#can't work out how to put this under a read more on my phone dammit

[kingorgan]

Just asking... why do you criticize JKR but also reblog Harry Potter gifs? I'm saying this as a someone who's reread the books every two weeks in my preteen years.

Giving platform to her work contributes to her presence on this website, and the presence and popularity are a way to endorse products that give royalties to her. And you know what she uses all that money for.

Harry Potter was literally my childhood, and yes, it was hard to let it go completely at first...but she's really not worth it. You can't separate the work from the creator when it still gives the creator money.

Hey! Just to start, I wanted to firstly thank you for being kind in your question asking, and secondly to set the tone for my answer since obviously tone can be hard to read through text. My tone throughout this entire answer is one of kindness and sincerity. I am not at any point mad or upset.

I do not support JKR in any financial way. As soon as her twitter rant made its way to my side of the internet, I made the decision to stop purchasing anything official to do with HP. I was in the middle of collecting those 20th Anniv edition books with all the houses. I stopped. Previously I would have bought merch, I wanted to go to the theme park etc. I do not do or plan to do those things anymore.

I own merch that I do not wear outside my house, because I don't want to make people feel unsafe. I have a tattoo that I can't do much about, but when people take notice of it (and I feel I'm personally safe to do so) I say thanks but fuck JKR, right? So far, no one has disagreed with me, but I am armed with gentle arguments if someone ever does.

But I do still engage with fan content. I listen to a few podcasts that have openly distanced themselves from JKR (Harry Potter and the Sacred Text, and Witch Please), I still reread the books, I still watch the movies (which I have on dvd and bought long before any of this), I still read and write HP fanfic, and I still reblog HP content on tumblr alongside JKR criticism which I tag the same.

What I feel like your question is implying though is the idea that there is a right and a wrong way to respond to and/or boycott something like JKR's transphobia.

As a person who has been active politically for a good long while now, something that you learn quickly is that you can't do everything. For example, I love make up and I boycott brands that aren't cruelty free. But different people have different ideas about what cruelty free means. There's kinda three levels to it. 1) that the brand has a cruelty free certification 2) has a cruelty free cert and doesn't sell on mainland China where their gov can require animal testing on any product whenever they want, though historically this is rare 3) all of the above plus their parent company is also cruelty free.

I do number two because as much as I want to stop animal testing on cosmetic products, I do not have the bandwidth to work out what everyones parent company is. But there a lot of people who would say I must not care about eliminating animal testing if I don't go all the way. I would disagree with those people.

This is not the only boycotting I do. There are coffee companies I will not buy at because their owners came out as homophobes during my country's same sex marriage debate. I boycott Disney, because they're an evil company which yes, includes Marvel and Star Wars because they are the same company. By which I mean I do not financially support them and find ways to watch what little I do want to watch through other means that doesn't give the mouse any money.

But I also don't judge people who don't do those things.

My priorities are not everyone's priorities. Beyond even boycotting - I am in full support of BLM protests in the USA. But I am not American, and whilst there is a lot I can learn from race discussions the US has, my priority is always going to be my own country's racist history and present. And I'd rather use my time and energy to talk about and learn about what is happening in my country rather than theirs.

All of this is to say that, after paying attention to the trans and non binary people who were speaking about this topic at the time, parsing through my own feelings and thoughts on the subject, and then discussing them with people that I trusted to call me out if I needed to be, I decided fan content was okay. But that I would always engage with the books and movies in a way that was critical of them and their creator.

I don't view reblogging HP gifsets whilst also reblogging criticism as anything different to what HP and the Sacred Text does, or watching the movie with friends who I also have critical discussions with.

Does reblogging gifsets of HP increase her presence on this website, and therefore lead to more sales? It's unlikely. Most people on this website will be aware of what JKR has done and will have made up their mind already on whether they are going to continue supporting her financially or not. Will there be people who follow me thinking I'm a "safe" pro JKR person? Maybe, but they're unlikely to think it for very long given that I also reblog anti JKR stuff. And maybe the post that they see will be one of many interactions that chip away at their terfness.

In the end, it's just as likely that reblogging anti JKR stuff will be seen by a terf who uses that as an excuse to buy more HP stuff because they feel the need to support her more. This is also possible, but unlikely so it won't stop me from reblogging them.

At the end of the day, how everyone has chosen to respond to JKR is personal, and there is no right or wrong way to do it, short of outright supporting and agreeing with her. I don't have to let go of HP completely, to let go of JKR. You might have felt that you had to, and I would not be mad or upset if you felt the need to block me because of this. But not responding in the exact way you did, does not mean that I am boycotting wrong, nor does it make me a bad person or anti-trans.

Maybe one day I will agree with you and stop reblogging them. My opinion is not stagnate. But that's where I'm at right now.

[kaelsleftverdantsphere]

Trans Kael bits and pieces in a modern AU teehee

Enjoy

------

"Bro if you don't come like asap we're going without you"

"Hal, father is in my room, wait like 2 fucking seconds"

"Then tell him you need to run away from him real quick with your 3 boyfriends and to go fuck himself"

"OMG HAL STOP"

"What? We already drank a bit before going"

"WITHOUT MEEEE????"

"Well you gotta talk to your daddy first don't you"

"🖕🖕🖕"

"Omfg its starting to rain good sir"

"Stand in the rain then, it won't kill you 😉"

"I love you too Kael!!!!"

"MWAH BITCH"

"All I'm saying is you should start acting like an adult for once, darling..."

"I am an adult..." He was laying on his bed, looking in his phone, completely disinterested in whatever Anasterian was telling him.

"You sure are, in age atleast... But not in the way you act. Especially not recently."

"Belore, dad, will you just leave it? I'm trying, oh my gods..."

"All I'm saying is that you should be more responsible... I don't want to be worried about you running around, possibly coming back home pregnant or worse!"

"DAD??? Will you just cut it?"

"I get worried! And I don't want you ruining the image of our company..."

"Blah blah blah, epic, cool... you leaving?"

"Stop talking to me in that tone, young lady!"

Kael stopped in his tracks, sat up on the bed. "Will you just leave? I don't feel great..." He frowned at his father.

"What is it? Keelia, you know you can talk to me, honey..."

He got up and walked over to his father. "Please, leave me alone for two seconds!"

Anasterian sighed and walked out of the room. "Alright..."

Kael closed the door behind him and went to get ready for the night out.

He put on his binder and quickly put together an outfit for the day.

He wasn't feeling particularly confident in the look to be honest. He might've been feeling cocky and rude today, but the second the way he looked came into question? All that smugness goes out the window.

---

Kael blinked behind the mansion to the usual spot, with his friends already waiting for him, two of them absolutely drenched in rain while Rommath was the only one under an umbrella.

"Hi..."

"Just hi? The fuck, man?" Halduron hugged him.

"OH MY BELORE YOU'RE SO COLD!" Kael pulled back and playfully punched him in the shoulder. "How very dare you, sir..."

"Are we going?" Rommath said, looking up from his phone. "You look handsome, Kael..." He stated dryly.

"Thank you, you do as well..." He smiled at him.

"I think we should go before your dad notices you left..." Lor'themar chuckled. "And we really need some fire magic over here..."

"Rom could've dried your clothes already-"

"Why would I do that? They should've brought umbrellas..." Rommath rolled his eyes.

"Rommie..." Kael giggled.

"Ughhhhh... You act like you aren't the stronger one of us..." He said, slowly walking away from the house.

---

When they got to the bar (and dried Lor and Hal's clothes) they sat down at a booth in the corner. Immediatelly ordering some drinks to start with.

"How was your day, by the way? You were at home, right, Kael?" Lor'themar started, taking a sip.

"Oh yeah... I didn't have any classes in uni today so I just... Read a book and shit..." He smiled, also sipping on his drink.

"I will never understand... NEVER... How you can read books for fun..." Halduron joined in.

"That's because you're fucking dyslexic, Hal..." Rommath chuckled.

"Hey! That hurt! It's true but it hurt!" Hal was laughing his ass off trying not to spill his drink.

"And what did you guys do?" Kael asked.

"Well I went to class and later, Hal, Sylvanas and I went to archery practice..." He shrugged. "But nothing very eventful happened..."

"I went to class, to work and then I had a job interview for my summer job-" Rommath started.

"Belore dammit, Rommath, you have no chill." Halduron said.

"What? I would be bored just sitting at home like someone..." He smirked and looked over at Kael.

"I don't sit at home willingly! I just can't do a lot of shit because father would be worried sick..."

"And... why do you care if he's worried or not? You are an adult, Kael..." Rommath shook his head.

"I wouldn't care if he didn't make me feel so bad about it... He shouldn't even worry about me going out with friends every once in a while but noooo I have to sneak out like a sixteen year old..."

"I mean you do act like a sixteen year old sometimes... But that's not important..." Rommath took a sip of his drink. "You are constantly worrying about him worrying about you... that's not healthy for either of you..."

"I know... But me not being out to him is also not the healthiest situation now, is it?" Kael cringed at the thought. "He still sees me as his little... girl..."

"Ugh... What did he say this time, hon?" Rom moved one of his hands to Kael's knee and looked into his eyes. "You okay?"

"Of course I'm okay... I'm used to it by this point. He just called me a young lady again. Like using my deadname isn't bad already. But- he doesn't know so it's- so it's fine I guess..."

"It's not fine if you feel hurt by it... Even if he doesn't know..."

"Belore, Rom, can we just drink in peace without talking about my identity crisis?"

---

They sat there for a while, drinking their little cocktails, talking, when Hal had the genius thought of doing shots. And Kael had an even more genius idea of making it a competition between the two.

Kael was feeling more than just tipsy when he felt a slight tap on his shoulder. He turned around and froze.

"Keelia, what did I tell you-?"

"Dad, I-" Suddenly he felt as if his whole stomach turned.

"You what? I don't understand what you're trying to do by constantly acting like a-"

"Dad, I don't feel too good..."

"Oh my belore, sweetie..." Anasterian brushed back his hair.

"I mean-" And in a second or two, his stomach chose to leave the conversation right onto a pair Anasterian's expensive shoes.

---

He didn't remember much of last night when he got up on his bed in the morning with a raging headache. He was still wearing his binder and god did it feel like it was crushing his ribs after so long.

He slowly sat up and looked over at the side table with a piece of paper, a pill and a glass of water placed on it.

Kael reached for the paper, picking it up and reading the text on it.

"Don't do that again and call me if you need anything

-A.S."

Kael chuckled.

"I love you, dad."

[starlitangels]

My brain keeps telling me ‘body swap AU every fixation you have.’

Assuming I'm reading this correctly, here's a bunch of Body Swap AU headcanons for just the Redactedverse because it got super long and I honestly didn't have any decent ideas for a Sirenverse one... I might come back to that at a later time if I come up with any ideas (I don't have the narrative brain at the moment for how hefty a full fic would be... maybe later but no promises)

This is so long I gotta put most of it under a Keep Reading

Redactedverse

Okay. So. Basically, something magical happens because of course it does and every empowered soul swaps bodies (but not Cores) and all hell breaks loose (I "woke up and chose chaos" when I wrote this)

Milo wakes up in David's body, holding Angel instead of Sweetheart, and swears so loudly he's pretty sure all of Dahlia can hear him.

Angel gets jolted awake to David's voice with Milo's accent absolutely swearing up a storm—as "David" falls out of bed

They are both very confused

Though, after a bit of panicked and confused screaming, they figure out what's going on

Milo cannot get used to David's size. Either as a human or as a wolf when he shifts

Meanwhile...

Vincent is very confused when he wakes up in a familiar environment that is very much definitely not his house with the smell of a shifter beside him

He opens his eyes to see not his arm attached to not his body draped over definitely not his partner

Lovely jumps awake at Vincent's shriek—sounding like Sam's voice—and bamfs into a wolf

Cue more freaking out

It takes these two a bit longer to figure out WTF just happened

But eventually Lovely manages to shift back into a human

Meanwhile...

Sweetheart wakes up to voices. In their head. Lots of them, and they're loud.

Loudest of all is the unempowered man holding them from behind. Who is still asleep, and dreaming about food—while the Tetris theme plays in the back of his mind—and very much not Milo

Sweetheart's first instinct is to phase-cloak—and it doesn't come as easily as it always has, to the point where they're only cloaked and not phased—and they can't force out all the thoughts pressing in on them

And they're loud and confusing and just everywhere

When Geordi wakes up he can't see Cutie, but he can see the dent in the bed where their body is and he can hear them crying

And the cloak doesn't last as long as Sweetheart is used to being able to maintain it, so they reappear—and finally see that the body they're in is not their own

Geordi and Sweetheart both freak out, trying to figure out what's up

They get there eventually

Meanwhile...

David wakes up in Milo's body—smaller, skinner, shorter—holding Sweetheart's body

He also swears loud enough to wake half of Dahlia

Thus jolting Cutie awake—and the world is quieter than it's been since their powers manifested in terms of thoughts

But it's very much not quiet with how much this random guy with a shifter aura is shouting

Cutie tries to force themselves into his mind to calm him down—but the telepathy magic doesn't want to work and this shifter isn't even trying to force them out

In frustration, a pulse of magic shoots through Cutie's core—and they disappear

David and Cutie are both shouting—Aggro is yowling—it's a mess

(Give them a minute, they'll figure out something's up. It'll just take them more time)

(David also can't get used to Milo's size. He can't reach anything and he's not even that much shorter, dammit!)

Meanwhile...

Freelancer wakes up alone in a familiar apartment, but not a familiar bedroom. Everything is simultaneously warm and pleasantly cool at the same time

Getting out of the bed and leaving the bedroom reveals Damien's apartment

Freelancer looks around for Damien—trying to figure out if they had a drunk one-night-stand or something—and catches their reflection in the mirror

Time to shriek and freak out trying to figure out what's going on—finding Damien's phone on the nightstand to call somebody and—$#!+ they don't know his passcode

Meanwhile...

Darlin' does not know the room they woke up in. They don't know the scents, the decor, the bedsheets

Nor, particularly, the man holding onto them

They've seen a picture of Vincent Solaire, but never met him in person

Darlin' shoves "Vincent" away—but the growl that comes to their throat is not theirs and not as animalistic as they're used to

Darlin' feels static electricity building up in the air as a powerful magical Core in their chest is freaking out and charging up

Sam wakes up to see Lovely with a very Darlin'-like hostile expression on their face and is also very confused

He doesn't scream or swear or freak out just yet.

Darlin' almost passes out hearing Vincent's voice with Sam's accent asking what's going on.

"Sam?!"

"Yeah... who else would I be?"

"You have Vincent's face so who do you think I would think you are?"

"Who are you then?"

"Darlin'!"

Coulda gone worse. Thank the heavens for Sam's level head

Meanwhile...

Damien is screaming the moment he wakes up. There is something touching him and he's not somewhere he knows and he doesn't know how he got here and—

And Gavin is confused as hell. Why is his deviant screaming and shouting at him to get off and don't touch and where are they and what's going on?!

These two figure out some body swap magic shenanigans have gone on fairly quickly

Damien is absolutely mortified and pissed off—and Gavin is laughing his head off

He calls Damien's phone so Freelancer actually can answer—and Freelancer starts laughing too

Damien is not amused

Meanwhile...

Asher wakes up in Christian's body, holding Amanda—who is actually Arden

And they're both screaming and trying to figure out what's going on

Arden is disgusted to be in her brother's girlfriend's body

Asher isn't feeling any better than Arden and they're just screaming at each other

(Amanda wakes up alone at Arden's place and doesn't realize anything is wrong for fifteen minutes)

Meanwhile...

Lasko hits his head on something the second he wakes up

His hands are too big and the apartment seems so small and why is the bed so low to the ground?

This isn't his apartment!

His usual stutter is gone in favor of a very long and creative string of swears

He doesn't duck to go through the bedroom doorframe and feels hair that is not his brush against the frame

He sees Huxley's face looking back at him in the reflection of the microwave door

And passes out on the floor of the kitchen. Huxley's on the ground floor though so there's no one below him to disturb

He'll wake up in thirty seconds. He's fine

Meanwhile...

Babe wakes up to snuggle closer against Asher—who is, apparently, still asleep (which doesn't surprise Babe at all)

But with a little suggestive teasing, rouses him from his sleep—

And he's immediately pushing Babe away from him and shouting

Asher's voice with Christian's accent makes Babe fairly convinced that they're still asleep and having the weirdest damn dream of their entire life

But after years of dealing with Asher, Babe manages to calm Christian down and they talk like adults and figure out that it's Christian in Asher's body

Babe absolutely makes a dirty joke that gets a very sharp glare thrown at them from Christian

Meanwhile...

Huxley feels... weirdly light?

But he's not in his room and he's not in his apartment

He recognizes Lasko's place, but he cannot figure out why he's there

He ducks under the doorframe out of habit and it isn't until he's through the bedroom door that he realizes how short he is

Lasko isn't even short but Huxley is used to being abnormally giant

Confused and puzzled, he goes into the bathroom and sees Lasko's wide eyes staring back at him

Huxley is even more confused, but he feels his Core, realizes it's an Air Elemental's, and figures something weird has been going on

He has to go find his friends and make sure they're all okay

I'm positive I missed somebody (in terms of main characters) but Elliot is currently trapped in a dreamscape and Starlight is in the Meridian at the moment so I didn't include them... still I'm sure I missed somebody else

[tinyboxxtink]

"Black Magic" *Part 11*

Ooops I MAY have lied before....

More angst comin 'atcha babes.

I'm sorry. We're getting there, I promise. I just love watching you cryyyyy!!!

I'm just kidding I love you all please don't stop reading my stuff.

(fun fact these are Raul's actual hands! It's from a LOF promo. THE FINGIES THO)

Tag List

@bookishfanfic

@stars-in-the-skies-world

@omgsuperstarg

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@gibbs274

@milkshqke

@wanniiieeee

@word-scribbless

@objection-argumentative

@aprildecker-blog

@lolliepopsicle

@madamsnape921

@stars-trash-18

@sassyada

So weird note here it won't let me edit this post on my computer for some reason to add the link to the new chapter and it looks stupid in the app but whatever....I hate this place sometimes. 🤨

You went the next day straight to Rafael’s office, but when you walked into the DA’s building, it was empty. What the hell was happening? Has the whole world gone nuts?

Before you turned to leave, one of the other assistant’s came out of the public bathroom.

“Hey YN, didn’t you get fired?”

“No-- Yes-- It’s a long story,”

“Well either way, I thought for sure you'd be the first one over to the church,” She chuckled.

“I'm sorry, what?” You felt your heart stop.

“The church? Where your subject of obsession is getting married?”

“I'm sorry, WHAT?”

“People talk, Y/N. Word is you’re obsessed with Barba, screaming at him and his fiancée like an unhinged psycho,” She tried not to laugh at you.

“I…” You began to have another panic attack.

“He can't ..how did she...he CAN'T….” You started hyperventilating.

“Ooookay I'm gonna leave you here for your mental breakdown. She scoffed and walked out. You immediately bolted out behind her, dialing Maria’s number, thanking God she gave it to you the other day.

“Hola?”

"Maria he's….he's getting married,” You gasped for air.

“Y/N? What are you talking about?”

“Rafael….he’s getting…” You tried to breathe. “He’s getting married, RIGHT NOW.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Raffi would never rush into something so--”

“You said it yourself Maria, that’s NOT Rafael,”

“You’re right. Well if there’s any trace of my Raffi, there’s only one church he’d get married at. I’ll text you the address and meet you there.”

“Okay…” You started to cry as you caught your breath.

“Hey, mija don’t give up yet, it’s not over!” Maria assured you.

“Okay…” You breathed, and hung up the phone.

-----

At the church you and Maria dashed around to find the groomsman room. You found it and Maria guarded the door.

You busted in without knocking to see Rafael straightening his tie, his tuxedo jacket hung on the mirror. He turned and stared at you in confusion.

“I...I’m sorry sweetie, are you lost?” He had concerns in his eyes. Concern for a ‘stranger’. You hoped it was because he knew you deep down, but you also knew Rafael was just a wonderful man who cared for all.

“You can't marry her Rafael” You said breathlessly, tired from running around the church.

“I’m sorry, what?” He half laughed, grabbing his jacket to put it on. You put a hand up to stop him.

“Because you don't love her,”

“I don't? Really?” He gave you an amused smile.

“No! She's using some kind of spell on you.” You cried.

“...Okay, is this some kind of prank? Is this Carisi’s idea of a joke?” Rafael continued to laugh, looking down the hall to see if Carisi was waiting to yell “GOTCHA COUNSELOR!”

“No, look you have to believe me. She’s been giving you an elixir that makes you think you’re in love with her.”

“...Um, okay seriously, this isn’t funny anymore sweetie,” He stopped laughing.

“I’m not kidding!” You stomped your foot,

“Look honey I’m-- I’m sorry, you must be confused. Did you come here with someone or--?” He put on a patronizing voice.

“I’m not some mental patient Rafael, l'm Y/N! Don’t you remember me? Look at me!” You stepped in front of the mirror.

“....No, I can’t say that I do. Really sweetie you need to--”

“STOP calling me sweetie. STOP patronizing me, and fucking LISTEN to me!!!!”

“...Okay, fine. Then I’m sorry you crazy person, but get the hell out of my dressing room,” He turned serious.

“No! Look listen to me Rafael, you don’t love Liv. She has you under some kind of bat crap crazy concoction of spells to keep you under her control!”

“Okay you’re ACTUALLY insane, how the hell did you get in here?”

“I came with Maria,”

“Maria? How do you know Maria? Oh did MARIA put you up to this?! God I know she was pissed I told her not to come, but to send a mental patient--”

“I’m not a fucking mental patient!” You yelled.

“And I’M not under some kind of bizarre spell,” He yelled back.

“Ok then….why do you think you feel stronger and stronger about Olivia every day?” You asked.

“Are you kidding me? Um sweetheart that's what you call being in love. You fall more and more everyday.” he scoffed.

“Not like that and you know it.” You challenged. “It doesn’t feel like that, I know it doesn’t. I KNOW you find it weird,”

“You don’t know anything about me. I love Liv and--”

“Then why are you doing this SO fast?” You cut him off.

“Excuse me?”

“You barely proposed to her a few days ago-- which by the way, NOT your idea,” You rolled your eyes.

“Wow...you are really...are you stalking me or something?” He narrowed his eyes.

“No, but I know you. You wouldn’t just rush into something like this,” You told him.

“It’s not rushing, honey. We’ve known each other for YEARS,” He scoffed with a laugh.

“Then why? Why now? Why is it SO urgent that you get married RIGHT now?!” You stomped your foot.

“BECUASE I LOVE HER YOU FUCKING PSYCHO!!” He screamed in your face angrily.

“No, you don’t! You didn’t take her to Maria, you didn’t take her to your special place. But you took me,” You didn't back down, you matched his volume as tears lined your eyes.

“And why would I do that? Because I was in love with you? Did I just forget an entire relationship with someone I’ve never met?” He was still yelling.

“No I--” You looked down in shame.

“You what?” He crossed his arms.

“.....I used it first,” You said softly.

“Excuse me?“

“I used it first, okay?” You said tears in your eyes. “I used an enhancement spell on you that made you fall in love with me for a day,”

“Ohhhh I SEE,” he chuckled mockingly. “So what you’re really saying is Olivia is playing your game, just better?”

“NO!” You screamed. “No, the stuff I used only enhanced stuff you already felt. Hers FABRICATED them. And I only used them for ONE DAY, because I love you enough to not want to keep you for myself if it’s not real,”

“But you just claimed it was real,” he pointed out.

“I didn’t know that at the time-- LOOK,” You grabbed his hands. “The only thing that matters is that Olivia is trapping you,”

“With magic.” He looked at you again with amusement.

“Yeah…” You didn’t like this.

“That I assume she got from you?” He nodded at you.

“No she used black magic, I used good magic,”

“Oh right right, the good magic that manipulates feelings. Of course,” He nodded sarcastically.

“Dammit Rafael I’m telling you the truth! I know the real you is there, deep down somewhere. I know he is and I know how he feels about me.

“Right...look you need to let this insane crush of yours go, lady. I don’t know how you know who I am, but I have zero clue who you are,”

“That's not true. I know that's not true,”

“Oh really?” He laughed sarcastically.

“You look like a penguin,” You simply said.

“I'm sorry, what?” He continued to laugh mockingly.

“You look like a penguin,” You looked into his eyes, trying to distract him so you could pour the vial you had in your bra into his coffee next to the mirror.

So now you're just resulting to insulting me? Look you--- Oh my god what the FUCK are you doing?!” He grabbed your hand before you reached the cup. He held it and stared wide eyed at the pink vial.

“What the FUCK is wrong with you? Did...Did some criminals send you? The Diablos have pretty girls doing their dirty work for them?”

“What? No--”

“Ohhh wait,” He became sarcastic again. “So you try and counteract ‘Evil’ Olivia’s ‘magic’ with your own ‘good’ magic, is that it?”

“...I mean--”

“Alright I was tolerating you before, but if you don’t leave RIGHT now, I’m going to call security.” He swiped the vial from you and smashed it on the ground.

“NO!!!!” You dropped to your knees in devastation. That was the one thing-- the ONE thing, besides--- Well, there was no fucking way you were getting anywhere near his lips at this point. You racked your brain, trying to think of something, anything.

“....Your middle name is Eduardo,” You said softly, still on your knees.

“...What did you just say?” Rafael’s face went from amused to shock.

“Your middle name is Eduardo. You tell everybody that it's Antonio but really it's Eduardo. You don't want anybody to know your real middle name because it’s your father’s name,”

“How did you--” He tried to ask but you weren’t done.

“Eduardo used to beat you and because of that you hate him and you don't want anything to be associated with him.” You stood up, not breaking eye contact.

“....How the hell… “ He looked at you. “...You DID use magic didn’t you?” Rafael gasped.

“Yes but I--”

“You used magic to read my mind didn’t you? You used it to manipulate me and try and use my deepest secret into trying to make me think I loved you." He looked at you in disgust.

"No, it's not--" You tried to explain, but Rafael wouldn't stop.

"...That we had this perfect day together, that-- that what I bared my soul to you because I was so safe with you? So IN LOVE with you?" He spat.

"You ARE!!!!" You were crying now.

“Alright that’s it I’m calling security….” He muttered angrily.

“No! Wait, Rafael please...just….just look into my eyes,” you begged. Maybe if he stared at you, he’d remember that day when you held him and planted that memory. You went to grab his hands but he pushed you away from him.

“Get the hell away from me you psycho! SECURITY!” He moved past you and opened the door. “SECURITY!”

“No! Rafael! Please, oh god please, please PLEASE you have to remember. Remember I told you about my Broadway dream, just like yours” He was looking down the hall for a security guard, you were still yelling at him.

“Stop it.” He tried ignoring your words while looking both ways down the halls.

“...And and I told you about how my parents died and you said that you used to play and dance and sing at your abuela’s house because it was the only place you felt safe--”

“STOP IT!” He threw his hands over his ears.

“And then you told me that it wasn't until you met me that you felt that safe again. With ME!!!!” You were sobbing now, trying to get him to remember.

“SHUT UP!!!!!” He screamed, his eyes flashed a bright neon purple. Suddenly two men grabbed either of your arms and started dragging you away.

“Look, Rafael--” You fought the security guards.

"What?" Rafael held up his hand for the guards to stop and let you talk.

"Just answer me this: Even if, EVEN IF you think that I-- I used some mind control and 'took' that memory from you-- have you told Liv?"

"Told Liv what?"

"That story, that memory. Your real middle name!" You felt fresh tears falling, and you swear you saw the purple fade for a moment in Rafael's eyes.

"...Of course I have--" He shook his head with a sarcastic laugh.

"No you haven't. I know you haven't, because I straight up ASKED her what your middle name was, and she said it was Antonio," You smirked at him.

"Well, that's because I haven't had a chance to tell her--"

"You can lie to me all you want Rafael, but you need to really ask yourself why haven't you told her? In the YEARS that you've been 'in love'? Why have you never felt safe enough with her to tell her your deepest darkest shame? Does that sound like 'true love' to you? Does that even compute with what you THINK you feel about her?"

Rafael eyes darted back and forth, purple and blue swirled around violently as he took in your words. But he fought them, and shook it out of his head.

"Whatever, stop trying to play mind games with me you witch," He waved his hands for the guards to take you away, but you added one last thing:

“I’m going to go to your favorite spot in the city, the one place you go to when you’ve had a really long day or a bad day in court. If you go there, and I’m there-- you’ll know I’m telling the truth.”

“Yeah, OKAY. He rolled his eyes. “I’ll be busy getting married, psychopath,” He nodded for the men to drag you out but you broke free and walked out yourself, at least you’d have dignity.

You walked out of the church and broke down in tears. Both Maria and Chloe were waiting for you, they ran to hug you as you fell down sobbing.

“Aw honey, oh baby--” Maria held you while you cried.

“We--We have to go,” You tried to get yourself under control.

“Go? Go Where?” Chloe looked at you confused.

“Central Park,” You simply said.

You had to believe in your love now. That’s all you had left.

[spicycreativity]

Howl- Ch. 3

Chapter: 3/10

Add'l Notes: Fic is posted in full on my AO3, WizardGlick

Chapter content warnings: Depictions of alcohol use

“Nothing,” Remus pronounced. His breath ghosted over Virgil’s ear and he shuddered, pulling away so he could look Remus in the face. Remus was still in his work clothes and he smelled, not wholly unpleasantly, of sweat and dirty water.

“Nothing?” Virgil ran his pointer fingers behind both ears, just barely resisting the urge to dig in with his nails and see for himself, dammit.

“I think you’d know if aliens had stuck a tracking chip in your head,” Remus said, his own fingers dancing across the countertop toward the basket of enamel pins by the register.

Virgil ran his fingertips across his temples, still feeling for something, some marking or scar. “But if it wasn’t aliens...”

“Far be it from me to be the voice of reason,” Remus said, “but are we sure you weren’t just sleepwalking? Or high on peyote?"

Virgil continued to track Remus' fingers as he stuck his hand in the basket. "If you steal anything, it comes out of my paycheck." Not strictly true, but it would make Remus pause.

"I wasn't gonna steal!" Remus exclaimed, holding up his hands. "But now I kinda want to."

"Please don't." Virgil sighed and put his face in his hands. He'd noticed a strange metallic taste in his mouth after waking up properly, and even the desperate mouthfuls of Monster he'd been forcing down his throat couldn't seem to touch it. It hadn't touched his exhaustion much, either. Whatever Virgil had been up to last night had not been a restful activity.

"Oh, c'mon, don't freak out." Remus' hand sat heavy on Virgil's shoulder, warming him through the thin fabric of his Baphomet t-shirt. "You were probably just sleepwalking. It happens all the time. Roman used to sleepwalk all over the place when we were kids. One time we even found him asleep in the yard. Naked, just like you."

Virgil peeked over his fingertips. "Really?" Remus was not the type to lie to make someone feel better, but this story seemed a little far-fetched.

"I swear," Remus said, eyes wide with childish solemnity.

The only customer in the store stepped up to pay, and Remus stepped aside to let Virgil deal with them. He made faces behind their back, contorted himself into absurdly sexual poses and stuck out his tongue and wiggled his hips like Elvis in his prime. Virgil pursed his lips to keep from laughing. It had been a hard decision to ask Remus for help with this, but Virgil was glad he had chosen him.

Patton was a big softie and nearly as prone to panic as Virgil was. If he didn't escalate Virgil's paranoia about aliens then he would probably end up pressuring Virgil to make a police report. A useless endeavor, since no crime had actually occurred as far as Virgil knew. Roman and Janus would just make fun of him for being a tin foil hat-wearing loony. And Logan… Well. He might judge. He might not. But Virgil didn't want to look stupid in front of him. Not to mention that Logan would ask questions, force Virgil to face something he wasn't ready to face.

So Remus it was.

"Thank you," Virgil said when the customer had left and Remus had stopped gyrating his hips. "I know I'm being dumb and it was probably nothing."

"Janus isn't here right now," Remus said, pouring out the basket of enamel pins. They scattered and clicked across the countertop. "But if he was, I think he'd say--" Remus shifted his weight and crossed his arms, "'Now what did we say about negative self talk?'"

Virgil chose not to remind Remus that Bienvenue was only a few blocks away and he could easily go get Janus if he wanted. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I know it wasn't aliens."

"But if it was peyote, you do have to share," Remus said, his attention already back on the pins. He poked through them with one dirty fingertip.

Virgil watched for a moment, then joined in, turning the pins to face Remus so he could get a good look at them. Remus seemed particularly fixated on one shaped like a death's head moth. "That one's six dollars."

Remus braced his elbows on the counter and clasped his hands under his chin, lashes aflutter. "You know how you could repay me for checking your skull for alien trackers?"

Virgil nearly reached for his wallet before he realized what Remus was actually getting at. He sighed, biting back his smile all the while, and made a show of turning to inspect the rotating sticker display. "Uh-oh," he said in an exaggerated monotone. "I'd better make sure all the stickers are properly organized. Gee, I sure hope no one shoplifts while I'm doing that."

There was a brief moment of silence. It was broken when Remus, presumably done pocketing the pin, said, "So bowling night?"

"Huh?" said Virgil, trying to find the dirty joke. Maybe something about balls?

Remus pulled his phone out of the pocket of his work pants and shook it at Virgil. "Pastor Patton's little group bonding venture?"

"Don't call him that," Virgil muttered, digging his phone out of his pocket. Sure enough, of the messages he'd been ignoring all morning, one was a new group chat. He read through the messages. "How did Patton get your number?"

"Roman gave it to him."

"How'd he get Janus' number?"

Remus grinned. "I gave it to him. No way am I suffering through some corny adult bonding shit without backup."

"Am I not backup?" Virgil asked, unsure whether he should be offended.

"You can't be backup," Remus said dismissively. "You're the bridge. You forced me 'n' Roman to reunite, you made us all hang out. You're the bridge. You won't be as mean as I need you to be."

"I'm mean!" Virgil said. "I'm so mean!"

"Say something bitchy about Patton right now. Quickly!" Remus began to snap his fingers.

"Um," said Virgil. "Uh. Sometimes-- Well, sometimes he can be kinda… Smother-y?"

"Oh, please." Remus rolled his eyes. "That was almost healthy communication."

"Fine." Virgil crossed his arms over his chest.

Remus let him pretend to be upset for roughly three seconds. "But you are coming, right? Or are you gonna spend the night playing with Data's joystick?"

Virgil's cheeks went hot. "Of course I'm com--" He paused and reconsidered his choice of words. "Of course I'll be there. And Logan will, too."

"Wonder if I can start a betting pool," Remus said thoughtfully.

The bells on the door tinkled and Virgil leaned over to see past Remus. "Hi, welcome in," he said in his best customer service voice, which wasn't very good. "Let me know if I can help you find anything."

"Just browsing."

"Alright."

"Well," said Remus, affixing the moth pin to his hi-vis vest. "See you tonight?"

"Yeah," said Virgil. "Please be nice to Patton."

Remus winked and started to back out. "Sorry! Hazing is mandatory."

He slipped out the door, leaving Virgil to marinate in his anxiety.

--

Although he was exhausted, Virgil went for a short walk after work. He wandered by Bienvenue and stared at the fancy suits in the window and wondered how Janus always had the audacity to dress like he was attending a funeral at a high-end night club. His feet took him forward and he smiled a little. If there was one thing Janus had in abundance, it was audacity.

He stopped again by the reflecting pool at the Plaza and read the plaque. It had very little information and devoted barely half a sentence to the supposed curse. A shiver ran down Virgil's spine. He took a deep breath and carefully did not panic. As Logan would say, he shouldn't jump to conclusions. He needed more data.

Virgil didn't want more data. He would happily chalk his misadventure up to sleepwalking and banish it forcefully to his subconscious, if only it would never, ever happen again. He shivered again despite the balmy weather and muffled a yawn behind his hand. Time to go home and get whatever sleep he could before the inevitable disaster of bowling night.

He managed to get home without hitting any potholes. Whatever stormy weather had threatened Vaillant earlier in the week seemed to have passed, and he was treated to a spectacular view of a great blue heron flying low over the road. He even managed a few hours of sleep before he had to wake up and get ready.

He chose his outfit with care, scrutinizing it through Logan's eyes. What would Logan like? What did Logan like? Virgil had no idea about his preference in men or how he slotted into it.  Was it his height? His body shape? His eyes? What should he play up to make Logan like him? So Logan wouldn't regret choosing to be with him?

He dithered over this until he made himself late, and chose an outfit that he felt good in: long sleeves, long pants, the reassuring weight of his hoodie on his shoulders.

He kept it zipped up to his neck even after he entered the warmth and light of Vaillant's singular bowling alley, Gator Lanes. His friends were already seated. Waiting. For him.

Despite the wash of guilt, Virgil slowed and surveyed the scene. Patton and Logan sat on one of the low, pleather couches with a pair of bowling shoes between them. That left Roman, Remus, and Janus wedged on the other couch. They all looked like they were getting along, which was good. Roman and Remus were speed-eating French fries while the others talked.

Virgil approached from the back, gesturing for Patton and Logan to be quiet. He didn't miss the way Logan's eyes lit up; it sent a pleasant little rush of adrenaline all through his veins. When he was close enough, he leaned over and stole the pineapple off the rim of Janus' hurricane glass. It was dyed red from grenadine and tasted vaguely of rum.

"It's fine," said Janus, casually flipping Virgil the bird. "I wasn't saving that or anything."

"Guess you'll have to get another one," Remus said.

They started bickering about how drunk was too drunk for bowling night, so Virgil came around to Patton and Logan's side of the table. He kissed Logan hello while Patton explained about the shoes: "They were out of your size, so I got a size down instead of up, because I know you wear those really thin socks and I didn't want you to slip."

"Thanks, Pat," Virgil said. His hand found Logan's, somehow, and he smiled. "I wouldn't have put that much thought into it."

"That's why you have me!"

"Can we start now?" Roman asked, wiggling in place.

Patton stood up to fiddle with the control, and Virgil forced himself to nuzzle Logan's jawline with his nose. He wanted to do it, but the idea of being witnessed while he did so made his skin crawl.

Logan turned his head so they were nose-to-nose and smiled before pulling away. "Do you want me to order you a drink? We were going to, but we weren't sure what you'd want."

Roman threw a straw wrapper at them. "We're just about to start!"

"You're up second, too," Patton said cheerfully, flopping back down on the couch. "I put us in alphabetical order."

"I'll go, then," Virgil said. He squeezed Logan's hand and let go of it, stood.

"Don't forget to put your bowling shoes on," Janus said, eying Virgil's ratty leather ankle boots. Janus himself had somehow done the impossible and matched the colors of his suit to the dull red and blue of Gator Lanes' bowling shoes, making his whole outfit look deliberately tacky.

"When I get back."

"I'll go with you!" Roman got to his feet. "I already know I'm gonna lose. What's one more drink?"

"That's the spirit!" Remus said.

"Ha," said Patton, "I get it."

They turned to go, Roman bumping Virgil with his hip to prompt him forward. "So you and Logan, huh?" he said once they were out of earshot. "How's that going?"

"Fine," Virgil said, feeling the blush crawl onto his face. It was a short walk to the bar, but it suddenly seemed like miles and miles.

"You sure keep things close to your chest, don't you? Didn't say a word to me." Roman crossed his arms and looked sideways at him.

"I didn't think I had a chance!" Virgil exclaimed. "Wait. Did he say something to you?"

Roman winked at him, shushed him, and bellied up to the bar so he could order. Virgil hung back, one hand on his wallet, but Roman waved a hand. "Janus has a tab going," he said, turning back to Virgil.

"Does Janus know he has a tab going?" Virgil asked.

"Uh, yeah, it's not like I stole his card."

"It's not you I'm worried about," Virgil said, thinking of Remus and the moth pin.

"Ugh, you worry too much."

"This shouldn't be news to you, Roman, I have 'Worry Too Much' Disorder." Virgil flicked at his zipper pull. "Wait, so did Logan say anything to you?"

Roman smiled, even laughed a little. "Uh, yeah, he practically asked me and Patton for permission to ask you out. He made us promise not to tell you. Honestly, it was kinda cute how nervous he was."

"Nervous?" Virgil repeated. It was obvious now, but it hadn't occurred to him that Logan had lost just as much sleep over Virgil as Virgil had over him.

A harried-looking bartender popped up behind Roman, slid their drinks over, and vanished again practically before Virgil could force out a 'thank you.' Roman passed him his vodka Red Bull. "Let's go."

"Alright." Virgil sighed. It was probably better not to try to wring the details out of Roman, especially since he'd said that Logan had told him not to tell.

They reached their lane and he  scooted in next to Logan, snuggling up a lot closer than was necessary, especially given that Patton was currently up to bowl. "Welcome back," Logan said.

Virgil set his drink on the table and began to change his shoes over. "Having fun yet?" he asked Janus. He was still a little resentful that Remus and Janus didn't think he could be mean anymore. Just because he didn't want to shit-talk Patton behind his back. Sure, Remus had been the one to say it, but Virgil had no doubt the sentiment originated with Janus.

"Sure, I guess there's a sort of primal thrill in hurling a 14-pound ball at a target," Janus said primly.

"10 pounds," Logan said.

Virgil bit down on his lip to hide his smile.

"I'm sorry?" Janus tilted his head.

Logan gestured at the bright yellow ball sitting in the ball return. "10 pounds, not 14." Patton's ball came back, followed shortly thereafter by Patton. "16 pounds," Logan said.

"Pat's strong," Virgil said, elbowing Patton as he sat down. Janus bit down on an ice cube. "By the way," said Virgil, feeling a spark of pure evil manifest inside himself. "Have you guys made cutting boards yet?" To Janus, he said, "It's kind of a tradition."

"I'd heard," Janus said, shooting him a covert dirty look.

Virgil smiled at him and turned to Patton. "Janus would rather die than say so, but I can tell he's excited."

"Oh, good!" Patton said. To Janus, he said "I was actually a little worried you wouldn't want to do it."

Virgil's killing strike was delayed slightly by Remus' reappearance and Roman's subsequent disappearance, and he knew he had to act quickly or Janus would wiggle out of it when Virgil was taking his turn. Remus finally sat and stopped crowing about his spare, which no one had witnessed. Virgil pounced. "Bienvenue is closed on Sundays, isn't it?" he said to Janus, as though the shop hadn't kept the same hours for years. "Maybe you guys could do it then."

"The weather should be clear, too," Logan chimed in. Virgil looked at him, trying to gauge if he had picked up on the game, but his face gave nothing away.

"Works for me!" Patton said. "I'm putting the finishing touches on a coffee table for somebody down south, but I can make time on Sunday."

"Great," said Janus with a plastic smile Virgil knew he usually reserved for difficult customers. The daggers in his eyes promised a thorough bitching-out later, but Virgil didn't even care. So he wasn't mean anymore, hm?

"All you," said Roman, tapping Virgil on the shoulder.

Virgil nodded and took a long swallow of his vodka Red Bull. It was stupid, but walking up to bowl always felt like walking out on stage. He knew full well none of his friends were paying attention and even if they were, their friendly teasing was nothing to worry about. They knew when to stop. But still, his heart quivered as he approached the lane. By sheer luck, he managed not to get a gutter ball, then turned and hovered awkwardly as he waited for his ball to come back.

Logan caught his eye and winked at him, not even pausing in his explanation of the physics of bowling. Virgil smiled back, and suddenly everything seemed that much lighter, that much more bearable. He really had to stop worrying so much.

[suzukiblu]

excerpt from current writing (aka Avamorphs):

(annnd an immediate read-more)

Zuko wakes up in the dark in a small, cramped space.

< Zuko? > Lee says groggily.

< I'm here, > Zuko says. Their head aches. Everything feels BRUISED. He shifts, trying to figure out where they are, and curses as something sharp stabs into their thigh.

"Mother SKY!"

"No move," a ragged voice snaps.

"Mai Six Two Four?" Zuko says uncertainly.

"Who else?" she says witheringly.

Okay. Well, she doesn't sound happy.

"Hey, fuck you too," Lee says. Something wet drips onto their stomach and soaks through their shirt. Zuko frowns. Their head is swimming, and everything still hurts.

"What happened?" he says.

"Andalite bandit," Mai Six Two Four says shortly, and Zuko remembers the sister's friend smirking with their face and the floor falling away.

"Ah," he says. He gropes for their phone and finds it, then turns on the flashlight. It lights up brilliantly and illuminates the space. It's even smaller than he thought, and mostly filled up by Mai Six Two Four, who's wrapped around them.

And holding up the collapsed ceiling on her shoulders.

Oh, hell.

The wetness drips onto their stomach again, and Zuko looks down and hisses in horror. There's a piece of rebar jutting up from the broken-up floor between their legs and sticking through Mai Six Two Four's sluggishly-bleeding abdomen. The wound looks bad, covered in blue-green blood, and with the rebar stuck in it it isn't healing.

"You're bleeding!" he says.

"Mai Six Two Four NOTICED," she growls, audibly pained.

"Is that gonna kill you?" Lee asks warily, touching the rebar gingerly and wincing as Mai Six Two Four growls again.

"Mai Six Two Four doesn't know," she grunts. Neither does Zuko. It's a LOT of blood, and he doesn't know if any vital organs are damaged.

He feels sick, for obvious reasons.

"Mother Sky," he says again, throat tight.

"No worry about," Mai Six Two Four says. The collapsed ceiling makes a dangerous grinding noise above them, and they stiffen.

"Can you keep holding that?" Zuko says. Mai Six Two Four already looks exhausted, and the pain she's in is obvious in every line of her.

"Who else going to?" she says tersely.

"Good question," Lee says, looking at their phone. The battery's only half-charged and they only have one bar, but it's there. "Hey, how useless do you think calling somebody would be?"

"Very," Mai Six Two Four says. Lee pulls up Azula Eight Nine Five's number anyway and hits the call button, putting the phone to their ear.

"Hi, it's Ty Lee!" Azula Eight Nine Five's voice chirps. It's her voicemail. "Sorry I'm not here right now, leave a message and I'll get back to you super quick!"

"You'd better not be dead," Lee says tightly, then hangs up and looks at Mai Six Two Four again. "We're probably fucked."

"Probably," Mai Six Two Four agrees.

"I'm sorry," Zuko says.

"Why?" she says.

"He morphed my host," Zuko says. "It's my fault he was in there."

"That stupid," Mai Six Two Four says.

"It's true," Zuko says.

"YOU stupid," Mai Six Two Four says in exasperation. Zuko frowns at her. "Shut up. Figure out how get out of here."

"How far did we fall?" Zuko says.

"Far," Mai Six Two Four says.

"Like two stories far, or like sixty stories far?" Lee asks.

"Mai Six Two Four not know," Mai Six Two Four says.

"Great," Lee mutters. "Well, we didn't break anything, so it can't have been THAT far. I don't think, anyway."

"When human bones break?" Mai Six Two Four asks.

"I really wish I knew," Lee says with a sigh. The ceiling makes that NOISE again, and again they freeze. "Oh, I don't like the sound of that."

"Ceiling heavy," Mai Six Two Four says tersely. Her arms are just barely trembling. Zuko is feeling increasingly like they're running out of time. He looks around the space again, trying to figure out what to do, but no brilliant ideas are forthcoming. Hell, no STUPID ideas are forthcoming.

They're going to die.

Dammit.

DAMMIT.

< I have a stupid idea, > Lee says.

< You do? > Zuko blinks. Lee looks at Mai Six Two Four.

< Think she can keep holding up the ceiling if we acquire her? > Lee asks.

< What?! >

< We don't have a stronger morph than a Hork-Bajir, > Lee says. < Definitely nothing that can hold up a ceiling. >

< That's not the part I'm upset about, Lee! > Zuko hisses.

< We're going to die otherwise, > Lee says.

< We don't KNOW that! > Zuko says.

Then the ceiling creaks again, and something in it shifts and it drops a few inches. Mai Six Two Four grunts in pain, arms trembling harder as she bows under the weight.

Fuck.

"Mai Six Two Four," he says roughly.

"Figure. Something. OUT," Mai Six Two Four growls.

"I'm trying!" Zuko says. She glares at him.

"If Zuko Five Three Three die, Mai Six Two Four not forgive," she says.

"Yeah, okay, but you have to survive yourself for that to actually be a threat," Lee says. Her glare darkens.

"Stupid," she says. The ceiling creaks again. The tremble in her arms is spreading. "Zuko—"

"We're WORKING on it," Lee says. < We need to morph. Either her host, or something small enough to get out. >

< We're not leaving her! > Zuko says.

< Then it's the other option, > Lee says.

< We CAN'T— >

"Zuko Five Three Three," Mai Six Two Four says, her voice rough. All of Zuko's attention immediately snaps to her. "Mai Six Two Four is—sorry."

"'Sorry'?" Zuko repeats in bemusement.

"Not strong enough," she says.

"You are," Zuko says, chest aching in the way only she's ever made it ache.

She's going to die. They're all going to.

Unless . . .

Zuko steels himself, then throws their arms around Mai Six Two Four's neck and squeezes her tight, eyes screwed shut.

"I'M sorry," he says, and then he acquires her host.

And then he starts to morph.

"Zuko Five Three Three?" she says. Their fingers lengthen into talons, and he digs them in against her back. Their clothes tear at the shoulders.

"Sorry," he says. "I'm so sorry."

He can't just let her and Lee die, and he can't abandon her here.

"What?" she says.

"No kill us yet," Zuko says, because while thoughtspeak may be easier than a Hork-Bajir's clumsy mouth, a Hork-Bajir's mouth is still more familiar. "Let us get you out."

Lee lets go of Mai Six Two Four and they reach down and yank the twisted rebar out of her stomach. She snarls in pain, staring at them in disbelief in the glaring light of their phone's flashlight.

"How," she says roughly.

"Long story," Zuko says humorlessly, then pushes the ceiling up and off her shoulders. It creaks dangerously, but it holds. Mai Six Two Four sags in relief, clutching her still-bleeding stomach.

"HOW?" she demands again.

"No can tell you," Zuko says.

They could, but . . .

But.

"Liar," Mai says, narrowing her eyes at them.

Well, she's not wrong.

"Can Mai Six Two Four dig out?" Zuko says. She takes her clawed hand away from her stomach. It's bloody, but not bleeding.

"Zuko Five Three Three's host can morph," she says. "Does Azula Eight Nine Five know?"

"No," Zuko says.

"You think she be in Ty Lee if she knew?" Lee snorts, which is . . . true, actually, and probably Azula Eight Nine Five IS who'd be put in Lee if they were found out, assuming Ozai Three didn't kill her for not realizing what was going on in the first place.

Zuko . . . doesn't like that idea. Either the idea of Azula Eight Nine Five getting killed because of them, or the thought of her in Lee. They're both bad options.

Inevitable now, though. Mai Six Two Four's seen them morph. One of those things is happening.

< We can still get away! > Lee protests.

< We can get you away, > Zuko corrects. He'll starve without a Kandrona, after all.

< We'll figure something out! > Lee says. < You're always so damn DEFEATIST. >

< It’s pragmatism, not defeatism, > Zuko says in exasperation. < And even if we HADN'T morphed they’d probably kill us for letting the Kandrona get blown up. They’re probably going to kill us all for that, actually. If we live. >

< Yeerks are idiots, > Lee says.

< Humans aren’t BETTER, > Zuko grumbles.

< Did I say we were? >

“Is Zuko Five Three Three even listening?” Mai Six Two Four demands, which is when Zuko realizes she’s been talking.

“Talking to host,” he says. “Sorry.”

She looks at him and lets out an incredulous little laugh.

“Sorry,” she says in disgust. “Zuko Five Three Three is SORRY.”

“Yes,” he says.

She growls at him. There’s nothing he can say.

“Can Mai dig out or not?” Lee asks impatiently.

“Mai Six Two Four not talking to you, host,” Mai Six Two Four snaps, and Zuko . . . blinks, slowly, and wonders how she can tell so easily.

But he wondered how she recognized him in Lee to begin with, too, he remembers.

“Mai is going to get CRUSHED,” Lee snaps back. Mai growls again.

“No fight,” Zuko says. “Mai Six Two Four. Please.”

Mai exhales roughly, glaring at them for a long moment, then turns her attention to the surrounding debris and starts inspecting it. Zuko assumes she’s trying to figure out if she can move any of it without killing them. Chances . . . might be slim.

He really hopes she can dig them out of here.

The other choice is LEAVING her here, and that . . . that’s not something he can do. At all.

That’s not something he’s GOING to do.

< We might be able to dig down from the top, you realize, > Lee points out dubiously.

< . . . maybe, then, > Zuko says. He doesn’t like the idea of putting the ceiling on Mai Six Two Four’s shoulders again, though.

Mai Six Two Four frowns at the nearest pile of broken concrete, then starts clawing at it. The ceiling creaks, but not as concerningly loudly as before. Zuko still feels concerned, though. The concrete shifts under Mai Six Two Four’s claws, grinding unpleasantly, and he winces. It’s definitely dangerous, but so is staying here. They can’t hold up the ceiling forever any more than Mai Six Two Four could’ve.

Mai Six Two Four is excruciatingly careful with her digging, which is definitely the right kind of careful to be, and as it is crumbling bits of concrete still keep falling from the ceiling. Lee is restless, and Zuko does his best to soothe his consciousness but it isn’t particularly effective. Well . . . no surprise, given the situation.

They’re doing all they can do, though, so it’s the best he can do.

Mother SKY, he hopes this works.

[tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors]

okay, i read your last fic and adored the hell out of it. haven't read part 1 tho so forgive me if my question can be answered there. but can u elaborate more about the world? like, i dont really understand if the tattoo shop is a regular tattoo shop? guessing not. but can't really figure where the magic fit in it. also, if we're at it, do remus and roman have more tattoos then that one they did on each other? love you bunches!

i couldnt seem to stop talking so under a cut it goes lol

The verse is more of a Concept - Modern Tropey AUS (Coffee shops, tattoo parlors, flower shops, etc) BUT the whole universe is based in some vaguely-DND-ish magic world

so they have cell phones and cars, but also potions and magical cursed amulets, and everybody knows about these things (no masquarade)

i do have a few bits of more specific worldbuilding (some of which are touched on in Chaos Theory but not with any depth) though not NEARLY as much as i do for laoft

theres no such thing as “science” - natural phenomenon that we would consider science are called “terrene studies” and theyre still considered a branch of magic.

Wizards are roughly analogous to scientists/mathematicians of masters and/or doctorate levels (Logan in Chaos Theory is a Chaos Magic grad student)

Mages/magicians are like undergradlevel - magicians have a degree but you can be anameteur mage. So all magicians are mages but not all mages aremagicians

Witches and bards - kinda like art/humanities. You can go to college for it but youllget constant "but what can you dowith that" comments. And people talkabout being "talented" at it like they do art, likeits innate and not something you have to put effortinto

Virgil and Patton in are kitchen witches and brothers (they run the mentioned magical bakery in Tyndall Effect) and Virgil is constantly salty about it

Healers are medical professionals and, and for example, you can get in trouble for calling yourself a healer if you dont have a license - Virgil mentions that he sees a psych healer for his anxiety in Chaos Theory

there are both mundane tattoo shops and magical tattoo shops in the world - Remus and Roman’s (Grimm Brothers Studio) is the latter. They both make their own ink, which is magic/potionwork, and design the tattoos, which usually have sigils and runes worked into them.

Remus is an artificer (magic engineer, basically) and he makes all of the magical equipment (the tattoo guns, the autoclave - basically everything you’d find in a regular tattoo shop, he built, and its Also Magic)

And Roman is a bard - his tattoos usually have more complicated spells involved. He’s also got an Emergency Healing Certificate (read: first aid + knows one very low-grade healing spell) and he does all the piercings/body mods other than tattoos like say, getting your tongue split for that reason

oof this got long

and finally, both the twins are very, very tattooed and they both have a lot of piercings as well but i havent quite settled on exactly how many/where/what they are. I definitely wanna pin down Roman’s before i write the royality fic because i NEED Patton (respectfully) ogling inked-up punk-rock Roman in my life and i want Specifics Dammit!

[trashwarden]

Can't Forget You

Most recent fic commission from ticklishivories (twitter)! Do commission Kathy if you have a chance (:

Dorian Pavus x Vaxus Trevelyan | Modern AU | (2387 words) | AO3

---

 Vaxus stares out the window with a dent in his brow and confusion souring his smile. The back of his head throbs where sutures were left in his scalp and he wants to scratch the itch underneath the bandage strapped to his temple and shoulder, but otherwise, he’s fine. Just frustrated.

           “I’m sorry I had to do that,” Dorian says again, “but they wouldn’t have let me pick you up otherwise.”

           “It’s alright,” Vax says quietly. He doesn’t know why he’s so upset that Dorian had to lie. It makes sense; roommate that happens to be best friend isn’t a sufficient title to be let in on a traumatic accident. There’s a lot of things that add up– no one else could pick him up, his sister is out of town, so unless he wanted to spend another night in the hospital Dorian had no choice but to lie. And yet something about it leaves Vax with an off taste.

           “You’re being unusually silent.” Dorian looks over his shoulder before he makes a right turn. Vax’s gaze lingers a little too long on the muscles in his forearm. “The surgeon said your memories would most likely return. There’s no need to be worried.”

           Vax knows that something is off about this; he feels that he should be comforting Dorian, not the other way around.

           A ring goes off, shrill and buzzing. Vax jumps a bit– Dorian reaches into the center console and pulls out a phone.

           “Hello, Val.”

           Val.

           “Oh!” Vax reaches for the phone, and Dorian leans away. “Let me talk to her.”

           “Keep calm, Vaxus! You still have a concussion.” He sighs, rolling his eyes. “Yes, that was him. Clearly a collision with a speeding delivery truck wasn’t enough to knock his zest out.”

           Vaxus sits back and folds his arms across his chest.

           “He’s pouting now. No, there was no trouble. They accepted the lie rather easily, actually.” Dorian goes quiet, then clears his throat. “Well, that’s your opinion, and you’re entitled to it. Anyways, I think he’ll be fine to use technology after he rests. I’ll make sure he calls you first thing in the morning.” He smiles. “It’s my pleasure. Please, don’t thank me. Your brother…he’s worth it.”

           Vaxus peers over at him, the ache in his chest drawing him away from the ache in his head for a moment. It’s deep and familiar, as if it’s grown roots in his body.

           He remembers things fleetingly; he remembers driving away, and being upset. What about? Maybe something to do with the man sitting next to him, whose strong profile makes him stomach flip, whose small, sad smile makes his heart twist painfully. It’s not true, they’re not boyfriends. Not only that, it was a clever lie and made things easier for everyone.

           But why does it hurt so badly?

           Dorian leads the way to their apartment, even going so far as to open the door for him. Vaxus shoves his hands into the pockets, watching Dorian turn on the lights and set his hospital bag and medicines down on the kitchen table. Something about the action of Dorian removing his coat makes Vaxus’ eyes linger longer than they should his shoulders, so he pulls his gaze away to walk towards the end of the hall where he assumes his room is.

           “Vaxus? You’re heading into my room!”

           Vaxus feels like he’s hanging off the edge of a merry-go-round.

           “I’m gonna puke,” he says, sure that Dorian can’t hear him from across the apartment, but in the time that he blinks Dorian is there, miraculously materialized, his warm hand on his back as he guides him to the bathroom.

           “You just need some rest,” Dorian says softly, soothing Vaxus’ anxious chills. “Right as rain by the morrow.”

           “God, your words.”

           “Hm?” Insecurity creeps into Dorian’s voice. “What about them? I know I can sound a bit pretentious sometimes but I truly don’t intend it, you know how it is at my job working around such arrogant–”

           “No, no. I like them.”

           “My coworkers?”

           “No, your words.” Vaxus waves his hand in the air flippantly. “Your elegance is charming. And your shyness about it is cute.”

           “O-Oh. Well…”

           But Dorian has no quip for that, even though Vaxus waits for it, standing slumped in the dark hallway with his hand on his back while trying to breathe deeply and evenly. He has a feeling that what he said was daring, overstepping some sort of unspoken boundary, but he doesn’t care anymore. Whatever stupid justification he made for himself to not flirt with Dorian was completely wrecked with the rest of him in the car accident.

           And why the hell wouldn’t he flirt with this man? This sexy, easily embarrassed man who he’s lucky enough to have as a roommate and best friend?

           Dorian carefully removes his hand. He stands straight and backs away, pointing towards the restroom. “The washroom is here, incase you’d forgotten that.”

           Vaxus stares at him, dead-eyed.

           “Right. Holler if you need anything. I’ll be…cooking. Something.”

           “Cooking what?”

           “Like it matters! People who’ve been in car accidents shouldn’t be sassing so much!”

           He stomps off, and Vaxus can’t help but laugh, even if his head pounds.

Vaxus sleeps until late in the afternoon the next day. When he wakes, a glass of water with a slice of lemon is waiting for him on his nightstand. He gulps it down greedily, wipes at his mouth, and pushes himself out of the bed.

           He needs a shower, urgently.

           The hot water soothes his head. He touches his bandages and realizes they’ve been replaced; he peels them off, wondering if he asks sweetly if Dorian would replace them while he’s awake.

           The thought of Dorian’s hands on his head makes the little blood he has left shoot straight down. He groans, not having the energy to take care of it this time.

           …This time?

           A fragment slides into place– of many other showers, and many other times he’s told himself he can’t, shouldn’t, touch himself after thinking of Dorian.

           And all the times he did anyway, unable to look at Dorian afterwards.

           This is wrong. Dorian is gay, his best friend, and Vaxus is–

           Very obviously into him.

           But he’s basically lied to Dorian about himself. How many times has he had to tell some story about a girl he’s met at a made up bar, just to cover up all the hours he’s spent thinking about taking Dorian out for a drink?

           This is stupid. If he gets into another accident, he won’t have the chance to tell his best friend what he really thinks.

           “Dammit,” he curses under his breath, and wonders how long he can stand under the spray before he turns into a giant prune. Vaxus shakes his head until everything inside it is thoroughly rattled, then soaps and rinses himself off.

           Dorian is sitting on the couch reading when Vaxus emerges. When he looks up from his book, Vaxus has the pleasure of seeing a blush rise like a thermometer from his neck to his ears and all the way to the top of his head.

           Probably because the only thing maintaining his modesty is the towel clinging to his waist, but who knows?

           “Hey,” Vaxus says, unable to stop his smirk from growing. Dorian nods, visibly having to pull his eyes away from his wet abs and down to his book. Vax approaches him. “What are you reading?”

           “Just…a romance.” Dorian clears his throat. “Quite silly, but fun.”

           It’s strange that he doesn’t elaborate more; Dorian’s always loved gushing about new reading material. Vaxus decides to change the topic. “Um,” he continues, his heart beat quickening. “We need to talk about something.”

           “Hm?” Dorian doesn’t look away from his book. But his voice is higher pitched than usual, as if it were gliding atop a thinly frozen lake. “And what would that be?”

           Vaxus lets out a long breath. He braces himself. “Uh, I don’t remember much. Surrounding the accident.”

           Dorian goes still.

           “But I remember that I’ve been avoiding you.”

           He approaches the couch, sitting down slowly enough that Dorian has no choice but to look at him. Vaxus touches his knee, and Dorian’s eyes lock on it.

           “I haven’t been honest about something.”

           “No,” Dorian whispers. “No,” louder. “I don’t think you’re in the correct state of mind.”

           “I think the accident finally shook something straight inside my head.” Vaxus laughs at the accidental pun, but he can tell Dorian doesn’t find it funny at all. He’s leaning away, sinking back against the couch. Vaxus’ hand slides an inch up his thigh– barely any movement, but enormously significant. His heart thunders in his chest. “Dorian…”

           “Wait, hold on a moment–”

           “I was so disappointed when I found out we weren’t an item,” he continues, “and I had no idea why, but I do now.”

           “Vax…”

           “I really feel like this was meant to happen. Even though it was a lie, those few moments where I believed we were together…felt right.”

           Dorian is staring at him, wide-eyed, backing away. Vax’s heart sinks. It hits him what he’s doing; pushing his best friend down with his barely clothed body, literally trapping him against the couch. He retracts his hand, standing up as his cheeks flood with heat.

           “S…Sorry.” His hand won’t stop tingling, so he pushes it through his wet hair. “I’ll put some clothes on.”

           “Vaxus,” Dorian sighs. More than tired, he sounds…sad. Vaxus’ heart cracks as he looks at him. “Maybe you should rest some more. What you went through was traumatic. You wouldn’t…” He shakes his head slowly, as if resigned. “You wouldn’t be saying these things if you knew everything.”

           There are gaps in Vaxus’ memories. He doesn’t know what lead to the accident, or anything before Dorian picked him up from the hospital, but he does know that whatever stupid reason he was keeping his secret from Dorian never mattered to begin with.

           A tension lingers in the air throughout the day and into the evening. It’s familiar in a way that makes Vaxus feel cold all over, like a premonition. He changes his own bandages in the bathroom, hissing as he reveals the blackened stitches and bruises along his shoulders and arms. His eyes are red.

           He remembers something– Dorian’s red eyes, withholding tears, as he told Vaxus that he couldn’t live with him anymore.

           “Oh,” Vax says aloud. He clutches his chest as a wave of nausea rolls through him.

           His head pounds. Memories flood into him and he gasps as if drowning.

           The yelling. The tears. The begging– who’s begging?

           Stay. Don’t go.

           Dorian wanted to leave. He said he couldn’t take it anymore, but never said why. Vaxus had needled him to the point of shouting, until–

           He left the apartment–

           He’d been so hurt, so distracted–

           And then the accident.

           “Dammit,” he curses, holding his head as he leans over the sink.

           “Vax?” Dorian’s voice comes through the other side of the bathroom door. “Everything all right in there?”

           Vaxus takes a deep breath.

           “Yes,” he says. “I’m fine.”

           “The phrase ‘I’m fine’ has never been uttered in total honesty in history, Vaxus.”

           Actually, fine is an understatement; he hasn’t felt better than he’s felt in days. Maybe even weeks. “My stitches hurt, is all.”

           Dorian tsks, then opens the door, surprising Vaxus. He’s in his night clothes, smelling of mint, and Vaxus’ heart skips a beat.

           “Let me see.”

           Dorian takes up the bandages from the counter and grabs Vaxus’ arm, directing him to sit on the toilet as he takes his head in his hands and inspects the stitches. Vaxus feels himself flushing and keeps his eyes down, painfully aware that he’s shirtless.

           Dorian’s hands are warm and gentle. He delicately dabs a soaked cotton ball onto the wounds, his fingers sifting through his waves of hair and pushing the strands away. His eyes are focused, lips pursed in concentration, and Vaxus has a desperate need to kiss him.

           He’s in too deep. Can’t turn back.

           Can’t lie to himself about this anymore.

           “I’m sorry,” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

           Dorian doesn’t stop touching him. “For what?”

           “The fight.”

           Now, he slows.

           “You wanted to move out, and I acted so...childish.” He closes his eyes. “I made things harder for you.”

           Dorian’s palm holds the side of his head. “Yes, you did. But,” he sighs, “not for the reasons you think.”

           Vaxus looks up. Dorian is gazing at him, smiling, but his grey eyes shine with sadness.

           “You said things earlier today that I’ve only dreamed of hearing,” he whispers. “And that’s all I was sure they ever would be. I couldn’t…I couldn’t bear to live here anymore. Not with you.”

           Vaxus places his hand over Dorian’s.

           “I wanted to move on. Towards you, I’ve been…for so long–”

           Vaxus fills in the gaps. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, heartbroken.

           “I don’t want to hear an apology from you.”

           “No, Dorian.” Vaxus leans up, bringing their foreheads together. “I’m sorry…for not telling you. For making you wait.”

           Dorian’s voice trembles. “The accident, your head– you’re not in the right state–”

           “I’ve never been clearer,” Vaxus says firmly, and waits until Dorian slides his eyes open and looks at him, before kissing his lips. Dorian gasps softly. “Believe me.”

           There’s so much hurt in Dorian’s gaze, so much hesitance in his touch. But there’s hope, too, and Vaxus pours into his kisses all the feelings he’d been withholding, the thoughts he’d been too afraid to think, and hopes that Dorian can trust him with all that he’s giving.

           Dorian’s sigh is more of a whimper. When both his hands come up to cradle Vaxus’ head, Vaxus pulls back.

           “Ouch,” he grimaces.

           “O-Oh! Did I touch something I–”

           “Yeah, just a bruise–”

           “I’m so sorry, let me finish bandaging this–”

           Dorian’s face is redder than a ripe tomato’s. Vaxus laughs, not caring about the pain in his head at all. He laughs and laughs, holding Dorian around his waist as he finishes wrapping the bandages.

           They’d talk more about it later. For now, he’s more than happy to just listen to Dorian’s fast, happy heart.

[shadowspellchecker]

Dark Shadows 1966 Episode Revisions - Episode #0002

The woman gazes at Vicki sternly; the girl resists the urge to wilt under the glare. “I’m sorry for being so late—I had trouble getting a taxi. Are you Mrs. Stoddard?”

“I am," she affirms to Vicki's relief. "Do you have your letter?”

“Yes,” says Vicki, “It’s in my purse.”

“May I see it, please?” asks Mrs. Stoddard. 

Vicky pulled the letter from the side pocket of her purse, where she had secured it on the train. “I’ve never been in such a big house,” she observes as the woman opens the letter. “How many rooms do you have?”

“Collinwood has well over forty rooms, but not all of them are in use,” says she, handing back the missive. 

“It’s quite cold,” Vicki observes, putting the paper securely in her purse pocket.

The older woman’s gaze softens, and she says sympathetically, “I’ll put on some tea—would you like to wait in the drawing room?” 

Vicki nods, and, thanking her, steps towards the doorway. Much to Vicki’s surprise, it is warmer even on her side of the massive doors. Pausing in the doorway, something occurs to her. “Forty rooms?” 

Elizabeth nods. “Over forty.” 

Vicki blinks, thinking about what the waitress—Maggie—had said. “You must need a lot of people to help you take care of this place.” 

Elizabeth shakes her head, regarding her coolly. “I have one man for the heavy work, but we do the rest ourselves. You will be obligated to do the same, if you are to stay here.” She turns and heads through a door below the landing; Vicky also turns, drawn into the drawing room by the crackling heat. Still longingly admiring the large fireplace across the room, her attention is immediately diverted by the details of the room. The odd assortment objects on the tables, bookcases, and piano; the draperies; the portraits—of which, none of the subjects indicated a sitting any time in the last century…she paused. Of course those caught her eye, as any indication of such long family histories do—it always seemed so incredible, so miraculous, that anyone could be able to tell people of their parent’s grandparents, or their great-great grandparents, or… For a girl who had grown up in a foundling home, not even knowing her parents’ names, it would always seem inexplicable as to how she could ever be able to know even her parents, and yet here was a family who not only knew their parents, but could trace their whole ancestry! She almost felt jealous—but she couldn’t help but wonder if they knew just how lucky they were.

There was a bang, and she followed the sound to its source—a tree branch against the huge bay windows. Captivated, she stared out the window, hand resting on the cool pane; after a moment, she opened the glass and leaned on the casing, thoughts falling silent as she listened to the wind and the waves crashing below.

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

Five minutes later, the mistress of the household, returning laden with a tea tray, found Vicki staring at the portrait over the mantel. “Jeremiah Collins, my great-great-great grandfather on my mother's side, built Collinwood,” Liz said, startling the girl. “He was a very strong man; how often I’ve wished that…" She trailed off. "How do you like your tea, lemon or cream?”

“Lemon would be fine, thank you,” answered Vicki, conscientious of the change in subject. “I think it’s wonderful you can manage this house with only one person.”

“It’s hardly the whole house, anymore,” Elizabeth said wryly. “The East Wing was closed over fifty years ago, and we only use part of the West—one lump or two?”

“One,” Vicki answers. “Are you expecting someone else?”

“I asked my brother Roger to come down to meet you,” says Liz, handing Vicki the tea, “As you are to care for his son and tutor him.”

“What kind of a boy is he?” asks Vicki. 

Elizabeth hesitated, then said cryptically, “You’ll meet him in the morning."

“I know,” said Vicki, still on the question. “I meant to say, is he friendly, is he inquisitive? Does he like to play games? I know when I was nine, I…”

“Miss Winters, David is likely to be different from any boy you've ever met,” Elizabeth interrupts, but does not elaborate; she hears footsteps in the foyer. “Oh, Roger, we’re in the drawing room,” she calls. “Roger, I said…” Much to her dismay, he had already left through the front door. Continuing where she left off, “We don't have many visitors here, but you'll have your day off and several nights a week.”

“I hadn't even thought about that yet,” says Vicki. 

“And there's my daughter, Carolyn,” says Liz. “You’re about the same age—I’m sure you’ll get along very well; she’s a lovely girl.”

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

Meanwhile, Carolyn Stoddard is dancing at the Blue Whale, to the cheers and encouragement of the largely male clientele. Her current boyfriend, Joe Haskell, shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "I think that will be the last one for us, Bob," he says as the barkeep passes. 

Mr. Rooney looks over at the young Collins, and nods. "Get her home safe, Joe."

Although still at their discussion, Burke Devlin and Strake have relocated to the bar, away from the noisy entrance and dance area. The smaller man gestures at the dancing blonde, and says, "Yup, that's her. Carolyn Stoddard." He pushes a folder at Devlin. "It's all in the report."

Burke smirks. "I'm looking forward to reading it, Strake."

"You better—" Burke gestures at him to hush. Strake turns around. 

Carolyn has found her way back to Joe's table, but Carolyn's previous dance partner had approached the couple. From their position, the two men could hear their conversation.

"—wanna dance?"

"Why not?" She gets up.

"Because maybe I've barely seen you tonight?" 

"Oh, come on, Joe, just because you aren't going to doesn't mean I can't—"

"I think you've had enough, Carolyn."

"Go back to your beer, sailor boy," the dancer from the floor scoffed. "Girl can make her own decisions." 

"You're making an idiot out of yourself, Caro."

At this point, a scuffle breaks out between the two young men. Carolyn, suddenly sobering up a bit, intervenes. "Joe, cut it out," she says. "I'll have this dance, then we'll go." Joe meets her eyes, and lets go of the other man's jacket. 

"I'm ready for ya' anytime," his opponent jibes.

Carolyn swats his shoulder. "Don't go ticking people off, Johnson," she warns. "One dance," she assures Joe.

"One dance," he concedes, and sits down with his beer.

Burke and Strake share a glance. "Full rundown on page twenty,” comments Strake. “Joe Haskell—Mama’s choice for little Carolyn—oh, I wish my wife could wiggle like that!” 

"Maybe if you were thirty years younger," Burke says dryly.

On the dance floor, Carolyn's dance partner had been replaced with a redhead, who had apparently decided that "hopping" was an acceptable alternative to knowing proper steps. Another guy cuts in, to Carolyn's surprise, and starts dancing with the replacement. Joe takes the opportunity to cut in. "I think it's time we leave," he says. 

"No, wait Joe. Just one more."

"That was one more, Carolyn. I think we ought to go now,” Joe retorts. 

"Hey! Dancers only!" interjects Carolyn's new dance partner. Joe elbows the guy in the gut, and his friend tackles Joe from behind. 

Amid drunken cheers, Burke stands up to see the events, dodging Rooney who was making a beeline for the phone. Strake sighs. "Better go break it up, Burke." 

Burke cuts in, separating the two men and glaring at the third to stay back. The recipient of the glare sits down. 

"Go home, Collins," Burke orders Carolyn. "Now."

Offended at the label, Carolyn stubbornly holds her ground. "And you are?"

"A friend of the family. Now get her home, Haskell, before the cops get here," he says, pushing Joe in her direction.

Carolyn is not having any of it. "And what gives you the right to—" 

Burke interrupts. "Dammit, girl, go with your boy before I take you over my knee and paddle you right here!" Joe hands a furious Carolyn her purse and coat. "And you, boy, get back here after you get Miss Collins back where she belongs. I want to talk to you." 

Joe doesn't say anything, occupied with ushering Carolyn out of the building. 

Back at the bar, Strake takes a sip of beer. "Fight's over?"

Burke smirks. "Just beginning," he says, "just beginning."

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

Liz leads Vicki to her room. It has a large canopied bed. Liz closes the window. “The catch doesn't hold very well, I’m afraid,” she warns; “You’ll have to be careful—but I hope you’ll be comfortable.”

“It’s very nice,” Vicki assures her. 

A nostalgic look develops on the Collins matriarch’s face. “I slept on that bed every night until…” Liz trails off for a moment, “…until I married.”

“All we had in the orphanage were cots, plain iron cots,” says Vicki. “I could sleep on anything.” 

Liz scrutinizes her, but does not question further. “Hm. I’m sure you’ll have ample drawer space,” she says instead, opening the drawers in the dresser. 

“Thank you. May I ask a question?” Vicki asks Liz tentatively.

“Certainly.”

“Why did you offer me the position? You…” 

“No, I have never seen you before. Does it matter?” asks Liz. 

“I’d like to know,” says Vicki. 

“Simple enough,” says Liz. “One of the nurses at the sanitarium used to volunteer as a social worker at the foundling home while getting her degree. My brother asked for a recommendation.” 

“But I asked—they said they'd never heard of you,” says Vicki. 

“You must have asked the wrong person,” Liz reasons. 

A door slams from below. “Excuse me,” Elizabeth says, getting up and flowing out of the room. Left alone, Vicki closes the door and sits down on her bed, disappointed.

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

Downstairs, Carolyn passes through the foyer to the drawing room. She crosses her arms, and glares at the portrait over the mantle. "Hey big shot!" The portrait stares blankly back, and she sighs, defeated. "Who told you to build this prison anyway?"

"Carolyn?" Elizabeth interrupts, standing at the double doors to the parlor. "I didn't expect you home so early." 

Carolyn shrugs. "Neither did I." She does not turn away from the portrait.

Elizabeth walks over and puts a hand on her shoulder. "What happened, darling, is something wrong?"

"Nothing," comes the standard teenage response. Elizabeth gives her daughter a dry look. Carolyn sighs. "...Why is it impossible for me to enjoy myself?"

Liz winces. "I'll make you some tea."

"Oh, please don't. I'd rather just go to bed."

"Are you certain nothing is wrong?" 

Carolyn breaks. "Oh, Mother, I'm so tired of trying." After that, it does not take Liz long to get her daughter to relate the events of the evening. 

They end up sitting down by the fire. "That sounds horrible," Liz sympathizes. "I can't understand Joe Haskell."

"It wasn't his fault, though." 

Liz nods, distracted. "You don't know how much I worry about you sometimes." 

"I know," Carolyn says. "But let's face it, you love this house. And that's just grand for you...But every chance I find to walk away from here and find a little brightness...how can you ask me to give that up?"

"There are other ways," Liz notes. "You had one."

Carolyn grins. "I don't regret giving up my place, Mother. You know that poor Lou can't risk the draft, not with that father of his around." 

"I am proud of you, Carolyn. You did that family a great kindness."

"Still, it doesn't make it easier sometimes," Carolyn breathes. "When I was ten years old I used to dream that a white knight would come along and rescue me from this dungeon. I guess white knights have gone out of style."

"I thought you liked Joe Haskell," comments Liz. "All I ever pray for is for you to be happy… Joe loves you."

"And I like him," says Carolyn, "but he's not a white knight, Mother."

"We can't always get everything we want," says Liz. 

"I'm going to try," says Carolyn. "Please, stop trying to marry me off, ok?" She changes tack. "Besides, how do you expect me to go away and leave you alone in this beautiful nuthouse?" She gestures to all that's around them.

"I won't be," assures Elizabeth. "Not anymore." Carolyn's eyes open wide. 

"You mean she actually came?" asks Carolyn excitedly. 

"A few minutes ago, says Liz. "She's a nice girl, you'll like her very much."

But Carolyn is laughing, running up the stairs. "She must be out of her mind!" Liz shakes her head, and smiles.

 ><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

Vicki descends the stairs, still in her coat, and listens at the drawing room doors. She gazes at the portrait above the table in the foyer. Boo! She tells it. She follows the hall opposite the stairs, and enters some kind of room with french doors on the right. She goes outside, and hears the roar of the ocean. She walks down some steps, finally stopping at the edge of the terrace, where she gazes out at the sea. 

Roger Collins approaches from behind. "Not planning to jump, are you?? he asks, smiling --"You wouldn't be the first, you know. 

"You're Roger Collins," Vicki identifies. 

Roger nods. "Yes, I admit it. I am Elizabeth's brother, David's father. Terribly sorry if I startled you."

Vicki shrugs. "I am getting used to surprises, I think."

Roger chuckles. "Good idea, around here. We're quite a strange crew," he explains. "But, I think you'll find most of us rather nice. Though…it is quite different from New York, isn't it?" He waves his hand out over the vista, as though designating what "it" was. "I hope you won't be too lonely here."

"If I am, I'll blame it on you, Vicki quips.

"Me?" Roger asks, thrown.

Victoria, oblivious to Roger's confusion, just nods. "Mrs. Stoddard said you were the one that arranged for me to come here."

"Hmm, you don't say?" he muses, fitting pieces together.

Vicki picks up on his tension. "It is true, isn't it?" she checks.

"If Elizabeth says so," Roger remarks snidely, "then it must be true." He looks back out over the rock. "Did you know that on a cloudless day you can see twenty miles out to sea? When I was a boy I used to bring a picnic lunch out here and dream for hours."

Victoria hums pensively. "Maybe I can do the same with your son," she decides.

Roger looks doubtful. "With David?"

Vicki looks at him askance. "Doesn't he like picnics?"

Roger shrugs, resigned. "I'm not exactly certain what he does like anymore, Miss Winters. But if you intend to follow that plan, do yourself a favor. Stay away from the edge."

Vicki chuckles. "Really, Mr. Collins."

"Roger, please," he waves her off; "Mr. Collins still sounds too much like my father. You'd better head in. Shouldn't let the brightest thing in this house catching cold the first day." 

"I'm stronger than I look," she assures him. She points out to sea. "What are those lights?"

"Probably a freighter on its way to Europe," guesses Roger.

"Funny, they go all those thousands of miles, and I couldn't get here from the railroad station," Vicki muses.

"I should have come down to meet you in the car," Roger apologizes. "I was thoughtless."

"I was lucky," she says. "A man got off the train with me and got a taxi for me. He said he knew you… Devlin, I think his name was."

Roger suddenly grabs her in a painful grip. "What did you say?"

Vicki yelps, and tries to twist out of his hold. "Mr. Collins, please!"

"Did you say Devlin?" he demands. "Burke Devlin?"

"Yes," she says.

"Are you sure?" he insists, shaking her.

"Of course I'm sure!" He drops her and runs back to the house. 

Vicki rubs her sore arms and stares after him. She looks down at the rocks. "What was that about?" she mutters to the uncaring waves.

 ><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

Unwilling to run into Roger again, Vicki uses the kitchen door to enter the house. As she passes through the foyer, she hears muffled sobbing from the drawing room. She cracks a door open, and peeks in. At the piano sits Mrs. Stoddard, the only person in the room. Carefully, she shuts the door and sneaks upstairs to her room.

[vipstarlight1990]

Super Junior Reacts

To you getting hurt while they are away

Kim Heechul - Heechul

It felt like time had slowed down as you lost your balance. You hadn't expected the floor to be so wet. You didn't see a sign that warned you. But in an instant your body fell over and you hit your head on a nearby bench.

You didn't cry, you couldn't cry. Because after that moment everything started to go dark. All you could recognize was warped noise that sounded like your name but you weren't sure. The moment everything went dark the pain went away.

The filming had just finished as heechul thanked everyone for a good job. He had turned his ringer off while he was working as to not be rude to his co-host. As he unlocked his phone he noticed multiple text messages and missed calls. Confused he read through one message. Feeling his his heart collapse as he quickly gathered his things.

A few people tried to calm him down see what was wrong but he tried to be polite as he could.

You sat there while the doctor checked your eyes to make sure everything was okay. A bandage covered right above your eyebrow. "Did you feel light headed, or dizzy before you fell?", he asked. "No I slipped.", you said softly as you heard your name being screamed through the halls. "(Y/N)!", you heard a familiar voice echo as his reached your door. "Oh god.", you muttered as the door to your room slammed open. " Jagiya!", he said checking you over. " What happened?", he asked obviously worried. "I fell.", you reluctantly muttered. "You fell?", he asked as you looked away from his judging eyes. "Have you not eaten?", he inquired. "I slipped.", you say under your breath. "But you are okay?" He asked softly. "We are keeping her for observation but yes she should be okay.", the doctors said taking his leave. You looked down as the door closed and heechul turned his focus on you. "Why must you always be so clumsy.", he said kissing over you as you pushed his hand away. "I'm not clumsy the floor was wet.", you say as he helps you sit back. "So blind then...has your eye sight gotten so bad that you couldn't see a bright orange sign?", he teased.

"I'm not listening to this anymore.", you said as he tucked you in. Almost like a captive audience. "Well you either blind or clumsy either way I have to take care of you I just need to know if I have to get a service dog or not.", he teased again. "You can go home now.", you groaned. "Home...not while you are here.", he said fixing a chair next to the bed. You looked over to him and smiled while he started telling you about his day.

I put a lot of shit talking but to me I feel like heechul would check on you first. Once he was certain you were okay he would tease you so you weren't worried to much. This also may be for his benefit since he will worry until your healthy.

Lee Donghae - Donghae

You looked outside you window and saw a light flurry of snow. You had to run to the store for food but it was far to cold to simply walk. Your boyfriend had left you the keys to his car for emergencies. But the more you thought about it, the more driving right down the street seemed insane to you.

Regretting not going shopping after work yesterday you grabbed your jacket and walked downstairs to where your bike was chained up. You could ride it and balance a few light items. No problem you've done this before. You unlocked your bike and carefully rode it to the small family owned convenient store. Making it their without a problem you parked your bike in front of the store and walked in. "Small items.", you muttered to yourself since you only had to last a few days. Grabbing some soup and a half a gallon of milk, you paid for your purchases and walked out the store. Balancing your bike you wished now you had never decided to make a craft project with the basket that use to rest on the front of your handlebars. Lacing one bag on the other you slowly pushed off and gently peddle your way down the street.

Donghae checked his phone to see if you at least saw his message. "Still no answer?", hyukjae asked. "No...I'm worried.", he said about to call but he was signaled by a producer. "Dammit.", he muttered putting his phone down and going towards the stage to perform. He tried to focus only on his performance but a nagging bug sat in the back of his mind. No matter what he did he couldn't relax until you sent him a simple hey or good luck. Anything at this point since he hadn't talked to you all day. After performing their first song the group went backstage to change. Donghae rushed to his phone and was relieved to see you had sent him a message. 'Hey, didn't see your message...good luck talk to you tonight.', he read it once, twice, then a third. He was happy you messaged back but it seemed....off. He shook the thought from his head as he changed and went to perform his second song.

The rest of the tapping lasted a few more hours. It was well past dinner time when he got back to his hotel room. Plugging his phone up he sat back and called you as quickly as he could.

You jumped at the sound of your ringer going off. "Hey.", you said as you answered the phone. "Hi...did you watch me tonight?", he asked you knew he liked sending you little flirts when he performed. Especially if he wad promoting and you weren't going to see him for a few weeks. "Um....No I didn't get a chance to watch.", you said looking down at your bandaged hand and wrist. "Oh...were you busy with work?", he asked as you sighed. You knew how he would react and you really didn't want to tell him. "No I was just preoccupied and that's it.", you hated being vague. Because you knew he wasn't buying. You could hear the wheels turning in his head. "Did something happen?", he asked. "Well....", you stalled. "(Y/N)!", he yelled over the phone. "Okay, okay.....I rode my bike in the snow to get some groceries and hit a slick patch on the way back and got into a little accident.", you spoke quickly. The line went quiet, you knew what he was doing and you were trying to figure out how to phrase the next sentence in a positive light. "Okay....how bad of and accident?", he asked you could hear his tone starting to change. "A car hit my bike.", you mumbled under your breath. "What?", donghae asked. "I said a car hit my bike.", you still muttered just as low as before. "(Y/N) I know you have a louder voice then that.", he said obviously worried, though slightly annoyed. "My bike got hit by a car.", you said still trying to make it sound like nothing bad happened. Then there was that silence again. "I'm coming home.", he said quickly as you tried to calm him down. "Whoa...No you will be home in two days I'm fine.", you said as you heard him fumbling around. "Are you hurt?" He asked in a panicked voice. "A few scratches but I'm fine.", you reassured him. "I still want to come home.", he saidf as you satg back with your eyes closed. "You can't leave...", you said simply as he sighed heavily. "What if you come here.", he asked softly. You looked at your hand shook your head. "I don't think that is a good idea I'll see you on tuesday.", you tried to reassure him but you knew he wasn't having it. "Tuesday...No riding the bike...use the car if you must go out.", he said sternly. "I honestly c ouldnt use the bike if I wanted to.", you muttered under your breath as he popped the phone on his end causing you to laugh a little. "Its not funny (Y/N), you could've been hurt.", he scolded. "I know, I know I'm sorry...I'll be more careful.", you said as he sighed. "Let me go get a shower and then I'll call you back.", his voice was filled with stress. "Okay...", you said softly as the two of you hung up.

Do I have to even explain why an army couldn't keep donghae away from anyone he loves getting hurt. He is an emotionally attached person so he does not play about the people in his life. If you are lucky enough to be in his life then you better prepare for donghae randomly checking up on you. He is not going to hide it, or play down his feelings. If you got seriously injured donghae would already be gone before that conversation ended.

So I've decided that since the request asked for two types of post imma do both. Hopefully this short reaction will be okay for now while I go and watch bout you a few more times.....for research. Since it may take a little bit imma post a few thing in between but know it's coming thank you for the request and I hope you enjoyed the reaction 💖

/The masterlist/

[thehuggamugcafe]

& [after this, sent by the usual detective: "Wish you a good day, darling. I can't wait to see your shimmering obsidian gaze once again..."]

OOC: Precise as always aren’t you, askkrisachan? It’s quite alright, though; I don’t mind a specific request.

Thank you very much for the food for thought, though. It’s sweet of you to want to add an extra little something to your order.

Very well. A loving text from… Dun, dun, dun…

Joker! This one’s a bit different, just a bit. Enjoy your order, dear! ☕

Akira Kurusu was many things during the daylight hours, when the sun rose on the horizon of dawn.

He was a mild-mannered, quiet, and soft-spoken student by day.

He was a diligent student who always did his best to avoid directing unwanted, unnecessary troubles solely at him or his friends, both inside and outside of school.

He was a student who did everything he could to make himself as ordinary, as bland, and as day-by-day as everyone else around him was.

He was a student who answered questions in class whenever he was called on by his teachers. A student who managed fairly well in his studies, and who assisted his classmates whenever they were troubled with academics, or something unrelated to schoolwork.

Indeed, if anyone thought a young man like Akira Kurusu was anything but an obedient, law-abiding citizen, they would have been laughed at and labeled a lunatic.

And yet… And yet…

It was when night shrouded the city in complete darkness that he could truly be himself.

It was when darkness fell, when the nocturnal horizon loomed overhead as the sky wore the moon as its crowning jewel, that he could throw away his guise, however useful and a dire necessity it may be during the day.

It was when the raunchy attitudes ensnared the citizens, when their sordid desires took their rightful reign for some (mostly.) harmless fun that he could cast aside all of his daytime disguise.

“Joker, stop right there!”

“Send more reinforcements!”

“Dammit, halt!”

A taunting snicker was the thief’s retort as the noiret casually flipped through the air, the briefcase that was tucked underneath his arm betrayed a glint as a ray of moonlight bounced off of its pristine surface.

The black-garbed thief made it look easy, laughably easy, evading bullets that whizzed past him, putting on a show as the soles of his boots clicked as they touched the edge of a rooftop. Joker’s hair and clothing rustled as a sudden, strong gust whipped past him, putting him dangerously close to the edge.

It was such a long drop from such a high height, after all.

That didn’t stop the black-garbed thief from smirking, though.

“By your leave, gentlemen,” he said, pausing to curve his back as he bowed to the infuriated officers.

Still smirking, Joker leaned back further and further until, finally, he felt the wind whip by him as he fell through the air. His onyx irises stared out from behind his masquerade mask, watching the officers’ as they ran to the rooftop’s edge, watching him as he fell.

“Dammit!” barked one of the men.

“Get your men on him immediately!”

“I want this cheeky little bastard in handcuffs tonight!”

How vile, Joker mockingly sneered, curling and tucking himself as he rolled, breaking out into a run no sooner had he stood up.

Soon, he was back at his safe house, at a location few people, very few, would have thought to look for a wanted criminal such as himself.

The distant wailing of sirens had long since been put behind him.

A feeling of smug satisfaction filled him.

Indeed, the nightly routine of being chased, being yelled at, and being threatened to be shot by those who enforced the law was becoming to be almost as thrilling as stealing from those who were worse than himself.

“I wonder,” Akira mused to himself, slipping off his masquerade mask and draping his black trench coat over a chair. Soon, his crimson leather gloves were removed as well, set aside on the table as he sat in an empty chair.

“What would those police officers do if they knew one of their own had eyes for this criminal…?”

He breathed a laugh at the thought. Oh, he could only imagine what they would think of it, if they ever found out that a certain lady wasn’t as law-abiding as she made herself out to be.

Nor was she as innocent as she appeared to be at first glance.

Such a farce had long since been stripped away by his hands, quite literally so.

Be-be-beep.

Speak of your temptress and she will make herself known to you, he mused silently, smirking as he withdrew his cellphone from the briefcase on the table, now open and displaying stacks of ill-gotten money.

He peeked a glance at it, the smirk switching for a small grin that betrayed a hint of pearly whites.

You have one new message.

He quietly read the name of his lover.

“Ah, my dearest detective. Surely she’s heard of what recently transpired by now,” he cooed, lazily drawling a sugarcoated purr as he talked.

“Wish you a good day, darling. I can’t wait to see your shimmering obsidian gaze once again.”

Without thinking his fingers flew across the small keypad of his phone, the small, toothy smile still curling his lips.

“Good evening, my darling. I find myself to be under the throes of impatience as well.”

He paused, but only to flick his tongue out, running the moist mouth organ across his lips as he typed.

“I apologize if my recent heist has given you more work to deal with. I will make it up to you; you have my word.”

“Ah, but surely you are wondering ‘how’, no?”

“My dear, that is part of the surprise. A gentleman never spoils a surprise for his beloved, does he?” 

“I will come for you once your superiors’ eyes are no longer leering at your lovely form. Until then… I only ask for your patience.”

“I will see you sooner than you think.Please be safe, my Treasure.”

“Remember… That I love you and only you.”

“For you have given me the greatest treasure of all… Your heart.”

[lolcat76]

MIGHT i suggest Kiss at Pine Lake: an executive is sent by her boss/boyfriend to buy out her old summer camp so they can build developments on the land, only the camp is now run by another former camper she had a thing with back in the day (but lost touch with due to Tragic Circumstances), who can't pay his bills but has no intention of selling? Is this not actually perfect?

I love you. It is indeedactually perfect. Thank you, @okaynextcrisis for the fabulous Hallmark prompt, and thank you @cassiopeiasara for the beta reading and great advice.

If Laura could have doneone thing differently in her life, it would have been keeping her seat next tothe weird nose-picker in her freshman English lit class at the University ofWashington. If she’d stuck it out next to him, she might have never met RichardAdar, and she might not be looking over a perfectly pristine 6 acres of landnext to Pine Lake, a large, ambitiously named pond that fed into Lake Chelan,trying to figure out how many trees the state of Washington would let thembulldoze to build the 340 condo units Adar Development so desperately wanted tobuild.

“Lotta trees,” the campmanager said.

No shit, Sherlock, she thought, but she kept her mouth shut. Alot of trees, indeed, trees with rope swings and obstacle courses, somewhatfrayed but still swinging in the late summer breeze. Trees that gave shelter toa small army of campers every summer, until Adar Development found the land andsent her to supervise the acquisition.

It wasn’t hard to findthe site, once she saw the map – it was the same route her parents drove fromBellevue to the lake every summer to drop off Laura and her sisters for a monthof forced childhood fun.

Forced for Laura, funfor Cheryl and Sandra. Somewhere in the attic of her parents’ house, there wasa box of macramé and ceramics, collected over eight years of summer camp atthis very spot. While she stood and surveyed the grounds, mentally making notesof the hills that would need to be graded and the water lines that would needto be laid in place, she saw herself ducking under a tree to read while she wassupposed to be learning to play tennis.

“Shame to bulldoze thetennis courts. Then again, tennis was never my game,” he said.

“Mine either.”

“So I hear.” With that,he turned and strolled down the path that used to lead to the boys’ cabins, butnow led to what would be the development’s fully appointed fitness center.

Treadmills and a yogastudio. That nose-picker in her Lit seminar went on to make probably a cool tenmillion at Amazon, and here she was, bulldozing her childhood so that peoplecould do downward dog where she learned to French braid her hair. Not for thefirst time, she cursed that empty seat next to Richard Adar. She switched seatsand wound up sitting next to him in English Lit, and he cheated off of her forthe next four years. Sixteen years after they graduated from college, she wasstill carrying him.

He was still cheating,and she was still helping him. This time, she was helping him cheat on hiswife. And his tax returns, she was pretty sure, but she couldn’t for the lifeof her figure out which of the two was worse.

Maybe she should havepicked her nose that first day in English Lit and followed the geek to Amazon. JudithRoslin would have been horrified, if she’d remembered who Laura was those lastfew weeks of Laura’s freshman year before she faded away. Her dad, the head ofthe Econ law department at U Dub, would have terrified Richard Adar right outof her life if he hadn’t taken a leave of absence to help care for his wife.

If, if, if. If a bullfrog had wings, he wouldn’t bumphis ass when he hopped.

God, Laura missed herfather.

If she could just getthe camp manager to sign for the latest offer and pass it along to the owner, shecould get the hell out of here and back to her condo in Belltown. She wantedthe offer settled so that she could go home before the dirt road they’d drivendown every summer in an old station wagon was paved to make way for fanciercars with better suspensions.

She followed the managerto the trailer housing the camp’s office, the closest thing to a modernbuilding on the site. The trailer sat between two old cabins, both facing thelake. The last summer she’d spent here, she’d been a counselor in one of them.She didn’t want to think about the counselor in the other, or what had happenedin that little clearing between the two cabins before some idiot had put atrailer there.

Maybe if she’d pickedher nose at that first fireside singalong that summer, she’d never have added BillyAdama to her list of regrets.

***

“I hear you come highlyrecommended by the owner,” she said.

Tigh grunted inresponse. “Hard to find jobs around here, or I’d hang your fancy condo-buildingass out to dry.”

Well, at least he washonest. “I’m not the one buying this land. I’m just here to do my job.”

“Shit job, if you askme.” He dug through the cabinets in the trailer until he found a bottle ofwhiskey and two reasonably clean glasses. He poured a good measure into eachglass – far more than she should be drinking if she had any intention ofdriving home tonight – but it was the closest thing to a friendly gesture she’dgotten from anyone in this pissant town. One thing was for sure, the locals didnot see the need for fancy condos intheir backyard.

She knocked the whiskeyback with more confidence than she felt. “It is a shit job, but it’s a job, andI hear they’re hard to come by these days.”

Glasses lined up, and afew more fingers of whiskey pushed in front of her. “Maybe you’re working for thewrong person. Ever consider that?” Saul’s glass hit the table in front of her,empty again, before she could even wrap her brain around what he said.

Of course she hadconsidered it. She considered it every damn day she showed up in her office,prepared to give Richard her thoughts on smart investments and where they stoodto make money in real estate, only to have him ask her what color underwear shewas wearing.

White cotton, andthreadbare at that, because she wasn’t going to tempt him with silk and lace ifhe wasn’t going to challenge her to do her job better. At this point, she wasfairly certain that her practical underwear would give out at the same time hischarm did; she only hoped she could escape his hold on her with her dignityintact.

Oh, and without going tojail.

Frankly, she wasn’t surejail was worse than her job. She’d just be trading one stifling cage foranother. She nudged her glass toward Saul. Maybe another shot of whiskey wouldhelp her figure it out. If she couldn’t drive home tonight, at least she knewwhere she could pass out; the bunk beds might be old, but the cheap mattresseswere surely holding up better than her underwear.

Saul tipped the bottleinto the empty glasses, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. Men. Drink them underthe table or give them a blow job; they were so damn easy to impress. She’d hadher quota of blow jobs this week, so she’d have to stick with drinking withhim. “Maybe you’re not as bad as I thought,” he said.

“Maybe I’m not,” sheagreed.

“Still don’t like you.”

She slammed the glassdown on the cheap pressboard table and held it up, a challenge, to see if he’draise his own to hers. He did. “Don’t like you either,” she said, beforechasing down the bitter, salty taste of years of regret with a mouthful ofcheap whiskey.

***

She wasn’t a snob, byany stretch of the imagination, but Laura did like to sleep in a comfortablebed. She’d paid a lot of money for her mattress, so waking with rusting coilspoking into her backside was hardly the goodmorning she expected.

Then again, neither wasthe pounding in her head nor the cotton in her mouth. She rolled off the limp,sagging mattress and kicked around at the pile of clothes at her feet. Wherethe hell were her shoes?

Where the hell was herpurse and her car keys, and why was she standing in the middle of a cabin shehadn’t seen for the last 20 years, her toes idly riding up her calf to scratchat bug bites?

Dammit, Saul Tigh! Ifthe contract for purchase of the land hadn’t included retaining existing camp staffuntil demolition began, she’d be at home right now, not kicking through dustbunnies to find her phone.

At least a quick surveyof the cabin assured her she was alone. Score one for Laura Roslin – she wasn’tgoing to add another notch in the cheap pine bunk bed frame to go with herfirst. But she was most definitely going to get fired, because she had apresentation to give about the progress at the construction site at 10 am, and,seriously, where the hell were her shoes?

Her phone rang, echoingthrough the cabin that had been filled with chatter and gossip years ago.Marcie should have been asleep in the bunk underneath her; Cheryl and Sandrashould have been sitting on her bed, waiting for her to wake up.

Instead, she wasstanding in the middle of an empty, musty room that was making her allergiesseize up, sneezing and wiping her nose as she answered the phone. “LauraRoslin.”

“You were supposed to behere ten minutes ago with your report.”

She forced back anapology for her tardiness. Richard had every right to be pissed, but herheadache and his snippy tone told her that Richard had even more right to gofuck himself. He sent her to the development site; he sure as hell didn’t getto choose what happened once she got there.

“Thereare…complications,” she said.

Richard hung up. Henever liked complications.

She didn’t either, butshe did like knowing where she could find her shoes. Finally, she dug them outfrom under a well-worn blanket. If she could just manage to button her blouse,she’d be out of here and on her way.

Just as soon as shetracked down Saul Tigh and got him to sign off on the damn offer.

***

Based on the yellingcoming from the construction trailer, Laura wasn’t the only one having a roughstart to the day. Tigh’s bellowing was loud enough to wake the dead, andwhoever he was arguing with didn’t seem to be holding back either. She halfexpected to see one of them to come crashing through the windows as she pickedher way through the weeds choking the path.

The last thing shewanted was to get in the middle of whatever battle was being fought, but sheneeded coffee and she needed to brush her teeth, and neither of those thingswere going to happen until she got a signature and got on the road back tocivilization. Squaring her shoulders, she reached up and pounded on the door tothe trailer.

Saul threw open thedoor, and Laura was annoyed to see that he didn’t even have the courtesy tolook hung over. “Oh. You’re still here.”

“Sorry to interrupt,”she said through clenched teeth, “but I still need someone to sign this.” Shethrust the folder at him. Rather than take it, he stepped back from the doorwayand waved her in to the trailer.

“Might as well get your signaturefrom the boss,” he said. She was tempted to remind him that, once the sale wentthrough, she was going to be theboss, but the smarter play seemed to be to keep her mouth shut and get a penready.

“Signature for what?”came a deep, gravelly voice from somewhere inside the trailer. She followedTigh inside, squinting against the dark of the trailer.

“Revised offer,” shesaid. She cupped her hands around her eyes to block the light from the doorway,barely able to make out the shape of a man at the far end of the room. “I needa signatory from the camp to receive the offer, or else it’ll have to go backto the lawyers.”

He let out a derisivegrunt. “Never had much use for lawyers.”

Laura bristled. Herfather had been a lawyer, a damn good one, and she wasn’t going to let thischump hiding out in the middle of nowhere crap all over his memory. “Lawyerscome in handy when you need to get things done, and I’d very much like to getthis offer done and accepted so that I can get out of here and get moving onthe development plans.”

“And a lawyer is gonnahelp you with that?” he asked. He moved forward, just enough into the lightthat she could see the glint of silver threaded through his black hair. Hereached out and snatched the folder from her hand, then leafed through thepapers. “It’s a good offer,” he grunted.

“It is,” she agreed, surprisingeven herself with the ice in her tone. “Better than any other this camp isgoing to get.”

He scribbled his name onthe first form, acknowledging receipt of the offer, and handed the paper backto her. “Maybe so,” he agreed, “but that doesn’t mean I’m going to sell.”

He’s going to sell? After all these months, the elusive owner of CampBlackbird had finally shown his face? It’sabout damn time, she thought. Richard was already pissed enough at her;maybe if she took a little extra time to work her feminine wiles on him, suchas they may be, she could get him to agree to the sale and she could get herboss off her back. In more ways than one.

“It’s a beautifulproperty,” she said, turning on her brightest smile. “People would love to buy acondo here and take advantage of the peace and quiet. I spent some time here asa child myself, and I have to tell you, I’ve thought of buying my own place hereonce the development goes up.”

“Really? I thought therewas a rule around these parts about you not being allowed back.” He finallystepped fully into the light of the doorway, and his blue eyes met hers. Blueeyes that she hadn’t seen since she was seventeen years old and flat on herback on the ground under this very spot. Suddenly, complicated wasn’t the wordfor this sale anymore. Impossibleseemed a little bit more accurate, and some other words with just four letterscrossed her mind as well. And then one more word – breathe. “Of course, since that’s half my fault, it’s probably onlyfair that I lift the ban on Laura Roslin.”

Jesus Christ, Billy Adama. Laura’s knees went a little weak underneathher.

“Saul,” Bill barked,“take a hike. Miss Roslin and I have business to discuss.”

Business? After allthese years, she had a lot of questions to ask him, but none of them had a damnthing to do with the offer he was still holding in his hands. Hands sheremembered far too well.

Saul raised an eyebrowat his boss, then looked back at Laura. “You gonna be ok?” he asked her, hisvoice a little gruff, but his expression softer than it had been last night.

“Fine,” she saidfaintly. “Thank you.”

“You know where thewhiskey is, if you need it,” he said, then ducked out of the trailer. It wasbarely 9am, her head was still pounding, but God help her, she’d never wanted adrink more in her life.

She had the receipt ofoffer in her hands; she should collect her dignity and get the hell out of herewhile she still could. Instead, she sank down into one of the beat-up vinylchairs in front of the reception desk. “So I get a lifetime ban, but you get tocome in and take over? Seems a little unfair to me.”

“I bought the camp usingan LLC. Mr. Cottle wouldn’t have sold it to me if he knew who was buying,” hesaid with a little chuckle.

Privately, Laura had herdoubts. As she recalled, Mr. Cottle wasn’t nearly as pissed at poor BillyAdama, led astray by Laura Roslin’s bookish charms, as he was at her fordefiling the sanctity of his precious camp. After all, it hadn’t been his entire family dragged down for avery detailed description of how he’d found the two of them bare-ass nakedunder a blanket, and then escorted to their station wagon with a very colorfulreminder that they were not invited back for the next summer.

Then again, she hadabsolutely no idea what happened after they’d left Camp Blackbird. Maybe Bill’sparents had been on their way when they’d headed down the dirt road, Cheryl andSandra whining on either side of her in the back seat and her parents refusingto speak to their oldest daughter.

It wasn’t like shehadn’t done the math; their anniversary was seven months before her birthday.Laura might not know much about children, but she knew that a preemie didn’tweigh 8 pounds at birth. It seemed more than a little unfair to her that theywere so pissed about her night under the stars.

She hadn’t regretted itat the time. He was handsome, and smart, and had a wicked sense of humor. He’dliked to make her laugh. She’d liked to laugh with him. They’d gone fromsneaking kisses behind her cabin to groping under swimsuits while they weresupposed to be teaching swim classes, to having sex under the stars. If onlythey’d snuck out half an hour earlier…

If only he’d called herafter she’d been sent home. He had her number; she waited to hear from him, butthe rest of the summer stretched out with no contact, and in the fall, she wasin her dorm at U Dub and sitting next to Richard Adar.

And 20 years later, shewas sitting in a cheap plastic chair, staring him down as he flipped throughthe pages of her company’s offer, every flip of a page catching the sunlightagainst the wedding ring on his finger. Ofcourse.

She was done withmarried men. Done with this one in particular, just as much of a pain in theass as the other married man who was expecting her to deliver a signed offerletter.

“I wasn’t kidding. Youand I both know this camp hasn’t been profitable for years. Just accept theoffer and call it a day.”

He held out the folderto her, waving it a little bit when she refused to take it. “It’s a greatoffer. But you’re wasting your time.”

“I quit wasting my timeabout 20 years ago,” she snapped.

He looked her over,those damn blue eyes drilling into her. “And yet here you are.”

“And so are you. Really,Billy? So many happy memories here for you?”

“Bill,” he snapped, “andyes, as a matter of fact.”

She let out a sharp snort.Lord only knew what he got up to after she was booted out of the camp. She hadabsolutely no interest in how many happymemories he had at this camp.

“I remember you, and me,and a night under the stars, and that’s enough to make me turn down youroffer.”

“Well,” she said primly,“Not all of us have such fond memories of losing our virginity.”

He blinked at that andtook a quick step back. For a second, she felt like a complete ass. It wasn’this fault the night ended badly. Well, not entirely– he was the one who suggested they meet halfway, and he was the one with theblanket. He was also the one who made enough noise to wake the dead…and Mr.Cottle.

But she was the one whomet him there, under the stars, and she was only too happy to let him tease herout of her shorts and her camp t-shirt, and she was the one who told him thatshe was ready, that she wanted it to be him.

Billy – no, Bill – sighed. “Ifthis is really what you want, I’ll sign,” he said.            

Thank God. “It’s what I want.” She nodded at the pen on the table.“Sign it, and we can be out of each other’s hair.”

“On one condition,” he said. He picked up the pen and hovered it overthe paperwork. “I’ll sign, but you have to go on a date with me.”

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” The words were out of her mouthbefore she could stop them, but he didn’t seem the least put off by her crass words.

“Yep. Long time ago,” he said.

“Sign the papers and take your wife on a date,” she snapped.

His brows furrowed, a bit confused before he saw her pointed gazedirected at the ring on his finger.

“Divorced,” he said. “I wear the ring so Saul doesn’t hit on me.”

“He’d probably be an easier target than me,” she said.

“Easy never interested me.”

Well, he’d be the first. “Fine,” she said. “Sign the papers and I’ll goout with you.”

He signed the offer with a flourish, then held his hand out to her. “Isbreakfast too early for a date?”

Laura shrugged. “Whatever.” She’d eat some pancakes, tell him he wascharming, and then be on her way by noon. “Lead the way.”

***

Her phone rang once again, and one again, she was determined to ignoreit.

“You have to answer eventually,” he muttered, his voice thick withsleep, even as he pulled her closer to him.

He was probably right. Richard wasn’t going to stop calling, not untilhe got the answer he expected. She tucked her hair behind her ears, trying tocall up some sense of professionalism. Hard to do when she was stark naked andBill Adama was wrapping his arms against her waist.

“Roslin,” she barked, choking back a laugh as his fingers trailed upagainst her sides.

“It’s been four days and you haven’t shown up once. What the hell areyou doing?”

That was a very good question, but not one she was going to answer forRichard Adar when Bill Adama was pressing kisses to her shoulder. “I’mquitting,” she said. “Deal’s dead.”

“Goddammit, Laura, I didn’t send you down there to kill the deal!”

She was half tempted to argue, but Bill pulled the phone out of herhand. “I’ll talk to you about my severance tomorrow,” she called out before hemanaged to hit the disconnect button and throw the phone down on the flooramidst their discarded clothes.

“I’m going to get fired,” she said with a giggle. He hummed in response.“Do you care?”

“Nope.” He rolled onto his back, then tugged her on her side so that shewas draped against his chest. “Do you?”

“Mmm-mmm,” she hummed.

“Good,” he whispered.

“I’m out of a job, and you’ve got a camp that’s not making money,” shesaid. “How is that good?”

“Never wanted the camp. Just wanted you. Do you think Adar’s the onlyoffer I have?”

She snuggled a little bit closer to him. “I’m very good at real estate.I could probably get you a great price for the land.”

He laughed as he dug his fingers into the skin of her hip. “Whatever youwant. Don’t want the camp anymore, since my girl isn’t allowed on the grounds.”

“Well, Washington is a big state,” she chuckled. “I’m sure we can findother places to get kicked out of.”

“God, I hope so,” he laughed into the sensitive skin of her neck.  “Can’t think of anything I want more than tobe kicked out of every campground we find.”

She shrieked with laughter as he moved down from her neck, teasing theticklish spots he’d discovered over the last few days. Neither could she.

[setoangel01-fanfiction]

Confrontation

Beautiful Disaster - Chapter 3 (Previous Chapters)

Rated: T

Chapter Summary: Ash tries to get some answers from Johnny as to how he acquired his injuries - it's a lot harder than she expects.

Fanfiction.net

A03

Ash wasn't even fully aware of what was happening since her eyes locked onto the horrific injury. Vision blurring with unshed tears as she stared in abhorrent shock at the slit in his green jumper and the blood pooling around it. Some of the blood drenching it is dry, dark and clinging to the fibers of the shirt but also way too obvious that some was far too fresh. Johnny dodging her hand as she tried to help him must have injured him further…and that killed her.

This whole situation was outright horrifying.

It had to be a dream or some kind of demented nightmare for who on earth would hurt him? Johnny would never even fathom hurting another soul; so gentle and kind to everyone he met - what cruel, heartless person could actually stab him?!

…just what the hell happened…?!

Ash had grown completely unaware of how she was practically hyperventilating; eyes blurring with tears as she stared at the obvious stab wound Johnny had acquired…

The worst part was he still refused to tell her what took place tonight…

"Oh God, Johnny…Oh my God!" she screamed, hand moving to cover her mouth in the sheer horror of what she was witnessing. Something inside of her chest shattered at the reality she was being faced with and yet, Johnny refused to clarify whatsoever.

"It's alright! I'm alright! Everything turned out fine!" Johnny muttered, trying fruitlessly to pull away from her but found he didn't have the energy; only able to scoot up a bit further against the cold tiles of the wall. Part of him wished to flee, but Ash had already seen the wound and it was too late to hide it now.

Ash pushed her hand forward, ignoring Johnny flinching at her action but not caring in the least, as she touched the stained cloth around the wound she still had yet to see in its brutal entirety. Anxiety steadily began building in her gut; all too aware of the amount of blood staining his shirt and the fur underneath.

Just so much blood…

Lungs filling with frigid air; chest a gaping wound as she continually stared at it; confronting the reality that this indeed happened to Johnny - this wasn't a nightmare but brutal reality.

Yet, the questions still lingered like a horrible overcast shadow - Who did this? Why would anyone hurt him? How could this have happened to someone like him? Someone who had never hurt anybody…

Absolutely none of this made sense and Johnny tried to hide it from her; pulling away and treating it as if it was NOTHING! That he wasn't stabbed and possibly bleeding to death and something inside of her snapped.

"What the hell do you mean you're alright?!" something in Ash finally broke; the words came out choked and raspy but she found out she didn't fucking care. All she wanted was answers and dammit, she wanted them now.

"..."

"How can you possibly be okay?! You call this fine?!" the voice that came out of her mouth was so incredibly raw; the pain etched in it made Johnny flinch back a bit.

"..."

"...and what if it hadn't!? WHAT?" Ash continually shouted not even giving him time to ponder any sort of response..

"I-I don't…." Johnny tried to speak but Ash didn't let him finish.

"I'll tell you - you would have died, Johnny. That…that tomorrow, you'd never show up for work. I-I would gonna call your phone and you don't answer. T-T-That I'd be watching the news and find out my best friend had been killed and found dead i-in some ditch or dirty alley somewhere…Is that okay to you!?" Ash yelled, voice breaking and eyes misting over as she stared angrily at him.

Johnny grew completely silent; his chestnut eyes falling from her drilling gaze.

"This is not okay, Johnny. It's not. You're not… B-But before I argue with you anymore, I-I need to call an ambulance. You need to go the hospital!" she muttered more to herself as she reached into her skirt pocket to retrieve her phone when suddenly Johnny's hand was on hers and effectively blocking her from her task.

"NO!" he shouted and Ash's quills prickled on end…she had never heard Johnny shout like that and apparently, he hadn't either by how surprised he was when it came out.

"I-I'm sorry Ash…I…B-But, no…I-I-I can't go to the hospital." Johnny continued as almost an afterthought, pulling in on himself; his arms wound tight around his waist in a fruitless yet desperate attempt to keep his wound out of sight and out of mind for her. Needless to say, it didn't work.

A few moments passed before Ash found her voice again.

"Heh. W-Why not? In case you haven't noticed - you got fucking stabbed!" Ash said a lot more calmly than she felt at the moment. Her heart was beating a million miles an hour and her head was aching something fierce. None of this made sense and the horrific nature of what exactly took place tonight was driving her out of her fucking mind and now he refused to go to the hospital?!

A part of her questioning if any of this was really happening…

"Ash, please…I-I can't. Alright?" Johnny avoided her gaze the best he could but all it succeeded in doing was for her to keep drawing her eyes to the bloody stain in his jumper his hands didn't bother to hide anymore. The crimson leaking into the green staunchly contrasted and one thing for sure, Ash would never associate those two colors with Christmas ever again…

"...Why the hell not?" Ash asked steadily, doing her best to stay calm in this hellish situation.

"I-I…"

"Why not, Johnathan?" she growled, using his full name as a last resort.

"...because I can't bloody afford it, Ashley!" he growled back while using the same dirty tactic on her.

Ash's eyes narrowed at the use of her full first name (the ones her parents would use to especially ruffle her quills) and context but it worked for a moment, she had to give him that. All she wanted to know is when she became the one being disciplined in this situation.

Yet Ash wouldn't be silenced, "C'mon, you have to have some kind of insurance or something! Hell, even Moon has those that need it on that one program of his."

"...Ash…I'm bloody broke. I have nothing, alright? Nearly every cent I make is going to my dad's high-end lawyer - if I miss just one payment - just one - he'll drop my dad as a client, and…I-I can't let that happen. I just can't…"

"So, let me get this straight - you've been stabbed yet won't call the ambulance - will you at least call the police? Because dammit, Johnny, I'm not stupid - someone did this to you and they're still out there! What's to say they won't do it again?"

Johnny turned his face away; gaze steadfast off to some far off point before mumbling out, "I can't call the police..."

"...why the hell not? What if they're still looking for you and want to finish the job? You want those maniacs on the street?"

"I can't call the police because I don't want my dad to know! If the police find out, word will get to him…I know it will."

"Heh. I hate to put a hitch in your plans, but your dad is going to notice especially when you show up looking like this!" Ash didn't mean to yell, she really didn't, but she couldn't help it. Looking at Johnny's battered and blood smeared face broke something precious in her.

"I-I'll just tell him I was busy with work. I can get away with that since it's not really a lie. I just won't go see him until I've fully healed." Johnny shrugged and Ash's countenance fell.

"...does he have something to do with this?" It was like a light went on in her head; recalling Johnny telling her his father's extensive criminal history. How many years he'd been the leader of a gang that worked with a seedy under-network of criminals to steal vast amounts of cash and other goods. Johnny's father was almost like a kingpin - it shocked her how his son turned out so squeaky clean and not a bad bone in his body with a father like that. His mother must have been one hell of a good woman…

It had been long drawn out minutes but Johnny still hadn't answered the question and to Ash, that was an immediate 'yes' whether he wanted to admit it or not. Sometimes Johnny's silence was more telling than him speaking - she could read his eyes better anyway. The boy wore his heart on his sleeve.

"Johnny, why don't you want your father to know?" Ash asked; thinking perhaps a different tactic was in order if she wanted him to keep talking.

"..." Johnny remained silent.

"Look, if whatever happened tonight was somehow the result of your father's involvement in any way - this isn't your problem. What's the problem with telling him about it?"

"...Ash, my dad very may spend the rest of his life behind bars…" Johnny sighed and it wasn't news to her but the way he said it with his shoulders slumped and the saddest expression on his face hurt her like hell. "Yet, with this lawyer, he could possibly be out in as little as ten years - and…I want that. I-I want my dad out of that place. To have some kind of future…He's all I have left and I…I want to bring him home." he whimpered the last part; tears filling his chestnut eyes and it broke her heart in two.

"..." Ash didn't know what to say so she remained silent.

"If I told him what was happening - hell, even if word got out that I got me arse kicked by anybody - I have no doubt in my mind that my dad would break out of that prison again to murder whoever did it." Johnny muttered and Ash was surprised by Johnny's use of profanity, but seeing how emotionally and physically battered as he was right now - it seemed well warranted.

"The wardens and prosecutors already warned us that if he tries that stunt again…it's automatic life without parole…" his teary eyes finally met hers and the pain lacing them shocked her to her very core, "Ash, my dad would die in prison…I can't let that happen…I just can't." Johnny finished with a sigh, a shaking hand lifting to wipe at his face; flinching when he touched his swollen flesh and Ash was so tempted to pull his hand away so he didn't further hurt himself but she didn't.

Ash froze - staring as Johnny as if for the first time.

Realizing now just how selfless this guy was - always thinking of others and scarcely of himself. It hurt that as open as he was with her, he never bothered to tell her any of this; that for as close as they were in and out of the theater, he never mentioned the demons he was secretly battling.

On the tip of her tongue, she wanted to argue, to rebel against the harsh realities he told her. To tell him to call the police and ambulance to get him more help and catch the assholes that hurt him, but a part of her knew Johnny wouldn't allow it. Didn't want to go against his wishes and rupture this relationship she had with him - refused to ever let that happen…

It left Ash with only one choice…

"Fine. Since the ambulance and even calling the police is off the table - let me help at least clean up your wounds." Ash offered and for one of the few times tonight, Johnny met her eyes.

"Oi, Ash, you don't 'ave to. These are my problems - not yours."

"...I want to. Now come on." Ash offered a shaking paw which she just noticed had a few splotches of his blood staining her fur. It bothered her immensely but she ignored it for now to keep her offer open.

"...A-Ash, I…"

"Please." the words felt so foreign on her tongue, "I want to help you, Johnny…Let me help you."

The offer of her hand extended; Johnny's eyes flicking from the proffered hand to her face and back again as if trying to figure out of here was any ulterior motive but there was none in those crystal blue eyes.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he'd given her a stiff nod before taking her hand.

[sagemoderocklee]

ugh, i'm on my phone and can't comment on the post. what about jkr writing about draco on pottermore? i stopped digging into the site when it became more buzzfeed-like.

lol it’s probably for the best like i tend to ignore Pottermore too because it just…some of it is great, but some of it is just rlly annoying. 

Like JKR just has this very obvious hate of Draco and the fact that ppl like him/sympathize with him. Like some of what she says is right. Like he was horrible and of course there were ppl who liked him for the wrong reasons… 

but she basically comes across as being determined to undermine every possible fan who might consider that he’s capable of being more than what his father was. 

She goes over his history briefly and does all she can to basically paint him as the most awful, irredeemable person, despite writing him sympathetically in HBP/DH. For instance: 

“It was, therefore, in the knowledge that he was doing nothing of which his father would disapprove, and in the hope that he might be able to relay some interesting news home, that Draco Malfoy offered Harry Potter his hand when he realised who he was on the Hogwarts Express. Harry’s refusal of Draco’s friendly overtures, and the fact that he had already formed allegiance to Ron Weasley, whose family is anathema to the Malfoys, turns Malfoy against him at once. Draco realised, correctly, that the wild hopes of the ex-Death Eaters – that Harry Potter was another, and better, Voldemort – are completely unfounded, and their mutual enmity is assured from that point.” 

So, we’re supposed to believe that a child has laid out this careful plan to befriend Harry Potter–famous Harry Potter–because he might become the next Dark Lord. Now, I don’t doubt that Draco has his own ideas about this situation, hoping to befriend a famous wizard would be sooooo cool. and Harry’s probably got such strong magic and cool stories and all of these things. like eleven year old Draco Malfoy may have been a brat and a bully and awful, but he was still a fucking child who always probably wanted to be the famous Harry Potter’s friend just like every kid growing up in the Wizarding world probably did. 

She goes on about him envying Harry, being excited by Voldemort’s return–because he has literally no concept of what the reality of the situation is, but i digress–and then we get this: 

“Although Draco had still not rid himself of the hope of returning the family to their former high position, his inconveniently awakened conscience led him to try - half-heartedly, perhaps, but arguably as best he could in the circumstances - to save Harry from Voldemort when the former was captured and dragged to Malfoy Manor.” 

He has a conscience and we are given clear indications of this. This was intentional. He absolutely was trying to save Harry in his own roundabout way. But for some reason, he still feels like he’s got the chance to bring his family back to their former position and for someone who is incredibly intelligent it seems so… wrong? Like he’s just stagnant. He’s experiencing something so horribly traumatic, but his priority is still to bring his family back to their former state. Even if we could say that’s a reasonable thing for Draco to want, which it is, though I feel she’s just being heavy-handed with it, I think it’s ridiculous to suggest he wants anything to do with Voldemort at this point or this view of the world that Voldemort and his father have instilled in him. 

Then: 

During the final battle at Hogwarts however, Malfoy made yet another attempt to capture Harry and thereby save his parents’ prestige, and possibly their lives. Whether he could have brought himself to actually hand over Harry is a moot point; I suspect that, as with his attempted murder of Dumbledore, he would again have found the reality of bringing about another person’s death much more difficult in practice than in theory.

I’ve always had a complicated relationship with the scene in the Room of Hidden Things when the trio are looking for what they think is the final Horcrux and are faced against Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. I think Malfoy has that desire to of self-preservation, but again this feels very contrary to what he’s been going through for the last two years. I believe that yes he could absolutely convince himself that all he has to do is bring Harry to Voldemort, but I feel like there’s this unwillingness to let him grow as a character, like he has to be completely irredeemable or else. 

The idea that it would be moot if he was actually capable of handing Harry over is just ridiculous. It’s not a moot point. It’s crucial. It’s so important to who he is and what he values and how he’s changed. He wasn’t capable of killing Dumbledore, an old man who he had very little interaction with. So yes, it’s important for us to see that he’d be incapable of handing over someone he has serious history with. How would he feel about any of this??? It’s important dammit, not moot. 

And of course she goes on: 

After the events of the second wizarding war, Lucius found his son as affectionate as ever, but refusing to follow the same old pure-blood line.

That’s great! That makes sense! Although, tbh I think Draco would probably resent Lucius a lot for the shit he put them through. and tbh i think he’d take a long hard look at what led him down that path because if he really wanted to bring the malfoy name honor again he would need to look at himself and see that the way he was raised was beyond fucked up and i think he’d be furious with his parents for that, more so Lucius since he clearly idolized him so much and when the people you idolize disappoint you, fail you, hurt you–it is a deeply personal hurt. 

She ends the whole thing on this note: 

His Christian name comes from a constellation - the dragon - and yet his wand core is of unicorn.

This was symbolic. There is, after all - and at the risk of re-kindling unhealthy fantasies - some unextinguished good at the heart of Draco.

And to me, her tone is what makes me so mad here. 

Unextinguished good. There is good in him and yet she says

that Draco was not concealing a heart of gold under all that sneering and prejudice and that no, he and Harry were not destined to end up best friends.

And all of this is so very contrary and frustrating to me. It is not that I expect him to ever have a ‘heart of gold’ nor for him and Harry to be best friends but her inability to see this potential is what frustrates me. It frustrates me that she is so sure he would continue to collect Dark artifacts and such, say that he is all these things but also has a duality to him that perhaps means he wishes to be a better man–but then never allows him to be that. 

She gave us a cruel, privileged, prejudiced child who grew up to be much more complicated, but she continues to trap him and refuses to accept that maybe fans see more in him because she made him more. 

Authors, for all that they are great and skilled and the ruler of their world, need to listen to fans more often because their fans are also creative and spend so much time imagining the possibilities that the authors themselves are honestly too often incapable of seeing for themselves because of how close they are to the work. She has these feelings, these strong feelings, and I don’t doubt that some part of her really hates the popularity of HarryxDraco for instance because there is no way she could not know about it. But I think she is wrong and i think the way she talks about him is soooo frustrating. 

Draco is not perfect. His actions as a child were sooooo cruel. And fans do forget this. smh i had someone comment on the fic i just wrote acting like Draco had been wronged more so than he’d wronged the trio, and it was wild to read this person’s comments. 

But Draco is not his father. He is capable of being more. Fans see that. She doesn’t.