bursting the seams of his tuxedo. His voice was gravelly, matching the gruffness of his face. Visitors were keeping a wide berth around him, and the Sheriff was sure she once spotted the gleam of a gun beneath his suit as he shifted. A sweep of the room showed at least three other suspicious looking individuals.

Maurice Delaroue, the man responsible for the occasion, was due for a speech in approximately ten minutes. Caitlyn suspected an assassination, or at the very least a kidnapping, was to occur as he spoke. She leaned against the wall by herself, close to a door that read “Employees Only”. Her blue orbs were eying the cheap alcohol she was holding, but the Sheriff was, in fact, listening to Elise and Evaine employ more of their distraction techniques. They had sauntered close to the guard, starting small talk amongst themselves and slowly drawing the man into the conversation. And so Caitlyn casually sipped at her glass as she waited for the door to open so she could slip in unnoticed 

Ah, there. A woman in a well-ironed suit made her exit, too busy flipping through a notebook to even look up at her. Caitlyn immediately slid through, casting one backward glance to find Evaine, Elise, and the guard laughing over something trivial. Almost too easy.

Delaroue. She wasn’t quite sure where to start. Perhaps a meeting room or a small office? After disposing of her drink, she kept her back straight and face forward, making it seem as if she knew where she was going. Several people passing by gave her a glance, but that was all. Some muffled voices to the side made her falter, and, ensuring there was no one else around, the Sheriff peered through the meshed window of the door. A man that perfectly match the picture in her folder back in her office was shaking hands with a blond individual, and Caitlyn backtracked to the end of the hall to avoid looking suspicious as the door opened. Delaroue remained in the room, and the Sheriff dipped her head politely as she passed the blond man. He grinned at her in return. The smile was slightly unsettling, but she quickly shook it off as she raised her hand to knock. She entered immediately after, “Mr. Delaroue?”

He looked up, an expression of surprise on his face. Caitlyn entered and quickly closed the door, reaching into a hidden pocket for her badge. “Sheriff Caitlyn,” she said, holding it up for him to see, “Although you likely know me, judging by the look on your face.”

Delaroue straightened, brushing back his hair. He looked rather confused, and stammered, “Ah, y-yes, I’ve seen you on the news. Is there something I can help you with?”

Caitlyn looked him in the eye and kept her expression neutral, conveying that her next words were serious, “I have reason to believe that you are in danger. I’d like to evacuate you as silently as possible to avoid tipping off anyone who wishes you harm.”

He seemed genuinely shocked. “For what reason? This is a very important night for me. There may have been several delays, but I assure you, my security is quite efficient-”

“I’m afraid you should consider re-evaluating the entirety of your security team, as I was able to enter without alerting anyone,” Caitlyn interrupted patiently, “Now, if you wish to inform someone that an emergency has arisen and requires your attention, then I would advise you do so outside. Anyone could have come in here and-”

She stopped short, a thought suddenly occurred to her. “That man,” she stated, fixing Delaroue with an intense stare, “The blonde one. What did he come in for?”

Delaroue just gave a weak shrug, rather intimidated by the sudden change in her tone, “He just came to congratulate me on organizing this event and putting together all those rare artifacts. Gave me a business card in case I-”

“Give it to me,” Caitlyn demanded, “Now.”

The man was shocked but obeyed, reaching behind him to grab a white card. Caitlyn already had the hextech scanner on the back of her badge ready, and as soon as she held the piece of cardstock up, it beeped positive. Shit. “Leave the building. Tell security there’s a bomb,” she ordered, before dashing back out into the hallway.

She pressed another button on her badge as she ran; it would notify the station of a situation that required immediate attention, as well as her location. Cursing her heels, Caitlyn burst into another room, one with many cleaning products. An older man jumped in surprise, and she immediately grabbed him by the arm, dragging him out. “Get out of the building. There’s a bomb,” she told him calmly.

She didn’t have to say more. Caitlyn rushed about the hallways, helping any stragglers towards the stairs. There was an announcement running repeatedly on the intercom at this point, so she rushed back into the room where she left the card. It was warm to the touch. Fuck. She had less than a minute.

She absolutely hated purely magical explosives. Hextech, she could deal with. There was still an obvious switch and wires for deactivation. But this, this was a formless, hazardous spell woven into a card, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The Sheriff ripped off a portion of her dress, using the material to grab the card to avoid burning herself. She shot out of the room and back down the hallway, yanking a window open. Clambering out into the fire escape, she immediately started towards the roof. She had to get this as far away from people as possible. Another strip of her dress was torn off, and she tied one end to her badge, slipping the smoking card into it as she went. It was about to explode. She wouldn’t make it to the roof, but at least she was only one story away. Grabbing the loose end of the cloth, Caitlyn swung her badge in several quick circles, building up its velocity as much as she could before releasing it towards the sky.

BOOM.

It exploded not two seconds later, shoving Caitlin onto her back and rattling the entire fire escape. She groaned, coughing from the debris and smoke all around her. Her eyes stung, and even after blinking several times, she couldn’t see clearly. The Sheriff made an attempt to stand but swayed dangerously to the right. Everything was muted.

A good portion of the top of the building had been blown off, but the rest of the structure was intact. Good. Now if only she could-

Creaaak.

The Sheriff yelped as her world suddenly tipped. The top part of the fire escape had loosened from the wall due to the explosion, and it was now bending precariously outward. Caitlyn couldn’t help herself from sliding off the edge, but she managed to grab onto the metal railing before she plummeted to her death. Shit.

She dangled, wondering if she could swing herself down to the level below. Unfortunately, she could barely make it out due to the smoke, and the sudden impact from landing might rip the entire fire escape from the wall. She looked around futilely, hoping for more options. The railing gave a jerk, moaning in protest at her weight.

She could fall three stories and live right? It wasn’t that far away. The Sheriff glanced back down, squinting at the lower level. Better than falling, she supposed. She swung back and forth a few times, building her momentum before letting go and angling her body to her destination. She exhaled, stretching desperately for a handhold as she flew through the air.

She missed.

Caitlyn wasn’t sure if she was screaming, but she must have been because the breath was suddenly knocked out of her by something very large. “Oomf!”

She struggled for a moment, disoriented by the sudden horizontal movement. The Piltovan turned her head and would have screamed again had her lungs been working properly. A giant spider had grasped her in its jaws, and its glowing red eyes narrowed as the two made eye contact. The Sheriff wanted to faint. The familiar stomach-dropping sensation of falling prevented her from speaking this time, and the two landed on the ground with a bone-shaking thud. Caitlyn found herself dropped to the floor, knocking the air out of her again, and Elise turned upward with a loud hiss. The Sheriff glanced up just in time to see the fire escape fall on them.

Screeeeeech.

Caitlyn was curled into a ball and had her eyes screwed shut, so she wasn’t quite sure if it was the screech of metal or the giant monster above her. Once her brain realized she wasn’t dead, she carefully blinked, automatically looking up. The fire escape was bent around them like a cage, and Elise still had her front legs and jaw against the metal. The Spider Queen seemed to groan, finally releasing her death grip and staggering slightly. There was a clear fluid leaking from one of her right limbs. The Sheriff scrambled to get up, wincing as a sudden pain in her side flared. There was still dust everywhere. She couldn’t see past the cage they were stuck in. Of course, another hunk of metal crashing down hadn’t helped.

Slowly, Elise morphed back into her human form - the one with red eyes and short dark hair. Caitlyn had never witnessed the transformation; it was quite surreal. The second and fourth pairs of legs migrated to the back as human skin broke through the dark carapace with a sharp crackling sound. The rest of the appendages morphed into limbs, their clawed tips dissolving into fingers and toes. The large mandibles retreated into Elise’s mouth, and her eyes merged into one glaringly crimson pair. Her right arm was bleeding. The Spider Queen was naked, but as soon as she was fully human, her usual outfit began to cover her body. Advantages of magic, Caitlyn thought tiredly.

She was half standing, wondering how to get out the cage when there was a clinking sound from behind. The Sheriff wanted to turn around and look, but the glowing golden chains threading through the railings immediately told her who it was. The metal ripped open, shrieking with protest, and Caitlyn felt a pair of arms wrap around her as she stumbled to meet her girlfriend. “I heard the explosion,” she heard Evaine whisper.

LeBlanc didn’t have to say more. Caitlyn just nodded weakly and buried her face into the Matron’s shoulder. There was a cough somewhere to her left. “Elise, thank you for saving me. Oh, of course. No goddamn problem. It’s not as if we both almost died or anything,” came the sarcastic drawl of the Spider Queen.

The Piltovan raised her head, blinking at the sudden realization. She turned towards the Shadow Isler. “You...saved me,” it came out more incredulous than she had intended.

“Congratulations, Detective. You must have graduated at the top of your class,” Elise huffed in response as she limped over, wincing.

Her shoulder appeared to have been dislocated, accompanied by a compound fracture of her forearm. There was blood all over her right side at this point. She should have fainted already from the pain, but the Sheriff wasn’t quite sure if her anatomy was even close to that of a normal human’s. “She crawled up the side of the building once we were outside. She could get to you faster than I could,” Evaine supplied helpfully.

Caitlyn’s brow furrowed, “There was dust everywhere. How did you find me?”

Elise sneered disdainfully. “You weren’t exactly the quietest person.”

The Sheriff had a feeling there was more to that answer, but she’d save it for later. She turned to ask Evaine if she had sustained any injuries, but the loud blaring of fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances took away any chances of questioning. A commotion was definitely headed towards them, and LeBlanc released her slowly, making sure she was supporting herself. “We’ll be at home,” Evaine nodded, backing away to stand next to Elise.

Caitlyn, looked at them in confusion. “Elise needs medical atten-”

“I’ll be fine,” the spider mage interrupted.

She definitely did not look fine at all. “Also, no one saw a giant spider,” Evaine added, smiling pleasantly.

The Sheriff was still rather befuddled, but she gave a slight nod. “You owe me so much,” she heard Elise say as the two teleported away.

Caitlyn sighed tiredly, turning to meet the paramedics hurrying towards her.

It was late into the night when the Sheriff stumbled into the apartment. The lights were on in the living room, so she slowly trudged her way there, kicking off her heels as she went. She had been questioned nonstop left and right, but she stood by her story that she had been knocked out after the explosion. No, she had no idea how she ended up on the ground. No, she didn’t know why the fire escape was bent around her like that. In the end, they could do nothing but bandage her ribs and let her go. They hadn’t even caught the blonde culprit. She’d probably get called back in the morning, quite honestly. Not that she didn’t have a mountain of paperwork waiting for her already. At least all sightings of a giant spider had been dismissed. Mostly. She’d have to work on that.

The lights were bright. Caitlyn had to blink a few times before she could focus on Elise sitting in the armchair. The Spider Queen had her right arm in a stark white cast and looked very disgruntled. The Piltovan was about to ask where Evaine was, but a breath close to her ear answered her question. “We were just wondering when you’d come home. Welcome back, dear,” LeBlanc purred.

Caitlyn felt a good portion of the tension leave her body at the sound of the voice and she leaned happily into her lover. It made her realize just how wound up she had been from the day's events. She let the Deceiver guide her to the couch, plopping down with a grateful sigh. LeBlanc swept her hair back, kissing her forehead. “I’ll grab more wine,” she murmured, gesturing to the empty bottle on the coffee table, “Why don’t you have a bath?”

Caitlyn opened her mouth to protest, but Evaine was already gone in a puff of smoke. That left her with Elise, who was regarding her silently. A bath sounded wonderful, honestly, but the Sheriff couldn’t find the strength to stand up again. Maybe in a few minutes. Her eyelids fluttered closed, but they were startled open again by a quiet voice. “You know, I've never in my entire life seen Evaine panic,” the Spider Queen finally said, “Anxious, yes. Panicked to the point of irrationality? You must really be that special.”

That made the Sheriff look up. “I’m sorry?”

“She was debating teleporting towards you,” the Noxian laughed sharply, “Until I told her she'd likely end up dead in the wall since she didn't know where she was going. And you wouldn't enjoy that very much, would you?”

Caitlyn’s mind was so sluggish after the long day. “A wall?”

The Spider Queen raised an eyebrow at her. “Teleportation can be very dangerous if you don't know your exact destination. Many have turned up dead because they ended up merged with a large object, like a building. You can imagine it's not pleasant.”

The Piltovan actually shuddered at the thought, while Elise simply looked amused. They were left in silence again. The Spider Queen raised the wine glass she was holding to her lips, downing the rest of the drink. Caitlyn wasn’t sure how she still managed to look so graceful despite being in a cast. She decided she really should take care of her personal hygiene and get some rest. She hadn’t expected the other two to still be awake, but they had likely been waiting for her. The Sheriff was at the threshold to the hallway when she stopped. “I never thanked you for saving me,” she said suddenly.

The Noxian hummed. “You did,” the smirk in her voice could be heard.

That brought a chuckle out of Caitlyn. There was a whoosh of magic, and Evaine appeared again, frowning at two bottles. “Both,” the Spider Queen stated helpfully after staring for a moment.

The Matron looked at her, then Caitlyn, then shrugged. “Open them, would you, Elise? I’m awfully tired from the long day.”

She set one bottle next to the Shadow Isler and placed a hand on her forehead to emphasize her words. Caitlyn heard the Spider Queen scoff, “Don't you even dare. You're the only one that got out unscathed.”

Evaine actually had the gall to raise her finger dramatically and point at the long, but thin, scratch from the debris on her leg. Even Caitlyn had to sigh at that. Elise turned her head and the two shared a look. The Sheriff shook her head in exasperation. “Right. You children have fun,” she quipped weakly.

LeBlanc looked up long enough to throw her a warm smile, and Caitlyn’s heart fluttered. “Want company?” the Deceiver asked innocently.

The Piltovan stammered for a moment before her brain managed to find the correct words. “No, I’m fine!” the Sheriff practically squeaked, trying not to blush.

The Shadow Isler was busy holding the bottle with her free hand and stabbing the cork with one of her spider legs, but she let out a short laugh. Evaine began to pour the wine into three glasses with her magic, and standing back, Caitlyn really couldn’t tell that she was staring at two of Noxus’s most brutal individuals.

Elise had saved her today, she thought as she headed to the bathroom. The Sheriff would never have expected it in her entire life. Perhaps she wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe...just maybe, Caitlyn had a good chance of turning them both around.

To be continued...?